Part-Canadian, thanks to Sand Mountain

We ask that you please rise for the national anthem.  Not mine, the one for the Mrs.  You see, I married a beautiful Canadian woman and recently, she added 'Canadian English' to her Facebook profile list of languages she speaks (the others being regular English, French, the other type of French and, when the kids have pushed her a little too far, a Latin/Voodoo hybrid that has an echo behind it).  You might think that English is English.  After all, except for an accent in which the word "about" sounds like "a-boot" and the word Moosehead sounds like "unfiltered mammal urine", the languages are the same, right?  Wrong.  Not only that, she married a guy who grew up in the shadow of an area with what I thought was its own unique language; Sand Mountain.

This is a typical flagpole day at North Sand Mountain High School, though usually the animal is a cow or Miss Margie Nell Tishaw, the ag teacher.

Jen had no idea I was bilingual, though I didn't exactly advertise that fact once I moved away from home.  I never thought I would use hear the unique Sand Mountain tongue again, spoken mostly in North Alabama with a tiny sliver in Georgia - I never thought I would even miss it, but Canada, of all places, proved me wrong.

Canadian slang is fun to learn, and Canadians are very helpful to those of us learning what to say and when.  Well, the English-speaking Canadians are.  If you screw up a Canadian phrase in Quebec, the French Canadians suffer through indignant mustache twitches before quickly surrendering - they can't completely get rid of that French blood.  For example, when you go to get a coffee (and yes, it is 'a' coffee, not coffee), you go to one of the most fabulous creations on the planet; Tim Hortons, named (like everything else in Canada, including the country) after a dead hockey player. 

When you order a coffee at Tim Hortons, you have to remember that you are not at Starbucks, which means you are a real human being and not a Banana Republic model wearing giant, black-framed glasses that you don't need, using a hint of a fake accent and carrying a lump of coal where the sun don't shine.  You don't order a Caramel Raspberry Frappamochacuppajingoistichino Frattiane Latte, Foamy, Skinny, Stacked, Packed, Smothered and Covered.  At Tim Hortons, you get a Double Double.  That's a coffee with two creams and two packets of sugar.  Or you can get a Triple Triple, a Double Single...you get the idea.  I could talk about Tim Hortons all day, but I hope that by now, our Canadian friends have gotten the hint that Jen and I are Jonesin' for a can or two or 14.

Sand Mountain folks ask for coffee in a much different and, in their opinion, more effective way, usually something along the lines of "git yer ace in the kitchin, woman!"  In case you are wondering, the answer is yes, that only works for Sand Mountain men, and the word 'ace' has nothing to do with a World War I-era pilot.  The phrase is also commonly used as a substitute for questions such as "what's for dinner, honey?" and "will you go out with me?"


Other typical Canadian words and phrases include:


Loonie/Toonie:  The words for the one-dollar and two-dollar coins, respectively.  Again, mocked by Americans, which is funny since we never could figure out how to use a dollar coin.

Tuque:  Pronounced too-kay.  A winter-style hat, sometimes with a cute little fuzzy ball on top.


2-4:  A 24-can case of beer, as in "I'm going to buy a two-four."

Eh: The most commonly mocked Canadian word by Americans, though it can be inserted in place of approximately 20 different phrases, such as "ain't that something", "what do you think?", and "freakin' Leafs don't give a rats frozen behind about winning games anymore."
Sand Mountain has idioms similar to those:

12-gauge:  Often used to acquire goods and services instead of money.

Bawgin:  Pronunciation of 'boggan', short for toboggan.  A winter-style hat, sometimes with a cute little fuzzy ball on top.  Sand Mountaineers usually refer to the ball as, "the tittie."

Brakfuss:  Pronunciation of 'breakfast.'  A 24-can case of beer.

Git the dadgum snakes:  Usually means 'Hurry up, kids, it's time for church.'

Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-yit:  The most commonly mocked Sand Mountain word, though it can be used for approximately 177 different phrases, such as "golly", "that sure is a large raccoon on your head", "Amen", and "if she wadn't yer sister, I'd....well, I would even if she was yer momma.  And she might be both."

As I said, I thought I had left Sand Mountain behind, back in the realms of my childhood memories.  Every so often, I would see a copy of the newspaper of record, the Sand Mountain Reporter, marveling that an entire paper could be written using only six words to ensure that most of the mountain's inhabitants could read it.  I'd get misty-eyed reading the obituaries, resplendent with the nicknames of the deceased, knowing someone was mourning the loss of their their Uncle Teeny Man who weighed 475 pounds, their Grandpappy Peevine, or Great Aunt Tootnanny.  That's when I saw Sand Mountain again......in Canada.

