Ten Suggestions To Improve Life In The Deep South

by Thomas M. Pender

10)          To improve the environment, the invention of vehicles that run on sweet tea

9)            To ease digestion, the implementation of “tobacky-chawin” and “non-tobacky-chawin” sections in restaurants

8)            To facilitate communication, the conformation to a common twang

7)            To improve parenting, the establishment of a reasonable Wal-Mart curfew, past which half-naked drowsy toddlers are not allowed inside to be dragged through the stores by their parents

6)            To boost the economy, the creation of Southern cooking vending machines, with buttons for “Collareds,” “Homemade macaroni and cheese” and “Sweet potato pie”

5)            To make sense of the government, the appointment of Jeff Foxworthy as Chancellor of the South

4)            To make the South safer (and more attractive!), the banishment of pit bulls

3)            To make the South neater (and more attractive!), the banishment of collapsed yard vehicles

2)            To improve education, the creation of two separate language classes: Southern English and Actual English, so the kids can communicate with their friends and potential employers

and

1)            To maintain goodness, the establishment of a church on every corner . . . oh, wait, we have that!

Disciple

by Thomas M. Pender

I don't recall what inspired this short piece, but it is written from the point-of-view of an unspecified disciple of Jesus, on the day He walked on water. 

“Follow me,” He said as He stepped out

“And I will show you the Way.”

He trod slowly, His feet wet with

The sea,

And oh, how I longed to

Feel the cool salt beneath my toes.

But I was afraid,

And therefore

Unworthy.

written by t. michael pender  5/13/96

copyright 1996 T. Michael Pender.  All rights reserved.

"Fright Night": Plenty Of Bite!

by Thomas M. Pender

In general, I can’t stand remakes.  I find them pointless.  It’s already been done.  Move on.  Still, in recent years, I’ve been forced to admit that some remakes have been pretty dang cool.  Planet of the Apes and Clash of the Titans are two stellar examples of how to do a remake right: Do NOT reshoot the exact same script used for the original (as 1999’s Psycho did embarrassingly), add some originality in visual and conceptual elements to make it unique, hire an excellent (and better than the original, if you can!) cast, and basically, use the original film as a skeleton for the remake, not as a Xerox.

I cringed a little when I learned that someone was remaking Fright Night, just because the cast was so well done in the first.  I tried and failed to imagine a more intimidating/alluring Jerry the neighbor vampire or a more valiant Charley the neighbor nerd.  And who would replace the late Roddy McDowall as the Van Helsing-esque fake television vampire stalker?

Have no fear, children.  Jerry is actually a much improved character through superstar Colin Farrell, Charley is just as successfully nerdy and brave via Anton (Star Trek’s new Chekov) Yelchin, and vamp hunter Peter Vincent is humorously portrayed by Brit actor David Tennant (SciFi Channel’s former Doctor Who).  I only know Christopher Mintz-Plasse from Superbad and can’t really gauge him as an actor yet.  I will say that his portrayal of “Evil” Ed in this remake was disappointing, but how can you match, let alone top, Stephen Geoffreys in this role?  Honestly.

Enough of the plot is altered so you don’t really know everything that’s going to happen, and of course, special effects have come a long way since 1985, so even if you’ve seen, re-seen, rented, bought, upgraded to DVD, and memorized the original film, there are elements to the remake that should draw you in.  In fact, one strong magnet should be the cameo appearance of Chris Sarandon, the original Jerry!

As much as I loathe the hyper-uber-overkill of the vampire genre in the past 10 years, this one I had to see.  I didn’t know if I would be watching it simply to trash it in comparison to the original, but I was a big enough fan of the 1985 laugh-and-scream-fest to have to see what had been done to it.

I’m pleased to say that you can love both versions individually.  In conclusion, I must say that this remake doesn’t suck.  (The pun is so intended!)

Duffy The Chihuahua: God Of Thunder

by Thomas M. Pender

In our decades-long parade of family dogs, my dog Duffy had to have been the most nervous.  Kristi’s dog Brutus was probably the boldest.  For many years, while we had both dogs at the same time, this was a recipe for bullying.  Brutus, who was about five times larger than Duffy (and probably seemed eighty times larger to Duf!), loved to play.  He loved to wrestle with the humans of the household, and even have play-snapping contests with our afghan Gillian.  For years, he tried over and over to get little frail-framed Duffy involved in some canine shenanigans.

