People like to give me a hard time. I guess it's because I'm pretty much an open book.
I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve and speak (and write) loud and long about the things I love. It's why complete strangers come up on the street to talk about baseball and bluegrass, "Red River" and Robinella, Ernest Hemingway and Elvis Presley.
It's a good life.
You know, I asked somebody this morning if they had a hero -- or if that's too strong a word, somebody (a singer, a writer, an actor, an artist) whose work they admire. Well, they stammered around a bit and finally said, "Yeah, but I wouldn't get as excited about it like you do."
Sigh. Sometimes I think that's what's wrong with us. We've forgotten how to dream. It's as if we tossed child-like enthusiasm out the door along with our braces and training wheels.
It's too bad. We're the worse for it.
Here's something that really makes me mad. Had to go downtown to the school board meeting last night. It meets for the monthly session in the large assembly room at the City County Building.
Sometime following the 9/11 terrorist attacks, a security review recommended that metal detectors be installed at the front doors. It's supposed to improve security -- but talk about awful customer service.
The woman who met me was talking on a cell phone and looked as if I'd bothered her by showing up. She was too busy talking to answer the question I asked about sending books through the detector.
As I emptied my pockets, she examined my bottle of chap stick as if it were going to explode. Then, as I was collecting my things on the other side, she almost knocked me down while walking to the bathroom. At least I got a "sorry" that time.
Government PR at its finest, let me tell ya.
We're still three weeks removed from Thanksgiving, but that hasn't stopped area merchants from putting up wreaths and playing holiday music on the store PA system.
I can't tell you how much I HATE the commercialization of Christmas.
It's become an excuse to sell more merchandise, boost profits, stimulate the economy. OK, that last one might be good, but you get my point.
I'm already having nightmares about the long lines at the shopping malls and department stores. John Grisham wrote an amusing little soap bubble a few years ago called "Skipping Christmas." It keeps sounding better and better with each passing holiday.
Call me crazy, but the best gift you can give me this Christmas is a hug, a handshake, a big grin or a trip over to the house just to say hello. That's more important than anything sitting in a shelf on a store.
Guess that's it for a Thursday. Gotta get back to work. Deadline day calleth!