Month: January 2006

  • (Audio Version)


    ♫ Here she is…Miss-Cellaneous ♫


     



     


    On Saturday evening January 21st, Miss Oklahoma Jennifer Berry was crowned as our 2006 Miss America. The reaction here in Oklahoma has been tepid at best. “Well, that’s all well and good, but if she had been named Miss NASCAR, now THAT would of been something!” is the typical reaction from most Oklahomans.


     


    The “yawn” factor seemed to be the national reaction as well. Despite the move from Atlantic City to Sin City, the pageant wasn’t even carried by a major network this year and was instead aired on Country Music Television; a network that gets most of its revenue from advertising snuff (that’s chewing tobacco for those of you who live north of the Mason-Dixon Line).


     


    I was actually part of the pageant system for several years. I emceed a local pageant for a couple of years and then did audio production for the show for quite awhile after that. My company also did audio and video production for the Miss Oklahoma Pageant for many years.


     


    I did this because it is a wholesome, all-American activity, in which deserving young women receive scholarships, giving them the opportunity to further their education.  I swear that the fact that I got to hang out backstage with a dozen or so extremely scantily-clad college age girls during the week of rehearsals leading up to the show had absolutely no bearing on my decision to be a part of the process.


     


    My favorite part of the pageants I was a part of (other than some horrific “talent” that made American Idol wannabees look like Mick Jagger) was the public service issue that served as their “platforms.” These platforms are always innocuous issues that are completely devoid of any hint of controversy. This year, Miss Oklahoma’s platform was the “prevention of drunken driving.” I mean, who wouldn’t be against drunk driving? I often rail against drunk driving; especially after I’ve had two or three Long Island Ice Teas with my coworkers on my way home from work on Thursday evenings.


     


    I always wished some contestant would have the balls (not literally; I was never in favor of cross-dressing contestants) to have an extremely controversially platform like “why I believe in the clubbing of baby seals” or perhaps, “crack cocaine…how it helped me lose weight for the swimsuit competition.” But alas, all we ever got here in Oklahoma was insipid drivel like “Why Anita Bryant was right about homosexuals all along.”


     


    In this age of Reality TV and “Girls Gone Wild” videos, I’m afraid that the Miss American Pageant has become too passé for the tastes of modern Americans.  I miss my pageant years sometimes, though. I miss the ridiculously easy questions from the judges, I miss hearing “Memories” from Cats sung badly year after year after year, I miss the undulating, ripe, young…oops! Sorry…got lost there for a second.


     


    I’m proud that Oklahoma’s own Jennifer Berry is the new Miss America. Now if Oklahoma can just produce a Hooter’s Calendar Girl, we can really be on the map!

  • SALES 101


     


    I’m leaving my office here in Tulsa in a few minutes to travel to our corporate office in Oklahoma City to spend the next three days attending our national sales meeting. We do these meetings twice a year and this will be the 24th sales meeting I’ve attended since I began working for my company. There is nothing they can say at this meeting that I haven’t heard a dozen or more times. I’m falling asleep just typing about it.


     


    Some firms have their sales meetings in fun locations like Hawaii, Las Vegas, New York, or even Toledo, but do we go somewhere fun?  Nooooooo…we are stuck in Oklahoma City, known by most of us here in the Sooner State as the armpit of Oklahoma (I know, most of you who live elsewhere assume the entire state is a giant armpit. It is, but the Oklahoma City area is much hairier and it never uses deodorant).


     


    While our company is quite large for our industry, by comparison to other types of firms, we are tiny. There are only about 30 of us in the sales force around the country, but that is still too many salespeople to put in the same building. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a room with 30 salesmen, but it can only be described as a “clash of the enormous egos.”


     


    Later this evening, we will all gather in the bar of the hotel where we are staying and everyone will play “I can top that” with stories of the giant accounts they are just on the verge of winning. We might as well all be taking our dicks out and measuring them (my sincere appology to the two female salespersons on our staff that don’t have dicks).


     


    Even though I’m the longest tenured salesperson in the company, I’ve always kind of been the red-headed stepchild of the sales division.  As many of you know, before I went to work in the “secular world” for this company, I was in the ministry. Our Vice President here in Tulsa went out on a limb and hired me as a salesperson 12 years ago even though I had no sales experience. I argued that being in the ministry is 90% sales (a view I still hold) but I don’t think our company president ever bought that, and I’ve always been viewed with just a bit of suspicion.