It was several years ago during a trip to visit my wife's family.  They live northwest of Toronto in the towns of Midland and Penetanguishine, and the first time we drove there, I said to Jen, "Wow, this looks vaguely familiar."  Acres of gorgeous, untouched woodlands, beautiful two-story homes adjacent to rickety wooden shacks, naked kids playing in the front yards (of each); it was eerily similar to...gasp!, home!  Later, Jen's grandmother started complaining about a house near her's which she said was infested with crack dealers, prostitutes, and tent revival preachers.  Could it be?

Then, the clincher; I learned that Penetanguishine is a Native Canadian word meaning "Ray's wife's family."  Yes, the town's entire population of 9,354 (as of the 2006 Canadian Census) is related to Jen, something even she didn't know.  And they all came to see us during a get-together at Jen's aunt's house, though I'm not sure if we were the draw or if it was Jen's uncle saying he was going to The Beer Store to get a couple of two-fours.  Since approximately 6,000 people materialized within five minutes of him saying that, I'm guessing it was the beer.

We mostly sat around outside, lots of guys in their best wife-beaters, many drinking cheap beer (Coors Light, for crying out loud!), laughing at stories I could barely understand, some folks plucking guitars badly and singing even worse, the kids (dressed, thankfully) playing nearby, and it was.....heaven!  I was home, surrounded by my people, though I was more than 700 miles (or more than 1100 kilometres - gotta spell it the Canadian way) from my actual home.  I had married the right woman, though I knew that already.  Her family was now my family, and I almost cried.  Shoot, I'm almost bawling right now as I relive it.

So before you make fun of Canada or "Canadian English", think twice.  These days, I root for the Leafs even though they are about as bad as the Atlanta Braves of the '70s.  I drink cheap Canadian beer (usually something with the Molson brand, though Molson and Coors are the same company now).  I take afternoon tea, though sometimes with a buttermilk biscuit for a little bi-cultural exchange.  I even watched the CFL's Grey Cup on TV, including the halftime performance of Bachman-Turner (Overdrive left the band over creative differences many years ago).  I will defend Canada because I am part-Canadian, and not just by marriage.  If you are from Sand Mountain or any other part of the rural South, you might be part-Canadian, too.

My entry for Effingham Beat Poetry Night

My sow, my sow

She didn't win the blue ribbon how?

No, not the cow, not the cow!

Not the 10-year-old with the brown cow!

Sigh....get me that plow now

Gonna plow some smack down, and how

Brain that cow with the plow

Then plow that kid six feet under!  Wow!

And now?

There's them ribbons

Here's the stage, the chamPEEEENS!

The cane syrup maker, cow chip BINGO winner,

Corn liq....errrr, corn product maker

And me!

And my sow

My sow, my sow!

Where is WikiLeaks when Springfield needs it?

(published in Effingham Now, part of the Savannah Morning News, December 22, 2010)
 
If I lived in Springfield, the WikiLeaks website that's been the source of much recent world consternation sure would come in handy.

Springfield's residents can learn from the Internet the United States trusts no one, the rest of the world doesn't trust Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, North Korea's dictator wears Perry the Platypus underwear and that Canada is boring. At the same time, folks in Springfield can't find out diddly squat about their own elected officials, thanks to their own elected officials.

The Springfield City Council recently voted 5-1 to recommend Mayor Jeff Northway resign for the high crime of selling the Dasher family cane syrup recipe to Russian spies.

Of course, that's a made-up reason for the council's no-confidence vote. But without a self-concocted version of what goes on in those infamously secret council meetings, a summary of those meetings would read like a script from the legendary '70s show "Match Game," with lots of blanks to be filled in by guesses from contestants. In this case, the contestants are Springfield's taxpayers who have to foot the bill for this farce.

It is perfectly legal for the council to hold these closed-door meetings (or, as the lawyers tell everyone to call them, "executive sessions" - the closest some politicians ever get to being an actual executive) to discuss "the good name and character" of a person.  It seems that with a 5-1 vote asking the guy to resign, the councilmen have made up their minds about the mayor's name and character, and they don't think it's very good.

