With one guy at Five Guys

Few things in life rival the beauty of a tender spring night in South Carolina.

Few things in life rival the taste of a truly delicious hamburger, french fries, and ice-cold Coke* consumed while sitting outside on a tender spring night in South Carolina.

Few things in life rival the thrill of having your lipstick kissed off -- even by a guy who refuses to close his eyes -- on a tender spring night in South Carolina.

Just saying.

A kiss at Five Guys. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

*more on that subject tomorrow.

I left mylar in the sky over Greenville

The Boo a/k/a Balloon Launcher Extraordinaire. Photo Jennifer Weber 2009It all started with a call from the scheduler Wednesday afternoon asking if I'd cover a deposition in Greenville Thursday morning.

I decided to leave right away and spend the night in the upstate rather than compromise the delicate balance of my day -- not to mention my psyche -- with an ignorant-o'clock wake-up alarm.

(The lawyer who retained me  -- super-nice guy -- says nothing in ten words if a hundred will do. That can make for a long day. You have to eat your Wheaties.)

The Boo agreed to ride shotgun. By five thirty or so we were packed and on our way, moving through a muggy midlands afternoon toward what we hoped would be a balmy evening in cooler climes.

If the stars and planets aligned we would check into the Hyatt Regency and be strolling Greenville's charming Main Street before twilight, drawing a bead on a spot of dinner.

Wrought iron at Drake's. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

All went according to plan. Our walk was delightful; I took pictures. We ate pizza and window-shopped. 

Back in the room, the Boo docked her iPod and we listened to Josh Groban. I painted my toenails. The lights were out by eleven.

While I was getting ready on Thursday morning Boo obligingly trotted down to Liquid Highway and secured my coffee.

Later she drove me around the corner and a few blocks over, to the law firm.

The depo went off without a hitch and wasn't overlong. I was cut loose at noon and it felt like a gift.

Now to execute the second part of our plan.

Guillain-Barre: Rare. Thorough. Debilitating.

My nephew, Michael, age 28, has been hospitalized in Greenville since the Wednesday after Easter.

After a particularly severe upper respiratory infection, he developed Guillain-Barre Syndrome. For several weeks he was paralyzed from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.

After more than a month in ICU he is slowly regaining a few facial movements and he can twitch a finger or two. 

Michael is a family man: he has a lovely wife, Marie, and a baby son named Tobias.

All along I had been keeping up with Michael through my mom and my sister, who are with him every day, but I hadn't seen him with my own eyes. Today would be the day.

It was 72 degrees; the humidity was low. As downtown receded in the rearview and we tooled toward Travelers Rest, I opened my car's moon roof all the way and turned up the stereo.

Festive tables. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

On the way to the long-term acute care facility where Michael is slowly recovering, we stopped to pick up some flowers. 

I wanted balloons floating high above the bouquet, so we went to the dollar store and chose two with a smiley-face design and a big band-aid and the cheery-hopeful blandishment "Get Well Soon!"

The balloons cost a dollar apiece plus tax and came festooned with six feet of white curling ribbon corkscrewed into flowing spirals.

I handed them to the Boo. We walked to the car, anxious to be on our way.

She got there first and yanked open the back door. I was about to say "Let's tie the balloons to the flowers …" when it happened.

The Boo put the balloons into the back seat … and let go.

Without noticing that the moon roof was still open.

All the way.

The happy-face get-well-soon balloons leapt through that open space and were soon well on their way into space. Through the moon roof to the moon.

Gone like yesterday.

Incredulous, I watched them escape. For once, I was speechless.

God is good. Balloons or no balloons.

It was difficult seeing my beloved nephew. Michael has lost so much weight, he is skin over bones. His handsome face is set in an open-mouthed stare. A ventilator breathes for him most of the time. He gets nourishment through a feeding tube.

When the Boo and I talked to Michael, he looked at us and tried so hard to respond. He indicated that he wanted his wife to pick out some letters on a chart so he could tell me something.

"God is good," Michael wrote and said to me with his eyes and his heart.

I left most of my mascara there … blackening tear-damp tissues in the wastebasket. The rest is still on Marie's shoulder.

The sky over Greenville. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Presently the Boo begged a glass jar from the nurses' station and we filled it with water. Marie expertly cut the stems of Michael's flowers and arranged them, setting them where he could see their bright colors.

I figured it was time to tell him about his balloons and where they'd ended up. I made the story funny even though I knew he couldn't laugh, but when I was hamming up how ditzy the Boo is and how she let go of his balloons, he rolled his eyes upward and I think I saw him smile.

It was as though he pictured mylar in the sky over Greenville.

As for me, I saw him staying with us for a long time ... and getting well soon.

That sound you hear ...

... is my plans changing in mid-plan. Court reporting calls me away.

Barring unforeseen circumstances, events, or Johnny Depp sightings, I'll be back tomorrow.

For your enjoyment and contemplation in my absence, here is a picture I took last January from the pier at Folly Beach:

 Winter Folly. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

I will miss you. Smile when you think of me!

Stop Islamization Of America

It's true ... there are plans for a high-rise mosque near ground zero. You can read all about it here.

You've got male

Smart white guy. AP PhotoFor the last thirty years -- at least -- it has been nearly impossible to find a smart white man on television or in commercials.

It's been all about how brilliant and liberated women are, and how clueless are the neanderthal males they're forced to tolerate.

An example of the phenomenon is a commercial I have despised in recent months: for Cheerios.

In the ad, a man has the misfortune to be married to a woman who is both unsightly and patronizing.

They are in the kitchen. She is munching on MultiGrain Cheerios and he is able to put only his foot in his mouth. 

After several attempts at conversation for which he earns only the disdain of his wife, "Steve" concedes that the cereal box is telling him to "shut up."

His gaze is quasi-clairvoyant.

Reinforcing what we already know: if a woman is present, with all of her innate wisdom and discernment and uncompromising mettle, a male is at best superfluous.

That's all changed now … have you noticed?

Now the man gets to be smart … as long as he's dark-skinned.

(Do you think General Mills really wanted a middle-eastern fellow but settled on Indian, figuring that to be as close as it was prudent to get? Or am I seeing Bolsheviks under beds where there are none?)

Either way ... the dark guy is markedly calm, cool, and collected. His gravitas is compelling; his gaze is quasi-clairvoyant.

Although nobody would accuse him of being rude, he deems it appropriate to constantly interrupt.

After all, he's practically godlike in his cognitive and intuitive powers.

And this time a slightly disheveled (white) woman is left holding the cereal box, flummoxed, a look of awed confusion on her face.

Yeah ... Swami knew she'd take a box. Wonder if he knows whether she'll take a fresh one or the one she's been eating out of?