     


    Thursday evening is the sales awards banquet which is a giant orgy of self-congratulations. However, they pass out lots of money, so I don’t mind so much. I will admit to being proud of something: I will receive the “President’s Award” this year for surpassing a specific dollar amount in sales for five consecutive years. I’m only the second salesperson in the 34 year history of the company to receive it, so I’m understandably proud of that. I’m pretty sure though, that when our company president hands it over he will make some comment about how I shouldn’t preach a sermon as my acceptance speech, so I plan to do at least 45 minutes on the parable of the lost coins.


     


    I probably won’t get to post again until next week because management frowns on people surfing the web on their laptops while the engineering department takes two hours to explain this years’ revisions to the “request for engineering” form (which reverts it back to being identical to the request for engineering form they had in 1994) but I hope to keep up with everyone’s updates during the breaks.


     


    Wish me luck and the ability to stay conscious for the next three days.  


     


    EDIT: I’m on break…and I’m DYING!

  • So…tell me, do you live around here often?


     


     


     


    A recent comment has me thinking about pick up lines. They conjure up images of polyester clad men with bad combovers, exposed chest hair, and a Mr. T inspired penchant for neck jewelry. But do they actually work? All I can say is that I’ve seen the master in action.


     


    Thank God I am happily married and no longer “out there” in search of a significant other.  I was single for quite a while though and back in my bachelor days I had a Thursday evening ritual. My friend “Edgar” (the master) and I would go to the “Side Line Bar and Grill” to see some musician friends of ours play. Edgar was my hero. He is in his mid 50’s, balding, and a bit on the pudgy side. Despite these cultural “handicaps,” he spent the entire time we at the bar dancing with a non-stop assortment of hot “20 something” women. What he said to these women was a closely guarded trade secret and I was never privy to the line, but whatever it was, it never seemed to fail. Granted, he wasn’t asking these women to go home with him, but let’s just say that he didn’t seem to be spending too many nights alone either.


     


    I, on the other hand, always found the bar scene to be awkward; kind of like Jr. High, only with alcohol. So while Edgar was cavorting with the hotties, I sat back, nursed my vodka tonic, and lived vicariously through his philandering.


     


    Even though Edgar was my friend, he found my complacence to be pathetic and he would constantly point out women in the bar that he thought I should go proposition. After weeks of this, I finally acquiesced and agreed to go ask a brunette sitting a couple of tables away from us to dance. As I stood to make my way to her table, I tipped my drink over and spilled it directly on my crotch. I sat right back down, covered my lap with a napkin, and never ventured to another table again.


     


    I never got a chance to see if my line; “You sure don’t seem to sweat much for a fat girl” would of worked.


     


    My friend Sircruizer left a link to askmen.com in a comment on my blog about men’s fashions. I’ve been perusing the website and one of the features is the “Pick-Up Line of the Week.”  This week’s offering: “I’m an organ donor, do you need anything?”  While I think that line is pretty damn funny, I can’t imagine that it would actually peak a woman’s interest.  More likely, it would get the “pickuper” slapped by the potential “pickupee.”


     


    From a purely “cultural-anthropologic” standpoint (since I have no need now for pick up lines) I am curious if there are lines that actually work. Ladies, what could a guy say to you in a bar that would make you take a second look? Men, do you have a line that you’ve used with some degree of success?


     


    While I’m waiting on your responses, I’m going to sit here quietly and nurse my vodka tonic.


  • (Audio Version)


     


    DRESS FOR SUCCESS


    (Or at least remember to zip up your pants)


     


    I have, what I suppose, is a good problem. Since I’ve dropped some weight none of my clothes fit. It’s time to start updating my wardrobe and I’d like to be a bit more hip, but I’m finding that to be a daunting task.



     


    I’m fashion challenged. On second thought, that might not be completely accurate. I might be better described as simply being really, really, dull.  I live in business suits and I seem to have OCD when it comes to what I will and will not wear. I cannot break away from the following self-imposed rules for my attire: My suits must be in standard colors and patterns; light gray, dark gray, black, navy, olive, pinstripe, herringbone, etc. These are worn with a starched oxford dress shirt. The knot in the tie must be a Full-Windsor with a dimple directly in the middle of the knot. If the shirt is a print, the tie is solid; if the shirt is solid, the tie is a print.  Yawn…


     


    Don’t worry; I’m not a serial killer, just stuck in a rut.


