The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner

If the Mayan Calendar in my laundry room reads correct, we are a mere two trips around the great light bulb in the sky before things get a little weird in 20-twelve. Thank goodness we are a species of procrastinators; we’ll panic, blame it on our upbringing, and run through the streets yelling “We will die another day.” For now, today, this day, the time of the year when footieball, deep-fried forest fowl, and family reign supreme… may gastric pleasure know all of you this day – Thanksgiving Day! It has become a tradition on the fourth Thursday in November to piggyback on the commercial success of this holiday. For nearly a decade an annual exercise in mental cleansing is shared with some friends and annually introduced to a few new ones. And even though Ned Beatty gets PTSD when he sees pigs, this is The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner.

For my upcoming 35th birthday in February I have asked my wife to schedule me an appointment with the family physician. “Doc, I would like a medically induced mid-life crisis.” Because the video streaming through my high-def eyeballs is sure not what I imagined life would be like on the north side traveling toward 40. I’m grateful for the libertarian mind telling the body that age is just a government mandate. Nonetheless, this crazy chlorine head sure ain’t running a 26.2 anytime or dead lifting a car. Nope! It's difficult enough to play the sport of life when massive amounts of testosterone and passive aggression fuel the masses. Sitting around inhaling our own greatness weighs on the rest.

Such is this existence that in 120 years no one who is today will be, and no one then is here today. My heart is dancing to the thought of how great the space we don’t occupy in this vast universe. If I was a good guy and came to my senses, I might toast a hot cup of jack squat to the game; but gravity distracts me from the ants who say, “Man, a good guy simple lives to gain.” It is my children and eternal wife who keep me from laughing off this living fiction – trading in rubber on the road for a world tour with Stephen Hawking and Deepak Chopra. PEOPLE!… we rent space on a 6,000 billion billion ton atomic fireball with a thin candy shell, rocketing at 67,000 miles per hour in a Polish victory lap around a freaking star, with no glue or double sided tape keeping us here. Please excuse me for being a little distracted by gravity… it helps me stay grounded.

So until next year, may your minds be a little less distracted by small things and your lives are full of love. Hopefully the ones you want around stay for a long time. To those who have been given the opportunity to add a member or two, congratulations. To those who have lost one, may a special piece of their time with you stay for a long time.

Be well friends and family.

Jarvis

The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner

WAIT... Everyone quiet! If you listen close, just behind the announcer snake charming our skinny wallets, we can hear the sounds of the holiday left out in the cold by the dot dot dot gift-giving juggernaut. If my gastric impulse is aligned with the Mayan calendar’s prediction, it can only be the day yard fowl live to die for. Thanksgiving Day! And like all time tested traditions there usually comes wannabes leeching on its success. For nearly a decade now it has become apparent to few and new to more that the fourth Thursday in November has produced an itty bitty platform of loose style and jumbled imagery. And even though the United Daughters of the Confederacy dry heave when the “send” button is hit, this is The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner. 

Once considered a meatloaf of 12 months worth of scribbled and orphan thoughts, Chronicles has become my literary equivalent of show n’ tale for friends and family. A celebration in prose, this day every year, a product of observations. Writing has become the connection to my posterity decades away. As my children will know me as father, my grandchildren only as old; their grandchildren will never experience me. Not consummated in narcissism, rather in compunction for not knowing those before my grandparents. Chronicles has become a public glimpse into my voice to the 4^th generation and beyond. A cathartic exercise as mortalities final act is hopefully tardy, like sticking my hand as far down my soul and pulling up congenital peculiarities for those I will never ken.

Dignan’s notebook wrote of a 75 year plan… This southerner is shooting for verse that pushes through blood lines 300 years forward. Cuz if I’m working on something which can be completed in my lifetime, it ain’t big enough. As these thoughts are masked in androgyny, steeped in the emotions of tradition, and perfumed by the shadows of grace’s substance, let one’s posterity speak in the ears of the now. The mirrors forward extend as far as the mirrors to the rear -- connecting through multi-direction generations that enjoy chakra expansion as individual’s lineage aligns. Death doesn’t have to be the deal breaker.

