Hey There, Sunshine

My work day usually starts off with a variety of routine sounds. The first sound comes from one of the four cats that roam our house. It is always the same cat of the four — Sonic. Sonic unfortunately has more respect for routine that he does for the sleep patterns of my wife and me. He jumps on the bed and emits what I have dubbed the Marge Simpson meow. In short, he meows at us; but is so apathetic he doesn't open his mouth to produce this sound. Sonic then feels it necessary to climb on my pillow and begin nuzzling my face. It's is usually at this point when I give the cat lessons in Newton's Law and the Laws of Aerodynamics simultaneously. All of this usually happens about an hour or two before the next sound of the day.

My alarm clock lies across the room. The reason for this is simple. If I have to get up and go across the room to shut off the alarm, I'll stay out of bed (WRONG!!). I reset the clock to go off in another hour. After all, I should have no problem going back to sleep and that extra hour will make all the difference in the world (WRONG AGAIN!!). The alarm clock emits a sound reminiscent of the Emergency Alert System tone as recorded by a mid – 1980's punk rock cover band. In spite of this, I endure this sound twice every morning; 5 days a week. What can I say? I can be as much a slave to routine as Sonic.

I then place my hopes upon my bathroom sink. Every morning, I approach the sink with the firm belief that my soul will be revived by the brushing of my teeth and the splashing of water on my face (Morning 3, Shane 0). I head downstairs to the smell of coffee and breakfast lovingly prepared by my wife. I walk into the kitchen to grab my coffee. It is at this point that I hear an ominous growl emanating from the kitchen counter. The coffee maker is hissing at me. It's almost as if my coffee maker doesn't like to do mornings and is in need of…well…a cup of coffee. I leave the room. After all, I already HAVE coffee. I am not going to tolerate such a contemptuous tone from a machine (I know; why stop now?).

Finally, I sit on front of the TV to look at some very important developments in the world. Once I see that the roadrunner has AGAIN eluded the otherwise intelligent coyote, I turn to the news and watch for the traffic report. Mind you, I take the same route to work five days a week. There isn't much short of a black hole in the middle of the interstate that will make me change my route. This is not an issue of routine. It is due to the fact that any alternative route will only further delay my trip. I view the map on the TV and listen to the reporter speak of accidents and construction work. Some roads are red (very slow traffic) and others are yellow (traffic just slightly faster than a funeral procession). Suddenly, something very out of the ordinary happens. The interstate that I take to work is GREEN. Things are looking up.

My dad used to greet me every morning by saying: "Hey there, Sunshine. BOY, DO I FEEL GOOD THIS MORNING." I decided to try this approach in light of the unusual traffic news. I stood in front of the TV and shouted: BOY, DO IFEEL GOOD THIS MORNING. At this point, the cat and the coffee maker let out a guttural groan. This is followed by the traffic reporter announcing a "rubbernecker delay" on the interstate that I take to go to work. Nevertheless, chanting my Dad's mantra felt good. Final Score: Morning 4, Shane 1.

Class Dismissive

As young children, we are taught to abide by a set of rules. These rules may pertain to playing a game (spin the dial and the highest number gets the first turn), behavior in the classroom (raise your hand to ask permission to go to the restroom), or addressing an adult properly (Miss B, may I please call my mother for a change of clothes? I REALLY needed to go to the restroom). This leads to the use of words such as etiquette and chivalry. Most people in today's society refer two these two words as bygone behaviors ("That boy has no manners") or extinct entities ("Chivalry is dead"). I am here once again to inform and entertain. That being said, let's examine these two words: etiquette and chivalry.

Etiquette is an unwritten code of behavior for polite society. Many of these are determined by one's community. The word has a rather unique origin. The word literally translates from the French as "ticket". Apparently, Louis XIV had a gardener who became quite miffed at passersby who would walk on the lawn as a thoroughfare and even through the garden. The gardener began putting up signs (or tickets) to ward these rude people away. The gardener was apparently not privy to the use of rock salt in a pellet gun. Then again, some would have regarded such a response to be equally rude. Anyway, this lead to signs being posted in French courts as to where people could stand and when they could speak. This would lead to the first formation of the Polite Police. Legend has it that speaking out of turn could get you three days in the Polite Pokey. I find this all interesting because; in modern society disobeying a posted sign ("No Parking This Side…Monday – Wednesday - Friday 8:27 AM – 9:12 PM), you are issued a ticket. Then, you have to go to court and obey more signs as the risk of getting another ticket or worse.

