Jefferson Davis » south

Denied

Jefferson Davis — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 00:38:18 +0000

I haven’t posted anything in over a month. Even Google has written me off. My apologies for the absence. It has been a tumultuous couple of months. I don’t enjoy admitting what I’m about to admit, but in order for you to understand what I’m talking about, I feel that I must tell you folks what has been going on in my life.

After repeated job declinations, I went down to the local Disability office and applied for Disability. I never thought I’d be in a position where I’d have to do such a thing, but the sun doesn’t shine on the same dogs arse everyday. In the middle of July, I went down to the office and handed the lady that was interviewing me a two page list of conditions and ailments that I have and another list of doctors that could corroborate my story. It has been almost six months and everything that I stated has been verified.

I was not brought up to take from the government. My father recited JFK’s famous line, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but ask what you can do for your country”. I grew up in a house where we didn’t want the government intruding upon our lives. My family shells out six figures a year in taxes to the state alone. I thought that I had paid in a considerable amount as well. In my naive stupidity, I reckoned that my country cared about my well being and would help me out during these trying times.

All I really wanted was assistance until I can finish up my degree, but the fact is that they really don’t give a damn. I’m not Black, I’m not Hispanic, I’m not Asian, and I’m not enough Native American to claim it. So, what it comes down to is the fact that I’m a disabled white man that is supposed to pay for every one else to sit on their fat arses. And, I’m supposed to work my fingers to the bone so a minority or an immigrant can go to college (no offense to my friends and folks I call family overseas, but you all would get free college over here.) and barely pass.

My GPA for this semester is 3.75. It’s not perfect, but I try really hard and study for hours on end. I’m a hard worker. All I’ve ever expected is the chance to succeed and move up the social ladder. However, this is not what one receives when one works his or her arse off. Several months ago I went in for a job interview to do Audits for a large commercial company. Trying to be honest, when the application asked if I was disabled, I checked the yes box. Big freakin’ mistake. The lad half my age asked me why I marked that box, so I tried to downplay it and said that I’ve always excelled past anything anyone has ever asked for me. After a few minutes of asking me questions, he looked over at me, and asked, “Why don’t you take a job as a cashier or janitor like other disabled people?”

I wanted to knock him the feck out, but kept my composure and left after he said he’d keep me on file. This past week has been a hectic one. I asked everyone to do their best to leave me alone, so I could properly prepare for finals. Of course, they did not. I should have just said I’m free all week On Tuesday, the day of one of my hardest written exams, I had to go with my cousin to work on a house for me Mum. Now, I love me Mum and would do anything for her, but it was a bad time to be asking me to paint and install tile flooring. Dr. Don and myself finished up about two in the afternoon and I came home.

When I arrived home, I noticed that the mail lady had been here. With hesitation, I checked the mailbox to see if I had received a letter from the disability office. By chance, there was a letter in there from them. I hesitated in opening it, but I did anyway. I was hoping and praying to get the assistance, so I could finish school unimpeded, but alas, it was a denial letter.

I called them up and said, “Let me get this straight, I applied for a gub’mint job and couldn’t get it because I’m too blind, but when I ask for assistance as a last resort, I’m not blind enough.”

My vision was just one wee thing on the application, yet they used it as an excuse to deny me. Yes, I’m a Southern American and I’m Caucasian. So the feck what? Look, I’m not a xenophobe. However, when I’ve seen blatant evidence that minorities are treated better than the rest of us, I tend to get cross! I used to work with a chap that was Hispanic. The government paid for his University fees as well as giving him rent and food money equalling about $1100 a month.

Everyone should be on a level playing field when it comes to jobs and education. When I finished secondary school, there was no free access to third level education. Parents of all races and cultures had to save for a long time to send their kids to college. As it is in the states now, if you’re an immigrant or are anything other than Caucasian, you can go to school for free and have free lodging and food.

I’m not a racist. I’m just stating the facts as I see them. We are in hard times. I realise that. All I was asking for was assistance for the next few years so I can finish University and make a difference in this world. But, they couldn’t do that.

I have a new outlook thanks to this denial. The US government can fuck off! I will always support the troops, policeman, and fire-fighters, but the politicians and greedy officials can screw somebody else over. I, and my family, have been screwed over enough! Don’t ask me for another mother fecking thing, government. Fuck off with ya.

My sister said it best the other day as we were shopping. She said, “Everyone from doctors to family and friends have called you retarded and written you off. You’ve out lived some of them and have done more in the last six years than any of them have in a lifetime.”

I will succeed. I will hike through rain, sleet, and snow. I will climb the highest peaks and never give up.

Do you know what happens when you kick a Mutt? He comes back stronger than ever and chews your effing leg off!

Have a grand week all…

Redlight Antics

Jefferson Davis — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 01:32:32 +0000

A few days ago I entered a pact with K8 the Gr8. If one of us blogs, the other has to. It has worked out great and finally got me off my arse and got my fingers on the keyboard where they belong. I’m writing whatever comes to mind, ‘til I can sort out some short fiction that I’m working on.

This evening, I decided to go down to city centre to peruse the park and surroundings and hopefully get some pictures. I got more than I bargained for, but I like surprises. I was making my way through the exhaust fumes of the traffic, when out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a redhead that that I know standing on the corner when I was about to turn.

I rolled down the window, leaned out, and said, “Hey Red, come here”.

She looked over while jabbering something inaudible on her mobile. She came running over with those beaming green eyes and her infamous strawberry golden ringlets flailing in the summer zephyr.

“What are you doing down here?” I asked whilst observing the man in a BMW convertible, grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m down here to meet some girlfriends for dinner”, she said whilst leaning into the truck.

“Can I come along?” I asked while watching her look at herself in the side mirror.

The light is about to turn green by this point.

“No”, she exclaims.