Our hero Duffy was not having it!

Whenever Brutus would come at him . . . or near him, for that matter . . . he would bolt to the nearest lap for cover.  This puzzled the uglier dog to no end.  With no concept of weight ratios, I’m sure he was perpetually stumped by the one family member who wouldn’t push back.  Duffy, on the other hand, surely saw this as daily harassment.  It recently occurred to me that one of the reasons that my dog and I bonded so well may have been that we both felt persecuted by bigger, tougher beings in our midst.

But every dog has his day.  Every dog!

Early in our ownership of Brutus, it became evident that there was one thing, and one thing only, that intimidated the aptly-named brute.  Each time the sky darkened and ominous clouds gathered, a show was about to begin in our house.  Our security guard/stranger chaser/neighborhood dog intimidator became a nervous, scared, terrified ball of goo . . . and our wimpy little chihuahua loved every second of this show!

Upon hearing the first rumbling of each passing storm outside, Brutus would drop whatever food or toy or chew he was concentrating on, and look out the nearest window with dread.  His face would whimper “Did you hear that?”  Upon hearing the second rumbling, he would run, twitch, sniffle and slobber in front of whichever household human was closest (although preferably, his human, Kristi).  He was visually beg us to make the scary noises and terrifying flashes of light stop.  He would telepathically offer us money, vacation trips and seats of power just to make the world sunny and quiet again.

All to the silent delight of frail, exhausted little Duffy.

While the bulldog-mess-mix was running from Thor, my dog could typically be found either in my lap or on the couch, peering down on the symbol of poetic justice with a look of absolute superiority.  Thunder bothered my dog not at all.  It was Nature.  Thunder comes, thunder goes.  Ho hum.  But this was priceless!  The household bully, instantly transformed into a puddle of tongue-sweat over a noise.  Duf knew, as I knew, that the bigger they are, the funnier they fall.  Neither he nor I ever turned to attack an intimidator, but when one was proven to be just as vulnerable as we were in certain circumstances, we both reveled in it just as much.  The fact that our mini-superiorities were temporary made them all the more tasty.  It wasn’t that we became the arrogant chest-thumpers that we normally cowered from, it was just that the ego-leveling pauses would be just what we needed to remind ourselves (and our predators, of course!) that we all have our limitations.  Even moreso, that what scares one does not necessarily scare all.

Neener-neener-neener!!!!!!!!!

All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Back Teeth

by Thomas M. Pender

I’ve lived in Macon, Georgia for 12 years.  In that time, I have had two rear molars yanked out of my head.  I see a cause-and-effect issue here.  With the rampant toothlessness in the South, I believe I’ve stumbled upon a geographic germ.  Aside from my wisdom teeth, I had every tooth given to me by God when I entered Georgia.  Now, I am two short of a full set.

However, it’s not Georgia that I find rantworthy.  It’s the medieval elements of “modern” dentistry.

I’ve never been afraid to go to the dentist.  This probably has to do with being blessed with trouble-free adult teeth.  I go, I get x-rayed, cleaned, and then I leave.  Dentistry is my friend.

Then, a few years ago, I dozed off on my couch.  In a few unconscious minutes, I was awakened by searing pain in my jaw.  I narrowed the daggers down to one tooth, and made an appointment to see a dentist.  At the office, I was asked if my tooth was sensitive to cold.  When I informed the dentist that cold water actually dulled the pain, he winced and told me that was bad news.  It wasn’t a simple toothache, it was a problem down in the nerves.  Long tooth story short, I had to get it pulled.

This is the 21st Century.  We have moved beyond hammers and chisels in doctors’ offices.  Techniques and instrumentation now make it relatively comfortable for patients during complicated procedures.  Unfortunately, the century has apparently left dentistry in the dust of the 1800s.

