Month: October 2015

Good morning, y’all. As I pointed out earlier, there is no greater bond for the male of the species than college sports, football most particularly. I believe it was Jeff Foxworthy that said, “all Southern men know how to drive NASCAR and coach football”. I completely agree. In the spirit of male bonding, I wheeled my band mate, Axel Rhodes, down to the Rec room to catch the game on the big screen.

Well, I call it game, I guess, because two groups of finely tuned athletes met on the field of honor, to do battle for their respective supporters. Like last week, the game got off to an optimistic start, it was 0 to 0 at kickoff. Things immediately deteriorated to hell on earth for the Georgia faithful.

Our all world running back, Nick Chubb, went down with a horrific season ending injury on the first play of the game.  I can’t explain the sudden loss of God’s love or the spite of the “karmic witches”, or whatever forces were in play that predisposed this event. I watched Lawrence Taylor break Joe Theismann’s leg on Monday Night football a long time ago, and I believe watching Nick Chubb’s was worse. By all accounts he is a fine young man and I am deeply saddened by the event and wish him a speedy recovery. He will be greatly missed.

It was the end of the second quarter that the wheels came off of the cart. The Bulldogs sported a 24-3 lead over the inbreds of Tennessee when Coach Richt went “Classic Richt” and allowed the team to go stupid. The Volunteers scored twice in 38 seconds, and the point differential became 7 points with the Volunteers getting the second half kickoff. Classic Richt.

For the second week in a row, the failure to compete rested mostly with the offense. Special teams are in desperate need of an overhaul, staring with the punter. I believe I could get more hang time under a ball than our current punter, and I’m old. The defense was on the field all night, a tribute to our offense not being able to mount a sustained drive. Apparently our NFL offensive coordinator doesn’t know the importance of possession. It is clear our Offensive coordinator has not learned the playbook yet. Otherwise, why would he keep calling the same plays? I will say that keeping the offense on the bench the whole game kept them fresh right up until the end. The Volunteers running 90 plays didn’t help our defense much though.

Offense:

Greyson Lambert was adequate, not horrible. He was 15 of 33 for 279 yards for two touchdowns and no interceptions. Greyson has issues, not the least of which is locking on a receiver.

Nick Chubb is a fine young man who deserves to be tied with Herschel for the consecutive 100 yard games. I wish it had been more, and I wish him a speedy recovery.

Sony Michel took over the reins from Nick Chubb and acquitted himself well. He finished the day with 145 yards rushing and 26 yards in the air. Clearly he will be our “Big Dog” going forward.

Malcolm Mitchell contributed 85 yards receiving, on just 5 receptions. Malcolm caught a real beauty for a touchdown.

Reggie Davis was the big receiving star with 101 yards receiving, on just 3 receptions. Reggie caught one touchdown and dropped the game tier. It sucks to be the goat, hopefully it will be a great learning lesson for him.

Defensive: the Dawgs continue to look improved, but can not be counted on to take over the offensive’s scoring responsibilities. First blood of the night was drawn by a fumble recovery carried back for a touchdown. Hope sprang at that point only to be dashed just before half time. Again, the lack of offense on our part left our defense on the field the whole day. I was wore out from watching them play, I can only imagine how tired they were.

Special teams: are just a mixed bag of nuts. I guess if we can keep them on the positive side of the scoring we can call them a wash. Morgan was 1 of 2 in the field goal department and hit all of his extra points(4). Reggie Davis contributed with 73 yards in kickoff returns and 71 yards in punt returns, one for a touchdown.

Time of possession was once again skewed to the opponent, 34 minutes to 26. Somebody needs to fix that.

Well, at least Georgia Tech lost, but Florida is undefeated. The team that showed up this week could lose the rest of their games, including Georgia Southern. Could life get any more interesting?

