So I got to thinking about some of my favorite things and yes I’m stealing this idea from facebook but facebook is not one of my favorite things at the moment so I’m not putting my list there.
soft and thin blue t-shirts (yes I’ve begun listing)
pants that stretch in the crotch area- and really this is no comment on the size of my manhood just the age of my pants b/c many a good pant has fallen victim to the crotchal blowout. The trick is to hike up the trousers before executing a demanding crouch. I have never learned this trick.
fresh razor knives. I know september the 11th, the worst day in our nations history, has given box cutters a bad rap but have you ever tried to cut a box with a utility knife that’s been used even once to score sheetrock? Lets just say that it lacks utility. But a brand spankin new blade oh baby it’s like the high speed internet of tool world. It’s like butter on fresh hot scones. It is a very nice inexpensive thing to have. Sharp chisels are just as wonderful but they require labor. Razor blades are truly something for just about nothing.
$2 Abita. Sometimes, about one out of every four elecronic transactions, Bob Ingles mega-market will sell me a sixpack of Abita Purple Haze for the sweet sweet price of just two dollars. If I try to go back for more my greed is never rewarded but an additional sixpack at full price is not a bad thing either.
Deer Stands- I don’t hunt anymore, unless you count mousing. But I do have the fondest memories of deer stands. A deer stand is a little tree house from which one man or father and child combo can take an elevated sight on a forest creature and complete the circle of its life (usually the woodland creature’s.) At the time it was pretty hellacious boredom for a 13 year old to sit still for four hours on an uncomfortable wooden seat, (these were old school carpentered stands) but looking back now the prospect of sitting alone in the woods letting wildness take its course all around sounds wonderful. And you got to carry guns. And bring home coolers full of meat. The best part of my memory is just running through the names of the stands. Six Pack. Snake Pit. Bobcat. Big Field… Little Field. I’ll have to ask dad for more. They were really into two word single syllable combos.
Bobcats. Occasionally a bobcat would wander across the trail beneath your stand. There aren’t many wild predators left in central Louisiana. Mainly feral dogs, well armed good ol’ boys and moving cars are all that’s left to trigger the flight instinct in foraging animals. The bobcat is funny b/c it looks pretty much like an overgrown mangy house cat. But these little guys are not to be petted or otherwise fucked with. They will do what housecats dream of doing to you. And so they are on my list, even though one probably ate our good cat Hobbes when my parents moved out to the country. It was some lowdown cannibalistic shit but, you know…
Springtime. Thank you oh thank you Jesus for delivering us from the wintertime. I was on the verge of seriously upgrading my substance abuse habits to cope with that shit. Thank you green leafy things and warm sunshine. I’m sure I’ll be bitching about the heat soon enough but just now I’m in heaven.
I’ll wrap this up. But let me add diskgolf to the list before I tap the blue publish button. There
is just no downside to getting out in the woods and flinging plastic disks towards wire and chain baskets. The feeling I get when my disk crashes into those chains and then falls to rest in the basket to complete the surprising (b/c it actually goes where I imagined it would go) trajectory of a long improbable putt- well that’s what grace feels like. The surprise sublime alignment of grace and will.
It’s kinda like hunting without having to wake up so bloody early or pull the guts out of something you managed to kill.