Friday, July 30, 2010

The McCollumn - 7/30/10

Urn your keep

Those of us who have businesses in downtown Opelika are an interesting family of people.

We’re all sensitive and sympathetic to problems and issues faced by our fellow business owners, as we are either going through the same thing or have gone through it in the past.

We all try to help each other. That’s the way it should be.

Over the years, I’ve come to know Roland Lee, the owner and proprietor of Roland’s Thrift Store, quite well.

We couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor for the Cottage Walk.

Mr. Roland is one of the kindest people you will ever meet and his store is a treasure trove of randomness.

I’m never entirely sure what I’m going to find when I walk in there.

It could be a new dressmaker’s dummy, an antique tin bug repellent sprayer or a large cardboard cutout display of some NASCAR driver whose name I don’t and will never know.

I peruse the records constantly, hoping to find some album I think I desperately need (Case in point, I did find the original cast album of West Side Story – not too shabby).

You can find almost anything at Roland’s.

A few weeks ago, per usual, I was wandering around inside and saw a simple, wooden jewelry box sitting on the counter.

I picked it up, noticing it seemed far heavier than a normal jewelry box.

“What in here, Mr. Roland,” I asked.

“Open it,” he said.

I did.

Inside of the box was another large, crimson plastic box with a sticker on it that read “These are the cremated remains of …”

“These aren’t…” I said, hesitating to finish the sentence.

“They are,” Mr. Roland said. “Found them in a box of stuff I bought from some lady.”

Of course, Mr. Roland didn’t intend to buy human remains. There may be some odd items in his store, but the macabre is not a realm usually showcased in his store.

“Bad juju,” I said to Mr. Roland. “You need to send those back.”

Mr. Roland assured me he was going to and, as of this date, the remains have been safely returned to their proper owner.

(Actually, the returning of the ashes is also a funny story, but Mr. Roland tells it far better than I do. Stop by and have him recount the story for you. Worth a trip, I promise.)

Buying someone’s ashes, even accidentally, does stir up some odd feelings.

My immediate thought was that I was fairly certain that a few amendments to the US Constitution pretty much said you can’t buy people any more, even if they are in cinder form.

However, as I continued to think about the singular oddity of the thrift store’s human ashes, the dominant emotion was a sense of sadness.

It’s a grim future to have one’s eternal remains put into a box somewhere in the house and to be forgotten, sold with other trinkets and baubles like you don’t matter.

Even the worst among us doesn’t deserve the fate of being tossed out like that.

Keep track of your loved ones, dear readers.

Make sure Great Aunt Edna is still in that urn on top of your mantle.

I dare say I can speak for most of us when I say that we don’t want to see any more people for sale at Roland’s.

Friday, July 23, 2010

The McCollumn - 7/23/10

A Toast to Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy

”They say that the family of the twenty-first century is made up of friends, not relatives.”

While I won’t agree that the statement made by Simon Pegg’s character Tim in the great Britcom “Spaced” is entirely true, it is somewhat true.

For more than two decades, part of my extended family has been the Gore family, none more so than my “somewhat sister,” Mary Louise Gore.

Tomorrow, she becomes Mary Kennedy, marrying her beau Michael Kennedy, and begins her new life away from this sleepy, little village.

While I mourn that two such great people will be leaving us, I celebrate the love they have for one another and the life they are starting with one another.

I’ve known M.L. since birth.

We’ve been on countless vacations between the two families, the “McGores,” as we often style ourselves.

There were the beach trips to Pompano, complete with endless viewings of that “Puff the Magic Dragon” movie on VHS and trips to various theme parks.

For years, every Fourth of July meant a week-long excursion down to John Vance’s beach house in Panama City, and each was just as memorable as the last. One has a tendency not to forget pirate ships, killer seagulls, and, of course, the singular non-reoccurring phenomenon that was my ninth grade live comedy act: “Cliff Live.”

Heck, the Gores even join us for Easter and we join them for Christmas dinner. If that’s not family, I don’t know what is.

While I consider myself blessed to be surrounded by the wonderful group of women I call “my girls,” Mary Louise has always been at the top of that group.

More so than the rest of my girls, I’ve always felt the need to protect and defend her, as a de facto older brother is want to do at times.

Her previous boyfriends were subjected to a rigorous inspection and review process.

One of them was even forced to a clandestine, Woodward and Bernstein-esque meeting at Floral Park after I discovered some unsavory things about his character. He didn’t last long after that.

When M.L. told me she was dating Michael, she told me I could begin the process of combing through his background and life, searching for the problems and issues that could prove burdensome down the road.

The review process on Michael Kennedy took all of about five minutes.

