CARTOON: Whistling Dixie

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Whistling Dixie

State Rep. Mark Duvall, D-Mantachi has introduced a bill requiring Ole Miss to bring back Col. Reb and play ‘Dixie’ at its football games.

Thank God the Legislature is solving all the State’s important problems.

Forget the whole Col. Reb/Rebel Black Bear argument for a moment. I know all of you have your opinions on it.  But even if you think Col. Reb is the greatest thing since canned beer, do you really think the Legislature is the one should decide the issue?  Don’t you think they might have better things to do?  Education, the State Budget and all those other pesky state functions are now fixed so they can now be diving into other stuff.  What’s next?  Will someone file a bill to ban cowbells at Mississippi State?  Should the USM Golden Eagle get a Legislative update and be made to look like the eagle on the Capitol dome?

Rep. Duvall said on Channel 16 last night that he was doing this because his constituents want it. I’m sure they do.  But I there has to be a point when a representative says, “This is a question better answered in another arena.”

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CARTOON: State of the Union

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The party

I had a pity party last night.  No, I didn’t send out invitations, but my wife attended.  For one of the few times since November, I was mad at my situation. I was mad at the world.

It had been a mentally exhausting day. I came home to find my boys fighting (because the day ended with ‘Y’).  And my poor dog’s diabetes was roaring out of control after he had been at the vet all day (and I dropped another $82 I didn’t have.)   After cleaning up dog puke for the fifth time, I came unraveled.

“I didn’t ask for this!” I whined to my wife.  She nodded.  “I’m going to be working 23 hours a day!”  She nodded again.  She then put everything back in perspective for me — as  good spouse can do.  She reminded me of my blessings. She reminded me of my opportunities (I’m normally the cheerleader, but she took the reigns and got me back under control.)

The party was over before it really started.

I was glad. The last time I threw one of these, it lasted six months.  Talk about not bringing enough snacks.

It’s OK to get mad about your situation.  But do something about it.  I want my life to change — so I have to do something different. In the next few days you’ll be hearing how it will be different.

I looked up at the ceiling as my poor dog started to snore and my wife drifted off to sleep and thought,” I could never be a motivational person. I’m way too flawed.”  But someday I will write a book about my experiences.  God didn’t give me all the answers.  But He sure has given me the opportunities to learn a few of them along the way.

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A seven-year-old cartoon fits today

This is dedicated to State Rep. Mark Duvall, D-Mantachi

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Falling with Style

This is a post from January 8, 2010.  I just reread it and it motivated me to get moving this morning. Hope it does the same for you.

trash-barrel-brute-container-55I ran into my friend Scott today. He’s the kind of guy I really should be better friends with. Why? He’s an upbeat guy. A guy who sees a future full of possibilities, not a present full of limitations. A guy you want to hang around. A ten-minute conversation with him got me thinking about my future. And my past.

Nineteen years ago, I crossed over a stage and into an uncertain world. It was 1991. George Bush was in the White House. We were at war with Iraq. The economy was sliding into the toilet. I was graduating at a very bad time to find a newspaper job. Particularly one as a cartoonist.

I could go nowhere but down. And down I went.

Fulfilling my parent’s worst nightmare, I moved back home and landed a job as a high school janitor. When the economy went into the toilet, I was cleaning it. I pushed a trash barrel with a copy of my diploma on it, walked with my lip out and threw the mother of all pity parties. It was such a big party that I even had snacks. I was miserable. And I let everyone know it.

About six months had gone by and I had hit rock bottom. I hated my job. I hated everything. It was about that time I reread the Parable of the talents. When it comes to religion, I am a very private man. But it was a powerful moment for me. I was the servant who was burying my talents instead of using them. It was a bolt of lightning. It was a wake-up call. I needed to get on the stick.