Good morning, y’all. I’m as excited as a flea on a St. Bernard. My Bulldogs have the opportunity to redeem themselves today against the Volunteers of Tennessee. I’m hoping our boys are not intimidated by the appearance of the Volunteers. It took generations of inbreeding to attain the physical, and mental, attributes of a Tennessee Volunteer. But first, let me make Lite of the situation:

How do you know that the toothbrush was invented by a Volunteer?

If it was invented by anyone else they would have called it a “teethbrush”.

Anyway, I don’t want to rag on the Volunteers too much. We’ve got as fine an example of Tennessee genetics that you could ever find right here at TackyToo , Axel Rhodes. Axel lives over in Number 24, and is as good ole boy as you would ever hope to meet. He is also a mighty fine keyboard player and provides a certain “Ray Charles” vibe to our band, “The Tacky Ones”. Axel is not blind, nor is he black, but he is confined to a wheelchair. Axel had a water skiing accident a few years back over at Lake Lanier, when the lake level was not nearly as high as it is today.

As the story goes, Axel was skiing and his brother was driving the boat. Axel’s brother was curious about the tree branches breaking the surface of the water and drove the boat closer to investigate. Too close, as it turns out, and Axel hit the tree at full speed. The tree didn’t give way, but Axel’s back did, and now he is immobilized from the waist down. I never ask how immobile, and he has never shared, but Axel doesn’t stray far from his trailer. Axel’s immobility is one of the reasons we hold band practice at his place under the carport. The other reason is that Axel’s trailer faces the woods at the edge of the park. We can turn our amplifiers all the way to “11” if we want to.

We’ve not had band practice since my incarcereation, and last night was our first time back in the saddle in about ten months. Considering the layoff, we didn’t sound too bad. I mean, it took a while for the dogs to calm down, but eventually they picked up our groove. Playing music with a group of folks always makes me nostalgic and reflectful. If my life had been different, if I had practiced more, if I had had more talent, might I have been a rock star? We’ll never know now, but it did make picking out the date night movie easier. I chose, “Almost Famous”.

“Almost Famous” is the almost true story of director Cameron Crowe. Crowe actually starting writing for “Rolling Stone Magazine” when he was fifteen. Sixteen year old Crowe was touring with the Allman Brothers band, and wrote a cover story article on the experience. I feel like Crowe must have had mountains of material to work with from touring with the Allmans. My guess is he probably had to censor a lot of his experiences to protect the reputations of whatever innocents might have been in the tour. The movie was a good time romp, filled with fantastic music and great acting. Two of my favorite break through artists of the film are Kate Hudson and Jason Lee. Kate Hudson because she reminds me so much of her mom, Goldie Hahn. Jason Lee because of his affinity to trailer parks. Just kidding, I thought he turned in a great performance. For a full cast of characters, go here. Jimmy Fallon’s name might jump out at you.

It was a great date night movie. Enough mushy stuff to make Mulva happy, and plenty of rock and roll for me. Check it out. In the mean time, check out Georgia vs. Tennessee.

GO DAWGS!

Good morning, y’all. Another fine day in the mountains and we’re all glad to be alive. Looks like I’ll be missing the assorted Oktoberfests held by all of the little towns in the area. I particularly enjoy the one in Helen, which is being held now. The actual dates of the Helen Oktoberfest are 9/10/15 – 11/1/15, so I guess they don’t want to punish any premature or tardy tourists.

After my encounter with Mr. Stinkherr yesterday, I’m a little less inclined to soak myself up in the German experience, even if I were free to do so. In truth, I usually just soaked myself up in a lot of German beer. I do enjoy the pretzels and the brats, as long as they leave room for the beer. It’s fun enjoying the best of what other cultures have to offer, and it’s definitely enlightening to learn the nuances of folks that have descended from far away lands.

I think the Highland Games held at Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina are another must attend event. Watching fellows throw trees while wearing a skirt is a sight that will have you doubting your own eyes. The Scots-Irish folk are who I’m descended from. I relate better to their music and their food than I do to the Oktoberfest fare. Throwing trees and huge boulders around also appears to some macho delusional side of me. I haven’t seen the Germans throw a tree.

