Eight Feet Deep

Adios to the U-Scan Lady. She was today once again bossing me around at Kroger. Put this item in the bag bitch!

The most recent saying comes from my friend, Waldo Miller, who died in 1998 of cancer. Jeez, not a good ending for a great guy, but what you going to do? He left this note to me on a trip to my house in the country circa 1983. I probably should explain that he and I were friends from high school who continued our friendship up until the time he died. The note he left was something about animals sniffing gasoline fumes and becoming somewhat testy. That included the bears. His remarks about tips came from this sign at a Dallas strip club we visited (for research, of course) which stated that “Our dancers dance for tips and tips alone. Tipping brings that special smile!” Amazing that I remember that 20-something years later. Yeah, I know, you had to be there but I thought it was time to change the saying.

So you probably won’t make any sense out of the new Old Saying but what the hell. If you just wanted to read something that made sense then you probably wouldn’t be reading this blog.

Runaway bride-to-be Jennifer Wilbanks and her fiance are getting $500,000 for the rights to their story, according to Washington Post media critic Howard Kurtz. The deal with New York agent Judith Regan reportedly included dubs on a television interview. However, NBC insists it did not pay for the interview Wilbanks has taped with “Today’s” Katie Couric.

Whatever.

The bottom line is someone does something stupid and gets paid big bucks for it. Society rewards stupidity. I’m not saying Wilbanks is stupid. I don’t know her. But her faked abduction was tremendously, as Mr. Thesaurus would say, “dull, dense, lumpish, doltish, simple, simple-minded, moronic, imbecilic … ” Yet Jennifer appears to be headed for a much greater payday than I have ever seen.

Whatever.

Kids used to be told they all could grow up someday to be president. Of course, that’s a pretty dumb thing to tell a kid anyway. It’s like telling them they could win the lottery, or could be an astronaut, or be the next Shaquille O’Neal. In light of developments such as Ms. Wilbanks selling her story, I suppose we can now tell kids that: “You too can grow up, do something tremendously idiotic, and get paid big bucks for it.” Then you wouldn’t be streching credulity as with expectations for someday becoming president.

It makes me think I am wasting my time trying to get jobs as a freelance writer. Perhaps I should devote more time thinking of something insanely absurd that might capture the nation’s imagination and make me rich all with a minimum of jail time. What an American dream!

Okay, here is a stupid question. If you’re an attorney and you like Congresswoman Mary Bono, are you pro-Bono?

I took the day off and drove to Fred. Actually, I drove past Fred to Dam B.

A little about Dam B b-fore I damn well start talking about Fred. Dam B is the name of a dam on the Neches River. The folks who planned on building dams planned a Dam A and a Dam B. Who knows, maybe even a Dam C, D and E. But only Dam B got built. It also is called Town Bluff Dam, because it is located in a community known as Town Bluff. During the 1960s, the name of the lake was changed to B.A. Steinhagen Lake. I would say that all adds up to an identity crisis. But it’s still a pretty lake.

Back to Fred. Fred, Texas, population 299, has a store and a park and as you can see a fire truck. Brad Whittington , who grew up in Fred, used the town as a setting for his novel: “Welcome to Fred.” I’ve never read it and I never heard of Whittington until doing some research about Fred on the Internet. I have read no one is really sure how Fred was named Fred. One would assume it was named for someone named Fred, like Fred Mertz (you remember the neighbors on “I Love Lucy,” Fred and Ethel Mertz?)It could have been named for someone who was actually called Freddie, like Freddie Fender, whose real name is Baldemar Huerta. Or perhaps it was just assigned a name by some postmaster general somewhere. “Here. You be Galveston. You be Corpus Christi. And you … you be Fred!”

To be honest, I don’t know if anyone knows for sure the origins of Fred. I read a story some time ago about an old-timer who thought he knew the secret of how Fred became Fred, but as people age they tend to either forget things or pull your leg (or ask that you pull their finger!)

It’s a mystery to me and that is just fine. It was a nice trip to the country, all in all. I got to listen to some whispering pine trees once some breeze finally appeared. You want to know what they were whispering? “Freddie’s dead. That’s what I said.” Only kidding. It also wouldn’t be a decent summer day trip to the country (don’t pay any attention to what the calendar says — it’s summer here) without some homegrown tomatoes. I stopped off in Spurger, just south of Fred, and picked me up a pound or two along with some banana peppers.

Sometimes you just need to take a day off and go take a look at what’s really important. Like tomatoes. And, of course, Fred.

I’m going, I’m going where the water tastes like wine
Well I’m going where the water tastes like wine
We can jump in the water, stay drunk all the time — Alan (Blind Owl) Wilson, “Going Up the Country,” Canned Heat.

It’s been almost a month since I have moved here and I have yet to venture to the woods. There is no particular reason. I haven’t found the need to go to the woods. I’ve been to the beach. Now I hear it’s infested with seaweed from the Sargasso Sea. Bummer dude.

Somehow it just feels like the right time to go “up the country” to the woods. I say that because you can’t really go down to the country because you’ll end up in the Sargasso Sea. I don’t know where I’ll go. Perhaps I’ll go to the Big Thicket. Maybe I will visit Cow Creek. Most likely I will find a little dirt road on which I can pull down, park and listen to the soft song that the wind makes when it rustles through pine trees.

Maybe some of my friends question my decision to move here. But I like being nestled in between the Gulf of Mexico to my south and the East Texas pineywoods to my north. Those places have their own little charms, as does my neighborhood. So do I, when you get to know me.

Got to get going … sometime soon.