Remembering the Good Old Days When Gas Was Cheap

Photo by SportscarWorkshops

Back when I was a teenager, you could pull into a gas station and not only would a smiling attendant, wearing a neatly pressed uniform, rush out of the station to wash your car’s windshield and check its oil, you could also buy a dollar’s worth of gas and, believe it or not, actually get several gallons for your dollar. And those several gallons of gas were enough to enable you to go cruising around the streets of Fairburn on Saturday night. Well, then again, Fairburn, Georgia only had two traffic lights back then, with three streets intersecting with Roosevelt, the main thoroughfare, so it didn’t take all that much gas to cruise around the town. My point, though, is that gas was affordable.

The good old days are over, though, and it’s extremely doubtful—more like totally improbable—we’ll ever see affordable gas again. In fact, gas prices just seem to keep escalating. Heck, would you believe it took over $50.00 to fill up the tank on my Tundra this week, and it still had a quarter of a tank left?

Of course, I know what you’re thinking: “Carol, you need something more gas efficient than a truck with a V-8 engine.” Yeah, right, as if I want to go riding around the highways of America in one those itty bitty cars you see some people riding around in today. You know the kind I mean. They look like something a clown would drive around in circles in a parade—tiny, boxy, beetle-looking things that probably don’t weigh more than, oh, 500 pounds, if that. Now, come on, do you really think I’m going to go riding around in what amounts to a sardine can and attempt to play bumper cars with SUV’s, 4X4 pickups, and semis with tires as big as a house?  

And since I’m not as dumb as my ex-husband thinks, I will continue to moan and groan as I continue to pay exorbitant prices at the pump. After all, the only other option I have, other than the option previously mentioned, is to park my Tundra and either walk or bicycle to destinations. Not that I intend to do that either, since pedestrians and bicyclists stand even less of a chance on America’s highways and byways than one of those ridiculous looking toy cars.

Let Children Act Like Children

Photo by Kathy Sanchez

How many children do you know or at least know of who’re on some type of medication to calm them down, suppress their childish impulses, and help them focus and pay attention? Okay, so how many children do you know or at least know of who aren’t on some form of medication to calm them down, etc.?  Chances are, based upon what I’ve heard from parents, read in the paper and magazines, heard on the news, and witnessed firsthand when I was teaching high school, the number you provided in response to the first question exceeds the number you provided in response to the second question. Am I right?

What I wonder, and have been wondering for some time now, is when medicating children with mood-altering drugs became so prevalent in this country. It is, you know, a fairly new phenomenon. And before you accuse me of being heartless, ignorant, and/or totally uninformed, let me establish that, first, I am not trying to make light of children who actually suffer from mood disorders and in whose case pharmaceutical intervention is warranted. I am questioning, though, why doctors so frequently prescribe potent mood-altering drugs to prevent children from acting like children have been acting since the beginning of time.    

Back in the 50’s and 60’s when my siblings and I were growing up back in rural Georgia, children, the three of us included, had the attention span of gnats. Heck, Vicki, Bud, and I couldn’t sit still for more than, oh, maybe fifteen minutes at best. We daydreamed. We fidgeted. We squirmed in our seats at school, in church, or pretty much anyplace where we were expected to remain stationary for any length of time. We were disorganized and usually downright messy. We only half listened to our parents or any other adult—when and if we listened at all. We lost our toys, books, galoshes, lunchboxes, jackets, and other belongings. We were easily distracted. We were sometimes rowdy, noisy, and impatient. We were sometimes disheveled. We got dirty. We ran, we jumped, we screamed, and we argued and fought. In other words, we were pretty obnoxious at times. We were also trials and tribulations to our parents, who often became exasperated to the extent they threatened to disown us or give us away to the first band of gypsies that happened to pass through town. 

But did Mama and Daddy ever once rush us off to see the town’s only doctor? Did they stand in his office, wring their hands, and moan, “Oh, please, you’ve just got to do something about Vicki, Bud, and Carol. Please calm them down. They can’t sit still. They have the attention spans of gnats. We simply can’t take it anymore. They’re driving us nutty. They’re hard to control. They don’t act normal. “(Of course, admittedly, my siblings and I were a bit strange, but that’s another story.)

