My Life As A Hobby

My friends who’ve seen me do stand up comedy generally ask a couple of questions.  The first one is always, “ Where did you come up with that?”  And it’s  followed by, “Why do you act that way?  I’ve given this a lot of thought over the years.   Although the comedic genes run in both sides of the family, I think my father should get much of the credit. In the words of Hank Williams Jr., “It’s a family tradition.” I think you’ll understand when you hear this story.   My uncle worked in Spain for many years.  So we always looked forward to his box of Christmas gifts.  They were always so ... European.  One particular year my Dad received a beret my uncle bought on a trip to Paris.  A tam with a little knit ball on top. For whatever reason, it was perfect for him. He wore it everywhere - the golf course, around the house, even when he went to work.  When he put on the beret and got in his VW bug, he looked like he belonged on the Champs Elysees.  It was good that he drove

I never speed  when I’m passing thru Kimberly, Alabama. I won't exceed the speed limit If I’m late for an appointment, a show, or just a drive to the lake. It’s not because it’s a speed trap - it isn’t.  The sleepy bedroom community just north of Birmingham only has three police cars and rarely, if ever, do they set up radar to catch unwary travelers.  About the closest thing to a police sting is when the officers park their cruisers near the elementary school in the morning and afternoon to ensure the safety of the kids.  But, school or no school, radar or no radar, cops or no cops - I do not exceed the 30 mile per hour speed limit. Why?  Because I kept my promise - a promise I made over  25 years ago.    As my fledging stand up comedy career began to escalate into a nice part time job, it created the opportunity for more gigs.  Consequently, I branched out to other cities that were within driving distance from Birmingham.  This enabled me to keep my “day job” while

Despite all of the terrible things this Corona virus has caused, I’m thankful for many things.   I am thankful that as I write this, we are clear of the virus, all my boys are still working, and I haven’t killed my wife during this time of social distancing (although it could be considered justifiable homicide).   However, the virus has scuttled my plans to see the Rolling  Stones this summer.  And at their age, This Could be The Last Time.    Whenever I think about the Stones, I always remember the first concert I ever attended had them on the billing.  That began a long run I had with Mick and the boys.  In fact,  I’ve seen them in every decade from the sixties to the present.  That’s right, the Sixties.  This particular concert was in 1965, and I was 12 years old.  It was sponsored by WVOK in Birmingham, Alabama - billed as one of their “Shower of Stars” events. And this one lived up to its billing.  Headlining this show were the Beach Boys, the Righteous Brothers, and of co

There are two kinds of practical jokes. The first kind are planned,  requiring a scheme, and perhaps collusion with others.  The second kind are those that just come out organically - when you hear the voice of that little devil that speaks to us from time to time. That’s the way this one came to be.  I have repeated this story many times. In fact, before I left this company years ago, they insisted that I re-tell it at my farewell luncheon.   I worked for a food-broker who sold all kinds of grocery items, including a brand called China Doll.   This company produces bagged rice and beans.   It’s based in Mobile, Alabama, so why their products are called China Doll,  I’ll never know. If you’ve ever bought bags of their rice, you undoubtedly have noticed the Geisha girl on the package.  Late one afternoon, I went to our warehouse to get some sales samples.  In order to get there, you walked thru our office to a connecting door, then went down a 20 foot hallway that opened

Matt with his brother and two old friends on his release day.  This post is a prequel.  For those of you who read my previous post about my son, I thought I would give you some context of the entire situation by reposting a portion of something I wrote earlier in the year. This will give you a brief perspective on the entire events of his life, and show you how addiction can destroy everyone it comes in contact with.  My oldest son is an addict. It began when he was about 15 years old.  It was a textbook case - starting with marijuana and progressing to opioids.  He’s also a genius, with an IQ over 150.  And we learned over the years that addiction and high intelligence are a lethal combination.     He walked down the path to hell one step at a time despite our efforts to pull him back.  What’s worse; he dragged us down the path with him.  He stole, he lied, he played one parent against the other. He caused family wounds that are still there. He made his other two brothe