“Get your cute butt in here and you can hang out with me ‘til they get here.”

She hopped in the other side and I looked over at the guy in the BMW. He shook his head, and yelled, “Man, I ain’t never seen a white boy pick up a chick like that. You sure you’re not part brother?”

“Hey, I’m everyone’s brother”, I said, as I laughingly pulled away.

She hung out with me while I took pictures and told me about every minute of everyday I had missed. She talks 24/7!

The girls showed up and they went off to play. I love her to bits, but my patience for her antics is finite these days. Actually, she and Scarlet from a previous post are a lot alike. That’s what scares me! What can I say, I have a genetic predisposition for redheads.

Shalom

Jefferson Davis — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 04:28:45 +0000

A few weeks ago, I decided to take a cruise down main street in the auld Beetle. I journeyed down main street giving people the peace sign in reply to their thumbs up. I parked at the end of South Main and made my way up the road towards bricked area of city centre. I spotted a man sitting on a bench that looked like he could use some company, so I enquired, “Pardon me, sir, would you mind if I sit for a spell?”

He nodded and I sat down beside him and bathed in the spring sunbeams. The man looked a little out of place amongst the myriad of striplings ambling up and down the pavement. He was a white headed bearded chap wearing dress slacks, a tweed sport coat, and gleaming Sunday shoes. There was a silver Star of David glistening on his left lapel.

The gentleman turned as if to enquire about something. “Was that you in that old Beetle that came past here a few minutes ago?”

“Yes, sir.” I answered with great delight, hoping to start a conversation.

“I had one back in the 50’s, when I lived in England”, he stated with an overwhelming smile.

“Was it a split window, Beetle?” I asked with excitement.

“Yes, it was a split window, Beetle. You must know your VW’s.”

“I’m surprised, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so. I didn’t figure that many Jewish people would have anything to do with a car made in Germany, at least back then.”

“Well, they were very economical at the time, and besides, we invented the things”, he answered with a mild smirk overtaking his countenance.

I smiled and said, They are still economical and very good cars, at least the older one’s are”.

I hesitated for a moment pondering whether to ask the question that I really wanted to ask. He was elderly and theoretically could have survived the holocaust.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking…”

“I know the question you are going to ask and the answer is, yes.”

“Were you in Germany at the time?”

He stroked his beard for a bit, and said, “I was 8 years-old, when my father lost his job at Heidelberg University. Well, he was kicked out by the Nazi’s. It was 1939 and Hitler and all of his cronies were mercilessly expelling Jews from Germany. My father had just enough money hidden away to move all of us to England. I lost a lot of friends and family during those horrific years. I think that everyone who really wants to know how insidious the Nazi’s were, should visit Aushwitz. It is one thing to read books or watch a documentary, but it is a whole other ball game to see it. How does the saying go? “”Those who don’t know history are destined to repeat it.”””

I almost put my hand up as if answering a question in class, and enunciated, “Edmund Burke is the original orator of that phrase, I think, but it has been rehashed so many times by so many people”.

“Ah right, an Irishman, I believe”, he said whilst stroking his beard and poking at some trash with his cane.

I scratched my head, and said, “I never have understood it, sir. I have a wee bit of German as well as Jewish blood running through my veins. I don’t guess…”

Laughingly, he enquired, “You, Jewish ancestors? I’d take you for being Irish or English.”

“I am mostly Irish, but my mothers, mothers, fathers, mothers, mothers, fathers, fathers, fathers, fathers, father came over from Israel a long time ago. His grandson, Michael Israel, started the first synagogue in North Carolina. He and his father, Solomon, fought in the Revolutionary War. Actually the Germans come in on the same side of the family. I am proud of all of my ancestors, for if it were not for them, I wouldn’t be here.”

The gentleman leaned back with arched frosty eyebrows and a smile. “You must be a historian, knowing all of that about your family?”

“No one in my family seems to care, so I have taken it upon myself to do the research and take the time needed to learn all that I can about all of my ancestors. Though, I do love history.”

“That’s very admirable of you, son. We need more people like you in the world”, he said whilst adjusting his hat.

“So, tell me more about yourself, sir”

With a great laugh, he responded, “That would take ages, and as you can see, I’m not getting any younger”.

“Where did you grow up in England?”

“We moved around a lot. My father worked in Reading and London. London was a great place to be in the 60’s, even for a Jew.”

“When did you move to the states?” I earnestly enquired.

“Well, I got a job with a great firm in New York, so we moved there in the early 70’s. My wife had family in Queens, so it wasn’t a hard choice. We moved to Upstate New York about 15 years ago to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life.”

“What brings you to the upstate of South Carolina, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“We came down for the wedding of a friends granddaughter, but we are also considering moving down here.”

“Ah, that’s grand.”

“Are you sure you’re not from the UK?” He asked with a mild grin.

“No, I just have some kind friends in Ireland and the UK. And, I’ve visited a few times.”

“Don’t let the world define you, you define the world.”

“Sir, if has been a pleasure meeting you, if you and your family need any assistance while in town, please give me a call”, I stated whilst giving him my card.

About that time, a crowd of ladies came out of the hotel that is situated directly in city centre. One of them was an elderly lady making her way towards us. He gathered up his belongings as the lady got closer.

“My name is Jefferson Davis, sir. You all have a safe trip”, I said.

The man turned back around, shook my hand, and said, “My name is Hiram, Hiram Israel.”

I stood there in shock with a half grin on my face as they walked towards the line of restaurants further up main street. It just proves that you never know who you are going to meet on the street. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t want to talk about the Holocaust, or Shoah. According to him, it’s been 72 years since he left Germany, but it still shakes him to the bone. I’m just a mere Gentile, but I will not ever forget what happened so many decades ago. There is no, nor will there ever be, any reason for killing so many people. The German people put their hopes and dreams in one man and one party. That was their ultimate downfall. Few people could predict in 1925 how power would turn Hitler and his cabinet into a bunch of malign despots.

