North

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

My wife and I were headed to a cocktail reception where we knew no one. “This is an opportunity,” I said.

—–

My wife and I were driving to a short cocktail reception full of people we’d never met. Most of them knew one another. Us? Not a soul. This is an opportunity, I said. Let’s run with it.

I proposed that she and I create a story for ourselves. Pick a personality and a background and a job. We’ll create something bordering on sensational and come up with a few very specific details that will make whomever we talk to truly wonder. About us. About whether we’re telling the truth. They don’t know us. It’s a short event. Let’s see if we can pull this off. Nothing to lose. I used to do this on blind dates back in the day and I got pretty good at telling long haul truck driver stories.

A glance at my wife in the passenger seat and I saw what I’ve come to expect. A roll of her eyes. A shake of her head.

“I think I’ll go with having invented the direction North,” I said. Prior to my invention, no one knew where anything was. People were getting lost in round rooms. I gave them direction. Today I get small commission every time a new compass is printed. And this younger generation today – they use Waze and Google Maps and Apple Maps all the time and North is usually on every screen. I only get a fraction of a cent each time that happens but the money ads up. Each day I spend a lot of time promoting North as very popular direction and I feature it in a lot of my social media. Two other guys came up with East and West and we split commissions on directions when we collaborate. And I have a new direction being released soon but nondisclosure documents prevent me from talking too much about it right now.

Sideways glance. Silence from the passenger seat.

How about I was the original voice artist for the beeps trucks make when they back up. Today they’re electronic, but in the good ole days when they beeped, that’s me. Age has made it hard to recreate that sound any more but… beep beep beep. Can’t you hear it? The recording came down to me and this little pre-pubescent teenaged girl, but she suffered an awful blow to the throat by a masked man outside the studio after her audition. They called me back because I was the only candidate remaining. I’m not exactly famous, but you’ve probably heard me.

Nothing. Time to go for it.

How about we’re royalty from a small principality in Europe called Genovia. People won’t remember the Princess Diaries movies. They’ll have heard of Genovia and maybe think it’s a real place. We’ll tell them it’s similar Lichtenstein but smaller. And near the edge of Austria. Our citizens there are not known as Genovians, by the way. To us Genovian royalty, they’re actually known as our Genotail…

“STOP,” she said. “Just stop. Who we are is plenty. It’s actually more than enough.”

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real.

Check out this episode!

Burning Our Brains

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

The heat’s cooked our brains. 

——

The heat’s taken its toll. It’s been unrelenting. Brutal. The greenery looks weary. The grass dries and turns brown within hours of any moisture. My car thermometer regularly reads around 110 and I saw online that it feels much hotter. We need a break. We need relief. My dog looks at me and says “No way I’m walking on that street. That street will burn my feet right off” and she’s right.

It’s affecting us mentally. We’re budding on crazy. It’s cooked our brains. Recent headlines are all you need to see. A lady in Birmingham faked her own abduction. She was missing for a few days before she showed up again. I don’t think anyone knows where she was. I’m betting she found some air conditioning and was just sitting in it. “Let people look for me, let the donations pile up,” she thought. “That’s fine. At least I’m cool.” Lady, I get it.

A brawl on the Montgomery riverfront didn’t cite heat as an instigator but it certainly had to be. Those fools on the pontoon boat had been cooking themselves in the sun all day. It melted their brains. They likely had a big cooler full of cold pops that had turned warm, too. All day in the searing sun, cold pops now hot and tempers can’t help but rise. It all triggered some bad decisions. Same with the folks on the riverboat. It had been a nice cruise but it’s time to find the comfort of AC at home and anyone preventing them from getting off that boat… Well… I’d grab a chair, too.

Down here in Mobile we’ve had a fully adult Roman Catholic priest head off to Europe with an 18-year-old female high schooler just after her graduation. Reports say they’d been together for a while but I’m sure the heat accelerated things. Cooked their brains, especially his. Those priests wear those heavy vestments and garments and such – no way to stay cool under all that. And black clothes with those closed priest collars? He’s made a heat related mistake and the Archbishop has defrocked him – un-priested him. I’m guessing Mr. Romeo Priest may a bit upset now that’s he’s come to but he’s happy to get into some cooler clothes.

