Rats. I thought I was on to something. I read that Cobb Life magazine is seeking nominations for the Best of Cobb. The voting is open until Jan. 24 and I was going to shamelessly seek your vote.
After all, who else do you know that appears on these pages and is a dead ringer for Brad Pitt? Who else do you know manages to upset Democrats and Republicans alike? Who has been called an Obama bedwetting liberal and a racist redneck in the same week? Who throws commas around like confetti? I could go on, but you get the point. I should be a shoo-in. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find a category for modest and much-beloved columnists. A grievous oversight.
I thought I might try the Arts and Entertainment category. There is no question that I am entertaining (I laugh at my own stuff, even if no one else does) and have enough artistic ability to have one of my paintings hanging at the state Capitol and another at the Sewell Mill Library and Cultural Center. Eat your heart out, Michelangelo. Alas, I didn’t make the cut but, then, neither did the guy at Kennesaw State that paints with his own blood, so I can’t be too upset.
The Automotive and Recreational Vehicle category wasn’t in the books for me. I do a lot of things well but that does not include parallel parking or getting the oil changed when I am supposed to. Plus, I am so directional dyslexic that my car’s GPS refuses to speak to me anymore.
I didn’t even consider Dining and Night Life. I don’t eat broccoli. I eat my peas with a spoon. I don’t pull out my cellphone and yell in it, hoping I will impress someone with how important I am, which seems to be de rigueur these days in most restaurants. Fine dining to me is banana pudding. As for night life, I prefer to sit at home and listen to my prized collection of accordion music while I macramé. To a lot of people, that is no night life but at least I don’t have to endure self-important yuppies yelling in their cellphones while I am trying to eat my banana pudding.
I thought the Health, Wellness and Beauty category might have some potential. Being a dead ringer for Brad Pitt takes care of the beauty part. Plus, I am very healthy, except for a pair of knees that sound like a squeaking door when I stand. As for wellness, I have a positive attitude about most things in life with the exception of Bible-thumping Baptists who don’t think women should be preachers; people who think their kids should twizzle in whatever toilet they choose; wingnuts on both ends of the political spectrum; Colick Kaperdoodle; robocalls and loud-talking, know-it-all Yankees who make fun of the way we talk, but won’t move back north because it snows there 10 months a year and all their buildings are rusted.
Imagine my disappointment to find that this category is full of chiropractors and plastic surgeons and dentists. No disrespect, but that medical stuff is not for me. I faint when I see an aspirin.
In the Education and Kids category, I love kids. (Remind me to tell you about my great-grandchildren someday.) But it is the education part that is the problem. I don’t like self-absorbed school board members who show their hiney every time they open their big mouths. I also don’t like the private school voucher scheme by whatever name their supporters call it these days. It is still lipstick on a pig. And don’t get me started on for-profit charter school management companies.
Obviously, I don’t qualify for the Pets category, but I must admit I was disappointed to see that Jack and Jill, my two favorite mules who now reside in Canada or Montana — I get those two places mixed up — not on the list. Maybe next year.
I am not interested in the Services category. Too many lawyers. As an esteemed member of the Fourth Estate, I must be very careful with whom I associate. I hope I don’t get sued for saying that. Lawyers are always suing something or somebody. (What’s the difference between God and an attorney? Answer: God doesn’t think He’s an attorney.)
That just leaves two categories for consideration: Real Estate and Finance and Shopping. I don’t understand the former and I hate the latter.
So there it is. A complete shutout. I am truly sorry that you and I can’t vote for me for the Best of Cobb. Am I disappointed? Sure. I could have been a contender. But being a dead ringer for Brad Pitt helps ease the pain and I still have my accordion music and my macramé.
I may not be the Best of Cobb but we still have each other and, frankly, that’s not bad.