It's the Former, not the Ladder

This is another of those photos which makes you wonder what happened five seconds after the photo was taken.  I can just about see the guy falling, paint and tools flying, videos being posted to youtube, etcetera people laugh, lawsuits are sent back and forth - yeah, good times.

But, (you knew there was a but, right?) this is really not the case here. Look closer, my dear readers. This ladder is not being misused, nor will it bend/break while the guy is up there.  Check out the way it's set up there.  You can see the special locks and overall design along the legs and at the apex.  Recognize it? Yeah, I bet you do!  THAT is the ladder you've seen advertised late at night on some infomercial where the inventor screams at how great it is and also screams how much it costs. It folds up and out into several useful positions just like in the photo above. AND it's made to do just what this good ol' boy is doing.

And yeah, it's a pretty good ladder.  No, I don't own one.  I want one, but I don't own one. Neighbor Bubba, the contractor has one and I've noted how he keeps it under lock and key and never loans it.  Yeah, it's a very good ladder. 

So, some people would look at this and think "OMG, what a FAIL!"  But we know it's not. Though maybe the guy needs some better shoes, that ladder isn't going to dump him down the steps. If it was me, however, I know I'd be stepping into one of those openings and THEN I'd fall down the stairs, followed by the  aforementioned phone video record, upload to youtube and national embarrassment. (During which brother Bubba would be howling with laughter.)

Only Good Ol' Boys can apparently make that work. 

That Mason-Dixon Line

You can't live in the US and not have heard of the Mason Dixon Line.  Living in the South, doubly so. Though many people consider this the line, surveyed by two men named - wait for it - Mason and Dixon, (Yes, amazingly so!) was the demarcation of slavery, (See above sign) in reality it was actually the border which established legally the boundary between Maryland and Pennsylvania to the north, and Maryland and Delaware to the East. That's right, the line is in the shape of an L sort of laying sideways and maybe backwards. (Delaware was a slavery state so the idea that this divided slavery is very much in error!)  

Before Mr. Mason and Mr. Dixon made their great survey, there was a very lengthy dispute as to the border thanks to the states' original charters which gave differing amount of land to the states along this area.  The Mason-Dixon Line officially ended the dispute and entered the history books in 1767 almost a hundred years before the Civil War (1861 - 1865.)    

If you're like me, you're probably having a hard time visualizing it, so here's a map which lays it all out.  

I have to admit, I always thought the Mason-Dixon Line was, well, longer. And maybe wider. And was a bit further south, maybe the straight line border between Tennessee and Kentucky.  This may be just another light bulb for a guy who wants to be considered one of the Good Ol' Boys that I don't know my Southern Heritage, but you can't blame me.  I mean, come on, the Mason Dixon line is storied and sung with such emphasis as to its delineation of the North and South (Nawthunuh an' Good Ol' Boys) that one gets the idea that it's actually a heavy red line emblazoned across the landscape! (Ok, so there are stones placed every mile and 'crown stones' every 5 miles but I'd rather see some wide red line like a giant made with a great big magic marker, like a big 5 lane highway running straight across the landscape!) 

The Mason-Dixon also marks the historical and accepted segregation of the North and South which would later define the War of Northern Aggression. (Yeah, that's a story for another day!) But for the sake of history, it's merely the end of a legal dispute. 

So, now you know.  In fact, you probably will use this in a conversation someday very soon. In double fact, perhaps you should start one ("Hey, did you know that the Mason Dixon Line is not in Wyoming? Yes, it's true!")  You should do this.  Especially if your name is Mason or Dixon....or both. 

Invention Intervention - The Gun Fridge

Once again I marvel at the simple inventions of the Southern Inventor. The seeming ease at which 'purpose' meets 'repurpose.' Witness: this old Freezer/Fridge has found new life as a lockable Gun Cabinet. And what's more, it's sort of 'camouflaged' in its natural setting.  No one is going to know that this locked freezer is actually a collection of Zombie Apocalypse weaponry.  

Not too long ago, I inherited a gun cabinet from another Southerner who had decided he didn't need it.  Now, I don't have the arsenal that the Inventor above seems to have, but I thought that the cabinet would be a good place to put my BB Gun and maybe the golf club I use to hold the lid of our chest freezer open (it keeps falling on my head...not the club, the lid....try to keep up, Bubba!) 

Then came the realization that the gun cabinet is actually a beacon for those who might steal my precious BB Gun! The Horror! What can I do?  Maybe a disguise?  Yes!  I immediately thought of putting a wig and mustache on the cabinet but that just didn't seem like enough.  Plaid Pants and a Turtle neck?  Nice...but....

Ok, so I never did get the gun cabinet in place, even though I had the perfect spot for it, away from the windows and I even considered putting a large poster in front of it.  (Jimi Hendrix?  Maybe Ted Nugent would be better....) It now sits forlornly on the back patio acting as a condo for wayward mice.  

Now, I'm considering finding some broken down Freezer that I can re-purpose just like the Inventor has above. In the meantime I'll keep my BB Gun in the closet next to my golf club.  

