Goatees are Evil

Back in the day, when I was a kid, when Tinkerbelle was a Walt Disney character, and E.D. stood for “Editor”, I used to watch a lot of television. Television shows were still in black and white back then, and the only types of shows that I remember were news shows and children’s shows. I avoided the former and lived for the latter. One of my favorites was "Captain Kangaroo", a nationally syndicated masterpiece with a captain, a moose, a rabbit, a farmhand, a dancing bear, a smiling clock and a ton of ping pong balls. What more do you need for unbridled television success than a moose, a rabbit, and lots of ping pong balls? That show was over the top man. I loved it! We also had lots of cool local TV shows for kids like “The Jolly Jim Show” and “The Cactus Quave Show” (a.k.a. “Bar Q Ranch”), and later, “The Romper Room Show”, “The Mr. Knozit Show” and “The Stanley the Clown Show.” I loved watching these television shows. Moreover, they were all produced and broadcast in my hometown. It seemed to me like Columbia, SC was the Mecca of children’s programming. As I recall, there was no PBS back then. Besides, Cactus Quave could beat the crap out of that stupid Big Bird any day of the week! No contest.

One of the great things about having local children’s programming is that most of these shows would let kids be on the program as members of the studio audience. I was a very outgoing kid, and I begged my ma to let me go to all of these shows between the time I was 4-10 years old. Another wonderful thing about these shows was they were broadcast LIVE….What was said and done on the front side of the camera went out the back side and into the living rooms of millions, well, maybe hundreds of families in the local viewing area. The first show I recall attending was the Jolly Jim Show or maybe it was the Cactus Quave show… but that’s beside the point as you will see. The Jolly Jim Show had three main characters, Jolly Jim, Chief Silly Horse, and the notoriously evil J. P. Sidewinder. All I remember about Jolly Jim was that he was jolly. Chief Silly Horse was a funny guy dressed as an indian with a large feathered headdress and cool tassels on his sleeves. J.P. Sidewinder was a demon from hell in the silent movie tradition. J.P. was dressed in black (and this was before the Europeans made it trendy to wear black), and he wore a matching black cape and hat. He had a handlebar mustache that he would twirl while he let out an evil laugh, and a goatee, also in black, which made him look curiously similar to THE DEVIL. One reason my memory is fuzzy about my first TV appearance is because J.P. Sidewinder use to moonlight as the villain on the Cactus Quave Show too. Columbia had a lot of kids’ shows, but there were only so many villains to go around. Regardless, J.P. Sidewinder was evil and scary enough to appear in dozens of shows if needed. He was like a combination of Jason Voorhees, Jaws, Freddy Krueger, and Snidely Whiplash stuffed into a pair of black pants. His goatee gave me the willies.

Well, like a miracle from heaven, my ma took me and my older brother to the Jolly Jim Show where we got to be in the studio audience. How cool was that! At some point during the show, J.P. Sidewinder showed up and explained horrifically that he was going to kidnap a member of the audience, and then take that poor child back to his EVIL CAVE. Yes, you heard me right. To make himself just that much scarier, that much more of a badass, this incubus had an evil cave; and sure as shit, he would steal kids and take them there! That guy always made me nervous, even on TV, but now I was right there within a few feet of him, and the circumstances had me pretty worried. As fate would have it, J.P. saw the fear in my eyes, and he decided to snatch ME. He picked me up, and held me in his mighty arms, and that was all it took to initiate the fight or flight instincts that lay dormant deep in my psyche.

I immediately began screaming for my ma, kicking as hard as I could and trying to beat the chest of this archangel of doom to the point where he would release me, but he just wouldn’t let go. He began taking me back to his evil cave, and I was kicking and screaming the whole way. At that point, I think I may have been crying pretty loudly, and I remember the cameraman looking a bit anxious about the situation. Why shouldn’t he be? He was witnessing a kidnapping! As I was being kidnapped by this fiend, I recall seeing my older brother smiling from his seat in the studio audience and looking very satisfied with the way things had turned out. I was sure that Jolly Jim and Chief Silly Horse would come to rescue me at any moment if I just cried loud enough, but they turned out to be a bunch of pussies. What a hard lesson for a kid to learn in a pinch - don’t stake your future on a bunch of pussies.

