Category Archives: Personal History

Slick Ballinger

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I’m not ready to give up on the video from Slick Ballinger’s recent Kennett appearance. In the meantime, you can download and listen to the audio. The first four songs are from the first set and (I think) the sound is better. The last five are from the second set and it sounds like the PA was little hot. This was recorded on my video camera so it basically sucks. But if you’ve never heard His Slickness… you might not even notice. I’d like to think they were recording this out of the sound system but have no way of knowing.

Sorry I can’t provide the names of the songs but I’m hoping one of Slick’s Rangers will ID them and I’ll update this post. Mother Sexton insists there are not a lot of good recordings of Slick online, which is difficult to imagine, but she would know. One more thing… it was difficult to cut the End Zone sets into individual songs. Reverend Slick and the Soul Blues Boyz slid seamlessly from one tune to the next. If I guessed wrong, let me know and I’ll repost.

Song# 1 [6 meg – 14 min]
Song #2 [7 meg – 17 min]
Song #3 [6 meg – 16 min]
Song #4 [5 meg – 11 min]
Song #5 [2 meg – 6 min]
Song #6 [4 meg – 10 min]
Song #7 [4 meg – 10 min]
Song #8 [4 meg – 10 min]
Song #9 [3 meg – 7 min]

Lucy: 7 Weeks

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House-training a new puppy builds character. Like computers, this experience teaches patience. While Lucy is not fully house-broken, she’s well on the way. Sleeping through the night tolerated by Ripley (our other Golden). Next weekend I solo when Barb goes on firm retreat.

I don’t like kids

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I don’t like kids. There. I said it. Some people don’t like dogs or cats… I don’t like kids. No need to get into all the reasons because it doesn’t matter. This is a very socially unacceptable view but I suspect there are others who secretly share it. People with children must pretend they like your children so you will feel obligated to pretend you like theirs. As you might have guessed, I don’t have children. And, I have been told countless times: “If you had children of your own, you’d feel differently.” I think that’s probably true.

I have this theory that all parents undergo a molecular change the moment their children are born. This change in brain chemistry is what keeps them from murdering the little darlings in the first few months. Yes, I know I was a child once. That only supports my position. I’m willing to admit this is a serious flaw in my character and I’ll work on it. And you can help me. When little Brad is screaming at the top of his lungs in the restaurant, take him outside. Or home. Don’t bring Tiffanie to the Lord of the Rings unless she’s old enough or well behaved enough to watch it quietly. If not, spring for a baby-sitter.

I’m happy to pay property taxes to help educate America’s children. Your job is to try to keep them from turning into drug dealers, priests, politicians and other dangerous adults. If you succeed in rearing a decent human being, send them around. I’d love to meet them.

Bob London and the Rolling Trolls

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Bob London (Key West)I got the impression Bob London is not his real name. He did sound British and mentioned that he was heading back to London soon. In mid-February (2004) he was performing on a street corner in Key West. Duvall Street was jammed and his plastic bucket was filling up with bills. Bob’s shtick seemed to be “One Man Band.”

He has an assortment of instruments and…stuff, strapped to his back. He plays the drum (and rotates the Troll Dolls) with a cord that attaches to one shoe. He’s got a harmonica, pipes, some kind of kazoo instrument. It’s one of those “you have to see it” things. I bought one of his CD’s and hope he doesn’t mind if I share one his songs (AUDIO: All Along the Watchtower mp3).

Key West Wedding

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Stephanie and Adam got married on February 13, 2004 (a Friday). The ceremoney was held on a beach in Key West about 20 feet from where I had been drinking all afternoon. It was a really nice wedding. This video clip (6 meg) might take a few minutes to download. Barb posted some still images at Fotki (a great site, BTW). Toko Irie provided the music.

2004 Tour of Homes

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In June of 2002 I posted a piece about some of the houses we lived in while I was growing up, including our house at 500 Walter Street. It was a modest little two-bedroom across the street from the high school. A few months ago I started getting email describing unusual “modifications” by the current owners. The photos speak for themselves. I hope they enjoy the house as much as we did.

Or wherever your final destination may be

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I really hate flying. I hate everything about it. The short list includes:

* The shitty little bags of pretzels
* The chemical smell of the toilets
* The morons that refuse to check the baggage and slow the boarding process to a crawl as the park their fat asses in the aisle trying to shove stuff into the overheads. These same dumb-asses can’t grasp the concept of “wait until we reach the gate before standing up and pulling your shit back out.”

Air travel makes me resent people in wheelchairs…and old women on walkers…and children. Funerals and weddings of loved ones will get me on a plane again but it will be an act of duty and obligation. If I don’t look like I’m having fun when I get where I’m going it’s probably because I’m not.

Yes, Key West was warm and beautiful. And only a real party-pooper would complain about getting there and back. But the math doesn’t work for me. I need 100 hours of fun for every hour of travel time, and I never get it. And I never will. Let’s try this. I’ll spend a weekend on the beach with you for every weekend you spend sitting next to me while I surf the web. Come on, it’ll be fun.

Key West Notebook.

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About 12 degrees when we left Kansas City. Then Atlanta. Then Ft. Lauderdale. Then Key West. Luggage didn’t make it. Left Ft. Lauderdale just after sundown in small 10-seater. Looking back at the lights of the city brought back memories of all the John D. novels where Travis jumped or was thrown overboard (I don’t think he ever fell overboard.) Toasty warm upon arrival.

Mays in centerfield

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It is 1958. July. About dusk. I’m standing in deep centerfield of the baseball diamond at Jones Memorial Park. I can hear music coming from the ice cream place across the street, behind me. I’m not really daydreaming but I’m not completely focused on the game, either. I might be closer to the ice cream place than to home plate.

A sharp “crack” yanks me back to the game. The crowd is yelling and looking in my direction. But up. A high, fly ball is coming my way. I frantically search the sky. If I don’t get a visual lock on the fly ball, it could land at my feet. It could smash into my face and kill me. I spot it. Coming straight down. It seems almost motionless, just getting larger and larger. There’s no time to raise my glove hand but I manage to get it open at my waist. Two thousand miles to the west, another Mays is standing in centerfield, Candlestick Park, executing a far more relaxed version of this same maneuver.

Back at Jones Memorial Park, the ball ricochets off my bony, ten-year-old chest and into my glove. Because of the distance and the angle, the crowd sees only Mays, in deep centerfield, making a perfect “basket catch.” But we’re not related.

Junior High Basketball Team

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I think Frank Proctor made me memorize the state capitols and all of the U. S. presidents (I no longer know either). One summer he started his “Merry Mobile” business. He drove up and down the streets of Kennett selling frozen treats. He was also the junior high basketball coach and one of my greatest achievments was “making” the team. I loved playing basketball in the back yard but was terrible at the real thing. I warmed benches through the 10th grade before hanging up my Chuck Taylors and rediscovered the joy of the game at the city park. The Web cannot be complete without this photo of the Kennett Junior High Basketball Team.

Kennett 8th Grade Basketball Team

Back Row: Terry Hunter, Mike Shipman, Robert Taylor, Phil Ayers, Buddy Shivley, Jerry Bird, Otis Mitchell, Randy Carter, Brett Baker. Front Row: Tommy LaTurno, Ben Pickard, Larry Hale, Bruce Baker, Steve Mays, John Robison, Tommy Saunches, Darrell Jackson, Tony Stewart.