suburban voodoo

My 02.05.2014 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Wed, 19 Feb 2014 17:00:00 +0000

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and Cupid is preparing to stuff his quiver with lots of arrows tainted with the spirit of amour.

I’m somewhat known around these parts as a seasoned connoisseur in the art of romance. I regularly attend workshops held by famed relationship experts in the ballrooms of various Crowne Plazas throughout the Mid-South. I’ve moderated countless area book club meetings focused on the works of such groundbreaking novelists as Danielle Steel and Nicholas Sparks. And in 1988, I was in the audience for a live taping of a Love Connection episode. In fact, when I meet people, I often like to show a photo of myself shaking the hand of the Love Connection host, Chuck Woolery, on that fateful day. (If you’d like to see it, you can find it on my My Space page.)

My good close personal friend Chuck Woolery on the set of his groundbreaking television show, Love Connection

Friends, my point is I am fluent in the language of love. That’s why I would to like to offer some tips to all of my male readers on how to make this Valentine’s as special as possible.

(Oh, and ladies, you might want to read as well to see if your Valentine is up to my exquisite standards.)

First things first: Tables can book fast for Valentine’s Day, so be sure you make reservations as soon as possible at a fine restaurant that offers a quiet and romantic atmosphere. In my experience, I have melted many hearts over a delicious steak dinner at Golden Corral. And trust me, when you see the pure elation in your Valentine’s face as she experiences the delightful and delectable Chocolate Fountain, you’ll know the rest of the evening will be magical.

But in order to make sure your night is even more unique and special, you must dress in your best attire. When you are clothed in your finest wardrobe, it creates a slight air of welcome formality that your Valentine and the occasion deserve. In fact, I’d recommend a visit to my favorite men’s clothing store, K.T. Hipp’s Wardrobe and Accessories of Memphis. Mr. Hipp and sons have been in business since 1971, and their store is well known throughout the American pimp world as the place to “Get Hipp!” Mr. Hipp once designed a stunning ensemble for me: a white ruffled shirt underneath a tight pickle green velvet suit with both bell bottoms and lapels as wide as Adele’s rear end. With the added accessories of a dark purple fur fedora, white vinyl ankle boots, and a skull-topped walking cane, my look would set many a woman afire with uncontrollable passion and many a man aflame with raging jealousy.

A piece from the K.T. Hipp 2014 Easter Collection

Now, let’s talk conversation. A well-schooled man of love such as myself knows that while your appearance and restaurant choice are both important, there is still one more thing that trumps the two in the eyes of a woman: the depth of your soul. And more often than not, a man’s soul is revealed through the thoughts he articulates and the words he speaks.

Ideally, the man should initiate and, for the most part, control the topics discussed during the consumption of that fine U.S.D.A. prime cut of succulent sirloin at the Corral. And, I say “control” because ceding the talk to the female will likely involve ponderous stories about her “wacky” friends; her irritating boss at work; her pet cat that, based on her tales, sounds to you as if it should have been put to sleep years ago; and the time when she was 14 and security rudely took away the homemade “I LOVE YOU A.J.!” sign from her at a Backstreet Boys concert, leaving her crying and embarrassed in front of Alison Thornton, her eighth grade arch nemesis who “wore skyscraper-high bangs and a stupid red bow in her poodle-permed, broom-shaped hair everywhere she went.”

(For clarification, the latter comment about Ms. Thornton were my date’s words that particular evening, not mine.)

Allow me to give you some insight on how to captivate your date with an intimate and revealing conversation. First, always remember to flatter your Valentine with praise about how attractive she looks. Obviously, this can sometimes be troublesome when the man possesses a good sense of morality and the Valentine sitting across from him looks like Mike Huckabee in drag. But properly flattering her is an essential part of the night, and any man with a good sense of morality and a Valentine sitting across from him that looks like Mike Huckabee in drag needs to just suck it up and lie like hell.

Next, bring up a subject relevant in the news to sound as if you stay topical with current events and are somewhat intelligent. For instance, you could discuss Gov. Chris Christie’s weight, Donald Trump’s amazing hair, or the dynamic possibilities of a Ted Nugent presidential administration in 2016.

Great American Donald Trump and his hair

But the real trick to a perfect conversation with your Valentine is to speak to her all through the evening with a very thick French accent. There’s simply something about sounding like Gerard Depardieu that tells the lady she is in the company of a cultured man.

I certainly hope my advice will result in a visit from Cupid come Valentine’s Day. I’m quite confident that once men put my tips into action they’ll not only enjoy a fountain of chocolate on the fourteenth of February, they’ll also enjoy of a fountain of fiery passion.

Thank you. And, as always, you’re welcome.

My 01.22.2014 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly - My Flaws

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Wed, 19 Feb 2014 15:29:00 +0000

Friends, we all have our crosses to bear. Am I right?

Look at Matthew McConaughey, for instance. He’s quickly becoming one of America’s best actors, and he’s done so with the burden of being clobbered with the ugly stick all of his life. Same thing for Bradley Cooper. Think of the taunting these two must have received throughout childhood for being such unattractive and goofy-looking boys. But while they know they will never be blessed with the good looks of someone such as John Stamos, LL Cool J, or Dolph Lundgren, both McConaughey and Cooper have still gone on to be two terrifically talented thespians.

(I’ll pause for a moment in case you missed that clever little alliterative ditty at the end of that last sentence.)

Anyway, I’m sure Stamos, Cool J, and Lundgren also have issues with which they have to contend on a daily basis -- whether they be physical or emotional. Stamos might have one leg shorter than the other. Cool J might fight depression. Lundgren might have chronic jock itch.

Again, we all have our crosses. Even the beautiful people.

Heck, look at your humble scribe. I have a number of issues that some might consider flaws, yet I have managed to overcome such adversities and live life to the fullest.

For instance, in my junior year of high school, I attended the prom with an infected ingrown toenail. The tight dress shoes that accompanied my rented tux from the Van Atkins department store only aggravated the discomfort on my affected big toe, and by the time a circle had formed around me on the dance floor as I was breakin’ some moves to Lionel Richie, I was in intense agony. But as I kept bustin’ and groovin’ to “Dancing on the Ceiling,” the pure exhilaration of performing such awesome breakdancing for my peers drowned out the pain.

Of course, unless it starts to leak fluid and/or cause skin rot, infected ingrown toenails aren’t permanent. Sure, I experienced some discomfort that night, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have other, more long-term issues to conquer.

As many know, I’ve been battling intense halitosis for most of my life. The aroma of my breath has been known to cause dizziness, dry heaves, vomiting, and in some cases, nosebleeds in those who unfortunately cross my path at any given time. I’ve embarrassed myself in meetings, on dates, and at various functions by allowing my horrifying scent to seep from a mouth that smells as if a possum died in it. Thankfully, after beginning to practice good dental hygiene on a regular basis as well as changing my diet of sardines and raw garlic, my bad breath issues have apparently been remedied.

Still, I also have other awkward maladies that manifest themselves in more perceptible ways. My unique arctic blonde hair is mistaken by some people as being “white,” therefore enabling many a slow wit to believe I am a senior citizen. Believe me, it can be a struggle to keep my temper in check when I’m constantly asked how the grandkids are doing; if I would like the AARP discount; or how long I fought in the Korean War.

Another struggle of mine can make for awkward conversations and moments. In various instances where I converse with a beautiful woman, some clink in my DNA causes my eyes to involuntarily move down from her face and focus on her chest. It’s as if there is an invisible magnetic-like force that literally takes control of my gaze. Many ladies have obviously been offended by this uncontrollable genetic glitch, incorrectly believing that I am a typical male ogling away without any shame. And if I’m in the presence of certain, really beautiful women, namely most waitresses at Hooters, I’m not only unable to move my eyes, but I also lose the ability to speak and swallow.

And let me tell you something friends -- that’s pretty frustrating when you’re trying to order some of their delicious chicken wings!

So, remember. All of us have problems, issues, or so-called “crosses” to bear.

It’s just the way it is, as one Bruce Hornsby used to sing.

But if we recognize that we all carry burdens in some way, then perhaps that sense of mutual struggle will allow us to appreciate not only each other, but will also allow us to appreciate life.

Don’t let your adversities dictate your life. Don’t let others bring you down. And, if you waitress at Hooters, don’t be offended if I leer, drool and become somewhat disoriented when you take my order.

Thank you. And God bless America.

My 01.01.2014 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly -- What a Guy Should Never Say in a Bar Located in Rural Arkansas Part 43

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Wed, 01 Jan 2014 18:08:00 +0000

A few years ago, I wrote a couple of columns offering advice to guys on what not to say if you happen to find yourself in a bar located in, say, rural Arkansas. Since the publication of those two pieces (click on the below links for refreshers), I’ve collected more things that a gentleman should never, ever let slip should he find himself in an establishment far, far away from any kind of major highway in Arkansas, or heck – let’s just say, anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon.

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #76: Can everyone shut up? I’m trying to watch Piers Morgan Live!

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #50: Hey guys, come look at these adorable ideas I found for homemade oven mitts on Pinterest!

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #99: Why am I crying? Hello?!? Justin Bieber just tweeted he was retiring, you moron!

This is a current picture of Justin Bieber in a vest obviously stolen from Shania Twain.

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #48: Who wants to play ‘Tickle Me’?!? Raise your hands really, really high!!

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #22: I think we can all agree that the world would be a better place if Bill Maher was president, Michael Moore was vice president, and all Republicans were executed. Am I right guys?!?

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #91: You know, if the tabloids are right and you think about it, then Bruce Jenner does actually make for sort of a hot looking cougar.

Why, hellllllooo sexy lady!

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #18: Wait a sec. Do you mean to tell me you have 14 songs by someone named Waylon Jennings on this jukebox, but nothing by Maroon 5?!? What’s wrong with you people?

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #53: Hey guys, is it me or is that Rachel Maddow chick HOT or what?

Why, hellllllooo sexy...uh, well...

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #354: Me? Oh, I’m just passing through doing some youth canvassing work for Militant Atheists of America.

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #43: You only have boxed wine? Wow. Didn’t realize I wound up in the actual Dogpatch. Wait until I tell my buddies back home in Manhattan.

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #46: I don’t know what to think about this Duck Dynasty controversy, so I’ll hold any judgment until I see what Kanye tweets about it.

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #27: The only musical genius named George that I prefer does not have the last name of Jones nor Strait. Nay gentlemen, the only musical genius named George worth his salt happens to have the last name of Michael. There! I said it!

Famed singer/songwriter and most famous semi-Greek since Zorba, George Michael, pictured in a sweater stolen from this writer’s closet.

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #114: Yeah, I’m wearing nothing but a diaper. You want make something of it, Jethro?

What a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas – example #61: Why yes sir – that is my Prius with an Obama/Biden sticker parked outside. Why do you ask?

***

Click here and here for previous examples of what a guy should never say in a bar located in rural Arkansas. You’re welcome!

My 12.25.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Fri, 27 Dec 2013 18:22:00 +0000

In 1973, the United States Department of Justice began what would be an almost-decade long covert operation into charges of mass corruption within the world of network television. The secrecy of the investigation, code named Operation Ping Pong Drop, was of paramount importance, and indeed, when long classified files regarding the resulting case were released in late November of this year, many television insiders were flabbergasted to learn of its existence and of its findings.

However, one person not surprised was Jim Greenjenes. If the last name sounds familiar, it should. Ken is the grandson of Bill Greenjenes, aka Mr. Green Jeans, from the CBS children’s television program, Captain Kangaroo. And it was Mr. Green Jeans, the seemingly affable handyman and friend of Captain Kangaroo, who held all of the dark secrets the government so intensely wanted to uncover via Operation Ping Pong Drop.