When J. P. Sidewinder got me back to his evil cave, I was still kicking, but it did no good. If J.P. would have lowered me about a foot or so, I would have found out if he wore a protective cup under those black pants, but this was not my lucky day. By this time, I was crying so hard, I was close to passing out and/or peeing in my pants. It’s kind of a hazy memory for me now due to the lack of oxygen produced by my sobbing, but I think they took an unscheduled commercial break, and let my ma come and get me out of the evil cave. It appears J.P had enough of me after all. The river of tears and snot that flowed endlessly out of my head was, no doubt, screwing up J.P’s wardrobe, so the producer decided to call it quits with me. It’s a good thing too, because I was getting heavy, and J.P. had lowered me just about enough to attempt one last kick to the groin before I went limp from terror. My ma took me back to the parents waiting area where I had to sit in shame while my brother got to participate in the rest of the show.

Over the last decade or so, goatees have become very popular. Nonetheless, black goatees send chills down my spine till this day. Whenever I walk past a guy with a black goatee who is dressed in mostly dark attire, I get this overwhelming urge to kick him in the nuts and run away. This is something I hope to eventually deal with in therapy. I suppose my ma should have sued the TV station for inducing a lifelong trauma in an innocent kid, but people didn’t run around suing each other back then. It was the good ole’ days. Besides, we were only familiar with one lawyer, Perry Mason, and he had bigger fish to fry.

Best Wishes,
Dr. JimBob

Can I Get a Gobble Kind Sir?

One of the reasons that I am able to blog so much this week is because I am on a little vacation at a campsite I have in the country. I am turkey hunting in the mornings, working on this and that in the afternoons, and stargazing in the evenings if it is not too cloudy. Anyway, turkey season ends Thursday (tomorrow), and this week is the first opportunity I have had to hunt turkeys all season.

I started turkey hunting about three years ago. I have yet to bag that first turkey, but tomorrow may be the day I make personal history. As with all of my hobbies, turkey hunting has a lot of associated accoutrements that one must obtain. Turkey hunting skills are also useful, but in my opinion, they are optional. It’s the garb and gadgets that are fun. My wife, Dr. NanBob, thinks I am OCD when it comes to acquiring stuff for my hobbies. She tells me “That’s all you ever talk about,” and I am thinking to myself “… and your point is?” Anyway, she is right. I do get obsessed with my hobbies, and for me, hobbies mean acquiring the associated stuff. All the other skill related behaviors are just gravy.

If you want to turkey hunt, you first need a shotgun. I prefer a 12-gauge with #5 “Nitro Turkey Load.” With those shells, somebody’s ass will be blown away when you pull the trigger; the turkey’s ass, your ass, or both. The second thing you will need down here where I hunt is a good pair of camouflaged snake boots. You may be thinking “Naa, I will simply shoot the snakes,” but if they are near your feet, it is not a good idea. Trust Dr. JimBob on this one.

The next stuff you will need is some camouflage, including a turkey hunting vest to store all of your acquired stuff. I like the Mossy Oak New Breakup pattern. I work with a student who likes to wear camo to school. She is cool. She would like my turkey hunting outfit I bet. It is mesh-like material, and lets your body breath in the heat of the day. It also has lots of pockets to store your other stuff. That’s a big plus. Turkeys are said to have the best pair of eyes in the woods, so you NEED this camo to stay hidden. Gloves, hat, facemask, the works! It’s a must. Once you are dressed up, you can scare your spouse when he/she comes home from work, or you can be a catalog model for Cabela’s. There are so many options AFTER you get the stuff. Getting the stuff is crucial.

Once you are appropriately dressed, you need to focus on acquiring the correct types of turkey calls. You see, you have to get a turkey to come to you before you can blow its head off. I am talking between 30-50 yards here. You do this by calling to it. Here where I live, you can only shoot a male turkey, preferably an older male, which is often referred to as a “gobbler” because they will sometimes gobble. The first thing you want to do is make a gobbler gobble so that you know approximately where it is at in the woods. The turkey woods are immense….no gobble, no turkey. You do this with things called locator calls. Turkeys hear these calls and they will sometimes gobble back at the caller. They do this instinctively. It’s kind of like somebody yelling “screw you” out of a passing vehicle, and you instinctively flip them off….Yes, it’s like that. Anyway, there are different kinds of locator calls. Calls of the first type make owl noises, and they are good at provoking early morning gobbles. They are usually tubes that you blow into, and they make a hooting sound. I have trouble using these calls, because in order to make it sound authentic, you must roll your tongue at the end of the cadence. I can’t roll my tongue. I have tried and tried, and people have tried to show me how, but I can’t do it. I think I read on Google that the ability to roll one’s tongue was a genetic gift. If so, then I don’t have that gene. Good thing that I am not Hispanic, or I would be a social outcast. Fortunately, there are other types of locator calls like crow or hawk calls. They are like kazoos. You just blow into them, and I can manage that.

