May 9 2010 9:34 pm

if I swam there every day I wouldn't have dandruff

Ever hear that song “A Little More Country Than That?”  You know, the one where the singer lists things that are tragically “country” and then asserts that he is, in fact, even more country than that?

Here is my verse:

Fishin’ strip pits
on a Sunday
in Jasper
the hard way...
I’m a little more country than that

“The hard way,” of course, refers to fly fishing.  Which I admit is somewhat less country than “channel cats on cane poles,” but “way” rhymed with “Sunday” so I thought it worked.  I’ll take form over content anytime.   

Another of the country songs I listened to today insisted that New York isn’t a real town.  I swear to god Glenn Beck and the country music industry are in cahoots, commodifying the public’s frustration with what I take to be rather non-partisan problems involving the fickle "sciences" of global economics and human psychology.

That being said, I’ve been to New York, New York, and it’s about as real as it gets.  It’s so real you have to say it twice.  Once to entice them to leave Kansas, and once over their grave.  We’re all gonna die! 


There’s grit in every crevice, germs on every subway hand rail, strange fat sweaty pale guys muttering to themselves as they walk the streets.  It’s loud and smells bad.  It’s hard real.  It’s living and breathing and constantly struggling to pull up harder on its river bootstraps, its vaguely phallic shape surely indicative of its broadly androgynous character. 

F.T. and Suds were kind enough to invite me to fish some private pits in deep southern Indiana where the gray roads undulate over a mosaic landscape of field, prairie and forest, bobcats and turkey clutter the paths and a strange fast food joint called Grandy’s sits on every major intersection.  There are very large bass in these pits, though we were not lucky enough to catch them today.  Suds and F.T. barely batted an eye when I hoisted the fish pictured below, saying it was a third class fish and not so impressive.  I admit it’s no Slobby Don Milosevic, but it’s something. 

One of the pits looked like Tgel shower water.  Another was gin clear to twenty feet. 


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