Cheetah's chase ends

Sad news to report: One of the four cheetahs at Albany's Parks at Chehaw has died. An inside source at the park tells me that just before he died, the cheetah told a keeper he was seeing spots.

Ghost hunters update

Hot off the press: Here are three photos from Saturday night's ghost-hunting excursion supplied by ghost-hunting expert Rachel Peaster of Enterprise, Ala. Judge for yourself. Look closely at each photo. If you can't see a ghost by the third photo, you're just a no-fun skeptic!

Haunted house excursion

On Saturday night, while at a party for adults and kids in Oglethorpe, I mentioned to a couple of kids who hadn't heard my stories a million times that the house across the street was haunted. I know because I lived there from 1986-1991. The ghosts were members of my church (before they died ... a week apart from each other), so I didn't really have a problem with it. Nice ghosts are cool, though my wife doesn't agree after the one night she spent in the house back in 1993.

One of the kids, Rachel, daughter of a couple of my old schoolmates, was fascinated. Apparently, she has a thing for ghosts. Next thing I know, four teenagers (Rachel, Matt, Jordan and Shane) and my 8-year-old son, Saylor, have talked me into leading them through the falling-down house. None of the other adults (and I'm lumping myself in the "adult" age group, though it's debatable) were willing to go, including my wife. Having seen one of the ghosts, she was willing to go in daylight, but not at night.

Rachel promptly grabbed a Polaroid camera (apparently, they still exist) and whatever ghost-hunting equipment she could round up, and off we went. It was pretty uneventful ... except when blood started dripping from the ceiling and then these hounds of hell pounced out of a closet and a zombie tried to eat one of the kids. (Hmm, wait a minute: Were there four teenagers or five? Oh, what's the difference?)

Saylor, who is scared of neither ghosts nor teenagers (but should be of at least one of those groups), had the line of the night when I got tired of trying to scare the kids to death and decided to be the first one out of the house. I think he's been watching 1980s slasher movies behind my back because as I was leaving he said, "Dad! You can't leave teenagers alone in a haunted house!"

Indeed. They weren't far behind.

I'll probably write more about the excursion for this Sunday's Ledger-Enquirer. And if Rachel captured any orbs or anything else on film, I'll share them here. So, send them my way.

Below is a pic of a couple of the mothers who reluctantly let me lead their kids on the ghost hunt (Mary Ellen, left, and Jenny) after we returned and they counted their kids and were satisfied that any kids left behind weren't theirs.


Speaking of horror stories, both of these ladies would have shuddered in horror 23 years ago if they had their photo taken with me in those days. Would have killed their reputations. I, however, am gonna build a time machine and show this picture to 14-year-old freshman dork Chris Johnson in 1985.

Seeing red over green

Oh, common sense, why hast thou forsaken us?

I now know what those power-hungry, anal-retentive nerds who wanted to be the hall monitor when I was kid turned into as adults. They turned into folks like these at Midland Middle School, who sent an 11-year-old girl to in-school suspension because she, of all things, had light green streaks in her hair on, of all days, St. Patrick's Day. Apparently, this was against the RULES. Heaven forbid anyone bend the RULES on St. Patrick's Day.

You can read the Ledger-Enquirer story about the cute little green-haired troublemaker who struck fear into the hearts of former hall monitors and paranoid school officials by clicking here. Her photo should be on the Web page, as well. Wait til you see how dangerous this girl looks!

As someone who regularly broke the RULES in school and, quite frankly, still favors common sense when it trumps the RULES, I salute Taylor Hendrix. Keep dyeing your hair green until the gray-haired teachers stop dyeing their hair. And, please, please don't let a few folks lacking in common sense sap your spirit. If you're anything like I was, you just gotta smile at the silliness and roll with the punches. Don't give in to the nonsensical conformists, and you'll be a better person someday. Side with common sense, and you'll be just fine, Taylor.

Meanwhile, those same people who suspended you will be running around school going insane measuring to see if shorts are 3 inches from the knee or those are really No. 2 pencils.

A NASCAR improvement

I've decided I'll start watching NASCAR when money plays less of a role in determining winners. Only the big-money teams have a chance, much like in baseball. Big-money finances the best cars, best mechanics, best everything. Here's my plan to make NASCAR more interesting:

Let NASCAR divvy up the cars in a random drawing before the race. When the drivers are announced a few minutes before the race, officials will tell them, "OK, Tony, you're in the 43 car today. Jeff, head over there to the 14 car," and so on and so forth. I'd rather root for drivers, not cars. Let's see who's really best, not who simply has the best financial backing.

