Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Staying Too Long ........

Staying too long…….

Friends:

It’s not too hard to do, keeping on keeping on, in whatever gives affirmation to our lives – the things that keep us from facing that dreaded state called irrelevance, that sinks in saying, “Hey, he’s/she’s out to pasture these days.” So we stay, often too long, but who can blame us? Not yet, not yet.

The news was painful this week and I felt genuine sorrow for some who made it entertaining for us. Front page, Jimmy Carter, again opening mouth and inserting foot. Imagine, JC criticizing George W’s group as being “the worst in history,” given his own administration’s domestic policy of 21% interest rates. Maybe he should stick with Habitat. Has he stayed too long? Maybe, maybe.

It gets better. There’s Rambo Stallone, his face fleshy with flab, caricaturized, looking like the Poster Boy for excessive testosterone and human growth hormones ---- yes, he was convicted for possession of the stuff in Australia. Rocky is clearly on the ropes ---- he should take the count. Too long, too long.

And, Oh, Y’all, that poor guy in Atlanta, who just got out of prison for having 8 wives, was arrested again for proposing to 4 more women. Prison is where he was safe from the Prison of Wives…..he shoulda stayed there ---- but was released, Too soon, too soon.

But there are those who realized that the party was over and left on time. Jerry Falwell went too far right and was “called up” for it, and Tony Blair escaped Public Flogging just in time because of his support of George W, who wishes he could find The Door out of his troubles. Too bad, too bad.

Not to be outdone, Al Sharpton, God’s Oracle, who craves press like a Meth-starved addict to keep his money machine greased, is complaining that his recent statements about The Mormon Romney were “contextualized.” Right now, he’s in Salt Lake breaking bread with Mormons to better understand things…..Huh? Well, Al did help depose Imus, so maybe something good came out of Harlem, but Too late, too late.

Even over-used words have been sent packing: “awesome,” “gone missing,” “undocumented aliens,” “TomKat,” “Bennifer” and “Bragelina.” About time, about time.

Oh, so much more, but my email is too long, too long already. Just promise me you’ll let me know when my time’s up, will ya?


Bud
May 24, 2007

Monday, May 14, 2007

Sobriquets and Cognomens

Sobriquets and Cognomens
Friends:

No, not new wines….fancy words that simply mean “nicknames” --- you know, the strangely descriptive names given to some of us by parents who, now upon a sober viewing of the results of a summer night nine months previous, allowed as how Junior or Runt, Sparky or Bubbles, might be more appropriate names than Nehemiah or Aphrodite and to view the results of the Law of Unintended Consequences is indeed a sobering event! And if you are lucky enough to have one, then you were perhaps either somewhat of a prodigy, an early disappointment to the family or community, or your persona has given you away.

Take Bud for example. Originally Buddy in youth, it morphed into Bud for more hopeful possibilities. It is the sobriquet (don’tcha just love the sound of that word?) that at one time or another everyone has called their dog --- from President Clinton on down to you --- “Here Buddy, There Buddy….Come, Fetch, Lie Down, Roll Over, Do Business” --- sounds that are remarkably similar to commands given by women.

Cognomens abound in small towns, and when once branded with a nickname, it becomes an alter-ego and follows you like a shadow. The only escape from it is death --- yours or theirs. I have known a lot of folks with nicknames. Walter Dancer, one of my best friends, was called “Tubby” (no, he was not). At 65 and living in Colquitt, he is still called Tubby --- Tubby Dancer. Then there was my Uncle --- he was known most of his life as Brother. And a distant cousin was called Sister, and I never knew her “other” name. In my little town we were all related, you see ---- the whole town turned out for our family reunions. Well, almost all, anyway. Robert was called Jiggs, and there was a Shorty, a Boss, Red, and more. Even girls weren’t exempt: there was Sunny, Bunny, Boo, and Ree.

Maybe the most famous sobriquet is Bubba. This may be the perfect sobriquet, since Bubba identifies an entire demographic genre of red-blooded Americans --- you never hear them complain of ridicule and humor at their expense, but they even revel in being identified with NASCAR, beer, tank tops and pick-ups. Neither have they risen up in protest, hollering “Enough, Enough,” nor instituting class-action lawsuits by playing the red-neck trump card. Bubbas are class folks!

