Southpaw Jones

Happy Thanksgiving Week! I’m taking it easy, but here’s something tasty from the archives of The Southpaw Jones Gazette. Enjoy…

Originally posted October 24, 2006:

I find it odd that folks are out there actively trying to disprove the existence of God in the year 2006. It seems to me that they miss the point just as much as the most fundamental fundamentalists.

There are vast, amazing possibilities between the two statements, “There is a God,” and “There is no God.” When are we human beings going to start exploring all of that territory, instead of standing on the extremes like dweebs in a dodge ball game?

What a word! God. It’s like “love,” with all its situational ambiguity. Yes, studies show that more than 90 percent of Americans believe in God. But I don’t think that all those people believe in a perfect being with a human personality. So I’ve compiled a brain-stormy list of synonyms for God:
The Way Things Are
The Cosmos
The Mystery
The Great Form
The All
The Unity
The Warmth
The Progress
The Universe
One Love
The Oneness
The Hope
The Flow

That last one is my favorite. When folks say, “Go with the flow,” they’re really saying something pretty close to, “Go with God.” Vaya con Dios. Right?

Anyhoo, maybe you see my point, maybe you don’t. That point is this: No one would be so silly as to ‘disprove’ the items on my list, but that’s what God is! It so annoys atheists that people use the word “God” and place some human elements into their perception of The Big Thing. Is that so bad? I mean, sure, we could do without some of the war, ignorance, and judgment that comes from religion. I get that. If you have a brilliant mind for logic and proofs, though, why not write a book that convinces people to be nice to each other? What good can be done by making my grandma question her faith during her peaceful stroll through Border’s?

God is in the eye of the beholder, friends, and my god exists everywhere but my shower, and everytime except Saturday night. Party!!! If you’ve ever had a moment of magic in your life, in nature, in sex, in family, in coincidence, you just can’t be a comfortable, 100% atheist. You believe in The Vast Tingly Something, and you know it.

Happy Thanksgiving Week! I’m taking it easy, but here’s something tasty from the archives of The Southpaw Jones Gazette. Enjoy…

Originally posted November 14, 2006:

I had a dream last night that iTunes charged me $34.00 for a song. Man, was I steamed! Sometimes it’s good to wake up. Did you know you can buy 42 original Southpaw Jones songs on iTunes? Zune, shmune.

Before I left work yesterday, I found a link that shows one’s estimated economic position in the world. I’ll be honest with you, folks, I don’t even make $30,000 a year, but I am in the top 7.74%. In other worlds, one of the wealthiest people in the universe. What a revelation! That means that 92.26% of everyone, everywhere is poorer than me. It’s a head-scratcher and a heart-thumper. Some inevitable questions:

How was I born into this?
Do I deserve this?
Can I ever complain about money again?
Can I expect people to take me seriously as a folksinger?
Should I celebrate?
Should I mourn?
Should I spend, save, or give?

Well, I did what I always do when I’m shocked, confused, and rich: I went to Target. I spent 97 bucks at Target. It was a whole new experience, I must say. I guess that’s the first step after realizing you are incredibly blessed: Enjoy it, and do a little splurging. Of course splurging meant milk, work pants, and much-needed shoes, but let me have my fantasy and verbiage.

These new shoes will replace my old, old Vans. I’ve had them since at least the summer of 2001, because that’s when I visited New York City for a day…

FLASHBACK!

I met a great songwriter named Gregg Cagno in the California desert, and he invited me to play the Black Potato Festival in New Jersey. I stayed with his then girlfriend in Hoboken, and I had a day to visit The Big City. I took a train, I took a subway, and it all went pretty smooth. I met up with my friend from Nashville, Mark Aaron James, and spent the afternoon running errands with him.

At one stop, we ran up to a studio to pick up some mixes he had been working on. There was an engineer and a big dog hanging out up there, and I was just being a casual observer like I do. As we started to leave, I reached into my pocket to check the time. My watch had a broken strap, you see, and I was years from making the cell phone leap. Well, the dog must have thought it was a treat, and when I put it back in my pocket, he must have thought I was teasing him. He abruptly growled and bit down on my right foot. No harm done, no blood drawn, but a memorable tale of how The City can literally eat you alive if you’re not careful.

I have had a decent hole in that right shoe of my pair of Vans for over five years, and now they sit waiting for their trip to the trash. Perhaps I’ll get my butler to throw them out for me.

Happy Thanksgiving Week! I’m taking it easy, but here’s something tasty from the archives of The Southpaw Jones Gazette. Enjoy…

Originally posted November 22, 2006:

Advice in the Year 2006 for Thanksgiving and/or Manx-Giving

1. If your family doesn’t drink or offer alcohol, you may need to start a food fight.

2. You’ll want to put the beast in a well-decorated box.

3. Don’t try to present it by grasping its non-tail, as it will surely scratch you and hop away.

4. Your high school crush will be at the local bar on Thanksgiving night. He/she will offer you sex for money and/or a religious conversion. Accept neither.