I had a science teacher once who found it extremely rude to chew gum in her class. Any student guilty of such an infraction had to write the following sentence 500 times: "I will not chew gum in Mrs. Douglas' Life Science class in Room 80 of Quail Hollow Junior High School in Charlotte, North Carolina". Needless to say, I never chewed gum in her class. After all, I may have flunked her class but I was not a barbarian.

Chivalry is basically another form of etiquette (without as many posted signs). Chivalry derives from French word chevalier ("one who sings in a 1959 Academy Award winning musical"). Chivalry is simply a code of conduct that teaches (and expects) men of all ages to act as gentlemen. People often associate chivalry with a basic level of respect toward women. In short, a gentleman is to treat a woman like a lady (thank you Eddie Cornelius). I took a girl to a dance once when I was a kid. I believe I acted as a gentleman. I presented my date with a corsage. I complimented her about the mint green dress she wore. I then politely asked her mother to pin her corsage for me so that my nervous shaking would not risk given my date a collapsed lung.

Unfortunately, chivalry and etiquette can often result in a frustrating stalemate. It is not uncommon to see two fine Southern gentleman engaged in a fistfight because each insisted on paying the check. After all, the only alternative would be for one of them to compromise their chivalrous integrity — HORRORS!

It is also worth noting that geography sometimes dictates etiquette and chivalry (even in the same country). Back in the 1990's, I was working in a hospital and approached a nurse I had not met previously. I said: Excuse me, Ma'am. She indignantly responded: "WHAT did you say?" She then ranted about how she hated to be addressed as Ma'am. I explained that it was merely a form of Southern chivalry. She then explained that in the Northern United States, many women interpret being addressed as "Ma'am" as an indicator that they are old. Embarrassed by my faux pas, I said: Duly noted, Toots. It won't happen again. After all, I AM a Southern Gentleman.

A Writer and a Gentleman

I have been spending at least one day per week working on my laptop writing essays for my blog — BDGJM. I have many times sought the counsel of fellow writers or done some research in how to deal with writer's block. Simply put, writer's block is the inability of a writer to produce new work. This has frustrated some writers to the point that they stop writing for long stretches of time or permanently. Fortunately, for me, the block is only temporarily frustrating (but nonetheless VERY frustrating).

A lot of times, the hardest part is actually opening up the word processor to get started. If I already have a topic in mind, the words can flow like a river. When I am blocked, I have to let my warped mind jog around the mental track and see where it goes. This can be even more frustrating sometimes because I hate jogging. I tend to associate it with the training I went through in the Navy. So, in my mind, Louis Gossett, Jr. shows up wearing his Gunnery Sergeant uniform.

I stand there as he gives his introduction: "You are coming to me because YOU want to be a humor writer. I am an Oscar winner for Best Actor in a Supporting Role. I am going to use any means, fair and unfair, to trip you up". Then he stands before me eye to eye. "Are you eyeballing me, boy?" No sir; I am not eyeballing you. "Did you just call me a ewe? A ewe is a female sheep. ARE YOU LOOKING TO WRITE A ROMANCE NOVEL, MACK-UH-FEEEEEE?" NO SIR! "Better watch your step, Mack-uh FEEEEEE. Ain't no virus program to protect you from ME!" I try to catch my breath and stay focused.

Then, the drilling starts. "OK Mack-uh-FEEEEEE, let's see how your mind works. You answer my questions and spit them right out." YES SIR! "Give me the quadratic formula." x = -b ± (√ (b²-4ac)/2a) SIR! "Factual, but not funny Mack-uh-FEEEEEE. Just give up now." I'M NOT GONNA QUIT! "Who was born Nathan Birnbaum?" George Burns and Nathan Birnbaum, SIR! "Is that the best you got, Mack-uh-FEEEEEE? Tell me the three greatest disasters in human history." The release of "Enemy Mine", "Iron Eagle 2", and "Iron Eagle 3" SIR! "OHHHHHHHHHH! You MUST be a humor writer. You've got JOKES all of a sudden!" I can tell by the gleam in his eye I have gained his respect; but he's not going to tell me that.

The words begin to flow and the work gets finished. I stand before him and hand him the essay. He gives me a sharp salute. "Congratulations, Humor Writer McAfee." Thank you, sir. "Gunnery Sergeant, Humor Writer McAfee." I'll never forget you. "I know that. Now, get out of here." I then walk up to my wife and pick her up and carry her off. I have no idea where we are going but that's okay. Don't over think and spoil the moment. My wife takes off my Atlanta Braves hat and puts it on her head. Suddenly, I can see a British blues rock singer going into numerous contortions as he sings a love ballad with what's-her-name.

