For Another Season Well-Baked
By J. Lee Austin
Apologies for the dearth of articles recently, but spare time’s been sparse due to the fabricated pressure of Continuing Medical Education … you know, that lovely process by which health professionals get to allegedly prove their alleged competence by taking courses and answering multiple guess questions. It’s a real hoot.
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Gotta love it, especially the required two hours of “Ethics” that Medical Boards also call Professional Responsibility. I wonder if not doing these mandated hours might put one at risk of some Unethical File. Or Sub-ethical if you’re cute. Which begs the question … if I should get 10 hours, say … could I be certified as Super Ethical? That would totally be the shizz, since at this ripe stage the Curriculum Vitae needs all the help it can get.
And then there were family matters, as our sweet daughter put together an end-of-summer family re-union in Branson, Missouri, the scenic town where Elvis and Dolly et al, are keeping the vibe alive through endless iterations of somebody glomming onto somebody else’s success. It’s a whole ‘nuther hoot.
While not exactly my bag, it’s an interesting phenomenon nonetheless, and one that got our group to pondering what our own personal impersonation might be, should we ever get the urge to glom.
Our daughter’s persona was Sheryl Crow, since … All She Wanna Do … Is Have Some Fun … and She’s Got a Feelin’ … She’s Not the Only One. Grandson did a spot-on rendition of Josh Turner in perfect baritone, soulfully posing the timeless question of Why Don’t We Just Dance. Certain fame awaits them, I’m sure of it.
The only act I could conjure up for myself was Sean Connery, who I once emulated in Scotland at a destination wedding while prancing around in a Kilt. Funny how all that plaid, tweed, bagpipes and Scotch brings out the barmy jester in you. Not sure Branson ready for all that.
The drive was supposed to take 10 hours according to the Googler, who apparently never has to gas up, stretch legs, grab a snack or go pee pee. Twelve hours of exceeding the speed limit later we arrived, all used up and good for nothing but gnawing on a pizza. To be fair, the Googler got most of it right. But hey, even a blind hog finds a trail to poop in the woods every now and again.
Once into Arkansas, the long interstate artery traversing Razorback country was, in a word … wild … a meandering ballet of 18-wheel monsters mixing it up with other nervy white knuckles, the whole spectacle hurtling along at a frenetic 85 to 90 mph and speed limits more like annoying suggestions than laws.
Driving our ‘24 GMC Canyon through this gauntlet was my first rodeo with Adaptive Cruise Control and Automatic Emergency Braking, or what I call Surprise Adventure Braking. Rolled out in 2003, this cool technology was designed to keep us from slamming into each other’s hapless backsides.
Turns out it actually has cut rear-enders by half. But it’s far from perfect, judging from the number of “Unintended Braking” mishaps that’s put numerous Honda, Acura and Mazda drivers on the whiplash end of more than a few tail-end smashies. While the technology has surely improved safety, the faint of heart may want to avoid using it on rowdy, crowded highways having the potential to impersonate a Demolition Derby at any given split second.
The Ozark temps were ruthless in their triple digits, plunging us, along with every other living being that wasn’t a desert sidewinder into the cooling refuge of lakes, rivers and swimming pools. Crazy how the sand on Moonshine Beach was so hot that bare feet had to hard-sprint it to the water’s edge to save their soles from sizzling into bacon. Good comedy was the high-stepping souls who thought they could walk it, before inevitably bolting into a dead run, giddy up and LOL.
As it happened, we were lucky enough to see some guy propose to some gal. Her acceptance seemed obligatory under the circumstances … a “No” reply could have triggered a total meltdown out there. Hard to believe anyone would choose such a blistering backdrop for such a precious moment. Guess it’s true that Love Conquers All, including the risk of spontaneous combustion.
The return trip to Texas, which swung us through the relative sanity of Oklahoma, was much easier on the nerves, while back at our home beach you could actually walk on the sand. Strangely enough, the very first walk was abruptly interrupted by a snarling Doodle-something charging with bared teeth exposing its subtle intention to rip, tear and mangle assorted body parts. Fortunately the owner stopped the crazed beast before the scene became a ruddy shade of hemoglobin.
This actually wasn’t my first attack-by-dog … in fact, it was the third similar incident of the summer, I kid thee not. The first one, which had pain and suffering written all over it, was miraculously thwarted by a guardian angel Border Collie, running, biting, growling and fighting off another hard-charging canine, skillfully and heroically keeping herself between the attacker and me. Feeling ridiculous, I wielded into the chaos my only defense, a small JBL speaker. Again the owner got there in time to stop the mayhem from going medical.
So I no longer embark without a walking staff. Gotta wonder if this is why Galveston County prohibits unleashed dogs on its beaches. Maybe dog owners should take a couple hours of Professional Responsibility.
Here’s to Man’s Best Friend, to whom all this is gratefully dedicated,
~ ~ j ~ ~
“I poured spot remover on my dog. Now he’s gone.” ~~ Steven Wright
