My Life As A Hobby

I recently got an interesting e-mail from one of my newspapers. Well, it’s a former newspaper. You see, a couple of years ago they strangely discontinued my column, and when I asked why, I was told by the editor they decided to “go in another direction.”  A cliche reason if there ever was one, but I let it lie.  Well, since it’s been a while, I decided to e mail the publisher to see if there was any possibility of me being reinstated. I also mentioned to him that I didn’t really know why I had been uninstated to begin with.  To his credit, he gave me the reason. He told me that an article I wrote about buying cars had offended a large auto dealer, who happens to be one of their larger customers. He had to apologize to them which hacked him off, so he dumped me. In other words, this guy had to kiss the butt of a big customer who obviously has problem taking a joke.  Just so you know, the column ran statewide, and no one had a problem with it - with one patheti...

Every house has at least one. Ours has several. There’s one beside my dresser in the bedroom. Another in the kitchen next to the knife drawer. The basement has one too. That one is more like a small archaeological dig. They’re junk drawers. Junk drawers are the great equalizer of American homes. Rich or poor, young or old, every family has at least one. They’re one part time machine, one part museum, and one part landfill. A junk drawer is where useful things go to wait until they become useless - or where useless things go because you just can’t part with them. Mine contains, among other things: four pairs of fingernail clippers, two pairs of toenail clippers, golf tees, dead watches, an expired driver’s license, charging cords for phones we got rid of three upgrades ago, pocket knives too dull to cut a  banana, an eyeglass repair kit, a VCR instruction manual, a half dozen mystery keys, enough loose screws to assemble a lawn mower, four old batteries,  three plastic pe...

  The floor lights  splashed the dim stage in a harsh white glow. Taking their cue, musicians walked out, picked up their instruments and, without a word, launched themselves into a song.  Instantly, the auditorium was filled with what some people called music. Guitars blared. Drums pounded. Vocals, boosted by the miracle of modern amplification, fought a losing battle against the wall of sound. It was like listening to the soundtrack of a Beavis and Butt-Head marathon. At center stage stood a whippet-thin man blaring out lyrics that very few people could understand. Yet he was the reason nearly everyone in the audience had bought a ticket. The singer was Academy Award-winning actor Billy Bob Thornton fronting his band, The Boxmasters, who have been together for more than 20 years.  The music was marketed as rockabilly with a nod to the vocals of the Beach Boys. Maybe that’s how it came across from the stage. From our row however, it sounded a lot closer to...