5. Tell the recipient to mind the arch in its back. Sensitive.

6. It’s perfectly alright to respond to “I love you” with “Why?”

7. Mashed potatoes are not to be joked about, only eaten with orgasmic glee.

8. Give it in the first year, and you can still call it a kitten.

9. You can always tell who’s winning a power struggle, ’cause they’ll say, “We have to stop this power struggle.”

10. Don’t ask me what I want for Christmas. I still don’t know.

Happy Thanksgiving Week! I’m taking it easy, but here’s something tasty from the archives of The Southpaw Jones Gazette. Enjoy…

Originally posted November 30, 2006:

It was the first day of winter. Not the first day according to calendars or meteorologists or almanacs, but the first day that Martha really felt it. “It’s gonna be cold for a good long while,” she thought as she licked her chapped lips with her twice-pierced tongue. The first piercing was a mystery, the second an attempt at regaining some modicum of control.

She drove stop-and-go from work while listening to NPR. The reader reported matter-of-fact-ly on Richard Branson and Stephen Hawking, who had recently teamed-up to explore and populate the far reaches of space. “The powerhouse twosome is looking for two lucky and fertile women to take with them,” the story proceeded. “They have randomly placed ten golden tickets in the glove compartments of used cars throughout the States. Their belief is that God should choose the finalists, while a committee of college deans gets final say.”

Martha had bought her 4-door sedan two weeks ago, and though she detailed it with a tooth brush and baby wipes, she had never explored the glove compartment. She was second in line at a notoriously long red light when she reached over to learn her fate. Earthbound and bored or Space Mother of the Future.

She did not find a golden ticket. She found three human teeth and a map of Tuscany.

When she arrived at the apartment, she immediately told her husband about her odd discovery. Not one to be outdone, he responded, “Well, I found a mockingbird nest and an albino’s passport in the Subaru. Did you know there’s a new Beatles record?”

Happy Thanksgiving Week! I’m taking it easy, but here’s something tasty from the archives of The Southpaw Jones Gazette. Enjoy…

Originally posted December 18, 2006:

Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. She knew it was me; my knock is sharp and distinct. The neighbors must have known it was me, even in the darkness; my dress is distinguished, individualized, and very expensive. Our dog knew it was me; my odor is a well-thought-out combination of man-made fragrance and natural superiority. The pup scratched twice on the other side of the door for each declarative blow I rained down. It had been a long day for me.

Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. I pressed my face against the draftiest gap where the door was supposed to meet the frame and said loudly, “Adult relationships are tangly webs, my dear!”

No human response. Just one scratch then another.

“Isn’t our relationship the least tangled and the most comfortable?”

Nothing.

“Comfort is not cheap, darling, and not without sacrifice. If you want to feel the cold wind against your shoulders you might have to donate your coat to charity. And you hate charity!”

Silence.

“Did we marry too young, Blanche? Have I bored you to the point of insanity? Is it the fleeting satisfaction of some ‘other’ that you seek? Some marvelous man or woman who looks nothing like me and appeals to parts of you that I simply don’t see?”

A car passed slowly with its lights off. I turned, gave a strict look, and obnoxiously bobbled my imaginary breasts until they turned on their high beams and sped up. I glanced over at Blanche’s silver sedan, its cracked window a mocking smirk.

“You didn’t have to go through with it, you know. Our fathers were business partners! Just because it was easy doesn’t mean it was wrong!”

“And just because it’s difficult now doesn’t mean it’s wrong!”

I heard a bit of a whimper from inside the house. Could have been the dog, could have been Blanche.

“Why shouldn’t our relationship have some modicum of disappointment in it? Parents disappoint! Friends disappoint! Careers disappoint! This life is nothing but the story of growth and decay, and let me tell you, darling wife, WE ARE FINISHED GROWING!”

Another whimper. Definitely the dog this time.

“I wish that I could be perfect for you. I really do. Why did you marry such a mediocre clod? You never sufficiently explained that to me, and I’ve always been curious. Why does anyone marry anyone? I give up, dear. The world has whittled me down to a toothpick. I’m going to start walking. Maybe I’ll walk to Utah and dissolve amongst the salt flats.”

Four times I rapped upon the door, and four times she did not answer. I was crumpled on the porch when a tan mini-van pulled up and let Blanche out.

“Did you lock yourself out again, Bernard? Patty and I went to the outlet stores, and I got you one of those huge pretzels you like!”

I raised up on one elbow as she waved good-bye to Patty. She then leaned over, kissed my cheek, and said, “Nothing like a little shopping to kill the winter blues. Massage my feet, baby?”

“But you don’t like the way I massage your feet, dear.”

“I don’t like anything about anything, Bernard. And yet, I will go to sleep tonight and wake up next to a man who is willing to put up with that.” She paused knowingly and smiled. “I may hate God, but it’s obvious he doesn’t hate me. He pummels me with gift after gift after gift, and you are my favorite one. Every day, I wonder why you haven’t left me. And when I think about the day you inevitably will, I imagine that I’ll walk to a field in Mississippi and just dissolve into nothingness.”

A scratch from the inside of the door awakened me from a long stare into my wife’s eyes. “What other life but this one?” I thought. It’s too good a thought to keep to oneself, isn’t it?

“What other life but this one?” I said, “Let me help you with those bags. I’ll get the lotion.”