Clinton, South Carolina, Thursday, May 17, 2018, 3:02 p.m.
I don’t care whether I hear Laurel or Yanny. I don’t know where I go to hear it, or, for that matter, them. Whoever or whichever they are. As I get older, I get less inquisitive about such matters.
I am not without curiosity. I just reserve mine for pressing issues such as how many more KFC commercials I can watch before I snap and go on a three-state rampage.
The truth is that no man knows when it’s coming.
Friday, May 17, 2018, 11:24 a.m.
Yesterday was a no-go. I just didn’t have the inclination to forge on with little on my mind. Sometimes I stumble into coherence. I was sipping coffee uptown. In the absence of anything worthwhile, I did busy work.
The busy life ain’t no good life, but it’s my life.
That’s the way it goes, right? Or is that just the way it is?
Suddenly there is coincidence in what little I wrote yesterday. Even humor is dangerous. One would think danger humorless.
There’s been another school shooting. Santa Fe, Texas.
A few weeks ago, a kid here was arrested after posting somewhere that he was going to “shoot a school.” His parents turned him in and wrote a statement about how their son had suffered from mental illness for many years.
“Shoot a school.” Forty years ago, someone would have spray-painted the wall of a mobile unit at 3 a.m. before the big football game that night.
It happens enough now that everyone worries about it. Just not enough to do anything sensible. They get sensible for a few days, but that’s just “fake news.”
One of our candidates for governor was “the conservative buzz saw” until her latest round of ads. Now she’s loading her pistol and shooting a rattlesnake. That makes her “the conservative shot for governor.”
Meanwhile, Catherine Templeton’s campaign (presumably, lawyers are involved) has sent “cease-and-desist” letters to media outlets demanding that they don’t run certain commercials supporting the election campaign of incumbent Henry McMaster. It’s not technically a reelection campaign since McMaster was appointed by President Trump to succeed Nikki Haley.
What’s amazing is that any political ad could possibly go too far. Here. In South Carolina. It’s like finding a snow-cone stand in hell.
But I digress.
I don’t believe anything in commercials anymore. It’s popular to jump up and down about “fake news,” which, generally, in a few days, becomes “news.”
I don’t accept George Hamilton as Colonel Sanders. It ticks me off every time Reba McEntire goes “1 … 2 … 3” and doesn’t sing. A lot of commercials have been embedded in supposedly, uh, independent broadcasts. One of these agents is named Michael Waltrip.
Life requires a sense of the absurd. That’s what was required for me to write my latest novel, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s not a comedy, but it is a comedy of errors. The central character is an out-of-work sportswriter.
If only I knew any out-of-work sportswriters, the novel would be more authentic.
Another way I cobble out a living is with my books, a wide variety of which are available for sale here.
The new novel, my eighth, is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.
Lightning in a Bottle is now available in an audio version, narrated by Jay Harper.