The Latter

Should I post the link? Should I not?

I blogged a month ago about my home city of Nashville getting inundated every 13 years by millions of cicadas that look like locusts, and a discussion in my Journal Communications office led to the topic of how much money it would take for someone to actually eat one. The responses weren’t surprising.

“I’d do it for $1,000,” said one.

“Yeah, $1,000,” agreed another.

“It’d take $500 for me,” said a third.

Then, my turn.

“I’d eat one for 50 bucks,” I said foolishly. “It’s no big deal.”

Well, everyone attacked that assertion and word quickly reached our company owner, Bob. He ultimately pledged paying me the $50 himself if I ate a cicada on video for a http://cicadacentral.com website.

Journal writes and produces magazines and websites, among which are agriculture-based Tennessee Home & Farm and Illinois Partners. Jessy, one of our social media whizzes, created http://cicadacentral.com to educate those readers about the 13-year cicadas that swarm the two states for about five weeks.

Anyway, I agreed to cicada-dine and really wasn’t thinking about posting the link or writing about this today, but several people bugged me to do it. I don’t know whether to be proud or ashamed. Probably the latter. Here it is on YouTube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tqt7vXBQuCQ

Diploma at 6

My six-year-old, Jenna, was part of a graduation-from-kindergarten event yesterday that had as much pomp as a commencement ceremony at West Point. She received a very professional-looking diploma and I bought my little girl a small bouquet of flowers to congratulate her on the achievement.

I am amazed what kids learn in kindergarten these days. Jenna already has a huge start on reading, can count by twos to 100, loves music, enjoys computers – plus likes just hanging with her friends and being a kid. Thank you, Mrs. Miller, for all you did for Jenna this year.

BTW: What a difference kindergarten is today compared to yesteryear. When I attended, I would pretty much pass kindergarten if I took a two-hour nap every afternoon and if I didn’t mess in my pants too many times during the year.

My mom told me that because of the latter, I barely graduated.

George Strait

I woke up Sunday morning with a post-it note stuck to my forehead. There was no message on it – it was just stuck to my forehead.

My wife and kids were out-of-state at my nephew’s high school graduation, and I stayed home to catch up on writing. I was on the couch Saturday night with laptop and notes when I fell asleep around 10 p.m., then slept non-stop until 8 a.m. Sunday.

Ten hours of sleep, which is unheard of for anyone anymore. Although, I do remember a friend of mine going to bed after a bad drunk one Friday night and sleeping for 36 straight hours. He finally woke up as bitter as a hermit is poor when he realized how long it took him to get sober.

Air Apparent

My family returned home from their trip Monday night and I picked them up at Nashville International Airport, where I found myself proud of my local airport. I walked into the terminal and heard live music coming from a lounge near the front entrance, and apparently a variety of bands perform at the Music City airport most days from 11 a.m. to about 8 p.m.

Then I heard, “This is George Strait. Welcome to Nashville,” piped over the airport’s public address system. Supposedly several country stars have taped various messages to welcome visitors, and those messages are played every 15 minutes or so. 

Nashville Airport plays well on its Music City theme, kind of like how Las Vegas has slot machines in their airport terminal. Experts say the first impression most people get of a city is the airport, and people walking through Nashville’s on Monday night looked happier than birds eating from a fresh-cut lawn as they passed the live-music lounge.

One more nice aspect of Nashville Airport: The rental car lots are only about 50 yards from the front terminal entrance, so you can simply walk to the cars. No long bus trip is needed to transport you to-and-from rental car lots, which is the case in most cities.

But for all their clever thinking, not everything at Nashville Airport is as sweet as Carrie Underwood’s smile. The airport has long been undergoing a large renovation project, which seems to be evolving slower than a twangy bluegrass ballad.

Seeds the Day

A little garden got planted by me this week next to the backyard patio, and it has promise. The garden is as colorful as a Jackson Pollock painting thanks to tomatoes, yellow peppers, strawberries, lettuce and even a sunflower for flash.

