The world needs more Southern Gentlemen

Some people have an uncontrollable need to be first and manners usually get trampled in the process as demonstrated by a stocky black haired lady in the Milwaukee airport recently who cut in front of me at the boarding gate. She was a practiced Line Cutter, real smooth as she planted her left foot in front of my right foot, lunged forward and without any apology whatsoever cut me off. I had to stop suddenly which caused the gentleman behind me to accidently nuzzle the back of my neck. Awkward.

And there was no prize at all for being first.

Like a salmon leaping upstream she maneuvered and jostled around people who got in her way all to sit on an airplane for three hours in a very small seat--- and from the size of her rear dorsal fin it was going to be a very tight squeeze.

There was a time when I would have wanted to punch her in the nose, pull her hair out and give her a lecture on manners, but not now. Those days are long gone. You can step on my blue suede shoes Big Momma just don’t hack into my computer, steal my iPad or hurt my babies.

I was raised in the south by Buddy and Doris Hudson, two people who believed in the Bible, fried food and good manners. Being a Democrat was optional but highly encouraged.

Mother created a desire for politeness by using a Belk-Tyler yard stick for spankings. The woman was like a magician--- the stick would suddenly appear out of thin air whenever a “polite manner” was temporarily forgotten. We used “Thank you”, “yes m‘am” and “no m‘am” like shields.

In the south bad manners are considered boorish. We are taught to hold the door open for those behind us. We give the nod to a stranger if it’s a tie for who arrived first at the counter in the auto parts store.

Sometimes we may get very enthusiastic about manners. You open the door and let someone else be the first to step out on the ice covered sidewalk. Now flat on their back looking up surprised, you assist them to their feet while repeating the southern mantra, “Bless your heart”. Again, it’s about being polite.

The world needs more southern gentlemen. Without us who will help get your car off the cinder blocks, be governor of Mississippi or sustain the demand for chrome?

Who’s going to take care of old dogs with rheumy eyes and motor oil on the tops of their heads, repair long orange drop cords with black electrical tape and draw the line at canned biscuits? I’m just asking.

Southern men pay taxes, fly airplanes, build large buildings, fight in wars, change tires, write songs, tithe at church, honor our parents, send email, give blood, author books and we’ll even help dig post holes.

Southern gentlemen are not ashamed of God or to teach their children manners and we don’t apologize for it.

But it’s painful to see others inch ahead of you in a promotion, receive a windfall inheritance, or always get their deer the first day of every season. And yet First Place is not always the best seat in the house. Our heavenly Father says the race is not always to the swift or the battle to the strong.

First Place can be elusive, even fickle, and it’s not always satisfactory when you get there so let the lady jump ahead. You be polite, Sugar Cakes, and allow grace, faith, hope and love to find you the perfect seat.

For succes, read a newspaper

I was sitting in Starbucks on Broad Street and observed that young people lack the style and finesse for success---they look as if they were all stamped out of sheet metal. They sit slump shouldered and zombie-like staring at lap-top screens--- held captive for hours by websites like YouTube, Twitter and other Places of the Bored. A young man sits glassy eyed staring at a video of a chipmunk doing the Electric Slide.

Such a pity. No one has ever taken the time to show them that proper use of a newspaper is a one very important key to success. Forget dribble about the importance of the printed page in history---a newspaper, my children, is a statement of sophistication and style. A must have accessory.

You can lean against the corner of a building with it or sit with your Rainbow sandals resting on your desk – a newspaper allows you to demonstrate your attitude on life---it implies Control.

You open a newspaper with a flourish (such confidence!) while a quick snap of the wrists forces the journal upright and straight. You are in command, captain of your ship and now others know it. Your eyes take in the news of the world with all it’s calamities and joys. Later you finish, fold the paper in half, tuck it under your arm and arise. You have assessed the world, you will now saunter forth and engage in profitable industry. Women just love that sort of thing.

John Wayne, Clark Gable, Gregory Peck, all the Class Acts used the newspaper to show command and charisma. Sipping a latte while looking at the Facebook profile of Debbie from Indiana, 28, (“Through sorrow we find joy”) and her parakeet Mr. Feathers is not an image of success.