If you can locate a turkey by tricking it into gobbling at you, then you must set up on it (i.e., hide yourself in the woods) and call it to your position. You accomplish this using a variety of calls like box calls, friction calls, or mouth (diaphragm) calls. The former is the easiest to master whereas the latter is hardest. Basically you are trying to make the gobbler think you are a HOT hen who is looking for her big boy to make some sweet, sweet love. You can make a whole lot of different sounds including a yelp, a cluck, or a purr. An interested gobbler will find them all sexy. I like friction calls the best, but I have been trying to use a mouth call this past year. It is basically a thin reed in a thin rubber case that you shove into the roof of your mouth. The first time I tried it, I almost puked. A few weeks later, I tried again, and I almost choked on it. That would be my luck to see a turkey, and get so excited that I choked on my mouth call. Anyway, I have practiced some more, and now I can at least make some sounds without gagging. My mouth calling does not sound too turkey-like, but I can perform recognizable Christmas tunes like “Frosty the Snowman” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

Anyway, if you can lure the turkey in with your sexy sounds, then you blow its head off. Enough training … Now you just need to get some of this stuff, and you too can be a turkey hunter like Dr. JimBob.

I was excited about turkey hunting this week. I took a paper turkey target to the rifle range and made sure my gun and marksmanship were both okay. Perfecto. I then took my turkey calls to school, and I had my graduate students come outside to the parking lot to study them. I then proceeded to show them all my calls and teach them how to use each one. I want them to have a broad education. Graduate school can be much too focused today. Anyway, a male student heard one of their calls, and he gobbled at them. No joke! I encouraged them to call him in, but they didn’t want to do it. Their interest began to wane quickly, so I gave them my turkey target from the morning’s practice as a souvenir.

For the last couple of days, I have been getting up early, and riding my ATV deep into the turkey woods. When I get there, I start out on foot. I walk and walk, and call and call for miles and miles, about 3 miles per day. This is good exercise. I haven’t heard a single gobble though. Faen. I did, however, inspire a horny, love-sick goose to follow me around for about a half-mile yesterday. My calling must be improving.

I have seen a few other animals this week like a deer, a rabbit, a squirrel, two turtles, fire ants and gnats. Oh, and I also saw a baby snake about 4 inches long scurrying across the road. I mentioned snake boots before, right? Anyway, I am not fond of snakes. That’s a story for another day. Suffice it to say that turtles remind me of snakes, and when I see a turtle, the bundle of fibers that fire in my brain must be close to those that signal “SNAKE” because I always sense that there must also be snakes around. Good thing for those boots.

Well, tomorrow is the last day of the season. At this point, I am turkeyless, but who knows what tomorrow will bring. Tonight, I will sit at my campsite, and practice some of my calls. I am thinking of adding “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” to my mouth call repertoire.

Best Wishes,
Dr. JimBob

Getting Older Gracefully or Not

As I approach my 50^th birthday this year, I find myself thinking more and more about age, specifically mine. It’s not the birthday that bothers me so much as it is this person who is there in the mirror when I brush my teeth. IT”S NOT ME! I know me better than anybody, and I can tell you that old guy is not me. My sense of self, that stream of consciousness that sits between my eyes and ears, knows exactly who he is….He is 5’9’’ with long brown hair, a brown mustache, brown eyes, fine build and big smile; not Fabio, but not a bad catch after a lady has had a few drinks. My self just cannot understand who the hell is the pot-bellied old fart with the thinning white hair, and what is he doing in front of the sink when I floss. It is kind of distressing. If you told anybody that you were being followed by a senior citizen who only let’s himself be seen in bathrooms, then they would have you locked up. So, I will just vent here rather than report this stalking to the authorities. I am not scared. He is old and flabby….I can take him.

