Archives for 2012

One ringy-dingy…Two ringy-dingy…

February 16, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Harold Green butt dialed me at 12:30 am this morning. It startled me. Anytime the phone rings in the middle of the night, you immediately think someone’s in jail or dead. Or both. I was completely delirious – sick with a cold – dozing from warm bourbon & lemon juice (medicinal). I couldn’t seem to answer my cell phone, even with a dreadfully loud Adam Ant ringtone blasting directly beside my head. I knew it was Harold Green. He left no voice mail, but as my smart phone rang, his picture brightly lit the dark bedroom, as if he were the one bellowing out Desperate but not Serious. How on earth had I changed my ring to Adam Ant?

Maybe it was Chester calling for Lucy? Chester, Harold’s dog, lives in the neighborhood and has a thing for our oldest schnauzer. They like to hang out down the street on Harry’s porch. (Harry is not to be confused with Harold – two separate neighbors…) Harry is without a doubt Munger Place’s most interesting neighbor. He generously hosts a daily happy hour, weather permitting, for anyone who wants to partake, complete with true life tales of the union business and mafia entanglements. Oftentimes there are more dogs than people present. Chester and Lucy have a standing date nearly daily around 5:00 on Harry’s porch. Even so, he should know better than to call her at such a godawful hour.

Smart phones and caller id have certainly eliminated prank phone calling which was a favorite pastime of certain bored little kids in Arkansas. Terrible I know. We loved to randomly call people in the phone book, identify ourselves as disc jockeys with WHBQ, and ask the person who answered to sing the Campbell Soup song. They ALWAYS sang. Now, there is no way we sounded remotely mature enough to be radio personalities, but they always sang, hoping to win chicken noodle soup for life or something. Then we would giggle and hang up. Crazy hoodlum children.

When Mam-maw Tate died, we got the call in the middle of the night. “We lost Ruby,” Papa Homer said. What? How did you lose her? Why would you let a nearly 90 year old wander off in the middle of the night? It took us a minute to realize what he meant. Wee hour phone calls are almost always bad news.

Although we have become pretty good ‘acquaintances’, I don’t think I’m Harold’s emergency contact person. I don’t think I rank that high on his list. Not yet anyway. When I cleared my head, I texted him.

Me: Harold, did you call me just now?

Harold: No, but it seems my phone did. I don’t know why my phone felt the need to call you so late.

:)) Butt dialing. It happens sometimes. Stupid smart phones.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Adam Ant, “Desperate but not Serious”
Peggy Lee, “He’s a Tramp”

And then I bought an island…

February 16, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

My Farm!

Once upon a time, not that very long ago, I owned a farm. Virtual, that is. It started out innocently enough with a simple invitation to join Farm Town. It looked like fun, so with a few clicks of the mouse, I was growing grapes and wheat on my cute little square patch of farmland. As I quickly became more proficient with harvesting methods and crop rotation, I planted more complicated crops, even hiring farm hands to harvest. My paradise expanded to include a river with crystal clear waterfalls and lush landscaping. An assortment of trees and flowers grew along the riverbanks, separating my property from my sister’s. I visited neighboring farms and had lots of farm friends. In no time, by the sweat of my brow and with very little down, I was able to afford a red brick mansion and buy a second farm back off the north forty! I had my very own lake stocked with bream and catfish – a virtual dream come true – with a dock! Oh and a hammock. I love hammocks. Life was good.

My lake and hammock:)

Looking to diversify, someone suggested I expand into the restaurant business. I opened a cute little cafe, hiring some of my best friends as wait staff – Becky, Judy, Carrie. I was boosting the economy! Together we whipped up turkeys and bacon cheeseburgers and lobster. Ummmm. I even learned to make creme brûlée! Some dishes took days to prepare, and others were ready in minutes. It was a popular little cafe – all my friends flocked to see the adorable decor and fancy ovens. Soon I added an outdoor patio with a giant flatscreen for watching Razorback games! But it was stressful. I should have stuck with farming – I know farming. Food & beverage is a totally different animal. It became difficult to adequately concentrate on my farm with chicken adobo ready and waiting on the stovetop. We were always under the gun to get food out on time – just like restaurant wars on Top Chef. If the service was slow, patrons would just rudely turn around and leave. Once I had to fire my own mother – she couldn’t get the food on the table fast enough. But business is business. She went right down the street and opened her own cafe…

Becky and Judy also became competitors with nearby cafes. But we helped each other. There were times I was at the bank – the REAL bank from which I received W-2 income – and Becky often called me in a panic. I’m in Mt. Home and my chicken pot pies need to be served at noon!!!!! I would run home at lunch, serve her chicken pot pies, check on my own cafe and crops, eat a real sandwich in my real kitchen, walk my real dog, and run back to my real job. It was exhausting. But I hated to see a pot pie gone bad.