Speaking of macho reminds me of another cultural celebration we celebrate mightily here in the U.S. of A., Cinco De Mayo. Cool thing is, every place that’s got a bar celebrates Cinco De Mayo. You don’t have to travel to Helen or Grandfather Mountain to soak up a little bit of another culture. If you want to capture the Mexican spirit, just go to your closest watering hole on the fifth of May. Of course, you could go to Taco Bell three times a week like I used to do. Has there been another culture that we Americans have totally embraced more than the Mexican culture? Think about it, can you name any Italian, French, Canadian, English, Swazi festivals? Not off the top of my head.

So, if we have totally absorbed the Mexican culture from foods to chihuahua dogs, what the heck is the problem with letting Hispanic people come here and earn a living? I start this rant again because Mulva has had to renew her driver’s license. Because of Georgia’s stupid, stupid, stupid policies, Mulva had to sit for over three hours at the DMV to do a renewal. Now, the three hours sitting does not include the hour spent collecting data to prove that Mulva, is indeed, a true ‘merican.

Jiminy crickets, Mulva and I are old. We got our first licenses almost fifty years ago. I contend that if we’re not American by now, we never will be. Giving the DMV a copy of our power bill is not going to change our status as taxpayers and more or less valuable members of our community. The proof of residence is an attempt by the retarded Georgia congress to discourage or outright deny Hispanics their rights.

We’ve seen it all before. This movement is just slightly more subtle than asking a black person to name all of the Chief Justices of the Supreme Court before obtaining a voter ID. The great defenders of democracy, the Republican party, don’t want everybody to vote. If everybody votes, the Repubs will lose every election. They know it, so they are using every trick and lie at their disposal to short circuit democracy. Kind of like The Donald pronouncing, “all Mexican are rapists”, or the Faux News tales of wide scale voter fraud by illegals.

It’s statements like the “rapists” statement that that make me wonder if  The Donald has ever had a burrito supreme with tortilla chips and guacamole on the side. If not, I contend The Donald is not a true ‘merican. If he has, and still denies the contribution that the Mexican culture provides to the good old U.S.A. every day, then I say he can’t be trusted with the office. He’s not in his right mind.

BTW, Mulva’s new license has a gold star on it certifying she is a true blue, first class American. Memory serves that there was another group of people that used gold stars to segregate folks, let me see if I can research who that was.

Good morning, y’all. At the risk of being redundant, my “word” for the day, I would like to point out once again that if there is a more beautiful space on earth than the North Georgia mountains in the Fall, I don’t want to hear about it. I’d probably call you a “prevaricator”, yesterday’s word for the day. I am becoming quite the erudite fool, am I not? Maybe watching TV 24-7 is not a good idea after all. Who knew?

I do manage to get to keep up with my sports networks though. Now that they have added an SEC network you’d think I’d be back in pig heaven 24-7. Not so, Razorback breath. I’d watch 24-7 if they could make one small change, nuke the host. That Paul Finebaum fellow is so unnerving to watch it’s hard to concentrate on what he’s saying. I swear to God; when I’m watching him I think any second that a second set of chrome teeth is going to extend from his mouth dripping primordial saliva all over the floor before he bores into Tim Tebow. You know, like the Alien and Sigourney Weaver in the Alien movies. Now, taking out Tim Tebow would lift the IQ of the show by about 100 points, and the death scene would be “must see TV”, but we’d still be left with Finebaum and his call in guests.

If you’re unfamiliar with the show, Finebaum’s guests are circling somewhere near the drain in the genetic pool. They’re about one more generation from Evolution saying, “that’s it, you’ve done enough damage to the collective, from here on out you’re shooting blanks”. That’s how I know evolution works, eventually some family trees just stop growing branches and they fall over from root rot. The lucky ones distinguish themselves by getting named in the Darwin Awards first, but either way, it’s the end of the line. I expect one day to wake up and the entire state of Alabama to be gone. You know, like “The Rapture”, the houses are still there, there’s just nobody in them. I expect when Finebaum loses his base, they’ll have to replace him.

