Monday, July 28, 2008

Violence at the Dothan Cultural Arts Center

Doris Hackenby, the Regional Director of Leisure Arts, Services and Suits has requested a truce between the major fighting factions downtown. Specifically Ms. Doris, as she is so lovingly referred, said she would have “no more of the shenanigans” that occurred Saturday night at the Cultural Arts Center.

“Apparently, there was a scheduling conflict in one of our classrooms. The Latin Ballroom Dance class was scheduled at the same time as the Watercolors: Discovering Your Inner Butterfly class, in the same room no less.” Ms. Doris said, adding, “Watercolor artists are known for their quick tempers and itchy trigger fingers. Of course the dancers proclaiming how fabulous they are compared to other art mediums didn’t help matters. There was a heated exchange of words that led out to the street, even the pitiable scrapbookers got involved. Luckily the police arrived just in time or I would be cleaning a mess of pastel and glitter today.”

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Possible Caveman Found in Dothan

Scientists from the Dunbarton Institute discovered what they believe to be Dothan’s earliest man. Dr. Richard McSweeney confirmed the discovery of a possible prehistoric man at the intersection of Denton Road and Westgate Parkway. “A male subject was found in the area. We have our best scientists, some of whom make almost $17 per hour, working to determine the actual age of this prehistoric man.” Dr. McSweeney stated, adding, “The man, whom we refer to a Darryl due to ancient markings on his clothing, is in a well preserved state.

“We believe Darryl was a shaman or guide of some sort. In his possession was a metal staff approximately 1.2 meters long with an octagonal placard affixed. The placard reads STOP on one side and the other has SLO, but the last letter is too hard to read. As I speak to you, scientists from the Library are trying to decipher the message. My colleagues speculate he is part of a lost tribe of road builders. Apparently they spent decades in that specific area, who knows if the project was ever complete.”

Monday, July 21, 2008

Archaeologist Alabama Jones and the Copper Peanut

Deep in the jungles of Houston County, archeologist Dr. Alabama Jones approached the ancient Chattahoochee Indian mound. His sherpa, obviously paralyzed with fear froze in his tracks and would go no further.

Sherpas are guides, famous for their knowledge of the Himalayas. Dr. Jones had lost his way while searching for the ancient Indian mound when he happened upon this Sherpa trekking through the jungle. He offered the sherpa fifty American dollars to help him find the lost Chattahoochee Indian mound. The Sherpa seemed confused at first, but shrugged his shoulders and led Dr. Jones through the thick kudzu jungle.

The sherpa stopped and pointed to the mound. “What’s the matter,” Dr. Jones asked, “Are you frozen with fear?”

“No, dude, it’s right there, now give me that fifty bucks.” The sherpa responded.

“What kind of sherpa are you?” Dr. Jones asked.

“Yo, I ain’t no sherpa. I work at Arby’s. I was just out here hiking when I found you. Why didn’t you just go to the main entrance? It’s a state park you know.”

“I was using this ancient map from the Archeology Department at Wallace College. It leads the way to the Copper Peanut.”

“Dude, ever heard of Mapquest? Wait, what’s that about a Copper Peanut?”

Dr. Jones pulled off his fedora and wiped the sweat from his brow, he finally found a youngster interested in history. He told the story to the young sherpa. “Long before you were born, there was a secret society called The Downtown Group. No one knows what they did behind closed doors, but there were rumors of wine and cheese tasting, along with other debauchery. This secret sect tried to change Dothan into what they called “A better place”. No matter how much the general public ignored them, they never went away. Their gatherings culminated in placing decorated fiberglass peanut statues around Dothan. The peanut statue at this site is rumored to have copper peanuts inside.”

“Whoa, dude, how big is this peanut?” The sherpa asked.

“Four feet tall.”

“Those peanuts must weigh a lot. Copper is going for $2.75 a pound.”

“No!” Dr. Jones said adamantly, “It belongs in a museum.”

Suddenly Dr. Jones heard voices coming from the mound area. He ducked down into a thicket of kudzu. The sherpa stood looking at him. Dr. Jones reached up and pulled him down. The sherpa tried to complain, “Yo man you better get back.”

