Eight Feet Deep

Would that be irony — or just a crying shame? Who the hell knows? All I know is that old saying stood me well for a good couple of weeks. I now require a saying reflecting my surroundings. I need something hot. Godawfully hot.

For you see, it is Godawfully hot here in Beaumont, Texas. It is the heat. It is the humidity. This is the third time I have moved here. I suppose I like 11-month steam baths and mosquitoes the size of the Predator unmanned aerial vehicles the Army uses.

I told a friend of mine who lives here that I will get used to the humidity. I think I told her that as I was melting into a Margaret Hamilton-like puddle.

I’ve had a horrible two days since I moved in my place. It’s a long story involving insomnia and I won’t bore you with the details. But I felt better today and actually got out and took a walk in my neighborhood.

It was about 11 a.m. when I went walking. It wasn’t so bad. There are plenty of trees, big trees, with big limbs and leaves in the neighborhood. And by the afternoon I was feeling like I might just make it after all, no matter the heat or humidity.

My feelings were helped even more as I was later riding along the boulevard and had this incredible feeling come over me like I actually belong in this place. It’s not a bad feeling, but it is strange because during the past seven years I spent in Waco, Texas, I never once really felt at home.

I’m not going to use two “Wizard of Oz” references in this post and say: “There’s no place like home.” But I feel okay about where I am right this moment. I just hope I don’t evaporate.

The San Diego Chicken couldn’t eat all of Ted Turner’s head 

For some reason I thought about the San Diego Chicken this afternoon. I don’t know why.

He, she, it, the overgrown chicken mascot is now known as “The Famous Chicken.” It was the KGB Chicken when first I saw it in San Diego in 1978 at some concert. KGB were the call letters of a rock station there. The chicken was not some Soviet spy with the KGB, at least I don’t think it was because it was a pretty damn conspicuous chicken. But then, maybe being conspicuous would be a good cover for passing important secrets among spies. Do it all right out in the open, comrade.

Not only was the KGB Chicken conspicuous, it was also pretty obnoxious. I don’t think that it is a prerequisite for sports and other mascots to be obnoxious, but it seems to fairly prevalent from what I’ve seen. I guess if you have an inner-actor, or an inner-actor-upper, then being a chicken or an overgrown bear mascot would be just the disguise for some mild-mannered person who would in reality like to be a major pain in the ass.

I remember a fight broke out among mascots at this high school football game when last I worked in Southeast Texas. I can’t really remember how it went, the bear got belted by the bulldog or vice versa. I wasn’t there at the game, but the play-by-play sounded hilarious. Football seems to bring out the best in folks of that region.

At one game between different schools, but in the same county, one of the high school bands was performing a “West Side Story” routine. When the performers began a fight scene, a local police officer on the sidelines thought some real trouble was going down and rushed onto the field to stop the “melee.”

“Gee, Officer Krupke, we’re very upset;
We never had the love that ev’ry child oughta get.
We ain’t no delinquents,
We’re misunderstood.
Deep down inside us there is good!”

Well I am sure a moral exists here somewhere among the obnoxious chickens, warring bulldogs and bears and Officer Krupke stopping the half-time show. Danged if I know what it is. I guess you will just have to try to figure out the rest of where my mind was wandering all on your own. Good luck. I hope you do better with my mind than I do.

I haven’t paid much attention to the news over the last few days. Part of that is because I was traveling, looking for a place to rent, moving some stuff, staying with a friend out-of-town and just generally ignoring the world. It’s funny because I did read the paper a couple of days, but nothing really stuck.

Blah, blah, blah … nuclear option … blah, blah … the earth exploded into a bright blue flame … blah. I did see something this morning that was disturbing. Laura Bush got heckled from apparently both Jews and Muslims while visiting Jerusalem. There’s nothing like equal opportunity hecklers. What a great country that Israel.

I did a one-on-one interview with George W. prior to his being governor of Texas (and in company of no handlers) and found him pleasant enough. He even did a few good things as governor, though some might argue with his thorough thinning of the prison population by lethal injection in Texas. But I haven’t found much I have liked about his performance as president. It’s not a partisan thing. It’s what you might call, an Ahh-murr-i-cun thing.

But nonetheless, I don’t think it is right to go hassling the wife of someone you dislike. I didn’t particularly like the woman at the post office this morning who went into this detailed discussion defending her position on why the office had no post card stamps. But if that woman had a spouse, I wouldn’t go heckle him. If your doctor or dentist is a major butthead, you may want to give him or her a piece of your mind (after you find another professional), but that practitioner may have just the nicest husband or wife in the world.

One might argue that Laura Bush has influence over George W. That’s probably true. But a lot of people have influence on Whiz Kid — the Veep, Rumsfeld, the board of Halliburton and any number of petroleum companies, and let’s not forget James Dobson and Jerry Falwell. These people may have even more influence than Laura.

I particularly think it’s chickenshit to rag on someone’s spouse or significant other because of what that other person has done. I don’t think it is necessarily fair, not to mention that it isn’t very brave. If you don’t like George, tell him, although he won’t be within your sight or earshot. Yeah, it’s one of those Catch-22 situations we still haven’t worked out yet. But don’t go bugging his wife or kids. It just isn’t right. If you want to protest, go protest that blue flame that now is the eaaaaaaaaarrrrrthh …

I still am alive despite sweating profusely in Beaumont, Texas. I was there over the weekend finding a place to live. Why? That is where I am moving this week. Why? Why not. I would like to say something clever explaining my reasoning for moving there as well as jumping into a freelance writing career like a man who owns few brain cells. It’s a long complicated story. Maybe I’ll discuss it sometime — WHEN YOU ARE ALL DRUNK AND DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE READING.

Was it eightfeetdeep I saw this tortured reasoning of why someone moved to Beaumont, Texas? No, I think it was on Wonkette or maybe even Forbes.com.

I just had to dash this off this morning before I depart for the hinterlands.

I caught just a portion of a “breaking news” story one of the Dallas TV news stations had at 6 last night. The scene of the incident was taken from a helicopter and I’m not really sure what all was said, but it appeared a car had crashed into the Condoms to Go store that is located at Greenville Avenue and Lovers Lane (sigh). I didn’t read about it in this morning’s news sites so I suppose, thankfully, no one was seriously injured.

It is not my intent to indulge in the humor that such a misfortune might bring. (For instance: “Driver: We finally discovered where the rubber meets the road!”) I must note that I have seen billboards for this business for a number of years when driving through Dallas and found its name rather interesting.

“Condoms to Go.” Why Condoms to Go? Is is not only logical that “to go” is about the only place the proprietors would want for their product to be taken after it is purchased? I’m sure they wouldn’t like for someone to come in the store and say, “Don’t bother with the bag. I’ll just use mine here.”