Round 'n' round we go

So I went to my first NASCAR race in Atlanta on Sunday. It was interesting to look around the place and see the sights before the race. And the first 15 or so laps were impressive as I soaked up the roars of the engines and felt the vibrations of the cars speeding past. However, the next 310 or so laps were just a bunch of guys going around and around and turning left.

Apparently, I picked a bad race for my first one. Even die-hard NASCAR fans were lulled to sleep. There wasn't much racing going on, and no wrecks. The drivers were having so much trouble with their tires that they were scared to race hard and were content to simply not slide into the wall. I'm glad I went, and perhaps I'd go again with free tickets as I did this time. But I don't think I'd pay for the experience.

And I probably didn't make many friends as I got bored and decided to cheer on Juan Pablo Montoya, who was about 8 miles behind everybody else and never seemed to be within a half-mile of any other car on the track. So 40 cars would zoom by, and then a few moments later, he'd come by and I'd stand up and yell, "Go, guy in red car!!" Getting in the middle of a bunch of Dale Earnhardt Jr. fans and yelling for Jeff Gordon probably didn't help, either. But aggravating folks was fun.

News for Parrot Heads

Tickets for the June 5 Jimmy Buffett concert at Atlanta's Lakewood Amphitheatre go on sale at 10 a.m. Monday. They're $36-$136. (Guess which end of the range I'll be shooting for.) You know the drill: Go to your local Ticketmaster outlet or to Ticketmaster online and hit reload over and over. They sell out in just a few minutes. I've seen him at Phillips Arena and Lakewood, and the outdoor venue is the way to go for this show.

If you can't wait to get your Buffett fix, the newest Margaritaville bar/shop/restaurant opens today in Panama City Beach's huge Pier Park shopping and dining area on the west end of Highway 98. To learn more, click here.

Still trying to decide whether I should finally wear a coconut bra and grass skirt June 5.

The economy

My column this coming Sunday is all about economics, which is that study of numbers and dollars and that kind of evil stuff. Mainly it's about the difference between economists and us normal folks. While economists are worried about gross domestic product and how it translates into a possible recession, we normal folks don't have to go through all those reports. Mainly because we pump our own gas, and as it creeps closer to $4 a gallon, we can honestly say of our economy, recession or no recession, "We're screwed!"

Monty Python's Life of Bleep

I got bleeped in my latest TV commentary. I've had columns pulled by editors a few times over the years, been told I had to change a word or two and had to yank paragraphs, but that's my first on-air bleep. It was a little surprising because it was a mere tongue-in-cheek comment referring to right-wingers' strange, overwhelming hatred for Hillary Clinton. I said it doesn't matter "if Hillary Clinton is Satan's daughter. Who her daddy is shouldn't matter at this point." The word "Satan" got bleeped. I didn't know Satan was a dirty word. You can catch my bleeped commentary here.

Speaking of censorship, I watched a great documentary from Britain's Channel 4 on YouTube today about the controversy surrounding Monty Python's "Life of Brian," which I think is the funniest movie ever made and is in my Top 10 movies of all-time. When I first saw it back in the 1980s, I recognized the brilliant religious satire was not something everyone can appreciate, but had no idea how upset religious zealots got about it in the late 1970s. If you tried to make that movie now, they would be even worse, though, because our society is so hyper-sensitive about possibly offending anyone. But as one of the guys points out in the documentary, if your religion can't handle having a little bit of fun poked at it, it ain't much of a religion.

I respect the Monty Python guys for having the guts to tackle it and George Harrison for funding it. It's evidence that sacred cows make the best hamburgers.

There are oodles of "Life of Brian" clips on YouTube and if you search wisely, you can watch the entire movie in 9 parts, approximately 10 minutes each. You can find the five parts of the documentary by clicking here.

Get Dirty Dirty

My young friend Cody Peaster and his band Dirty Dirty from back home will be playing in Columbus on Saturday night at Caliente, an 18-and-over club near Columbus State. Nightlife diva, friend and colleague Sonya Sorich plans to check them out with me. Show should start around 9 p.m., but has any 9 p.m. show in Columbus ever started at 9 p.m.? Some other friends may join us. You should, too. Now, this ain't Barry Manilow music or even Jimmy Buffett. It's Southern metal, or something like that, so don't expect to mellow out.

