"…and not for five minutes will I be distracted from the wonder…"

strathnavern: gone back homewards…

Uncategorized — d-ashes on November 5, 2004 at 3:38 pm

Now that the leaves are falling and the air is crisp, one should reflect during this time of new beginnings. It’s important that during periods of rejuvenation we take a step back and appreciate all the fine people that make up our lovely state and cultural fabric. So, clear the truck bed of that deflated inner tube, the one clam digger, assorted beer cans, random piece of rope, mildewed basketball, Calculus II text, rusted rake, empty propane tank, Chinese checkerboard, Spanish moss, top hat, punctured hose, disorganized tackle box, earmarked Hustler, oil funnel, compromised tennis ball, molded thermos, and hop on in for a ride.

Our first stop takes us to Shuqualak and the home of Mrs. Norene Butler. She has a very special friend I’d like for y’all to meet. Over the past twelve years, Mrs. Butler has taught her lab/chow/squirrel mix how to make the finest pecan pie you’ve ever tasted.

“Please tell us Mrs. Butler, how does Thripshaw make those delicious pies?”
“Well, I’ll be setting in the La-Z-Boy watching Bloomberg television with some carrot and raisin salad, and I’ll hear Thripshaw pull a Pillsbury pie crust out of the freezer…”
“Wait, a prepared crust?”
“Of course. What kind of a poltroon thinks a dog can make a pie crust from scratch? Do you have butter beans for brains? [humph] Big city hot shot thinks a dog can use a rolling pin.”

Well, anyway, our travels continue southwesterly to the lovely expanses of Meadville. We’re here talking to collector Reginald Sloopston.

“Reginald…” “Please, call me Reggie. Everybody but the Judge calls me Reggie.”
“Alright Reggie, tell us about your amazing collection”
“Thank you. As far as I know, I own the largest collection of pine cones that look like people.”
“Pine cones?”
“Yup. And here they are. This one here is William Winter.”
“I see.”
“This here’s Mae West. ‘Thanks for coming up to see me big boy.’ Hee-hee. I do impressions, too.”
“I noticed.”
“And this is my prized Archduke Ferdinand.”
“Yeah, that looks…just like…him.”
“I wish you had been here yesterday. I accidentally sat on Jimmy Durante this morning.”
“Yeah…Well, thanks very m-”
“Hey you wanna come around to the carport and see my oil drippings that look like Loni Anderson?”
“No, that’s ok.”

Back in the truck, we’re heading up north to the beautiful south Delta town of Silver City. Seymour Jenkins is the owner of the world’s largest hush puppy. It measures three feet in diameter!

[Knock-knock] “Mr. Jenkins?”
[Through the door] “Yes?”
“Hi, Strathnavern Dunkheld-Folwes IV. I spoke to your brother-in-law on the phone yesterday.”
[silence]
[Knock-knock] “Mr. Jenkins?”
[Through the door, in a fake woman’s voice] “Are you from the CIA?”
“Mr. Jenkins, I just wanted to talk to you about your hush puppy.”
[silence]
[Knock-knock] “Mr. Jenkins?”
[Through the door, in a fake Spanish accent] “No one here.”

Well, of course, if you don’t have the privilege to spend the weekend traveling the fine Magnolia State to meet the wonderful characters therein, here some things going on in the Bold New City.

FRIDAY
George Street: Taylor Grocery Band w/ Cary Hudson (recording live album)

SATURDAY
Martin’s: The Vamps (w/ Jazzy Jeff Calloway on trombone)
George Street: Taylor Grocery Band w/ Jimbo Mathis (recording live album)
The Joint @ 206: Fling Hammer

Strathnavern Dunkheld-Fowles IV, Esq. (Ret.)

P.S. Despite popular perception, Willard Scott was not a Rockette.

P.P.S. I’m quite certain Sir Thomas Wyatt’s “Blame Not My Lute” was not the inspiration for “Blame it on the Bossa Nova”.

P.P.P.S. Waiter? I believe my vichyssoise just told me to fuck off.

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