It’s August. Hard to believe, I know, but that’s what the calendar and the thermometer say. August used to be really, really significant to me because on the first day of August high school football coaches all over the state would start issuing equipment and go to work trying to build a championship football team, and for many, many years, I was a part of that fraternity.
America has lost her way. So says my friend Kevin “Chappy” Hynes, and I agree with him wholeheartedly.
Last fall I had the opportunity to hear the great T. Graham Brown at the Athens Classic Center, thanks to the generosity of an old friend who had front row seats. I have always enjoyed T. Graham Brown, even back when he was known as Tony and was playing with Dirk in Athens hotel lounges.
I have looked forward to this occasion for 26 years, ever since I looked down at that screaming little red-faced bundle of joy and named him Jackson Lee Huckaby, and I have prayed that he would find a wife that was as kind and loving and God-fearing as he has become.
I am tired of violence and vitriol and bad news. I bet you are, too. So a couple of days ago I posed a fun question to my Facebook friends. I mean, really, it was about fun. I asked them to tell me the most fun they had ever had without breaking the law or taking off their clothes.
I love to travel. I love getting home even more.
I am bad to procrastinate. Always have been. When I was in the eleventh grade I missed a chance to see Pistol Pete Maravich play because I had put off doing a project for Mrs. Meyer’s world history class until the last minute and had to stay home and make a poster about the Middle Ages.
How are you going to cook your ham for Easter?
I was standing in the wings at the Ryman Auditorium Thursday and found myself in awe of the ghosts there. By ghosts I mean the spirits of all the magnificent country artists who had stood right there, in the same spot I occupied, waiting for their opportunity to grace that hallowed stage for the first time — or the hundredth.
Nothing beats revising some old, enjoyable meals.
Andy Warhol predicted that in the future, everyone would get his — or her — 15 minutes of fame. Another way of putting it might be that every dog will have his day. My friend, Jesse Kenney, had his two weeks ago at the Georgia-Auburn basketball game.
Ah, Valentine’s Day. The romantic holiday when we honor St. Hallmark and line the coffers of florists everywhere. You talk about price gouging? I don’t want to hear about Home Depot increasing the prices of plywood and generators after a storm until somebody does something about the price of a dozen roses being jacked up about 400 percent in the middle of February every year.
About a billion-and-a-half Chinese couldn’t care less about what happens in Phoenix this weekend. As a matter of fact, I don’t much care myself, but there are those amongst us who won’t sleep a wink Saturday night because they will be so hepped up about what is going to happen on Sunday, and I ain’t talking about church, either, not even the one where I am preaching.
We live in a funny world. Yes, ha, ha funny, but strange funny, too. There are just so many contradictions in our world — things to me that just don’t make a lick of sense. Take the president of the United States. Please.
As competitions go, this was both fun and friendly. Not to mention beneficial. The recent battle between the cities of Grayson and Snellville to see which could raise the most contributions to the Southeast Gwinnett Food Co-op was a great idea and the winner, both participants agreed, was set from the start.