If that's the case, why are they still playing games with secret meetings and attorneys on the city dole investigating goodness knows what? I know the cane syrup is delicious - it's the perfect companion to homemade biscuits - but come on. If the allegations are more serious than syrupy, if there are "multiple things" the council's hired gun claims, just what are those things? What else did the mayor do, raise his pinkie while partaking of a Schnitzel Shack beer boot?

In fairness to the council, we don't know if Northway is guilty of any wrongdoing. Perhaps he is. But if the mayor is innocent of gleaming the hoo-hah as he claims, why doesn't he spoil the council's fun and name the hoo-hah of which he is accused? Northway is just as guilty as anyone on the council of keeping the people who put him in office in the dark.

Well, perhaps we should say the handful of people who put the mayor in office. Calling for public meetings to be held in public only helps if the public takes its eyes off "Dancing With the Stars" once in a while and pays attention. Springfield has more than 2,300 residents, according to the latest Census estimate, yet only 160 bothered to vote in the last mayoral election.

In fairness to the public, that election was held in an off year, 2009. Perhaps it isn't the case in Springfield, but it has long been a tradition among politicians, who wish to concentrate power among the privileged few, to schedule their elections when they know voter turnout will be lighter than an after-church pimento cheese sandwich luncheon.

Bottom line, Mayor Northway is refusing to step down for the high crime of getting a pink Mohawk at Studio 24 instead of a manlier dry cut at the Effingham Hardware barber shop.

The council assures us they are investigating more serious allegations. If that's the case, everyone involved should cut the legalese bull hockey and lay their cards out before the public.

It comes as a shock to politicians sometimes, but voters are adults. It's long past time for the Springfield council and mayor to start acting like adults as well.

A Record Haul for Hope

(published in the Dec./Jan. issue of Effingham Magazine)

Give Paul Mongin ten minutes to tell his story and you will probably give him some money.  “I have been on both sides of the fence,” Mongin says of the United Way.  “I have been a volunteer, and I have also been a recipient of some of their services because of my son with special needs.” Mongin and Natalie Wiser, loaned out from Georgia Pacific to work on the fund raising campaign, are two of the catalysts that helped the Effingham County office of the United Way of the Coastal Empire raise $310,000 this year, demolishing last year’s record total by more than $15,000.

“We worked really hard,” says Bonnie Dixon, area director of the Effingham United Way office when asked if there was a particular reason why so much money was raised, especially when economic common sense should have dictated otherwise.  “We set a goal of $270,000,” Dixon says, “because that was $10,000 more than last year’s goal (though less than the $294,000 raised in 2009). Given the state of the economy, we thought that was realistic.”  Julie Hales, owner and publisher of Effingham Magazine and chair of this year’s United Way campaign, thought otherwise. “Once we got going, I told Bonnie that we would hit $300,000.  Once we started making our numbers, we just kept pushing.  This campaign has proven to me once again what a wonderful community we live in."

The Effingham money is part of the $8.1 million raised by the United Way of the Coastal Empire, which serves Effingham, Chatham, Bryan, and Liberty counties.  “We are grateful for the stellar companies and individuals that stood with us while facing economic challenges of their own to make sure that our friends and neighbors are equipped with the building blocks for a successful life,” said U.W.C.E. board chairman Dale Critz, Jr.  Paul Mongin would definitely count himself as one of those friends and neighbors, and he is also now one of United Way’s most fervent evangelists.

“It’s a privilege,” Mongin says of his time as a United Way loaned associate; Mongin and Wiser were allowed to leave their regular jobs with Georgia Pacific to work full-time for United Way during the three-month campaign.  “I’ve had people pull me off to the side and ask me if this was for real.”  Based on the help he got from United Way member agencies for his son, who has autism and will graduate from high school next year, that was an easy question for Mongin to answer.  “From being here and being able to see the work of some of the agencies up close and person, and especially seeing when people come here with needs - you see their vulnerability laid aside when they say ‘I have a need,’ it just reinforces my conviction that yes, this is for real.”

Despite the success stories of those, like Mongin, who have been helped by an agency that receives United Way funding, the question still lingers – how did they raise so much money this year?  People aren’t supposed to be frugal as the economy emerges from recession.  The money they do have is supposed to be saved for the Holidays.   It also isn’t the easiest thing in the world to sell people on giving to United Way.  “We’ve heard lots of excuses over the years,” Dixon says, as business owners, members of the clergy, and others sometimes refuse to allow her or others a chance to solicit donations.  “They’ll say they heard we refuse to give to the Boy Scouts or that we’ve funded this or that controversial program and it’s just not true.”  In fact, each United Way is autonomous, free to give money however its board sees fit, and both the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts in Effingham County receive United Way of Coastal Empire funds.

