REUNION

Yep. Time for another high school reunion. Well, not quite. I have a few months to shed a few pounds to impress a few old friends.

I didn't have a '55 or '56 Chevy as those highlighted in the dealership picture, but I did have a '61. And it was pure junk. I think what attracted me to it, besides the freedom it provided, was the dealer sticker on the back. It was from a Flagg dealer in St. Louis and had a picture of an American flag.

Now, if that isn't reason enough to buy your first car and try to pay for it by flipping burgers and dicing onions, then you've never made a boneheaded decision either. But that was TQ back when.

As I look forward to reunioning, I'm reminded of my friends' cars. All cooler than mine. Except for Bill Moore's 1931 Model A Ford. It hardly ran at all and never without giving it a good push down hill. But it was more of a project than a way of transportation, fortunately.

Other cars of note were a '57 Chevy (the Mellow Yellow), a '64 1/2 Mustang, a '59 Ford, a '59 Chevy, a '64 Malibu, a '58 Lincoln, a '63 Chevy, and a '52 Chevy. Most others were borrowed cars from Dad, but some like me were fortunate enough to have their own while in high school.

I should have stuck with my Dad's car.

At the reunion this year, I'll be driving a rental. The cheapest they have, although I think they may have upgraded us since we are Gold Card members. As long as it's large enough to hold golf clubs, I don't mind.

And after the Friday night meet-and-greet, the golf is the best reason to go reunioning. Plus, maybe feeling better about my aging. Or as I've heard expressed before on more than one occasion (ok, it's probably a cliche by now) "Why are all these old people at my reunion?"

I HAD A CHOICE, YOU KNOW

The picture I selected was entitled Bullet Through a Candle Flame. The other picture was billed as Bullet Through a Banana. The former I found more edifying.

So, Mr. Edification, what are you going to build on from this picture? The pic of choice.

Upon closer inspection, I think it almost looks like a bullet passing through an avatar. With blonde hair. Just under her left armpit.

Other artists might have copped out and simply called the picture A Study in Red. That would have been enough for me. For as Jack Buck used to say, Red. Cardinal red is my favorite color. I'm with him all the way. Just yesterday one of our favorite golf courses went back to giving out red tees. I loaded up, then proceeded to use other non-reds, saving, almost savoring, definitely hoarding the classic reds for another day. I've long believed anticipation better than, or at least as good as reality.

Back to the picture. So I must deal with why a bullet was fired through the candle flame. Accident? Purpose? I say intentional. Why red? The color that it reflected? I say it's a symbolic for passion. The bullet, naturally, anger or angst.

For the rest of the story, well, you have an imagination: use it. I'll tell you some day. Not today. But there is one heckuva story here.

CANVAS, YES

I really like art. Not that I'm artistic at all. Or a student in the arts. Except for Jim McGehee's juco class in Art Appreciation. I guess it's like Mr. Beckmeyer's Music Appreciation class in high school. I really liked it, though I'm not too musical either.

Maybe Appreciation is the key. I can appreciate, and I'm glad I'm built that way. I appreciate the 12-hour day that roofers across the street put it today on Dr. Joel's house. With a huge wind gusting pretty steady. Could I be a roofer? In Arizona? Anywhere? Not any more than I can be artistic or musical, I'm afraid.

But what I don't appreciate is graffiti. I don't care how detailed, how effective, how beautiful it may be. If you're that talented, then put it on a canvas. The side of a building, wall, or any object that is not yours is defacing property. Old fogey. Yes, I am. But even when I wasn't, I didn't deface property.

Except once. The last week of high school, I did help spread the news that our class was graduating and needed to make all denizens realize it, too. I didn't do the most famous spot, the Daniel's Hill Wall erected with WPA money, but a friend and I sprayed a few sides of public property before we got cold feet. I can only recall two places, but that was two too many.

Had we only had canvas. We could have painted 66 and 67 on it. "It'll be Heaven in '67" would have been good. But what rhymes with six? "We got our kicks in '66", but that had already been takenby a famous highway and tv series. "We took our licks in '66." Naugh. "We liked Stevie Nix in '66." Lame.

I guess sometimes canvas isn't necessary to express a monumental event.

PHEW!

You know, PHEW is an interesting word. It could be used as a word of relief as possibly indicated by today's picture. It just happened to be snapped by a photographer catching the subject's reaction to the release of the Obama birth certificate.

While I found no picture for the other PHEW, it means something stinks. Muddy baby diapers, garbage, the sudden disclosure of a cover up, for instance. Or the "something is rotten in Denmark" expression stemming from a Shakespeare tragedy. I suppose you could take your choice in today's revelation.