Anyway, I was watching ESPN and they were running this story about two high school football players taking out the referee in their game. If you haven’t watched it, it’s here.
The tape is pretty self explanatory. One defensive back hits the ref so hard from the back that he loses his hat and unleashes his ponytail. The other defensive back spears the ref on the ground when he falls. A pretty clear cut case of assault, we think. As events unfolds, we learn that the referee has been using racial slurs throughout the game to describe the defensive team. The referee has even ejected a player under very questionable circumstances. The mood was tense, to say the least. Then we find out that the “adult in the room”, the coach, had ordered the hit. Now we have blame and culpability spread all over everything.

In defense of the boys, and it is a slim one, let me say that when you are a high school football player, your coach is your God. Any perceived indication that the player is not “totally dedicated to the program” could result in the player being demoted to the bench. Benched players don’t get college scholarships, and so the dreams of some less fortunate children can be curtailed by a vindictive coach. That said, the boys knew what they were being asked to do was wrong. Carrying out the coaches wishes will probably have the same results on their college scholarship options as following his orders. A very sad situation for all concerned. The coach has resigned. The referee is being investigated, the players served a suspension but not an expulsion.

Somewhere in Alabama, Finebaum fan, Phylis from Mulga, sends in the names of the miscreant players to the Auburn defensive coordinator for special recruitment consideration.

Good morning, y’all. I’m feelin’ a little grubby this morning. The beautiful Fall weather has given rise to the local animal population to come out again to forage for food. It seems like several people at TackyToo are not smart enough to close the lids tightly on their garbage cans. I’ve been cleaning up trash all morning.

Even after a shower and change of clothes, I can’t shake the smell. It’s a sad comment when you don’t know if a person’s trash smelled that way because the food had gone bad, or if that’s just how it smells naturally. I dwell on the topic because the bad smell that sticks with me came from the trash of our tenant in Number 55, Yuri Stinkhurr. The Stinkhurrs are of German descent, and Yuri has served in the Marines. Nice enough folks, pay their rent on time, and generally cause no problems. I suspect cabbage is a main staple of their diet. Pickled, boiled, fricasseed, whatever, it just seems the smell that I can’t shake is rotten cabbage.

I also can’t shake the image of Yuri coming out of his trailer in his deutschland boxers and wife-beater tshirt, brandishing a 410 shotgun. I’m not sure if the earliness of the hour led Mr. Stinkhurr into thinking I was the possum doing the damage, or if he thought I was a burglar attempting to steal his trash. Either way, the sight of him raising his shotgun in my direction raised my blood pressure about four hundred points. I was feelin’ so light headed there for a second that Mr. Stinkhurr might have taken me out without firing a shot. Anyway, he either recognized me, or my high pitched squeal, and lowered his weapon. Yuri came over and helped me pick up trash and tried to converse with me about a solution to the “possum problem”.

Mr. Stinkhurr’s plan to eradicate the possum population “once and for all”, was taking on all of the trademarks of  “The Final Solution” from World War II. Yuri speculated that each of the trailers housed at least one person capable of carrying a weapon. Each member of the armed party would then start out in a picket line along Hwy 60. The picket line would then sweep through TackyToo, dispatching any vermin found along the way. The picket line would then continue as far back into the woods on the other side of the park as we were physically able to go. Yuri felt like it should be at least a monthly event, and was convinced that eventually the vermin would evolve to the point that they would know that traveling in TackyToo was verboten. Evolution was in our favor.

Yuri felt like I should coordinate the event by posting the dates and times on the poster board in the Rec room. It would be important that the tenants knew to keep their pets and children indoors during the “cleansing”. Yuri felt like we should keep track of the participants, to make sure every household was doing their civic duty. He speculated that if any household didn’t have a suitable weapon for the hunt that he could provide one. He would just need an hour’s advance notice to drive to his “UStoreIt” space. I don’t know why, but I felt like it was important to let Mr. Stinkhurr know that I was sure that every tenant at TackyToo had sufficient weaponry on hand to handle any possum hunt, or Zombie Apocalypse. We may be poor in worldly things, but not weaponry.

