Sometimes I find myself in these situations where I don't know what to say so I say nothing. Sitting and suffering in silence, trying to understand the person beside you and getting zero from them makes me wonder what the fuck I'm thinking. Some people, I believe, have nothing to give. I am not one to force anything out of you. If you want o be close to me you'll be close and I will welcome it. If you want to sit alone in silence watching mindless tv, well ... what ever.

The Good Guys

The slab slowly swallowed up the blocks under its thin tires. The chrome on the over sized rims flashed and sparkled under the city lights. The tires swished in the darkness barely heard over the soft rumble coming from beneath the shimmering blue paint job. Aggressive rhythms and deep beats beat the moment into a solid reality. Within, beyond the darkened windows, four young men sat encased in steel, leather and smoke. They cradled, between their legs or in their arms, weapons meant for war, and a war is what these men thought they were fighting. There was a driving force that pushed their tank of a passenger vehicle down the road that night; a dark shadow that demanded vengeance for the slights committed by other young males. Real or imagined, the group must be defended against interlopers. They, the four and so many more, were adolescent lions with no hope of a pride of their own. Only a life lived for the glory of a violent death.

The windows on the car slowly descended, one further than the others, the one behind the driver; that one came all of the way down, that young man carried the heaviest of the weapons and he sat on the sill, shooing over the roof. The smoke from within poured from the open windows and in that haze of sparkling chrome and blue and fire, the dragon roared and breathed death upon the corner that night, in the dark places of our world.

Later, too much later, long minutes passed as mothers wailed, and babies died on the street like dogs. Hit by bullets and left to die; these young lions, victims of their viscous rivals, bleed while their mothers wailed and they died on a dirty corner in the dark places of our world. The flashing blue and reds echoed off the stark and dirty store fronts, vying with the fluorescent beer signs and the naked dim street lamp over head, they lent no comfort to the macabre scene.

The men that climbed from the vehicles that carried the lights, were uniformed, and foreign; enemies in a hostile land they only incited more violence by their very presence; so long after those the mothers loved had died.

"But we are the "Good Guys." They plead with the gathering crowd. But the wailing mother knew better, they knew that if their sons and brothers spoke too loudly of their pain they would be whipped into submission, beaten into compliance, or carted off to never be seen again. The mothers understood better than the men did. The men were angry, the mothers were hurt. Somewhere in pain there is a sense of the world you cannot find in anger and so the mothers said to their sons and brothers:

"Let the Good Guys go."

And they went and there, on that corner were only the stains, the memories of that night when the dragon breathed death on that corner. Bathed now only in the light from the naked dim street lamp over head, and the fluorescent beer signs.

Good Ole' Fashioned Soul Food

One of my favorite things about living in the south is the food. Not too long ago a friend of mine from Baltimore asked me if I knew of any Soul Food restaurants in the area. At the time I truly didn’t, and I should be ashamed but I’m not so …. I had heard a rumor about little place called Straight from the Kitchen that had recently opened nearby and it advertised itself as “Made from scratch Southern Comfort cuisine.” We all know that that could mean another Chicken Fried and eggs place but I was intrigued and when my mother offered to buy dinner for my birthday I took the opportunity to stop in and try it out.

From the smell when we walked through the door I knew we were going to be in for a treat. It smelled like childhood in there, back when grandma lived with us and she made dinner every night. It reminded me of what home cooking smells like. My mother, uncle, and grandmother were waiting on my girlfriend and me when we walked in. I don’t know how long they’d been waiting but I could tell they were ready to get the ball rolling so I bellied up to the counter and looked the menu over. We were greeted warmly by owner and front man Matthew Thompson. He gave us a quick rundown of the menu and told us some of the history of the restaurant. Matthew and Wife and Chef Marsha began Straight from the Kitchen as a catering business, and they still cater, but recently made the decision to open a formal restaurant. “We wanted to open a place that felt like home.” Mathew told me. And that it did. But I was determined to reserve my judgment.

While the menu boasted only a limited number of choices, but the choices presented were all appetite inducing. Growling deep down, I decided on the Mouth Watering Pork Chops with Collard Greens and Black Eyed Peas. Grandma and my girlfriend both had the meat loaf.

“This is the best meatloaf I’ve ever eaten.” My girlfriend said around mouthfuls.

“I may never cook meatloaf again.” Grandma mumbled hunched over her plate.

It’s hard to argue with a great plate of food. Especially when there is enough of it for my skinny ass to have munchies food later and it’s good cold and reheated. You know what I mean, I know you do. So I say go check out Matthew and his crew over at Straight from the Kitchen, It’ll be well worth the trip I promise you. Check them out over at Straight from the Kitchen.net

How Does Thunder Work?