The End

Pandora’s Library

I wrote a series of essays recently that revolved around books and reading. An organization called The National Association of 
Independent Writers and Editors (NAIWE) celebrated Great Books Week (October 4 – October 9, 2009) by hosting the Great Books Week Blog Tour. NAIWE invited bloggers to post one blog entry per day on topics they provided. I posted essays for four out of the five days (I got sidelined by an illness that laid me up too much that last day).

The first essay for this series was entitled "Seven Books, A Desert Island, and Me". The basic premise was to list seven books to take if stranded upon a desert island for a few years. The last book on this list was Billy Sunday by Rachel M. Phillips. I listed this one because it was a book I had always wanted to read but I had not yet read. Coincidentally, I had just purchased the book before getting wind of NAIWE's challenge.

This lead to some conversations between my sister and me about books we had read. Our mother was an avid reader who frequently gave books as gifts. Our father on the other hand is not as much of an avid reader as our mother (to be fair, I have met few people who were). That being said, if you gave my father a book, he would read it. If he found a particular book insightful, he would take you to school about it. My sister began to talk about a particularly moving story called The Shack by Wm. Paul Young. This was one of those books that turned my father into Professor McAfee. Trusting my sister's insight (as well as my father's), I put this book on my online wish list.

The conversation then turned to another book called 90 Minutes in Heaven by Don Piper (with Cecil Murphy). My parents were involved in a severe automobile accident in 1999. It was by the grace of God that my mother not only survived the accident but lived for another seven years. My parents shared a house with my sister and her family starting in 2002. My sister told me that 90 Minutes in Heaven was a book that my mother felt was required reading. Apparently, it provides a very accurate portrayal of my mother's experience immediately following the 1999 accident. So, once again, I updated my online wish list.

In addition to this, one of my favorite writers/podcasters, Kevin Cummings, is promoting his new book called Happily Domesticated: Musings on life, love, parenthood, malfunctioning appliances and marital bliss. I love Kevin Cummings' work. In addition to his book he runs a podcast called "Short Cummings Audio". If you haven't read Kevin' work or heard his podcast, you are truly missing out. Needless to say, Kevin's new book is part of my wish list.

The days that followed became more and more interesting. I received a copy of The Shack in the mail. My sister went to my online wish list and ordered the book as a gift. I haven't even started Billy Sunday yet and now I have another book to add to my reading list. Several days later, I received 90 Minutes in Heaven arrived for me (once again due to the generosity of my sister). On top of all this, I received an email from Kevin Cummings. Kevin ran a contest to promote his book. I entered the contest and added an online link to his book onto my blog site. Kevin decided to award all five people who entered the contest an autographed copy of Happily Domesticated: Musings on life, love, parenthood, malfunctioning appliances and marital bliss. I am thrilled beyond words to receive something like this from someone whose work I admire so much.

I started this week by responding to a challenge of writing daily for several consecutive days (something I had never done previously). This helped to remind me that I am the conduit of my writing, not the source (a wise writer once told me that). My week ended with four new books to read. Three of these books were given to me by people I respect a great deal. My writing this week opened Pandora's box. I am delighted to find it full of books.

Now That I Understand It….

The first week in October marks an annual celebration called Great Books Week. To honor this week, The National Association of
Independent Writers and Editors (NAIWE) is holding the Great Books Week Blog Tour. The tour invites bloggers to post their own blog using their topic suggestion for the day. My submission for Thursday is below. For more information, go to http://news.naiwe.com/2009/10/03/great-books-week-blog-tour-october-4-10-2009/

When I first started high school, a lot of my friends were reading "Macbeth" by William Shakespeare as required reading. I was in the drama club in school and loved the theater. My curiosity got the better of me so I checked out the book of the play from the library. Several of my friends who read it absolutely loved it. After reading through it, I thought maybe my friends were pulling my leg knowing I would get curious and read it. I mean with all the old English and the witches; I was going crazy trying to read this junk. And it was worse because I was doing this BY CHOICE. I took it back to the library vowing to do my best not to be exposed to that drivel ever again.

The following year, something happened that changed my viewpoint. The local youth theater was putting on a production of "Macbeth". Even better, several of my drama friends were in the cast. This included a friend whose acting talent I admired in the role of Lord Macbeth. Seeing the story before my eyes gave me a whole different view. It forced me to take the time to understand the story. Make no mistake; this truly is a great story.