Seriously, I know I am aging, but for some reason, I have not incorporated the new me into my self image. Every now and then, I get a reality check. For example, when I moved three years ago, I had to get a new driver’s license. I checked off all the pertinent identifying information – 5’9’’, brown hair, brown eyes…. The lady at the counter looked at my application, looked at me, and then scratched out “brown hair” and put down “grey”. Faen. (I am told that Faen is a Norwegian word that means Satan, but can be substituted in context for pretty much any 4-letter word you would prefer. What the faen!)

Another reality check is when others confuse or categorize me with people who are definitely over the hill. This happened to me just last month. I boarded a plane from Baltimore, and I got the isle seat. There were three seats on my row, and also a row of two seats on the other side of the plane. Anyway, there was an old man sitting in the window seat on my row. I proceeded to put my stuff in the overhead compartment and sat with my computer in my lap while waiting for the person in the middle seat to arrive. I knew that as soon as I took my computer out of the case, the person would show up, so I was thinking ahead. What old person thinks ahead? So this black lady approaches my row and says “I am in the middle.” I stood up to let her in, and then proceeded to whip out my computer. Well, once she got comfortable in her seat, this lady called somebody on her cell phone. She said “Hi, I’m on the plane.” There was a moment of silence, and then she whispered very quietly “Can you hear me?” Then even more quietly still, she said “Two old men.” My ears perked up even more, and then she said “White.” At that point, I knew without a doubt that she was referring to me and that old fart by the window. Geezz. But, to make things just that much worse, she then whispered the killer word into her cell phone

“Stinky.”

I had to bite my tongue. I may be getting old, but I bathe regularly, and I resented the “stinky” remark. Anyway, the plane did not fill up, and the row of two seats to my right was empty. She asked to get by me, and then she went to sit in the window seat in that row. As fate would have it, some other white guy from a middle seat somewhere else on the plane plopped himself on her other side. He might not have been so old, but I think he was stinky, at least half way through the flight. Serves her right! As an aside, the old dude by the window in my row had his shoes off. Maybe he WAS stinky. Don’t know…. Just sayin’.

The coup de grace was when I was at my ma’s house this past weekend for Mother’s Day. At some point, the subject of hair color came up. My ma told me that “White hair looks distinguished on a man.” You know, people say that all the time, but it is really bullshit. A big wad of cash in one’s wallet; now that’s distinguished. Winning a Nobel Prize, writing a best selling novel, winning an academy award for best horror movie make-up and special effects are all distinguished. Having white, thinning hair…..nada. At some point, my ma asked me “Why don’t you grow your hair out….it’s so short.” I told her that there isn’t that much left to grow, and she replied “I told you not to wear that baseball cap so much.” Maybe she was right! When I was in college, I used to wear this dark navy ball cap wherever I went. My ma used to always tell me that “If you keep wearing that stupid hat, your hair is going to fall out.” She was right. Faen. Look at Cal Ripken Jr. for more evidence. Faen. If there are any college students reading this stupid blog, then take my advice. Listen to your parents or your hair will fall out.

People always use the phrase “grow old gracefully.” I’ve used it, and you probably have too. I am not sure I ever really knew what it meant though. I think it means to accept aging and the changes and limitations that come with it and make the best out of your life. I intend to do exactly that. My body may be changing, and I may not remember things as well as I used to, but I am not going to let that interfere with leading a full, healthy life. I am, however, going to beat the shit out of that old man if he follows me into the bathroom one more time.

Best Wishes,
Dr. JimBob

Welcome to My Blog

Hi Folks,

Dr. JimBob here. Welcome to my blog. If you came here by mistake, and you intend to click the back arrow, then go ahead loser. If you plan on staying, then please make yourself at home.

This blog is about me spouting my crap. I find that spouting my crap makes me feel better, so I will spout it here. This is my spouting place.

I am not a writer, a good speller, or even a reasonable typist. So if you are looking for good grammar and feel that typographical errors are a sin, then this is not the right place for you. In that case, hit your back arrow now (loser).

I decided to have a blog because I recently began reading other blogs. (My favorite is Annie Choi’s www.annietown.com.) While reading these blogs, I noticed that other people who read them and posted their comments also had their own blogs. It seems that everybody has a blog these days, so I must have a blog too. Here is mine. I hope you will come back often. I don’t plan on updating it on a regular basis, but you never can tell when I might have the urge to spout more crap. So stick around and let me know that you are out there.

Best Wishes,
Dr. JimBob