In other news, another nut with a bunch of guns killed a bunch of innocent people who were just minding their own business. We never seem to learn from our mistakes. There may be a common denominator, but I, and the NRA, can’t seem to suss it out.

Good morning, y’all. It seems that the Reverend Helen Handbasket’s entreaties to the great beyond have dispatched the rain from our area and left us with some very pleasant Fall weather. I’ve taken the opportunity to lounge on the patio and re-read some favorites while trying to purge the Bama game from my brain.

One of my favorites is a good ol’ Southern boy. The beloved bard, Lewis Grizzard, who once expressed his love for Bulldog football through his character Dorsey Hill.

“Dorsey Hill thinks when you die you go to Vince Dooley’s house. He can’t wait.”

Like being infatuated with the prettiest girl in school, my affection for the Bulldogs exposes me to the complete range of human emotions. A win is like the most flirtatious smile, causing the heart to soar to indescribable heights. A loss is like the love of your life breaking up with you in front of 90,000 of your closest friends. A tie is like, well, “kissing your sister”. While kissing your sister is acceptable behavior in most of Alabama, it’s just not satisfying for the rest of us.

My current bout of angst has been triggered by Georgia’s inability to play at a consistent level with the elites in the SEC. In spite of destroying division competitor South Carolina, we appear suspect for a SEC East title. Without winning out the rest of the regular season, my beloved Bulldogs will be left out of consideration for the next college football playoff.

While there are six games left, many of the Bulldog faithful are now in full “wait until next year” mode. “Next year”, is always when Georgia will return once again to its rightful place atop of the national football rankings.

Why do otherwise normal hard working sane members of society link their emotional well being to the physical exploits of 18 to 21 year olds? Perhaps my cousin Bodean can provide an example.

You may have seen Bodean and his brother Buck on the sidelines of the home games with the tops of their bald pates sporting the Georgia bulldog in full color. Bodean shaves his head clean the night before and begins “makeup” three hours before kickoff. Fortunately, Bodean has a short commute to Sanford stadium from his Dacula home, the site of many game day Klan demonstrations in years past.

While Bodean has strong “conservative values”, his love for his Bulldogs is far stronger than his personal prejudices. Bodean fought long and hard against his neighbors to stop their weekend rallies on the route from Atlanta to Athens. Bodean surmised that any potential recruits coming from the Atlanta area would see a rabid group of Klan members in full sheeted glory and surmise they were not welcome to the area. Bodean was more than willing to put his personal prejudices aside if it meant his beloved Bulldogs could recruit the top talent in the country.

Over the years Bodean has evolved to the point that it would be “just fine” if Herschel Walker wanted to move in next door to him.

The ability of college football to unite differing cultural types, to give common aspirations to a community, and to allow the students themselves the opportunity to appreciate teammates coming from different backgrounds is without parallel. There can be no better example than my Georgia Bulldogs.

As my Dawgs prepare to break my heart again with a potential loss to hated rival Tennessee, I hunker down once more and chant my mantra, “Go Dawgs”.

I rejoice in the knowledge that there is always “next year”.

Good morning, y’all. I’m feeling so low today that down looks like up to me. My Bulldogs have embarrassed themselves in front of 90,000 people who braved the elements to watch what was billed as a clash of the titans. It wasn’t. A bajillion people watched on TV until they decided to flip the channel to their second favorite team, or just turn the darn thing off. Even if you watch another channel, the TV is still going to send little arrows to your heart as they update the score at the bottom of the screen. A bad day to be a Bulldog. 

