CALL ME SNAKE

As Groucho Marx once said, "I really must be leaving." Or did he say, "I really must be going"? Either way, I'm leaving, or going, for a brief while. Not exactly "fishin'," as the title suggests, but I am headed to a place Down South--Nashville, Tennessee to be exact-- where people (or "folk," as they call it) have trouble pronouncin' the g's at the end of words. The problem is so severe, in fact, that they've takin' to avoidin' the terminal "g" altogether. Hence the fishin'--not to be confused with fission, which occurs elsewhere in the state of Tennessee, at a place called Oak Ridge. But we're not goin' there.

I can already hear the questions. Why Nashville? And why now? On the middle of the Final Four weekend, and with the Celtics season still in progress? I can only say that my younger, smarter, and more successful cousin picked this weekend to get married. I didn't get to pick the weekend, nor did I get to pick my cousin. But if I had to do it all over again, I still would have picked the same cousin because, for one thing, he's a talented athlete, vying at the highest levels of international competition. That's right. You guessed it: He's a "rock, paper, scissors" expert who's gone head-to-head with some of the world's other elite athletes. (We've even talked about that in these pages. If you can't recall, let me give you a helpful hint: It's called "Archives.")

I'm not sure how much time I'll actually get to spend with my illustrious cousin, as he is getting married. But I hope that just by hanging around, some of his athleticism may rub off on me. In any case, rest assured that I'll share anything I learn about "rock, paper, and scissors," as well as about life in general, with my readers, who are generally supportive, but sometimes come off as a community of nitpickers. More on that in my next missive. And speaking of missives, I've got a plane to miss.