The working title of this piece had nothing to do with the text, but I left it in anyway.  Its actually the title of an old George Jones song written long ago by Roger Ferris about a man who was mourning his divorce and the death of Elvis while drinking whiskey out of a glass shaped like Fred Flintstone.  The value of such nonsense is that it puts me in the mood to write stupid stuff.  Afterall, thats what I do!

Over time, as a society changes, new meanings are assigned to some lucky or unlucky words.  The ubiquitous use of the perjorative “fag” for instance is a perfect example of the social process of assigning new meaning to a word.  As a child when I heard the phrase “fagged out” it simply meant tired or exhausted.  In Great Britian fag refers to a cigarette or more accurately, the smoked butt of a cigarette.  Fag is kind of a funny word used in bad jokes, in locker rooms and in a derogatory manner. A “gay” man (are you with me) can refer to another gay man using the word fag with all of its negative intent but you cannot. But thats a whole nuther blog. There was a time when you could safely use the word “negro” but that changed with the times as the wheels of PC machinery turned and it became “black” and then “African American.” The word negro can now have negative connotations. You get the picture.

The meaning of some words have changed for me in a much more personal way.  In this particular instance, “irregularity.”  Up until till age thirty or so I jogged irregularly and I hunted and fished  irregularly. I read the newspaper, had lunch with my friends and attended church all with a certain degree of irregularity.

It was around that tender age of thirty that, without much warning and no apparent cause, I developed what my mother refers to modestly as “nervous stomach.” Suddenly a, up until that time,  little noticed feature of the anatomy of my southern region began interrupting my brain’s normal cognitive function and with impressive effectiveness went about making decisions on its own. Irregularity now had a new meaning, not in a Fag, Black, Gay way but in a much more real and vivid way.  And it was no longer just a word but now a vital issue.

Example: You are on your way home, driving peacefully,  from having over eaten at your favorite Mexican restaurant where you chose the double Chimichanga with extra chili and cheese, beans and rice, tortilla soup, queso dip, guacamole and a two inch thick stack of freshly made flour tortillas. Don’t forget the two baskets of chips and salsa and of course, the “piece de resistance” a sugar crusted sopapilla.

Suddenly and without warning your whole life is highjacked like an jet airliner taken over by angry Contra rebels headed to Nicaragua.  At this point nothing else matters. Nothing! The safety of your passengers, your plan for a side trip to the Cold Stone Creamery for ice cream on the way home all ignored or very decisively cancelled as you drive like Earnhart rounding the turn at Taladega gripping the steering wheel with vise like force and pressure, hair raising turns in front of cars that have now become the enemy, tiny beads of sweat forming on your forehead, pupils dilated and focused with all of your heart, mind and soul on reaching that glorious shiney porcelain oasis of purgedom.  It is in that powerful moment that I am reminded of the immortal words of the inimitable Butthead of Beavis and Butthead fame who once said; “spinxters rule, huh huh.”  It is certain that no human has ever uttered a more profound statement.

And please allow me to say that such episodes that don’t have a necessarily happy ending, if you get my drift, lend themselves to a true understanding of the real life value of leather seats.

Now lets end this blog on irregularity with somewhat of a Hitchcock twist.  On your way to work you stop off at the local convenience store and grab an extra large cup of hot coffee to go with the Sam’s size warm bran muffin you brought along for breakfast. Irregularity has not yet crossed your mind. You pull on to the expressway.  The rush hour traffic is heavy.  Suddenly you find your self at a stand still, no exit in sight, completely boxed into six lanes of cars. More than a mile ahead you can make out flashing blue lights.  An accident.  Not a single car moving. A dog barks in the distance.  And now— without warning—- the Contra rebels  storm the cockpit………