And then I bought an island. I needed a vacation spot away from the hustle and bustle of the farm and cafe. A place where I could wear a loin cloth and coconut shell bra in total seclusion. But once a farmer, always a farmer. I began planting stupid crops on my island too. Tropical fruits and veggies. And fishing. I fished on the island. I couldn’t relax. I was Thomas Tate.

Once in the middle of the night, I jumped suddenly from bed and understandably alarmed John. “What??? What’s wrong??” He had been in a deep sleep. “Omg I have pot roast to serve!!!” I jumped up to log onto my computer to serve pot roast before the nasty flies got it.

The next day I quit. I just walked away. Cold turkey. My virtual life was running my real life. I could be using that time to learn a language or cook real food in my real kitchen! Or work in my real garden. Or write a book! I immediately blocked all games so I would not be tempted to even peep at my dying crops or receive updates from devoted farm neighbors who continue to water my wilted flowers. Did they worry about me? I know that my farm is overgrown with Johnsongrass, and the flies and bugs and roaches have taken over my restaurant. Sometimes I feel bad.

Occasionally someone on Facebook cries out for help – “I only need 10 more nails for my barn raising.” Or, “I’m gonna miss my farm so much when I go home for Christmas.” Last week, one of my Facebook friends was upset because someone had reported her to the Facebook police – and she had done nothing wrong – she had no idea why she had received a “warning” about her activity. It was probably just a glitch in the system… new timeline and all… One of her friends commented, “That is sooooo terrible. You are such a good farm neighbor.”

talya

Musical Pairings:

Kenny Chesney, “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”

Zac Brown Band, “Knee Deep”

Now I lay me down to sleep, a bottle of pills at my feet…

February 15, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

This would be an excellent time to rob a bank. It would likely go unnoticed, unless during the process you also shoot a singer or actor in the teller line. For the next few weeks, until another Hollywood darling dies, serious news will go completely unreported.

This is your brain on drugs.

Ok so yes, Whitney had an amazing voice, especially 10 years ago. She was beautiful. I really liked The Bodyguard, but primarily because of Kevin Costner. And now she’s gone – much too soon – likely from a drug overdose (prescription or otherwise). Or maybe it was heart failure – your heart can only endure so much abuse. Regardless, she sadly did this to herself. It’s terrible. I feel bad for her daughter and her family and her true friends who probably saw it coming. But, people – we did not know her. Why are we so interested in this? During the first full hour after the news of her death, there were 2,481,652 tweets and retweets (per MSN.com), peaking at over a thousand tweets a second! Hmmmm. When this news exploded, my sister, mom and I were driving back to Dallas from Waco. My mother received several phone calls and text messages about this. Really? Apparently Osceola was all torn up.

Why not devote hours and tweets and blogs and tears and news reports to soldiers who have died in Afghanistan protecting Whitney Houston’s freedom? Isn’t that newsworthy? CNN will pontificate about her death for weeks, while young unnamed men leave behind devastated families and friends every day serving our country.

Was anyone surprised when Michael Jackson died? Really? The King of Pop was bizarre and mixed up and sad. We felt like we knew him, growing up with “Rockin’ Robin” – back when he still had a nose. I saw him sing Thriller in person. He was an amazing entertainer. But when he died, I wasn’t surprised in the least.

And Amy Winehouse? She bragged about her addiction, singing about her refusal to check into rehab. Oh let’s give her a Grammy for that.

Now I will admit, when Elvis died, we were devestated. People sobbed at the pearly gates of Graceland – and still do. But this was Elvis, and it was a different time. His downhill spiral wasn’t as obvious – we weren’t force-fed his every move by the media back then. His death was a shock.

Living just across the Mississippi River near Memphis – Elvis was practically our neighbor. When he was home at Graceland, the Commercial Appeal often printed handsome photos of Elvis giving away diamond rings and Cadillacs to his nurses. Ok, so this should have been our first clue – Elvis had nurses…? Who has nurses? Michael Jackson? On the occasions he checked into the Baptist Hospital for “exhaustion”, Momma and Nana immediately loaded us into the car, and we drove to Memphis. We circled around and around the hospital, with Staci and me hanging out the windows like dogs, trying to catch just a glimpse of the King. His top floor hospital room was easily identified – the window was covered in aluminum foil. This was our entertainment. So yes, we were very distraught when he died sitting on that toilet. We were still hoping for a diamond ring.

I’m just gonna go right out on a limb and predict LiLo may not be long for this world. Wild guess.

RIP Whitney Houston

talya

Musical Pairings:

Third Eye Blind, “Semi-Charmed Life”

Whitney Houston, “Didn’t We Almost Have it All?”

Elvis, “Are You Lonesome Tonight?”