As I write this it’s the hottest day of the year so far here in Mobile. As I look online right now, it says it feels like 116 degrees outside. Meaning my car probably reads 125 or so. It’s brutal. It’s the seventh layer of Dante’s Inferno. When I get home, I’m going to watch on TV what crazy things the cooked brains in our city did today. Someone misbehaved. Someone surely snapped. Can’t wait to see who.

As for me, I’m going to stay right here lying down in my underwear on this cool tile floor, feeling the wash of cold air flow over me each time the refrigerator door opens above me. Wondering what the camera crew is doing here. And why the convenience store clerk keeps pointing at me.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

Check out this episode!

Crossing

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

Last week I danced in front of a train to try to get it to move.

—–

Trains have always held great symbolic meaning. They represent the future, a new destination, an opportunity. In movies, the characters board trains in the hopes of greater things down the tracks. Lovers tearfully depart at train stations. Though tragic it’s what’s best for each of them. Bandits of the wild west knew there was a strong box on a train full of money. Convicts break out of jail and if they can make it to the train it will take them away from the misery of prison.

Songs, too. The Midnight Special. Midnight Train to Georgia. Folsom Prison Blues. People Get Ready. Downbound Train by Bruce Springsteen. Lots of train songs. Lots of them. Trains are a metaphor. They represent a passage. A transition. A breakthrough, though that breakthrough is often difficult.

A transition, a passage, and a breakthrough was anything but the case two Thursdays ago here in Mobile. Our GulfQuest Museum invited me to give a speech called The Stories Behind Keepin’ It Real. They wanted the stories behind my most popular commentaries. The stories behind the commentaries most difficult to write. And I offered to play the commentaries and tell the stories behind the ones that never were allowed to broadcast. The ones that were veto’d and blackballed.

Having never given this speech, I was nervous. What would I say? How would it go? I love writing and recording these things, but a formal presentation about them? I was nervous. Excited. Very excited. But also very nervous.

And rolling into the GulfQuest Museum early to get set up I was greeted with…a train. Blocking the tracks. And cars beginning to pile up at the train crossing waiting, like me, to get in. In the cars were my audience. They waited patiently, avoiding the brutal heat by sitting in their cars in the AC. I called the train company to ask them to move the train. “Ok,” the CSX dispatcher said. “Any minute now.” We all waited. I went to the federal transportation bureau website and submitted a form asking them to move the train. Nothing. I called back to CSX about their train. “Any minute now,” they said again. I danced in the tracks in front of the train to try to get the conductor’s attention. I called CSX a third time. Nothing.

I began walking to the waiting cars to assure them they wouldn’t be late to the speech and they wouldn’t miss the speaker because I was the speaker. I begged them to wait. Don’t give up hope. The train will move eventually. Because there is nothing worse than giving a speech to one or two people in a nearly empty auditorium. It’s humiliating. And nervous as I was, I knew an auditorium with some people was better than a nearly empty one.

About forty minutes later, the train slowly rolled away. The speech went well. You can find it on the GulfQuest YouTube page.

At one point I was excited about Amtrak returning to Mobile. Now I hope I never ever see another train.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real.

Check out this episode!

Caricature

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

This week I take an imaginary walk through Jackson Square in New Orleans and ask a caricature artist to draw me something…different. 

—–

There are sections of our society that have become parodies of themselves. Once proud, they’re now laughable forms of their former self.

Imagine this: You’re walking through the New Orleans French Quarter. You stop at one of the caricature artists on Jackson Square. You say, “Hey Mr Caricature artist. I don’t want a picture of me. I want you to draw a picture of, let’s say, today’s country music.” That caricature artist would draw country music exactly as it is today. Because country music has become a caricature of itself. It would be both a portrait of country music and a caricature at the same time.

The musician’s goal is to find rhymes for the words beer, mud, tire, and truck many multiples of times in just under three minutes. Fishing a few weeks ago, I heard the song “it’s a bad bad day to be a cold cold beer” over and over again. It was a parody of country music. A caricature of itself. The ghost of Hank Williams has his ghost head in his ghost hands and he’s crying ghost tears.