That should be a lesson heeded by the young of today. Idolise no man. Aspire to accomplish what other men have accomplished, but never idolise another man for you will surely see him faulter and sink into an abyss of diffidence. Have faith in yourselves and God, if you so choose. Even Jesus says in John 10:34, “Ye are gods”.

Define the world, people. Make it a better place for us all to live in. Even the most finite ripples in a pond traverse its entire surface.

Chag Sameach Pesach

Group Rantings

Jefferson Davis — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 00:42:07 +0000

I have a gripe that perhaps some of you have as well. There are tens of thousands of groups on Flickr. Over the years, I’ve joined quite a few and contribute when I can. There is an entire segment of groups centralised around the cities in which we reside. I too think this is grand. It gives us an opportunity to show how beautiful or ugly our city may be according to the filter we use to perceive our surroundings.

Again, the premise is grand but the implementation of such a construct is atrocious. My home cities group is filled with pictures of food and humorous expressions! What does that say about the city in which I was born? We’re funny and fat? In all fairness, there are shots of grand architecture, landscapes, portraits, and lovely shots that tell compelling stories. Photography, at least in my wee opinion, is about evoking an emotional response in the viewers. The trick is to get the actual reaction
you were hoping for. In just as many instances, however, it is just as important to tell a story with that simple yet daedal medium.

Ask a different photographer, and you’ll get a different answer every time. Enough rambling. I’m going to bugger off now and have a cuppa tea.

Otus asio

Jefferson Davis — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 02:06:14 +0000

A couple of days ago, I was having an arduous day at work. I was in the back doing inventory, when I heard one of my fellow employee’s call me to the front. I went to him and asked what the problem was, and he said, “Two more fuckin’ Mexican’s just came in – you help them”.

I work with a bunch of xenophobes. I do not like the fact that a large percentage of Mexican’s do come into this country illegally, but I’m not going to hold it against them. They are just trying to provide for their families. It’s far easier to say that an entire group of people are bad, rather than to realise that there is good and bad in all of us. No one, certainly no ethnicity, is pure or without sin. Some of us are more educated than others but that certainly does not make us perfect.

Researching my own family history has taught me more about myself than anything else. I became humbled, as I went through the records and realising what my ancestors had to overcome. Most were either running away from oppression or starvation. Still, others were ran off their land that they had resided on for a millennia.

All of this being said, I do not treat others like third class citizens because of where they were born. So, I approached the man and woman discovering that they were not Mexican’s at all.

“O si yo (hello)” I said whilst smiling and approaching the couple.

The man adorning a tan leather jacket and denims, smiled, as he leaned in whispering to the lady wearing a black dress and an enormous smile. She was short with jet black hair draping across her back and dark mystical eyes. He was tall and hefty having similar long jet black hair and dark mystical eyes.

“How did you know?” He asked whilst smiling and laughing.

“The Screech Owl pendant was a dead giveaway”, I answered, as I leaned in to shake their hands.

“You’re Cherokee?” The man asked with earnest intrigue and disbelief.

“My grandfather was half Cherokee”, I replied.

“Well, you’d never know it with the freckles and light hair”, he said whilst laughing.

“You might say I’m a bit watered down…There’s more Irish in the bucket of paint than anything else”, I laughingly replied.

“No way, my great-grandfather was Irish”, he yelled whilst patting me on the back.

We continued talking about the Cherokee Nation and our grandfathers. We also discussed our fiery tempers and which group of our ancestors we could blame for that. It was good to reminisce about all things Cherokee and mother earth. Native American’s are thrown to the wayside far too often. I’m still waiting for a Native American President!

When I finished talking with them, I walked to the back to finish inventory. The lad walked to the back, and asked, “What did the Mexican’s want?”.

“They were not Mexican’s, my brother, they are Cherokee, Native Americans.”

He smirked, and said, “Same difference”.

I jumped up from my kneeling position, looked him up and down, and walked away. I felt like decking him right then and there, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Nor would it be worth my time to explain it because you can’t educate those that don’t want to be educated.

I am very proud of my ancestry and am not ashamed of being from the Southern United States.

Brooding Mare

Jefferson Davis — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 04:39:28 +0000

A few days ago, Dr. Don and myself went over to my mothers ranch to clean out horse stalls. We spent two days hauling truckloads of horse manure and soiled sawdust out of the stalls and barn. We replaced it all with fresh and clean sawdust.

On the second day, we finished the arduous job and I proceeded to wrangle the horses back to the field that leads to the barn. I grabbed a scoop of my mothers specially mixed equine feed and walked out into the muddy field where I had them secured.

I walked close to the six of them, including one gelding and five mares. I whistled for them to follow and shook the feed bucket. They happily came running thinking that it was feeding time. At the same time, Dr. Don was watching from a safe distance. He’s afraid of horses!

Before I knew it, I was surrounded by them with nowhere to go. As I laid the bucket down and started shooing Sunny, one of the mares, back, the gelding decided he wanted the entire bucket for himself. Docxy, the eldest mare and my favourite out of the bunch, side kicked him in the arse coming within centimetres of me.

Remembering my father getting kicked and almost killed, I turned to Dr. Don with an ashen face and eyes as big as feed buckets and waited for him to say something.

He’s always insightful.

He walked up with a blank countenance, put one leg up on the rustic fencing, spit his beloved chewing tobacco, and said, “Yep………..I told you women are cruel, and you didn’t believe me”.

I couldn’t do anything except laugh. The gelding is fine except for his pride. I guess he’ll stay out of the head bitches feed bucket from now on.

Me?

Life is grander than it has been in a long while and only getting better. I’ve been out chasing after mares every night since. The two legged kind.

