Quirky is cool. Donya and I visited Gerty‘s, a little shop in one of those antique mall type settings (only this is not an antique mall; it is more of a collection of quirky shops, catering mostly to women), which Donya’s mom and three other ladies own. As I browsed the various shops while trying to keep my testosterone at an acceptable level (for these are girly places), it became obvious to me that some people are naturally quirky…and that’s cool. Others try a little too hard, stretch a little too far. They recognize the coolness of quirky, but they just don’t come by it naturally. Trying to be quirky in order to be cool just isn’t cool at all.

I have been raising kids since I was a kid. Right now, they all live with us for various reasons. In two months, that will change. At least two of them will be gone…maybe forever. The house will be much quieter then. I won’t have to hold off a four year old with one foot, kick a soccer ball for him to chase with the other, all the while trying to keep my thoughts in order so I can write this column nobody will read. Yes, it will be quieter then. My own voice will be much more even-toned, I suspect. I will have to travel to Colorado or East Texas if I want to raise cain about my kids’ disastrous bedrooms. And since I won’t be paying the mortgage on their respective homes (hopefully), it won’t carry quite the punch, anyhow.

I am a Willy Nelson fan. Call it a guilty pleasure.

Let’s say you work in quality control. It is your job to review the work of others. If you didn’t find a healthy number of “errors” or identify enough “areas for improvement,” would you still have a job this time next year? Is this a Catch 22? have you been put into the position of creating issues if you don’t find them…in order to justify your existence?

“I hate taxes,” said the old man to his domino partner.

“Texas? That’s where I live!”

“No! Taxes…you know! Dollars…Taxes!”

“Yeah! Dallas, Texas. That’s where I live.”

For all you sports-minded gaming fools. EA Sports’ Head Coach ’09 is very cool, but there is no payoff. I played all fifteen seasons in that game, went to eight Super Bowls and won six of them. At the end, all the thing did was show me a re-cap of my career. No cool Hall of Fame induction. No ranking you against the other coaches in the league. Not even a gold watch for your service. What a letdown. Can’t even get recognition for your achievements in a make-believe world.

And then there was the blonde woman who was speeding down the road in her little red sports car and was pulled over by a woman police officer who was also a blonde. The blonde cop asked to see the blonde driver’s license. She dug through her purse and was getting progressively more agitated.

‘What does it look like?’ she finally asked.

The policewoman replied, ‘It’s square and it has your picture on it.’

The driver finally found a square mirror in her purse, looked at it and handed it to the policewoman. ‘Here it is,’ she said. The blonde officer looked at the mirror, then handed it back saying, ‘OK, you can go. I didn’t realize you were a cop.’



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Copyright 2009 The Journey Man


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By Gene

I am a lover, a fighter, and a midnight writer. I love football, hamburgers, and philosophical inquiries. I love Jesus more than any of that. I love my wife, my daughters, my grandson, and my English Setters, Huck and Finn. I also love Huck Finn...and other seminal characters in American literature. Like Gus McCrae. I love the English language. I love to dive into the wonders of its depth and splash around in the shallow end where colloquialisms and slang rule and reign.
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