Unlike many charities, all donations made to the U.W.C.E. go directly to member agencies thanks to the generosity 50 years ago of Herschel V. Jenkins.  The native of Guyton, former United Way board chairman and longtime Savannah Morning News publisher left an endowment when he died in 1960.  After Jenkins’s last surviving daughter died in 1997, the endowment was donated to United Way to help cover its overhead.  “How many charities do you know that have zero administrative costs,” asks Dixon, rhetorically.  The Jenkins endowment is among the reasons the U.W. C.E. has earned two consecutive four-star ratings for sound fiscal management from Charity Navigator, the highest rating available from the company that tracks the work of more than 5,500 charities across the country.

Wiser says it’s more about relationships than numbers, specifically relationships with the “gate-keepers” - those who must sign off on allowing United Way to give presentations to employees of businesses, members of churches, and others.   “If we can get our foot in the door,” Wiser says, “if we can get just ten minutes to let me talk or let Paul talk, that’s all we need.  I’m not going to just tell you about United Way.  I will spend maybe three or four sentences talking about United Way, and then I will tell stories.  I will tell you a heartbreak story that has a happy ending.  I will tell you something that happened to me while out on the campaign trail where someone got help because of United Way.”  That, Wiser says, is when people start giving.  “I’d say 70- to 75-percent of people who wouldn’t have looked twice at the United Way form, they might have just thrown it in the trash, end up giving after they hear those stories.”

The campaign chair says the messengers were as important as the stories they told.  “(Wiser and Mongin) are two incredibly giving and wonderful people,” said Hales. “Their hard work and determination is a huge reason for our success."   Loaned associates work for United Way for two campaigns with one of them rotating out each year.  Wiser will be back for next year’s campaign while Mongin will be replaced with another G.P. employee.

“It says a lot about Georgia Pacific’s commitment to United Way that they will let us use two of their employees,” Dixon says of one of United Way’s largest contributors in Effingham County.  “In fact,” Wiser adds, “two of the ten winners (for individual fund-raising) in the four-county area were from Georgia Pacific, and two others were from the (Effingham County) school system.  That means four of the ten individual winners were from Effingham County, which is unbelievable.”    The school system joined Georgia Power’s Plant McIntosh in leading off the fund-raising with the Pacesetter campaign.  Together, they raised almost one-third of Effingham’s final campaign total.

All of that money goes to the U.W. C.E. office in Savannah.  Next spring, a volunteer board will determine where the donations will be distributed based on applications filed by member agencies.     “There are four areas of need which United Way concentrates on,” says Dixon, “health and wellness, education and youth, basic needs, and economic independence.  If it doesn’t fall within one of those categories, we don’t fund it.”  Member agencies must file quarterly reports with United Way to ensure donations are spent as the agencies promised.

Effingham County will also get back much more than it gives.  “People might ask ‘well, you raised $39,000 over your goal, where is that extra money going’,” Dixon says.  “In truth, it takes a lot more than $309,000 to run all of the agencies in Effingham who benefit from United Way, so after the application process is done, those agencies will likely get much more than $309,000.” In addition to Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, dozens of agencies receive funding, among them the Food OutReach Co-op of Effingham (F.O.R.C.E.), the Rape Crisis Center, the Alzheimer’s Association, and the Treutlen House at New Ebenezer, which helps abused and neglected children.  “We worked hard for that money,” Dixon adds, “but we get more than our fair share back.”

Hales says Dixon and her administrative coordinator, Lorraine Harris, deserve a great deal of credit along with everyone who gave.  "I can't thank the community enough for all the support shown in this year's campaign.  Bonnie runs a smooth ship at our service center. She is truly a remarkable individual and her staff is unbelievable."  The loaned associates feel blessed to have played a part.  “No matter what happens, no matter where I live,” Wiser says, “I will forever be bound to the Effingham United Way because I know that it works and that it helps people.”   

You may not always hear them, but rest assured that the people helped by a United Way agency also say thank you to everyone who gave for helping to give them a hand up.