“Mr. Green Jeans was a handyman, all right,” said Jim Greenjenes in a phone interview. “He was a handyman who did all of Kangaroo’s dirty work!”

In a shocking discovery, Operation Ping Pong Drop found information that Captain Kangaroo was possibly the most feared figure in all of children’s television from early 1970 until roughly 1983. Investigators attempted to connect hundreds of questionable incidents involving extortion, fraud and other nefarious activities to the world of Captain Kangaroo. And Mr. Green Jeans seemed to be the man who would ensure the Captain’s schemes were carried out to the last detail.

“What Operation Ping Pong Drop revealed is a man, Captain Kangaroo, obsessed with having the ultimate power in the world of children’s television,” said Frank Stilt, a retired agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. “If you worked in children’s television, you had to go through Captain Kangaroo. And if you got on the wrong side of Captain Kangaroo, you had to deal with Mr. Green Jeans.”

“No one crossed the Captain or Green Jeans,” said Kukla, a former puppet who appeared on Captain Kangaroo with fellow performing partners, Fran and Ollie. “I remember Grover, from the Sesame Street area, once spilled some grape Hi-C on Captain Kangaroo’s red blazer at a party Easy Reader was having over at The Electric Company. You could have heard a pin drop when it happened. The room became dead silent. Mr. Green Jeans grabbed Grover by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The poor kid was terrified! Thankfully, the Captain told Mr. Green Jeans to let Grover go, and everything was all good, you know?”

Jim Greenjenes remembers similar moments.

“When I was a kid, I once went to a wedding reception at Kangaroo’s Lake Tahoe home,” he said. “All the big wigs from 1970s-era kids TV were there: Kermit the Frog, Bozo the Clown, The Hudson Brothers – you name ‘em. Well, I was bored and walking around this nice house, and I sneak into Kangaroo’s study. All of a sudden, I hear voices coming down the hall, so I hide in a closet, and into the study come Kangaroo, Mr. Green Jeans, and Mr. Rogers, who had flown in from his neighborhood for the festivities. Kangaroo sits behind his desk. Mr. Green Jeans stands behind Kangaroo. And, there’s Mr. Rogers sitting in front of them, all sniveling and crying over something mean that King Friday had said to him back in the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. Rogers wanted Friday ‘taken out of the picture,’ so to speak, for offending him. But Kangaroo just sits there silent behind his desk. Then, in a blink, he nods to my granddad, and here comes Mr. Green Jeans from behind the desk. He snatches Mr. Rogers up out of the chair, slaps him across the face, and screams, ‘Act like a man!’ I’d never seen such raw power in my granddad. It scared me so much, I peed my pants.”

Greenjenes told investigators similar tales of Captain Kangaroo ordering Mr. Green Jeans to carry out disreputable deeds. Authorities believe Kangaroo and Green Jeans were behind such incidents as a vicious assault on the kids from Zoom after that show’s ratings briefly overtook Captain Kangaroo in 1975; the firebombing of Oscar the Grouch’s trashcan just off Sesame Street; and the kidnapping of Drooper, the bassist for The Banana Splits, a popular music group and fellow children’s television act from the era.

Stilt even considers Kangaroo and Green Jeans as suspects in the death of a treasured children’s television star.

“I have good information from sources that they may have had a hand in the death of Mr. Hooper, a longtime grocer who owned a store on Sesame Street,” said Stilt. “The coroner ruled it a heart attack, but witnesses placed Mr. Green Jeans exiting Mr. Hooper’s store not long before a distraught Cookie Monster discovered Mr. Hooper’s deceased body behind the counter.”

Greenjenes doesn’t think his grandfather killed Hooper at Kangaroo’s order, but he knows of others in children’s television that have disappeared under mysterious circumstances. And those, he says, might have the fingerprints of Mr. Green Jeans and Captain Kangaroo.

“My granddad and Kangaroo are both long gone now,” said Greenjenes, “but there are bodies out there somewhere. I’m just waiting for the other ping pong balls to drop.”

My 12.18.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly:

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Thu, 19 Dec 2013 21:49:00 +0000

Cancellations and Postponements

If you’ve ever complained about the lack of enjoyable events in smaller communities around our area, then you’ve not been paying attention.

Judging by the wide variety of cancellations and postponements during the recent icy conditions, this area of America is full of abundant culture and exciting happenings.

For instance, the Jackson County Chapter of Crimson Tide Football Fans Christmas Luncheon that was to be held in the front seat of Chuck Byle’s Volkswagen Beetle at the Newport Sonic on Thursday, Dec. 5, had to be cancelled.

The Locust Grove Volunteer Police Department also had to nix its annual Squirrel Fry and Infant Child Toss that was scheduled for Saturday, Dec. 7.

The Batesville Chapter of the Lord of the Rings Fan Club’s social mixer scheduled for Daryl Jenkslaw’s mother’s house at 5 p.m. on Friday, Dec. 6 had to be moved to Squibby Malkin’s mother’s house on Monday, Dec. 9. Time to be determined based on Squibby’s hours at GameStop.

The Men with Perms Christmas party scheduled for Saturday, Dec. 8, at the Riverboat Club in Newport will now be held Thursday, Dec. 19, and the $50 award for “Best Mike Brady Perm” will still be up for grabs.

The Cushman chapter of the NORML brownie bake sale scheduled for Friday, Dec. 6 at 4:20 p.m. at the Cushman Unitarian Church had to be moved to Monday, Dec. 23 at 4:20 p.m. Entertainment will now be provided by the Grateful Dead cover band, Sweet Green, instead of the previously announced Cheech & Chong impersonators, Heech and Hong, who are now currently incarcerated at a county jail in Farmington, Missouri.

The Drama Club at the Flaming Hills Senior Center in Newport had to postpone their scheduled performance of Deliverance: The Musical for Friday, Dec. 6 at 8 p.m., not because of the weather, but because Fred Grandstone, acting in the Ned Beatty role, said fellow resident and thespian, Herb F. Bonners, Sr., was getting a little too “method” in his portrayal of the menacing hillbilly.

The Procrastinator’s Anonymous weekly meeting at the Jacksonport Community Center that was supposed to be scheduled for sometime Sunday night, Dec. 8, but never was scheduled is now going to be moved to some other date yet to be decided.

Finally, the Independence County Society of Senior Ladies pole dancing class scheduled for Saturday, Dec. 7, at Mildred Fennimore’s residence, had to be postponed until Saturday, Jan. 5, 2014 due to the ice and Mildred’s recent hip injury.

***

Recently on Facebook, a number of people began posting the ten books that most profoundly affected their life. After much pondering, I posted my choices -- which are printed below. If you haven’t read any of these titles, I strongly recommend you do so in order to live a rich and more fulfilling life.

1. Go Dog Go
2. My Life by Fabio
3. The Bible for Dummies
4. How to Stop Drooling
5. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.
6. Men May Be Jerks, But Women Be Crazy
7. My Little Pony: Pinky Pie and the Rockin’ Ponypalooza Party
8. The Wit & Wisdom of Charles Manson
9. Arctic Firecrackers: Why Pale Men are the Most Noted Casanovas
10. An instruction booklet on how to use a bidet when I stayed in a fancy hotel

My 12.11.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Wed, 11 Dec 2013 14:49:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 12.11.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

My good friend -- internationally acclaimed journalist, probable covert government assassin, and noted expert on all things Kardashian -- T. Blanston, Jr. recently released his fourth volume of bad jokes that also make no sense, entitled Bad Jokes That Also Make No Sense, Vol. 4.

I’m pleased to offer these exclusive excerpts from his new book to my “All Over the Map” readers. Please enjoy.

***

A priest, a rabbi, and a Baptist minister walk into a bar.

“Oh, this is a bar,” the Baptist minister says as he enters. “I’m not sure if it’s appropriate I be seen here.”

The rabbi turns to the priest and says: “This guy with you?”

***

Knock, Knock!

Who’s there?

Chester!

Chester who?

Probably!

***

A man walks into Walmart and proceeds to walk along the inside perimeter of the building looking at the walls. Finally, a friendly Walmart associate walks up to him to see what the man is doing.

“Sir, may I help you?” asks the associate.

“Well, is this the Walmart?” he asks.

“Why, yes sir,” she says with a puzzled look. “Why?”

“Well, I’ve been searching all day for a price tag on these walls,” says the man. “And I can’t find a single one!”

***

An Aggie fan and an Alabama fan walk into a bar.

“I don’t about you, but I’m going to have a beer,” says the Bama fan.

The Aggie fan looks to the Alabama fan.

“Do you think they have Coors Light?” asks the Aggie fan.

“I don’t know,” says the Bama fan, “but I love asparagus!”

***

Donald Trump is in his boardroom having an important meeting with his top managers.

“Sir, the worth of your real estate holdings in New York has significantly declined,” says one manager.

“Sir, the profits in your casinos have dropped, as well,” says another manager.

“And sir, your Chicago tower might have to be sold to cover losses in other divisions,” says yet another manger.

Donald stands and walks to the boardroom’s mirrored wall. He looks to his reflection with admiration and winks to himself.

Finally, he pulls out his phone, calls his assistant, and says: “Seth, did you manage to DVR Glee last night?”

And then Donald and his mangers all had a delightful lunch catered by a nearby Applebee’s.

***

Q: What did the cat say to the dog?

A: Nothing. Cats can’t talk, silly!

***

Saddam Hussien, Muammar Gaddafi, and Adolf Hitler are having dinner in the main cafetorium of Hell.

“It’s getting hot in here,” says Hussien as he fans his face.

“So, take off all your clothes,” sings Hitler in a thick German accent.

“That’s Nelly, right?” asks Gaddafi.

Hitler nods and smiles as he takes another bite of his wiener schnitzel.

***

A blonde woman and a brunette woman walk into a bar.

“Have you been here before?” the brunette asks the blonde as they sit in a booth.

“Yes,” the blonde says. “This is where I usually take a date before I slip him a sedative, take him back to his car, drive him to a remote wooded area, drag his now-unconscious body to a freshly dug grave, plop him in the bottom, and bury him alive. And as the damp and cold earth is piled back on him, the sedative slowly wears off, and you can hear his last screams muffled beneath the dirt.”

The brunette looks to the blonde and suddenly pulls two knives out of her purse. In an instant, she takes the blades and viciously impales the blonde’s hands to the table. The blonde screams in agony.

An Aggie fan and an Alabama fan sitting at the bar turn around to look at the two women and their commotion in the booth. The Aggie fan turns to the Alabama fan.

“Is it true Coach Saban really eats Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies for breakfast?” the Aggie fan says after a moment.

The Alabama fan shakes his head.

“Say again,” he says, cupping his hair with a hand. “I can’t hear you over that blonde chick screaming.”

My 12.04.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Wed, 04 Dec 2013 22:17:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 12.04.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

Let’s peek into the “All Over the Map” mailbag, and answer questions from my readers. My first question comes from Billy Spline of Batesville, Arkansas.

Dear Mr. Grace,

I am 16 years old, and I recently started to really like a classmate of mine. Do you have any advice on what I should do to have a “perfect” date?

Thanks,

Billy Spline

Dear Billy,

Thank you for your letter. Young love is a wonderful feeling. One truly begins to feel the joy life has to offer when they are experiencing such new and delightful emotions. I remember my first love, Mildred Pennifore, as if it was yesterday. She was coy at first, but then after I left a rose on her school desk, our relationship blossomed. In fact, let me suggest you take a page out of my romance playbook, circa 1983-ish, during my days as a “Teenage Casanova.”

First, make sure you have access to a car with T-tops. Trust me. You’ll be looking all risky business when you pull into her driveway. Next, have some good romantic music playing. I’d suggest something that shows not only do you have culture, but you also appreciate exquisite musical artistry and lyrics with subtle meaning and substance. So naturally, you’re going to want a power ballad from Whitesnake’s 1984 album, Slide It In.

