Carlson

By John Carlson— A fella suspects he’s on the cusp of entering his second childhood when, at the ripe old age of 70, he joins his favorite musical group’s fan club. Nevertheless, I say bring it on. It’s not like I haven’t been in a fan club before, after all. I have. It was the Cloud Appreciation Society.  For just twenty-five euros-a-year the club emailed me a daily cloud picture, some of them spectacular and others less so, along with related cloud information. As a longtime aviation nut who was temporarily absent from the cockpit, I figured the cloud fan…

By John Carlson— So it’s come to this: three sticky little round things per session. If you’ve ever had a heart EKG, you are familiar with them.  They’re the flat gluey suckers used to stick those wired doohickeys – as they are commonly referred to by those of us intimately familiar with advanced medical terminology – to your skin. Make that, to the hairs of your skin. Wearing those things is a fact of life down in cardiac rehab. Cardiac rehab is where you end up at Indiana University-Ball Memorial Hospital after you’ve had a heart attack. Much to my…

By John Carlson— My name is John, and I am a pocketknife addict. This, I suppose, will be how I introduce myself to my fellow cutlery junkies in Pocketknife Addicts Anonymous – assuming that’s ever a thing – when I show up in pursuit of a 12-step program to overcome the craving that is pocketknife addiction. I’ve been hooked for years… Even as a little kid, pocketknives were an infatuation. Two doors down, my neighbor Dougie already had a miniature one with a fake pearl handle. I was envious, but hardly surprised. While my folks were squeaky clean Baptists, his…

By John Carlson— You don’t see a lot of folks hitchhiking anymore. That’s a good thing these days, when crime, cruelty and general nuttiness seem to sprout hereabouts like mushrooms on a dank forest floor. Back in the 1960s and ‘70s, though, lots of people hitchhiked. They came in all ages, but I’d wager most of those hitchhikers were kids, on the road and looking for whatever kids on the road hoped to find. Adventure. Self-enlightenment. Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. I’d also wager a kid didn’t have to stay on the road long to turn hard, losing his…

By John Carlson— I take great pride in the fact I don’t gamble. In noting this, I’m not setting myself up as “holier-than-thou.” Throughout my life, I have spent considerable time, effort and money in the dogged pursuit of questionable behavior. It’s just that, as far as I can remember, gambling is the only vice I haven’t wholeheartedly embraced at one time or another, and I’m pretty happy about that. Everybody should have at least one vice they don’t adore, right? This adverse reaction to gambling came to me honestly. My Dad only gambled once. That was the first time…

By John Carlson— For years I have believed Earth is visited by alien spaceships. The first time I saw one I was a freshman at Taylor U, parked way out in the country along a lonely stretch of railroad track with my pals Jack and Grapes and a couple other guys. Suddenly I noticed a bright white disk in the sky, slowly cruising back and forth, coming closer and closer. At first, having pointed it out to my buddies, this phenomenon seemed merely intriguing. But the nearer this UFO approached, the more menacing it became, especially since we’d been sitting…

By John Carlson— Dick Courtney was a man of great stature, not just physically, but also as measured by friendliness, kindness and humor. That’s a rare combination. I got to know Courtney years ago, following the publication of his book “Normandy to the Bulge: An American Infantry GI in Europe During World War II.” Being a guy who sometimes hangs with writers, I had met a couple Greatest Generation war veterans from hereabouts who had also written war memoirs. There was John F. Ireland, whose fine book was titled “My Story.” There was also my friend and former newspaper co-worker…

By John Carlson— In an apparent bid to create more country songs, there was a Facebook meme recently asking people to write lyrics about a pizza parlor that turns into a tobacco shop and then a Mexican restaurant. So I gave it a shot. It went: “I was chewin’ on a stuffed crust, that became a hunk of chaw, now I’m suckin’ down burritos, while I’m hiding from the law …”  You’ll probably find this hard to believe, but it’s been nearly three weeks, and nobody from Nashville has phoned me with a lucrative songwriting contract yet. Writing good songs…

By John Carlson— Recently I became aware that I had failed to observe Teacher Appreciation Week. Now, as we all know, these are days when darned near everything has an Appreciation Week, and many of them seem pretty iffy. Paper Clips Appreciation Week. Cicada Killer Insect Spray Appreciation Week, which is probably in the works. And somewhere out there is surely a week called Broccoli Appreciation Week, which I choose not to celebrate. But Teacher Appreciation Week is another matter entirely. As for my favorite teacher, I needn’t look far. Having been married to Nancy for thirty-eight years, I am…