The answer, of course, is no. What our parents did was accept that my siblings and I were just acting like children. Of course, Mama and Daddy also let us know when we went too far” “All right, you young’uns,” they’d say, “if you don’t start behaving, you’re not gonna be able to sit down for a month.” And, then, our parents would follow through.

But, alas, the times have changed, and many parents today don’t discipline their children, nor do they want the mess and hassle of raising children. What they want is for their children to be docile, quiet, obedient, and undisruptive. In other words, they want miniature adults, not children. 

Only in Louisiana: Toilet Paper Heist

Photo by Rusty Boxcars

As I’ve mentioned before, I read the newspaper every day, but not just any old newspaper. I read The Advocate, aka “My Newspaper of Choice.” And, no, to dispel any misconceptions you might have, I am neither employed by The Advocate nor do I receive any form of compensation for touting it as the best newspaper, by far, in the entirety of Louisiana. (Although, come to think of it, perhaps I should ask for a free subscription, at the very least.)

Anyway, in Friday’s Advocate I read an interesting article by the River Parishes Bureau about two men being charged with theft in the town of Gonzales, which is located in Rapides Parish (Down here in the swamps they have parishes, not counties). It seems the guys were stealing from the public restrooms in Jambalaya Park. Yes, that’s right, stealing from public restrooms. These guys, however, weren’t charge with stealing sinks, toilets, wiring, or any form of hardware, so dismiss that image from your mind. They were accused of stealing toilet paper. Yes, that’s right, toilet paper, and 60 rolls no less.

Now, I ask you, what on earth did these two morons intend to do with 60 rolls of toilet paper? Resale it on the hot-toilet-paper market? After all, toilet paper isn’t exactly cheap these days. Well, that is unless you purchase the kind with all the texture and softness of a page from a Sears and Roebuck Catalog, which is what my grandparents used to put in the outhouse, along with back issues of Reader’s Digest, since toilet paper was a luxury item.  

Then again, perhaps the two morons intended to use the paper in a prank, you know, maybe toilet-paper the yards, bushes, lawn furniture, and any dogs or cats that happened to get in the way at some other moron’s house? I can just see them running around, laughing, and flinging toilet paper all over everything. Come to think of it, my daughter, Kathy, and I once did this. Of course, she was a teenager back then, could behave quite immaturely at times, and was a bad influence on her mama.

And now, since it’s almost 2:00 in the morning here in the alligator and mosquito infested swamps of south Louisiana, I will leave you with the moral of the story: It’s all right to squeeze the Charmin, but leave it on the dispenser. (All right, so sue me. That’s the best I can come up with at this godawful hour.)

Source: River Parishes Bureau; “Two Charged in Park Toilet Paper Thefts;” The Advocate; Friday, January 13, 2012, p. 5B

Free Ponies for All Americans!

Photo by SpratMackrel

It’s a strange, strange word we live in, and with each day that passes it just seems to keep getting stranger. (Then again, perhaps “nuttier” is a better word.) And just when I think I’ve heard everything, I hear something else that makes me go, “Whoa! Is this for real?”

As I’ve mentioned, I read the newspaper religiously. In fact, I would be lost without my daily dose of The Advocate, “My Newspaper of Choice.” Speaking of which, a month or so ago when our newspaper carrier either found another job, ran away with a waitress from the Waffle House out near Interstate 10, or else was abducted by aliens, I was not a happy camper. Do you know how hard it is to find a copy of The Advocate here in Lafayette at one of those vending machines that newspapers put at the convenience stores, supermarkets, and pharmacies? Next to impossible, that’s how hard. Oh, you can find six zillion copies of The Daily Advertiser, Lafayette’s local paper, but forget about The Advocate. (There are myriad reasons why I don’t subscribe to the local paper). However, the few copies of The Advocate that they, whoever “they” are, put in the vending machines are gone by the time the fog has lifted off the Atchafalaya Basin, and I’m never out of bed that early. Trust me, having to drive all over town in my pajamas trying to find a copy of The Advocate got old fast, which was what I had to do for two weeks after our former carrier disappeared and before our new carrier finally learned where we lived.  