She had my immediate blessing.

While I had known Michael for years, we weren’t extraordinarily close, but I knew him to be a good young man of unimpeachable character, raised by a great family.

Were that all my girls could date such good people.

I also knew that once those two started dating, it would only end in marriage.

Michael, welcome to our odd family.

We are delighted to have you and we know you will do whatever you can to keep our girl happy.

We couldn’t have asked for a better match for her, and (quite frankly) you couldn’t have gotten a better girl.

Mary Louise, words fail me.

To see the little girl I used to have lemonade stands with turn into the beautiful young bride I see before me now is nothing short of astounding.

I wish you the heartiest of congratulations and the fondest of farewells, as you embark on this new journey that will take you from us (even if it is only a few hours away).

Both of you should know you have a vast support network waiting for you back here whenever you need it.

We love you and wish you nothing but the best.

Here’s cheers, kids. L’chaim!

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

The McCollumn - 7/16/10

Reaching detente with Brando, Jackie O and pet ownership

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure to housesit for some friends of mine, Revel and Kate Gholston.

While normal people would never leave me in charge of the well-being of two dogs and a gorgeous house, they thought it was a good idea.

Who am I to argue?

During their seven day vacation, their dogs, Brando and Jackie O, and I reached what could best be described as something similar to US and Soviet relations during the Nixon era — uneasy but cordial.

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a pet person.

Some of you are recoiling at that sentence, but I’ve always said I’m far too self-centered to care about the life of another human being, much less an animal.

I lacked the care to even raise goldfish.

Things that will poop and vomit around a house at random have always been on my “Avoid at all costs” lists, human babies included.

I was worried when my adventures in pet-sitting started that the dogs would instantly know I wasn’t an animal person and spend the rest of our time together finding ways to make my life a living hell.

More than a week out from this experience, I can tell you they did nothing of the sort.

I took them for walks, eventually allowing them to choose what direction they wanted to go in for their multiple daily constitutionals.

In doing that, I got to see more of Historic Downtown Opelika than I’ve ever really seen and I got to get up close and personal with a drainage ditch near the Second Avenue bridge. (That should be avoided at all costs. It’s not a safe place by any stretch of the imagination.)

I even took the dogs a few places, letting them play and frolic with some friends’ pets, something they seemed to take to moderately well.

Playdates are always fun for everyone — the kids (dogs) can play and the adults can drink and socialize. Everyone wins.

For their part, the dogs seemed to understand when it was time to be quiet and just chill out.

They were by my side to watch every episode of HBO’s “Treme,” proof that the show is simply phenomenal.

(If you haven’t seen this show and its gritty, real look at post-Katrina New Orleans, you must. Do it now.)

The dogs learned that if I had my laptop in my lap and was typing something, they needed to not be anywhere near me. It only took me pushing Jackie off of the couch 26 times for her to get it, but, after that, she was as good as gold.

They weren’t loud or overly rambunctious.

There were relatively few bodily secretions left in odd places in the house, making cleanup and care a breeze.

They were, and are, good dogs. Revel and Kate have obviously raised them well.

I’m still on the fence about pet ownership, but Brando and Jackie have shown me some of the benefits of having loving, great pets.

Unless I can find some like them, though, McCollum Cottage will remain a pet-free zone.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Supplemental Cliff Rule #1


Been watching Episode 2 of Season 2 of Battlestar Galactica recently and felt there needed to be a new supplemental Cliff Rule:

Never give Edward James Olmos your baby.


He will drown it in a river. He will smile as it dies, and walk away in silence.

So, once again:

Never give Edward James Olmos your baby.

Thank you. That is all.

Monday, July 12, 2010

The McCollumn - 7/9/10

Last week's McCollumn, as promised.

Movin' the Market

Ah, Opelika in the summer.

While the Southern heat and humidity can be a bit much at times, the activities and goings-on that occur in our sleepy little town during the summer months are usually of the highest caliber.

While the Summer Swing concert series is a close second in my book, the best summer activity in Opelika is the Downtown Farmers’ Market on Tuesday afternoons.

The Farmers’ Market is a great boon for our downtown life and I am always delighted to see the tents being set up each Tuesday, knowing that fresh produce and delectable peach ice cream will soon be near.

The market is booming as evidenced by the seemingly endless amount of cars making their way downtown around 2 p.m. each Tuesday.

I love the Farmers’ Market. I want to be very clear about that.

However, the popularity and rise of the afternoon market is causing some problems that need to be addressed immediately and swiftly.

Since the market takes up an entire side of parking on South Railroad for the vendors’ booths, finding a decent spot in the mid to late afternoon is darn near impossible these days.