I’d then drive to the nearest Golden Corral, walk her inside, and say, “It’s all you can eat, and it’s on me.” Then during dinner, be very interested in her and ask flattering questions such as “Did you use a curling iron to make your bangs stand up so beautifully like that?” or “Has anyone ever told you that you look fantastic in those acid washed Lee jeans?” By the time you hit the Chocolate Fountain, she’ll be putty in your hands and a memorable night will be had.

Nothing can tarnish the memories of my first “puppy love” with Mildred, and I hope your first night out will be the beginning of a similar relationship. And even though I was a tad surprised when I later found out Mildred had undergone a sex change operation at the age of 29, I still cherish the memory of our times together.

Thank you,

Rob

***

Dear Rob,

I retired to the Cushman area from Madison, Wisconsin in 2012. I’ve read lots of columns from various newspapers over the years. When I received my first issue of Arkansas Weekly, I read your “All Over the Map” column. I’ve since read every one to date, and I’m convinced you have problems.

If I were you, I’d slowly put away the keyboard, move away from the desk, and have someone drive you to the nearest psychiatric facility.

Good luck,

Marianne Myrtle Krenshaw

Dear Marianne Myrtle,

Thank you so much for reading and your concern, but the only problem I have is being constantly mistaken for Brad Pitt when I walk down the street. Oh, that, and a painful case of the gout. Time to put up the malt liquor I suppose!

Your friend,

Rob

***

Dear Mr. Grace,

You have been running a lot of repeat columns as of late. You only have to write one column every week. That should not be a hard job, particularly with the crap you write.

What’s your problem?

Thank you,

Fred Starrett, Jr. III

Cave City, Arkansas

Dear Fred,

Thank you for your letter. I have been sporadic in my postings over the past few months, but I have had a busy schedule. In August, I spent most of the month in France, helping craft the world’s first designer line of fashionable slacks with hernia trusses already fitted inside the crotch area. In September, for exercise and fun, I decided to journey to Miami for a stint in a pole dancing school. Then in October, I suffered a severe paper cut. The pain and trauma of the slice and its subsequent healing kept my finger, and thus hand, out of action for a while.

Thanks for understanding. My boo-boo all better now.

Rob

Actual photo of Rob's intense paper cut.

My 11.27.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Sun, 24 Nov 2013 18:28:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 11.27.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

Duck Dynasty -- the hit reality show that follows the wacky adventures of Phil “Duck Commander” Robertson, his large family, various friends and co-workers at their Louisiana duck-calling business -- has spawned all types of merchandising opportunities. Pajamas, bobbleheads, rugs, books, t-shirts, koozies, socks, bow ties, and travel kits are among some of the products licensed in association with the program and the Robertson clan.

The Duck Commander-affiliated products also encompass a wider and more diverse range than most merchandise positioned around a popular television show. The cast has released a Christmas CD where they sing alongside George Strait and Luke Bryan, and just recently, the family made news by introducing Duck Commander Wines, taking the Robertson brand into a territory not usually exploited in the product tie-in world of television programs.

I’ve been going through some of the other, more surprising paraphernalia that is being marketed and sold around the family and Duck Dynasty, and much of it is innovative and unique.

For example, if you’ve ever wanted to be secure your false teeth don’t slip out of your mouth and to also always have a strong, industrial strength adhesive handy, then you need Uncle Si’s Denture Grip and Shop Glue. Not only does the special combination of oral adhesives and urethane paste allow Uncle Si’s Denture Grip and Shop Glue to keep those pearly whites stuck in your mouth, but it also comes in two refreshing flavors: Wintergreen Fresh Rubber and Burnt Plastic Cinnamon. Oh, and it’s also guaranteed to handle the most demanding high performance industrial bonding applications – including roofing and flooring.

Duck calls aren’t the only thing for which the Robertsons are known. The clan’s delicious and distinctive cuisine has not only spawned a popular cookbook by Phil’s longtime wife, Miss Kay, but plans are in the works for a line of frozen dinners based on recipes from the Commander’s families and friends. Soon, grocery shoppers across America will be able to bring delectable meals from the Duck Dynasty world to their dinner tables. Choose from Miss Kay’s Fried Butter Extreme -- a stick of unsalted butter deep fried in a crusty batter and served with collard greens, mashed potatoes, and completely smothered in gravy. Willie’s Extreme Bologna Melt will satisfy the most discriminating taste with a thick slice of fried duck bologna covered in a mound of melted nacho cheese and tucked between two pieces of heavily buttered Texas toast. And prepare to have your taste buds wowed with Uncle Si’s Squirrel Brain and Mushroom Casserole – a scrumptious meal of eggs, portabella mushrooms, American cheese, onions, olives, green peppers, jalapeños, and a pile of fried squirrel brains.

Finally, male fans of the show will love the new Duck Commander Beard Shampoo and Lice Wash. Yes, now all the men out there with the trendy new style of those long, bushy beards popularized by the Robertsons can ensure their extensive and thick whiskers are fresh, clean and free of any kind of pesky insects feeding on the dirt, sweat, rotting crumbs and dried sneezes found in most lengthy beards. Plus, to ensure Duck Commander Beard Shampoo and Lice Wash is effective, every ingredient is guaranteed inorganic and has been tested not only on animals, but also on Uncle Si.

There are other products in planning phases including a possible Uncle Si’s Fried Squirrel and Biscuits fast food restaurant chain as well as a complete line of Duck Commander Pocket Catheters which would be ideal for most male duck hunters needing proper liquid and/or fluid removal out in the duck blind. The package will not only have a picture of the Duck Dynasty guys on the front, but will also feature a camouflage print so you won’t give yourself away to your winged prey in the skies.

So – what are you waiting for? Start making that Christmas list and ensure that the Duck Dynasty fan in your household will be tickled pink come December 25.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas!

My 11.20.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Sun, 24 Nov 2013 18:18:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 11.20.2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

This time of year in Arkansas brings three things: beautiful autumn weather, high school football, and of course, deer hunting.

I’ve enjoyed many a November morn warmly nestled in my deer stand with my rifle and a Thermos full of hot chocolate as I waited for that one magnificent buck to gently step out of the forest so I can kill him, skin him, gut him, cut off his head, and then mount it on my wall with the rest of my collection.

It truly is a beautiful and rewarding experience.

And based on my extensive time spent in the deer woods, I thought it would be prudent to offer some essential safety tips for hunters.

First, it’s important to make sure you are wearing your safety orange. The bright neon glow of the color on your hunting wear will help ensure other hunters will not accidentally shoot you. I found this out the hard way when I dressed up in a costume resembling a doe. I was trying to lure a big buck out of the woods for my friend, Buddy Reeves, to shoot. So I went all out in my cunning deception, going so far as to get down on all fours to perfectly mimic a doe’s graceful gait and gentle moves. I also accentuated the costume with a blonde wig and high heels on all four hooves. The scheme almost worked. The buck emerged from the trees and began sniffing around my costume. But suddenly, the buck lurched back and tried to attack me in ways I’d rather not remember. In all the confusion, Buddy ended up shooting me in the buttocks region. Had I been wearing my safety orange over my doe costume, the incident might have had a happier ending.

Which brings us to my second tip for the deer woods: Always be completely secure you are aiming at the correct target before pulling the trigger. Buddy might have bagged the buck had he been certain of his target. The chaos at the time perhaps contributed to Buddy’s success at removing a good portion of my left buttock with his rifle shot, but a more seasoned hunter would have been calm and assured the object in his crosshairs was the intended target and not his fellow hunter.

(Granted, I was wearing the doe costume, but the heels and wig would’ve been noticed by a more experienced marksman.)

Of course, age might have also been a factor in Buddy mistaking me for a deer. Buddy is close to 89 years old and sometimes forgets to swallow. He also occasionally thinks my name is Sally. So, my next tip is: Leave any hunter over the age of 85 at home. Not only can you lose a portion of your left buttock to one of our cherished senior citizens, but there are a number of other potentially cumbersome and possibly fatal situations that could develop if Great Grandpa goes along on the hunt. For instance, while you’re waiting for him to finally make it from the truck all the way out to the stand, a bear could swoop out of the woods in a flash and, with their vice-like jaws, violently snatch up poor little Great Grandpa before you can say The Lawrence Welk Orchestra. The next thing you know, it’s “All You Can Eat Gramps” night back at the den. So, let Great Grandpa stay at home next go-around, not only for your safety, but also his.

Finally, after you kill a deer, it’s important to handle the animal with respect and honor. Buddy and I usually have a moment of silence for the deer that is now floating onward to deer heaven after a majestic time on Mother Earth. We then silently wrap the kill in a tarp and tie it with ceremonial hemp twine purchased from a Native American reservation in Oklahoma. We place the animal in the truck bed and drive in reverent quiet to a place where we can prepare and clean the deer with dignity.

However, sometimes we enjoy propping up the kill and placing sunglasses and hunter orange caps on its head and take silly photos with it. You should see some of the photos Buddy and I have taken with some of our deer. There’s one where we placed a freshly shot buck behind the wheel of our SUV and taped its hooves to the steering wheel as if the deer was driving! And the tongue was all hanging out like a dead eel, so we glued a cigar in the other side of the mouth and then lit it, and, oh my, with the limp tongue on one side and lit cigar on the other, it looked really, really funny! I should print those sometime.

But anyway, for the most part, it is important to treat your kill with the proper humility and decency.

So, pack up that gear, clean off that deer stand, and make sure the little lady has some deer chili waiting on you when you get back from a long day in the woods.

Happy hunting! And always remember not to point your guns at each other, particularly if they are loaded, the safetys are off, and all of you have been drinking lots of malt liquor throughout the day. I learned that the hard way, too, but that’s another column.

My 11.06.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Sun, 24 Nov 2013 18:12:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 11.06.2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

A HARD CORE CONSERVATIVE GOES TO THE DRIVE-THRU

“Welcome to Starbucks. Order when you’re ready.”

“You sound as if you’re from the Middle East? You’re not part of some sleeper cell, are you?”

“Uh, no sir. I’m a student from India. Perhaps that might explain my accent. I’ll make an effort to speak more clearly. May I take your order?”

“India? Don’t y’all worship cows or something? Good thing you don’t work at McDonald’s. That’d be what we in America call a ‘conflict of interest.’ Heh. Heh. I’m just giving you a hard time, bud. Hey, gimme one of those large iced coffees. And oh, while I have you for a second, lemme ask you something: Do they have free health care over in India?”

“Uh -- ”

“I betcha a dollar and a donut they do not! Can you believe what this illegal alien put in the White House is doing to this magnificent country of ours? Now we’ve got to pay for everybody’s health care, and to top it off, America doesn’t even have a website that works to sell it to our citizens!”

“Okay…so that’s one venti iced coffee…”

“What? I said ‘large.’”

“Well, I believe ‘venti’ is Italian for -- ”

“Italian?!? Look at this situation: We have an Indian speaking Italian to an American? Son, no offense, but we’re in America, and we speak American here, okay?”

“All right, sir. Your order is, with tax, $4.56.”

“Tax!?! We’re taxed enough already! America doesn’t want more taxes, especially since all we do now is pay to support those programs this president wanted for people who don’t wanna work. I betcha the next thing this president will start taxing will be the air we all breathe! Might as well, he’s taxing my damn coffee.”

“Would you like for me to cancel your order, sir?”

“Oh no! I’m good. Have to have my iced coffee. I get cranky without my coffee.”

A HARD CORE LIBERAL GOES TO THE DRIVE-THRU

“Welcome to McDonald’s, can I take you order?