Here's a picture of me and Cody taken last weekend at his parents' home. I'm also his mentor for his senior project, which should scare the heck out of every teacher at Schley County High.

You ain't seein' my drawers

During my son's annual checkup at his pediatrician's office, the nurse told him to strip down to his underwear, and the doctor, a woman, would be in shortly. Saylor looked her square in the eye and informed her, "I am not doing that!"

Peeping Tom cure?

Not too long ago, there was a rash of peeping Tom incidents in my mom's neighborhood. She tried not to scare my 7-year-old niece Bailey about it, but nevertheless told her they needed to make sure the curtains were pulled to and the blinds were closed. Bailey's solution:

"Memommy, if you want to scare him away why don't you open the blinds and the curtains?"

Head cases

The Georgia General Assembly (in yet another example why they should just take a year off every now and then and save us tax dollars by not meeting) is now considering a bill that would allow motorcycle riders to ride without wearing helmets. Don't know whether I should weigh in, considering the dichotomy of my views on motorcycles (I have friends who ride them and I have a blast at motorcycle paradise Angel City, and yet I hate unnecessary noise and the way riders get a free pass to speed and break traffic laws in Columbus). But what the heck, I'll weigh in anyway.

I guess I'm gonna have to side with liberty here. You should have the freedom to spill your brains on the highway. But know that it won't be a lot of comfort to the family members you leave behind to know that you died free in an otherwise minor accident. I guess we should only legislate stupidity when it begins to affect other folks.

So, let the wind blow through your hair (or around your bald head for my motorcyclist buddy Gregg) but please don't crack your skull open in front of me on the highway.

Get off my island!

I discovered this island during Saturday's kayaking excursion down the Flint River. I think I'm gonna name it something really unique like Chris Island. So stay the heck off. I'm sure a few folks have seen it before, but that didn't stop Christopher Columbus from discovering America. To which the Native Americans responded, "You didn't discover anything, moron. You were late."

Nevertheless, I've declared this island for my own, and I'll probably write more about it for this Sunday's column. There are bound to be a few unique rules on Chris Island.

As for the kayaking trip, it's the best I've had in the 8 months or so that I've have the kayak. I got in the river at a bridge in Macon County where the last working ferry in Georgia once was. I crossed the river on that old ferry many times. I believe it's now at the Agrirama in Tifton. Once I got in, I didn't see another human being or house for two hours. Nothing but trees and nice animals. When I repeat this trip in spring and summer, I'm sure I'll be joined by mean animals such as gators and snakes. I've seen many gators on that stretch of the river before.

It was nice to get away from everything and everybody for a while. Helps you appreciate everything and everybody.

Back on the water

I haven't been kayaking in quite a while, but I'm gonna hit the Flint River on Saturday. Looks like it'll be a perfect day. High of 71, no chance of rain. And it's still too cool to have to worry about alligatoras and cottonmouths gettring curious about my little red kayak. I plan to post a photo or two, for there are few undisturbed stretches of river like the one I'll be on.

Zoom Zoom Boom

Do you ever feel like you'll never get a dollar ahead? For eight years I've been trying to escape debt only to have one surprise expense or another come up and club me in the back of the head like a sack of quarters.

Last week, the transmission went out on my 3-year-old hunk of junk SUV a couple days after I paid my credit card down to $11. After tomorrow, that credit card will be back up to $3,011 or so. Since it's gonna cost me about three thousand dollars to fix, I'm gonna make sure I tell three thousand people not to buy a vehicle from that company. I can't mention their name here, but if you contact me, I'll be glad to alert you.

The story of the breakdown is rather funny, if you're not dealing with the pain of paying for this. It involves me walking home barefoot and in shorts in 35-degree weather. You can read more about it in my next Sunday column.

Tornader!

The alarm for the statewide tornado drill is blaring all across Columbus as I'm writing this and every dog in the neighborhood is howling and barking. Except mine, Pepper, who's too busy chewing up stuff. This reminds me of noon back home in Oglethorpe, when they would blare the fire engine to signal lunch time I guess (as if I were gonna miss that) and our dog would run across the street to our neighbor Ms. Cheek's backyard to howl back at what it thought must have been the altar from which he was supposed to howl to the dog god every day at noon.

