Sonny

About two months have passed since the death of my grandfather, and I think I can finally say that I have realized it. Sonny, the notorious man that he was, lives on in every story or mention of his life. He was a strange, harsh, maybe even sadistic man, but only to those that he loved. When he was alive, I dreaded the sight of him. Family functions often ended in tears, and he always caused them. He insulted without hesitation and had no boundaries whatsoever. Still, I miss him. I did everything I could to avoid seeing him while he was alive, and now that he’s gone, I miss my time with him.

My family has a strong reputation in the area I grew up in. In fact, I recently read that a local town was named after one of my ancestors. For as far back as I am aware, the men in my family have been the doctors of the town. The local Cajun residents had stories about my great grandfather revolving around his lacking French skills and the hilarious misunderstandings that came from them. He rode on horseback anywhere he was needed, and his son, appropriately dubbed Sonny, followed in his footsteps.

Sonny served as a doctor and captain in World War II, and after the war, went on to become one of the first doctors in town (not that many were around) to specialize. I remember the strange medical advice he would give, how we always doubted him, and how he was always right. “Do you have a turkey baster?” was one of the phrases I remember from him when my parents called for advice about my ear. Sure enough, that turkey baster fixed my ear and continued to for years.

Stories about my grandfather have always been common. Being one of the only doctors in town for so many years meant that he was a major part of many people’s lives, but ahead of that, he was and continues to be unforgettable. He lived life by his own rules, if there were rules at all. At his funeral reception, I saw two photos of him in a slideshow that I am currently trying to locate copies of. They embodied Sonny like nothing else. In the first photo, he is standing shirtless on the deck of a boat with a cigar in his mouth, an American flag in one hand, and a pistol mid-fire in the other. In the second photo, he stands in the waters on the coast of the Gulf holding a Marlin up by its mouth and punching it in the face. I’m sure that second photo was just a posed shot, but the fact that I have actually had to stop and wonder if he was really wrestling a live marlin speaks about the man that he was. It seems that everywhere I go, people hear my last name and ask if I’m related to the infamous Dr. Sonny. Even after I moved, people here have asked about him. It seems that every time somebody brings him up, I hear another story about him that both makes me smile and wish I could have known him better. He once drove backwards across the town bridge on a drunken dare. When my grandmother was playing cards with friends, he asked the church attendants at mass to offer up a prayer for his wife, because she was out “drinking and gambling” while he was at church. Even as he slowly died, he was making demands of the local priest about how to run his funeral. The stories go on endlessly. I will never be able to hear them all, but I’d love to try.

Sonny was a military man, a doctor, a surgeon, an aviator, a boatsman, a farmer, a father, a hunter, a fisherman, a thrill seeker, and the ultimate lover of life. He lived his life on the edge every day. The family always knew that he would go out in an instant, that his heart would stop or he’d die in an accident, but we were wrong. We watched him die slowly for years until the strong, bold man was reduced to an able minded cripple who could not walk, speak, eat, or even go to the bathroom. But at the end, he made the choice to stop eating, and in taking control, kept the spirit of Sonny alive. He may not be here to see it, but he is alive and well in the hearts of the town, and all the other towns that knew him. Thousands of people showed up to his funeral. People came from all over to say their goodbyes. I have never seen so many people in the massive town cathedral, even on Christmas day. Though I may not have known him in the way that all of those people did, and though I may not have been touched by his spirit when he was still here, that's okay. He’s my grandpa, and I’m proud to have him to live up to.

Unfortunately, we walked out of his funeral service to On Eagles Wings, the funeral song of so many others. If things were different and he’d have had the perfect goodbye, there is only one song that could have fit the bill.

Joy in Unexpected Places

When I showed up to take my incredible genius of a six year old cousin on a before-I-move-away date today, I was saddened to find out that rather than a second viewing of Despicable Me (aka love of my life), he wanted to see Cats & Dogs. Not only did I have absolutely no interest in seeing this movie, but it was also much later than the showtime I had anticipated. Which meant about $20 spent in the arcade for about an hour and a half before the movie started.

However, he spent a good $5 of that trying to win a watch for me after he learned that I use my phone to tell time. That is unacceptable. I must have a watch. Rather than racing an army truck across the Great Wall of China or shooting the robots he couldn't stop talking about, he insisted on repeatedly losing tokens to the claw machine that he even told me was rigged for disaster. All because he wanted me to have a watch.

Before that, we were sitting in one of his favorite semi-fast food restaurants eating lunch when this adorable old lady passed with her walker and asked him for a high five. After she left, he said "You see? That's why I love old ladies." and cracked up the sad and lonely looking woman at the table behind us.