After I got two shots of Novocaine, the dentist turned around for the next implement and brought out . . . a pair of pliers!  Oh, sure, it was a nice, new, shiny pair of pliers.  It was a sleek design, curved at the end with a tooth-shaped compartment at the tip, but it was a pair of pliers, nonetheless.  She positioned the neuvo-pliers over my tooth, and as she braced to yank, I started waving my arms all about.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I can feel everything you’re doing,” I responded, thinking the Novocaine allotment had been a bit sparse.  She gave me a third shot and waited a few minutes for it to kick in.  Then she re-assumed the yanking position.  I again waved my arms.

“I can feel everything you’re doing!” I injected (pun intended), my vocal words in italics.

“Oh, well, you’re going to feel some pressure.”

As most dental patients know, “pressure” is dentist code for “searing, excruciating pain.”  I felt the tooth slide out of its socket, and by the end of that day, my pain was gone.

Years later, without the nap inducer, I began to feel a toothache on the opposite molar of my lower jaw.  It intensified, and I made an appointment at the local dental college.  (Side note: Dental colleges are great for procedures, as they are highly skilled and very inexpensive.)  This set of pliers weren’t even disguised as a sleek Porsche of the dental world.  This was a straight Chevy Nova of the dental world.  I swear I saw the Craftsman logo on the side!  The pain, this time due to an infection, left with the tooth, and I was grateful even for the toolbox implement at that point.

Still, I call upon the dental engineers of the world (if, indeed, dental engineers exist) to come up with something a bit – or a ton – more concentrated on the comfort of patients.  I don’t care if it’s based on hydraulics or digital photography or astrology, but for the love of all that is good and merciful in the world, please, dentistry, invent something that replaces the pliers!

I mean now!  Go.  Research.  Design.  Get it done.

Now!!!!!!

Ten Odd Things About The Half-Way Renovated House I’m Staying In

by Thomas M. Pender

10)          The owners keep claiming they’re under pressure to get the renovations done, yet instead of starting on said renovations, they continue to move in furniture and appliance odds and ends, which take up space and will certainly impede said renovations

9)            I’m never quite sure which switches will work and which won’t

8)            There is such a thing as “learning the hard way” that your bathroom door does not open from the inside!

7)            Various surfaces with varied levels of harshness to the feet facilitate the 24/7 wearing of footwear

6)            The absence of an HVAC unit in the Georgia summer requires one to carry a fan from room to room, all day, every day

5)            Some grass grows so high that you begin to suspect that the lawn mower is actually “out there . . . somewhere”

4)            Spare bathtubs make decent dishwashers

3)            Pizza delivery people will pass your house if there is a significant pile of flooring debris on your front porch

2)            Mail carriers are afraid to leave mail in a mailbox that is bent diagonally and held onto its post by one screw

and

1)            Having a place to stay during a period of transition is awesome . . . no matter what shape the shelter is in!

I Remember You

This was a poem I wrote for a college course.  We had to write one poem per week, in a style that was pre-arranged for that week.  This was my epigram poem.  The idea was to take a line from a novel, song, poem or other artistic piece, and base an entire poem around the line.  I chose a great line from a favorite song off a favorite album of a favorite singer of mine.  The line contained so much potential backstory in just a few words, and I was able to easily build an entire situation -- complete with characters, history and emotions -- from just the one line.

 

I Remember You

“Beneath these branches, I once wrote

such childish words for you.”

- Elton John

I remember you

No really

You’re that one who once--

Well, you used to tell me you loved me, anyway--

And now you sit at the other end of the kitchen table

looking at your watch and you lie on the other side of

the bed

Awake

And you don’t look at me anymore.

I mean you look at me but you don’t . . .

Well, you don’t see me anymore

And you don’t hear me and you can’t listen because

you can’t hear me and I mumble and scream and throw things

and I . . .

Remember:

There was this woman once . . .

Okay there was this girl once who used to laugh and smile

and sing and tell me how her day was and ask me how mine

was and she would say why don’t we take a vacation or why

don’t we lie in bed all day long

Together?

And you’re the one I walk around now who gets in my way

who tells me I’m no good who can’t cook a hamburger to

save her life who never tells me I’m good-looking or

I turn her on or hey baby I’d love to rip those clothes

right off your body

Like you used to

(And you used to!)

