For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved Sonic’s cheeseburgers and limeade. Even my wonderful dog Chelsey enjoyed a burger from time to time. I am sad to say I’m done with Sonic forever. Every aspect of my experience today was terrible; I made it through 50% of my cheeseburger and about the same with the limeade before I gave up. Rest in peace, Sonic.
Every day, everyone is subject to images that they may like or dislike. I live in a community that was pivotal to ending the Second World War. There are hundreds of veterans who live here, and believe me, they are outraged over this AI image. It’s far too easy to use AI for questionable placements.
Yesterday I was reading about the movie “Song of the South”. When I was about 4 years old, my mom took my sister and me to the Alhambra Theater when the movie was released. It was an incredible Walt Disney movie, with music, laughter, and memorable characters. It was based on Uncle Remus stories, brought to life. When I was reading the article, I could hear the song “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” in my head.
Our family lived in San Francisco when we watched the movie. While I loved everything about the movie, I was a city kid grappling with life in fictional Atlanta, Georgia. I couldn’t imagine people living like that; I had no clue where Georgia was. As a young man, I subsequently visited the South countless times and have lived in the area for more than 25 years. It’s rare to find a copy of the film; however, there must be one somewhere for my great-granddaughter and me.
In 1952, PanAm Clipper Endeavor crashed in Puerto Rico, killing 58 people. The remains of the passengers and the frame of the aircraft have lain on the bottom of the ocean, undisturbed. Recently, a photo vessel located the plane on the bottom. When the photos were processed and viewed, it was clear it was the PanAm plane. Apart from the photos that were released to the public, the group that arranged it advised that there won’t be any further exploration or a plan to raise the aircraft or any of the remains of the passengers. That seems to be a fitting resting place.
The title of this post may create some discussion. For the record, I don’t write or use profanity; however, this image was the opening title for a well-known national magazine article. The headline instantly drew the readers into the article. I don’t pretend to categorize who may or may not fit this category; however, I suspect that when readers finish the article that follows, this shoe may fit many citizens.
When I was a boy, my mom did everything possible to help me. She spent hours patiently teaching me to read at an early age. She valiantly tried to ensure I knew the difference between right and wrong. She scribbled pencil notes on the hard-boiled eggs I found in my school lunch bag. I often fought back, thinking she had no idea what she was talking about. After all, she was just a mom who was always mad at me and was unhappy with everything. On or about my 13th birthday, my parents divorced; my sister and my mom went to live with my beloved grandmother.
At that point, in a massive demonstration of stupidity on my part, I went to live with my dad and his hosebag girlfriend, whom he married, and whom I hated. On one epic day, my father was railing at me for some grievance I caused. He was furious and, at one point, screamed at me, “If you don’t like it here, leave.” Within 15 minutes, I did just that, never ever returning to live in his (and hosebag’s) home.
Forward decades later. One evening, I was reading in my living room, and like a bolt of light, I sat up and out loud said to myself, “My mom wasn’t mad at me over the years; she was beaten down by my asshole father”. It was a truth that would make everything clear to me. I instantly prayed to God and to her for forgiveness. Now, every time I think of her, it’s with love and understanding. I think she smiles and hears me.
We all look forward to the 4th of July celebrations, especially this year’s 250th anniversary. We also honor my wonderful granddaughter’s birthday (she is in the photo); she has a daughter nearly two years old, and a baby boy is due in December. It’s amazing to think about the bright future ahead for both children.
Before the advent of the 64-pack of crayons in 1958, we all suffered with the 48-box, brought around in 1949. My sister was older than I, and never shy about raiding my supplies, so she often used my colors; she preferred burnt sienna and salmon, while I had to make do with stuff like cobalt blue and Indian red.
We didn’t have a TV set then, so coloring was a great way for our mom to whip out a piece of newspaper for the table, and we’d color away all afternoon, my sister steadily thinning out my stash. By the time the 64-pack hit stores, my sister had moved on to other pursuits, and I was in heaven to have a box of my own with a built-in sharpener. Cheap entertainment was very important then.
When I drive around, I always wish everyone had an American Flag to display. Hey, US Government, here’s an idea. Set aside a tiny portion of our annual Government Budget to distribute flags from our Post Office locations to any citizen who wants one. Free. Help yourself to one, compliments of your United States Federal Government.
I love going out in the morning to raise my flag for the day. I return in the evening to take it down and carefully roll it to store for the next day. Here in the South, you see a lot of American Flags flying, from large ones above car dealers to the small ones affixed to the back of a motorcycle. No matter the size, it’s our flag, and it’s everyone’s right to display it. Let everyone share this pride.
While we (and IBM) have moved far beyond typewriters, I am always surprised at how many of their legacy machines I see, often in the strangest places. In the early days of my career (pre-computers, even), IBM introduced a series of electric typewriters that were revolutionary. Of course, I had to have one. I started off with an IBM Selectric; it had that fantastic type of ball that flew across the machine; it was loud, kinda’ heavy, expensive, and a must-have item for any progressive office.
At one point, Pan American World Airways even used a Selectric as part of its earth-shaking, industry-leading, innovative reservations system, called “Panamac.” Boy, were they ahead of the times. In every PanAm office and check-in counter, you could hear the machine clattering away in the background. This marked serious progress.
I once worked in an office where I supervised office equipment purchases; it was there that I managed to buy and install the most fantastic IBM typewriter of all, the Mag Card II. This baby had a built-in memory that would hold a gigantic pile of 8,000 characters. Man, letters were pouring out of this machine. Gee, I wish I’d been able to keep that phenomenal Mag Card model.