What a cruel joke on this experience if Charles was correct. This whole sand castle with aware ants playing ant games, merely the random spawn of aimless space junk dancing in the soup of time. Even with that lingering, being addicted to the now is becoming more unsettling. It would be twisted humor to duct tape America’s fidget to the floor and watch with awe as their vagabond communication devices buzzed and beeped in a symphony of utilitarian oblivion. Driving the addict to social madness, as if the info junkie has become an abandoned dairy cow agonizing for the farmers hand to milk their brains of all the sweet substance the rest of the world must have to continue spinning. Perpetuating a false sense of life’s accomplishments.

I am cattle! 

Thanks for letting me take up a bit of your attention. To my family this year I give thanks for having you all. To my friends I give thanks that none have been lost and a few friendships have been regained. Hopefully this day finds you well and in good spirits, and the rest of the seasons are full of importance. Until his time in twenty-ten, may we all enjoy this roller coaster ride.

 Jarvis

The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner

No man has found pure space, nor seen the outside curtains, where nothing has a place.

                                                                                                - “If You Could Hie to Kolob”

Good day my friends.

 If my calendar reads correct it is the last Thursday in November. That can only mean one thing… Thanksgiving! And, Franklin D. Roosevelt rolls in his grave whenever it’s read out loud, but time has come for another installment of The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner. This annual mass communiqué is turning six, and I know no better way to celebrate than continue spewing nonsense and grammar challenged prose.

For those who have seen this locomotive before, it will be lipstick on a pig (or was it on a hockey mom’s pit-bull!?!). While those who are receiving it for the first time may just wonder what color “confused” is on the politico map. Nonetheless, I hope y’unz enjoy.

This year I’m thankful for a wonderful wife carrying our second child, his scheduled release date is penciled in for December One. Also, my fire-headed two year old gives me reason for thanks every season (Red for a reason they warned me). May she know the splendor her tiny shadow has cast over my world. Too a mother who still believes that all her children have places under wing; no matter their age or disposition. I Love you Mom!

To my family and friends across this great world, may happiness know you all. Thanks to those who have reconnected through social experiments in networking, and those continuing old friendships. To all, I believe every pole which snags sadness is a hook for getting trials in line. Front and center will joy be when newness for laughter infects times a’changen. It’s my understanding the naughty boys in cowboy hats will see what civility is when they reach the back of the line. Things are a’changen!

Unfortunately for Icarus the journey to the sun was lonely, while his Vulcan crew grew their wings out of admiration for totem’s arm length. As the remembered sing, Oh Mary don’t you weep no more, the kid emperor has Third Millennium Democracy! Even the right-man’s bogeymen are tired of putting new sails on sinking ships. The times are ready for anew.

As I leave dreams of axe’s karma and ghostmen on third, thoughts of foot steps belonging to the three who knew the winds of kindred agents, take hold. The carpenter understood it was a fall, not a failure. Slowly waking up to dawn’s whisper I still ponder - Is he a black man with a white mother, or a white man with a black father? No matter, those to come will know their comet came from the confines of our combustion chambers. May the sun save us from ourselves and cool breezes power the lands we have inherited.

On this special day set apart by the architect of a new deal so many years ago, let the defender be assured by the defended they’ll never be let down; because someone to die for is so more important than a cause to die for. Until next year, I wish wealth in your wallets and warmth in your homes.

Always wondering, 

Jarvis

The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner

Greetings from the urban suburban paradise!

If the calendar is correct, it’s the fourth Thursday in the eleventh month…. Thanksgiving Day! Your spam filter may shutter in excitement but it’s another installment of the Chronicles of a Lost Southerner. Brought to you this year commercial free and void of product placement. For some of you it will be the experience of jumping from a burning building and to others it may result in the fifth anniversary of just deleting. Either way, hopefully y’all enjoy the day.

Loosen your belts and send the kids outside, Thanksgiving in America is no laughing matter – mass slaughters of flightless fowl in preparation for a holiday that comes but once a year and marks the evisceration of my wallet. With trappings of corn, potatoes, rolls, and a crazy uncle spouting from the living room why George W. “*” and the Big Three hatched a conspiracy to keep Dallas and Detroit in control of game day, but yet never actually meeting on the battle field. It pushes the button and is entertained.