I started drawing again. T-shirts for the Cross Country team. Caricatures for the teachers’ husbands. I even used to write “Pulitzer Prize” on the chalkboards. The harder I worked, the better my attitude got. And the better my attitude got, the more things started to change for the better. One of my friends at the school set me up with her daughter (she saw something in a janitor with all his teeth, I guess.). Another teacher told her newspaper editor friend that she knew of a talented young man with a great attitude. A few weeks later, I was hired at The Marietta Daily Journal. My career was born.

My conversation with Scott today reminded me of my past because he’s doing the same exact thing today I did 19 years ago. He’s not worried about his career. He’s out there, trying new things, working his tail off and planting seeds for a new, better future. His talents are getting a good workout. And I expect he will soon reap a big reward.

I fell on my face at Pope High School in Marietta, Georgia. Yet, I fell with style. And I learned how to get back up with grace. What seemed like the worst time of my life turned out to be my best. Why, you ask? Not because I learned how to wax a cafeteria floor or clean crap-covered toilet paper out of a stopped-up toilet. No, remember that girl I dated? She’s my amazing wife and wonderful mother of my three boys.

Sometimes your worst moments in life turn out to be the seeds of your finest ones.

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If Sherman attacked Atlanta today…

A man on a horse sat in the middle of 12 lanes of suburban Atlanta interstate traffic. General Sherman pulled into the fast lane of  I-75 and cursed under his breath.  “Thanks for this disaster, Grant” he thought as his horse eased into the left lane. He looked for the Kennesaw Mountain exit.  “Who the hell would order an invasion in the middle of rush hour?!”  Three hours of traffic was getting on his nerves.  He and his horse had barely moved. And it was making him mad. Really mad. Mad enough to burn something down.  Atlanta would pay for their traffic. They’d pay with flames….

A black Suburban with tinted windows honked his horn at Sherman’s horse.  “GET THE #$%#$ off the #$%#$% interstate, soldier boy!”  The driver flipped the General off. No invasion was worth this.  Savannah be damned. Sherman looked up at the WSB 750 AM billboard. “Who is Neal Boortz?” Sherman thought.

A honking horn brought his attention back to the road. He could see Kennesaw Mountain in the distance.  And between his horse’s nose and the mountain was 10,000,000 cars.  He signaled to his artillery to open fire on the traffic jam ahead of them. But they were caught up in a 45-car pile up three miles behind him on I-75.  Sherman cursed the sky. “Son of General Lee’s mom!”

A 1989 Honda Civic whipped in front of him. Its University of Georgia license plate said, “GO DAWGS.”  “Dawgs?” Sherman thought. “What the heck?” He reached for his sword and knocked the plate off the car.  The lady also flipped him off and threw hot coffee out her window onto his horse.  Another car whipped in front of him. This one was a 2008 Lincoln.  A Lincoln? What had the President done to deserve having a car named after him.  Sherman’s hair hurt.  He looked behind him. A couple of his men had been clipped by an 18-wheeler. A leather-clad  trucker was hitting one of his captains with a tire tool.

Great.  Casualties were mounting.

The information sign above him told him the bad news: A wreck was blocking the Kennesaw Mountain exit.  Forget it.  He looked at his map.  Atlanta’s most formidable fortification was just ahead. I-285 — the loop road around Atlanta.  Sherman merged his forces off I-75 and onto I-285.  Technically he should have taken the connector into downtown (he did have a fire to set after-all.)  But a truck wouldn’t allow them to get over and he got stuck having to merge onto the by-pass. Sherman faced his most frustrating defeat ever.  He ended up in Birmingham instead.

Headlines from the papers the next day:

The New York Times: “INVASION OF ATLANTA OFF.”

The Boston Globe: “SHERMAN’S FORCES THWARTED BY ATLANTA TRAFFIC.”

The Washington Post: “FAMOUS GENERAL STUCK on ATLANTA FREEWAY”

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution: “YET ANOTHER YANKEE WHO CAN’T DRIVE ON OUR ROADS.”

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CARTOON: The Legislature to the rescue

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CARTOON: Unbuilding the pyramid

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CARTOON: The Payday Lender

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