As I sit here to type out today’s Stream of Conciousness Saturday (on a Saturday this time!), I’ve got not much clue where this is going to go.
Usually, something pops into my head.
This time around, all I got is: owie, wow, wowza, and whoa (and, whoa doesn’t even work).
Let’s plop the details in here and maybe something will pop into the ol’ noggin.
Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “ow.” Find a word that contains “ow” or use it as a word in your post. Have fun!
Hmmm, nope, not much help. Though I do have the Armed Forces Bowl on in the background — Go Golden Eagles! I enjoyed the four years I spent in Hattiesburg at Southern Miss. Met my first love, that didn’t last (ow), and mother of my children there. Discovered the joys of weed (wow) via my freshman (and then senior year) roommate.
Man, Bart was an odd duck. His dad was the VP of Sun . . . shit, something, bank. Other than the 2nd-hand volvo he drove, you wouldn’t have known it. Good guy. Loved to sit at the table in our room and separate out the buds from the chaff from the stems from the seeds into four little piles and then mix them all together again — over and over again. Still makes me giggle.
Other than corporate greed and the usual gaggle of social tongue cluckers who delight in telling others how to live their lives, that shit should be legal for a huge number of reasons. (FYI, alcohol is the true gateway drug.)
Also introduced me to some music I never would have listened to.
Some good — I still like King Crimson and have a fondness for the Journey to the Center of the Earth concept album by Rick Wakeman. Some not so good: Butthole Surfers and Black Flag (though I’ve grown to respect the hell out of . . . dammit, the lead guy for the group). [Ed note: Henry Rollins]
LOL, Bart also liked to pick mushrooms. The kind that grow — literally — in cow patties and make you see things that aren’t there. When we lived off-campus our senior year, he would ride his bike to a cow pasture (now a Wal-Mart and some other shit) about 2 miles away.
“C’mere, Duhon. C’mere.”
“What, Bart? Fuck, I just woke up.”
“C’mere, man, you gotta see this.”
In his bedroom he had shitton of little purple headed mushrooms laid out on a towel with a fan drying them out.
They tasted awful (yeah, they were washed — we were messy, but clean!), and made you see things that weren’t there and have deep, in-depth conversations about things like “what if cat spelled dog?”
Wish I had kept in touch with him.
As I sit here half-listening to Southern Miss beat Tulane (Around the bowl, down the hole, go wave, go), I’m hoping for a happy “WOW” moment from the Saints game v. the Vikes on Sunday as opposed to the extremely unhappy “WOW” moment from 2 years ago.
HOW THE HELL DID MARCUS WILLIAMS MAKE THAT MISTAKE!!!!!!!!!
AIIIIIIEEEEEE, they probably beat Philly the next week and they for sure kick the ever-loving shit out of the Patriots in the Superbowl (jaw-dropping, wow, WTF ref call in Tom Brady’s favor excepting).
And don’t get me started on the “WOW” no-call from last year in the playoffs.
In an alternate world, the Saints are onto their 3rd straight Superbowl run and Brees is rightfully recognized as the best QB of all time because he kicked the shit out of Brady in back-to-back years. And, wow, how lucky was Brady to even be in the Superbowl last year because of a make-believe blow to the head call by the refs that allowed the Pats to keep the ball at the end of the game.
OK, enough football, except to see here’s hoping for some hugely positive WOWWWWWWWW! moments in favor of the Saints over the next four games — and a Superbowl win!
I’ll just wrap by thinking, whoa, about how much my life would have been different had I gone to Tulane rather than Southern Miss. I had a full ROTC (Marine) scholarship to Tulane, excepting room and board. At Southern Miss I had a full ride, books, room, food, all of it. I was waiting to get into West Point and the offer from Tulane expired while doing so. Southern Miss was my fall-back, secure option.
Every now and then, especially now as the con-in-chief corruptly seeks a war with Iran based on lies and financial ties to Saudi Arabia, I wonder if I’d be one of those guys in the Wounded Warrior commercials. Or in the ground. Or a colonel (I’m not political enough to become a general).
Our lives turn daily on our decisions, but those are often minor course corrections or changes. There are only a few decision points where the road diverges into dramatically separate destinations.
Anyway. That’s my time.
Go Saints. Whodat! Make me say “wow” (IN A GOOD WAY) for the next four Sundays.