My Sunday Feeling

The Deacon and I had an evening with the arts Friday night.  She had just completed the work for her  doctorate-at least I think she’s through-and had wanted to go out to dinner followed by a night at the theatre.  

I have to say that the old Argenta section of North Little Rock was hopping.  The restaurant and the surrounding streets were packed.  I think it was a combination of things.  One, people are sick of staying home and two, it wasn’t 200 degrees in the shade for the first time in weeks.  It was nice to get out of the house like we used to pre-plague.

And three, the Argenta Community Theatre has been packing them in with their production of “Memphis” which is a show set in mid-fifties Memphis (ostensibly) concerning a white disc jockey who falls in love with a black singer and the familial and societal problems that ensue because of this relationship.  

I cannot fault the production at all.  The cast and crew were great.  The audience-packed into the ACT while the Fire Marshal wasn’t looking-loved it.  There was much foot stomping, clapping and hollering.  It was fun to be with a bunch of folks from all walks of life that were genuinely having a good time.

Granted I am no fan of musical theatre, even though I’ve done some of it back in the day.  But that was mainly to meet girls.  “Memphis” works really hard to make its audience believe that music and love can act as a bridge between the races despite the fact that Martin Luther King was destined to get whacked some 10 years after the time in which the show is set.  Which struck me as a little hokey.  Maybe because it’s not true.  Or as the Deacon said, “I liked it.  But the show tried to do too much.”

And that is a pretty good way to put it.  But there were far worse ways to spend an evening than taking in unusually good community theatre in old Argenta.  

Speaking of the Deacon-and the arts-while she is out doing the Work of the Lord tonight, I’m going to take in a program of chamber music.  Get this. At the White Water Tavern.  I think this is genius.  The old WWT has had a past that is checkered as all get out.  But the folks that are running it now have cleaned it up and serve real food while slinging whiskey and putting various musical acts on their little stage.

Tonight’s musicians are from the Arkansas Symphony Orchestra.  They will be performing mostly in quartet form.  This should pull in an interesting crowd.  And I’m really looking forward to it.

Going out to listen to live music 2 out of 3 nights this weekend.  How about that? 

Maybe the worst really is over after all.  Maybe we are back to some semblance of normal.  

  

My Sunday Feeling

I think it is finally beginning to set in.  My buddy Rick swears up and down that he is going to retire come December.  One of our mutual friends is retiring next Thursday.

“Where did the time go?” he asked rhetorically the other day.  I certainly don’t know.  But things seem to be speeding along with or ,generally speaking, without our consent.

Take my immediate circle by way of example.  I’ve know stepson Joe since he was in the 9th grade if memory serves.  He’s now a proud diplomate of Hendrix College and working as an analyst for a bank.  He’s still living upstairs as I type this but he’s looking at apartments and most likely will leave us old folks sooner than later.  Which is the way it should be. 

I have been texting with nephew Clarke who is over in Germany for a truncated summer abroad.  He would have left in June but for the “recent unpleasantness” in Eastern Europe.  But he’s there now and from the pictures he is sending home he seems to be having a big time, drinking bottled water from the Alps and visiting dungeons in the Netherlands.  

But the most astounding thing I’ve seen out of him is a video of him conducting a virtual tour of Mississippi State where he is enrolled.  

In Russian.

I had managed to forget Russian is his Minor over there.  I have watched it 2-3 times.  To my admittedly untrained ear his pronunciation sounds spot on.  It seems like last Friday I was teaching history and he was across the hall in Latin class.  And there he is pointing out the “stadia” where “Americanski football” is played.  I kept listening closely but never heard words or phrases you might also associate with Mississippi State.  Words like “beerski” or “rednecksumbitchski” uttered.  Or “cheatlikehellski.” I’ll have to listen again. Maybe I missed it.

His step-cousin Sarah, Joe’s sister, is an Arabic speaker.  As I was telling a language teacher buddy of mine the other night, I can kinda fake my way through Latin, French and Cajun-French.  I couldn’t begin to decipher Russian and Arabic.  Sarah and Clarke are way smarter than me.

But the biggest news, one that I never saw coming, is that my nephew Eli and his wife Sunny, along with their two little girls, have bought a house about a good quarter mile from here.  I guess I’ve know Eli since he was 5 or so.  I didn’t figure that they were going to stay in Oxford forever.  But I didn’t think they would move to a Little Rock much less Hillcrest.  Maybe that was the plan all along and nobody told me.  That’s OK.  I’m used to it.  

So I’ve been helping them on this end before the big migration next Thursday. I let the plumber in last week.  And Monday my yard man is sending a crew over to cut the lawn.  Odds are that they will have a box of wine waiting on them too.  

The girls are something like 5 and 2.  Their grandfather Bob says he has told the proud parents that I am willing to act as an au pair.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  The Deacon has allowed as how it will be “fun” to have little girls around the house.  I find the prospect totally alarming.  Not that I have anything against little girls.  I don’t much want little boys around either.

As you can see, I am an equal opportunity curmudgeon.  I do not discriminate on the basis of sex.  

Not that anybody much cares about that either.  

