What should I write about this week?
I spent several days pressure washing my deck, dock, etc. Well, I didn't really do the pressure washing. One of my sons came over and did it, but I was needed as the supervisor.
Ryan was almost finished when the pressure washer fell apart, piece by piece. It reminded me of that scene in the movie “The Blues Brothers" when Jake and Elwood made it to the tax assessor's office building in downtown Chicago just in the nick of time only to have their car fall apart when they got out and slammed the doors.
We thought about trying to put the pressure washer back together, but that thought didn't last long. The pressure washer was not ours anyway. We had borrowed it from my stepbrother, Jeff Owens.
So we called Jeff and said, "Sorry, Jeff, your pressure washer just disintegrated."
Jeff didn't seem all that unhappy, but we purchased another one anyway to finish the job.
I could write more about pressure washing, but Alvin Richardson has already done that. (And he did a lot better job of it than I ever could.)
Or I could write about how badly I need to get a haircut.
My 90-year-old dad gets his hair cut by Ginny Davis at A Flair For Hair, a hair salon, barbershop and beauty supply store in downtown Milledgeville.
"Be You, Be Beautiful! Live to Create a Legacy" is their slogan. And I must say that my dad got one fine-looking haircut.
Maybe I'll go there next week, but right now I'm in a competition with Jeff to see whose hair will be the longest.
And speaking of being competitive, have you been watching ESPN's "The Last Dance," the 10-part documentary on Michael Jordan? I have really enjoyed it.
Does that guy love to gamble or what? Cards, golf, pitching quarters against the wall. Jordan will find a way to wager on almost anything.
So I could write about the time in Boy Scouts when we used to pitch pennies or nickels. (Hey, we were just kids. We didn't have quarters. But if we did, we were probably saving them to buy cherry Cokes down at Culver Kidd's corner drugstore.)
I could write about that, but Johnny Grant was in the same troop. Since he used to be a state senator or something big like that, I don't want to get him in trouble.
Or maybe I should write about fried okra. Heaven on earth.
The Original Crockett's Family Cafeteria has reopened, and, man, do I love their fried okra. I had some the other day.
The fried okra at Shrimp Boat is good, too.
Which reminds of the time we took my niece there, and she asked if they had any green beans or vegetables like that. The lady behind the counter said, "Honey, if it ain't fried, we don't have it."
But probably I should have written about Uber. Not the ride-sharing service that you request from your mobile phone. It started out as UberCab before becoming just Uber.
This Uber is my wife's new short-haired dachshund puppy. She named him. He's Uberdog, not to be confused with Underdog. You know, dachshunds are German. Uber is a German word.
Get it? I don't either. I just call him Ubie-doo (not to be confused with Scooby-Doo.)
He's a piebald, which, I believe, means having irregular patches of black and white (and some brown, too). Uber has a white place in between the black places on his back that looks like the Loch Ness Monster.
He's as cute as he could be, and he's 100 percent Wanda's. Separation anxiety, here we come.
Remember? I already have my dog, Lulu, the Burger King-eating long-haired dachshund.
And, believe me, Lulu is not sharing.
That's it for this week in Milledgeville, where the decks are sparkling, the hair is long, the okra is frying, and I hope automatic spell check doesn't mess up Ubie's name.
Rick Millians, a 1970 Baldwin graduate, was an award-winning editor at newspapers in Georgia, Ohio and South Carolina before retiring. Reach him at 803-331-4290 or firstname.lastname@example.org.