“Well, I suppose. I must say that I do this with regret because supporting your corporate employer goes against everything I believe. Capitalism does nothing but reward the one percent and foster their exploitation and enslavement of the other 99 percent of us. But I’m hungry, and this is the only stop I have between now and Little Rock. I’m traveling there for the Reason conference where I’ll gather with fellow agnostic and atheist brothers and sisters, and we’ll have workshops where we can sit and mock all the other people who believe. So, it should be fun.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but may I ask if you have made a selection from our menu? The new Southwest Chicken Premium McWrap is our newest addition.”

“Ugh, no. I’m a vegetarian. I’m certainly not going to support the continued mass slaughter of our animal brothers and sisters. Do you have anything with kale?

“Uh…no ma’am.”

“You’re kidding. Hmmmm. Oh…well, I’m looking here at your salads. I’m assuming all of your vegetables are organically grown from local farmers?”

“Uh…, ma’am, perhaps you would like to try a fruit ‘n yogurt parfait?”

“Oh! Listen to you and your homophobic slurs. ‘Fruit.’ Like ‘fruity.’ Is McDonald’s making fun of the LBGT community using such socially insensitive terms?”

“What? Ma’am – no. I -- ”

“That is nothing more than hate speech! I am taking my complaints directly to the top! What’s the address for your franchise holder – wait! I didn’t know you had pumpkin spice lattes? Oh! I’ll have a large pumpkin spice latte. And could you put extra whipped cream on top, please? Thanks.”

A HARD CORE INDEPENDENT GOES TO THE DRIVE-THRU

“Welcome to Taco Bell. May I take your order?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. I can’t make up my mind. On the one hand, the chicken soft taco sounds good. Then again, I love the beef soft taco.”

My 10.30.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Sun, 24 Nov 2013 17:45:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 10.30.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

Late one summer night in the parking lot of a nearby Flash Market, Dewey and Doyle sat inside Doyle’s 1987 Ford Ranger pickup truck and watched the traffic travel back and forth on the two-lane highway that cut through their little town. The truck was facing the road and nestled under the overhanging branches of an enormous mimosa tree that stood on the edge of the adjoining lot.

“Hey Doyle, I got an ideal,” said Dewey, his squeaky voice sounding almost like a helium-sucking Jethro Clampett. Dewey was small -- skinny with a little definition but not much muscle. His face was centered with a large nose and big, almost bulging eyes. An oversized deer hunter orange Busch Beer baseball cap dominated his head.

“Don’t mean to correct you, Dewey, but the proper word is ‘idea,’” said Doyle in his deep slow drawl. “Not ‘ideal.’” His hair was split neatly down the side and combed perfect down to his ears. His moustache slightly grew out over his top lip, but other than that, he had a smooth and rather unremarkable face. He was watching a yellow-haired woman smoking a cigarette under her porch light at a house across the highway.

“‘Idea,’” Dewey repeated and nodded his head. “Dern it, you sure are smart when it comes to proper vocabulary stuff, Doyle.”

“That’s okay, Dewey,” Doyle said. “I ain’t as smart as you when it comes to fishin’. Every person has their own blessings, I suppose. What’s your idea?”

“Well, I was thinking why don’t we drive down to the Doublebee’s, see what’s goin’ on there?”

Doyle began to ponder the question when a hairy man with a large belly came out on the porch across the road to speak with the yellow-haired woman. The man wore tight sweat pants without a shirt and his top half reminded Doyle of a big ice cream cone melting away on a warm humid night.

Dewey caught a look at the man and shook his head

“Boy, J.D. sure is puttin’ back on the weight,” he said.

Doyle nodded and started his pickup. “And after them doctors done stapled up his stomach.”

“Well,” said Dewey, “they say he ain’t never been the same since his dog got hit by that chicken truck last year. Said he’s been eatin’ lots of pizzas and drinkin’ lots of beer to drown out his misery.”

“That’s too bad,” said Doyle. “Wasn’t Chester part Dalmatian?”

Dewey nodded. “And Chihuahua. Always was a funny lookin’ dog if you ask me. Real big with a tiny head…shrunken almost. Looked like somethin’ out of the Beetlejuice picture show. But boy, J.D. sure loved him.”

Doyle pulled the Ranger out of the parking lot, honked his horn and waved to J.D. and the yellow-haired woman. J.D. looked startled a bit and then returned Doyle’s wave. The yellow-haired woman handed J.D. a cigarette and barely glanced up at the pickup now heading down the highway.

A quarter of a mile down the road, Doyle steered the Ranger into the Doublebee’s lot and parked between the store and the car wash stalls, facing the traffic. He shut off his lights and engine.

A Walmart truck crept by on the highway with a slow loud rumble.

“What kind of stapler you reckon they used on J.D.?” Dewey asked after a moment.

Doyle hesitated. He had never thought of what type of stapler a surgeon would utilize on human tissue.

“Swingline, I suppose,” said Doyle after a moment. “It’s the most popular stapler. I betcha they have a special doctor edition.”

Dewey nodded. He looked to the empty road ahead and saw the faint glow of approaching light coming from the east direction of the highway.

“Must be near midnight,” he said. “Betcha that’s a feed truck from the Gaither farm.”

A few moments later, a dusty Mack truck with GAITHER FARMS lettered across the driver’s door drove by pulling a feed trailer.

Doyle switched on the radio. “Margaritaville” came to through the tinny-sounding speakers. He thought of a sunny sandy beach on the Gulf coastline, somewhere far from the Doublebee’s. Doyle had never been to a genuine beach, but figured it couldn’t be much more different than one of the sandbars on the river, only saltier.

“Boy,” said Dewey, “I remember the boys from the volunteer fire department hosing down that mess for about an hour before it came off the highway. They was holdin’ back J.D., tryin’ not to let him look at what was left of poor Chester. How’d you like to have seen that?”

Doyle shook his head.

“It’d be pretty terrible, Dewey,” he said. “I reckon I’d be more than partial to the pizza and Milwakee’s Best myself havin’ to put up with that vision in my head for the rest of my days.”

For the next 11 minutes, nothing but a stray cat found its way on the thoroughfare in front of them. The steady drone of the crickets, the occasional loud gunning of an engine in the distance, and the low volume of the radio was all that broke the night’s silence. Finally, a state trooper drove slowly up the highway in his shiny cruiser.

Doyle and Dewey nodded to the officer. The trooper barely tipped his chin in their direction and moved on by.

“Hey,” said Doyle, “how about we go back down to the Flash Market? See what’s goin’ on there now?”

Dewey sat for a moment, thought about what time he had to be at the shop in the morning, then nodded.

“Sure thing, Doyle,” he said.

Doyle cranked the Ranger to life, slid the gear into drive, and eased out of the Doublebee’s and back down the road.

My 10.16.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Sun, 24 Nov 2013 17:38:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 10.16.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

The waiting room was bland.

Bland colors. Bland furniture. Bland magazines. And bland faces on those waiting in the bland room for their blood test.

Except for the florescent lights buzzing overhead and the tick of the clock on the wall, all was silent. A few people were staring into space. Some were slumped against the wall catching a nap. Most others kept their heads down, staring at their phones, occasionally scrolling and tapping their screens. Each person seemed oblivious to one another as they waited for the receptionist behind the counter to call the next name.

Then, the outside door opened with a creak, and an elderly couple holding hands walked into the room. The woman, who looked to be about five or six years younger than her husband, took him to the counter. He said “Hello” to the receptionist and signed his name on the clipboard. The two turned back to face the group. The husband seemed to assess the crowd with a glance around the room and let out a laugh as he shook his head.

“I tell ya, what did you folks do before the world had all of those little phone gadgets?” he said to the group.

A few people looked up to him. One man chuckled. The rest simply seemed to ignore him.

The couple found two empty seats, and the husband, after sitting and crossing his legs, continued.

“You all have your heads in those little things,” he said. “No one talks to each other any more. Everybody is always on those little phones.”

A lady in the corner shifted in her seat. A large guy, maybe 40, looked at the husband and nodded in seeming agreement.

“You know, it wasn’t too long ago that the only type of phone we talked on was connected to a party line,” the husband said. “That’s the only kind of phone we had. One person would pick up to make a phone call, and the neighbor would be on the line talking to her sister or someone. So, you’d have to hang up and wait. Now, you carry those little phones with you anywhere you go. People are on little computers all the time. Everything’s a lot different.”

The wife nodded.

“We went to the movie yesterday,” she said, shaking her head.

He nodded and took his wife’s cue.

“Went to the movie yesterday,” he said. “Goodness, it was fifteen, twenty dollars for the two of us. When we were young, you could take your girl to the picture show for a quarter, have some popcorn and sodas, and still have change.” He laughed a bit and looked to the floor remembering. “There were two picture shows in our little town back then. One was a nice one, and the other not so nice. At the not so nice one, we used to say you could get your shoes shined while the picture played because of all the rats scurrying over your feet, you see.”

The couple laughed. Three or four others let out faint chuckles. One woman, apparently not fond of rodents, shivered and pulled her feet up to the seat.

“But, my goodness, things have changed,” the husband said. “Look at the price of groceries. Why, I remember when a loaf of bread was eighteen cents. Eighteen cents! Now, you can’t get out of the store without spending twenty, forty dollars or more. You really need to save for retirement. Lots of people make the mistake of not saving for retirement, and by the time they get our age, they’re in bad shape, you see.”

He paused for a moment and then looked up and around the room. Some people were still involved in their little phones while a few others stared at him with bland expressions. The husband nodded to himself.

“Boy, if there was one thing I could tell all of you, it’s to enjoy your youth. It doesn’t last forever, you see. One day, you’ll be sitting there and old age will come up and just slap you across the face. Next thing you know, you find yourselves sitting in all types of waiting rooms like this one. You start seeing some of the same faces, you start keeping up with each other’s conditions, and before you know it, fellow patients become your new social circle.”

The receptionist called the husband’s name, and he slowly rose. His wife took his hand, and before they made their way into the blood lab, he glanced around one the room last time.

“Yes, I hope the future holds a lot of positive things, but sometimes,” he said as he looked to them, “I wonder.”

And behind the door the couple went.

My 09.25.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Tue, 22 Oct 2013 15:57:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 09.25.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

I think longtime readers of this column know that your humble scribe is “tuned into” or “hip to” today’s culture. And naturally, keeping up with everything involving the current music, TV shows, movies, digital technology, and hot topics over the many years has provided me with some type of internal radar that is able to predict trends and things that will be really, really popular down the line.

Let me give you previous examples of this amazing, almost psychic blessing.

In the late 1990s, I predicted that technology would advance to the point where people would one day be able to communicate with each other over something called the Intranet. And look what happened when Bill Gates and Al Gore put their heads together? That’s right -- the Intranet was born.

Back in the day, I also correctly predicted that Madonna, Lady Gaga, Maria Carey, and a certain someone named Michael Jackson would one day have number one albums, and look how their careers turned out!

Plus, I also recognized way before The Da Vinci Code was released that Tom Hanks would someday be a superstar.

Yes, it’s almost scary how I can foresee tomorrow’s amazing cultural events. With that in mind, allow me to give you a heads up on some wonderful and surprising new items to be looking for on the “scene,” so to speak.

First, I’m not sure if any of you have heard of a new up and coming pop singer named Robin Thick, but he’s going to have a huge hit on the charts this autumn. It’s a little song called “Blurred Lines,” and before you know it, it will be all over the radio. Trust me on this: I know you may never have heard of this song, but it’s going to the top!

(Thick happens to be the son of famed superstar actor Alan Thick, who starred on the mega-hit sitcom, Growing Pains. The word from my well-placed sources in Hollywood is that Alan is mighty proud of his son – and once you hear this song, you’ll understand why. It’s catchy!)