     


    I really want to branch out, so I’ve been perusing magazines like GQ and Men’s Fitness for their fashion advice. This has been a worthless endeavor because people in these magazines dress like this:


     


     


     


    Also known as, “clothes in which to get your ass kicked.”


     


    I’m 47 years old and I have no desire to dress like a kid, but I also would like to stop dressing like I’m a funeral director.  I’ve also developed a rather odd problem. Most slacks that come with suits these days have a very complicated fastening system. They have a button on the inside, followed by a hook and grommet, which is followed by a button on the outside. Once I’ve gotten through all of that, apparently I’m tired, and I forget to zip up the fly. So I’m not only dressing like a funeral director, I’m dressing like a funeral director with Alzheimer’s.


     


    One of the articles I read lately included a survey done among women about how they wanted their men to dress. In this survey, 89% of the respondees stated that they despised pleated slacks and wanted their men to wear flat front pants.  I find it difficult to believe that women really feel this passionately about pleats, but hey, I’ve been wrong before. It would be interesting to know what real women think about men’s’ fashions. It would also be interesting to know what men think who are much cooler than I am (like my son, who has impeccable taste).


     


    So, I’m soliciting your advice. What things do men wear that you find to be absolute fashion faux pas, and what things do you really like?


     


    My fashion future is in your hands.

  • AND THE AWARD GOES TOO…


     


    (Audio Version)


     


    ‘Tis the season for awards shows, and I’ll be the first to admit that I love all of them; from the Critic’s Choice Awards to the People’s Choice Awards to the Sanitation Workers Union – Local #728 Awards, all the way to the Golden Globes and the Oscars. I enjoy the glitz, the over the top attire, the production values, and getting a glimpse during the pre-show of whether the skin on Joan Rivers face has been pulled any tighter.


     


    The Golden Globes airs tonight and the movie Brokeback Mountain is leading the list of nominees. I’m a movie fanatic and I make a concerted effort to see all of the “Best Picture” nominees every year. I have not yet brought myself to go see Brokeback Mountain. Those of you who read this blog know that I am an avid supporter of gay rights. Even so, I’m not sure I want to watch sheep herders – Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal cuddle on a cold mountain side for two hours. Besides, those of us who live in Oklahoma where there are real cowboys know that the movie is unrealistic. Cowboys here have no reason to be wary of the affections of other cowboys; it’s the sheep that should be wary.


     


    I drive my wife nuts when I watch award shows. I keep my finger perched over the mute button and stab it every time an actor begins his acceptance speech.  It amazes me that these people can be so entertaining on the screen or on the stage and be so mind-numbingly dull when it comes times to “thank all the little people.”  Sally Fields “You like me, you REALLY like me” moments are too far and few between so I elect to shut the actors up with my remote. I think the acceptance speeches would be much more entertaining if they made everyone do a half-dozen tequila shots before the show begins. Then we would get to hear what the actors really think; “I’d like to say that the director is really an egomaniacal prick, but most of all I’d like to thank the prop-mistress for all of the between-takes nookie we enjoyed in my trailer.” Now THAT would be entertaining.


     


    I think awards for great acting shouldn’t be confined to just the Hollywood elite. There are several memorable “performances” I’ve personally seen over this last year that I’d like to acknowledge right now.  The award for Best Actress goes to my wife for her convincing “really honey, size doesn’t matter” speech delivered on numerous occasions during our marriage. The award for Best Actor goes to my boss for valiantly keeping a straight face and for assuring me that he would “look into it” when I suggested that our sales quotas had been placed too high this year. And the award for “best screen play based on a work of fiction” goes to my son for every email he sent me during college listing reasons why I needed to send money.


     


    If any of those folks would like to post their acceptance speeches, I promise I won’t mute them while they thank all their little people.









  • The war has reached out and touched my extended family. Below is an article posted earlier on my cousin, Jenny LaBouff’s site.


    Douglas A LaBouff & Michael R. Martinez

       






    Individuals USwww.gazette.com — One of the three Fort Carson soldiers killed in a helicopter crash Saturday in Iraq volunteered to be there.

    All of them were due home as soon as February, when the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment is scheduled to begin returning to Fort Carson.

    Capt. Michael Martinez, 43, Maj. Douglas LaBouff, 36, and 1st Lt. Joseph D. deMoors, 36, were killed when the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter they were flying in crashed outside Tal Afar, Iraq, just before midnight Saturday.

