If they sell, the Byrds likely will move to Savannah, Tenn., to enjoy life along the Tennessee River. “They are laid back there,” Byrd said with a wide grin. “They drink beer, chew tobacco and enjoy themselves, and that’s what I want to do.” From a story about a Lakeland man whose propoerty value has gone way up since the area east of Memphis on Highway 64 has grown so much. His quote cracked me…
People look stupid when they’re driving down the road singing. People look even stupider (yes, stupider, and crazy) when they’re driving down the road, alone, laughing hysterically. I’ll cop to it. That was me, on my commute to work, guffawing at the Dane Cook album Amber sent me. Specifically, the part on disc two about girls with gnarly teeth and the one yellow tooth that looks like a kernel of corn. Oh, man, I lost…
One of our sports people ventured to Murfreesboro this weekend for whatever championship game or tournament was being held there (I can’t keep track of them; was it TSSAA?). At the end of last week, I overheard him talking about how all the hotels in M’boro seemed seedy and podunk, so he booked one in Antioch. I didn’t quibble with him about that (truly, can one town’s Sleep Inn be more podunk than another’s? Doubtful)…
We saw Walk the Line last night, and I have to tell you, I was a little underwhelmed. I can’t claim to be a Johnny Cash fan, though I do understand his historical and cultural and artistic significance. Blah blah blah, you know that crap already. I’m talking about the movie. I was bored through parts of it, and I failed to really ever see Johnny as anything but moody and needy. As for Joaquin’s…
I’m up early, waiting to go to the doctor. I’m nervous. I don’t go to doctors very often. Today marks two years that Theology & Geometry has been live. Check out this pathetic inaugural post: I’m trying to get this Blogger thing to agree with my site but I’m so HTML and FTP dumb that it’s taking a lot of time and effort. Bah! Ah, the frustration of trying to get Blogger to publish to…
Last night I had one of the oddest dreams I’ve ever had. The only part I remember is the part that’s so odd: Phil — naked, or down to just swim trunks or underwear — climbs into a giant drum of baked beans and leans back, his arms outstretched around the edges, and just sits there and relaxes. That’s it.
In just under eight hours, I’ve been called “Leslie” three times. By the same person. A new record, I think.
I’m reading Douglas Coupland’s Life After God for the first time, and I’m at the part about the nuclear dreams with the flash, and how it always comes from the south. And so I think back to all the dreams I’ve had that have ended in a nuclear flash. I’ve had a lot. And of the dreams that actually ended with the flash (and not just the buildup to the flash), I can only remember…
Mild, but negligible, spoilers ahead. Man, the theater was a bubbly brew of teenage hormones last night. We got there a reasonable 15 minutes early, and were stuck in the fourth row near the wall because it was packed out. The cool thing about the superfan crowd, though, is that even if every single seat is filled (and I think they were), no one is going to talk during the movie, and no one’s cell…
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