And speaking of up and coming singers, let me clue you in on a country and western performer who has the potential to be one of the biggest stars in that particular genre of music. Her name is Carrie Underwood, and let me tell you, she can belt out the songs. She comes from a TV talent show called American Idol. You may not be aware of this program, but apparently audience members can call in and vote for their favorite contestant, and Underwood was very popular when she was on the show. Expect to hear some big songs from this lady in the near future. She just might be the next Reba MacEntire!

Switching gears from music to television, let me give you a prediction for a show that might turn into a huge reality television hit. Not many of you may be familiar with it, but there is a TV series called Duck Dynasty that has the potential to be a breakout success. If you have not seen it, the program follows the wacky adventures of a family of duck hunters from Louisiana. Most of the men on the show have long hair and beards and look as if they might need a bath, but call me nuts, I think audiences will love the “backwoods” humor of these folks and propel it to be a modest success. Who knows? It might become so big one day you might see their mugs on t-shirts, beach towels and lunchboxes, and men across America will bring ZZ Top beards into style. I may be wrong, but with my track record, I doubt it!

Finally, it’s rare I predict a show to be a hit without ever watching an episode, but I’ve been hearing some good things about a little TV show called Breakin’ Bad. I think it has a small, devoted audience, but with a little word of mouth someday, it might catch on in a big way. I’m a little fuzzy on what the show is about, but judging from the title, I hope it’s about breakdancing. Because, really, who doesn’t love breakdancing?

So, there you go. I hope you’ll take a little time to sample some of these predictions, and then sit back and see if they turn out to be true. I think you’ll be surprised!

Oh, and one more prediction: Be on the lookout for a new Intranet program called “Google.” I know, it’s an odd name, but apparently this is a website that acts like a dictionary or encyclopedia. For instance, you could enter the word, “tree,” and you would find out what a “tree” is by seeing all of the Intranet sites that mention that word. It’s fascinating, and might be very useful and popular if people catch on quick enough. Check it out “on the line” (as the “techies” say these days), and see if Rob is right!

My 09.11.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Tue, 22 Oct 2013 15:47:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 09.11.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

The Beatles at the Ridge festival is coming.

Yes, this is the shindig Walnut Ridge throws each year to celebrate the fact that in 1964, during the height of Beatlemania, the Fab Four touched down at the northeast Arkansas small town’s airport in a chartered plane. The group then got into a Chevrolet Suburban and was driven to a dude ranch in Missouri.

Some might think Walnut Ridge is reaching a little with its connection to The Beatles. A plane carrying John, Paul, George and Ringo landed at the airport, and then they left town. They were probably in Walnut Ridge for…what? Ten minutes? Twenty? Then -- zip! They were out of there. That’s it. Yes, they did return to fly out of Walnut Ridge, but again, we’re looking at another quick trip through the Ridge and back into the plane. No slam against the fest, but it’s probably a safe bet if one asked Ringo today about Walnut Ridge, he’d probably ask, “Where?”

I bring all of this up because Fordyce, Arkansas is missing an opportunity for a similar festival. It’s fairly common knowledge that on July 5, 1975, Keith Richards, the legendary lead guitarist for the Rolling Stones, was arrested with bandmate Ron Woods after passing through the town. At the time, the two were driving from Memphis to Dallas between shows. (For the details, click here.)

Apparently, they had a whole bunch of weed along with cocaine, peyote and mescaline. In fact, according to Richards in his acclaimed 2011 autobiography, Life, the illegal stash had been stuffed into the door panels of their rental car and was overlooked by the police during a search. Some Fordyce authorities present at the time have said the cops would have found the contraband because they claim a thorough search of the vehicle was made. A small bag of coke was eventually discovered along with a knife that was considered a concealed weapon, but Richards got off easy with a reckless driving charge and a fine of $162.50, which he promptly paid and then headed on to Dallas.

While Woods and Richards were waiting in City Hall during the legal process, it’s said they posed for pictures and chatted with the locals. There’s supposedly a picture somewhere of Richards playfully sitting behind the judge’s bench with his gavel. And as word spread around town that members of the most famous rock and roll band in the world were incarcerated in their fair city, a crowd formed outside the building hoping to a get a glimpse of the two.

When the Stones performed at Little Rock’s then-named Alltel Arena in 2006, Richards even asked the audience if anyone from Fordyce was in attendance and said he “used to know the police chief there.” The Arkansas governor at the time, Mike Huckabee, later issued an official pardon of Richards’ charge.

Certainly all of the elements are in place for Fordyce to exploit this claim to fame in the same manner of the Beatles at the Ridge festival. Rolling Stones cover bands can come and play. The 4-Dice Restaurant, where Richards and Woods had lunch that day (and, according to Life, spent about 40 minutes in the bathroom getting blitzed), could rake in the dough by having fans pose for pictures at the table where the two ate. They could even offer a “Keith Richards Special” -- steak and gravy-covered fries, which happened to be the guitarist’s lunch before he was arrested.

The festival could hold a contest to see how much illegal drugs can be stuffed into one car.

I’m telling you Fordyce is missing the boat on this.

Someone get the Fordyce Chamber of Commerce on the phone, and I’ll explain it all in detail. This sucker will put Fordyce on the map and bring in Rolling Stones fans from across the nation.

I can see it now: The Keith Richards Arrest Fest! Every July 5 in Fordyce! Sponsored by the Arkansas Department of Tourism, the Fordyce Chamber of Commerce, and Dorito’s – the weed smoker’s snack of choice.

Fordyce – you’re welcome.

My 09.04.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Tue, 22 Oct 2013 15:05:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 09.04.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

By now, I think most of us are very familiar with the notorious performance by Miley Cyrus at the 2013 Video Music Awards the other evening. Many people were shocked at the blatant lewdness and extreme sexual innuendo the former Disney Channel star exhibited during the Aug. 25 broadcast. Pundits, both liberal and conservative, immediately decried the appearance, and polls show most Americans think the 20-year-old pop star went too far over the edge as she mimicked intimate acts, danced very provocatively, and even groped fellow performer, singer Robin Thicke.

And in one incident that is currently being investigated by authorities, an 84-year-old Batesville resident (and longtime acquaintance of your humble scribe) claims he not only suffered “extreme mental anguish” by Cyrus’ performance, but that he was also actually blinded by the shocking routine from the former Hannah Montana.

Buddy Reeves, a retired used car salesman and former Walmart greeter, met with me late last week at an area park to discuss the traumatizing incident. He was accompanied by his son Marcus, who guided Buddy to a seat at a nearby picnic table upon their arrival.

“Oh Rob,” Buddy said as he eased down to the bench, “it was horrible. Just horrible.” He was wearing large black sunglasses, a t-shirt that read in iron-on letters “IMPEACH OBANA,” and an old pair of denim overalls. I had brought Buddy’s favorite Sonic snack.

“Daddy, Rob got you a Frito Pie!” Marcus said in a loud voice as he leaned down to his father. Buddy jumped back startled at the loudness and slapped the air at his son, but missed.

“Boy! How many times I tell you I ain’t deaf? Hell yes, I want a Frito Pie! Did Whitey get extra onions like I like?”

“Whitey” is Buddy’s occasional nickname for me.

“I did,” I said as I passed the Sonic sack to Marcus. He unwrapped it and placed it in front of Buddy. He then unfolded a napkin and stuffed it in his father’s shirt collar. “Are you ready, Daddy?”

“Just shut your piehole and gimme a bite!” he said. “I need to talk with Whitey.”

Marcus scooped up a plastic forkful and placed it in front of Buddy’s mouth.

“Here come the choo choo, Daddy!”

This time when Buddy slapped the air, he connected with his son, smacking Marcus on the back side of his head. Buddy grabbed the fork as if he could see it right in front of his face.

“I ain’t no infirm, boy! I can feed myself!”

He shook his head and took a bite.

“So, Buddy,” I said, “tell me what happened.”

“Well, it was a Sunday night,” he said. “As usual, nothing interesting was on the TV, so I was switching channels, and all of sudden I come across a show where some crazy-haired girl was skipping all around a stage. I mean, I ain’t never seen nothing like it. She had her tongue hanging out like a bloodhound. She was fondling all these giant dancing teddy bears. Her butt cheeks were poking out of her undies. And then she got this giant foam finger and started doing things with it that I ain’t never imagined in my entire life.”

“That’s when Daddy started screaming, Rob,” Marcus told me. “Didn’t you Daddy?”

Buddy brought up his hand as if he was going to try another slap, but after a moment, he put it back in his lap and just shook his head.

“Anyways, once I saw what she was doing with that foam finger, I passed out in my recliner. It was if my body could not handle what I was seeing. I simply shut down like a pinball machine going ‘TILT.’ I was so shocked and disgusted. When I finally woke up, everything was black. Couldn’t see a thing.”

“So, have you been to the doctor?” I asked. “This might be some temporary issue, or it could be something more serious.”

Buddy put another forkful of Frito Pie in his mouth and shook his head.

“I ain’t going to no doctor,” he said. “I think it was all divine provence this happened.”

“Provence?” I asked, but Buddy kept on talking.

“Whitey, I think God blinded me because He knew it was a sin that I was watching that there Devil woman prance around with her rear end flabbing out up and down like that, and then she started fornicating with that foam finger and what not – it was definitely Satan inspired.”

“Well, Buddy, I hope however it happened, your sight returns soon.”

“I ain’t giving up hope, Whitey. I been watching Jim Bakker on the TV, and he’s been inspiring me. You know, he’s still preaching? I figure if the Big Man can forgive Jim for running around with that big-haired harlot from years back, then surely He can forgive me.”

We all sat for a moment, considering this somewhat hopeful and, for Buddy, optimistic outlook. Perhaps divine intervention would bring his sight back. What a blessing that would be.

“Are you ready to go, Daddy?” Mark suddenly asked in a loud voice. “You don’t want to miss your afternoon nap.”

Buddy jerked back and slapped at the air again.

“Boy, when I get my sight back, first thing I’m gonna do is draw a big bulls-eye on your back, then I’m gonna grab my 410, and give you about a five second head start.”

And with that, the Reeves men got up and left.

My 08.14.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Thu, 19 Sep 2013 12:21:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 08.14.2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

Some of you in the Batesville/Newport region may know my friend, “Sasquatch” Lipton. He’s about six foot three, bearded, with waist-length hair always pulled back into a ponytail. He favors sleeveless football jerseys that accentuate his large tattooed arms, and he strikes an imposing, hairy figure – thus his nickname.

I was spray tanning myself the other day in Riverside Park when I saw Sasquatch for the first time in a few months. He was walking his bulldog when he came over wearing shades and a sleeveless football jersey, smoking a Marlboro Light. The bulldog was also wearing shades and a sleeveless football jersey that read “MEAT” on the back.

“R.G.,” Sasquatch said. “Workin’ on the tan, my man. Lookin’ good, brother.”

He gave me a high five, then a fist pump, then grabbed my hand and pulled his shoulder to mine and hugged me as only a man can manly hug a man without feeling weird about it.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve been seeing a lotta girls check me out with it, you know?”

“You know it, brother. Lookin’ like a million with that Arctic blonde hair and dark skin. Meat might not even recognize you with that tan goin’ on.” Sasquatch looked down to the dog. “Hey, Meat. Remember brother Rob here?”

Meat sat on his hind legs with a huff and cocked his head up to me. He was also smoking a Marlboro Light.

“I thought Meat quit smoking,” I said.

Sasquatch chuckled. “Yeah, dude. He did for a bit, but then he got hung up on this little poodle down the street that didn’t want nothin’ to do with him. He’d go sniffin’ around, and she just yapped at him. Brought ole Meat down. Next thing I know, he’d managed to scrape off his Nicotine patch and was whinin’ for some of my cigs like old times.”