Another one. Imagine saying “Hey Mr Jackson Square caricature artist. How about drawing me a picture of today’s Republican party.” They’d draw the Republican party exactly the way it is right now. The GOP has become a caricature of itself. It would be, again, both a portrait and a caricature at the same time. Once the party of integrity, honesty, and character, it now denies those qualities and, and in fact, spoofs them. It’s imaginable that a person could change their favorite color one day. But political party going from railing against liars and the mistreatment of women to saying today, “Ah, well. Maybe that stuffs not so bad.” A complete reversal. The Democratic party is still vaguely recognizable for of what it once was. The Republican party? A parody. A caricature. A spoof. They used to be amateur wrestling. Now they’re the WWE.

Another one: “Hey, Mr Jackson Square caricature artist. You smell of strange herbs and your eyes are barely open. Can you see well enough to draw me a caricature of college football.” Folks, I love college football. I can’t wait for it to start up again, but my narrow-eyed caricature artist friend would draw a portrait of college football as it is right now. It’s a caricature and a parody of what it used to be. A spoof. Transfer portals and NIL money have taken their toll. The only ones playing for love of school, sport, and a college degree are the ones who never see the field. The third and fourth stringers. It’s a shame. What purity and innocence it had, if it ever had any, is gone.

After reading this through – maybe one more. Hey Mr Caricature artist, draw me a caricature of a bitter, grumpy old man. One who doesn’t like change and lives too much in the past. And please be kind.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just Keepin’ it Real.

Check out this episode!

Thirty Years

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

After thirty years of the same family tradition – I give some thought to the future.

—–

For the thirtieth year in a row my SUV left my garage headed for the North Carolina Coast the second to last Saturday in July. If we weren’t in it, it would go by itself. It’s what we do. It’s what the car does. And it was packed tight with everything from fishing gear, to bed sheets, to food, to 150 oysters in the shell on ice, two cakes from Bake My Day, and a case of get-along juice, also known as wine. My in-laws have rented a house on Ocean Isle Beach in North Carolina every summer and we are all expected to be there – there were sixteen of us.

Question for you – Name one spouse you know or have ever even heard of that’s vacationed in the same place, in nearly the same house, with the same people, on the same days every summer for thirty consecutive years. Unless that person is me or my sister-in-law, that person doesn’t exist. I can’t speak for my sister-in-law, but it makes me… Well… I don’t know what it makes me. Honestly, it makes me afraid for my life to declare that having vacationed in the same place, in nearly the same house, with the same people on the same days for over half my life that I’m now ready to do something different. It wouldn’t go over well.

It’s this week at the beach every year plus a few weekends in the fall at my father’s camp in Clarke County, Alabama that I’m reminded of the great disparity in penalties for loud noise in the nighttime versus loud noises in the morning. This does require some explanation:

I go to bed early. After about nine PM, I’m useless and am eager to get to sleep and start again the next day. However, some of my family like to whoop it up at night and at 9pm they’re just warming up. They make lots of noise. They’re having a ball. But little consideration is given to those of us that retire early. There’s little penalty applied for keeping us from getting to sleep or waking us after we’ve fallen to sleep.

However, the reverse is not the true. I’m an early riser. And early risers must tip-toe through the house, careful to not make a sound or else face the wrath of the late sleepers. Their being inconveniently awakened by the early riser’s God-awful sounds of the unloading of the dishwasher or the brewing of the coffee are intolerable fouls against the family’s 30-year-old tradition. I’ve come to live with it. It’s a small price to pay. It’s not a big deal. But there’s some sort of economy that needs to be flushed out regarding penalties for preventing sleep versus penalties for awakening sleepers. Small penalties are applied for preventing sleep. Large penalties are applied  for awakening sleepers. Its’ not fair but we live with it.

How long will this yearly tradition last? I don’t know. My children have grown such that we now need two cars to make the 22 hour round trip. And if we decide stop one year, we’ll know when that week comes because the SUV will go anyway. It’s simply what it does.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

 

Check out this episode!

Bunge

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

She hopped to the edge of the platform, raised her arms, and jumped.

—–

The video opened on my phone and my daughter was leaping off a bridge and falling out of the frame. It took my breath away. I watched it again and texted her. “Since you sent this to me,” I said, “I assume you survived the fall?”

“Yea,” she texted back. “It was awesome.”

She’s in South Africa as I write this. She’s spent the month there with a student group called Lead Abroad. It’s a one-month trip where she and about thirty others study leadership and communication skills while experiencing the adventures that the host nation has to offer. The day she sent the video they were bungy jumping off Bloukrans Bridge. I watched as she walked to the edge of the platform, raised her hands over her head, bent at the knees and leapt forward, falling into the abyss. It was hard to watch but I was so proud of her.