P.S.: The song, I’m Alive, is by Kenny Chesney and Dave Mathews. I had to add something a wee bit country western to any post that speaks of horses and manure.

Davis’

Jefferson Davis — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 01:54:06 +0000

Tuesday evening, I decided to go up to my grandfathers house up in the mountains. I hadn’t been up there since he died back in 1998. I honestly didn’t think I could find the place, but I went anyway for the adventure and brief jaunt down memory lane.

I remember that it was 117 fence post to the south to the church and 95 fence post to the north to a girls house that I had a crush on for years. Gramps and myself would set out around sunset and watch the cows and horses graze on the lush lucerne and fescue covering the mountainside. I learned a lot about life from observing those animals. Grandpa Davis wasn’t a talker, he was a doer.

He walked softly and carried a big stick. I never saw the man get angry except for maybe one or two times in the 26 years I knew him. His hair was as white as the cotton he picked as a child, and he was as tall and slender as the cotton mill smoke stacks that he worked in most of his adult life. He was the very essence of the phrase, Facta Non Verba.

Everyone knew and loved him far and wide. He retired not long after I was born. The earliest memory I have is of him almost getting mauled by my dog, a huge German shepherd named Zack. I was five or six and he was playfully chasing me around on Christmas morning. He started tickling me, I started screaming and laughing, and gramps almost lost his arm due to a very overly protective dog. Grandpa and the Zack didn’t get along well after that.

Anyhow, let’s go back to Tuesday evening, shall we?

I turned onto the street that he lived as the sun filtered through the coloured leaves setting atop a vast hillside that runs along with the curvature of the road. I was shocked at how so little had changed, as I pulled up the gravel driveway. The enormous oak tree in the front yard that gramps planted, when he and my granny moved in the house over fifty years ago, had grown a little but not much with the passage of time. The roses and hedges looked almost the same.

I was shocked yet again, when I finally arrived at the back of the house. There were people and cars parked in his driveway. As it turns out, the house is rented to some folks. I called me pops to verify that it was indeed being rented. I don’t have a problem with him renting it, I just thought it had been empty for a bit. Anyway, I turned around and continued down the long country road.

A few minutes later my mother called, so I had to pull into a strangers driveway, a long and narrow drive. After I hung up with her, I tried to do a three point turn but the road was too narrow. Pulling onto someone’s land up in the mountains is a very dangerous proposition. Mountain folk don’t like strangers.

I ended up having to drive all the way down the road that ended at an log cabin. There were cars parked in the garage, so I turned around. Pops called me back and I told him I’d call back due to my whereabouts. He told me to just say that I’m a Davis and they’d leave me alone. I didn’t believe that for a moment.

Just as I was about to pull off, an auld grey haired fella in overalls and what looked like a twenty year-old baseball cap came running out with a shotgun demanding, “What are ye doin’ ‘ere boy”?

I nervously rolled down the drivers side window, put my hands out, and answered, “I’m just turning around, sir”.

“Ye ain’t got no business ‘ere boy.” He exclaimed, as he walked closer to the truck.

The sweet smell of freshly baked apple pie passed my nostrils, as his wife, still wearing a cooking apron, peered through the screen door.

“I’m sorry sir, I just got lost…I was down the road visiting my grandfathers old place”, I mumbled, as the man approached with his gun by his side.

“….Now don’t let me catch ya back down ‘ere…aga…Who was yer grandpa?”

“D*** Davis, sir.”

“Yer L**** Davis’ boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well I declare, Ester, get out ‘ere. This is D*** Davis’ grandson.”, he hollered as the lady of the house came running out.

She stopped dead in her tracks, when I stepped out of the truck.

“Dear Jesus, you look just like yer dad, she yelled as the auld fella patted me on the back.

They told me stories about my dad and grandad, and ironically about myself, when I was knee high to a grasshopper. All in all, it was a good visit down memory lane.

Moral of story:

Sometimes trips down memory lane can be a bit dangerous yet entertaining and informative at the same time.

Video is “Have you ever seen the rain?", by CCR. It doesn’t fit, but it was playing on the radio when I met Mr. Shotgun.

Two Weeks Late

Jefferson Davis — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 04:08:31 +0000

Tap…tap…tap

Whack…whack…whack…

Bang…bang

“This better be good at…4AM”, I yelled whilst wiping the muck from my eyes.

“Who the f*ck is it?” I demanded, as I treaded across the frigid oak floors towards the back door.

“It’s Dr. Don.”

I unlocked the door and swung it open in anger of be awoken.

“What are you doing here this time of the morning?” I pleaded while rubbing my dreary head and heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

After putting the water on to boil, I realised that he was sporting a green t-shirt with a big shamrock on it.

“Shite”, I exclaimed whilst running to my bedroom.

“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, dude”, he said, as he looked through the cupboards for something to snack on.

I grabbed my camera gear and supplies and headed out the door a few minutes later. We got on the main highway about 4:30AM. It’s quite fun to drive early in the morning. The roads were empty at that time of dawning, so I could use two lanes if I so desired.

Just as we started making good time, it started misting rain. I turned on the windshield wipers to alleviate the haze overtaking my view. The drivers side wiper started acting erratic, veering way off its predetermined course, so I turned them off and back on. It fell over and hung precariously off the drivers side of the windshield.

“This is not a good omen”, I cogitated whilst looking for a place to pull over in the pitch blackness of an empty road.

We pulled into a rest area and inspected the damage. We couldn’t help but laugh, when we discovered that the gears in the wiper motor were stripped.

“I hope the rain stops”, I laughingly muttered whilst getting back in the truck.

“Ah, throw a string on it and yank it every time it starts to mist”, Dr. Don muttered, as he stared into the vacuous rest area.