But a reader holding a newspaper is an executive, a decision maker, a soon-to-be-billionaire. The newspaper gives depth to your identity, like holding a trumpet did for Louis Armstrong.

Follow these simple rules and prepare to embrace success:
1.Procrastinate the opening of a newspaper. Do not rush it. Scrutinize the fresh unread pages and headlines as you would a Picasso or your phone bill. Remember you’re the one holding knowledge---- everybody else is reading what their friends had for breakfast.

2.For an international image enter the coffee shop with at least three newspapers tucked under your arm---act a bit hurried. You’ll be noticed by the herd. They’ll prick up their ears and twitch their noses. Now you’re the one with the big pair of antlers. A young man with three newspapers is probably a dot com billionaire and a fiftyish person in mismatched clothing and dark glasses may be a movie star (they can’t read enough about themselves).

3.Once you begin to read, never look up or become distracted--- you be the one in control— let others jump at imagined noises.

4.Take your pen out and circle something with exaggerated effort. This creates mystery— women nearby fretting with their mocha frappuccinos may swoon.

5.When you’re through reading close the paper loudly and toss it aside in an arrogant motion of dismissal. Now you have knowledge—your stead awaits, seize the day m’ Lord.

You should be out and back on the street in 30 minutes---tops.
The internet will consume your life and rob you of sunshine and ideas. Now you have enough free time to write a book or start that chain of bobble-head shops or do the big one---Have a Life.

By reading a newspaper you have acquired time and knowledge, Sugar Plum, now it’s up to you.

The Story of the Midnight Eater

A new study on health food diets has finally blown over. You may not have seen it because the Feds buried it in their new tax revisions (when you buy a senator you have to get a receipt unless it’s a cash transaction). So now a lot of my friends have gone back to frying marsh mellows, eating éclairs and generally feeling good about their childhood.

The study said that third cousins who eat cheese burgers topped with bacon and pancakes are no more at risk than third cousins that eat avocados. Sure its welcomed news but the government probably paid millions for it. Meanwhile male hair loss remains a mystery, like Stonehenge or Lewis and Clark’s sleeping arrangements and eczema causes heartbreak for thousands of nudists and my urinary track is an accident just waiting to happen. Where are our priorities?

I take medicine to keep my plumbing up to code but it makes me talk in my sleep. My wife says I talk about leveraging commercial buy-outs and she’s very impressed.
But at midnight I binge eat in my sleep. I started to keep this to myself but there are probably others out there with the same problem. People don’t like to talk about it.

I woke up one morning after a full moon to discover my hand clutching an empty peanut butter jar and there were anchovies and Oreo cookie crumbs all over the bed, an empty container of Blue Bell ice cream by my pillow and I realized I needed help. I also felt there might be a deal for a reality show here.

Sometimes it would be cashews. Other times sauerkraut. Sardines. Black olives. One time I ate three dozen Dunkin’ Donuts, assorted packs. Candy sprinkles and glazed sugar flakes were all over the bed. The car keys were on the nightstand and a trail of half eaten doughnut nuggets on the floor led from the bedroom all the way downstairs through the kitchen and out to the garage. The car door was still open.

I went on FaceBook and found a page for Binge Eating Disorders (BED) which had 8,576,321 members with 2, 475 on Chat at that very moment. It was a wonderful page, a place you didn’t feel like a creep just because you consumed an entire box of cute little animal crackers while in REM sleep.

My BED group was led by a retired priest. You were given a lapel pin about the size of a dime that said “People see you but not the real you so you must believe in yourself and through this realization the beauty of your inner being will manifest itself into a life style of success.”

They met in a high school gym, sad looking people sitting around in folding chairs. They took turns sobbing, clutching tissue paper and comforting each other. I was about to speak ‘’ Hi, my name is Joe and I scarf while I snooze.” but then I realized this was the wrong group. It was actually a support group for people who have had to wait more than thirty minutes in a doctor’s office. Dreamers. So I said as much to them and they called me Uncaring and now I don’t think we’ll ever be close. The priest wanted my pin back.

But I wasn’t uncaring; I was a guy with an eating disorder who is now in recovery. I am working to solve my habit the old fashion way---I faced up to the truth, Sweet Pea, and work hard at keeping my mouth closed as much as possible. That usually helps most anything.