Hump Day Humor
Seems like the week just started…
Seems like the week just started…
Why I hate texting.
I hate it when I get texts because I can have a conversation ten times faster than I can text one answer to one question.
I hate someone else texting because I always think they are talking about me.
In addition to making me feel slow or making me feel paranoid, their tiny little “beep” is downright annoying.
There is nothing I like about texts.
Especially if they say something like “ you must be at the wrong restaurant, doofus. We all said we’d meet at Printer’s Alley, not the bowling alley.”
My dad flew in a bomber in WWII.
My mom taught the second grade.
They were fairly hardened peeps because of the lives they led.
I guess you would say they were not the warm, fuzzy types when expressing their love for anyone. I loved them dearly, too, but we were all rather non-communicative about it.
“Uh,” combined with a quick, upward tilting of the head, like the person was swallowing an aspirin, usually meant, “hi there, you did great in school today. I’m proud of you.”
My pop found many things in life to be less than acceptable to him with his bar set at the highest setting as it generally was.
People who assumed heights or accomplishments that were other than those he felt to be proper for them were big shots.
His sister was a broadway actress with several successes. She was a big shot. Sometimes his brother was just trying to be a big shot. The person driving a Mercedes thru a McDonald's drive-thru was trying to be a big shot.
You could be his best friend, and if not careful, you could slip up and be a big shot.
So I can almost hear it today. Now that I am a big-time writer, he would correct me and tell me I thought I was a big-shot writer.
So you see my problem. My newsletter which may or may not come about wants to be called big-time writer, but if I don't think about it carefully I will call it the big-shot writer.
I know it's a term of endearment, and not one of condescension, but there is my current struggle. I will struggle with it a few more days.
Would someone rather learn how to become a big-time writer or a big-shot writer? I don’t know.
The Red Lantern
Wednesday nights many, many years ago used to be bluegrass night at the Red Lantern tavern in Chattanooga. As I recall, the mayor of Haletown used to play bass with the local bluegrass band. He said he felt it was beneath a mayor to play the banjo, which is what he was really good at.
That and drinking pitchers of beer.
He claimed he could outdrink Whirlin’ Willie, another local down there, who spent much of the daylight hours walking down the sidewalk on Broad St until he came to a telephone pole, whereupon he would spin around a time or two then give the pole a pat and move toward the next one.
Nobody knew exactly what time of day he started drinking, though. The whirling and patting happened in early afternoons.
But Wednesdays have always been the peak of the week.
And when you live on Lookout Mountain you can always say it's all downhill from here.
Thank you for your time, see you soon!
Don’s a keen observer and prolific reporter of truth, common sense, humor, & life. He is a WRITER|CREATOR|HUMORIST — Don@DonMartinBooks.com — Follow him at twitter.com/DonMartinBooks — “STORYTELLER” Newsletter
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Neither of my high school English teachers thought I would ever amount to much. Well, I showed them — now I’m a big-time writer! I can teach you how to be one too! Click HERE to grab my PDF guide on how to become a Big-Time Writer.
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