Luckily, the rain clouds dissipated and we continued down I-385 S. Once we got on I-26 East, the driving was a breeze. I put the truck in cruise control mode and relaxed a bit. Dr. Don freaked out a bit, when I pretended to be asleep and let the vehicle veer closer to the concrete median.

After breakfast somewhere near Columbia, SC, Dr. Don went to sleep and I sliced about a half hour off the trip by speeding. When I saw the Savannah River in the distance, I turned up the radio to wake him. We arrived about an hour before the parade. People of all colours, shapes, and sizes were painted in green. The one’s that weren’t covered themselves with a lovely green beer. It wasn’t Guinness, but eh?

After fighting through a crowd of a half million people, I finally found a spot to take pictures. I normally hop from place to place to get different perspectives, but because there was a mass of people and I was trying to stay within seeing distance of Dr. Don, I stayed in one spot the entire time.

It was an all out celebration of Craic. Some whacky and legless college guys ran out into the parade street and high fived everyone while screaming, "Éirinn go Brách". Others would run up and yell, “Irish, yeah”. It was a party on wheels.

I watched bands march by from about thirty US states, including: Georgia, Wyoming, Florida, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, and Delaware to name a few. Heck, there was even a bagpipe band from Edinburgh, Scotland.

An African-American woman with a hellish attitude and seven kids tried to root me out of my spot. I didn’t mind the kids getting a decent spot, but when she tried to push me out of the way, I got irate and decided to leave before saying something and causing a riot.

Dr. Don was arguing with her husband, so I grabbed him out of the crowd and walked away.

“On the one day when American’s with Irish ancestry can celebrate their heritage, someone has to start some shite”, I muttered, as we walked away.

“She was just dreaming that Obama was in the parade and had to get a closer spot, being that he’s Irish and all.”

“Yer not Irish, unless yer born in Ireland”, I muttered, as we walked into a quaint little cigar shop.

“Does the north count?”

I laughed and we picked out some proper cigars. We sat by the river and watched babes in short shorts and skin tight T’s compete in a wet t-shirt contest.

We hung around for about another hour talking junk to the fairer sex. One woman thought I worked for a paper, so I went with it.

I hadn’t been down there since I was knee high to a grasshopper, so it was nice to go back even for a day. When we returned to the truck, we decided to take a wee side trip to Charleston, S.C.. It is older than Savannah and even more picturesque. The city was formed in 1670 and was once the fifth larges city in the United States. The first shots of the Civil War were fired there as well. So, it is truly a historic playground. One of my ancestors, a Mr. McManaman (can’t remember his first name at present) from County May, died there during the Civil War.

We hopped on I-95-S and sped away from Georgia. I stayed behind a big rig that was speeding, so we made good time. We crossed the massive Cooper River Bridge around 4:30PM. It is the largest cable-stayed bridge in the Western Hemisphere. And, people say we’re a bunch of hicks in South Carolina!?

I took a few shots of the coast and the Cooper River. We walked through battery park. The architecture of the plantation houses and mansions is awe inspiriting.

After observing the rich women (A person has to be well off to reside in auld Charleston.) jogging through the park, we treaded down some side streets. The streets are very narrow, so I was not surprised when a lady in a minivan ripped a mirror off the side of a painters van. The painter ran out into the street discovering his drivers side mirror laying shattered on the paving stones. The nice lady returned and apologised to the gentleman.

“dun’t w’rry ‘bout it ma’am…these types ah t’ings happ’n down ‘ere”, he muttered as the lady helped him pick up the mirror shards.

She offered her insurance information and her number, but he wouldn’t take it. After she left, he got all of his things together and proceeded to leave. As he pulled away, the rear bumper fell off. He parked, got out, rubbed his head, and yelled, “Shit’”.

Dr. Don and myself got a good laugh out of this and headed back up the road. When we arrived at his house, my hands were stuck to the steering wheel, and I was unable to bend my arms.

“So, how long is it gonna take you to get this on the blog?”

“I’ll have it up by the time I pay dearest deeds to the moon before it fades away.”

“Yer full of shit…”

“Within a fortnight”, I mummbled whilst puffing on a cigar in the mountainous night air.

Dr Don sighed and went in the house.

I drove a wee bit over 600 miles in a day not including all of the walking. We had a blast! I look forward to doing it again soon. Although, next time I may have a chickidoo with me.

Parade Shot (2)
Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day and Happy Birthday to Me (6)
Return to Green 2009 (4)
Group Rantings (2)
XXX – Walk this Way (10)

Impatience

Jefferson Davis — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 06:13:46 +0000

“What the fuck is your problem?”

I stare blankly into the mans jowly and worn face.

“What is the fucking holdup?” He demands whilst barreling over me.

I mutely swing around and point to the two cars spilling their precious fluids onto the pavement, and more importantly, the pregnant Hispanic woman wailing a river of tears over her son.

He jerks back and says, “Shit, I’m going to be late.

The other driver, a middle-aged woman adorning a stylish business suit, curses 911 on the mobile while kicking what used to be the front end of her blue BMW M5.

“Are you alright?” I plead whilst surveying the little boy.

“I’m alright”, says the lady in the business suit.

I lean down and ask the lad if he is alright. He nods that he is alright, while rivulets of blood trickle from his brow onto the cold asphalt.

“Are you alright, Ma’am?” I ask as the sun reflects off of the stream of tears dripping off of her chin.

She blurts out Spanish so fast that I can’t understand what she’s saying.

“Está bien, Señora? - Are you alright, Ma’am?”

“Hijo mi está herido - My son is hurt”, she answers while wiping off his forehead with her sweatshirt.

“Estancia aquí - Stay here”, I scream over the haunting sirens coming from the east of our position.

I go back to my truck and grab a blanket. I look back to discover a sea of cars backed up a quarter mile. I run into a winded construction worker and ask him if he has any road cones. He runs back to his truck and starts setting them out so that we don’t get ran over by a speeding eejit.