Anyone want to buy a wig and plaid pants? 

Art and The Southerner

If you ask someone about ART in the South, most will point to the music scene and say something lofty about how all music is art.  Local hipsters will mention their season tickets to Schermerhorn and mutter under their breath 'but you've probably never heard of it..."   Ok ok ok, but what about Visual Art?  Most folks likely think of Art in the South as a pyramid of cans in the pale moonlight.  (Extra GOB points if you know the origin of that phrase) but in truth, the South has a thriving Visual Arts culture.

I was reminded of this just this last morning when walking to work from the bus stop.  It's only one block from my bus to the office and I came upon this nifty sign above. This art gallery used a special projector to put their name on the sidewalk in front of their establishment - very arty, yes? Modern, yes?  High Tech, also yes. As I stood there and marveled at the light, the box and the fact that the thing had to be on a timer, I also remembered that there are four (count 'em 4) art galleries in the single block from my bus to the office.  These are not the only galleries in the area, and in fact not the only art galleries in Downtown.  Art Plays a big part of the culture in the south.

In fact, just this last weekend, they had one of the Saturday Night Gallery Crawls.  Starts at one gallery and moves gallery to gallery.  It's a great way to see new art, visit more galleries and do it all with a crowd of like minded folks. (I'm sure there was plenty of 'unoaked chard' available for those hipsters who weren't at the Schermerhorn, Bubba!)

This is just another example of how I won't be part of the south.  (No, I have no idea what unoaked chard is, let alone how it goes with Visual Art) The fact of the matter is that I can't draw a straight line with a ruler.  My contribution to the world of art is to paint my house and stay home. Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy art. I grew up surrounded by good art. My mother was an artist, and a fairly good one.  Books on art were all over our house.   But when I look at some of the things they call art these days - like a statue of a three headed monkey made from pencil shavings - I just sort of stare at it with wide eyed wonder.  Throw some paint at a canvas from several feet away and call it art and I sort of turn my head sideways and start to whimper.   Show me where some artist has carved a religious likeness out of his own feces and I want to just curl up in a fetal position and cry.

Yeah, Yeah, I know, art should evoke some emotion and if i want to cry because someone makes art the way I clean snot from my nasal passages then that's "art."  I guess.  Yet another reason I stay home.

Let the Hipster Southerners have at all that "art." ...and unoaked chard.  

Weather I'm Right, or Weather I'm wrong.

It's been more than 20 years since I first stepped onto these lands here in the South.  Perhaps the one thing that has amazed me of this Southern realm, and amazes me still is the reaction to the weather.  The true southerner treats weather almost as a minor inconvenience.

In the heat of the summer, when it's 102° in the shade and humidity is enough to make it feel like you're swimming to the mailbox and back, the Southerner mows the lawn.  He builds a tree-house for his kids, or he just hangs out with a couple of good ol' boys, watching the world go by, standing out in the blazing sun.  When it's raining, he will sit on the porch, keeping watch on the rising river.  Perhaps, if the rain is not too heavy, he will go for a swim in the lake. Or Fishing.  

See?  A minor inconvenience. Almost.

The Southerner has a problem with ice and snow.  Well, most people do, but the Southerner and more importantly how they react are the real interesting part of this little blog today.  Not that my writing isn't what brings you here, but you are hoping for some insight and I hope I can impart the same. 

When the weather turns cold, Snow and freezing rain can make roads impassible for days.  The tall trees and growth in some areas keep the sun from shining and therefore keep the iced roads from drying out.  How does the Southerner respond?  They race to the grocery store and buy all the milk and bread.  Yes, that's right, Milk and Bread.  Why? Remember me?  I wasn't born here, so of course I have no idea why. It was probably some memo passed out during the years before I arrived and kept hidden since.  

Even more baffling is the fact that here in Nashville, they will cancel the school if they think it's going to snow.  Snow predicted? Close the schools now!  To a guy who grew up on Colorado, where they didn't close schools unless the snow was higher than the principals head, this is a funny proposition.  

During my first year here in the South, the schools were closed due to predicted snow.  I laughed. I called my brother Bubba who lived in Colorado (and still does) and told him and he thought it was the opening line to a bad joke. He told his students the next day and they laughed too. To a student in Colorado cancelling school is unheard of - let alone canceling of school when the roads are dry and you only heard of the possibility of snow in the next few days.  

But it wasn't just the one time. Every year thereafter, the schools again would close in anticipation of the snow or ice event and so, like some sort of yearly ritual, every year when they first cancelled school in advance of snow, I'd call my Brother Bubba. We'd laugh, tell stories of how high the snow was when we walked to school (18" deep, uphill, both ways) and then we'd go on with life. I would like to think that he started a pool for his students to guess which day would be the first time school was canceled out here in advance of snow, but being the good and well respected teacher he was, maybe not.

Maybe I can start a pool with my neighbor Bubba.  