Now THAT hurts

I've got a few regular stalkers who leave comments at the bottom of my column that's posted online. Usually, it's some highly intelligent comment such as "you suck" or "you're sooooo gay." But this week, these guys really hurt my feelings because they called me FAT. One said I must be 75 pounds overweight and the other said my waist size must be 44-46 inches. Ouch! By the way, I'm 187 pounds with a 32-inch waist. Oh, and I'm not gay. Whether I suck or not, well, that's debatable. Here's a fairly recent pic of me with my boss, Pork Chop, at the newsroom Christmas party. Click here to see the most recent column with the inane comments.

Poor Tom Brady

Wow! What a Super Bowl! Little brother Eli Manning comes up with one of the greatest drives and greatest plays in NFL history! And pouty coach Bill Belichick's Pats go down.

The New York Giants pulled one out for the hard-working little guys out there, somewhat ironic considering their nickname. I now forgive them for knocking me out of the King of the Hill pool earlier this year. Not that there was money on the line or anything because that wouldn't be legal, but if I had to put a dollar value on the amount of pain that caused me, I'd say it was about $240 worth of pain.

I don't have anything against Patriots quarterback Tom Brady, but I don't feel sorry for the guy, even though he got roughed up by the Giants defense. Look, the man's got three Super Bowl rings, is rich, plays a game for a living, is tall and handsome, and will be comforted tonight by one of the most beautiful women in the world, supermodel Gisele Bundchen (pictured here). Nearly every man on the planet would trade his problems for Tom Brady's.

Unappreciative 'Companion'

I like Garrison Keillor, but it's obvious the guy just doesn't appreciate nice gifts.

This just in ...

ST. PAUL, Minn. (AP) — Garrison Keillor, host of public radio’s ‘‘A Prairie Home Companion,’’ has dropped a restraining order he had obtained against a fan after she agreed not to contact him again.

Keillor had accused Andrea Campbell, 43, of Hawkinsville, Ga., of stalking him by making unwanted visits and sending him bizarre gifts, including a petrified alligator’s foot, dead beetles and poems.

A hearing on Campbell’s appeal of the restraining order was canceled. It had been set for Monday.

‘‘The parties mutually agreed to dismiss based on Ms. Campbell’s commitment not to have further contact with Mr. Keillor,’’ said his attorney, Mary Stumo.

‘‘I guess he felt he couldn’t defend what he had put in the affidavit, and I guess he realized it was all just a big misunderstanding,’’ Campbell told the St. Paul Pioneer Press for a story to be published Tuesday.

Campbell said she ‘‘held a space of love and forgiveness and just let the universe work its magic, and I think his conscience got to him.’’

While she said she has no intention of contacting Keillor again, she told the newspaper she is working on a book about how she believes she and Keillor influenced each other’s creative processes.

Great news!

A great headline from today's Washington Post ...

Asteroid to Miss Earth Tonight

Read the story by clicking here.

Apparently this 300-yard asteroid is going to miss us by 334,000 miles. That means I can go back to writing my Sunday column now. It'll be about Super Bowl Sunday. I'm rooting for the Giants. I like the way the Patriots play, but I think Belichick is a jerk. And I can't root for a jerk. And while I like Tom Brady, he's already got three Super Bowl rings and one of the world's most beautiful women. Time for the man to share the wealth.

By the way, I can't write about asteroids without thinking of the classic exchange from "National Lampoon's Vacation."

Rusty: Hey, ya' got Pac Man?

Cousin Dale: No.

Rusty: Ya' got Space Invaders?

Cousin Dale: Nope.

Rusty: Ya' got Asteroids?

Cousin Dale: Naw, but my dad does. Can't even sit on the toilet some days.

Vacation, All I Never Wanted ...

My first vacation of the year was actually a rollover week that I couldn't manage to fit into 2007. We went to Gatlinburg, which I was less than thrilled about beforehand and hated much more when I got there. The town had no charm, was too crowded, with too much traffic, too many tourist traps and too many people offering you free this and that to get you to hear time-share sales pitches. If you took everything you don't like about Panama City and chilled it down to 20 degrees, you've got Gatlinburg.

Oh, and pancakes are a big deal up there. One pancake house much have had 150 people lined up outside in 12-degree temperatures one morning just waiting on tables to clear. It would have taken them hours to get their pancakes. We're talking about pancakes. It's just food people.

The only reason we went was because we thought Saylor would have a chance to see snow. He saw snow flurries that Saturday. Of course, that same day it snowed over 2 inches at Pine Mountain, just a half-hour from our house.

And we got one last chance to get ripped off in Gatlinburg as we got hold of some bad gasoline at a station before leaving town. Fortunately, that watered-down gas lasted all the way through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and all the way home. Watered-down gas gets good mileage apparently, despite the funny noises.