On this day of excess a sense of tradition and history brings about a love for the gains we have made. (“Born to consume” plays over the p.a.) A love for the larger whole not yet lost; participating in something one has no control over - merely inserted into a long running play with just enough ability to keep from being run over by the ever changing story.

I am thankful this year for those who share in a love for conversation. Some say little, but when they do it’s to the point, and I salute that. Enlightenment is my drug; those who communalize are my drug dealers. Differing views fondly accepted to create a mended tail. Life is not a hotel for the accomplished, but rather a safari for the truth.

With the obsession of self overwhelming so many how twisted would the attempt to communicate with narcissism be absent I, me, my, mine in the spoken word. The new slang for the people that disagree with “this” Arms out stretched, closed eyes uplifted to the sky, the sun warming our good life I bid my friends and family all the best wishes and happiness this holiday seasons.

Jarvis

P.S. Fool yourself in believing carbon credits will save the world…

The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner

Greeting from the lighter side…

The calendar reads Thursday, November 23, 2006… Thanksgiving Day. However, to the advanced spam filters it’s popping up as another installment of The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner. With all the trappings of an annual event that no one pays much attention to after it is over. I offer a few words.
>It seems to be nothing more than my ego talking to some, but nonetheless I’ll dedicate this year to Novalee Kay and Valerie. For some of you this may be a first, to others it’s just a recipe for a quick delete. Hopefully y’all enjoy it either way.

In the great spirit of American unity in this season of division and diversity I offer up a thankful pause to my friends and family. Being a descendent of the eastern band of Cherokee, the true founding fathers of the five civilized nations for which this holiday is celebrated. In remembrance of those people helping a few illegal immigrants to make it through a tough winter; I say to our illegal brethren this day “Los amigos buenos del día y la familia... ¡Acción de gracias feliz!”

Being from a promised land that keeps raising the stakes, making it harder to just get by, there are moments when some people feel nothing at all. Having their minds read by those looking down from the edge – a fact that only makes me stop to think we’re just painted by numbers. May we all escape the race for just one day and enjoy the ones we are with.

Another year twisting and turning around the only star that can’t be gossiped about or fall from grace. Things get complicated when we’re constantly tripping over the people ahead in order to be the next one closer to the end; with no prize for the most, the biggest, the best or the brightest. As the song once said “all good things must end someday”, I wish we didn’t have to go. Maybe it won’t be tomorrow… who would do all the shopping on the most important day of the year?

I just hope it’s not dark on the other side.

Until then,
I’m Jarvis.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner

Greetings and good day.
 
If you have not checked your calendar or a non-practicing American, let me be the first to wish you a happy Thanksgiving! With all the trimmings of fowl, stuffing, mashed potatoes & gravy, and some fooze-ball comes another installment of The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner. For some of you this may be a reluctant first, and to others it may be worse than a reoccurring nightmare. Hopefully y'all enjoy it either way.
 
Einstein once said, "The more I know, the more I realize I don't know." I thought I was savvy once, a virtuous soul on a crusade to understand what it meant to be in the right. What it meant to catch a glimpse of truth or to transcend into a state of enlightenment. Now I know it is all a whisper through a curtain of eternity. There is a mystery of historic proportion happening on the outside of my eyes. The great thing about the view from in here is it's just me, myself, and I. a full house nonetheless.
 
To my fear the crowd was not laughing with me as I stood on the stoop telling a story of a life yet fully lived. What a sick and twisted thing life can be. work all the live long days to nurture friends, to love a family, and gain worldly possessions. Then we make it through this encounter
just to realize the hearse ain't gotta luggage rack and there might've been a few we forgot to tell goodbye.
 
Curse the joker as he hysterically laughs at us standing alone on edge of the eclipse with nothing more than ourselves to show for. The earth spins around, the sun never really goes down, and it's just an illusion in our mind that we are actually going somewhere. It wouldn't be that tragic if the
end of the road was nothing more than the beginning of a longer one. A position less reserved for a select few and more controlled in a manner yet refined, with moments of grace laid upon us through the good works done for others.
 