Just as I return and put the blanket over the boy so he doesn’t get cold, the fire crew arrives. The white collared woman continues to pace back and forth and rant on the mobile. As they start examining the boy, the fire chief pulls me to the side and ask me what happened. As I begin to tell him what I saw, the expecting woman cries, “Señor…Señor…Señor.”

I run over to her and her son, and the medic says that they are going to take him to the hospital for x-rays to make sure that minor cuts is all he has.

The woman, we’ll call her, Maria, pleads with me to talk to her in Spanish.

I translated the best I could for the medic. She asks me to call her husband so I do and hand her the mobile as the ambulance arrives.

She hands over the phone and hugs me whilst screaming, “Gracias, señor”.

The medics check her over after loading the boy onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. I give her my card and stay behind to be interviewed by the fire chief, highway patrol, and an already on the scene claims adjustor.

That was the ending to a very hectic week. The father called me a few hours ago and said the young boy was fine. To top it all off, I’m finished with the project I’ve been working on for three weeks. Have a great weekend everyone. Many apologies for not posting for a few days.

My Mare and the rest of the Clan

Jefferson Davis — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 05:53:56 +0000

I spent part of Sunday with the horses. Today is my Mare’s birthday. She’s twenty-one years old. It seems like just yesterday, when she was welcomed into the fold. I was just a teenager yet left with the responsibility of caring for her and the other mares. They are my mothers love and burden now.

I tried to get close up shots but she kept trying to lick the filter as if it were a salt block. She’s very bashful these days. Docxy enjoys trotting around the pastures and chasing after deer ‘til she runs out of stamina. The young stud is very fearful of her teeth. In all the years that I’ve rode her, she’s not tried to buck or kick me once.

That’s her daughter, Sunshine, to the left. Docxy is on the right. The rain had recently ceased, when I took this shot.

The next one is of the studly stud being silly. We call him Max, because he is a bit whacky like my granduncle.

This shot is of Mandy. She’s one of the most genial quarter horses I’ve ever met.

Sunshine is ticked off because I haven’t fed her yet.

Quit looking at me with that shiny thing that clicks and give me my food!

Lottery

Jefferson Davis — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 04:44:18 +0000

I had the wildest dream last night. I dreamt that I won the lottery. It was a magnificent dream.

Just as I left the petrol station with my ticket, I heard the numbers over the radio of a passing car and realised that I had won fifty million dollars. I leapt in the air, and yelled, “YeeHaaw”.

I ran inside, knocking people over on my way to the clerk, and slammed my ticket down on the counter, demanding my cashola. The clerk called the officials and the local news media. People swarmed around me, as I kept a tight grip on the ticket like a child to a bottle.

The state lottery officials arrived and validated the ticket. They shook my hand and offered their felicitations.

We were directed outside where hundreds of people had gathered. The media van strobe lights were beaming into my retinas, as I ran outside. The clickety-clack of camera shutters reverberated through the station, as I stood in awe of the mass of people here to see little ol’ me.

“What do you plan on doing with the money?” A reporter from a fox affiliate pleaded, whilst ramming her mic in my face.

A great silence swept over the crowd awaiting my response.

“I will give a large sum to charity, and go make things right with an ex.. And, I’ll deposit the rest of my money in the Bank of England.”

A great gasp echoed through the crowd from right to left. People stood still, with their mouths agape.

“I’m just kidding…the Bank of Ireland”, I laughing muttered, as I took in the seriousness of the matter.

I had to go to the Supreme Court to get my money. By then a quarter of it had been sucked up by blood sucking lawyers.

I put my money in an international bank just to spite the haters. I picked up Dr. Don, Brian F., and we headed for Dublin.

The last thing I remember was buying everyone in the Temple Bar district a round of drinks.

What would you do, if you won the lottery?

I’d try to make a difference in this whacky world. Of course, I’d have to have Guinness and Bulmers air shipped to me wherever I would be.

I’d have to by the Playboy mansion for weekend excursions.

I could ramble on about lost love and how much I wish I could rewind the clock, but I’m not going to. It’s not over ‘til it’s over.

Never underestimate a Davis.

P.S.: I sincerely apologise for not being around to pester the lot of you lately.

Catch Up

Jefferson Davis — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 02:59:56 +0000

I’ve been out of the loop for about two weeks. I feel like I’m at a party but not in the gossiping circle. Ah well, I’ll catch up over the next few days. I hope that all of you are doing grand. I’m much better thanks to meds and a peppy attitude.

This evening, I decided to go out on the town and celebrate. Celebrate what? Anything, really.

I had to make a quick stop at the store for a few bare essentials. While in queue with my two items, I caught a glimpse of the woman clerking behind the counter.

A brunette with tints of gold intermingling with a dark chestnut mane falling to her waist. Our eyes met, both blue, and a mutual smile overtook our faces. I chortled and she turned to ring up the person in front of me.

A few moments later, I stepped up to the plate. She smiled, I smiled and asked how she was doing. We talked and smiled like two blabbering idiots.

I kind of got lost in the bright lights and lost track of time. The bloke behind me cleared his throat and moved to another clerk.

“Three, ninety-nine”

“Really?” I enquired whilst smiling.

“Yes, really”, she responded whilst laughing.

I pulled out a wad of cash and flipped through the 100’s, 50’s, and 20’s to find a 5 dollar bill. She watched me intently, as I flipped through the money. She licked her lips and started making gestures that any idiot could pick up over the age of ten.

Whilst still grinning from ear to ear, I paid her in full.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” She asked whilst smiling and leaning over the counter.

“Nope, not at this particular second”, I replied, as I held up my bling bling Swiss watch. (I’m terrible, I know.)

“Here…Here, let me give you my number”, she said whilst looking around for a pen.

At that particular moment I noticed a wedding band on her ring finger.