“Well, I guess we all have our vices,” I said. “So, how ya been?”

Sasquatch’s face turned serious, and he looked to the ground. “Oh man, guess you didn’t hear what happened to me down in Tunica?”

His mood had turned on a dime. He took a draw on his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke that, for a moment, obscured his face until it finally dissipated into the river breeze.

“Brother, bout three months back, I’m down there with two of my old buds from the Marines,” he said. “Skeeter Jowls from Chicago flew into Memphis, and then Billy Don Johnson drove in from Texas. Skeeter is all tan and fit like you R.G., but he lost his nose to a psycho ex-girlfriend and a pair of garden shears back in ‘03. Has to wear glasses with a fake rubber nose now, sorta like that Groucho Marx dude from the old movies. Other than that he looks great.”

“And Billy Don? How’s he?”

“Well, that’s a different story,” Sasquatch said. “Billy Don done gone and started dressin’ up in women’s clothing. Said he’s always been more comfortable as Willie Dawn Johnson.”

“Whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

“Yeah, but the dude weighs about 400 pounds now. Really let him, uh -- herself go on the Hot Pockets and chili cheese dogs if you get my drift. Looks like a swelled up Macy’s balloon of a Cabbage Patch girl. Before too long, the girl might need a bunch of munchkins holdin’ on to her with ropes or she’ll float off.”

“Sad,” I said.

“Yeah, but she’s happy,” Sasquatch replied. “Anyway, we all meet up in the VIP room at the Gold Strike, ‘cause VIP is the only way I roll, and I’m sittin’ there drinkin’ an ice cold Bud Light. Skeeter sittin’ across from me chattin’ up some ladies from Olive Branch. And then Willie Dawn’s loadin’ up her ordurb – or whatever you call it – plate from the buffet with little chicken wings, tiny toasted spinach pie-lookin’ things, lots of cheese chunks, fried chicken tenders, and rolls and stuff, and she just smothered this pile in hot cheese dip and ranch dressing. So she brings this plate, overflowin’ with all types of food drippin’ off the edges, back to our table, and she starts stuffin’ all this junk down her throat like a damn great white shark! I’m talkin’ about like Jaws goin’ to town on Captain Quint, or uh, Cookie Monster tearin’ through some cookies, and the crumbs are sprayin’ all over the VIP room, know what I mean?!?

“Other people in the VIP room start lookin’ and gettin’ disgusted by what’s happenin’, so much so that some of ‘em start splittin’. Pretty soon, it’s just a bartender, Skeeter, me and Willie Dawn in the VIP room. By now, Willie Dawn is goin’ back for seconds. She gets back to the table with her plate, starts shovelin’ more food down, and before you know it, her face gets all beet red, and we realize the girl got a tiny little chicken wing stuck in her gullet! Girl starts chokin’ and grabbin’ her throat and stuff. She bursts up from the table, knocks Skeeter to the floor! Skeeter’s nose comes flyin’ off across the VIP room! Bartender sees that, screams like a little baby, and runs out the VIP room! Meanwhile, I grab Willie Dawn from back behind her waist, start giving her the Heimlich thing, her damn wig falls off, and now security comes bustin’ in with Tasers while I’m gropin’ a 400 pound man in a dress from behind and poor Skeeter’s down on the floor tryin’ to find his damn nose!”

“What happened then?” I asked.

“They kicked us out!”

“What? They kicked Sasquatch outta the VIP room?!?”

“Stone cold kicked us out. And I’m a VIP! Don’t think they won’t be hearin’ from my law team. I’m a VIP! Don’t no security team embarrass Sasquatch and then kick Sasquatch outta the VIP room!”

It then looked as if he might begin to weep. I reached out and placed my hand on his shoulder.

“You’re gonna make it, man,” I said. “You’re the Sasquatch. And the Sasquatch is known by the Native Americans to be a warrior creature only rivaled by the Great White Buffalo in its sheer strength, mighty resilience, and healthy musk.”

“Thanks, bro,” he said as he wiped his eye underneath his sunglasses. “Gonna need some support. Sasquatch always rolls VIP baby.”

I gathered my spray tanning equipment together and put my sweats on over my Speedo.

“Well, I have to head home, Sasquatch. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

“I know, bro,” he said. “I know.” We hugged another time, again secure in our manhood.

And as I walked away, I turned back to look to them – Sasquatch with Meat sitting proudly by his master’s side, both gazing out toward the sun setting over the White River.

“Hey, Sasquatch,” I yelled to him.

He turned to me, the breeze causing his ponytail to dance in the late summer air.

“You’ll always be a VIP to me!”

Sasquatch looked at me for a moment then took out his cigarette, slowly raised his fist and extended his thumb. Meat dropped his cigarette, stubbed it out with his paw, and gave me a nod of appreciation as well.

Then, the two walked away into the sunset.

My 08.07.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Mon, 05 Aug 2013 13:19:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 08.07.2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

One of the biggest concert events to hit the area since Elvis Presley played the White River Water Carnival in the 1950s occurred Saturday, July 27, when the Bethesda Jam was unleashed at the Jed Bradslaw farm just past the old Kerr-McGhee station in Bethesda.

The concert brought out a reported 44 people from all over Independence County to see country superstars John Conlee, Jim Ed Brown, John Anderson, Billy Joe Royal, Ricochet and Sawyer Brown perform throughout the afternoon.

Clearly, the North Central Arkansas region had never seen such an assemblage of legendary musical talent on the same stage. Said one elderly woman from Cushman as she was being loaded into an ambulance for heat exhaustion: “Lordy, I can’t breathe!”

She was just that excited.

The inaugural Bethesda Jam exploded from the beginning with a blistering performance from Ricochet. Slim Dale Evans of Locust Grove told this reporter he hadn’t seen the band deliver a show that entertaining since he saw them at the Washington County Fair in 2007. Thelma Schoonwaker of Batesville said Royal brought tears to her eyes when he performed his big hit, “I’ll Pin a Note on Your Pillow.” And even though it was 6:45 p.m. at the time, Buford Clank of Mount Pleasant still held a cigarette lighter in the air when Conlee performed his signature song, “Rose Colored Glasses.”

However, some locals were not thrilled with the concert and the prospect of the Bethesda Jam becoming an annual event.

“It just brings out the wrong kind of element,” said Esther Gar of Bethesda. “I was watching out my window at some of the crowd, and those Red Hat ladies were everywhere with their thin cigarettes and wine coolers. Mary Lou Howell down the road even said she saw a bunch of Red Hatters coming off Jim Ed Brown’s bus around 9 p.m.! Can you imagine such a thing? What in the world could all those ladies be doing on his bus until that late of an hour?!? The concert ended at 8 p.m.!”

Walking back and forth at the entrance of the Bradslaw farm, Charlie Backlump of Bethesda had his opinion of the show written on a sign he held: “JOHN CONLEE AND SAWYER BROWN ETC IS ALL GOING TO HELL.”

“I am agin’ any music that promotes any type of Sodom-like behavior,” said Backlump who actually has a large lump on his back. “Now, just listen to some songs these heathen are singin’ up on that there stage. This Sawyer Brown feller is singin’ about “Goin’ Out Cattin’”! That long-haired John Anderson feller sings about a man and lady all huggin’ together on a porch swing. This sinner John Conlee sings songs called “Lady Lay Down,” “Baby, You’re Something,” “As Long as I’m Rocking with You,” and I think we all know that his song, “I Don’t Remember Loving You” is probably all about gettin’ drunk and fornicatin’ with some Jezebel and then wakin’ up the next morning not rememberin’ your sinnin’ the night before!”

However, Bethesda Jam promoter, Zack Donovan, says critics of the concert are few and far between.

“I gotta tell ya, most of the folks love to see these iconic acts,” said Donovan, a Sulphur Rock gerbil farmer who dabbles in concert production and Cheez Whiz. “When was the last time someone as big as Billy Joe Royal, John Conlee or Ricochet ever performed around the Bethesda area? Sure, they play some regional county fairs now and then, but never Bethesda proper. No, I think it’s time the true big name talent comes to Bethesda, instead of Bethesda coming to them.

“And let me tell ya something, Bethesda Jam 2 is gonna be better! I’ve already got a call into Neal McCoy and Diamond Rio. We add those two acts to this group of individuals next year, and you, my friend, have the potential for another Woodstock.”

As for Jed Bradslaw, he’s all for the next Bethesda Jam.

“Oh, I loved it,” he said. “I got my picture taken with Jim Ed Brown and John Conlee. My granddaughter put it on the Facebook thing. That little bald headed guy in Sawyer Brown was a little rude, though. Said he didn’t have time for a picture.”

Jed’s wife, Ethel, nodded with her arms folded.

“Don’t think we’ll be listenin’ to any more of their records,” she curtly said. “He must be too good for us, him comin’ from the big city in his fancy red leather pants all tight and such. He probably eats that sushi stuff.”

“But overall,” Jed said, “we really had a ball.”

“I could’ve done without the loudness,” Ethel said. “That Ricochet band was just a bunch of racket if you ask me. Sounded like one of those punk bands from the big city, in their tight blue jeans and such.”

After a moment, Jed cleared his throat.

“Yes sir,” he said. “It was a really neat show.”

As for this reporter, I’ll keep you up to date with details of Bethesda Jam 2 in 2014.

Stay tuned!

My 07.31.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Mon, 05 Aug 2013 12:49:00 +0000

Here’s one from the “All Over the Map” archives. This was printed in the Sept. 26, 2007 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

Allow me to introduce you to Willy and Dave.

Willy and Dave are freshmen at colleges that are about an hour apart from each other in central Arkansas. Childhood friends, they also played football together at an area school and both are continuing to follow their gridiron dreams into the collegiate level.

It’s fair to say the transition from being cared for to having to take care of themselves has been somewhat rocky for our two heroes. Once, during the first week or two of school, Dave came down with a cold. So, doing what had come naturally all of his life, he called his mom.

“Mom,” he said. “I have a cold.”

“Okay,” she said. “Just get yourself a nasal decongestant.”

“Huh?”

“You need to go and get a decongestant, honey.”

“Uhhh…what’s a decongestant?”

His mom sighed and said: “Honey, it’s medicine that will clear all of the junk in your nose and head. Helps you breathe better.”

“Huh?” A pause. “Oh.” Another pause. “Uhhh…where can I get this…uhhh…decongestant?”

“Honey,” she said. “Just go to a pharmacy or Wal-Mart.”

“Huh?” A pause. “Oh.”

It was conversations such as this one that sometimes gave Dave’s mother pause. Not three weeks into college, and he had to have his mother tell him the basics of buying cold medicine.

It was, she thought, going to be a long four years.

So, dear reader, keep in mind what we’re dealing with as I tell you the following story.

Since they became college freshmen, Willy and Dave decided to start a tradition. Every Wednesday night, Dave would get away from his smelly, messy dorm and drive over to his buddy’s college town to have the “All You Can Eat Shrimp” at a local restaurant. Then, after devouring dinner, they would go spend the night hanging out at Willy’s ultra-nice apartment until sleep called.

Yet, there was only one bed in Willy’s place, so Dave had to sleep on the floor. And, the floor was not a comfy place to sleep. That’s when they decided to go and purchase a king size air mattress. They brought the mattress back to the apartment, ripped open the box, and stared at it for a moment.

“Uhhh,” one said to the other. “How do we get the air in it?”

A pause.

“Uhhh,” said Dave. “I guess I could blow it up.”

A pause.

“Uhhh,” said Willy. “Okay.”

Dave pulled open the air plug, put it to his lips and started blowing up the mattress.