I was asked recently to write between 250 and 400 words on the topic of what makes thunder work. this had to be presented as if you were talking to an intelligent 7th grader. I need to make room on my lap top for other things and I don't want to simply delete it so I am posting it here for your entertainment and criticism. Enjoy!

The sky is dark with clouds and the wind is kicking up leaves and dirt in the street. The street lamps are giving off a hollow yellow light in the distance. As you stand on the porch you can feel the storm coming. Suddenly the world is frozen in a moment of blue white light and shadow. And again everything is darkness, then…BOOM! The sound bounces off your chest and rocks you back a step. The windows behind you rattle in their frames and you turn to flee the onslaught. Ahem…

It’s just thunder right? We all know there is nothing to be afraid of, but do we really know what creates that loud boom following a lightening strike? Some people will tell you things like: “It’s the Angels bowling.” Or, “That’s Thor in his work shop…making hail.” But they would be completely and utterly, well…wrong. Science, a thing we came up with along our way to being the smartest animals on the planet, tells us that there is a logical explanation to this. Well, sort of.

Lightening, being electricity, and the dangerous part of the “Thunder and Lightening” duo is created by atmospheric friction. Thinking Exercise:

Think of the carpet as wind and your socks as… wind, one warm the other cooler. Well, they rub together and the result is a burst of electricity. Rub your socks on the carpet, touch your sister, run away. Hear that tiny crack before she screamed? That, is thunder.

Thunder, the less dangerous part of T&L results from the lightening moving and superheating the air so quickly that it breaks the sound barrier. The BOOM you hear is literally the air coming back together like a clap. But why the boom? Technically all of this happens at the same time, in a split second. However, light, which is the Lightening part of the equation; travels faster than sound. The lightening appears from the sky so quickly it literally rips a hole in the sky. Seconds later we hear the Boom announcing its passing.

Some will tell you that if you count the seconds between the flash of light and the Crack of Boom, you can tell how many miles away the storm is. I can’t vouch for that, my math is too bad for speculation. But it makes more sense than the “Thor Theory”. I love science.

The Angry Hat or The Remarkable Story of a Man Named Tongue Tied

This is a true story. As such, I have taken every pain here to not be sued. Names have been changed for various reasons; most of them to protect those who know better.

I have a friend, we'll call him...Carlton. Now Carlton has a lady friend, (lady friend being different from girlfriend,) we'll call her...Mary. Carlton and Mary, having known one another in the past, and having recently reunited, fell easily and deeply into one another. Well...as deeply as two people who just re-met could be expected to fall into one another. Deep, but let's call it, "able to tread water and get back to shore pretty easily," deep; not, "fuck we are going to die out here and it's your fucking fault," deep.

Anyway...

Together, as they were, they decided to go to a party,... um, together. This party, being a gathering of her friends, not his, I believe was something important to Mary. As such Carlton took it seriously and, being the man he is, dressed according to his mood. On this evening his mood included a camouflage cap.

I must aside, again...

This is not a bull-shit, red neck trucker, mesh in the back, gas station cap. this is a nice, military looking cap, clean, no sweat rings.

Mary..., did not approve of the cap, not one bit. Mary threw a bit of a tantrum over the hat. Her tantrum included, and these are the juicy bits:

1. Snatching the hat from Carlton's head
2. Running about the house with it, playing a sort of semi-serious keep away game.
3. and...wait on it...hiding the cap and preventing Carlton from wearing it.

I have to give her some credit for winning the keep away game. Determined, she was and as such she won the day. But the display in the process was... unbecoming. I find no reason to embarrass the woman further. This should be enough punishment, spreading her silly antics all over my blog space. And, normally it would be, enough I mean, to stop the story here. But if I were going to do that I wouldn't have changed the names of the innocent, I wouldn't be justified in using two titles, and I wouldn't be paying homage to me Hombre!

The night still young, love blooming fresh in their hearts, the young couple decided to carry on with the evening. It was only, after all, a disagreement over wardrobe. A woman, telling a man what he cannot wear to an engagement in her company. Another blog post, that arguement. Women thinking they can dictate a mans sense of outer self. You, women are allowed free reign to present yourself to the world as you please, and we are expected to accept it, and pretend to like it even if we secretly believe you dress like a fhrump. Yes I said FHRUMP!

I can picture the drive to the party:
Soothing John Mayer tunes on the stereo as she negotiates them through the streets, her compass more finely tuned to their destination after years of practice navigating it. She looks over towards him; he sits comfortable in the seat next to her.

