When the Tamale Man jumped out of his car, I knew there would be trouble. After all, this was his spot: he’d been working this street corner for years. The black spray-painted letters on the flaking plywood sign reading TAMALES FOR SALE were by now faded to a nearly uniform gray. The huge Rubbermaid cooler sitting in the trunk of his beat up late-model sedan was cracked and sun-bleached. He was the king of tamales, and he’d earned his right …Read the Rest
I have no respect for them. I abuse them, step on them, kick them across the room, drag them through shit and dirt and mud and water, tear them off still laced, and at the end, throw them away without even a thank you or proper burial. Sometimes I even abandon them at the store, like lost children. Women do a much better job of appreciating their shoes. My soon to be daughter-in-law Cassandra is one of these. While I …Read the Rest
What’s better than a good booger? You blow your nose and there’s that gratifying little thump, and then you find a green and yellow boulder in the Kleenex and wonder how that thing got into your nose in the first place. When I was in 3rd grade, those were the ones I’d stick to the bottom of the desk during math class. By the end of the school year, I’d have a miniature mountain range of boogers under there, one …Read the Rest
We were in San Diego this weekend and my grandson Matthew wanted to go trout fishing. Naturally, my son-in-law (being a famous shrimp boat captain) made the arrangements. And as Matt’s grandfather, I was told to accompany them. I agreed to go in a purely supervisory role: I’m no fisherman. But then the Captain said we had to leave at five o’clock in the morning. What? I argued that this was much too early. Wouldn’t the fish be sleeping? Besides, it …Read the Rest
I was working in Dallas, on the last day of a four-day stint and having a beer at the local Chili’s to celebrate, when I noticed this little old lady, looking crafty. She was sitting at a hightop nursing an Arnold Palmer, a half-finished tuna and rye before her, when I saw her make her move. She abruptly stood, touched her forehead with a little “oooooh,” and dropped to the ground. Faker. The waitress screamed. The busboy dropped his load. The …Read the Rest
We were shopping at Basha’s when the Nordic Warrior Queen said she wanted some coffee. So of course, being the loving, caring, supportive husband that I am, I offered to go. I figured she wanted one of those little courtesy cups the store puts out for the old farts. But no. Her order? A tall half-caff, lowfat, white chocolate mocha. What, I thought you wanted coffee? I made her repeat it, three times, then I put it in my phone. I knew I’d forget it the …Read the Rest
I was a little drunk when I got on, so I can’t really blame her. She was just doing her job. It started like this: I was taking a flight to Dallas last week but the plane was delayed. And what is there to do when your plane is delayed but have a few beers in the airport bar? Besides, the airline gave us drink coupons. By the time the plane arrived, I was more than ready. I wandered down …Read the Rest
Over the next two months, my daughter is having a baby, my son is graduating college and getting married (and hopefully, a job), and the Nordic Warrior Queen and I are moving to Phoenix. All of this implies a great deal of travel, visits by family, moving trucks, and general mayhem. As such, my wife was planning ahead (as usual) and decided she’d better get her cute little circus dog current on vaccinations, knowing that the mutt would at some point be sent …Read the Rest
In Houston, they are both courteous and thoughtful. Nowhere is this more evident than in the bathrooms of their hotels. No more of that pesky and oft urgent unwrapping of the replacement roll: here the spare is all ready to go. And for those of us who are vertically challenged, there’s no stretching here: even Gul Mohammed or Danny Devito can reach these rolls. Thank you, Houston. I’ll be back.
The Nordic Warrior Queen and I had been dating just a few months when we faced the first true test of our relationship. I was sixteen and in desperate need of a car, having abandoned my Corvair at the local junkyard some weeks before. Ben Theis, a friend of mine at the machine shop where I was working, told me his Dad had a ‘71 AMC Matador for sale, so that Friday after work Benny gave me a lift to …Read the Rest