    There were 12 Americans on board the helicopter — eight soldiers and four civilians. The Army has not determined the cause of the crash. There were no survivors.

    LaBouff, originally from California, was hoping to become a professor at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, N.Y., when the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment’s commander, Col. H.R. McMaster, asked him to serve as its top intelligence officer. He agreed, going to Iraq with the 3rd ACR when it headed back in March for its second combat tour.

    Martinez, an Army attorney with the Judge Advocate General, also went to Iraq with the 3rd ACR, heading overseas in November for his first deployment in his 16 years in the military.

    It was supposed to be a short trip — his wife, Kelly, was counting the days until his return, Feb. 18.

    She woke Saturday knowing her husband wasn’t coming home. “I’d had a terrible dream, and I just knew,” she said. “You hear this all the time — but I had a terrible gut feeling.”

    While her husband was deployed, Martinez took comfort in the photographs he posted on a Web site for friends and relatives: her husband smiling in the sun outside his work tent; a group of children clowning for the camera in a Tal Afar market; a photo of the Black Hawk helicopter he traveled in, with a caption that reads, “Not a bad way to see the country.”

    “It’s difficult for me to look at him,” Martinez said. “What to say about the love of my life? He didn’t just like his job — he really loved it. He believed in the cause and believed in what he was doing.”

    Martinez, of Missouri, served with the 24th Infantry Division at Fort Riley in Kansas and at the Combined Arms Center at Fort Leavenworth near Kansas City before being assigned to Fort Carson’s Chief of Legal Assistance and going to Iraq.

    “Not only was he a good soldier — he was just, and kind, and a good leader,” his wife said. “He was a wonderful father, a wonderful husband.”

    LaBouff chose to go to Iraq with this regiment, though his goal was to share his love of history with West Point cadets. He had followed his father, a Korean War veteran, into the Army in 1995, and had honed his skills for war with two tours in South Korea, where he gathered intelligence on the North Korean army.

    “I think he felt he could further contribute to the intelligence fight (in Iraq),” said a longtime friend, Capt. Robert Medina, in a telephone interview from California. “And of course he wanted to be deployed with the cavalry, he’s a cavalry trooper all the way.”

    LaBouff’s wife of 10 years, Karen, asked Medina to speak to the media about her husband.

    The job fit right into LaBouff’s lifelong drive to help others. As a high school student in California, he founded a drug-abuse prevention program. As an ROTC cadet at California State University at Fullerton, he was always coaxing underclassmen through tough training, Medina said.

    When LaBouff’s father died, he brought his mother to live with his family in Colorado Springs.

    At home, the deep-voiced, stoutly built major did his best to be a stern father. But Medina recalled the tough facade crumbled with his son and daughter. “He kind of melts when the kids are around,” Medina said.

    Medina, who still speaks of his friend in the present tense, said LaBouff’s family and friends are having a hard time believing the news from Tal Afar.

    “It’s just not real yet.”

    1st Lt. Joseph D. deMoors’ family could not be reached for comment Tuesday.


  • Podcast Version


     


    SO, YOU WANNA BE IN PICTURES?


     


    I haven’t mentioned it much lately, but my wife and I are still doing the LA Weight Loss program and we are both on the downhill slope and are nearing our goals. I’m quite happy to report that I’m down almost 30 lbs and have 13 more to go. My wife has lost 40 lbs, and let me just say (hmmm…thinking of a cultured and civilized way to say this) she looks damn fine walking out of a room (and damn fine walking into one as well).  We have less than two months left on the program. I’ll post the official “before and after” photos when we reach our goals.


     


    I’ve been working hard at this. My counselor at “the center” asked me yesterday if I had any redefined goals at this point. I replied that after years of looking like the Michelin Man that I’m now going for the “Nicole Ritchie/Ethiopian famine victim” look.  


     



     


    I realize that the program seems a little shrouded in mystery and several of you have asked if it includes any ancient pagan rituals or animal sacrifices. The answer is; yes, it does, but I can’t tell you about them because the microchip they implanted in my brain relays everything I say or type to the Holy Earth Mother.  The penalty for divulging information is being force fed an entire package of Oreos smothered in Haggen-Dazs.


     


    I will, however, list what I typically consume in an average day:


     


    Breakfast – Non-fat yogurt and an apple.


    Mid Morning – Mysterious “LA Weight Loss Bar” which tastes oddly like I think Soylent Green might taste.


