My 07.27.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 07.27.2011 Arkansas Weekly:

Dear readers, in this space I’ve consistently shared many aspects of my life, and by now, I feel most of you have accepted my strange quirks and unique outlooks.

However, I feel I must now explain something about my personal life that might give some pause. In all honestly though, I know most of you will accept this newfound change because I have many caring and loving supporters.

You see, dear readers, I have fallen in love. While it is not a love many of you would consider conventional, it is still…love. And love cannot always conform to what society designates as normal.

So in the spirit of sharing all things about my life, I am here to proclaim that I have fallen in joyous, silly, happy love – with a monkey.

Yes, I know there is somewhat of a slight stigma associated with responsible adults having romantic relationships with animals, but this is not some demented perversion in my case. This is love.

This is a gentle, loving spirit for whom I have fallen. This is a soul with whom I want to spend the rest of my life.

I only met the monkey last week. His name is Wilson, and he came to the W.R.D. Entertainment offices with his trainer for an appearance on the Arkansas 103.3 KWOZ morning show. As soon as I saw Wilson, I was smitten. His innocent brown eyes and delicate limbs looked as if they belonged to an angel. When his trainer brought Wilson out of the studio, I immediately asked for a picture with Wilson. I told the trainer my kids would enjoy it, but in reality, I only wanted to feel the long monkey fingers of his monkey hands touch my cheek and his soft furry monkey tail curl around my neck.

When he perched himself upon my shoulder, I instantly felt an electrical surge shoot down my spine. I’m sure Wilson also felt a kindred voltage of true electricity. In fact, if you look at the picture below, you can see that he too has the realization that he has likely found his soul mate.

I wanted the moment to last forever. In fact, I began walking to my vehicle with Wilson still on my shoulder in hopes that we could drive off and never return. We’d drive to places unknown, holding hands and listening to my favorite Michael Bolton CDs. The wind would tussle his fur, and we’d look at each other as we drove down the highway with “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You” blaring from the speakers.

We’d stop and eat delicious meals at romantic restaurants such as Chili’s or Ryan’s. I would order the freshly prepared loaded potato skins while I’d have the chef puree bananas for Wilson. Sure, other diners might stop and stare at the man and the monkey staring dreamily into each other’s eyes, but Wilson and I would just silently laugh to ourselves, knowing that those people would likely never experience a love such as ours.

Later, we would settle in a little apartment somewhere in the Florida panhandle. Our abode would not have to be fancy, for material things are trivial when compared to the blessed love Wilson and I share. We’d make ends meet by performing for the tourists, and if that didn’t work, I would simply pose for those beefcake postcards that can be found at the tourist gift shops lining the gulf coast highways (see below). In fact, I’d prefer that because then Wilson could stay at home and relax by watching Animal Planet all day.

Sadly, at this point, my fantasy was interrupted. On my way to the vehicle, Wilson’s trainer tackled me just as I had started to run. Wilson desperately clung to my hair, knowing he was about to be separated from his one true love. Screaming, Wilson lunged for my face and gave me a deep bite by which I could remember him. His sharp monkey fangs plunged through my cheek while his long monkey fingers reached for my eye as he tried to stop my tears.

I don’t know where Wilson is now, but I will find him. A love like this is not meant to be divided.

Wilson, I will find you. You have my heart in yours.

Oh, you also have my eye. Keep it in a safe place, and on ice if you don’t mind.

Me and Wilson. A love like no other.

My 07.20.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

Here's my "All Over the Map" from the 07.20.2011 issue of Arkansas Weekly:

A few months back, I wrote a column that listed things men might not want to say in a rural Arkansas bar. Since then, I’ve thought of other statements and questions that might be inappropriate and/or misunderstood by certain patrons of such establishments – the kind of run-down saloons that can be found off a dirt road in the middle of Nowhereville, Arkansas, USA.

(It should be noted that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with such establishments and its faithful group of customers. But sometimes, things said from a stranger can be completely misconstrued by the regulars around the bar. Take it from someone who tried to sell Avon for Men in a club outside Swifton.)