You used to love my songs that I used to

write for you and you used to tell me I was the most

romantic man alive and I was all yours and you wouldn’t

give me up for anything and oh honey sing that song again

you know the one about how much you love me love me love me . . .

What do you mean that's the problem?

written by t. michael pender  1/88

©1988 T. Michael Pender.  All rights reserved.

The Stubs of My Lifetime

by Thomas M. Pender

Some – like You’ve Got Mail and Antz – may never come to mean much, but others – like the 50th Anniversary showing of Citizen Kane at Detroit’s legendary Fox Theatre – may just be a piece of history.  Still others – like Holes, the very first film my son Garrett saw in a movie theater at the age of 3 – are personally historical.

At some point in my 45-year love affair with movies, I decided to start saving the ticket stubs of each film I saw in the theater.  I knew most would never amount to anything, but my thinking was: Who knew back in 1982 that E.T. would become such a historical phenomenon?  And how exciting would it be to have an original ticket stub to that iconic film?  So, never knowing which movie would turn into a classic in the future, I saved stubs from every blockbuster and every turkey I paid to see.

Some don’t so much cause me to reminisce about the film itself, but rather the time or place.  I saw A Bug’s Life, The Siege and about a dozen other films at The Odeon Theatre (just around the corner from my flat in Kenosha, Wisconsin) from the fall of 1998 to the summer of 1999.  The films themselves don’t stand out as masterpieces to me, but they remind me of a short time in my life when I was in love with the place in which I lived, and the events that happened there.  I was renting the second storey of a turn-of-the-Twentieth-Century family home that had been converted into four flats.  Mine was the largest, being the entire second floor, and included two fireplaces and a small chandelier in the dining room.  The house was situated in the Library Park section of Kenosha, and not only was it a few short blocks from Orson Welles’ birthplace home and from Lake Michigan, but the home itself was listed as a historical structure.

None of this would likely matter to many other people, but to me, it was a wonderful place to live, and I’m reminded of that whenever I see the ticket stub for Affliction, and all the other shows I saw at the amazing little Odeon Theatre.  Affliction itself, lauded as it was, was probably one of the most achingly boring films I’ve ever seen, yet the time and place remain with me in the stub.  It happened to be the film that was showing at the Odeon when I left Kenosha.  I took a picture of the theater itself, and the marquee blares the boredom proudly.

I’m not really one to run out and see the “artsier” films, or the “Oscar buzz” shows.  I see what interests me.  Will Sotheby’s someday auction off my antique ticket stub to the showing of Green Lantern?  Doubtful.  Still, by keeping all of the stubs, however dubious their place in history may be, there is a chance that I’ll end up with a piece of cinematic history.  Even if I don’t, I’ll still have the stub to the film where my son fell asleep holding onto my arm, and woke up to climb in my lap and say, “I love you, Daddy.”  I’ll still have the stub to the film I went to see with my fiancée on her first trip to see me in America.

In the end, these are the historic events I wished to chronicle.

Jewel Heist, or Brutus Loses His “Marbles”

 by Thomas M. Pender

For the uninitiated, our family had the ugliest dog in Creation as a member of our family for some years.  Picture a wire-haired English bulldog.  If your stomach just turned a little, you pictured it right.

Ugly as he was, our Brutus had personality to spare.  Everything he did seemed unique and funny.  This was no less true when he got taken to the vet’s to get – how to say this delicately? – de-teste-fied.

My sister and her boyfriend Scott took him in, and according to Kristi, all the dogs were coming out of surgery stunned and woozy.  When they brought Brutus out, he was chipper and alert as ever.  Sort of a “Hey, mom!  That was a weird place to visit.  Where to next?”  Instead of the traditional “cone” dogs wear to keep them from gnawing at their stitches, Scott had a rather original idea: They put a sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts on him, with safety pins around the middle to hold them together.  He looked like someone’s old hairy grandfather, walking around the house in his underwear.  Still, he kept his sunny disposition.  The only new thing was his interest in and challenge to getting at his ‘nads to work on the itch.  Scott and I took to saying, “What’s the matter, Brutus, don’t you have any balls? . . . Oh, sorry.”

