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Shooting fish sans barrel

June 1, 2011 by Beth

Summer is starting to bring out the “best” in my redneck neighbors. I’ve mentioned some springtime idiocy, but the summer offers something different.

I’ve been collecting stories about the neighbors — whom Eddie and I have named Serial Killer, Beekeeper, Ghost, Refrigerator Box, The Preacher, Prophetess, Auburn, Professor, Shirtless George, Big Screen, Fish Trapper and Kurt Land — but today’s post is about Mr. Gun. Mr. B.B. Gun.

We live on a small lake and we were enjoying the serenity (Serenity now!) while feeding the geese.

Suddenly, we heard gunshots (which, incidentally, is why we left our last neighborhood, Cracktown).

We look up and see this:

Our neighbor is throwing out fish food, then shooting the fish with his BB gun.

Seriously? It is too much trouble to get out a pole? Why not just skip right to dynamite?

I called the local police department to see if such activity is legal in our area. I got voice mail.

Sigh.

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Feeling a little fetal

May 23, 2011 by Beth

Well-meaning women sometimes say to me, “I just don’t know how you do it.” I could be wrong, but I think they are referring to the fact that I have a family and a full-time job, plus the completion of a doctoral degree looming over my head, yet I manage to bathe and dress myself, show up on time to all the places I need to be, and try to exhibit some sense while I’m there.

Lately, my stock answer for that well-intentioned comment is, “Well, I don’t, really.”

I’m not trying to be snarky; I just feel like I’m only barely keeping myself together. There’s some half-assery going on. Hence the extended time between posts on this blog.

And last week, I had a fetal-position moment that resolved itself only through Eddie rubbing slow circles on my back and speaking in low tones — you know, the way you speak to some rabid animal that’s gotten between you and your back door. I’m sure he wished he could consult some kind of Wife Manual.

Anyway, when I am feeling low, I like to cheer myself up with Damn You, Auto Correct! There I find treasures like this:

There now … Don’t you feel better? I know I do.

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A good grill is hard to find

May 18, 2011 by Beth

From Blitchton, here’s proof of functional illiteracy in America.

(Thank you, Royce, for bringing this into my life.)

Posted in Grammar, etc. | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments »

Dominic’s wisdom

May 13, 2011 by Beth

Dominic has been offering a stream of one-liners this week. Here are three:

He was scratching my back and asked me what the straps were. I explained the concept of a bra, and likened it to boys wearing underwear to support their bits. He wanted to know more.

D: Why can’t I wear one?
Me: Because you don’t have breasts and there’s nothing to support.
D: Daddy’s chest sticks out.
Me: Yes. He has pectoral muscles not breasts.
D: Well my muscles are going to stick out too because I eat my vegetables.



This morning’s goodbye kiss with Eddie was a little longer than usual. Then we noticed Dominic looking at us and smiling.

D: That’s just like in the movies!



Tonight he was wrestling with Gideon, and Gideon got hurt and started crying.

Me: How many times have I told you not to play like that?
D: A thousand.


That’s my son!

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Interview with Dominic, 6

May 8, 2011 by Beth

Dominic did this at school (with his teacher’s help, of course) and presented it to me today for Mother’s Day. He was so proud!

(I prefer “Princess Bride” over “SpongeBob,” but he doesn’t know that.)

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Signs of the times

May 6, 2011 by Beth

I apologize for my dissertation-induced hiatus. I’m back with a vengeance: a roundup of this week’s idiocy, near and far.

From Texas:

From Montana:

From around the corner:

I think I'm offended.

And from the Savannah Morning News:

I can't imagine the Muslim would want to be worn anyway.

And I’ve just discovered the apostrophe key is not working on my laptop (all of the ones here were cut and pasted). How will I survive?

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Celebrating the Georgia state vegetable

April 29, 2011 by Beth

While Wills and Kate were enjoying a posh party with 300 of their closest friends, Eddie, the boys and I were on our way to the Vidalia Onion Festival, which included a rodeo.