(Note: If you or someone you know is in need, dial 2-1-1 from any phone, and a United Way operator will be available to assist you.  Operators are available 24 hours a day, even on holidays, and all calls are confidential.)

A (Very) good artist

(published in the December/January issue of Effingham Magazine)

This particular paining of Norman Blackwell’s isn’t for sale.  He isn’t sure anyone would want it anyway.  It hangs six feet from the door of the home off a dirt road in Clyo that has been in his family for generations – he half-jokingly says “I’ve got the land grant from King George back here somewhere.”   The still-life depicts an ordinary, solid lavender vase on a table next to a multi-colored floral arrangement.  Blackwell was 12 when he painted it.

“I couldn’t do that again,” he says.  Considering that you are completely surrounded by Blackwell’s other paintings when sitting inside his living room, the statement makes as much sense as Beethoven in his prime claiming he couldn’t write another note.  When asked to explain, Blackwell’s reasoning is rooted in youth.  “I was young when I painted it, and I love young people and teaching young people.  They do so many great things because they aren’t old enough to know they can’t do those things yet.”  If that’s the case, Norman Blackwell must be the youngest 77-year-old on the planet.

Board Game

The square is mostly yellow, with bits of black and red in a variety of geometric patterns.  It is part acrylic paint, part fabric.  Blackwell calls it “Board Game” because, well, it looks like a board game, something he might have played in his youth which, despite his family’s Effingham County heritage, did not begin here.

“I was born in Greensboro, North Carolina because my father was a salesman for International Correspondence Schools at the time,” says Blackwell, the youngest of Roy and Ruby Blackwell’s three children.  That was December 9, 1933, the middle of the Depression that would soon send the family back to Georgia.  “We moved back down here when I was two after my father lost his job.”  Norman’s mother soon moved to Savannah when she began working for a florist, coming back to the former plantation on weekends in those pre-commuting days.  Norman and the rest of the family would follow when the U.S. entered World War II and Norman’s father went to work for Savannah’s shipyard.

Pinball Universe

“I love the old movies, all the movies I used to go see two or three times a week when I was young,” Blackwell says.  He liked them so much he started creating costumes for his favorite actresses, “painting them in water color and tempura,” he says.  When he lost interest in costume creation, he decided to cut up the old paintings and turn them into a collage, and that collage reminded Blackwell of another part of his youth.  According to his website, www.normanblackwellart.com, “When I finished it, I noticed it resembled the pinball machines that were popular when I was a boy.”  Something else that was popular with the young Blackwell was art class at Savannah High School.

Art became Norman’s life calling when he first encountered Savannah High’s art teacher, Margaret Murphy – to this day one of the school’s most popular instructors.  “Miss Murphy was special,” Blackwell says.  “I had her for three years, and she encouraged me so much.  Her encouragement gave me the confidence to want to be an artist.”  That confidence led to his graduating high school two years early in 1950 and enrolling at Armstrong Junior College.  Blackwell then headed west to UCLA, but while there, he was told that he would find a better art department at a well known school much closer to home.

Red and Black

It’s a relatively simple collage; watercolor on strips of paper in vertical patterns of varying width.  The dominant colors are familiar to most folks around here – some white, but mostly the color of the beloved Dawgs of Athens.  Hence the name “Red and Black.”

Blackwell arrived at the University of Georgia in 1952, and pragmatism overcame his desire to do nothing but paint.  “I majored in advertising design because I knew I would need to do something to make money when I got out of school,” though Blackwell quickly adds that he still took every course in painting that was available.  

He became a fan and student of one of Georgia’s foremost artists, Lamar Dodd, who at the time happened to be head of the university’s art department (UGA’s art school is now named for Dodd).  During his senior year, Norman was art editor of The Pandora, the university’s yearbook, and his original drawings for that yearbook are still on display at the UGA museum.  He received his degree in 1956, and Norman was soon off to the capitol city to find work.

Rising Sun

Norman says his inspiration was a blood-red sunset surrounded by golden clouds that he saw as he was walking his dog late one afternoon.  But it’s the canvas of “Rising Sun” that is the color of blood, with pieces of gold lame, all uniquely shaped, surrounding a faint outline of the circular sun.  When the sun rose on Blackwell after he left college, he was not painting as much as he wanted to.  Much of his time was spent at one of the largest department stores in the state.  

