The oldest nephew is a sophomore in high school (eeeep!) and is a band kid, just like his dear ol’ auntie. He plays the tenors, and gets to do the intro to the cool new cadence. I always wanted to play percussion but I lack the ability to wail on objects with any sense of rhythm. I find it deliciously bitchin’ that both my brother and my nephew have drum-related talent. Friday night the fella…
Look who came flitting through the yard today, taking a rest here and there long enough for me to photostalk. I’m almost positive this little guy came around because of the hazy asters I recently planted out back. It’s not been a terribly butterfly-friendly atmosphere in the yard this year, what with the heat pretty much keeping all the plants in a constant state of non-blooming fatigue. I’m finding, though, that as the toothiest of…
This is the one family heirloom that my sister and I might actually eventually fight over. We have always called it “the umbrella chair,” but I think it’s actually called a canopy chair. This chair always kept a prominent spot in my mother’s mother’s house (trailer) while I was growing up. Snagging a spot in this chair during family gatherings was always a tough job, as everyone always wanted to sit in it. Its red…
The CA broke a pretty fascinating story on Sunday: Ernest Withers, the iconic civil rights photographer, was a paid FBI informant. It’s almost too crazy to contemplate, but most history is, if you think about it. I was lucky enough to get to do the print layout, although that meant that I had to sit on such a crazy story for a few weeks. That’s nothing compared to Marc Perrusquia’s having to keep mum about…
I’ll be at Cooper-Young Festival Saturday with my camera. Men of Memphis, if you want your picture on my widely read and highly influential blog*, please wear your finest banana hammock and come find me**. I don’t want pictures of tube tops to be the only gratuitous game in town. * this claim is in no way factual ** please do not actually do this, for the love of all that is holy and decent…
Some people have a way in the kitchen, a familiarity with ingredients and appliances and tools that lets them look into a pantry, look at the clock, and figure out that they can take a little of this, a little of that, and a pinch of that and make something that will go in the oven for half an hour and then, when it cools, will be transferred from pan to mouth to gut, thus…
Sometimes it’s 11 p.m. and the boy you’re smitten with emerges from the office, where he’s been studying, and says, “Want to go for a drive?” because he’s got to run some fancy magic juice through his gas tank so he can pass his emissions test in the morning. And that is how you will find yourself going east, east, east, and telling him to drive you past your very first Memphis apartment, which gives…
I can’t operate a goddamned electric screwdriver without fucking something up. I really cannot believe anyone let me buy a house.
Things the BFKM suggested we do today: 1. Murder [name redacted] and [name redacted] and then run away to Mexico. 2. Burn a bunch of Bibles to taunt that preacher in Florida. 3. Fill up a kiddie pool with baby oil and wrestle naked.
You must be logged in to post a comment.