“Listen to me sherpa. We have to be very careful. They are possibly Chattahoochee Indians, the last remaining members of the tribe, here to protect the treasure. Note their unkempt hair and tattered clothes.” Dr. Jones insisted.

“Naw man I think they’re skateboarders. Look, they are moving to the other side of the mound.”

“Now’s our chance! Let’s go! And pull your pants up.” Dr. Jones exclaimed.

Dr. Jones and the sherpa made their way through the clearing to finally reach the Indian mound. “Look old dude, there it is, over by those trees.”

“Proceed with caution young man, it could be booby trapped.” Dr. Jones warned.

“I see a giant peanut in a bed of rocks, surrounded by a two foot high rope. It looks safe to me dude.”

“There could be fire ants or boll weevils. Stand back!” With a sharp crack, Dr. Jones secured his bullwhip to a tree limb and swung across the rope barricade. The limb broke, sending him hurling into the peanut, knocking it off its base and Dr. Jones on his back. “Oh…I…can’t…breathe.”

The sherpa stopped laughing long enough to say, “Look old man, you cracked it. There ain’t no copper peanuts in here. There’s nothing of value.”

Dr. Jones slowly rolled over to inspect the contents of the peanut. It was a time capsule, filled with items from Dothan’s past. “That’s where you’re wrong kid, I see nothing but treasure. It is filled historical objects, little snapshots of a time when progressive groups of people tried to rejuvenate the downtown Dothan area.

“Most individual business owners followed the major flow of traffic while ignoring little things like character in architecture. These small businesses found themselves squeezed between corporate anchor stores, paying the same price per square foot. Most of them didn’t make it.

“Entrepreneurs wanted to chance success in an area previously developed as opposed to out on the highway in some bland cookie cutter strip mall. Property owners in the downtown area ignored pleas from excited new business owners hoping to restore old buildings into a thriving socio-economic area. Their legacy as property owners could have been so much more. Instead of allowing the buildings fall into decay, they could have restored the brick and mortar that had stood for so long, reviving the soul of a lost town.

“Look at this advertiser, proudly locating business in downtown Dothan, Featured Players Theater, The Bistro, Tags Unlimited, Blue Moon CafĂ© and The Foster Street Coffee House, now it reads like an obituary. Once uniquely decorated peanuts now stand as tombstones to a business owner’s worst nightmare. They took a chance on Dothan, but Dothan didn’t take a chance on them.”

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Bacardi Silver Mojito

“Roy, I bought you some of those drinks you wanted.”

“Thanks babe” Roy said as he cracked open a Bacardi Silver Mojito. “These are so cool and refreshing on a hot day.”

“I know, you have told me several times.” Linda quipped.

“I can’t help it. I love these fruity things.”

“What would your buddies think about you drinking girly drinks? They might say you were gay.”

“I can drink whiskey straight from the bottle and any beer from light to stout, but I will never drink enough to have DickieDoo like those guys.” Roy added.

“What is DickieDoo?” Linda asked.

“That is from drinking so much your stomach sticks out more than your…”

“I get it, you fool.”

“I’m a fool for you. Come here baby.”

Roy pulled her close and kissed her hard. Linda tasted the Bacardi Silver Mojito on his lips, but more than that she tasted the passion from a man, a real man, who loved her like no one else had. She wrapped her arms around him, gripping his tight back muscles. His hands moved about her body, one hand exploring the curves of her hips, the other hand holding her head close to his. Her knees weakened and her body was flush with passion. Her senses tingled with the touch of his hands on her body. Firm grips in some places and light caresses in others. They held each other close. Their movements became a dance of rhythmic lust with sweet melodies of love. The music for their dance was the sound of kisses, moans and the gentle “I Love You” spoken whenever their eyes met. Several times she sang her own song.

After the exhausting dance, his arm around her with her head on his chest, she smiled thinking back to when they first met. She always wanted to dance with John Travolta; he was a sexy man who knew his way around a dance floor. Roy could not dance, even with Linda leading he was lost on the dance floor. But their private dance was getting better all the time. She made a quick mental note to pick up more Bacardi Silver Mojito, because he is man enough to drink anything he wants. She closed her eyes, her hand moved softly over his body until she drifted to sleep.