With rosy cheeks and the cutest smile, she handed me the number.

“I’m afraid I can’t take this”, I muttered whilst handing it back to her.

“Why not?” She pleaded, as her smile transformed to a scowl.

“That ring on your finger.”

“Oh that….I’m gettin’ a divorce…he…he treated me like dirt”, she answered whilst fiddling with the plain gold wedding band.

“I’m proud of ya, but as much as I’d like to take you out, I can’t ‘til you at least get separated.”

“Why?”

“It’s called a gentleman’s code of honour.”

“Oh, I like you”, she yelled, as she leaned over within Eskimo kissing distance.

She stuffed her number down my coat pocket, and said, “You’re going to need this".

I looked around to discover an older gentleman behind me motioning and giving me a winking thumbs up.

Most men in these parts wink to show approval. I never have figured out why. It’s just one of those southern attributes, I reckon.

Anyhow, I said bye and left. I went downtown and ran into some old friends and had a blast. I could not get that chick out of my head though. Sometimes my code gets in the way.

Should I have asked her when she got off of work? Hmm….

Odds are I’d get busted and have a maniac husband chasing me around with a gun. That’s my father’s job. I play it cool.

I over analyse everything. I wondered while driving downtown whether it was the money, the bling bling, or just me that she liked. I’m trying to learn to live in the moment. It’s hard to do for a person who naturally observes the social intricacies of humanity. I’m workin’ on it though.

New pictures and post coming very soon.

Pet Peeve

Jefferson Davis — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 04:08:48 +0000

This afternoon I took my daily walk, as I always do. After a few times around the block, I discovered a older gentleman going door to door with pamphlets. I watched as he knocked on the doors and either handed the flyer to a neighbour or left it inside the door.

He encountered me whilst coming back towards the road. He slowly made his way to me, while wiping the sweat off his brow.

“Hello, may I hand you a pamphlet?” He cheerfully asked, as I greeted him and shook his hand.

“What is this about, sir?” I asked whilst trying to scan the bleached out paper in the mid day sun.

“We’re trying to get the real facts out about what President Bush and John McCain have accomplished while in office”, he answered, as he smiled and continued forward.

“Ah, may I ask if you work for the McCain campaign?”

He stopped in his tracks, turned around, and replied, “No, I volunteer with a local Baptist association”.

“Well, thank you, sir…Try to stay cool in this heat…”, I responded whilst making my way towards the house.

I came in the house and laid the paper down on the desk. I got busy doing chores and didn’t get around to reading it until about three hours ago.

It gave legitimate facts about Bush, but what got me was the wording. It used the words (if you want to call them that) Ya, Y’all, Darn, and Dang throughout it.

It’s as if whoever wrote it was cogitating, “Welp, them Southerners will never understand real statistics or logical wording, so I’ll just dumb it down for them”.

Southern Americans inside the United States have the stigma of being stupid and uncivilised. Unfortunately due to circumstances that I could write a thousand words about, a large portion of Southern people are illiterate. That does not mean that we are all eejits! I rail against such notions.

I’m not mad at the man that handed me the flyer, for he was just trying to do his part for the community. He has a right to his views as do I to mine.

It is insulting to me and every other civilised Southern American. Give me facts. Give me the hard core statistics. I’d much rather spend an hour going through a well formed report, than I had getting red faced over a thirty second scribble!

There’s one more wee thing that is bugging me. What is a religious organisation doing dabbling in politics?

P.S.: I let my Uncle look it over. As soon as I get it back, I’ll put it in this post.

XXX – Walk this Way

Jefferson Davis — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 23:20:25 +0000

After writing the previous post yesterday, I went downtown to walk around and enjoy the lovely river music. I had to park on the far side of South Main street. So, I made my way up Main street. I stopped in a few shops to speak to friends, and continued on my walk up to the top of north Main St. I live in a very mountainous area. There’s about a 150 metre elevation difference between the lower part of downtown and the upper part.

Anyway, I took a few shots along the way up and started back down the other side. When I reached the City Hall Plaza, I caught the glimpse of a young lady in the crowd approaching me. I knew the bow in her hair, and the blouse she was donning. I knew the walk and the fake laugh. It was my ex girlfriend downtown with another guy.

So, I panicked and slowed to a turtles pace until I could figure out what to do. “What am I going to say…What am I going to say???” I cerebrated over and over while trying not to be obvious. I sped up a wee bit but still didn’t have anything worthy to say. Something marvellous came over me, and a huge smile overtook my countenance.

Just before we met in the gang of people, she leaned over and whispered something to him. I looked straight ahead, as we passed one another. A huge burst of laughter spilled out of my mouth. I couldn’t restrain it. I stopped to catch my breath, and her boyfriend (I reckon) spun around and gave me that South Carolina go to hell look. I smiled and muttered, "Ah, fair play to ya".

She proceeded to pull out her lipstick and smile. I can only guess she was hoping to see a fight. Given her demeanor and the time we spent together, she would’ve loved for two men to fight over her. What woman wouldn’t?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean", he demanded with nostrils flared.

The strange thing was that I wasn’t mad nor scared. Of course, he was small boned like me but about six inches shorter.

Laughingly, I yanked a cigar out of my shirt pocket, tore the wrapping off of it, and proceeded to light it up in front of him. Then, I said, "What I meant was better you than me, pal".

He turned around and muttered something like, "I aught to kick his ass".

She grabbed him by the hand and they continued walking.

People were whispering and snickering throughout the plaza. It was a grand end to a rotten day. How was your day?

P.S.: I know that I wasn’t going to post so many personal stories in the future, but I just had to post this one due to the humour of the situation. I’m quite proud of myself. I could have decked him without ever uttering a word. But, she would have liked that.

