You might say I squeaked through my Monday classes.
No, it’s not that World Geography, Mass Media Law and Journalism Ethics have taken a turn toward the difficult.
On the contrary, I breezed through the Mass Media Law test and the other two classes were lectures. So there was nothing too challenging about Monday.\
Nevertheless, Monday founds me squeaking. In fact, I’ve been squeaking now since early Saturday evening.
Saturday, I attended my first basketball game as a student at Mississippi State. Student admission is free, which is important to remember when you are selecting your seats in the student section, which are located directly behind each goal. They are great seats for the price.
The game was against Ole Miss. I’m not going to dwell on the outcome of Saturday’s game, mainly because I have quite a few friends who went to Ole Miss. My attitude is that if people can look beyond the fact that I went to prison, I should be able to look past the fact that they went to Ole Miss, even though it is not a perfect comparison. I didn’t choose to go to prison of my own free will, after all. In fact, I remember being very much opposed to the idea at the time.
So, no, I harbor no bitterness toward my Ole Miss friends, this despite getting a nasty reply from the school last year after I submitted my suggestion for a new mascot for the school – The Tsunamis. Get it? TSUNamis? I thought it was quite clever. They did not.
So I won’t dwell on the outcome of the game. Not much, anyhow.
Now, I do not remember losing control during the game. No, I’m pretty sure I struck a very dignified pose there, an old, wise gray head among the mass of supercharged young students.
Now, I will admit that I did feel compelled to “encourage’’ the referees, especially during the first half when the referees seemed reluctant to blow their whistles despite the obvious fact that the Rebel players were committing all sorts of heinous acts right out there in plain view.
After the game, I will not belabor the point as to which team won, I walked over the baseball stadium to watch Mississippi State play Akron. Whatever Akron is known for, it’s probably not baseball. State hammered the Zips (a cool nickname, by the way) by a margin of 10-1.
I was not compelled to encourage the officials in this contest for two primary reasons. First, the Bulldogs did not seem to need any assistance from the officials. Second, it’s hard to holler and eat peanuts at the same time.
So I figure, most of my hollering was done in about a one-hour span during the first half of the basketball game.
Because I attended both games alone, I didn’t really have anything like a conversation during the day.
But on Saturday night, I made a phone call and was surprised to find that my voice, normally a rich baritone, has been reduced to a series of odd squeaks.
It’s been like that ever since, although it does appear to be coming around. My squeaks are a bit deeper now.
I’ve been gargling with warm salt water and that seems to help. I mentioned my condition as a Facebook status, and several people suggested that I drink hot tea with lemon and honey.
So I went to the kitchen to see what I had. I have everything for that except for the tea, the lemon and the honey. So I’m relying on warm water and salt, since I have an ample supply of both.
It is still a mystery to me how I could lose my voice. As I said, I don’t think I hollered all that much. But then I started thinking, “really, how many occasions do you really have to holler on a regular basis?’’ My kids are grown, after all.
So I guess maybe my hollering muscles have atrophied.
Tuesday, I go to Memphis. I’m getting a tour of St. Jude and talking to some folks who are in the fund-raising part of the hospital. I’m thinking I might want to pursue work in that field and this is a great opportunity to get some feedback and learn what the job entails.
I am hoping that my voice will have graduated beyond a squeak.
I’ll be Gargling to Memphis. Wasn’t that a song my Mark Cohn a few years back?
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