It’s dripping rain in the Poconos. It’s iffy at Baltusrol. It’s hot as fire here, but it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. If the afternoon arrives and the race is delayed, I’m not going to watch NASCAR drivers pet their puppies (um, woe be unto thy dirty minds) in the motorcoach lot.
I may mow the lawn. I may watch Larry, Curly and Moe. I may eat mo possum. I doubt it, though.
I wish I could click on Facebook, and a message would pop up with me saying, I’m Monte Dutton, and I did not approve of this message. I’m not in the picture. My name was attached to it, and that means dozens, maybe hundreds, have commented on a link I am tagged in. It’s not that I necessarily don’t disapprove of the message. I just want the right to share it myself, not because someone shared it in my name and without my approval. Others may not mind this. I do.
A lot of “friends” say they are with me and x amount of others. They aren’t. Most I have never met.
Okay. I just checked out account controls. It’s possible I have remedied this nettlesome matter.
I’ve been on Facebook a long time, and I still don’t get the concept of the “poke.” I’m not even sure one can poke anymore. I never have.
On the other hand, undoubtedly some others on Facebook are annoyed by what I post. For instance, they may quibble at linking the same column, story or blog several times, but I do so because few people are on Facebook all the time, and the ones who do often make me uneasy.
I expect I make more people uneasy on Twitter. Not Instagram, though. Certainly not Instagram.
It’s a necessary evil, and, for the most part, I enjoy it. It gives me, you and everyone else a chance to express him or herself. It’s essentially democratic. It’s essentially democracy gone wild.
I wish people on social media would be responsible for what they post. Donald Trump, for instance. I didn’t say that. I just saw it on Twitter. I didn’t say it was true. I just wanted you to think it was.
My grandfather, whose favorite TV shows were The Fugitive and The Untouchables, would call Trump “a confidence man.” He never used con man. He used the phrase the G-Men used. Back before social media, confidence was harder.
In a better social-media world, I would not pass along a tweet from “Not His Real Name” informing me that the president’s daughters are secretly members of ISIS. Or, that Trump’s daughters are secretly members of ISIS. Or, that Demi Lovato is a secret member of ISIS. Or that New England Patriots fans are all secret members of ISIS intent on world football air-pressure domination.
I hope the paragraph above is not the way rumors get started.
I’ve written four novels and a collection of short stories. I’ve also written a number of books about sports, mostly about NASCAR. You can find most of them here.
The Kindle versions of my books, where available, can be found above. Links below are to print editions.
I’ve written a crime novel about the corrosive effects of patronage and the rise and fall of a powerful politician and his dysfunctional family, Forgive Us Our Trespasses.
I’ve written about what happens to a football coach when he loses everything, Crazy of Natural Causes.
I’ve written a tale of the Sixties in the South, centered on school integration and a high school football team, The Intangibles.
I’ve written a rollicking yarn about the feds trying to track down and manipulate a national hero who just happens to be a pot-smoking songwriter, The Audacity of Dope.
I’ve written a collection of 11 short stories, all derived from songs I wrote, Longer Songs.
Most of my sports columns are at montedutton.com.
Follow me on Twitter @montedutton, @hmdutton (about writing), and/or @wastedpilgrim (more opinionated and irreverent). I’m on Facebook (Monte.Dutton), Instagram (TUG50), and Google-Plus (MonteDuttonWriter).
Coming soon: My fifth novel, a modern western, Cowboys Come Home.