Time will fail me to tell of such names as: Crafty, Tricky (my stock broker), Smiley (he did), Butch (politically incorrect) and Hoss, just to name a few. There are even sobriquets like JR, WB (Dub), and LT (an engineer who plays with rocks and dynamite: LT probably means “light touch” or “lit torch” --- boy, where that’ll take you…). You get the idea and I bet you know some of these yourself.

Yes, in the South one can “get on” quite well with a sobriquet. Why these appellations? Well, I think they’re terms of familial endearment or future hope, given out of love and after all, isn’t that what we’re lookin’ for? As for me, I’m glad that Bud is associated with dogs and a beer. Nevertheless, I sometimes do yearn for a bit more out of Bud; yes, I’m still “Doing Business,” as it were --- less on command than out of necessity. But I am hopeful that the analogy of my cognomen to a dog, as descriptive as it may be, will morph to “Bud --- a blooming flower” instead of a Bloomin’ Idiot writing such nonsense.


Bud
May 17, 2007



Thursday, May 10, 2007

It Is What It Is

Friends: It is What It Is

Well, after last Friday's spectacle, I was stingingly chastised by our Hangar Housemother and admonished to down-tone the hilarity a bit, seeing that perhaps some of the more reverential characters among us may have been offended at the Gruber/Hearn spoofs and mockery of decorum. So, having consulted the Hangar Think Tank, and being one to always defer to better judgment, I decided to get serious for a change of pace.

The pace? Well, to decipher that slippery enigma that for centuries has stumped philosophers and ascetics alike, and that only fools or the very brave will attempt to do. The subject? Why to shed some light on the riddle of "It is what it is." You know, that catch-all phrase used to describe the indescribable. And like all arcane mysteries, poetry does a better job than prose. So, here for your enlightenment is the Hangar Think Tank's intrepid poet, out on the tightrope, center ring, no net, to attempt this feat:

It is what it is

It is what it is is not hard to recall
When you need a reply that answers it all.
Without any need or effort to think
You can throw it right out as quick as a blink.
And folks will then think you're a genius profound,
And to utter such wisdom you're sure to astound.
'Cause both the simple and brilliant proclaim
There’re just some things that can't be explained.
And it makes little difference if you're dumb or smart
Just whisper these words and the waters will part.

Just what "it" is it is hard to say
It is what it is, there's no other way.
Is "it" maybe this, or could “it” be that?
It doesn’t really matter, one tit or one tat.
"It" means the same thing in every context
Just blurt "it" out and great minds you'll vex.
They'll think intelligence is your life's degree
And if you're a Charlatan you can charge a big fee,
For Pretence pays big to escape the mundane
Even for carnival-like legerdemain.

The Crux of the phrase is what "is" really is,
And Clinton tried hard to explain away his.
And you may have had a good reason to try
To explain your "is" with a creative lie.
But “it is what it is” gives ample proof
Of its value to save with a hyperbolic spoof.
When all has been said it's impossible to say
Of the multiple uses of this adaptable cliché.
But 'round this hangar on Friday you'll know,
It is what it is, and there ain't nothing mo'.


Bud
May 10, 2007

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Renn's Got a Brand New Plane !!

Friends:


Renn's Got a Brand New Plane!!

That's right, a new toy, and about time, I'd say. He's been bored around the hangar, and has taken to such things as putting up fences and signs to keep us from shortcuts across the runways, planting shrubs, painting things, raising rents and general harassment. I don't know how Sibby did it, but she consented to the purchase of a nice King Air 90, a Super turbo sexy flying machine, as the first of many in the new company, Gruber International Airlines. Yes, you heard it first right here .... IPO out soon!

To commemorate this event, we all got together and modified some of the words of James Brown's famous song, "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag," for this occasion. If you know the tune, try these words:

Renn's Got a Brand New Plane

Come here Sibby ... Renn's in the swing
He's real hip ... about that brand new King
He ain't no pain
Renn's got a brand new plane.


Come here Margie ... and dig this crazy scene
It's not too fancy ... but its lines are pretty clean!
Money ain't no drain
Renn's got a brand new plane.

