@TheMonologist A “real estate magnet”. Did she attract foreclosed houses like fridge poetry? Or repel foreclosures with sudden polar reversals? I’m just hoping you truly meant to write ‘pianist’.
Hey Bryan, thanks for the info, I had no idea any of this was going on!! Currently I ‘m fortified in my motel fortress with the mini-fridge jammed against the door, and I’ve MacGyvered a TV remote into a stun gun by taping forks to it. This shady bellhop keeps knocking, droning on about “valet parking fees” and “upgrading my room,” but I glimpsed his gold tooth—classic narco bling, no doubt a hitman scout post-El Mencho’s demise. Set to ninja my way to the marina at dusk. Been 18 hours, total blackout on all the local broadcasts about gringo snatchings or shootouts in the mayhem, but hey, that just proves the press is on the cartel payroll. I’m definitely down with the freighter jacking scheme! Honestly, man, I had no idea there even was a seaport in New Mexico! Let’s f’ing go!
Just the other day I got reminded why maybe, just maybe, I’m still hanging around this planet. I’ve got a whole passel of grandkids—wonderful, chaotic, somewhat screen-addicted—but one granddaughter stands apart, like a quiet comet streaking through the noise.
She’s this funny little thing, always has been: prefers curling up with books over staring at iPads, takes solo walks in the rain just to feel the drops on her face, taught herself to draw and paint with a patience most adults never find. She’s picking up violin, guitar, clarinet—and last I heard, maybe piano too. Thinks before she speaks—actually thinks, weighs the words like they matter. Spent an entire year making a weekly 10-word vocabulary list. Learned every one of ‘em. (Me: “Hey, wanna go get ice cream?” Her: “Indubitably!” Me: “So… yes or no?”) School didn’t have a chess club? She started one. When she was single-digits, I’d drive her to the bait store; her pocket full of her chore-earned change, “rescue” as many minnows as she could afford from “certain doom”, and we’d take ‘em and release them into our bass pond. (I never had the heart to tell her their odds weren’t great—let her keep those small mercies intact.)
The other day, warm sun pouring down, I was out back, sitting on our rock wall, like a big ol’ pheasant, basking, contemplating life’s deep mysteries—or maybe taking a nap. Then from an open window inside, violin notes drifted out. Slow at first, tentative, then building to a familiar tune. I realized she was teaching herself “Free Bird.” Lynyrd Skynyrd. My youth’s anthem—we lived and breathed that song.
I yelled up, “What’re you playing, Punkin?”
“Free Bird. Do you know it?”
“Yeah… think I might’ve heard it once or twice. How do you know it?”
“Heard it in a commercial last week, had Grok find it, now I’m learning.”
“Okay, but why this one?”
“I read the lyrics. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking. Have you heard the words? It’s like Casablanca.”
"Yeah, I know the words…" I paused. "Wait… like Casablanca? You've watched Casablanca?"
“One of my all-time favorites, Grandpa. Free Bird’s like that—he loves her enough to let go so she doesn’t get hurt worse later. Just like Rick and Ilsa. Don’t you think?”
Another beat. Couple more. “Yeah, Punkin. You’re right. Sorry to interrupt.”
“K, love you, Grandpa!”
“Love you too, kiddo”.
Went back to my favorite perch, thankfully still warm and sunny. I sat there listening, thinking: You keep taking those rain walks, baby girl. Keep turning those pages, rescuing tiny fish nobody else would bother with. Free Bird’s like Casablanca? I don’t know, maybe, I’m just a tired old guy trying to stay awake in the sun. But I do know the world needs more like her—quiet comets lighting up the ordinary, pushing back the dark.
Why does Kathy Griffin seem to hold such a grudge against Melania Trump? I truly don’t understand it. It seems like it’s more than political, something visceral. I feel like it should be obvious, like it’s right there in front of me, but I just can’t figure it out. What do you think? #KathyGriffin #MelaniaTrump
“ dID hE evER reaD tO kiLl A moCKiNgbIrD?”
F*ck off, Rand, just f*ck the f*ck off. We’re so over your constant holier-than-thou posturing. You clutch your pearls more than Beaver’s mom ever did. This kind of crap is all you’ve managed to contribute in 14 years (and sadly it is), and it’s time to retire and start bouncing around between CBS, CNN, and Meet the Press every Sunday morning with every other washed up, un-respected, pious ego-driven azzwipe. Your time is over, and it’s time for JD and cohorts to lead. If you can’t be helpful, just shut the f*ck up and go away.