Fortunately, I was able to continue my vacation writing at a cabin back home. I also got to eat at the world's greatest restaurant, Troy's Snack Shack, and the Mennonite restaurant outside Montezuma. And when I wasn't eating, I was writing. So, the part of the vacation in Georgia was OK. I have no urge to travel north of LaGrange ever again. Or anywhere cold.

I can't say that it was the most relaxing vacation ever. But Saylor thinks Gatlinburg with its tourist traps and many ways to spend money is the next best thing to Heaven. Here he is in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, which was beautiful.

Old school

This week's column will be about old school buildings. I realized what a shame it is that they tore down the old Macon County Elementary School in 1999. It was built in 1921. I'm sure they had their reasons, but still it's a shame. My son goes to a school for the gifted on Tuesdays that was built in 1930. It reminds me a lot of that old building back home. I also hate that the last house I lived in back home (built around 1900) is falling down. Thank goodness for the historic preservation folks around here.

Jenny, I got your number ...

It's been over 25 years since Tommy Tutone got Jenny's number off the wall and into my head. Now, I've got pin numbers at the bank, a dozen personal Internet passwords, 20 more passwords at work, and every year when it's time to renew my health insurance, I have to request my forgotten password. Yet, I'll never forget 867-5309, as I discovered when I heard that song for the first time in years this morning.

Pharewell, Phil

My good friend and co-worker Philip Wartena is packing it up and heading back to California. Something to do with a chick, I understand. Phil's the most talented photographer with whom I've had the pleasure of working. We've also had a good time and a few adventures outside of work. He shares my philosophy that life ought to be fun and that 99.9 percent of people in the world are waaaaay too uptight. Happy trails, buddy.

Check out Phil's unbelievable work at his blog, The Visual Burn.

Geography lesson

Today at breakfast, my 7-year-old son Saylor was asking about which states I've been to:

"Ever been to Washington?"
"Yes."

"Maine?"
"No."

"Vermont?"
"No."

"New Hamster?"

The Onion & Landover Baptist

For those of you who still grasp the concept of sarcasm, you need to visit the online sites of The Onion and Landover Baptist Church ("Unsaved unwelcome"), two of my favorite online sites. The Onion report on alleviating traffic congestion is awesome. Not all of this stuff is appropriate for kids, but the traffic congestion report definitely is.

I didn't know my son was THIS smart

I have a few books by Dr. Wayne Dyer, who's sort of a new age, let's all be happy spiritualist. One is called "Wisdom of the Ages" and has writings and sayings from some of the all-time great thinkers and philosophers including Buddha, Jesus, Omar Khayyam, Donne, Milton, Goethe, Gandhi, Thoreau and Emerson to name a few. Add to this great list my son, Saylor. I opened the book again today and on the title page it reads, of course, "Wisdom of the Ages." Under that, in ball-point pen ink, it reads, "By SAYLOR."

A shout out

Thanks to my friends Jamie and Mary Ellen Peaster (the dancer in the green sweater here) for inviting us to their New Year's Eve throwdown back home in Oglethorpe. They live about 100 feet from the haunted house in which I last lived in Oglethorpe. We had a blast!

Redneck street cred

You know how rappers actually add to their street cred by getting arrested? I added to mine last weekend by partying in an abandoned chicken house back home in Macon County with a few hundred folks who were there to celebrate Patrick Petroski's birthday and hear local band and friends Gravel Road. I'll write a little about the experience in this Sunday's column. Gravel Road is pictured here performing Saturday night. Jason McKinney, pictured at center, is an old friend and the lead singer. Scotty Layfield, a kid I've known for a long time and covered as a sports writer, is the drummer. I called the baseball coach at Valdosta State years ago and encouraged him to give Scotty a shot. Scotty excelled and made it all the way to AAA in the Cardinals organization before arm problems cut his promising career short. I think their music is more about having fun than becoming superstars, but that's a good thing.

OK, I'm back

I've been admonished by a few folks for sort of abandoning my blog lately, so I resolve to pay more attention to it in 2008. It is 2008 right? Expect more short notes and a little more personal stuff and very little of my writing craft here. Between my Friday night TV commentaries on WLTZ (click the link to see some) and my Sunday columns in the Ledger-Enquirer, my creativity's tapped out. Some might argue my creativity was tapped out long before. But there will be a lot more blogging here now, I promise. Of course, I also promised to give up caffeine in the new years (and a dozen previous new years), so take that for what it's worth.