We had heard that the operation may change his personality a bit, possibly making him a bit more timid or less energetic.  Not our Brutus.  There was no downtime, no healing period, no road to recovery with this dog.  He trotted around the house in his “old grandpa” get-up, just as eager to play and get into trouble as ever.

Aside from a missing nutsack, he was the Anusface we all knew and loved.  Bob “Bark”er would have been proud!

The best news, of course, is that there are no little Anusfaces out there for the world to cringe at when they see them.  Then again, Brutus did have siblings. . . .

Darned by Pete

by Thomas M. Pender

While it seems that children – particularly very young children – are running around screaming and engulfed in their own little imaginary worlds, what they are really doing is observing.  Soaking in the world like little sponges, taking notes, investigating curiosities, and deciding who to be and how to act.  Their first and strongest influences are their parents.  These two giants of authority (ideally) have the most focused time with the children, and are the primary examples to the youngsters of how people should behave.

My sisters and I were blessed in this sense by two parents who were loving and unique.  “Unique” is the textbook politely flattering term.  “Goofy” is the truth.  Thus, the blessing.

Around the same time I figured out that my mother had two distinct laughs used for two distinct purposes – the softer, short bursts of inhalations for the telephone and the open-mouthed gale of laughter for in-person humor – I learned that she also had some favorite sayings.

Adults who have children, as many comedians have certainly taught us, edit themselves when their children are born and in the more sensitive stages of growing up.  My mother was never a cursing type, being raised by a Sunday School teacher who never ever cursed in front of ladies, but the way in which she “sort of” cursed was a bit like someone would if they were toning themselves down for the kiddies.

My mother “darned” herself an awful lot.

Mostly on the phone, and generally in situations where she was amazed, surprised or stumped, she slowly shake her head and say, “I’ll be darned.”  This verb took some years to nail down.  I had to wait years and get out into the world to meet less cordial adults who freely damned themselves whenever something unexpected came their way.  Only then could I retroactively understand what my mother was saying.

And then there was Pete.

My family consisted of a father (John), a mother (Joan), an older daughter (Debi), a son (Tom . . . that would be me!) and a younger daughter (Kristi).  For a few years, the household was also peopled by my mother’s parents, Claude and Ferrell.  None of the many dogs who came and went had typical human names.  Yet somehow, one of the most important and influential people in my mother’s life was named Pete.

No one knew who Pete was, nor ever met him, but as teens we used to tease my mother about her “boyfriend” Pete.  He must have been somebody that close to her, for she was often heard saying “for Pete’s sake.”  This would happen quite a bit while she was inhale-laughing on the phone.  Not for Debi’s sake or Kristi’s sake or even John’s sake.  Mom did it all for Pete.  Whoever he may be.

Connecting the two didn’t help to answer these baffling questions, either.  Mom never darned herself for Pete’s sake, or I’d believe he was a mender of socks.  Years later, after Dad had passed and Mom started dating, she brought around a couple of men for us kids to meet, but no Pete.  If she was, in fact, doing everything for his sake, I’m sure he would have disapproved of her seeing other men and not even giving him the courtesy of a dinner.  She eventually married a Jerry, but his middle name isn’t even Pete.

Wherever this Pete may be, I sure hope he appreciates how devoted my mother was all those years.  If he came to realize it someday, I bet he’d be darned.

Ten Great Things About Humidity

by Thomas M. Pender

10)          It helps you appreciate the joys of winter

9)            Panting day after day is good first-level training for marathons

8)            It really tests the boundaries of your anti-perspirant

7)            It encourages you to work on your house-to-car and car-to-workplace speed records

6)            Sometimes you just need a good “wall of wet heat” smack in the face as you leave the house to fully wake you up

5)            Those heat reflections on the highway can make for some fun illusions

4)            Dogs get such vengeful entertainment out of watching their humans breathe hard with their tongues hanging out

3)            The worst and heaviest of summer makes Popsicles, Slurpees and Frozen Cokes taste their very best!

2)            Sweating opens up the pores and prevents acne (Take it from a former teen who couldn’t sweat to save his life!)

and

1)                  Let’s be honest: Who doesn’t look their absolute sexiest with every article of clothing soaked through and vacuum-sealed to one’s body?