Here’s a theme song suggestion for the Trumpster

Now that the Rolling Stones refuse to let Donald Trump use their music at his functions, perhaps he should adopt a tune from the calypso cowboy Jimmy Buffett:

Half-baked cookies in the oven
Half-baked people on the bus
There’s a little bit of fruitcake left in everyone of us …

Down in New Orleans in the French market there are fruitcakes like you cannot

New York, forget it. Fruitcake city.


Shuckin’ and jivin’, but mostly just shuckin’

I can’t pronounce my R’s and G’s

When I’m speaking Southernese

       — Jimmy Buffet

According to my Chambers Dictionary of Etymology, the word “shuck” as a verb means to remove the husk, pod or shell and first appeared in 1819, and the word “jive” as a verb means to mislead, deceive or fool and first appeared in 1928 in the title of a Louis Armstrong recording. There is no entry for shuck and jive.

Black-eyed peas, collard greens and cornbread.

According to Wikipedia, a source to which I seldom resort, shuckin’ and jivin’ is a slang for joking and acting evasively, especially adapting certain speech and behavior in the presence of an authoritative figure. Sounds like a Stepin Fetchit character, though Wikipedia fails to make the connection. Sneer if you must, but the act made the man a millionaire.

Now, I’ve been accused of jivin’, and may in fact have engaged in the practice a time or two when it was called for and the butt of the endeavor was particularly loathsome, but I suspect my talents at shuckin’ are largely unknown except to family and a few childhood friends. Shuckin’ is best performed on a porch while seated in a wooden rocking chair, but sometimes you just have to improvise. The secret is out.

Having been reared south of the Red River, I developed a taste for black-eyed peas. Not the dried kind you have soak for a week and half and still taste chalky and bitter no matter how much bacon and pepper sauce you add. No, siree, the only way to dine on fine black-eyed peas, cowboy caviar to the initiated, is fresh from the garden. I always include an ample ratio of snaps. One, you don’t have to shuck those. Two, they are mighty tasty.

I prepare mine in a cast iron Dutch oven on the grill. Fry a couple of slices of bacon, stir in onion and bell pepper, deglaze with a splash of marsala or sherry, boil in chicken broth until al dente, sprinkle a generous amount of Paula Deen Southern spice mix — speakin’ of shuckin’ and jivin’ — and serve with Trappey’s pepper sauce.

Come fall, I’ll pull out the spent black-eyed peas and plant collard greens.

Pass the cornbread, y’all.

Life should have theme songs

As Jane Ann Morrison informs us, memories are funny things. They’re not always true, as she recounts in today’s column about former Mayor Oscar Goodman’s book “Being Oscar.”

She was there and has her own version. His appears to be a semi-true story, some he made up and some he forgot.

So, when they make Oscar’s book into a movie, I believe I have the theme song for when the credits roll. Just substitute gin for tequila.