By Dick Platt
Corsicana Daily Sun
Sad to say, in the 11 years The Little Woman (don’t call me that!) and I lived in Navarro County, we never attended the annual Derrick Days festivities. We followed all the events in the Daily Sun, but we never schlepped into town to “walk amongst em.” I guess, if I were to be honest with myself, I am the reason we never went. TLW is more socially inclined while I have an aversion to large events, remote parking, standing in lines, face-painting, and “bounce houses.”
We are still following this year’s events through the Daily Sun’s Homepage on Mr. Computer as we don’t get the actual paper until 10-12 days after publication. This year’s events, by all accounts, were bigger and better than ever. In addition to the usual parade, music venues, street dance, chili and BBQ cookoffs, old-timey car shows, biker rallies, and food vendors, they added a black-tie ball and a wing-eating contest. I think it would have been cool if they had the wing-eating contest at the black-tie ball. All the dudes would have sticky hot sauce all down the front of their ruffled shirts and the dudettes would have hot sauce down their cleavages. Oops, can I say that?
Everyone should be proud of the way corporate and private donations came to the rescue of Derrick Days after someone absconded with the festival’s funds. I certainly hope, now that the Derrick Days account is back in the black, they will do the following: every month a trustworthy individual should rectify the bank statement to the penny; then a second trustworthy individual should audit that rectification; and lastly no withdrawal or disbursement would be allowed without the signatures of both trustworthy individuals.
Once again, we are eschewing the big events going on in, and around, Sarastoa. This weekend, there is a huge sand-sculpting tournament out on Siesta Key Beach. Some of the creations out of sand and water are truly magnificent, but I will catch them on the evening news and in the Herald-Tribune. Cinco de Mayo festivals are everywhere but we will forego them too for the reasons listed above.
You would not believe the social clubs, events, and trips advertised in our monthly homeowners association newsletter. There are regular fitness classes for everything from aerobics to fitness equipment to Oigong (whatever that is) to Pilates to Yoga to water aerobics. Club activities include basketball, bicycling, bocce, tennis, golf, cooking, investments, pinochle, poker, scrabble, bridge, canasta, and intermediate Mah Jongg.
Upcoming special events for May/June include: “Ladies Sip & Dip;” “ Kentucky Derby Party;” “Ayurvedic Vegetarian Cooking Class;” “Tea Time — Knowing Your Teas;” “Memorial Day Concert;” “Hearing Clinic (Free);” and “Happy Hour-Poolside.”
Wow! That is a whole lot of fun to miss out on. However, my idea of real fun is to take TLW to a Friday happy hour at The British Open Pub, have a couple pints, eat the fish and chips or a “Banger Sandwedge,” and watch golf on the big screen. Did you catch the nuance that “The British Open Pub” has “sandwedges” and not “sandwiches?” What makes an outing like this so attractive to me is that we get there before the dinner crowd, old geezers like us hang out there, the serving wenches are cute, and there are no lines, face-painting, or bounce houses.
My crazy cousin, Teddy, came home one Friday night after work and it was obvious that he was well into his cups from a prolonged happy hour. He was late, dinner was cold, and his wife was furious. He tried to kiss her but she shoved him away and shouted, “Lips that touch liquor will never touch mine!” Teddy just stood, looking stunned, and after five minutes she said, “What the hell are you thinking about?” Goofy Teddy said, “I’m trying to decide between 12-year-old scotch and 45-year-old lips.”
Lest you think I am glamorizing the use of alcohol, let me close with some things I have learned about Demon Rum over the years.
Gasoline and alcohol definitely do not mix. Well, actually gasoline and alcohol do mix — it’s just that the olives get stuck in the carburetor.
Never order a cocktail called a “Dolly Parton.” I never have figured out what’s in them but, if you have two, you can’t straighten up. Oops, can I say that?
To be honest with you, I never have been much of a drinker. In fact, the only reason I might drink several beers a day is to kill the taste of the pretzels!
Lastly, and most importantly, you should live by this motto. Never drink and drive — in fact, if you drink, don’t even try to putt.
Dick Platt is a Daily Sun columnist. His column appears on Tuesdays. Want to “Soundoff” on this column? Email: email@example.com