Football and more football

For more than a decade, I've been meeting friends from back home for the Georgia High School Association football semifinals at the Georgia Dome in Atlanta. Here are some scenes from 2007:

From left: Thad Green, David Green, me and Danny Blizzard

The cavernous Georgia Dome dwarfs the crowds for the first game: Class A Wilcox County's win over Athens Academy.

Carver-Columbus and Chamblee meet on the field after Carver's amazing 26-24 come-from-behind win in Class AAA on Friday. Carver scored three touchdowns in the last six minutes to rally from a 24-6 deficit. One of the best finishes I've seen in the Dome.

Worst thing about 2 full days of football? The food, such as Thad's Box-O-Cholesterol that cost him roughly $100 and future heart problems. I like to call this photo "Cause & effect."

This man robbed me by charging more than $4 for a fountain drink, and he seemed proud of it.

Not to reinforce any racial stereotypes or anything, but I definitely enjoy watching predominantly black high school and college marching bands. They're just more fun. Carver and Tucker rocked the Dome.

Northside-Warner Robins gets ready to charge the field en route to its 29th straight win. Right after Carver's thrilling comeback, the Eagles rallied from a 28-7 halftime deficit to earn a third straight trip to the Class AAAA title game. Four of my cousins graduated from there, so I've got to root for them. I'm convinced they're the best team in any of the state's classifications.

David and Thad were happy that I made sure the entire fourth floor of our hotel was vacant except for us. We stayed at this same hotel three years ago, and a "party girl" named Peaches had a big ol' party in the next room, keeping us awake all night. David and I spent the next day calling and asking for Peaches' room to make sure she didn't get a good morning and afternoon of sleep. These boys are just over a year apart in age and were my next-door-neighbors for much of my childhood. We played backyard football and basketball roughly 300 days a year way back when.

I told these security guards to look mean after they searched my bags.

Unfortunately, they had a hard time keeping their "mean" faces.

I didn't quite make it through all 10 games. I drove back Saturday night and watched Lowndes (I had the Lowndes beat as a sports writer in Valdosta) blank Camden County for their third trip to the Class AAAAA title game in four years. I traded my 40-and-over friends for a lighter one from the under-8 crowd and a more comfortable seat.

Waaay-back Wednesday: Here comes Bubba Claus

Note: This column was orginally published in 1998. There are now a gazillion plagiarized version on the Internet. I didn't think it was that great, but I reckon a lot of folks disagreed.

-----------------------------------------

An open letter to the citizens of the Bi-City area from Santa Claus:

Dear ya'll:

I regret to inform you that, effective immediately, I will no longer be able to serve your area on Christmas Eve. Due to recent changes in my union contract renegotiated by North American Fairies and Elves Local 209, I now serve only certain areas of northern Wisconsin and west Michigan. I also get longer breaks for milk and cookies.

However, I'm certain that your children will be in good hands with my replacement, my third cousin from the South Pole, Bubba Claus. He shares my goal of delivering toys to all the good boys and girls, but there are a few differences between us, such as:

• There is no danger of a Grinch stealing your presents from Bubba Claus, who has a gun rack in his sleigh and a bumper sticker that reads: "These toys insured by Smith and Wesson."

• Instead of milk and cookies, Bubba Claus prefers that children leave an RC and pork skins on the fireplace. And Bubba doesn't smoke a pipe. He does dip a little snuff, though, so please have a spit can handy.

• Bubba Claus' sleigh is pulled by floppy-eared, flyin' coon dogs instead of reindeer. I loaned him my reindeer one time, and Rudolph's head now rests over Bubba's fireplace.

• You won't hear "On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen ..." when Bubba Claus arrives. Instead, you'll hear, "On Earnhardt, on Wallace, on Martin and Labonte. On Rudd, on Jarrett, on Elliott and Petty."

• "Ho, ho, ho!" has been replaced by "Yeehaw!" And you also are likely to hear Bubba's elves respond, "I heard that!"

• As required by Southern highway laws, Bubba Claus' sleigh does have a decal depicting "Calvin and Hobbes" comic strip character Calvin relieving himself ... but not on a Ford or Chevy logo. His decal shows Calvin going wee wee on the Tooth Fairy.

• The usual Christmas movie classics such as "Miracle on 34th Street" and "Ernest Saves Christmas" will not be shown in your area. Instead, you'll see some lesser-known movies about Bubba Claus made in the late 1970s. Many feature Burt Reynolds as Bubba Claus, Jackie Gleason as a Grinch who says "You scumbum!" a lot and dozens of state patrol cars crashing into each other.

