Don't you ever stop being dandy

I got laughed out of the gymnasium when I spoke to the student body in 10th grade. Because of the way I dressed.

So I want to wrap my arms around every different kid in every small town ever and promise them that ridicule is nothing to be scared of. Then they'll roll their eyes at me and make fun of my old-people music. And I'll think they're adorable, but I won't tell them.



For JT, Butter and Kissy Fur

That's Mr. Junior to you

We are experiencing a baby boom in our group of friends. Over the past two years, 11 babies have been born to people we love. Every single one was a boy.

I'm from a family of all daughters, born in the days before ultrasounds helped parents plan their shower registries. Actually, there were no baby shower registries then, either. That would have been tacky...

So it occurred to me that my parents went to the hospital three times with a boy name picked out. Curious, I emailed my Sainted Southern Mother about it.

From: me
Subject: If we'd been boys...
To: My SSM
Cc: My sister
Date: Wednesday, February 1, 2012, 7:06 PM

What would you have named us? What did you have picked out?

Now that everyone I've ever stood next to is having a baby boy, I realized I never asked you that!

On Wed, Feb 1, 2012 at 7:53 PM, MY SSM wrote:

That is so funny that you asked. When we were expecting you the boy's name that came out of Pops' mouth immediately was Homer Roscoe. I'm serious - of course he was only kidding.

James Richard (your great granddaddy on Connor side)

I just asked your Dad about the names and he said, "Homer Roscoe." I told him I had already typed that then he said, "Jr." I said, "just Junior?" He said, "Junior Frink."

At this point we can't think of any of the other names.

Hugs,

Ma

Hands-down, the funniest person I know is...

My daddy. Period.

He and I have had a standing once-a-week phone date for the past 24 years. Each of those calls includes him telling me what he had or is about to have to eat, as I never learned to cook and survive on frozen food and takeout. All just to torment me for his amusement.

Today, my daddy sent me an email for the very first time ever (Go Pops!).

---------

Hey LA,

Things are pretty tough for your Ma and me and I was wondering if you could afford a $10.00 McDonald's gift certificate for our Christmas, for lunch.

Today we had to eat oysters and tonight will be chicken with pastry and collards. I'm going fishing tomorrow so I guess it will be flounder and shrimp for the rest of the week.

I know that $10.00 is a lot, but that would be five McChickens w/fries for a whole week!

Merry Christmas!

Love,
Pa

Everything but the oink

I had the honor and pleasure to sit down and talk with celebrity whole-hog pitmaster Ed Mitchell for a writing project.

I was a little starstruck at first, but Ed Mitchell is one of the finest, most genuine human beings you could ever hope to meet. I asked him to explain to me, from his perspective, why North Carolinians are so passionate about barbecue.

"It's our culture," he explained. "When I was a boy, North Carolina had two things driving our economy. The legal one was tobacco, and the illegal one was moonshine."

I asked him about the legend of cooking his first hog at age 14.

"Let me tell you something," he said. "It doesn't really take all night to cook a hog. Back then, men didn't drink or cuss around women, so staying up all night with the hog was an excuse to drink moonshine all night."

He told me the story: He was too young to drink, but was allowed to go out with his father, uncles, cousins and grandfathers to "watch the pig" one night. Apparently, the grownups passed the jar of moonshine around a few times too many and fell asleep. Ed stayed up and made sure the fire didn't get too high.

After a few hours, the grownups started waking up and panicking about having done burned the pig. When they checked it, it was perfectly cooked.

"My daddy asked me if I had done it," Mr. Mitchell told me. "Then he looked at the pig, looked at me, and passed me the jar."

Swoon.

New Facebook features

Good lord, people. Everyone (including me) hates the new FB features. I will speak truth to power since everyone else is being so bashful.

Dear Mark,

I accepted a friend request from that kid I really don't remember from middle school. It hurts my feelings seeing him commenting freely on the statuses of people I don't know and never acknowledging my dazzling bon mots.

Seriously, dude. Not cool. I rely on FB to support my delusions of grandeur, not dash them.

Your fan-
Leigh Ann

Big plans, short attention spans

Mr. Sweetypants and I shot two hours of video in various places near and dear to us in London last time we were there. Our grand plan was to edit together short cuts of movement to represent the loneliness of human existence in a cold, overpopulated, urban environment, and we selected the perfect song before we even got on the plane.

We spent an entire evening patching together the first 15 seconds of our vacation video. Then I got tired and said, "Screw it, I just wanna publish it."

The raw footage at around the minute mark illustrates why Mr. Sweetypants and I are perfect for each other. We both think it's hysterical. I was performing Shakespeare loudly and poorly. Mr. Sweetypants yelled, "People coming!" And he continued to film as I tried to act cool.

I married the right person.

It's Friday, I'm an old

So we still have stuff to get out of the old house before it closes at the end of next month. I'm being a big girl and throwing stuff out so as not to create the same clutter here.

But I just found the book, "The Cure: 10 Imaginary Years" that I bought in London in 1988 during my semester abroad. My roommate Kathy and I travelled from London to Paris to Brugge to Amsterdam by train and I had two tapes to play on my knockoff Walkman from Shepherd's Bush: "Faith" and "Pornography."

"For God's sake, just try not to fling yourself off the train." Kathy said about my choice of music. Kathy and I went on to see our first two Cure shows together.

I don't need the book, or the clippings and ticket stubs from all the Cure shows I went to. But just like my Duran Duran albums I have nothing to play on, I just need those memories to be close to me.