By John Carlson— Just when you think the world is so screwed up you want to jump off, a story comes along that renews your faith, your spirit, and your hope for the future. Last week I was fortunate enough to encounter one of those stories. The headline read something like: “Dad bods now considered sexy.” All I could say to that was, “Eureka!!!” That’s because I have been working to perfect my Dad bod ever since I was six….
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By John Carlson— For genetic reasons, guys have long been attracted to sharp objects. This is believed to be an ancient throwback to prehistoric days when we were pitching crudely made spears at woolly mammoths, trying to get some meat for our cavewomen’s crudely made lasagna. Even now, the urge remains strong. Consider this story about my boyhood buddy, Tim. We were probably 14 or 15 one summer when our folks sent us to Baptist church camp, which was located…
By John Carlson— In this whole wide world, there are only two types of people: Those who know about pho, and those who don’t. Me? While I numbered myself among the former, until recently I had never actually eaten pho. So it was after my doctor’s appointment in Indy that Nancy – who had eaten pho – accompanied me to a little restaurant in the northeastern part of that city. Traveling there was proof positive of my desire to try…
By John Carlson— I can still remember the day thirty years ago that Nancy and I took our kids to a popular amusement park, but when we arrived it was closed. In an instant, what had been a deliriously happy carload of Carlsons completely changed. Between the high-decibel caterwauling, pitiful sobbing and the uncontrollable blubbering, it was enough to drive a parent nuts. Finally, Nancy had all she could take. “Will you please shut up!” she yelled. But I’ll never…
By John Carlson— Last Sunday’s overwhelmingly putrid Indianapolis Colts performance notwithstanding, I still kind of, sort of, in a manner of speaking, like them, but I’m not a guy who owns an inordinate amount of franchise swag. Let’s see now … I’ve got a Colts ball cap, blue with a white horseshoe on it. I bought a Colts sun hat a few years back, too, but graciously gave it to Nancy when I realized it made me look like a…
By John Carlson— The other night my wife and I are watching TV when this skinny guy with a weird haircut appears on the screen playing power chords on an electric guitar, so I ask Nancy a question. “Who’s the twerp?” In answering, her eyes flash a two-part look, the first part threatening. Directed at me, it is nothing less than a withering glance that questions how she could have stayed married to such a classless jackass as yours truly…
By John Carlson— This being just one day away from 2022, I wanted to take the opportunity to celebrate an outstanding new advancement in American meat culture which 2021 brought my family. It’s the backup bird. But first, some background. If you combine the years we’ve been alive, Nancy and I have lived through 143 Thanksgivings. Even more impressive, if stretched end-to-end and measured consecutively instead of concurrently, those Thanksgivings would go all the way back to 1848, and I…
By John Carlson— The tunes playing for me in IU/BMH’s cardiac rehab classes originate inside my head, not through some public address system. If this music didn’t originate inside my head, I’d have to find some outside source to provide it. One alternative would be to wear my hearing aids in rehab. Almost like magic, when connected to the tunes playing from my iPhone, these hearing aids deliver the sort of assault on my eardrums that I craved as a…
By John Carlson— Nancy and I recently watched Get Back, the new Beatles documentary on the Disney Channel, and I won‘t lie to you; there were parts that reminded me of “The Long and Winding Road.” You know. Long, as in eight hours long. And winding, as in where’s this headed? Being a Beatles nut, part of me could hardly believe my reaction. But over the course of the three episodes of Get Back, there are hours of the guys…
By John Carlson— While walking nighttime laps around Yorktown High School’s football field about twenty years ago, I saw an incredible sight. It looked like an airplane at low altitude enveloped in flames, passing over the field from east to west. Having done a bit of flying myself, I knew any poor soul strapped into that thing was toast. But when no word of a missing plane came the next day, the truth dawned on me. It must have been…