However, a total city boy am I, as evidenced by a corn-growing incident two years ago. A small plot got planted and grew fabulously – 10 feet tall – but the city boy in me didn’t know that there is corn for human consumption and there is corn for cattle.

I mistakenly planted cattle corn from seeds purchased at the local co-op, and cattle corn is so hard that it can’t be eaten by humans. Bulls and cows eat the entire ear – cob and all – by crushing and chewing everything with their powerful jaws and teeth.

That was a big growing mistake, but it won’t be my last. Gardening to me is odd but interesting. It’s kind of like banjo music, but I don’t know beans about banjo music.

Sweet Slaughters

My all-boy Andrew has me watching animal slaughter TV shows, and I must admit that the violence is riveting. Sharks, hawks, bears and cheetahs overcoming their prey is blood-pumping action, but there’s nothing like the savagery of crocodiles to get my juices jumping.

We watched two nights ago a strange, annual pilgrimage of thousands of antelopes that eventually arrive at a narrow river in Africa, then cross it to access vegetation on the other side. Only one problem: Waiting underneath the water’s surface are hundreds of ravenous crocodiles that want nothing more than to rip apart a helpless antelope or two or 50, then blissfully gorge on the meaty beasts.

Ticketmaster should sell tickets to this thing, for spectators to see it live. I would pay $300 for a couple of front-row seats to witness this astonishing spectacle of nature. It sure beats growing cattle corn.

Novel Approach

No word yet on two scripts I’ve mailed, although another agent in Hollywood asked yesterday for the first 50 pages, so I’ll head to the post office after I e-mail this blog to my niece to post. I’m surprising myself by not getting too high or too low with any of this publishing process. Must be the Libra in me.

Mac and Gak

I had a nice meal with family and friends a few weeks ago at Applebee’s, and probably sampled eight or nine different foods thanks to many appetizers we all ordered from the menu.

Once the waitress brought a dozen appetizers to our table of 10, the conversation oddly turned to foods in the world that we don’t like, and it was eventually my turn to answer.

“There’s only one food I don’t like,” I said. “I like broccoli, cauliflower, liver, limburger cheese – bring it all on. But I can’t eat macaroni and cheese. I just can’t, and I won’t eat it for the rest of my life.”

Oh, the dirty looks I got. I felt like a fat kid in dodgeball with everyone ready to throw.

“I love mac and cheese – what’s wrong with you?” barked one guest.

“Everyone in the world loves mac and cheese – yeah, what’s with you?” chimed another.

My dislike stems from eating mac and cheese basically every day as a starving college student, and the only thing that got me through was smothering the gooey, yellow mess with packet after packet of ketchup. I promised myself that once I graduated from college and made anything of myself, I would never eat mac and cheese again.

I haven’t to this day and maybe it’s mushroomed to a psychological thing, because even the smell bothers me now.

No Panama

I heard yesterday that Prince recently sold out 21 consecutive concert nights at the 15,000-seat Los Angeles Forum. Good luck ever doing that, Justin Bieber.

I once attended a great concert and a horrible concert all in the same night, and with the same band. I drove from Detroit to Cleveland to catch my all-time favorite rock band – Van Halen – and my anticipation level was through the roof once I made my way to a fourth-row seat.

But the entire 2-hour show featured VH playing none of their mega-hits. I never heard Panama, Jump, Hot for Teacher, Runnin’ With the Devil, Dance the Night Away – nothing.

I eventually found out that the concert was a promo for their new album coming out a week later, and everyone in the audience seemed to know about it ahead of time except me.

But still – a Van Halen concert without Panama or Jump? That’s like going to a Hanson concert and they don’t play MMMBop.

Mac and Gak

I had a nice meal with family and friends a few weeks ago at Applebee’s, and probably sampled eight or nine different foods thanks to many appetizers we all ordered from the menu.

Once the waitress brought a dozen appetizers to our table of 10, the conversation oddly turned to foods in the world that we don’t like, and it was eventually my turn to answer.