• Bubba Claus doesn't wear a belt. I'd turn the other way when he bends over to put presents under the tree.

• Lovely Christmas songs have been sung about me, including Elvis' "Here Comes Santa Claus" and Madonna's remake of "Santa Baby." Until this year, songs about Bubba Claus have been played only on AM radio stations in Mississippi. They include such classics as Mark Chesnutt's "Bubba Claus Shot the Jukebox," David Allan Coe's "Willie, Waylon, Bubba Claus and Me," and Hank Williams Jr.'s "If You Don't Like Bubba Claus, You Can Kiss My Icicle."

Go fetch, Hog!

After Thanksgiving dinner at my family's cabin in Macon County, Ga., several cousins and I went for a stroll down a dirt road to check out a place of two from our childhoods and see how far they'd fallen in or if they were even there anymore.

My wife shows up a little while to make sure we haven't fallen through the floor of some old house or something (because accidents follow me) and says, "Did y'all see that giant hog in that yard back there?" We didn't, but vowed to check it out.

Now, it's not unusual to see a hog in a yard back home, provided it's penned up and gonna be breakfast someday. But this wasn't that kind of hog. It was giant. I mean we're talking Hogzilla Jr. here. It looked like a wild boar, but was just chilling in front of the house. It was so big that I didn't think it was real until it turned its massive head toward me. I've known wild boars to be pretty mean sometimes, but this one seemed awfully calm.

Upon returning to our cabin, I asked my Dad about it, and he said he'd seen it plenty of times. It's because it's the family's pet. "They said it's a family pet and asked me not to shoot it. They said he thinks he's a dog."

This definitely deserves a follow-up next time at the cabin. I'll try to get the story on the Hog Dog next time and report back.

Waaay-back Wednesday: 1621 revisited

As we prepare to welcome families into our home for a feast that will leave us thankful when they're finally gone until at least Christmas, this is the perfect time to revisit the day that started it all — the first Thanksgiving.

My ancestors came over on the Sunflower, which was a little party barge, complete with radio and beer cooler, that followed the Mayflower over to Plymouth Rock from the Old Country. At the top of our family tree is Cousin Eddie, who spent most of the voyage across the Atlantic jumping over waves left in the Mayflower's wake.

Cousin Eddie kept a journal that was handed down from generation to generation in my family and includes accounts of such historic events as the signing of the Mayflower Compact and the Indians' sale of Manhattan to the Dutch for just a few trinkets and Knicks season tickets. And, of course, it has the following account of the first Thanksgiving:

Hi. Cousin Eddie here. Me and the other folks around Plymouth had ourselves a big ol' meal last week. You see, Ebeneezer, Josiah and me scored big on our latest hunt. Killed a whole bunch of deer and wild turkey. Of course, if we hadn't killed off all that Wild Turkey, maybe Josiah wouldn't have fallen off the four-wheeler and broke his leg.

Anyway, we brought back all the dead animals, and the women folk — Sarah, Priscilla, Abigail and the gang — whipped up some side items, although Priscilla and Abigail got into it over the whole dressing or stuffing debate. "Getting ready for the Salem Bitch Trials a little early, ain't ya?" Abigail commented at one point.

We were gonna have a nice quiet dinner but then found out Jedediah invited the Indians over, too. He's been hanging out with the Indians a lot lately. I think he's having an identity crisis. Last month, he was running around with Old Mr. Samuel's slaves and asked us to start calling him "P. Doody."

Most of the Indians were pretty cool, but there's always that one you invite only because somebody's related to him and you'd feel guilty if you didn't. I didn't think Chief Full of Bull would ever get off that whole we-were-here-first, stop-calling-me-an-Indian kick.
But the food totally rocked, Pilgrim. Turkey, corn, potatoes and pumpkin pie. Of course, Prudence and her boyfriend, Crazy Jacob, got there late because they had to stop and buy a box of chicken fingers.

Anyway, we all went back for seconds and several of us had to kinda recline on the picnic table and undo those tacky Pilgrim belt buckles while we watched some Cowboys and Redskins throw this leather sack back and forth.

Meanwhile, the ladies cleaned all the dishes themselves and made plans to go shopping the next day, while the children played some popular games here in the settlement — such as marbles, leapfrog and Grand Theft Auto III.