“I was an assistant buyer for Macy’s in Atlanta,” a job Blackwell says initially paid him $75 a week.  Not bad money certainly – that’s almost $600 a week in today’s dollars - but Norman says his eyes were opened when a Revlon Cosmetics salesman took him to lunch one day.  “Our lunch bill was $85, which was chump change to this guy.  That’s when I knew I needed to get into sales if I wanted to make some real money and give myself more time to paint.”

Icon

The yellow canvas is resplendent with beads of paint, a technique called Pointillist Dots which Norman uses frequently.  There are simple lines of straight beads, but the beaded border is comprised of patterns common to the clothing of Native Americans.  Something resembling a Celtic cross lies inside a purple circle just above the center, other multi-colored symbols splattered beside and below the cross.  Long before “Icon” was a gleam in Norman’s eye, he made his move to sales inside one of America’s iconic companies.  But devotion to his true love would later spawn a prodigal journey to a new institution that would approach iconic status long after Norman left.

The year was 1960, and Blackwell would join the advertising and sales department at Proctor and Gamble’s headquarters in Cincinnati.  It was also the year he would help his new boss begin marketing its new liquid fabric softener; Downy.  “The next year, it was Pampers, which was the first successful disposable diaper.  Then I worked with Tide, with its box design,” Blackwell says.

As Blackwell neared his 20^th anniversary with Proctor and Gamble, work began to dry up.  “The company began to farm out more and more of its creative advertising work to agencies in New York,” he says.  He loved P-and-G, but he wanted out.  As luck would have it, a tiny art school would bring Blackwell home and closer to his muse.

Savannah College of Art and Design had seven faculty members teaching 71 students when it opened its doors in 1979.  The school wasn’t much bigger when it made Blackwell its first gallery director the following year.  He was home, working with his beloved artists, and had a dynamic boss in Paula Wallace, SCAD’s co-founder and its president since 2000.  She was the school’s Provost, technically SCAD’s second-in command to her then-husband when she interviewed Norman for the job.  “But you could tell, at least I thought I could, that she was the one in charge from the beginning.  She is the driving force for the success of that school.”

The honeymoon didn’t last.  “They wanted to make recruiting part of my job,” Blackwell says of the reason he left SCAD in 1983.  “I didn’t want to recruit; I wanted to be involved in the art.”  He continued to paint as much as he could while becoming a travelling school supplies salesman for the next dozen years when all of it, his work, his painting, his life, almost ended.

Marilyn

Speaking of icons, Blackwell’s first portrait of Marilyn Monroe is of the legend in the infamous dress that didn’t fit - the dress she was sewn into to impress her lover, the President, when she sang at his 1962 birthday party.  Within a year-and-a-half of the song that infuriated a first lady who knew what had gone on, both Marilyn and John Kennedy would be dead.  Norman is now working on a second portrait of Marilyn on a hexagon-shaped canvas.  He almost didn’t get to.

“I had to retire from selling school supplies because I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease,” Blackwell says, stunning considering he shows virtually no symptoms to the casual observer.  “Oh, it was pretty bad for a time, and I wasn’t sure I would ever get to paint again.”  But Blackwell says he prayed his way through it, and says his prayers brought him an excellent doctor who has helped control the disease.  

In addition to Marilyn, Blackwell has quite a bit of commissioned portrait work ahead of him; millionaires in New York and one of the deans at Notre Dame University among others.  Lately, he has also broken away from the patterns and geometrics that define much of his non-portrait work, opting instead for barns and other scenery.  “My newest fascination is New York storefronts, and I want to do a series of those in addition to a series of barns,” Blackwell says, “but to be honest, I’ve got so many ideas, I ‘d have to live to be 150 to do them all.  I’ll be busy until I just can’t do it anymore.”

Whether it is something for his simple country home, something for an opening in New York or the famous Saatchi Gallery in Europe, for the private collection of a local family or that of the late King Fahd of Saudi Arabia, Blackwell says he will live by the advice of his high school art teacher until he lives no more.  "Miss Murphy told me ‘Norman, if you are a good artist, don't hesitate to say so when you are asked about it. If you do not feel you are a good artist, change the subject, and keep studying and painting until you become one’."  He is still studying and paining, but judging by the demand for his work, there is no doubt that Norman Blackwell is a very good artist.       

What a lovely day for a tea party. Not that kind, the other kind

"Daddy, can you take a walk with me?"  The two-year-old beckoned me away from keyboard.  It was of vital importance.  Where are we taking a walk to?  "To the kitchen table," she said in a tone akin to "where do you think we're going, you dope?  Move your butt!"  It was tea party time.  Awesome.