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #23: Ah, excuse me, but whoever came here in the red Ford pick-up truck outside needs to move it now! You’re blocking my scooter.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #39: So, Doyle, I know we just met, but let me offer you a grooming tip: moisturizer.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #18: You guys are idiots! Houston Nutt was the best thing to happen to Razorback football!


What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #21: What do you mean you don’t serve Zima?!?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #44: Actually gentlemen, I think you’ll find a pattern of misogynist thought throughout the lyrics of most songs in the Bocephus catalog. It’s really disturbing.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #56: Who’s up for a game of charades?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #64 (This only applies to those who are performing as a musical act in a rural Arkansas bar.): This next song was first made famous by the musical genius that is Boy George.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #49: Oh, I think I went to school with your wife. Man, she could fill out a bikini back in the day!

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #22: No, silly. These aren’t floods. They’re called Capris.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #73: Hi, everyone. I’m here gathering signatures for a petition to outlaw deer hunting.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #75: I could swear you played the banjo kid in Deliverance.

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #98: Actually, I think Keith Olbermann had it right when he said…

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #65: Look, dude, I don’t mean to be rude, but has your girlfriend ever heard of Listerine?

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #88: Could someone change the channel? We’re missing Bill Maher for heaven’s sake!

What not to say in a rural Arkansas bar – example #100: Why, yes. My name is Rob Grace.

The absolute best version of "Family Tradition" you'll EVER hear! (NSFW)

My 07.13.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

Here's my "All Over the Map" from next week's Arkansas Weekly:

I have the normal phobias: snakes, heights, enclosed spaces, the nostrils of television anchor Nancy Grace, etc. You know...the usual.

Yet, I also have a long list of other actual phobias with which many of you might not be familiar.

GENIPHOBIA – Fear of chins. This phobia popped up only recently with the hefty pounds I’ve gained since I hit middle age. The more chins I develop, the more I fear them.

PHENGOPHOBIA – Fear of daylight or sunshine. Although most common among vampires, it can also be recognized in mere mortals – like me. One look at my pigmentation, or lack thereof, and you’ll realize I’ve had this phobia since day one.

COPRASTASOPHOBIA – Fear of constipation. You should see my weekly prune bill. Seriously.

ERGOPHOBIA – Fear of work. Which would explain this column.

GYMNOPHOBIA – Fear of nudity. In my case, this only applies if I’m watching an erotic film starring Rosie O’Donnell and Ernest Borgnine.

ANDROPHOBIA – Fear of men. Particularly if they have large arms, numerous piercings, and they see me wearing my Justin Bieber t-shirt.

GYNOPHOBIA – Fear of women. Particularly if they have large arms, numerous piercings, and they see me wearing my Justin Bieber t-shirt.

DUTCHPHOBIA – Fear of the Dutch. The wooden shoes always creeped me out for some reason.

PROCTOPHOBIA – I think most of you can figure out to which fear this pertains.

CHIRAPTOPHOBIA – Fear of being touched. Actually, I only had this fear as a child whenever Uncle Randy came to visit from Kentucky.

METHYPHOBIA – Fear of liquor. This fear is not constant. It simply appears on mornings after I have consumed a case of Boone’s Farm.

MELOPHOBIA – Fear of music. But only of music performed by either Reba McEntire; the Black Eyed Peas; Kenny Chesney; Cher; Crosby, Stills & Nash; or the cast of Glee. And throw The Judds in there while you’re at it.

ONOMATOPHOBIA – Fear of a certain word, phrase or of names. Words, phrases and names applicable in my case include: overdrawn; back acne; “That’s gonna have to come out.”; Olbermann; “Ladies and gentlemen: Yanni!”; Behar; “Agent Feldman, the gentleman in the Justin Bieber t-shirt with the white hair and four chins will need a full cavity search before he can go to his gate.”; “Rob, you look at little chunky in that unitard.”; Kardashian; “Uh, Dad. Do we have any insurance? The elderly lady I just ran over with my car needs to know.”; and, “Oh, and Dad, she also needs the name of your lawyer.”