If it is God you believe in, or if it's Allah, Jah, Zeus, or Brahman you believe in, I don't care. Just believe in something other than the reproduced reality set in front of your eyes. Believe in something that cannot be touched, produced, bought, spoiled, corrupted, stolen, tarnished,
sold, or traded. Allow it to become you. Believe to the point that it gives you comfort. Believe in it so when the end is near there's at least something with you. This "something" is the only thing that can be taken along. In this season of giving thanks, I am grateful to have family and friends who will be there until those last days. but I'm really thankful that I won't be alone on the next road.
 
In 2005 I am thankful that friends got married. I am thankful that others have decided to get married. I am thankful that families are still strong and friendships continue to grow years after they were original forged. That healthy children were born to deserving parents. And with all that, I leave you with my best wishes for the many things you have to be thankful for.
Jarvis

The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner

Good evening, good morning, good golly…

It is that time again. Time to stuff our faces with turkey, watch football and wish elastic waistbands were cool. In keeping with tradition here is another installment of The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner … for some of you it may be a baptism by fire and to others it may reaffirm your fish-eye perspective of me. Hopefully y’all enjoy it either way.

What I’m thankful for this year…

I am thankful for Doug Wake. An endless well of humor and always holding out for love.
I am thankful for Canadian phonics. The only country where the plural of beer is beer. “Doug, how much can you drink? About 60 beer.”
I am thankful for Mike Mintenko bobble heads and 2004 calendar.
I am thankful for 40-hour workweeks and those who only have to work 40 hours.
I am thankful for 40’s. JBK that one’s for you.
I am thankful for Bone Thugs in Harmony. Also for JBK.
I am thankful for vices. DT and Bob that one’s for you.
I am thankful for JJ’s caller ID flashing “Therpa.”
I am thankful for Canada. “C-eh. N-eh. D-eh.”
I am thankful for swimming. Keeping a conversations going since 1994.
I am thankful for ESPN. Perpetuating the Stupid American syndrome since 1979.
I am thankful for butter-face women. Their bodies are always better.
I am thankful for the word “Juggle”. The only word in the English language with more meanings than Eskimo’s “snow”. (See “My Ode to Juggle”)

My Ode to Juggle

Not to many words in the English language carry such meaning than does the great descriptive word - Juggle. Webster’s New World Dictionary defines Juggle: to perform skillful tricks of sleight of hand with (balls, knives, etc.). This harmless word in the past has been linked to carney foke and Phish tunes. Now it has taken on a life of its own. If you have ever been on the UNLV Men’s Swim Team between the years of 1991-present, you will appreciate the twisted metamorphism of this simple word. It’s like a tiny little caterpillar blasting out of its cocoon, a multi-colored butterfly reeking of soiled pool water and imitation leather.

Juggle encompasses all parts of speech:
Noun: What’s up juggler!?!
Adjective: That dude is a juggling nightmare.
Verb: Damn I’m juggling.
Past tense verb: Damn I juggled.
Future tense verb: Damn I’m going to juggle.
Family Names: The Jugglers.

Typical swimmers conversation with appropriate translation…
“Dude.” Hello.
“Dude.” What’s up man?
“Juggl’n?” I’m doing well, how about yourself?
“Juggl’n.” Things are going pretty good, what about yourself?
“Chainsaws.” Money is tight; I’m getting my balls busted at work/workout.
“…really.” Really.
“…Yep.” Yes.
“N-U-Tees?” How bad?
“Huevos Rancheros.” My wife/girlfriend is really busting my balls.

Best wishes to all my friends out there and safe travels for the ones who are visit’n their keen. To all my friends and family members, I would like to give thanks for having you in my life and for the memories. There have been many a things to be thankful for this year and few to mention. Let the powers you pray to at night watch over you this day. May happiness fill your heart and hungers never touch your stomach.

Remember in this session of commercialized hype and melodramatic reality shows, don’t eat the yellow snow and avoid the man with a smile on his face and a lily in his pocket. Pick your friends wisely, pick your nose often, but its never wise to pick your friends nose. Set your hair on fire and punch a hole in the sky cause it’s a free world once you sit in your assigned set and shut up. Don’t play with nukes… they’ll ruin your day and suck the paint off your house and give your family a permanent orange Afro. So when you’re done with life, come on down to the coffee shop at the end of my universe -- we’re serving Spam cakes and Red Bull at noon on the eve of this daydream. Let them come and collect your bones another day!

Happy Thanksgiving 2004

Rock on Brother Beavis!
Jarvis