"Would you please get me a straw for my tea," the dame inquired.  Of course, and how about some apple slices to go with it?  "Oh, that's an absolutely idea!  That would be lovely."  Trying to avoid serving her a side of sliced finger with her gala apple, I began with the usual; how was she doing.  "Oh, I'm swell," she says, channeling an Our Gang episode she hasn't seen.

How was her teddy bear doing these days?  "She's good good good.  I sleep with her," the little princess exclaims, "then she goes rrrrooaarrr, and then she sleeps again.  Then, she goes to play with Goldilocks."  She doesn't eat Goldilocks, does she?  "Yes, she does!  And then she goes 'rrrrrrooooaarrrrr'", which I'm guessing happens to a lot of folks who eat Goldilocks.

"I hope my sister has a great day at school," she says sweetly of the older sibling she yelled bloody murder at three hours prior for getting in her face just after she awoke.  That's sweet of you, I tell her.  "Yes, and she's going to the classroom, and doing the ABC's and the numbers."  Yes, and hopefully not driving her teacher up the wall.  "Yes, she needs to drive the car down from the wall.  You don't drive the car up on the wall."  You do if you're stuck in the room with 18 seven-year-olds.

Remembering something I had read online, I rhetorically ask if Obama will be able to convince his fellow Democrats to go along with his deal to keep tax rates low.  "Yes, absolutely," the diaper-clad cable news expert intones.  Really, how do you know that, cutey-pie?  "Well, I think the hubris on display at his initial news conference, where he intoned disdain for both the Republicans with which he compromised and the Democrats who were critical of him for it showed a high level of immaturity.  But the president still has plenty of time to overcome the kerfuffle if he will show some humility and a return to the gravitas on display during the campaign."  Wait, what did you say?  "Oh, um, Daddy, can you wear the princess shoes and the tiara?"  Yes, yes I can.

"Mrroow?" the cat asks, stroking by on her way to the food bowl.  You know, cat, hey...sniff sniff.  Dang it, cat, when are going to learn that the floor on my side of the bed isn't your litter box.  "Meow?"  Yes, you.  I don't know why I talk to you.  "Neither do I, but if you had to squat on a pile of rocks to take a crap, you'd understand.  Ugh, the chafing, exacerbated by the fact that I have to use my tongue to clean it off.  Try taking sandpaper topped with millions of miniature thorns to your hiney, Dude!"  No, the cat did not just say that.  "Mrroww?"  Um, Princess, did the cat just say something.  "Yes, she said meeeeeeeeowwwww."  Okay, thought I was losing it.  Or rather, that I had lost it even more than in the previous paragraph.

"Okay," my Fancy Nancy clone says, "it's time to paint."  Imaginary paint, of course.  On our kitchen wall.  Which could desperately use some real paint to cover up all the scratches, but I resist the urge to give it to her.  What are you painting today?  "I'm painting a Charlie Brown Christmas."  And with that, the tea party ends.  A waste of an hour?  Not on your life.

But how do you celebrate a bid to the Tidey Bowl?

When TCU completed an undefeated regular season last week ensuring a place in a BCS bowl game, many of its players celebrated by carrying a single rose in their teeth.  It signified the Horned Frogs' postseason destination - the Rose Bowl, and the rose-in-mouth celebration of a trip to the game called "The Granddaddy Of Them All" is almost as old as likely Rose Bowl announcer Brent Musberger.  Same thing with the Orange Bowl; Virginia Tech's players were compliant in their copious displays of the most famous citrus after their ACC Championship game win ensured their trip to West Jupiter (or Key Biscayne or whatever burb Florida pretends is actually Miami these days).

But with 873 bowl games on the schedule this year and some...um...interesting names and sponsors for those bowls, players (at least the ones who go to class) should get extra college credit for creative celebration of bowl trips.

Brigham Young University got the party started, which is interesting since the word 'party' was banned from the BYU campus in 1932.  When the Cougars found out they would play UTEP in the New Mexico bowl, the BYU players hurriedly put on their white button-down shirts and navy pants and mounted their bicycles for a celebratory ride through Provo, dragging behind their bikes the skeletal remains of armadillos.  UTEP players would have held their own celebration but, being in El Paso, were afraid to wake the drug lords across the border.  UTEP coach Mike Price reportedly whispered to a female friend "it's rollin' baby, it's rollin", an allegation Price vehemently denies.