When our dinner settled, Jedediah suggested we all go throw around a leather sack, too. However, the game ended far too soon as we realized that we were extremely white and British and the Indians all ran off when William lined up in the shotgun formation.

Hunting advice

I'm not much for hunting, but I have invented a wonderful new weapon for hunting deer. Check out my television commentary during Friday's 7 p.m. newscast on WLTZ Channel 38 to learn exactly how it works.

No. 1 in the Outdoors

Just wanted to make sure y'all knew this Friday has been declared "No. 1 in the Outdoors Day" in Georgia by Gov. Sonny Perdue, the same guy who thinks praying for rain is sound environmental policy. All males in Georgia are asked to do all their peeing outdoors on Friday to cut down on toilet flushing and water usage. The effort is expected to save Georgia 5 million gallons of water. Let's just hope it ain't cold.

Waaay-back Wednesday: Better than Wimbledon

You'd have to try pretty hard to be any geekier than I was 16 years ago.

I was all set to become a computer programmer as I mastered the ins and outs of my high-tech Commodore 64, which had 64 — yes, a whopping 64 — kilobytes of memory. I had quit baseball because I was convinced I had simply forgotten how to play. Turns out I was dang near blind and had to get glasses — as if I needed an accessory to go with my mom-styled bowl haircut.

But I wasn't a geek at heart. I was Casanova at heart. At least, I was in my dreams — though even in those dreams I somehow kept winding up late for algebra class in my underwear. Then, and only then, did the girls at school notice me. Then I'd wake up and be invisible to them once again.

So, at 14, I had pretty much decided that I would never, ever get a French kiss from a girl. Unless you count that one unexpected encounter with a female giraffe at the zoo.

And with baseball out of the picture, I had to choose another sport. Either that, or stay at home and subject myself to such horrors as mowing the grass and washing Dad's truck. I chose tennis. Why? Two words: tennis skirts. Of course, the high school coach told me I'd have to wear regular white shorts. Oh, well.

I went to a crash course in tennis, a summer camp at Florida State University. In June 1985, FSU's Cash Hall played host for a week to high school participants in baseball, football and basketball camps. All the camps mingled some around the courtyard pool, but players of each of the sports had to retreat to their unisex dorm floors at night — except the tennis players. Our camp was so small that the guys and girls shared a floor. And my life would never be the same.

We were all geeks, with the exception of one wild 15-year-old girl from Thomasville, Ga. As sweet goddess Fate would have it, we were paired in the mixed doubles tournament.

I don't remember exactly how it happened. It was about midnight, and we were sitting on the floor at the end of the dormitory hall. I'd been avoiding the inevitable all day long. I knew I'd have to kiss her at some point, and I knew I'd screw it up. It would be just like the giraffe experience, only she'd wind up throwing peanuts at me. Finally, she gave me a subtle come-on:
"Are you gonna kiss me or not? I'm getting sleepy!"

I knew it was now or never, or then or never since this is past tense. I lunged in, mouth open and tongue flying around like a retriever hanging his head out a car window. I was in panic mode. What if my tongue started going the wrong way? What if she caught me peeking? What if she thought, "Man, this is like kissing a retriever."

By the time the kiss ended, about 2 a.m. in the same spot at the end of the hall as our counselor, a 21-year-old player on the college tennis team, stepped over us as if we were a ripple in the carpet, my mind was at ease. Of course, my tongue was tired.

We finished second in the mixed doubles tournament, by the way. We each got awards. But as far as I was concerned, it wasn't for second place; it was for first base.

TV stars

The Ledger-Enquirer and WLTZ officially launched their joint-effort newscast this week. They air at 6 p.m., 7 p.m. and an 11-minute version at 11 p.m. on Channel 38. Look for commentaries during the 7 p.m. show from my colleagues Dusty Nix on Tuesdays, Tim Chitwood on Wednesdays, nightlife diva Sonya Sorich on Thursdays, and look for my commentary on Fridays.

This, of course, means that I'll have to start shaving before taping my commentaries and I'll look 12 years old again. Although, I won the battle to keep me from having to wear a tie on the air.

Vote today

Don't forget there's an election in Columbus today. Turnout is supposed to be light with about .0001 percent of the voters (some guy named Earl) in Muscogee County expected to cast ballots. That's because the only item on the ballot is the TAD. I don't know the TAD and don't know what he's running for, so I'm abstaining. But there's now way I can support a guy who puts a definite article before his name and puts his name in ALL CAPS.