I just read the county arrest report on my iPhone. Police charged a man named Roydrecilous Irby with “giving false information to law enforcement.”
I wonder if it was his name.
The bad weather has “about played out,” as is often said around here. It’s slick, but it’ll be wet by tomorrow. I had to be vewwy, vewwy careful on the five-yard odyssey from my parked pickup to my iced mailbox Friday.
We have a mystical border in upstate South Carolina. When cold weather approaches, the “staff meteorologists” always refer to the “I-85 Line.” Most of the time, it seems that heavy snow is above Interstate Highway 85 and “a dusting” is below. Or if it snows up north, it sleets down here. The I-85 Line is apparently a more effective barrier than either the Maginot, the Siegfried, the Cunard, the long gray, or the Fearsome Foursome, which was the Los Angeles Rams’ defensive line in the 1960s and ’70s.
This morning I got up, sought familiar relief, walked into the kitchen and put some coffee on, and looked out the window to find that, once again, the I-85 Line had held. The backyard was white but speckled. The heat is working. The electricity has not so much as blipped (it blips sometimes on sunny June days, and I’ve got the DirecTV resets to prove it).
One reason the hard freeze didn’t do as much damage is that the trees are bare. A year ago, we had a harsh early snowfall, and when it iced over, the foliage gave the ice greater area to accumulate, and many more limbs broke, including a big one that nearly blocked the road to my house for a couple days. I had to squeeze by the downed tree, which made it look as if my Honda was departing the Batcave.
Yeah. That’s right. I’m fifty-seven years old and still humming the theme from Batman to myself. Holy Burt Ward.
Last night I played my guitar, read a book, watched old movies, and waited for the power to go out. Never happened. Clean living, I reckon.
I thought about going to a women’s basketball game this afternoon, but I think I’m probably going to pass. I’ve been known to change my mind abruptly over such issues, but I can finish writing a long chapter on a novel and half-watch any number of TV events: the NASCAR Hall of Fame induction ceremonies, postponed from last night; or one of a dozen or so basketball games, or five straight episodes of The Rifleman, or Five Graves to Cairo (“A British corporal, Franchot Tone, poses as a Nazi spy in a hotel with Field Marshal Rommel, Erich Von Stroheim”), or what I’m almost sure is what we call soccer (“West Ham United FC vs. Manchester City FC, from Boleyn Ground in London”).
Thanks to Wikipedia, I now know that Boleyn Ground is indeed named, indirectly, for Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII, last seen with a head on May 19, 1536. She once lived on the site of the “association football ground,” which seats 35,016. I wonder if the locker rooms are a little creepy.
I better read a book, or write one. This is going nowhere.
I’ve got so many books for you to read, and guess what? I wrote them!
The Audacity of Dope (2011) is a freewheeling yarn about an obscure singer-songwriter who finds himself a national hero with all the annoyances that it implies. Riley Mansfield just wants to write his songs and smoke his weed in peace, but that’s not the way it works out. http://www.amazon.com/The-Audacity-Dope-Monte-Dutton-ebook/dp/B006GT2PRA/ref=pd_sim_351_2?ie=UTF8&dpID=51zCT-MrcFL&dpSrc=sims&preST=_UX300_PJku-sticker-v3%2CTopRight%2C0%2C-44_AC_UL160_SR105%2C160_&refRID=1QPG325FX6P3YS6G6QP0
The Intangibles (2013) is a tale set mostly in 1968, but it begins with a cameo appearance by November 22, 1963. It’s got a big cast of characters, black and white, trying to make sense of life in a small Southern town during desegregation of public schools. http://www.amazon.com/The-Intangibles-Monte-Dutton-ebook/dp/B00ISJ18Z6/ref=pd_sim_351_2?ie=UTF8&dpID=51JrJlU8vKL&dpSrc=sims&preST=_UX300_PJku-sticker-v3%2CTopRight%2C0%2C-44_AC_UL160_SR107%2C160_&refRID=14MDGFY70Z4HJHMR31KB
Crazy of Natural Causes (2015) takes Chance Benford from football coaching to flawed redemption. Set in the hills of eastern Kentucky, it’s a story of a man who loses everything and has to reinvent himself. It’s a fable on the absurdity of our times. http://www.amazon.com/Crazy-Natural-Causes-Monte-Dutton-ebook/dp/B00YI8SWUU/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1436215069&sr=1-1&keywords=Crazy+of+Natural+Causes
Coming soon! A crime novel, Forgive Us Our Trespasses, about a bad politician and a good cop, with a son going bad to hang in the balance. It’s also the story of a prominent family’s self-destruction. I should know soon when it will be out.
Follow montedutton.com, too. You’ll find more of my sportswriting there. Follow me on Twitter @montedutton, or, more irrevently, @wastedpilgrim, or, more literarily, @hmdutton. I’m on Facebook at Monte.Dutton and Instagram at Tug50.