What does it mean to me? I'm glad you asked. Actually, a few things. Why did he not have to produce it before running for Prez? I had to show mine before they let me in grade school.

If he's had it all along, then why not show it? What kind of gamesmanship is that? Why even give the hint of indiscretion? How does that inflate one's standing? Or was he ashamed that he was born here?

Would it take that long to fabricate a birth certificate in this day and age? A friend of mine altered his driver's license at age 16 that showed him to be 21. The only way you couldn't tell was to turn it cover and see the tape job on the back. He didn't look 21, but I'm certain he was served alcohol. A photograph of it would go undetected even today.

What are the effects of this breaking news? A few. One, it will get the focus back on what else is wrong--spending, spending, spending Stupid. Getting involved in Libya. Not more strongly supporting Israel, and a host of other very important things like repealing ObamaCare.

And one final one. You were born an American citizen? Fine. Now we'll vote your ass out of office.

IT'S TOO LATE, BABY

According to the pre-show hype, Carole King will be the theme for this week's American Idol. It'll be interesting to see the choices the singers select. It'll be especially interesting to see how Casey can jazz his song up and if he'll try to lay one on another judge or just focus on Lopez.

Sunday at our Easter service at church we were blessed to hear Scottsdale's former Top Ten Idol contestant, Scott McIntyre sing. It was a spectacle with dancers and women performing with flags along with our full orchestra. I wished someone could have YouTubed it because it was amazing.

But since I've now introduced two rabbit trails--take your choice which one you want to travel--I'll get down to my theme today. It's all about Royalty.

When I heard of The Wedding (Kate and William's, of course) I half expected an invitation. I mean I'm a friend of a former Kansas City Royal who proudly wears his '85 World Series ring. My next door neighbor is a retired doctor from the home of The Royals, and he rode to church with me yesterday, so I thought I had some in roads.

Not convinced? Well,I've been to London on a few occasions and visited the sights that the royals rule over. I even have a friend who lives there full time. Now, I know you're pretty impressed. But, I'm not done. My Mother's family was English. I taught high school English. I taught several of the bard's plays to students who fought me every step of the way. I even forced them to memorize lines at the chagrin of my own daughter.

As of Saturday, there was no invite. If it comes in the mail today, I'm afraid, I'll have to pass. There would just not be enough time for all the arrangements I'd have to make. Do you know how long it would take me to shop for a pair of socks? Besides my athletic ones which are ankle length. I mean, I own no other. Well, that's not quite true. I even wore a pair to hear Scott Mc but they were at the bottom of my sock drawer and I have had them for a decade at least.

Most all of my shirts are tank tops, tee shirts, golf shirts, and Hawaiian ones that aren't to be tucked in. Most of my pants are shorts. Not short pants or high-waters, but shorts.

Sport coats? Suits? I remember having some. Ties? Ties? "Whatchu talking about Malcolm?" a soap opera star used to demand.

As you can see, I'd need more time to equip myself. But I'd have done it for The Royals. If only they had asked. And I hate oversights. I'm just sure that's what it was.

GOOD THING

I'm not much of a skater. Otherwise, I might just try it.

You see some things intrigue me and some don't. Working up to my capabilities in school never really did. As I've shared before with faithful reader(s), that was the comment on 3-5 grade school report cards that I got. It usually got me in trouble at home, but it did nothing to inspire me to be more industrious. If anything, it made me try less.

I mean if I definitely could do better if I tried harder and applied myself (that might have been written on a few grade cards, too) then why should I? When I had to, I could. If I didn't want to, then there was always the "I could if I wanted to" to fall back on.

The same thing happened to me in 4th grade basketball. The coach came to me and told me he wanted to put me on the team composed of only 5th and 6th graders, but there was one 6th grader that he was going to put on the team instead of me. He even told me who it was. Coach Ellis said I would be on the team the next two years and get to play a lot, so he was going with the older guy in his last year. That was ok with me.

But I quit working hard in basketball practice, made the team but played very little. Something about my lack of discipline and motivation.

I don't know if it would have made any difference had he told me I probably wouldn't make the team my 5th grade year. I might just have accepted it and gone another route. That's just the way I was. (I wanted so bad to put a slash after was and add is.) It's just hard to say.

The only thing I can recall is a Research 500 class that I had in college. We started the class with 28 and finished with 14. It was one tough class, but I was determined to get an A because it was difficult. Other times, I might have been one of those who dropped.

Motivation and apathy are pretty closely related as far as my history goes. But had someone told me I couldn't skate in a buffalo herd, I would probably have tried it. Just to show them I could.