But that’s not the point.  The point is that I’ve known these young people for what seems like 15 minutes in the fullness of time.   And look at them now.

Look at us all now.

Where did the time go indeed?

  

   

     

My Sunday Feeling

Looks like I’m a recidivist.  I managed to get myself thrown back in Facebook Jail again last week.  It was pretty stupid.  Even stupider than the last time when I kiddingly threatened to beat up one of my creditors. Ha-ha!  I’m a kidder like that.  

My brother John had posted something about some guys blowing up a controversial “Stonehenge-like” monument over to Georgia someplace.  My comment was to the effect of “Sure. By all means, let’s blow stuff up.”  

Boom!  The trap door opened and I was swiftly advised by the sarcasm-free algorithms on the job over there that my post had violated Facebook’s community standards.  And so I was on the banned list for 24 hours.  

FB quickly offered me appeal rights although this offer was tempered by the statement from it that my appeal probably would not be actually read by anybody due to the sheer volume filed out there.  This seemed to my lawyer brain to be indicative of a larger procedural problem.  But I’m sure they would care even less about my pointing this out to them than the actual merits of any appeal that I might lodge.

God has evidently lent me time to waste so I set out about swiftly to seek justice on my behalf and behalf of similarly situated posters on that platform that have excessive sarcasm enzymes.

My appellate brief was pretty simple.  It went something like, “ Your algorithms need to be tweaked to recognize sarcasm and humor.   My comment was meant to reflect the banality (have your algorithms look that word up) of resorting to violence against public art.  There is not a violent (or courageous for that matter) bone in my body.  I am a lawyer that takes pro bono cases.  I am a mentor at the local law school.  The fact of my chosen profession is further proof of my aversion to violence.  I ask you.  Have you ever heard of anybody say “Step outside and say that to my lawyer?” Of course you haven’t.   Finally, not that she asked to be brought into this,  my wife is a Deacon in the United Methodist Church who ministers to and advocates for the homeless.”

“Gentlemen, this is ridiculous.  Especially when I could easily point you to any of a number of science, Biden being President and Insurrection deniers braying at the sky with impunity on this platform.  And you’re gonna come down hard on me? Again, this is ridiculous.”

I am a realist.  I expect that the only satisfaction I will derive from my appeal is the minimal catharsis banging on this keyboard has afforded me. 

So, Gentle Reader, the next time you feel led to make some socially relevant commentary on FB (which I do not recommend)  do not think that subtlety will be recognized as such by the Great FB Culture Wars Sheriff who evidently has its eye on each and every user.

Go ahead.  Let her rip.  Be stupid. Bray at the sky.   

There’s a good chance they will let that go.    

My Sunday Feeling

 So I've come crawling back.  

Looking back on it, what was supposed to have been about a 30 day reverie turned into about 6 months.  I can't say as I missed typing these musees during my absence.  And judging by the complete lack of response to same nobody else did either.  Perhaps it is because as one of my big shot writer friends says "nobody reads blogs anymore."  Then again, another of my big shot writer friends blogs and does a podcast in addition to his day job at the paper.  He enjoys doing them even as he concedes that maybe nobody much is paying attention.

He shrugged his shoulders over his beer the other night in the restaurant.   He enjoys doing them.  Works for me.

I think I may take it back up if for no other reason that this gives me a way to get it off my chest for cheap.  So you may see me more from time to time.

Then again, you may not.  I'm like everybody else.  The last 2 years have not been fun.  Not that I have absolutely anything to complain about.  I guess I was hoping that once the vaccine got in arms that things would get back to "normal" whatever "normal" was.  If anything, the polarization that exists in this country has gotten even worse since the pandemic.  

It is Independence Day weekend and we are at each other's throats.  6 months ago a sitting President attempted to overthrow an election by urging his followers to attack the Capitol building while the electoral college votes were being tallied. Most likely Donald Trump will run again if only in hopes that he will be harder to sue and prosecute while out on the stump.  Inflation is through the roof.  The United Methodists-my fixed theological abode- are splitting the sheets.  (For those of you keeping score at home, the Deacon and I are staying put.)

What else?  The SCOTUS has opened Pandora's box in a couple of three areas. BTW the gun thing?  I don't even care anymore.  If the Deacon starts packing maybe I will. I tend to pick fights I have a chance at winning.  That ain't one of them.  But shootings at schools and church picnics.  Godalmighty.  And don't get me started about UCLA and Southern Cal going to the Big 10 of all damn things or that there is something called a "4 out rule" in baseball.    

No rest for the weary.  I could go on and on.  But I won't. At least not tonight. 

I fear that I have become inert.  You know the old "they can't hit me if they don't see me" approach to stress and confusion.  Not much different than the state of Pink Floydian numbness, comfortable or otherwise.  I haven't blogged or written much the last six because I have rendered myself inert.    

But that is no way to live.  So I shall will myself back to becoming "ert" if I may be allowed to make up a word.  And I am allowed to because this is my blog.  I will take up the pen again-so to speak-because I need to get it off my chest.  

Happy 4th of July.  Be careful out there.