Classic Column Sunday: Ask Mr. Answer Man

Greetings common people! I am Mr. Answer Man! Please, stop applauding; it embarrasses me… Okay, don’t stop. A rather disturbing fact has recently been brought to my attention during my meetings at Janitors Anonymous. (I myself am not a janitor. I like to go to discuss my personal struggle to grow sideburns.) More and more papers that are wadded up and thrown into the floors of high school classes have failing grades on them. I first attributed this to stupidity, but after further thought, I determined that students simply do not a proper place to reference their scholastic questions.

That is the purpose of this column, to send the message to our younger generations that they are not alone in the quest for the perfect scholastic year. (Nor the perfect party. Mail me suggestions.) A extensive study performed by the same scientists who cloned Dolly the sheep and taught Pauly Shore how to speak reveals that careful attention and application of all that is presented within can give a person an unquestionable grasp of all things intelligent. When you have a question that has troubled your mind for countless hours, just address me and I will answer it so simply that you will feel my intelligence radiating though the newsprint. Ask away, minions!

Q: When did civilization first appear on Earth?

A: There are many differing opinions as to when man first achieved a level of living that could adequately be described as “civilized.” In my right opinion, I believe that true civilization did not begin until the year of my birth, 1981.

Q: Okay, so, like, there’s this girl in my Algebra class who’s, like, really cool and stuff, and I’m thinking about asking her to go see a movie or something. But she’s, like, really smart so I’m like, “What should I do?” And my friends are like, “Whatever!” So I’m like, “For real?” And they’re like, “Totally!” So my question is, do girls like that like smarter guys and stuff, and how do I get smarter?

A: This is obviously a desperate case. What you need, my boy, is a crash course in how to think. If gorillas can be taught sign language then surely you cannot be too much more difficult. Under my watchful eye, I can take you from a slobbering gutter cretin to a Mensa member to end all Mensa memberships. I could do this, but frankly, I just do not care enough about you or your pathetic love life. She probably would prefer that you had a brain in your head, but unfortunately for you, there are guys like me out there to steal all the thinking girls away.

Q: You’re rather conceited, aren’t you?

A: One of my intelligence and station need not turn to conceit, as conceit is thinking too highly of oneself. Since no one can think too highly of me, then it would not me considered conceit. Besides, you dress funny…

*Ahem* Hey guys, this is Jody interrupting here for a second. Mr. Answer Man is not exactly working out so well so I have decided not to let him work with this column anymore. You can never tell what a little attention will do to a person in the spotlight. I know there are still a few questions out there so I’ve searched high and low for a replacement, and, lo and behold, I found one where I least thought to look… hiding in my refrigerator. Here he is folks, Mr. Randomly Generated Thought Man.

Q: Why aren’t there anymore dinosaurs?

A: Dinosaurs and their disappearance are one of life’s great mysteries. Let’s go ride our bikes!

Q: Okay, so, like, I still don’t know what do to about that girl in my Algebra class. That last guy was a loser. So, like, what’s up with that deal about the chicks liking smarter guys?

A: Girls and their disappearance are one of life’s great mysteries. But let us not dwell on these matters. Louis Armstrong played the trumpet, and Frank Sinatra was Old Blue Eyes. I miss the refrigerator.

Jody again. No more question and answer times in this column. I am truly sorry about all this mess. I guess that there are some things man was never meant to understand, namely calculus, dinosaurs, and females.

Classic Column… um, Tuesday: I Was Born in a Small Town

Okay, so I was supposed to do these things on Sunday nights, and okay, I missed a couple of weeks. I’ve been busy, alright? Just get off my back, already!

*deep breath*

Okay, I’m better now. Anyway, this week’s randomly selected column came from my sophomore year at Union. Enjoy!

For all you in Sparta who have always dreaming of leaving our fair city and moving to the city, I want to share with you a few of the joys that I’ve discovered about our little town and other small towns in Tennessee verses what I’ve learned about city life over my last year and a half in Jackson.

First off, Superman’s boyhood town was called Smallville. That’s got to say something about the benefits of small town living.

Only in a small town can you call the bank when you have car trouble. I’m staying with a friend of mine and his family in the little town of Gadsden during this January semester to save on school expenses as well as allowing me to escape from my dorm for a month. Last week I was the only one left at the house in the morning at the time that I was supposed to leave to get to my class. Now, I take certain things for granted in my life so that I assume I have nothing to worry about. For instance, when I sit down behind the steering wheel of my truck and turn the ignition key, I expect for the engine to roar to life (and it does roar pretty loud) and take me to where I want to go. Well, you know what happens when you assume, don’t you? Since this is a family column I don’t think I can tell you outright, but basically you end up looking like a donkey of some sort. My truck didn’t even click.

I’d left my lights on after a long night working at the hotel the day before and they had been on for roughly 24 hours. Needless to say my battery was deader than a doornail. (Just a side note here: Exactly how dead is a doornail? For that matter, what is a doornail?) With everyone else gone and not knowing Gadsden at all, I had no one to call and no way to get a car to jump me off. I called my girlfriend Alanna at work (too far away to drive) and she suggested I call one of the places in Gadsden. Now, as far as I can tell, the actual town of Gadsden consists of a store, a bank, and a church. Of the three, I knew the name of the bank. So, out of other options, I called the bank to report a dead car battery. I explained my problem to the very friendly teller (who laughed at me), and she told me that she would call her husband who was at home with their little boy to see if he could come jump my truck off. Within an hour, he and his little boy pulled into the driveway, got my truck started, and sent me on my way.

Where else on earth but in a small town could you call the bank when you have car trouble?
On the flipside, here in the city of Jackson things are quite a bit different. Jackson is the fifth largest city in Tennessee (which really isn’t saying a whole lot) and functions like a city. In Jackson, I have police officers come up to the front desk in the hotel showing me mug shots and asking “Have you seen this man?” I don’t know what he’s done, but if I do see him, I’ll crawl up under the desk until he’s gone.

I don’t know exactly what it is about rural living, but I know that when I’m away from it, I miss it. That’s why I love my little diversion in Gadsden this month. It’s nice to have a real house to go back to in the evenings after school or work. I like it actually being dark outside when I go to bed without the glare of street lights and flashing signs. I guess before I got to Jackson, life in the country was another one of those things I took for granted. Never again though.

I have to leave now and call the bank again. I think my stereo is going out.