My 07.06.2011 "All Over the Map" from Arkansas Weekly

Here's my "All Over the Map" from this week's issue of Arkansas Weekly:

One of the many parties on the Spring I missed due to the misunderstanding that is described at the end of this column.

I’ve heard that the Spring River is now a magnet for partygoers across the mid-south. An article published in the August 28, 2001 issue of the weekly newspaper, the Memphis Flyer, chronicled the area’s growing reputation as a summertime destination for rabble-rousers from such states as Arkansas, Missouri, Tennessee, Illinois and Mississippi.

One paragraph in the article, in particular, grabbed my attention. It was a quote from a letter the mayor of Hardy had written to the Fulton County sheriff complaining about the seemingly constant stream of party animals carousing on the Spring every summer weekend:

“We would like to be known for admirable qualities rather than the stabbings, drug bashes, fights, sex orgies, and such that are reported by our police and fire department…”

That sentence was all I needed to read. It was time to take a trip to the Spring River!

So, last weekend I decided to hop on my scooter and cruise up to the Hardy area and enjoy the festive atmosphere on the Spring. Apparently, many participants in the activities on the river are avid motorcyclists, so since a scooter is technically a motorized cycle, I count myself as part of the HOG brotherhood. (For those unfamiliar with the bike culture, a HOG is a nickname for a motorcycle. Technically, it stands for “Harley Owners Group,” but these days it’s a general term for a cycle. Although the day Harley-Davidson manufactures a scooter is the day I will be the proud owner of one. Surely they’ll see the light someday soon.)

The short journey up the highway was simply beautiful, particularly since I was enjoying the vistas through the freedom of my majestic motorized two-wheeled stallion. However, just outside Evening Shade, a livestock truck passed me and roughly three cows in the trailer spewed manure all over me and my scooter. Blinded by the waste on my goggles, I almost lost control of my bike and zoomed off the highway. Thankfully, I was able to slow down to a stop and use a dry section of my riding scarf to wipe off my face.

Later, up the highway, I hopped a fence and washed myself off in a pond while two cows stood silently watching me. One of the cows seemed particularly entranced with my physique as I bathed. I detected a slight grin on her face, and I noticed her head move up and down as her large tongue slithered around her mouth. Feeling a tad threatened and violated, I quickly put on a new set of clothes and scurried out of the pond to my scooter.

I finally made it to Hardy and found a canoe camp outside of town that had “Biker Friendly” on its sign. I knew I had hit the jackpot. I eased my scooter down the road to the riverbank and soon realized I had found my brothers of the road. Lines of motorcycles filled the parking lot and crowds of bikers and babes were scattered in festive clumps along the riverside. Lynyrd Skynyrd filled the air, and kegs of beer were endlessly flowing. I eased next to a beautiful vintage Harley and pulled my HOG up on its stand. I was ready to party.

I stripped off my shirt and sprayed some 700-block sunscreen all over my chest, shoulders and back and then I slipped on my banana-yellow biker vest I had recently made in my crochet class. On the back of the vest was a pattern of a unicorn riding my scooter over a rainbow, and above it, was my biker name: The Happy Gardenia.

The women were going to go insane with lust.

I sauntered over to a large group of leather-clad men and scantily-clad ladies. Slapping the back of an enormous burly man whose vest read “Clawhammer,” I yelled over the music, “So, did y’all like this season of Glee as much as I did?”

The last thing I remember was Skynyrd’s “Whiskey Rock and Roller” stopping mid-song, the entire group of people on the riverside halting their conversations as they turned my way, and Clawhammer’s enormous hand slowly covering my face.

I’m not sure if my last words were, “Oh, wait. You guys don’t watch Glee?” or “Oh, no. Not again.”

I’m thinking the latter.

Ah. The old "Fake Snake Falling in the Canoe" trick. Kudos to those who did this -- you're my kindred spirits.