“There’s only one food I don’t like,” I said. “I like broccoli, cauliflower, liver, limburger cheese – bring it all on. But I can’t eat macaroni and cheese. I just can’t, and I won’t eat it for the rest of my life.”

Oh, the dirty looks I got. I felt like a fat kid in dodgeball with everyone ready to throw.

“I love mac and cheese – what’s wrong with you?” barked one guest.

“Everyone in the world loves mac and cheese – yeah, what’s with you?” chimed another.

My dislike stems from eating mac and cheese basically every day as a starving college student, and the only thing that got me through was smothering the gooey, yellow mess with packet after packet of ketchup. I promised myself that once I graduated from college and made anything of myself, I would never eat mac and cheese again.

I haven’t to this day and maybe it’s mushroomed to a psychological thing, because even the smell bothers me now.

No Panama

I heard yesterday that Prince recently sold out 21 consecutive concert nights at the 15,000-seat Los Angeles Forum. Good luck ever doing that, Justin Bieber.

I once attended a great concert and a horrible concert all in the same night, and with the same band. I drove from Detroit to Cleveland to catch my all-time favorite rock band – Van Halen – and my anticipation level was through the roof once I made my way to a fourth-row seat.

But the entire 2-hour show featured VH playing none of their mega-hits. I never heard Panama, Jump, Hot for Teacher, Runnin’ With the Devil, Dance the Night Away – nothing.

I eventually found out that the concert was a promo for their new album coming out a week later, and everyone in the audience seemed to know about it ahead of time except me.

But still – a Van Halen concert without Panama or Jump? That’s like going to a Hanson concert and they don’t play MMMBop.

Dad Sad

This week I’ve been as miserable as a dog in the rain, thinking about my deceased father.

My dad passed away May 7 one year ago today, plus his birthday was May 4, so I’ve been sad much of this week. But I don’t want to bring anyone down, so I’m not going to blog today.

“I hope Papa has a happy birthday today in heaven with Jesus,” my six-year-old, Jenna, softly told me the morning of May 4.

“I wish I could visit Papa in heaven for just one day and play – just him and me,” added Andrew, my seven-year-old.

Then first thing this morning, Jenna approached me in the kitchen.

“Daddy, can we go to Target and get a balloon that we can take outside and let go, so it goes up to Papa?”

I’m heading right now to Target with Jenna, and just can’t blog today. Although, maybe I just did.

Miss ya, Dad.

1-1 in the 9th

I’m not going political or religious with the whole Usama bin Laden thing, because it’s already been done to death. Pun intended and good riddance, UBL.

But thought I’d point out a bit of irony regarding how I heard the great news on Sunday. Some of you might have had the same experience watching ESPN’s Sunday Night Baseball game between the New York Mets and Philadelphia.

Ironically, it was New York and Pennsylvania that were two of the three 9/11 terrorism sites, with D.C. being the other. When the 45,000 Philadelphia fans at Sunday’s ballgame started receiving the UBL news via texts and tweets in the 9th inning, they spontaneously stood and began cheering “USA, USA” over and over again with unbridled glee and pride.

But besides the NY-Pennsylvania irony, also ironic was the score of the game at that moment. It was 1-1 in the 9th – or 9/11.

445 and Losing

Here’s to a friend of mine who six months ago was 445 pounds and is now 290. Up until late 2010, he would just joke to me about his steadily increasing heft.

“When I read about the dangers of overeating, I gave up reading,” he once quipped.

“If I can’t eat in heaven, I’m not going,” he joked another time.

I saw him last week for the first time in three years and he’s starting to look healthy again. Good luck on that ultimate goal of 222.5 pounds – thereby losing 222.5 pounds, or exactly half your starting weight.

It’s This Sunday

To guys mostly, since guys are known for occasionally forgetting important dates – don’t forget that Mother’s Day is this Sunday. I totally messed up a past Mother’s Day by forgetting to buy a card or gift, and not even remembering a phone call to Mom. I mention this because it happened about five years ago, and I think my mother finally stopped crying…yesterday.