My spirits are so low today I might have answered the altar call at The Full Gospel Original Church of God. I might just have given over my thinking to a higher power if I’d had the opportunity. I would have to have gone through some mental gymnastics to rationalize that God is pulling for Alabama, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe God just hates the Bulldogs. Maybe God doesn’t hate the Bulldogs, or idolize Alabama. Maybe there’s gradations to God’s love and he just loves the folks in Alabama a little bit more. Maybe that little bit of extra love, while small in Godly terms, translates to 28 points on the field. These deeply theological parsings are what’s keeping me from making the type of deep life commitment to a higher power that Mulva has made. I can’t say that Mulva’s commitment has brought her a lot of peace lately.

As it turns out, things are going swimmingly at The Full Gospel Original Church of God. I take great pride in that pun considering all of the rain we’ve had recently. Point of fact, The Reverend Helen Handbasket held a special service after the regular service today to address the deluge. I believe it was summarized in the benediction when Reverend Handbasket entreated the Lord to open Heaven for souls but not to let any more rain pass through. I am told there was not a dry eye in the house at the end of the service.

It seems that the Reverend Handbasket has found a real home at our little church. The church has been packed to the rafters at every service since she took over, and salvation is at an all time high. If the tithing matches the attendance, then it won’t be long before our little church will be looking to expand. I can see the Elders making plans to maximizing the congregations purchasing power in building a house of worship that is consistent with their love of the Lord. I only hope that they manage to bring the Reverend Handbasket’s salary up to what we were paying the Right Reverend Dale E. Bread.

Currently, the Reverend Handbasket’s salary is at about 70% of her male counterpart. The Elders are explaining the differential as having to do with seniority. I say balderdash! It’s the Reverend Handbasket that’s been putting the butts in the seats. The church should be paying her what she’s worth. As Daddy used to say, “you gotta dance with them that brung you”. There is no doubt the increase in business is due to Reverend Handbasket, so pay her.

I hope the Elders can remain humble and close to their roots if they decide to expand the church. It would be a darn shame to take all of energy of all the hard working folks of our community and build something like the Crystal Palace. The folks that built this church/palace never expected it to wind up in the hands of the Catholic church, but it has. “Pride goeth before a fall”, Granny Waller used to say. Like my Bulldogs, I reckon.

Good morning, y’all. We have begun gathering the animals together two by two. Our belongings are already gathered together in our mobile homes, which will become mobile in a different way if the water continues to rise. TackyToo is about to become a fleet of arks carrying the faithful to a new resting spot. I hope it’s not in Alabama.

Speaking of Alabama, well, I hate to. The game got off to an optimistic start, it was 0 to 0 at kickoff. Things got much worse thereafter, with the final score of 38-10 favoring the unwashed heathens from Tuscaloosa.  I don’t know what happened to the mojo yesterday. I was dressed appropriately, the sandwiches were on time, and Butts was in his favorite spot. In fact, Butts looked like he was ready for a good tussle. The 3:30 kickoff coincides with one of Butts awake periods and he seemed to be really involved in the game. In fact, Butts seemed to be far more involved than the boys in red tonight. It was early in the first quarter that the wheels came off of the cart. The 28 point differential in the game was not as bad as it could have been as the boys from Alabama dialed it back in the fourth quarter. It looked like they wanted to get to dry ground as soon as possible. 

The failure to compete rested mostly with the offense, I believe, with special teams bringing up a close second. I know I can’t give a pass to a defense that allowed 24 points, but I’m willing to cut the boys some slack because they were on the field the whole game. If you stand in front of a road grader for three hours, even Superman is going to give some ground. We are not Supermen, which we proved today.

Let’s start with the offense:

Greyson Lambert became the shaky quarterback that lost his job at Virginia. He was 10 of 24 for 86 yards and one interception. Greyson didn’t look nearly as good as his numbers indicate, and so we brought in:

Brice Ramsey, was 1 of 6 for 20 yards and two interceptions with one being a pick six. I think this officially ends the quarterback controversy.