He's doing the Jerk. ...
He's doing the Fly
Don't call him cheap 'cause you know he ain't shy
He's doing the Monkey, the Mashed Potatoes, Jump back Jack on Gruber Lane
Renn's got a brand new plane.

Come here Bilsky
Renn's in the swing
He's real hip now
But he can dig that brand new thing.
He ain't no drag
That plane's his brand new bag.

Look out Hangar! He's doing the Jerk
Airport Authority ... he's doing the Flirt
He's doing the twist ... just like this,
He's doing the Fly ev'ry day and ev'ry night
That thing's just like a Boomerang.

Hey! Hey .... he's up tight. .. out of sight. ..
In the day or in the night
We wonder if he's gone insane,
Renn's got a brand new plane.

Yessir, nothing like toys for tots, and I know Renn would like to show you his flagship toy before he snaps out of the dream. He'll probably even invite you to participate .... Make his day and take a look. It's a beauty!!

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Getting' Out......

Getting’ Out…..


In March there are Hints of the arrival of Spring
While April the Tease its virtues does sing.
And May does Flirt with the Promise not filled
But to Summer does June so easily Yield
.

Summer ushers in that season of long days, warm temps, sunshine and moonshine that virtually screams at us: “Get Out, Get Out.” And on this island to stay indoors may qualify for psychological screening. What excuses can we possibly have, except we’ve grown accustomed to the dull and daily ruts, routines and rituals that we allow to define tired lives. So, get out…school’s out, the kids are bored, you’ve pushed the limits of sanity and there’s a little credit left on the Visa card. You need a break, and now is your chance.

Oh, you say, “I would if I could.” Yes, I’ve heard that complaint before, and even uttered it myself while chained to these drudgeries; and besides that, there’s always something in the way, like a “but,” an “if” or a “not.” You know, things like:
But what about…..”
“If only I had more time…..”
“Not enough money…..”

Get a grip…these complaints are thieves all right, but only harmless phantoms of the mind. And you’re not alone, since it’s usually that way for most of us, which is good reason for us all to get out and let go occasionally. And whether you’re living or vacationing here, there are countless ways to get out and let the island mystique entertain and intrigue you. Only because it’s my favorite, I’d suggest a good place to start is by reintroducing yourself to the beach, which is magnetic and is probably the main reason you’re here in the first place. Then just meander around the island…you’ll find plenty of diversions and you’ll never be bored.

For example, yesterday I took a walk down to the Village pier to see if the fish were biting. Not that I really cared one way or another, but it just seemed to be a good day to get out of the office. There was a pretty good crowd down there working on dinner, and I struck up a conversation with an elderly lady underneath a big pink hat. “Ma’am, are you having any luck?”, and she answered in a cautionary tone, “No.” I asked her what she usually caught, and she said, “Nothing.” Incredulously, I pushed my luck with the inquisition a bit more and asked, “Then why do you come here to fish?” She boldly replied, “To get out of the house.” Well, I guess that is a pretty good answer for you folks who think that the end result is the only reason for doing things. But I kinda agree with this lady’s assessment that the process of getting there might really qualify for the “be all, end all” down here. And besides this, catching fish is just the beginning of sorrows, since they’re smelly and have to be cleaned and cooked; and frankly, I prefer my fish fried, Mudcat Charlie’s or Crab Trap style, thank you….I’ll leave the catching for you.

I guess there are some things that are changing on the islands because of more construction, crowds and traffic. But really, the important things remain the same. All that drew families to these islands still draws them today. And the island ambiance still charms, and the island spirits still calm the most stressed-out minds. There’s plenty of time here for an extra hour’s sleep, another cup of coffee, pancakes with the kids, the newspaper, TV cartoons, lunch in the Village or picnics in the parks; there’s golf, beaching, biking, an afternoon glass of wine or a beer, and to cap it all off, a starlight walk on the beach. All we have to do is to get out and let the magic and mystical powers of these islands rejuvenate us.

Getting out” down here is easy to do—you do not have to be told to do it…it’s a preference. And while I don’t know about you, I don’t care much for being told what to do. So, what are you waiting for? Get out and get going. And I hope you’ll say “Hi” to us strangers…it keeps our island paradise more friendly. So, from me to you, “Hi”…I’m outta here myself.