Strange musings from the bakery: Thoughts from Salt
By David Baker
I think David Copperfield yeah,
the magician, not the Dickens character is sitting
in terminal D3 of the Salt Lake Airport watching an
HD TV tuned to some British version of CNN, getting
the down-low on Tiger Wood's comeback victory in some,
no doubt, excruciatingly boring golf tournament.
If it's not David Copperfield, the
bastard's a dead ringer a doppelganger. At any moment
I expect him to make the chair he's sitting on levitate.
Maybe even do some cheap, mile-long handkerchief trick.
Pull a rabbit out of this overall-wearing farm boy's
At 12:02 a.m., the mind tends to
wander, especially if there's a world famous magician
sitting in shiny black shoes and stylish, worn-out blue
jeans and an olive Diesel t-shirt. He acts like nobody
recognizes him. Ha. You can't fool me.
Either way, I need to stop focusing
on him it's be better to see that bastard who had
his arm gnawed off by the tiger, Siegfried or Roy, one
of those Germans because I need to prep myself for
my arrival in Atlanta, the Deep South. When I wake up
tomorrow, I'll be thrown into a world that I've only
I've never been east of Denver or
south of Phoenix. And now, in my unprepared condition,
I'm going straight into the kettle of residual Civil
War anger post-Sherman Atlanta.
Why didn't I brush up on my NASCAR
lingo? Maybe get familiar with the spectacular career
of Dale Earnhardt. What about corn bread? Will these
Southern-fried geeks understand that I don't eat bread
of any sort very often corn-filled or not? Will people
be offended that my knowledge of ATL rap music or
the movie ATL, for that matter? Should I have loaded
my mp3 player to the gills with all variety of cancerous,
dirty south rap?
So many questions.
Would they understand the Michael
Vick jokes? Could I say something like: So did you hear
Cesar Milan agreed to give Mike Vick some exercise,
discipline and affection? Or: Mike Vick, yeah, probably
not going to get to do a voice in "All Dogs Go to Heaven
My main concern is these good ol'
boys won't take kindly, or find the humor in me saying:
"So what about that William
Tecumseh Sherman? He was a real son of a bitch. Am I
"What'd ya say boy?"
"Nothing. Nothing. Wow, so
Jefferson Davis was underrated."
"Are you talking about the
"No, no Jefferson Davis, the
defensive line recruit the Georgia Bulldogs just picked
up. Yeah, real good. I think he throws 105, too. Braves
are looking at him, to be the next John Rocker. Coincidently,
has there ever been a better closer than Rocker?"
With my luck, the man would probably
be a Georgia Tech fan.
You'd be half-stupid or totally drunk
to start spouting off about Sherman. I imagine these
people are 10 cups of crazy still about the Civil War.
I mean, the South will rise again.
I don't know why I'm worrying about
this. My family roots must be Southern. A bit too much
redness around the shirt collar to not be able to relate
to these people on a certain, basic level.
- I had a cousin get married in a
Real Tree, camo-print wedding dress.
- There's never been a Baker wedding
without a truck bed full of beer and whiskey. Without
it, attendance would be dismal.
- Hunting season, not Christmas,
is the most wonderful time of the year.
- My dad and all my uncles have at
least two trucks: one to haul the trailer/boat and another
to haul the beer coolers.
It could go on forever. I really
don't know why I was worried. I'm going to Atlanta to
hang out with a bunch of turkey hunters at the National
Wild Turkey Federation National Convention, so all I'll
have to do is just pull some standard gibberish about
standard vs. full chokes in shotguns or the advantage
of using decoys.
Phew. Now all I will have to do is
find a reason why I'm looking for Ted Turner when I
wander through the CNN Center, where the convention
will be, and I'll be staying.
The elitists are boarding. It won't
be too long now. A late-30's lady in a denim jacket
and a huge wedding ring across from me is putting down
her Anne Bishop book, which I would imagine is some
sort of romantic garbage. She looks like a rougher version
of Andy McDonald. She may have been her stand-in on
I think David Copperfield may just
be an Italian man. I can't be sure. From one angle he
looks like a magician capable of cutting me in half
with gaudy knives if I were willing to jump into his
big box. He doesn't have the box with him, so I'm beginning
to be skeptical.
Nope. He's not a magician. I just
caught a certain Euro trash quality to his get-up, or
maybe it's the orange-hue of his tan. I wonder how Atlanta
Braves fans would take to him.
Probably better than they'll take
to the "U.S. Grant in '08" t-shirt I just had screen