Even earlier in the morning, some South Railroad businesses are seeing a decrease in clientele on Tuesdays throughout the day, as the tents usually pop up in the parking spaces a little before lunch time.

While the market is going on, the once one-way only South Railroad Avenue becomes a free-for-all with cars going down the remaining open road however they please.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve left the Cottage Café after a day’s work and almost been hit by some whackadoo driving the wrong way.

It will only be so long before such an accident actually does occur.

A stricter enforcement of traffic laws would help alleviate this problem, but it isn’t necessarily the best solution.

Move the market back down to the old train depot.

The original reason for moving it from that location, if memory serves me correctly, was to boost the notoriety of the market, and that mission has long since been accomplished.

People definitely know the market is here.

The depot offers more space than the current location and frees up more parking for visitors to the market.

It also increases foot traffic on that end of South Railroad, and I know my good friends who own businesses there would be delighted by that.

If changing the venue back to the depot makes some weary or has them worrying that folks may come to downtown expecting the tents in their normal spot, rest assured that the downtown community will make sure the patrons get to where they need to be.

If need be, I’ll even volunteer my services as a downtown liaison, standing in front of the Cottage Café encouraging all passers-by to head down to the depot for all their homegrown produce needs.

Perhaps try it for a week.

Make the move and see what happens.

If it fails, move the tents back.

If it succeeds, huzzah for us all.

Let’s just do something.

Inaction will only lead to more problems.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

The Glorious Return! (or, "Cliff Remembers He Has a Blog")

Yes, dear readers, it's been a while.

Have you been well? Doing OK? Moving that bus?

Good.

We're starting a new policy direction here this week, one that I think will bolster posts here and allow those of you who don't get the Opelika Observer (or don't want to get the Double O ... I don't blame you), you can still get to read my God-awful weekly column (the oh-so-hilariously named McCollumn)

So, for your viewing pleasure (or disgust), last week's column:


To Tess, With Love

If you like seeing this column every week, there’s one person that needs thanking for making it happen.

(Actually, if you hate this column, and I know some of you do, you can feel free to blame this person, too.)

While the decision to give a known crazy person a weekly column in a fledgling newspaper was made by then editor Jayson Hill, good man that he is, my initial presence at this paper was brought about by one woman: Tess Hollis.

Hollis served as this paper’s first associate editor, having honed her journalism skills at The Auburn Plainsman with me and later at the Columbus Ledger-Enquirer.

She’s a spitfire and will always be a dear friend, making her wedding this past weekend a truly “delightful, delicious, and de-lovely” occasion.

The bride was, of course, gorgeous. I expected nothing less than perfection from her, though.

The ceremony was simple and short, a rarity these days, I assure you.

In my role as “Guest Book Attendant,” it was my job to hunt down wedding guests and force them to sign the book, at knife-point if necessary.

(Actually, come to think, they may have said “Politely banter with the guests and ask them to sign the book.” I just like to add a bit of panache, is all. )

I got to see old friends, relive old times, gossip about old dirt and even went out and danced a dance or two. Yes, dear readers, some of us Southern Baptists do, in fact, dance.

A great many things happened over the course of the Hollis/Oravsky Wedding Weekend, all of them wonderful.

But, more than the individual moments and memories, I’m left with a heavy overdose of sentimentality.

Weddings should be and are about love. This is an undisputed fact.

Two people are joining their lives together because of the deep, undying love they feel for one another.

That’s part of the wedding love.

The other part, my favorite part and I argue the best part, is the love being shown and given to the blessed couple by their friends and family in attendance.

The love Tess and Shane share for one another is solid and beautiful.

The love that surrounds this couple, though, is nothing short of astounding.

There was love in the toasts at the rehearsal dinner when maid of honor Elise Diffie quoted Homer eloquently and Tess’ Uncle Clifford made jokes about Shane’s side being damn Yankees.

There was love shown by those damn Yankees even being here, some of them coming in from hundreds of miles away just to show their support and care for Shane and his new bride.

There was love in the eyes of Paul and Tammy Hollis as they watched their daughter dance her first dance as Captain Oravsky’s wife, to the oh-so perfect choice of Etta James’ “At Last.”

There was even love when Miranda Mattheis, appointed by my fellow Plainsmanites and myself, went up to the DJ, requesting the “Tootsie Roll” in honor of years’ worth of Wednesday night sessions at the Q with good old DJ Ozz.

Tess’ wedding was a great wedding not because of anything she planned or set up, while those things were nice.

Tess’ wedding was a success because it showed love.

Tess and Shane, I wish you nothing but the happiest and best as you begin this new part of your journey through life together.

We should all be so lucky as to find what you have found in one another.