Let’s Ride

Jefferson Davis — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 23:23:21 +0000

I have always admired the short film, “C’était un rendez-vous”, by Claude Lelouch. It is eight minutes of extreme speed through the streets of Paris. Actually, it took place in 1976. Some people argue that it was an S-class speeding through the streets, while others say it was a Ferrari. Regardless of the type of car used, it was a grand short film.

A few people have asked me countless times about where I live and what the surrounding area looks like. I reckon they are not happy with the thousands of photos on flickr?

Anyway, I had planned to get up early this morning and record my ascent up into the mountains. I had hoped to get up before dawn and get to Caesar’s Head during dawning. The alarm clock didn’t go off due to a brown out, so I didn’t get up until after daybreak.

Anyway, I did it just to show you all what the roads look like around here. It would have been a much better video had I woken up!

I may do another one in the morning, when I go downtown to walk. Hopefully, gootube will not muck it up.

P.S.: Close to the end, the camcorder went airborne due to me taking a 15mph curve at 25mph.

Long Weekend

Jefferson Davis — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 20:40:49 +0000

I had a very long weekend at the lake. I drank too much, swam too much, and danced too much. All in all, I had a grand break from the constant preparations here. I’m very energised and beat at the same time!

UPDATE: I realise that I was supposed to write a post about the weekend, but alas I have been very busy. Many apologies. I’ll be back Wednesday evening with one or two new post.

B&W or Colour?

Jefferson Davis — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 03:41:42 +0000

Personally, I love black and white images. What say you?

Beezzy Break

Jefferson Davis — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 19:29:31 +0000

Today has been a whirlwind of creativity. I got up and had breakfast with Uncle Elathan. Then, I went downtown to snap a few shots of the picturesque gardens, mind you; they stink from the leaking sewer pipes that run alongside the river. I met some friendly bees while bumbling through the flower beds. They were very photogenic. After all of that excitement, I came home and wrote a wee poem that I’ll share with my beloved readers later. And, I’ve been inspired to get me charcoal and graphite pencils out of hiding. I may be able to get a drawing done before work.

I don’t go into work until 5:00PM! I only work three hours! That is asinine!!! Ah well, I only have 40 days of that job left, so no worries for me…

P.S.: I will have a follow up post to Southern Exposure out by late this evening Saturday afternoon evening. Also, the picture above is of a Southern Breakfast. That’s two eggs over medium, crisp bacon, and buttered grits. I don’t eat that greasy stuff often! The one below is of a bee, of course.

Pretty Place

Jefferson Davis — Sat, 03 May 2008 03:59:25 +0000

Dr. Don and myself went hiking Friday morning. We did a four hour hike down and back up a steep ravine that opens up at a large river. It is a six mile trail that we managed to traverse in one and a half hours. I came home and collapsed for a few hours. Then, I went downtown to the Friday night festivities. Cheap beer and terrible jokes abound!

Anyhow, I’ll post more pictures tomorrow night. This one is of Dr. Don (my cousin) gazing out into the distance. I do a lot of thinking up there above the city.

Step Out

Jefferson Davis — Fri, 02 May 2008 03:32:08 +0000

Not long after the birds awoke chirping this morning, I took my nephew to school. On my way home, I was jamming to some regular pop channel on Sirius Satelite Radio. They have over 150 channels of music and talk radio. I like to listen to BBC and the World Radio Network, but sometimes I just want to jam to some cool tunes.

I decided to take the “Curvy” road home. I was having a blast taking each winding curve with ferocity. As I conquered the last turn, I accelerated with the beat of the music. A speed limit sign of 35mph blurred by, as I glanced down at the speedometer. I looked back up to find blue lights flashing in my rear view mirror. It was the “law”, and she was pulling me over.

So, I pulled over and a really cute deputy got out of her patrol car and walked towards me. I was extremely nervous. I’ve never been pulled over for speeding, even though I do it all the time. Stupid, I am. What can I say? I like speed! I’m a freaking Davis! My family has a long history with racing automobiles. The only reason I have never raced is because I can only see out of the one eye, so that puts me at a disadvantage.

She walked up to my window with her strawberry blonde locks fluttering in the wind, and asked, “Do you know that you were doing 44mph in a 35mph zone?”

“No Ma’am”, I answered whilst handing her my license and registration.

“Ah, your name is Jefferson Davis…that’s cool”, she muttered, as she looked through my paperwork.

“Some people don’t think so.”

“I imagine Rev. Wright would have a field day with you, wouldn’t he”, she laughingly enquired whilst handing me back my info.

“He…He’d have me strung up, drawn, and quartered while screaming, “”down with the white man””, I answered, as I started laughing uncontrollably.

“You’re from Greenville?”

“Yes, I was bringing my nephew to school, since his mother was sick”, I replied.

“Aww..That’s sweet”

“Thanks.”

“You’re not married?”

“Nope”

“What a shame…All right, since you are such a nice Uncle I’m going to let you off with a warning”, she said while handing me the warning ticket.

“Thank you very much.”

“You can thank me by not speeding”, she playfully replied while going back to her patrol car.

So, I have made it home in one piece once again.

The straight up non PC version of this story:

Okay, like, I was speeding down the road jamming out to some super cool tunes by Third Eye Blind, when a totally smoking hot babe pulled me over. I couldn’t help but slobber all over my work shirt as she leaned over into the truck with her headlights beaming into my eyes. I was like a poor unsuspecting deer just standing in the middle of the road gazing into those beautiful lights!

She really screwed with my head. I almost had about ten wrecks on the way home just thinking about that strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and well, diddies.

You asked for it! A non-PC post! You women rule the world! Do you even realize that??? I don’t think some of you do!

So, seeing as how I’m really good with curves and speeding, can I have an honorary license in Ireland and the UK? I drive on the left side of the road already!

Warning: Never ever listen to this song while under the influence of alcohol! It’ll screw with your head!

Jefferson Davis » south

Denied

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