Sunday, March 25, 2012

What not to wear.

I’m perplexed.

I’ve been lucky enough to lose a bunch of weight and now I have clothes that don’t fit and would like to give to friends. The clothes are nice, clothes that cost, but my dilemma? How do I give fat clothes without letting my friend know he's a fat guy?

They’re sitting on the passenger side of my car, reminding me to not eat.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Time waits for no one.

If you’re reading this I’m already there.

It’s Sunday morning, 2am, day light savings time began and I set my clock forward 24 hours. I know it was foolish trying to malign time quantization but I felt that if I could capture and extend just a miniscule unit of life, stretch it into Monday, bypassing the Sabbath, I wouldn’t have to help my wife clean the house. I want to go fishing. I want to go fishing. I want to go fishing.

Bless me father for I have sinned.

My friend, wish me luck for with Gods speed I will return with a glorious bounty from the sea, but if not I’m sure I’ll receive a serious ass whippin’ and buy a ten pound special on crawfish.

Monday, March 5, 2012

Weird Men Walking

Isn’t it a bummer when you’re talking to someone and while they’re looking in your eyes, they suddenly make a strange face and drop dead? Don’t you hate when that happens?
I had a friend, Mr. Fred, an older guy I met while in the musical South Pacific. I played Billis, the coconut bra wearing schemer who gets people things and Fred had a small role as a Naval Officer. We had a scene together and I learned he was a really cool guy and ended up meeting Fred Jr. through doing business with the radio station.
Years later Fred had a heart attack. It rattled him mentally as well, and he started “race walking” to get back into shape, rewind his ticker, and in time really could rock around the clock. He then got me involved and we both did that race walking thing. We had our waddle on, hips shaking from side to side, arms moving back and forth, two weird men walking, and one behind the other. For inspiration I channeled John Wayne.
I got fast, could beat most, and looked like a boneless chicken. It would embarrass my wife when she saw me race and I could never beat 80 year old Fred but I trained, early in the morning darkness when radio listeners couldn’t recognize me. I looked like the Village Idiot but I liked winning the medals. Fred made me a contender.
Well, a colleague from the radio station was running at the track one evening and saw Fred walking, doing his thing, in his groove, and then come to a stop before he hit the first mile marker. When my radio mate jogged to him he said hello and mentioned that he knew me.
“Yea,” Fred said, “I know Larry? How’s he doing? I haven’t seen him out here lately.”
“Oh, he’s doing good. We spoke about you at lunch today and he told me he’d see you at the 5K Run for Excellence.”
“Yea, that’s the next big race…He knows my son, too… I’ve known Larry for years. We did a play together over at the theater, tell Larry…” Fred then grabbed his chest and down he went.
My friend immediately dialed 911 but the people who gathered couldn’t revive him. He died that evening, our group of walkers quite shocked. At the 5k Run for Excellence, BRASS, the Bayou Runners Association displayed a picture of Fred over our heads and as over a thousand people crossed that finish line he looked down on us all.
Fred didn’t collapse in front of me but it was I who he was thinking about when his heart gave out. Everyone dies, but while doing it, I’ve never heard of anyone thinking of me.
Should I hate when that happens?