Thirty minutes later, an exhausted Dave gave up. The mattress was not even halfway full of air.

“This sucks,” he said. “There’s gotta be a better way to blow this thing up.”

A pause.

“Hey,” he said. “Why don’t we take the air mattress to my truck, start the engine, and hook the mattress up to the tail pipe? Then, it’ll fill up really quick.”

Now, dear reader, it’s time for us take a pause.

Because although you might think I’m pulling your leg at this point, I can assure you I am not.

This is a true story. These two college freshmen actually thought one could hook the air plug of an air mattress to the exhaust of a pick up truck, rev the engine and have the carbon monoxide inflate the makeshift bed.

When they got to the truck, they realized the air plug on the air mattress was much smaller than the tail pipe.

“Uhhh,” one of them pondered aloud. “How do we hook it up to the pipe?”

They slowly looked down to the air plug. Then they slowly looked to the exhaust.

“Uhhh,” one of them said. “I think we just need to keep blowing it up with our lips.”

They turned around and walked back into the apartment with the limp mattress.

It’s unknown if they ever managed to manually blow it up. It’s also unknown if they ever figured out that, for a price less than the “All You Can Eat Shrimp” platter, most stores sell tiny little gadgets that can inflate air mattresses in a matter of minutes.

They’re located a few aisles over from the nasal decongestants.

My 07.24.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Mon, 05 Aug 2013 12:43:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 07.24.2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR OF ARKANSAS WEEKLY:

Dear Reader of “All Over the Map”:

After observing some irrational behavior coupled with the increasingly bizarre content of his column over the past few years, the loved ones of Rob Grace have grown increasingly concerned that Rob is suffering from a complete inability to recognize that he is not funny. As such, a surprise intervention was recently held at an Arkadelphia Stuckey’s as Rob was travelling to Dallas to audition for the new Chippendale’s touring company.

Dr. Shawn Connorie, a psychology professor at the University of Cushman, was hired by Rob’s relatives to help evaluate the longtime Arkansas Weekly columnist’s mental state as well as his stubborn insistence that he is a comic genius on the level of someone such as Carrot Top or Larry the Cable Guy.

“Some of Rob’s relatives and pals came to me with videos of Rob interactin’ in a variety of secretly taped situations,” said Dr. Connorie in a thick Scottish accent from his office on the U. of C. campus. Connorie came to the university from his native Scottish village of Des Moines after falling in love with the chicken smell of the Batesville area. “In each video, Rob tries to crack jokes all the time, and every one of ‘em falls flat. But he keeps it up, growin’ more obnoxious and embarrassin’ by the moment. I mean, in one video, he makes a joke at the family dinner table only to have it met with awkward silence and the clatter of silverware clinkin’ against the china. Finally, after a moment, Rob’s own mother simply shakes her head and, without lookin’ up, says to him, ‘I knew we should’ve given you up for adoption.’”

“It’s really sad,” said Dr. Connorie as he dabbed at a tear in the corner of his eye with the edge of his kilt. He glumly shook his head and then looked down. “Oh, whoops! Now ya know what we Scottish men like – or should I say: don’t like -- to wear underneath! Just call me the Kilt Commando!”

Rob’s lack of comedic talent in writing “All Over the Map” has also concerned fellow columnists at Arkansas Weekly. T. Blanston, Jr., -- author of the column, “One Headlight,” which is sometimes printed in this space when Rob is on vacation -- said he’s known for some time now that Rob is “on a one-way ride to Looneyville.”

“Did you see the ‘cartoon’ he drew and had published from his notepad a few issues ago?” Blanston asked over the phone from Nice, France where he was getting his hair massaged at an exclusive salon. “And his little doodle of himself with a six-pack abdomen and long thick, flowing hair. What was that all about? The only six-pack he has is sitting in his fridge. Then, he’s always writing some nonsense about Miley Cyrus or Justin Bieber. It’s quite pathetic to see the lengths to which the boy has sunk.”

Neither Blanston nor Dr. Connorie was able to attend the intervention in Arkadelphia, but initial reports have indicated it was not a success. Rob refused to go to a rehabilitation center in Connecticut that specializes with delusional comedic therapy after the columnist learned he would not only have to give up this column, but also his Twitter and Facebook accounts – both utilized by the columnist in writing posts that he considers to be at “the Sinbad-level of comic genius,” as he once told a friend.

“I also heard that not many relatives and acquaintances showed up at the intervention,” said Blanston. “The group only included a distant cousin, some hitchhiker that was riding with the cousin, and a great-great aunt who hasn’t been the same since she was bitten by a tick in 1998. She just sort of sat and drooled while she knitted mittens for her imaginary friend, Roscoe.”

Teddy “Sasquatch” Lipton, a longtime friend of Rob’s, was set to participate in the intervention, but cancelled when he realized it was scheduled on the same day as karaoke at the V.F.W. in Batesville.

He now regrets not attending.

“Man -- gotta be straight with you,” said Lipton, whose long hair, beard and sheer size make him look like the tall, furry and mysterious creature of the Northwest for which he is nicknamed. Lipton sat on a barstool in the dance club, Discovery -- his favorite hotspot when he travels to Little Rock – and sipped a Bud Light longneck.

“Even though he’s goofy and isn’t as good looking as I am, I still sort of like Rob. But when Thursdays come, I gotta sing, know what I’m talking about? It’s Karaoke time for the Sasquatch. Intervention was on a Thursday. The Sasquatch can’t drive to Arkadelphia and then all the way back to the V.F.W. in one day and expect to have his game on when the Sasquatch grabs the microphone later that night. The Sasquatch gotta be able to knock ‘Purple Rain’ outta the park, know what I’m talking about? Crowd goes wild when the Sasquatch sings ‘Purple Rain,’ know what I’m talking about? Anyways, when I found out the intervention with Rob didn’t work, I wondered if I should’ve gone to Arkadelphia and taken care of business, my own self. T.C.B., baby, know what I’m talking about? The Sasquatch would’ve gotten Rob on the plane to Connecticut. The Sasquatch don’t mess around, know what I’m talking about? That’s how the Sasquatch rolls.”

Sasquatch paused for a moment. His eyes saddened, and he looked down to the club’s floor, still covered in glitter and fake eyelashes from the night before.

“Seriously…I know, deep inside, I should have been there,” he said. “I should have made him get on that plane. Now, the next time I get my Arkansas Weekly in the mail, I know I -- and all those other readers -- will have to suffer through another dumb, stupid column of his. And, to be honest, I don’t know how much more of his dumb, stupid columns I can take.

“I mean, if I have to read another “All Over the Map” by Rob Grace, I might as well stick my head in the oven and crank on the gas, know what I’m talking about? It’s torture.”

My 07.17.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Tue, 16 Jul 2013 20:57:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the 07.17.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

My 07.10.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Fri, 05 Jul 2013 22:01:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the July 10, 2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

I think we can all agree the recent unsavory and hateful terms spouted off by celebrity chef/butterqueen bluehair Paula Deen and the tamper throwing, continually bloated actor Alec Baldwin were unnecessary and hurtful. Deen, as we all well know, copped to using the “N” word years back while Baldwin continued his habit of obliterating any good will built up over his previous public meltdowns by tweeting homosexual slurs and threats of physical violence toward a male reporter who had accused – mistakenly, it was later determined -- Baldwin’s wife of tweeting during actor James Ganolfini’s funeral service.

There is no occasion where such language against another group is appropriate, and the resulting outrage condemning the two confirmed as much.

So why is America turning a blind – or should I say, “pink” – eye away from an offensive and stereotyped character in the popular new film, The Heat, starring Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy? After viewing the film, I’m appalled and amazed controversy has not yet erupted over the movie’s hateful and irresponsible portrayal of another group of people who suffer from harassment every day.

In The Heat, our heroines – one an FBI agent (Bullock), the other a tough cop (McCarthy) – run afoul of a DEA agent named Craig. Craig is presented in the film as a no nonsense man who doesn’t appreciate the women nosing into a case he and his partner have worked long hours to build. Bullock and McCarthy’s characters, in turn, needlessly mock and hassle Craig simply because of the color of his skin.

By now, if you haven’t seen the film, you’re probably appalled at the concept of a mainstream popular film mocking a character because of how genetics formed him. At the screening of the movie I attended, the audience bellowed and guffawed at the continual taunts thrown Craig’s way. I sat in stunned silence, not only ashamed at my fellow American citizens for laughing along at the persecution of a man because of the way he looks, but also because I too belong to that particular group of people of which Craig is a member.

Yes, the character of Craig in The Heat is an albino.

Now, I’m not officially an albino. I don’t have the pale eyes, but brother lemme tell ya: My skin is borderline translucent. In fact, I was recently contacted by the producers of Ripley’s Believe It or Not after they heard reports I can glow in the dark.

There’s probably not a day that goes by where I’m not mistaken for Edgar Winter. Or where someone stops and tells me, “I simply loved you in that movie Powder.” Or where a parent points at me and says to their child, “Look, son. That’s what happens when you get a moonburn.”

Powder

As if this wasn’t enough, my own flesh and blood mock me. Whenever I walk into my parents’ home for Sunday lunch, the family puts on their sunglasses all at once. Just last week, my daughter informed me that she will now only refer to me as Big Daddy QTip. And even my own grandmother used to ask me to come over when the power was off, so I could illuminate her room while she knitted.

Imagine now, then, how I felt as I watched this insipid little movie portraying a fellow brother in alabaster, this DEA Agent Craig, as a chalky buffoon. Other characters mock his Clorox-bleached appearance throughout the film, and spoiler alert, near the end, when you think DEA Agent Craig might save the lives of the two main characters, he is instead shot dead between the eyes by the bad guy.

So, not only do the filmmakers mercilessly mock the pale guy, they then end up blowing his brains out!

And where’s the outrage? When will someone take a stand for those of the fair complexion? I tell you now: I’m as mad as Hades!

That’s why I’m currently in the process of filing the paperwork to form the political action group, The Albino Alliance. Despite its title, the Alliance will not be exclusive to albinos, but will also include the millions of us with little to no pigment. We will fight against the negative portrayal of our snow complected brothers and sisters in Hollywood and the rest of the entertainment world. We will ensure there will never be another DEA Agent Craig onscreen again, and that the next pale film character will be one with respect and power.

A character such as THE ARCTIC STALLION! A mild-mannered newspaper columnist-turned-action-hero after he uses a mysterious tanning bed with magical powers! THE ARCTIC STALLION will fight the bad guys and tantalize the ladies while saving the country from the evil TanMaster, portrayed by legendary movie star George Hamilton.

And I have the perfect person to portray THE ARCTIC STALLION!

Me!

I’ll be like Brad Pitt, but only frosted.

My costume will simply be boots, tight denim jeans, and a bare white six pack underneath a massive broad chest.

So be on the lookout for THE ARCTIC STALLION! Coming to theatres in 2014!

In 3-D and ArcticVision!

An Albino Alliance Production.

My 07.03.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Fri, 05 Jul 2013 21:43:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the July 3, 2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

My 06.19.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Fri, 05 Jul 2013 21:30:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the June 19, 2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

I don’t know about you, but I’m really getting tired of hearing about this Justin Beaver punkface. I think someone needs to teach this bubblegum pop song-singing-stuck-in-puberty punkface kid a few lessons in life.

And I think the perfect teacher would be me: Mr. Pain.

This Justin Beaver punkface is on a spoiled brat roll that makes Lindsay Lohan look like Mother Teresa.

In the past few months, he has continually threatened paparazzi with tough boy talk that he can’t back up with that little scrawny punkface body of his.

He has been spotted recently tooling around in an expensive Audi R8 sports car that happens to be covered in leopard print.