Nick Chubb was stuffed repeatedly by the Alabama defense, but finally broke a long one for 83 yards. Chubb ran for 146 yards on 20 carries. This brings his run of 100 yard games to 13, and he has tied Herschel’s record.

Sony Michel continues to be an under utilized double threat from the backfield. He finished the day with 53 yards rushing and 0 yards in the air. Questions abound about his lack of use in the passing game.

Malcolm Mitchell contributed 65 yards receiving, on just 3 receptions. There were drops a plenty in this game. The “wet ball” excuse doesn’t hold much water for me.

Defensively the Dawgs look improved, but still have a ways to go before they can play with the elites. This is a less talented team offensively for Alabama than they have fielded in recent years. The Alabama offense held the ball for 34 minutes of the game compared to Georgia’s 25. Our secondary was exposed as our weak link. Alabama managed 190 yards through the air with a “wet ball” and a first year quarterback. The chess match between Kiffin and Pruitt was clearly won by Kiffin.  

Special teams, as ever are, “special”, and continue to be exposed as an area that needs work if we are ever going to compete with the elites. The “back breaking” score occurred in the first quarter on a blocked punt for a touchdown by Alabama. With the score going to 17-3 on the blocked punt, Alabama didn’t need another score, the night was over. Morgan was 1 of 1 in the field goal department and hit all of his extra points(1). It’s a shame the offense couldn’t get him close enough for a few other field goal tries. Reggie Davis contributed with 71 yards in kickoff returns. I guess we can thank the Gods that Alabama didn’t try an onside kick. Lord knows how that would have turned out on this evening. 

Well, at least Georgia Tech lost, but Florida looks all world. Could life get any more interesting?

Good morning, y’all. Another rainy night in Georgia, but it looks like the hurricane will go well North of us. Folks in Virginia and further North are due to get a heavy soaking. Years ago we passed up an opportunity on a RV park located in the Nantahala basin. Monsoon rains running down the mountains to an existing river didn’t seem like a good investment idea. I wonder how they’re doing tonight. 

Well, it’s dry as a meal worm in a bag of Martha White’s Finest here in the rec room, perfect for Saturday night date night. Since Mulva’s horrific choice of “Hope Floats”, I’ve gotten to do more of the picking of our date night movies. Tonight I chose “Reservoir Dogs”, directed by Quentin Tarantino. I was looking for a “Dawg” theme to help build up the mojo for today’s battle with the unwashed heathens from Alabama. In deference to Mulva’s distaste for violence I could have chosen, “Turner and Hooch” ,”Beethoven” or even “Marley and Me”. Let’s face it, even the courage of the dogs in “Eight Below” are no match for the gritty, over the top mayhem created by just one “Reservoir Dog”, not to mention the pack. I helped Mulva hold her hands over her eyes at the scary parts, just like I had done for my little brother when we watched horror movies at the old Bijou theater in Blairsville. Of course with other folks, it’s sometimes hard to judge what they will think is scary. With Mulva it’s the sight of blood, knives, ropes, or looks of malice. Mulva didn’t actually “see” a lot of the movie.

It is truly a shame that some folks can’t appreciate the genius of Tarantino due to a weak stomach or a fear of weaponry. I did observe that Mulva was able to appreciate the sound track, though. I explained to her that that was one of the hallmarks of a Tarantino film, a fantastic soundtrack. To me, his song selection is always spot on, even when you have to think a little bit about the choice. “Stuck In The Middle With You”, seems a little cheery for the torture scene, but it matches the frantic energy of Mr. Blonde as he goes about his work.

The fact that “Reservoir Dogs” is Tarantino’s debut as a director, author and actor is amazing. To go from renting movies to making them has to be one of the greatest achievements in Hollywood, and, it all started with Reservoir Dogs. Tarantino was able to attract some big names to the movie in spite of the small budget. Big time stars Harvey Keitel, Tim Roth,  Steve Buscemi, Chris Penn, Lawrence Tierney, and Michael Madsen, grace the screen in performances that were Oscar worthy, in my opinion. The folks in Hollywood didn’t think so, unfortunately, and “Reservoir Dogs” received few awards. What it did receive in abundance was public approval and praise from the critics.