I was expecting to clock out and party it up in my inner imaginary world during this movie, but it was actually kind of hilarious. I was expecting lots of tired, predictable cat/dog jokes that for some reason aren't funny when coming from CGI animals. I was not expecting a full on probably ten minute long and completely on target Silence of the Lambs spoof. "A mouse tried to test me once. I ate him with a can of kitty feast and some nice whole milk." Or something along those lines. I also wasn't expecting the terminator set up or the Driving Ms. Daisy references. I think I might have liked the movie more than my cousin. Any kids movie that can pull off Hannibal Lecter is ok by me.

And any six year old boy who can beat me at checkers, school me on the revolutionary war, talk about how he likes old-school clothes more than normal clothes, learn to play chess and set up a chess board in one sitting, tell me why they don't make prosthetic heads, and then spend the last of his arcade tokens he cherished so deeply in an effort to get a watch for me is a fantastic soul mate in my book.

I usually make an effort to not come off as an asshole (and really I'm not) when talking about music, but I will always make an exception when it comes to country. I have an almost moral opposition to most modern country music. It stems from the fact that I really really love real, pre-Urban Cowboy and pre-Garth Brooks (although I won’t pretend I don’t have a soft spot for The Thunder Rolls) country music. It’s probably my favorite genre. Lost Highway puts me in a trance, I think Johnny Cash was the ultimate swagger master, Patsy Cline was and is a goddess and Roy Acuff gave us some of the most beautiful music in history.

During a car trip with my sister and her beau, or my not quite a brother in law, I was subjected to hours of modern country music. I had my ipod, but I felt like it would be rude to just plug out through the entire trip. And they were obviously enjoying it, so I didn't want to beg for a change of music. So this car ride, filled with Brad Paisley and Trace Adkins and the like was a problem for me.

How did we get here? How did we go from this to this, this and this? One of my biggest pet peeves is when people assume that those who were raised in the country or on a farm or in a tiny town are stupid or inferior. But I can't say I blame them. What else are you going to think when you're pummeled with the dumbest lyrics, most forgettable melodies and videos of Toby Keith in a trucker hat that says 'Nachos'?

It's hilarious to me that this is considered alternative country music while Kenny Chesney is on top of the country charts. When did we fail so hard?

But just as I was reverting to my ipod, when I thought all hope was lost, Seminole Wind came on the radio.



Now that.. I could appreciate. I don’t even care. This is a great song. And I don’t think I ever really appreciated it until it blessed a radio that had so recently played tunes such as Honky Tonk Badonkadonk and I Love This Bar.

God bless you John Anderson. My hero.

Man did not invent fire, but fire was the beginning. Fire allowed man to stay warm, cook his food, and survive long enough to invent the wheel. And from the wheel eventually came society.

Mankind built cities, boats, planes.. Johannes Gutenberg gave us the printing press. Thomas Edison gave us the phonograph, motion pictures and the lightbulb. Alexander Fleming gave us Penicillin. Alexander Graham Bell gave us the telephone. Lady Gaga gave us Telephone. But never in this history of man has there been an invention as revolutionary as the one I'm about to show you. No Thomas Edison could have delivered this creation to us. No Einstein could have given us a theory to match the brilliance of this invention. Lady Gaga only invented this in her dreams. The invention you are about to see may very well be the greatest creation mankind has ever seen.









Millions of years of humanity's achievements and accomplishments have culminated to bring us to this point. Life and culture as we know it is about to change forever.

Since the alarm clock, man has woken at an early hour with a huge sense of irritability, stress, and depression. The persistent beeping has driven many an innocent man into insanity. But what can bring us into the light of the day with eagerness, vigor and strength if not bacon? The smell alone seductively and gently pulls us out of our slumber. The sheer adorable wit of the pig visage fills us with merriment and gives us a jolt of creative intelligence to start the day. The protein provides us with the energy we need to get through our morning routine, until we can make it to our coffee. If you're vegan, soy bacon will successfully satisfy your taste buds and morals.

I predict that by the end of the decade, 9 out of 10 households will have at least one bacon clock. Perhaps we will start treating our living pork with respect, as they have inspired and provided us with perhaps the most beneficial advancement of all time. Maybe people will be judged by the quality food their bacon clocks produce, in a similar manner to people today being judged by their cars or watches. Will hotels fall off the map if they cannot provide at least one bacon clock for every room? Will people wish to be buried with their bacon clocks? Will bacon clocks be the source of every holiday dinner and every prisoner's last meal? The only thing any of us can know for sure, at this moment, is that a great change is underway. Whether or not the modern world is ready for said change, well, that's a question for the future. The near future, but the future all the same.

Since it is in the near future, it does not matter in this moment. All that matters in this moment is that we, humankind, have succeeded. We, humankind, have won.

Peanuts

I wonder how much money I could make if I sold it to Gaga.