You read that right. This Justin Beaver punkface drives a leopard print Audi R8 that has a list price of around $150,000. I don’t know about you, but a leopard print car seems like something Liberace would have driven back in the day.

The other day, this Justin Beaver punkface almost had said punkface caved in by an angry neighbor because this Justin Beaver punkface was speeding a Ferrari, his other ridiculously expensive car, through their upscale neighborhood. This angry neighbor happened to be a rather large former NFL football player who possesses a pair of hands that could crush this Justin Beaver punkface’s skull until his eyes popped out like Daffy Duck’s in a Looney Tunes cartoon.

So, naturally, what did this punkface Justin Beaver do when the football player came up his driveway? He ran inside his big fancy mansion and hid like the punkface fraidy baby he is! He probably hid in his playroom full of Barbies and Pokemon dolls until the “mean ole football player” went away.

But now, this Justin Beaver punkface has crossed a line. This Justin Beaver punkface has done something so evil, menacing and unbelievable that something must now be done to stop his reign of bratty terror.

This Justin Beaver punkface is now creeping, or perhaps a better word would be “oozing,” over into my territory. You see, according to TMZ, this Justin Beaver punkface is trying to make the move on my precious little Miley Cyrus! (Click here for the dirt.)

That ain’t gonna happen. I’m not about to let my precious little Miley Cyrus be infected by this spoiled rotten, baggy pant-wearing, subpar-Leif Garrett-wannabe Justin Beaver punkface and his skanky self. He has probably played Spin the Bottle with so many slutfaces backstage, his lips have a blister for every one.

No, no, no, no. My precious little Miley Cyrus will not be corrupted.

Despite what the earthly court of law says, the unjust restraining order taken out against me for stalking my precious little Miley Cyrus will not inhibit my God-given duty to ensure she is safe from the vile thug that is known as this Justin Beaver punkface.

So: Mr. Pain’s bags are packed, and his plane leaves from Memphis at 10:45 tomorrow morning. Mr. Pain will then arrive at LAX around 1:25 Pacific Standard Time that afternoon.

And, here is how Mr. Pain envisions his next few hours.

Mr. Pain will take a taxi to downtown Hollywood and purchase a ticket for the next Celebrity Homes Tour. When the Celebrity Homes Tour bus arrives at this Justin Beaver punkface’s mansion, Mr. Pain will feign illness and depart from the bus. Mr. Pain will then wait for the mansion gate to open. When a ridiculous-looking leopard print Audi R8 emerges, Mr. Pain will then step in front of the vehicle. After it screeches to a halt, Mr. Pain will then approach the driver’s side window. The adrenaline will now be racing through Mr. Pain. The window will roll down, and there, Mr. Pain will finally be face to face.

And as Mr. Pain takes in the person behind the wheel, he will say, in a very shaky, nervous whisper: “Uh, Mr. Beaver…, I was wondering if you were looking for any older backup dancers for your concerts and videos. Cause if so, uh, sir, I can really bust a move. Can I show you some steps, sir?”

Suddenly, a security team will tackle Mr. Pain to the ground, and as he is pushed to the asphalt, he will scream: “I love you Justin! I love you!”

Mr. Pain will then be arrested by the Beverly Hills Police Department and incarcerated with the general population in a holding cell where he quickly will be forced to become the unwilling love slave of fellow inmate – fallen soap opera star Chandling Fallows.

By 8:30 Pacific Standard Time tomorrow night, TMZ will report the following: A borderline-albino newspaper columnist from the publication, Arkansas Weekly, who is currently under court order to stay 500 miles away from Miley Cyrus has now been arrested outside the home of Justin Bieber for allegedly stalking that particular pop star.

Rob Grace, described by his Arkansas Weekly co-workers and his two sisters as “completely bats*** nuts,” was arrested by Bieber’s security forces around an hour ago as Grace approached the pop star’s vehicle.

However, there is a happy ending to this story: since his arrest, Grace and his cellmate, controversial incarcerated former soap opera star, Chandling Fallows, have announced their upcoming marriage. The photo rights for the July 6 nuptials have already been sold to US Weekly.

Congratulations to the lucky couple from everyone here at TMZ!

My 06.12.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Fri, 07 Jun 2013 19:37:00 +0000

Here’s my fabulous column from the 06.12.2013 Arkansas Weekly:

Don’t be surprised if the next time you see me, I am rocking a pompadour and wearing a rhinestone-studded suit with a matching flowing cape.

It’s going to be my new look.

Yes, dear reader, after watching the HBO film, Behind the Candelabra, which is a docudrama based on the love affair between the flamboyant pianist and Las Vegas legend, Liberace (played in the film by Michael Douglas), and his much younger boyfriend, Scott Thorson (played by Matt Damon, who – like me – looks fantastic in a bejeweled Speedo).

Now I know what you’re thinking. What? Liberace was gay? I know. I had no clue either. But, apparently he was flaming – which not only suited him but also fueled his fabulous style.

First, he had an amazing head of hair. I’m sure Elvis was quite envious of Liberace’s glorious pompadour. Yes, it was an elaborate toupee, but what a toupee it was: a brownish, hair-sprayed bundle styled in a swirl so perfect it would look at home on top of a delectable sundae. Damn! What a hairstyle he had! So, I’m currently in the process of growing my own hair. When it gets to the length where my barber can do the pompadour thing, I’ll probably also add a hint of color because -- and I know this will be as hard to believe as the fact that Liberace played for the other team -- but I do have a little silver in my mane.

Next, his wardrobe. I would bet money that when Liberace and Elvis hung out, they probably talked about clothes. They both had truly spectacular outfits, covered in glittery jewels. They both wore capes. And just about each of their fingers had shiny gold rings so big that one could probably see them from Skylab.

Naturally, if I’m going to being mirroring the style of Liberace, I’m going to have to save some money. I might even have to resort to my former career as a provocative male model, selling topless photos of myself lathered in baby oil to the local ladies. (Ladies: For more info, give me a call. The eight by tens start at $5. Color glossies begin at $10.)

But of course, Liberace’s style wasn’t all glamour and expensive glitz. As the film shows, Liberace had a simply lovely personality. When he glided into a room, he owned it with his charming smile, his energetic mannerisms, and his seemingly natural curiosity about others that would make them feel like they were the most interesting person in the room.

For instance, let’s pretend I met Liberace for the first time back in the mid-‘70s.

“Hi, Mr. Liberace,” I would have said. “I’m Rob Grace.”

“OH! LOOK AT YOU!” he would have replied with a wave of his wrist. “I absolutely love the color of your hair! What do you use?”

“Well, actually, Mr. Liberace, it’s my natural color.”

“What?!? Nooooo!” he would have said as he feigned shock. “I can’t believe it! It’s so unique! If it had a name, I would call it ‘arctic blonde.’ And if it had a personality, I would describe it as…let’s see…Oh, I know -- vivacious!”

See how Liberace made me feel as if I was special person? I think if we all had such a gracious attitude toward each other, the world might be a better place.

Finally, the film also shows Liberace was an avid lover of baths. I would estimate he is portrayed lounging in his beautiful Jacuzzi with a glass of champagne at least 47 percent of the movie’s running time. By sheer coincidence, I, too, am a fanatic about my bath time. It’s unfortunate I have to come to the office every day because I think I would be much more productive if I could work from the tub while sipping some champagne. Obviously, I could not take most visitors while I worked from my bath, but the phone would be right there next to my champagne glass.

So, the process has started. I’ve gotten in touch with the most respected costume designer in Branson to help make my new wardrobe. I’ve been in touch with area jewelers for my new bling. And when you see me in Kroger, a school function or Hooters, I will treat you with interest, politeness and unfailing courtesy in the same welcoming manner Liberace treated all of his admiring fans.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, the men from the mental institution are waiting outside my office. Apparently, I’ve missed a few electro-shock sessions over the past two or three weeks, and they’re ready to recalibrate things with a few volts.

Merry Christmas!

My 05.29.2013 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly - Letters from Readers

noreply@blogger.com (Rob Grace) — Sun, 26 May 2013 14:42:00 +0000

Here’s my “All Over the Map” from the May 29, 2013 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

Let’s open up the “All Over the Map” mailbag again, and take a few questions and comments from some of you.

This first letter comes from Vicki Gotti-Bigolecrack in Cave City.

Dear Rob,

Did you know there is an actual cave in Cave City? This is not a joke.

Sincerely,

Vicki Gotti-Bigolecrack

Thank you for your letter, Vicki. Why, indeed I did know there was an actual cave in the community of Cave City. In fact, according to local historian, Blake Byle, the cave was discovered in 1620 by the legendary Spanish explorer, Dora Marquez. The pint-sized Marquez was known for having conversations not only with her pet monkey named “Boots,” but also with her unique purple backpack. One day, near what is now known in the community as the Vertle Hamilton residence off Highway 167, Marquez spotted a caveman smoking a cigarette outside a large rock formation that looked to be a cave. Sure enough, the caveman confirmed to the little explorer that the formation was, in fact, an entrance to his home – an actual cave! The caveman, who introduced himself as Kenny, then gave Dora, Boots, and Dora’s backpack a tour of his cave as well as some souvenir shirts from his gift shop.

Artist's rendering of the legendary Spanish explorer, Dora Marquez, with her talking backpack and her longtime friend, "Boots."

My second piece of correspondence comes from “Crazy Eyes” Pickens in Batesville.

Dear Rob,

I recently saw you walking into Kroger. You were wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I have to ask: do you bleach your entire body?

Thanks,

“Crazy Eyes” Pickens

“Crazy Eyes,” I appreciate the note. (Full disclosure: I know “Crazy Eyes.” He frequents the bar I visit every morning. And his eyes really are crazy. In fact, his left one thinks the world is ruled by lizards, and his right one has been on lithium since 2003.) While some people consider my hair and skin tone borderline-Clorox, I tend to favor the description “Arctic Blonde.” I’ve also found that women are attracted to the fairer skin-toned men because of the long-held and somewhat infamous notion that pale guys know exactly how to treat a woman in every way.

And by “every way,” I mean every way.

And by “I mean every way” – where the “every” is emphasized with italics, I mean, “Yes, pale guys are very good at treating women well in every way because we overlook the many flaws women have in comparison to men. Flaws such as: getting emotional over The Bachelor; forgetting to bring our damn beer to the damn recliner; giving us the silent treatment because we came home late from a guy trip to Hooters; becoming needlessly emotional over the fact we don’t listen to your long, tedious stories about your non-eventful afternoons with the bridge club because all we’re simply trying to do is unwind from a hard day’s work with a strong cocktail; overcooking our damn eggs; etc., etc., etc.”

Our next letter comes from my mother, Nancy Grace. (Full disclosure: She is not the Nancy Grace of TV and flared nostrils fame.) Let’s see what Mom wants to know.

Dear Rob,

After you gave me the first draft of this particular “Q & A” column, I came to your response to “Crazy Eyes.”

I’ve now realized I might have raised a misogynist.

Love,

Mom

Thanks, Mom! I love you, too.

Television pundit Nancy Grace -- who, despite having the same name, is not your humble host's mother, nor related to me in any way.

Oh, by the way, dear readers -- what the heck is a “misogynist”? I asked Suri, the digital “assistant” on my iPhone, and she says I keep mispronouncing the word. However, I know I’m correct because I’m a man, and the Bible says the man is always right. Suri, in my opinion, is just a typical clueless broad. So, if anyone can find the definition of “misogynist,” send me an email. I’m sure Mom was calling me a ‘handsome genius,’ or ‘Nordic god,’ or something like that.

You know, for a woman, Mom knows some big words!

This edition of “All Over the Map” has been brought to you by the National Organization of Women (NOW) and the Greater Cave City Tourist Council, Bennie Johnson, chairwoman.