Carlson

By: John Carlson— The other day, Nancy woke me up with the news she has decided to become a professional whistler. This didn’t surprise me all that much, for two reasons. First, she often whistles. By this, I don’t mean the way my Dad whistled back in the last years of his life. His whistle was an unconscious, toneless one – a single unvaryingly flat note – and if it started right after lunch, without intervention he could keep it…

By: John Carlson— For years I have despaired of ever achieving my original career goal of becoming a fabulously wealthy professional artist who drinks wine and sleeps all day, but recent developments have renewed my sense of hope. I owe it all to the banana that was duct-taped to a wall. You know, the one that was splashed all over Facebook and television a few weeks ago. On second thought, no. I owe it all to the artist who thought of…

By: John Carlson— Every year about this time, I join the ranks of the Christmas-challenged. Things didn’t used to be that way. Years ago I got as excited about Christmas as any kid did, but you know how it goes. With the passage of time, the realities of the holiday set in. The frenetic pace. The bills. The disappointments. This year, for example, I once again seriously doubt Nancy is going to buy me the $70,000 Corvette I’ve got my…

By: John Carlson— In times like these – plastic times, fast times, digital-driven times that often seem like mindless, soulless, heartless times, too – I find a true sense of comfort in the act of sewing. Not sewing myself, you understand. I couldn’t sew a button on a shirt without poking my fingers full of tiny holes that’d bleed all over whatever unfortunate fabric was involved. Meanwhile, knowing my typically colorful vocabulary when under pain and duress, I’d be spouting…

By: John Carlson— Crocs. They’re not just for dorks anymore. Oh sure, some touchy folks out there might take offense at what they consider my gross generalization of their favorite footwear. “How dare you say that! What proof have you that Crocs wearers were ever, as you so disdainfully put it, dorks?” All the proof I need, fella! Irrefutable proof! Undeniable proof! The kind of proof so damning, only a moron would challenge it. To wit: I used to wear…

By: John Carlson— In the course of a relationship, there are certain familiar-sounding comments that loving partners typically address to each other. For example, there’s: “Love you loads, baby cakes!” which comes early. “You’ve made me the happiest individual in the whole U.S.A.!” which rings truest around one’s wedding day and early anniversaries. And as a married couple’s love matures, ripening into the fullness of each partner’s undying  commitment to the miracle that is holy matrimony, there’s, “For cripes sake!…

By: John Carlson— From our seats in Row BB at Emens Auditorium a couple weeks ago, Bob Dylan didn’t look like an American music icon. The familiar tousled hair and his slight build somehow seemed offset by the stiff movements of a man nearing 80 years of age, a man who didn’t exactly hop around the stage like Mick Jagger does, even back in his younger days. Plus, wouldn’t you figure an American music icon would take the opportunity to…

By: John Carlson— The other day I saw a Facebook ad for “Special Forces Pants,” also called “Tactical Pants.” Unlike regular pants, these pants had a zipper up front. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Hey, my  pants have a zipper up front, too!” Yeah, but what’s located behind your zipper? Never mind, don’t answer that. The thing is, with Tactical Pants or Special Forces Pants, it may be a secret pocket hiding hand grenades or any number of other…

By: John Carlson— Lately I’ve enjoyed some happy little feelings, all over the planned reconnection between the late artist Bob Ross and the city where he rose to international fame. That’s Muncie, of course. The L.L. Ball House on Minnetrista Boulevard, where the iconic show “The Joy of Painting” was shot from 1983 to 1988, is getting a new exhibit honoring the painter, telling his story, and sharing some of the creative magic the man sparked. Granted, “The Bob Ross…