Okay, now back to the point of this blog, which is what I learned from an article by Shira Schoenberg in the Parade section of Sunday’s The Advocate. First, granted, I learned something I didn’t know about the political system in this country: In the state of New Hampshire anyone can get on the ballot in the presidential primary, at least if he or she has $1,000 for the filing fee and, as Schoenberg says, “a dose of chutzpah.” (If you’re unfamiliar with the word “chutzpah,” it means audacity, nerve, or, in common parlance, “guts.” Hmm, of course, there’s another word I could use, but I won’t since this is a family friendly blog).

As a result of this law, or whatever it is, there are 44 candidates on the ballot in New Hampshire for the election on Tuesday, including a guy named Vermin Supreme (I kid you not; that’s really his name, which makes me wonder about his parents. After all, what person is going to name a kid “Vermin”? Then again, come to think of it, I’ve seen plenty of kids around deserving of that moniker.) 

Well, regardless of his decidedly weird name, Vermin Supreme would get my vote if I lived in New Hampshire instead of down here in the godawful swamps of Louisiana because the issues he is running on are issues I could support.

First, Vermin Supreme wants to make tooth-brushing mandatory, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen quite a few people here in Louisiana who could stand to improve their oral hygiene. Two, Vermin wants to enact a measure he calls “zombie preparedness;” and, in my opinion, we Americans should be prepared for a zombie invasion. In fact, I believe I saw one or two zombies the other day at Wal-Mart. Then again, maybe, like me, they were just shoppers dazed from the Wal-Mart shopping experience. Third, Vermin wants federal funding for time travel, and, personally, I think it would be really neat to go back and forth in time to see what we missed or, for that matter, are going to miss.

And now for the pièce de résistance, which is French for the grand finale or something like that: Vermin Supreme wants to give free ponies to all Americans! This alone is reason enough to vote for Vermin, at least in my opinion, because you have no earthly idea how much I wanted a pony when I was a little girl growing up back in rural Georgia. Why, I used to beg my daddy to buy me a pony, but since we were poor, I had to be content either riding one of our big dogs or else trying to ride one of our hogs. Have you ever tried to ride a hog? Well, I’m here to tell you that riding a hog isn’t for sissies. If you do manage to get on that hog’s back, which in itself is no small feat, that hog is going to take off like greased lightning across that pigpen, bucking as only a hog can buck, and you’re soon going to find yourself lying face down in the mud, muck, and mire being trampled by all the other hogs. So, that said, I think we should all campaign to get Vermin on the national ballot in the upcoming election. Vermin Supreme is my idea of a real presidential contender.

Schoenberg, S. (2012) “Vote for. . . Who?” Baton Rouge, LA: The Advocate. Parade, p. 4

Stranger than Fiction

Okay, now I’ve heard everything. Well, not really, but what I read in Friday’s The Advocate (my newspaper of choice) was rather difficult to believe. Then again, given the way people are in today’s world, I don’t guess I was too, too surprised. I was, though, somewhat amused, as well as bemused.  

According to Staff Writer Jason Brown, Troy Landry, star of the reality show “Swamp People,” which is filmed somewhere down here in the godawful swamps of Louisiana, has filed suit against three companies, claiming the companies are using his trademarked expressions for monetary gain (2012, p. 1B). Those expressions include “Choot Em, Tree Shaka, Tree Breaka, Mudda Fricka” (I kid you not), and “Got Gator?” Oh, and Landry has also trademarked his name.

After reading Brown’s article, I started thinking (I do that on occasion, contrary to popular belief) about what would happen if we all trademarked the expressions we used. What if, for example, I trademarked “Y’all come back now”? And what about “over yonder,” “down yonder,” “out yonder,” “in yonder,” and “up yonder”?  Oh, and let’s not forget the expression “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise”, which my daddy used to say and which I now hear myself saying, even though it’s grammatically incorrect. And I can’t leave out “He’s dug in like an Alabama tick” or, speaking of ticks, “I’m as full as a tick.” (Don’t you just love Southernisms?)

I guess my point is that if we all trademarked the expressions we used, it would certainly limit our ability to communicate. Moreover, if we all trademarked our names, then new parents would have a difficult time naming their child. I guess, though, the parents could call the child “It,” but I think that’s probably already a registered trademark.

Source: Brown, J. (2012) Swamp People star files suit. Baton Rouge, LA: The Advocate, Friday, January 6; p. 1B