Left Behind

I don't turn left.

It drives my family crazy.

Unless there's a little green arrow that shines solely for me and those in my special little lane, I don't turn left. I will continue well past where I wish to be so that I may turn right at an intersection that affords me a light with the friendly little arrow or an opportunity to turn right back onto the road from whence I came.

I don't like to wait forever for traffic to open up enough. We all know that the milk of human kindness is drying up, so if it's rush hour, not a lot of folks are gonna let you in just because. And I don't use my car's superior size to intimidate. I'm not really the 'take a chance with my already too expensive insurance' type. Sorry, Tawanda.

I don't like people piling up behind me with their patience shorter than mine and the incomprehensible belief that they actually have the right to honk at me for NOT breaking the law. Dweebs. No, I do not take chances with my car. My life. My children's lives. My pets in the back. Or, even more importantly, the Boston Creme Pie in the backseat that must arrive intact and 'unslid' from the bake sale to my eager table. I can't handle the pressure.

So I just don't turn left. And, honestly, the only people who are bothered by it are the ones giving themselves strokes by doing it. Maybe I'm just always right, huh?

Memories

Here it is, Memorial Day Week-end. We've (thank goodness for their sweet li'l hearts) been invited somewhere for food and beer. There's a home town parade here on Monday, which is the way it should be. And, once again, I'll be doing the majority of that alone. Which isn't such a big deal except for the fact that for the last three years (with two somewhat noteable exceptions) I've been my own designated driver. Once - just once - can I please go somewhere and have a beer or two? Perhaps a Shiraz or a Margarita on the rocks with extra salt? Please? Even a nice Tawny Port after dinner'd do me. But why do I always have to be responsible? (There's a song on Country about a man who doesn't want to be with a woman who drinks more than he does. It's this great line about how she turned into him and he turned into his mother. I know how ya feel, pal. But every once in a while would it be so bad?)

I think the title of my next album will be: Bored With Being Good.

Story of my life.

Pretty much.

Anyway, Happy Memorial Day. Please remember to pay your respects. And if anybody in the KC area happens to be around Mount Moriah this week-end, my mother is in the Gardner plot and doesn't have anyone to put flowers on her grave.

I Believe, Part II

Or is it Part III? Like I can remember!

I believe that Earth Science is magical and Chemical Science is miraculous.

I believe Elvis is dead.

I believe Jim Morrison is buried in Paris.

I believe Oliver Stone is a lousy director.

I believe Oswald was one of the shootists.

I believe any religion that can't stand up to scrutiny is a piss-poor religion.

I believe that family comes first.

I believe Jimmy Hoffa will never be found.

I believe in the fundamental principals of democracy.

I believe in the pure joy of a dog's friendship.

I believe that all humans should be placed on a very large island between the ages of 12 and 22.

I believe that someday, somewhere, my daughter's biological mother will have to answer for what she did and I pray to God I get to witness it.

I believe the Kansas City Royals are the worst baseball team in the country, Canada and possibly Japan. I'm not sure about Cuba.

I believe in the power of love.

I believe that people who say 'Money can't buy happiness' have never been Salvation Army poor.

I believe that love is all well and good - but so is great sex.

I believe that men should have terrific memories and women shouldn't.

I believe I shall have a martini.