    Lunch – 6oz can of dry tuna over a tossed salad with two drops of non-fat salad dressing.


    Mid Afternoon – 2nd mysterious “LA Weight Loss Bar,” this time in popular “Milk of Magnesia” flavor, banana.


    Dinner – 6oz of baked chicken/fish/emu with steamed vegetables.


    Late Night Snack – Jello, ‘cause everybody loves jello.


    Along with this you are required to drink 72 gallons of water between breakfast and bed time which means that you burn a lot of calories each night getting up to go take a piss every 20 minutes.


     


    According to my calculations this comes to 12 calories a day. I am combining this with four days a week of treadmill work and weight lifting and one day when my wife and I go for a four mile power walk/run.


     


    So…this isn’t brain surgery; Marlon Brando could lose weight on this program.


     


    They have hung an interesting carrot in front of us (we CAN have carrots on this diet). Apparently, it is rare for them to have couples in the program together, and they think we might make for good advertising. So, they are considering us as possible candidates to go to Florida for a TV commercial shoot they do each spring. I think that would be great fun (especially since it’s an all expense paid trip) so I’m brushing up on my Shakespeare soliloquies for the audition. If we get to go, I’m really hoping to meet Mikey and the Charmin guy.


  • I’ve entered the world of Podcasting!


     


    I thought it would be great fun to start doing my blog as a podcast. “Why would anyone want to listen to your blog when they can spend two minutes just reading it?” I have no answer to that question; I just thought it might be fun. If you’d like to listen to the post below, just click on this link:


     


    Podcast


     


    “We have too many high sounding words, and too few actions that correspond with them” – Abigail Adams


     


    Senate confirmation hearings have begun for Supreme Court nominee Samuel Alito. I’m fascinated by these kinds of proceedings and I’ve been “judiciously” (har har) reading over the transcripts. In the grand tradition of John “white bread” Roberts, Alito has managed, so far, to spew forth a voluminous mass of verbiage about his core beliefs and convictions that give absolutely no clue to what those core beliefs and convictions actually are. Alito began by saying that the constitution is a living entity, and that its genius is that it is “not terribly specific on certain things.” Then when asked about such issues as domestic spying, executive power, and abortion, Alito stated that “we have to follow the Constitution and the laws.” He also “promises to keep an open mind.”


     


    When it comes to saying a lot without actually saying anything; that, my friends, is sheer brilliance. 


     


    If he wants to be confirmed, he has no choice but to follow this course. No Supreme Court nominee could be confirmed or politician be elected if they actually said what they really thought. They have to tread softly on the “offend no man” political middle ground without getting a shoe stuck in the mire of actual political debate.  I’m going to call this kind of rhetoric, “Blank Speak.”


     


    What would happen if they said what was really on their minds? Comedian Bill Maher used to do a riff on what would have happened if Bill Clinton had told the truth about Monica Lewinsky. “Mr. President, have you had inappropriate relations with Miss Lewinsky?”  “Yep, she blew me. In fact, she’s blowing me right now.” 


     


    That kind of straight forward, cut to the chase, no-bullshit comment probably wouldn’t win any elections, but it sure would have made for great television.


     


    I’ve decided that if “Blank Speak” is good enough for Supreme Court nominees and politicians in general, it’s good enough for me.


     


    So…the next time my boss asks me what my personal sales projections are going to be for the coming quarter I plan to respond this way: “I’ve been doing intense market research and I’ve found a tenuous correlation between sales and the customer’s desire to make a purchase. Therefore, I predict the volume of my sales may well follow a basic graph line which roughly mimics this correlation.”


     


    And there’s no reason to stop there. The next time my wife asks me if I’m ever going to start pulling my weight when it comes to doing the housework I intend to state emphatically: “As an enlightened husband, I understand that basic care, cleaning, and maintenance of our domicile should be a shared endeavor. However, my genetic makeup as a male has rendered me incapable of actually seeing dirty dishes and gigantic piles of laundry.  While gender equality is certainly a worthy goal, we should also be careful to acknowledge those differences which make our individual genders unique and special.  Therefore, in reference to household chores, I plan to acknowledge your equality while celebrating my maleness.”


     


    If Alito can stay the difficult course of spending day upon day saying absolutely nothing of any substance, I predict he will be confirmed. I plan to follow suit. It’s almost time to do my taxes and when it comes to the validity of certain deductions, I plan to be as vague as possible.