Here’s a photo essay.

Jesus is in the market for a stuffed member of the Rat Pack?

Vidalia, the Sweet Onion City

The city’s bounty comes in regular and jumbo sizes, and in five-, 10- or 25-pound bags. I chose a 10-pounder.

The city's harvest dipped in batter and drowned in oil. Yum! Dominic is not so sure.

Paramedics at the rodeo. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

The boys enjoy an up-close-and-personal view of cow hide.

Nothing says "festival" quite like a funnel cake.

And nothing says "festival in the country" quite like boiled peanuts. Gideon likes them too!

Ridin' and ropin' with a generous helping of Toby Keith and Garth Brooks over the loudspeaker.

Where have all the cowgirls gone? Here, "cloverleafing" around barrels.

The rodeo was entertaining, even though the cowboys and cowgirls were high school students and not professionals.

Everyone we talked to kept inviting us to the “street dance.” I don’t know what that was, but we didn’t go. We had already been a little spooked by the first thing we heard upon arriving:

We need parents to help out with the goats, please.

That’s not something I’ll bet Wills and Kate heard at their soirée.

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You probably think this post is about you

April 26, 2011 by Beth

… ‘Students and the enormous revenue they bring in to our institution are a more valued commodity to us than faculty,’ Dean James Hewitt said. ‘Although Rothberg is a distinguished, tenured professor with countless academic credentials and knowledge of 21 modern and ancient languages, there is absolutely no excuse for his boring Chad with his lectures. Chad must be entertained at all costs.’ (from ‘Professor deeply hurt by student’s evaluation‘)

Thank you to The Onion for providing this little bit of levity regarding the serious business of student evaluations. (I’ve mentioned my feelings about them before.)

Just this morning, one of my coworkers was lamenting the “age of entitlement” and mourning the death of professor respect. I’m not sure I’m in a position to really complain about narcissism, though. My activity on Facebook, Twitter and this blog is not exactly bucking the trend.

Let’s look at the concept of narcissism as defined by Jean M. Twenge and W. Keith Campbell, authors of “The Narcissism Epidemic: Living in the Age of Entitlement.”

Narcissists believe they are better than others, lack emotionally warm and caring relationships, constantly seek attention, and treasure material wealth and physical appearance.

So I’ll narcissistically comment on my narcissism in my narcissistic blog: One out of the four is definitely true, and I think someone could make a case for two others, although only in specific areas.

But enough about me. What about you?

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Nothing says “watch” like the words “pus plug”

April 23, 2011 by Beth

Some friends are staying with us this weekend and introduced us to “Web Soup,” an odd (inferior) mix of “Talk Soup” and “Tosh.0.”

I mention this because there was a video of someone squeezing a boil. (Shudder.)

Guess what that led to.

Yep, a ride on the YouTube highway to hell. (You know how I get.)

That’s how I found the nastiest video ever. (I had no idea people posted all of this kind of stuff. Ignorance was not necessarily bliss in this case.)

Warning: Do not watch if you have a weak stomach.

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You might be a redneck if …

April 18, 2011 by Beth

… you have a portalet on the back of your pickup.

My neighbor might be a redneck.

I’m not sure if I am becoming one, or am one already, but I certainly live next to some.

With apologies to Jeff Foxworthy, here’s my take:

Your neighbor might be a redneck if …

  • He doesn’t own a shirt. (If my next-door neighbor has one, he never wears it.)
  • She drives to the mailbox.
  • You had to put up a taller fence to keep your neighbor from peeping over it to see what you were doing.
  • Her free-range terrier tried to kill your chicken. (Wait — that might make me a redneck too.)
  • She operates a beauty salon in her garage.
  • He has an RV in his back yard, and his kids live in it. (To be clear, they are grown.)
  • There has been a refrigerator box in his yard for three months.

Including the portalet, there are eight examples of redneckery afoot in my neighborhood. Yet I’m only talking about four different neighbors.

Redneck is as redneck does (apologies to Forrest Gump).

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