Mystery of the Cord

There is a talent among Southern men that eludes me no matter how much I try. (I hear ya: So what else is new?) It has to do with wrapping up an electrical cord in such a way that it will not be a tangled mess when you need it next.  Sort of like Christmas lights, only more aggravating.

You see that electrical cord above? That's mine. It's a nice industrial 50' cable in day-glow orange.  I wrapped it carefully using instructions from the Lord High neighbor Bubba himself.  Bubba says that in doing it this way, one should be able to hold the plug end and toss the giant wrapped bunch out away from yourself and the cable will unfurl like a flag in a stiff wind..like a river flowing gently downhill..like (ok, enough of that.)  Once unfurled, you merely pull at either end to take it where it needs to go and the cord is un-kinked, un-knotted and easy to pull to its full length, ready to use.

And yet...when I grab one end and throw, the big bunch only goes about 2 feet and then stops nearly yanking me off my feet.  It suddenly resembles a tangled mess akin to dropping a handful of yarn in a box of hyper kittens.  The bundle then lands unceremoniously with a dull thud right at my feet or worse, ON my feet!  So, now I have to start at one end and carefully tug and pull and pull and tug to get the entire 50 feet of cord un-knotted, un-kinked, un-bundled and laid out to use. If I'm working with Bubba, I have to listen to him snicker the entire time. I can do it, though, but it takes a while.  By then, I'm ready for a nap.

I've worked with Bubba a few times when he's pulled out one of his wrapped cord bundles.  With a casual flair he tosses the bundle out to the side, not even looking at it as it unfurls, flying seemingly under its own power until that cord is laying out with nary a kink or curve. Then, later, I study his moves as he quickly wraps the cable up into a manageable bundle.  I swear it's magic.  

Copy as I might, it never works.  I've had him show me how he does it. I have come to the realization that Bubba is supernatural.  He has the power to control this cable, to weave it into a living creature which reacts at his command. Yes.  Super Bubba.  Alien being from the planet Cabletron...  In truth, it's merely that Southern Gene which gives him the power over tools and barbeque and  beer.  

So, I'll keep trying.  Yet another thing that Southern men can do which I cannot.  What else is new?  

Causual Fridays

One morning not too long ago, a Friday to be exact, I was running a bit late (when are they going to invent an alarm clock that turns its own volume up when you need it?) and a quick shower and then throw on my clothes as quickly as I could to get out the door and catch the bus on time. I made it to work on time but also found myself in an interesting social dilemma.

You see, as I noted above, the day was Friday. At the office, CASUAL Friday. For those of you who live under a rock, Casual Friday is a new tradition whereby the office relaxes its usual dress code and allows casual dress.  No, not flannel pants and bunny slippers (which is how my wife goes to work at her desk at home - yes, digressing as usual) Tee shirts, and jeans can be found in abundance.  Now, in my haste to get dressed, without thinking of the day of the week, I followed the standard office dress of khaki slacks, polo shirt and dress shoes. I was dressed nice. I was well within the standards for social acceptance any day of the week. Except that it was Casual Friday.

Casual Friday is viewed by office workers today almost as a birthright. Tell them that they can't wear their jeans and tennis shoes (oh, yeah... CROSS trainers, is that better?) and they start petitions and back room meetings. New Taxes get fewer grass roots movements.

So I am sitting at my desk, in my khaki pants (did you know that the word Khaki comes from an Arabic word for "Sand Colored"?) and I hadn't even realized the problem until...In comes the first one. A co-worker, in jeans and a sweater.  She walks up to my desk and in a VERY serious quiet tone she says,

"Did I miss the memo?" I look at her like she's speaking a foreign language. "Is there a big meeting today?" she says just as intense and just as quiet. When I don't respond she finally points at my pants (no we won't go there) and I get it.  I am not dressed for Casual Friday.  Light bulb in on position.  

"Oh, I was running late and got dressed quick today." I laugh it all off, "put on the standard work clothes before I realized it. heh heh." There is a long pause while she took this all in. "Heh...Heh..." I trailed off as she glanced at my slacks, back up at my polo shirt, then into my eyes and again down and up...and then she left. I'm pretty sure she really didn't know what to do and thought I was up to something.

Ok, one down, about 80 more to go. For the rest of the day I had to admit to EVERYONE that I had overslept, that I put on the Khaki pants without taking into account the fact that it was Friday - no, wait CASUAL Friday and may indeed now be MANDATORY Casual Friday and each time I had to assure each and everyone of them that the Casual Friday Rule was still in effect. You'd have thought I was wearing house cats as clothes the way some of them looked at me.

But the real problem is (or seems to be) that I caused this. I caused all this excitement over whether or not Causal Friday still existed.  Did you catch that?  CAUSUAL Friday.  Yeah, now with its own moniker: CAUSUAL Friday.  Yes, that's what I'm going to call it. Put on the wrong clothes and you can cause an uprising. I think a few of them actually thought I was trying to get RID OF Casual Fridays by my dressing in normal work attire. Go figure.

Someday on a Monday I may wear Jeans just to mess with their heads.