  • ARE WOMEN REALLY SHALLOW CREATURES AFTER ALL?


     


    I’ve always had and an idealistic concept regarding the basic decency of women. This isn’t bullshit, “politically correct” rhetoric; it’s honestly what I’ve always thought. At the risk of being a self-indulgent arm chair psychoanalyst, I’m sure it has everything to do with my childhood. I’ve talked a lot about growing up recently and those of you who read this blog know I grew up as an only child with a mentally ill mother and a distant father. Even though my mother was mentally ill, she was a loving, caring woman of exceptional intelligence with an unblemished moral and ethical character. My father was…well, he wasn’t any of those things. As a result, I grew up generally distrusting men, and assuming that most women, simply by virtue of their gender, possessed the qualities my mother had. With some notable exceptions, I’ve rarely been disappointed by this world view.


     


    A few days prior to purchasing my “mid-life crisis” car, a manufactures rep that I’ve know for years stopped by my office. This guy drives a brand new Mercedes SL500 convertible. He had heard that I was getting ready to go pick up the Z4 and he wanted to warn me about what, he perceived, might be unanticipated side effects of owning the car. He slapped me on the shoulder and said “you know what you’re going to hate about driving that car? All sorts of women are going to start checking you out, and as an old married guy, you can’t do anything about it!”  He laughed hysterically at himself and left.


     


    Even though I have no desire to “do anything about it”, I thought, “He’s nuts. I’ve been invisible to women for decades, and no fancy car is going to change that.” I also thought; “besides, even though buying a sports car is routinely joked about as a way to pick up chicks, it’s an urban myth. No woman is going to check out a guy just because of the car he’s driving. Women are above that sort of thing.”


     


    Apparently, I was wrong.


     


    My wife and I were driving out to her sister’s house today and we stopped at a convenience store to get gas. As we pulled away, my wife said “did you see that woman checking you out? She thought you were cute.” I correctly answered; “What woman? I didn’t see any woman.” (I may naive, but I’m no dummy.)


     


    This isn’t the first time this has happened since I bought the car. I’ve noticed on several occasions that I’ve gotten the proverbial “double take” in traffic or someplace I’ve stopped the car for a few moments; and these are women who would have NEVER looked twice at me a few months ago when I was a driving my 1999 Explorer with the dent in right-rear quarter panel.


     


    I suppose I should be flattered by this, but I know it has nothing to do with me; it has only to do with the wheels underneath me.


     


    (For those of you who haven’t seen it…here is the car.)



     


    My world view is shattered. Of course, men are shallow enough to check out a woman because of the size of her breasts, or the tightness of her jeans. We’re Neanderthals; we do crap like that all of the time! We stare at a woman’s chest during a conversation instead of her face because we’re pond scum. It’s in our sad, permanently adolescent nature!  But women…pure, beatific, women aren’t attracted to men because of something as shallow as a car are they?!? Say it ain’t so!


     


    So this is what I want to know: Am I absurdly naive? Have I led a life so ridiculously sheltered that I need to be dope slapped? Do I need to wake up and smell the coffee?


     


    Ladies, I really want to hear your thoughts on the matter. 


  • If you liked “Planet of the Apes” surely you’ll like “Shaft”!


    If you haven’t caught this news story yet, Wal-Mart apologized publicly yesterday because the cross-selling system on their web site was directing buyers of “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and “Planet of the Apes” DVDs to consider DVDs with African American themes.


    Ouch…that is going to leave a public relations mark.


    I keep thinking that, as a society, we are making progress on the racism front, but sometimes I’m not so sure.


    I was part of a conversation the other day about the fact that a Lowe’s Home Improvement story is going to be built in the tiny suburb of Tulsa in which I live.  I asked where it was going to be built and the reply was “I think they are buying up houses in colored town so they can build it there.” I hadn’t heard the phrase “colored town” in many years, but I brushed the comment off because the person who said it is part of a generation that would have grown up using that phrase here in Oklahoma. Then just yesterday I pulled into a convenience store near my house. A guy in his 20’s walked out of the store asked if I’d found a good mechanic to work on my car. I told him I hadn’t. He said he knew of a good mechanic in north Tulsa, if I didn’t mind taking my car into colored town to get it worked on.


    Wow, “Colored Town”…twice in the same week.


    Two steps forward, one step back; or is it one step forward, two steps back?


    I just don’t know anymore.