In my senior year, my literature class had to read through "Macbeth". Everyone in the class was given a part to read aloud to the class. The teacher had me reading the part of Lord Macbeth. This allowed me to understand the story even better. Lord Macbeth was a man with unbridled ambition. Lady Macbeth was even more ambitious than her husband. She used her husband's love for her and his ambition to do unspeakable acts of murder in order to further their (or rather her) agenda. I'm not a chauvinist but it was clear who wore the panties in the House of Macbeth.

Lord Macbeth was told that no man born of a woman could stop him. This was fine until he met Macduff. Lord Macbeth said: "Look, Dude. If you were born of a woman, you better step out of my grill or get stomped" Macduff countered: "Guess what, Brah. I was a C – section". Lord Macbeth lost head his upon hearing this (literally). "Macbeth" is definitely worth the read (even if it requires a dictionary the first time)

Cherry Pits and Worms

The first week in October marks an annual celebration called Great Books Week. To honor this week, The National Association of
Independent Writers and Editors (NAIWE) is holding the Great Books Week Blog Tour. The tour invites bloggers to post their own blog using their topic suggestion for the day. My submission for Wednesday is below. For more information, go to http://news.naiwe.com/2009/10/03/great-books-week-blog-tour-october-4-10-2009/

I'd write my autobiography but I don't have it would be redundant. My life story has already been written by the late Erma Bombeck. In her book, if life is a bowl of cherries – what am I doing in the pits? (sic), Bombeck wrote of everyday living as a wife and mother. Admittedly, this may seem strange that a 43 year old man relates to such a book. The thing is, when Bombeck wrote of the daily frustrations of rearing her kids, I KNEW she was talking about me and my sister. My sister and I still take pleasure in implying the other eats worms. We would mimic some of the behavior in this book just for the sake of provoking our poor mother into a tizzy. Bless her heart, Momma didn't know whether to laugh or ground us sometimes. We also had the invisible siblings (Idunno and Idontcare) roaming about the household.

In later years, I related to the book a lot more but from a different angle. Apparently, Idunno and Idontcare grew up and had offspring. They now live in my house. As a parent, I still wonder if somehow Mrs. Bombeck was a prophet. My kids are shocked by the way I provoked my mother as a child. I guess that means I did a good job rearing them. However, it doesn't stop them from provoking me with their bickering and non-stop need. Thanks to the prophecy of Erma Bombeck; I know that when my son gets a speeding ticket, my daughter runs her portable media player through the dyer, and the cat decorates the floor with a strategically placed hairball (all within an hour's time); normalcy has arrived.

People often say "Someday, you look back on it all and laugh". Bombeck suggests: "Why wait?"

Thank You, Mr. Twain

The first week in October marks an annual celebration called Great Books Week. To honor this week, The National Association of
Independent Writers and Editors (NAIWE) is holding the Great Books Week Blog Tour. The tour invites bloggers to post their own blog using their topic suggestion for the day. My submission for Tuesday is below. For more information, go to http://news.naiwe.com/2009/10/03/great-books-week-blog-tour-october-4-10-2009/

When I was a young boy, my favorite book was The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain. This story was commonly read in elementary schools by teachers. My mother even got me a 45 record of the story. I wore the grooves off that record. I cannot begin to tell how much this Southern boy loved living vicariously through Tom Sawyer. Tom was a very mischievous young boy. Tom did all of the things a Southern boy wanted to do (but most wouldn't dare). He wasn't a delinquent in the truly criminal sense. He was just a boy who wanted to have fun. For Tom, that meant breaking rules.

When Tom had to whitewash a fence as a form of punishment, he hoodwinked every boy who passed by to do it for him in trade. As shocking as it was to this young Southern boy to see Tom once again buck his Aunt Polly's authority, I couldn't help but admire his cunning entrepreneurial spirit. I loved the idea of Tom and Huck running away to become pirates on the Mississippi River. I also admired Tom's prodigal spirit when he decides to return home (interrupting his own funeral). I could even feel my heart in my throat as Tom stood up for the town drunk, Muff Potter, who had been framed for murder. Tom testified in court on Muff's behalf knowing his life was in danger for doing so. Tom WAS a rule breaker but he had a strong sense of right and wrong.

I remember seeing a movie about Tom Sawyer that showed him wearing overalls. He wore no shirt and no shoes. My mom told me that my Dad often dressed in the same fashion as a young boy. Needless to say, I dressed in that same fashion a few times that summer. Thank you, Mr. Twain for allowing me to live Tom' adventures (and not get a whippin' for doing it).