Some times, “less is more”, and films made without a big budget can be the best movies. Tarantino was so convinced he had a winner that he was going to shoot the film in black and white to get it made. His belief in his film showed a courage and dedication that few people can muster.

So, my dedication of “Reservoir Dogs” to my Dawgs, is in the hope that they can mimic the courage and dedication of Tarantino, and the mayhem of the thieves. GO DAWGS!

Good morning, y’all. I promise I’ve got nothing to do with the hurricane coming! My rainman conjuring is limited to occasional, just in time to save everything from dying, showers. These monsoons we’ve been having are beyond the scope of my mojo. Hurricanes that dump bajillion gallons of water in an hour are way beyond my pay grade. So, if your trailer starts lifting off its blocks, I’m not liable.

Speaking of liability, and drawing a little bit on yesterday’s post about how we pigeonhole people, I thought it might be a good time to discuss America’s royals. The Bush family is tied directly to the royal family of England. In fact, George H. W. Bush picked up an extra link when he married “Barb”, who was also directly related to the rulers for England. In an article in the New York Times, it is related that “W” is a 13th cousin of Queen Elizabeth II. The article also relates that the “royal” blood flowing through “W”‘s veins is six times more regal than the paltry peasant blood running through our veins. The fellow that ran the family tree seems to think that “royal” blood explains the success of the lineage, sort of the “cream rises to the top” theory. I prefer the “them that’s got does everything they can to keep” theory. Children of powerful people are always going to have more advantages than the less fortunate. They in turn will pass those advantages on to the next generation.

A famous wit, and governor of Texas, Ann Richards, once said of  “W”, “Poor George Bush, he was born on third base and thinks he hit a triple”. Truer words were never spoken. People who are born to privilege never know how  out of touch they are with the reality of the other 99 percent. To the one percent, the rest of us are just not trying hard enough.

Climbing up two levels in the Bush family tree reveals the progenitor of two presidents, Prescott Bush. Prescott was well connected, married well, and was concerned with American politics. He was so concerned with politics that in 1933, Prescott and a group of other businessmen approached an American general and proposed the use of 500,000 troups to overthrow President Roosevelt. The quote from BBC, “The coup was aimed at toppling President Franklin D Roosevelt with the help of half-a-million war veterans. The plotters, who were alleged to involve some of the most famous families in America, (owners of Heinz, Birds Eye, Goodtea, Maxwell House & George Bush’s Grandfather, Prescott) believed that their country should adopt the policies of Hitler and Mussolini to beat the great depression.” Prescott Bush and the other wealthy financier’s names were redacted from the Congressional records. Clearly something was afoot or they wouldn’t have held hearings, right?

The “Business Plot”, as it was called, was swept under the rug and the wealthy were not held accountable. Justice “looking the other way” is an expectation of the Bush family, it must be something in the blood. But, like we say in the South, “blood will out”, and it wasn’t long before Prescott was back to his old ways.

One of the first jobs Prescott Bush had was manager of a banking conglomerate named UBC. UBC was setup by his father-in-law, George Herbert Walker. One of UBC’s largest customers was Fritz Thyssen, a German industrialist. Thyssen funded Hitler’s rise to power and war efforts. In October of 1942 the alien property custodian seized the assets of the UBC, of which Prescott Bush was a director.

Now, we all know war is good business. It was never proved that Prescott had Nazi sympathies per se, but it is proven that he was a big fan of money. The fact that Thyssen’s German steel was being used against American boys didn’t cross any moral boundaries for Prescott, apparently. A charge of aiding and abetting the enemy during the time of war was not a big enough anchor to sink the Bush political future. Bush served in the Congress and later in the Senate, where he had access to the really big money. After all, Prescott Bush was just setting up the new family business.