Utah had a conundrum similar to their fellow Mormon-state brethren.  That's why the Utes' team made quiet arrangements to sneak across the state line so players could carry on their shoulders topless showgirls holding jars of Bondo and Turtle Wax to celebrate their invitation to the MAACO Las Vegas Bowl.  Unfortunately, an intern in the Utah sports information office misunderstood and accidentally sent dozens of topless turtles holding bottles of Gold Bond powder instead.

The inagural New Era Pinstripe Bowl at Yankee Stadium thought it had a great matchup when it invited Kansas State to play home state favorite Syracuse.  The Orange(men), having stunk for most of the last decade, were so ecstatic, they paraded around their home field at the Carrier Dome wearing gangster pimp suits while displaying a surprisingly comfortable and familiar hold of Tommy guns.  Their enthusiasm was slightly dampened when they learned that the Pinstripe in the bowl's name meant Yankee and not gangster pimp suit.  But the crushing blow came when both teams abruptly pulled out of the bowl when they learned they would be forced to wear Derek Jeter replica uniforms as part of Jeter's new Yankees contract.

Some bowl celebrations didn't go exactly as planned.  Tennessee's players tried to foreclose on hundreds of houses after learning they'd be playing in the Franklin American Mortgage Music City Bowl, then learned that everyone in Knoxville had already been foreclosed upon.  Michigan quarterback Denard Robinson tragically lost his left arm doing a Crocodile Hunter impression after the Wolverines were invited to the Gator Bowl.  West Virginia's jock strap wave parade attracted the attention of Mountaineer fans, whose first instinct is to burn and/or shoot everything in sight.  Now, the Mountaineers are hoping the Champs Sports Bowl will comp them some cups.  By the way, a giant pile of burning jock straps emits a rather foul odor, though it reportedly improved the air quality of Morgantown.

There were similar bowl game celebrations across the country;  the obvious (Army launching a surprise air strike on the George W. Bush Presidential Library in advance of their Armed Forces Bowl against the library's home, SMU) and the unique (Troy's players collectively sunburning their left arms in advance of the R&L Carriers New Orleans Bowl).  But the best bowl celebration by a mile belonged to the unbeaten SEC Champion Auburn Tigers, who will play Oregon in the Tostitos BCS Championship Game.

After the SEC title game win over South Carolina, Auburn coach Gene Chizik gave his typical coach-speak answers to the easy questions, talking about his "fabulous seniors" even though his two best players are juniors.  Then, whenever he was asked about one of those juniors, star quarterback Cam Newton, the product placement bonanza began.  "Salsaaaaaa!" Chizik exclaimed when Newton's name was first mentioned by the airhead sideline interviewer.  A follow up question about how Newton overcame his father's pay-for-play scheme while Newton was being recruited was met with Chizik's emphatic "Toooooosteeeetooooos Hot and Spicy Salsaaaaaaaaaaa!"  But coach, "Saaaaaaaaaaalsaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Newton, compelled to attend the post-game press conference under threat of a fine from the SEC (which of course he could NEVER afford to pay), did his coach one better.  Every question from the media was met with Newton stuffing his mouth full of delicious Tostitos chips.  When asked how he put the off-field questions behind him while on the field, Newton crunchily spattered "these Tostitos-brand tortilla chips are so light and crispy, made from all-white corn with no preservatives."  But Cam, did your dad..."I am particularly fond of the blue corn Tostitos, which pair nicely with Tostitos new Creamy Spinach dip, or Tostitos with a hint of lime - I still laugh at those singing Bill Parcells commercials from a few years ago."  But Cam, your father..."yes, my dad makes a great homemade mango salsa that's a perfect compliment to Tostitos with a hint of lime."

With a unique team celebration to match all the unique bowl names, the NCAA must be praying that Trojans and Tampax never becomes bowl sponsors.  Or Exlax, at least if any Najeh Davenport wannabes on are the team - he's the player who broke into a girl's dorm room at the University of Miami and pooped in her closet.  But the NCAA has one bowl that, unless Duke, Vanderbilt, or Stanford get invited, will never prompt a team celebration - The Bridgepoint Education Holiday Bowl.  The teams from Nebraska and Washington are still learning how to spell and pronounce that one.  God help the coaches if the players figure out that education actually has something to do with going to college.