"You aren't angry are you?" She asks him.
"Nope. The hat though, may be pissed."He says.
"How can...?" She can see him thinking, his mind going over the situation as she speaks, tuned to every nuance, inflection change, slip of the tongue. "Okay," she says, "fine, I'm sorry. I really am."
'Me too." he says.

A bit of insider information here:
Carlton, is a different sort of guy. I like to say I too am a different sort, which is why, I believe, he and I get along so well. We are not your average sort. Now, with that said, he is more a Jedi and I am more of a Sith. He, is Alan Shore and I am DENNY CRANE. Denny Crane. So he most likely wouldn't have thought much of the small battle. He would have looked forward to a fun and interesting evening. The part I like most is that I am without a doubt, her guard was completely down. Can any one say, "Muuuuwaaaahhhhhhaahahahaha!"?

Imagine, if you are able, a normal looking man. Still technically a young adult, but officially a grown ass man; all antics aside. He is well dressed and clean cut, almost a model, eligible american male. His companion for the evening is equally all the other stuff, but a woman instead. Together, and I have to tell you I've witnessed this, they are a very attractive couple. I would be pleased to know, when I opened the door at my party, that they showed up. Continue to imagine with me, if you will, this attractive couple standing on your door step. If you like, as you imagine this, you can detail your background; maybe a couple of jack-o-lanterns on the porch, possibly a bat hanging from the eaves. As you reach out to greet this beloved couple he says:

"Heldo! Bie Nambe ishh tongue died."

What? You may think, "WHAT?"

"Tongue Tied." he says with a snicker as be breezes past you into the house.

Mary stood in the entry way with her friend, both of them looking off into the kitchen.

"What did he say?" Friend queries.

"I don't know what's going on..." Mary says.

The sounds of laughter from the kitchen draws the two into the fray. Tongue Tied is just flipping the top off a beer, never breaking character he says:

"'ere scee iz. By lobely date."

Some of you are going to remember Fat Albert and the Junkyard Gang. If, for some reason, you don't know who I'm talking about...sigh, YouTube it. In said show there is a character named Mush Mouth. You can't miss him, he's the one with the mumble, rocks his Beanie Cap like I do. Take that guy, but fill his mouth with a big ass tongue and a natural lisp. My friend...My Alan Shore... kept this character going all night long.

I, of course must aside:

Carlton is not an actor. He does not, as a career, hobby or general pursuit practice the theater arts. He is a financial analyst or something.

For the entire night, as smooth as the tide coming in, Carlton became the man Tongue Tied. He mumbled through conversations and lisped over drinking games. He laughed as Tongue Tied, he drank, danced, partied, sang his heart out as a man named Tongue Tied.

A few of Mary's friends had met Carlton, as himself. They at first, as respectable Texas ladies will, they all expressed concern for Carlton.

"Is he okay?" They asked Mary, hands wringing with anticipation of some disgusting malady worthy of report. At the break room counter, over a box of donuts they could break, the B.F.F. code of confidentiality.

"I have a friend," they'll say with a sneer, "whose boyfriend has speech impediments."

When they instead find that Carlton is physically, and mentally in one healthy piece, they rally an anti- Tongue Tied campaign.

Gentlemen, we have all, at one time or another in our lives, been the cause of, or a target of, a female "anti-anything" campaign. You will be plied with promises of fellatiatic feats and acrobatic anal. Or, threatened; like a dog regulated to the "dog house" if you do not obey the new mandate:

DO NOT, under any circumstance, ENTERTAIN, or ACKNOWLEDGE, Mr. Tongue Tied.

Ha, ha, yes women of the world, know one thing and remember it well. When a male of our species has committed himself to an act, no matter how foolish, we will support him, even if we hate him, to the bitter end of that act. We will cheer, film and share his fate with you all. But we will, under no circumstances, work against him. Any man that does is branded bitch and excluded from all further antics.

As it turns out Mr. Tied was a hit and is fast becoming a legend. He will still make appearances from time to time, mostly to get under Mary's skin. She is a great sport about the whole thing and is deeply sorry for the Angry Hat Incident. Lesson learned she moves on, continuing to love my friend and I am happy for them both.  I thought, briefly to end this tale with a moral. But, there is no moral here. There are, however, a couple of lessons:

1. Ladies, keep your hands off the cover, unless you are going to prop it on your head wit a sexy flair.
2. Gentlemen: Did she swipe your cover? Did she throw away your favorite shirt? Does she dress you? Be creative in how you express your dislike for her behavior.

and in the end, lessons learned, we all move on. I recently made an appearance at a party I attended. While Tongue Tied didn't show up that night he was, as he often is, brought up in conversation. The story, told and told again, has lost none of it's charm or value and I believe Mr. Tied just might live forever.