I had no idea how much I’d enjoy her being on this trip and it’s mainly because she’s eating up every opportunity that’s come her way. There is nothing she’s not tried with a wide-open spirit, no question she’s not asked, not experience she’s passed up from the food, to the native face painting, to the safaris, to the paragliding, to the shark diving, to the bungy jumping, she’s done it all. Each of her messages home are full of energy.

I’m proud of her. She’s worked hard for the trip. She’s saved money for a few years to afford it. Her summer jobs gave her a little spending cash but most of her earnings went into savings. She does small decorative signs for friends at college for a little pay and saves some of that, too. My wife and I and her grandparents have her helped a small bit, but this is largely her doing. She’s experienced the satisfaction of hard work, disciplined savings, patience, and the fulfillment of it all paying off – a lesson I didn’t learn till much older.

There’s still another part to my pride. It’s watching a child take risks, meet new people, try new things well outside her comfort zone, and thrive through it all. Right now, my wife and I have a child who has confidence in herself, confidence in her social skills, confidence in her risk taking and all that. And that’s no small thing with young adults today. This experience will become the ground for more experiences like it; for her not being afraid to get outside her comfort zone. From what I see and hear right now, she’s truly living life. It’s a delight to see.

Parenting continues to surprise me. Things that my children do that I thought would have no impact on me end up taking my breath away. Other things that I thought would be momentous become unremarkable. I need to stop making predictions about what I’ll do and how I’ll feel when certain moments arrive and just experience them in their fullness.

Which is exactly what my daughter is doing right now on her hard-earned trip to South Africa.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

Check out this episode!

Coffee with Milo

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

A cup of coffee with a friend and a few strangers was a wonderful start to a great day not long ago.

—–

I’d like to say Hello to Randy Fowler. On Friday mornings he’s in his car on his way to the Restaurant Five in downtown Tuscaloosa with his dog Milo. He’s a regular listener to these commentaries and he reached out to me a few years ago when he liked one to offer a compliment. Turns out Randy’s daughter, Julie Otts, lives a few doors down from me here in Mobile. It’s a small world. Randy and I have visited a few times when he’s in town to visit his daughter, son-in-law, and grandkids.

Several weeks ago, I was in Tuscaloosa for my son’s Bama Bound orientation and Randy invited me to join him and Milo for coffee with his regular crowd one morning at Restaurant Five. I was welcomed as one of their own. We sat, we talked, we drank coffee, and watched all the dogs interact. These old friends have been meeting for coffee for years. They offered greetings to each other, shared inside jokes and laughs. They were wonderfully kind to me and invited me back whenever I’m in town.

That morning, as I waited for Randy to arrive, a very tall man walked past with a coffee and a doughnut and he stopped to talk. He was in town with his son, Grant Nelson, to meet with the Alabama basketball team. He was Nels Nelson. Randy arrived, invited Nels to join us for coffee and Nels did, sharing what life was like in his hometown of Devils Lake, North Dakota. We talked cold weather, the near-by Canadian border in Devi’s Lake, and buffalo. We talked javelin since another of Nel’s sons was a collegiate thrower and my son and Randy’s grandson also throw. Nels, like me, was genuinely appreciative of the warmness Randy and his coffee-drinking friends at Restaurant Five showed him. I’m sure Nels got back to the hotel and told his son – “It’s gotta be Alabama, boy. You gotta play here. It’s simply too friendly to believe. I’m coming back to just have coffee with these people, ya know.”

We were all told as children to not talk to strangers. That’s simply bad advice. Talking to strangers is one of life’s most sure-fire ways of making it a great day. However, it often goes against our inclinations. We worry about improbable outcomes. We misuse our imagination. We think, I don’t know them. What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t want to talk to me? What if they offend me? What if I offend them?

And my reply to all that junk? Who cares? So what. The risk is worth the reward and do you have to lose? Most people are much nicer than we imagine them to be. Our brains, our leaders, our media, whoever, wants us to think that everybody’s out to get us. They’re not. They’re absolutely not. It’s untrue.

Introduce yourself. React kindly to a stranger’s introduction. Find someone new to talk to. You’ll live longer. You’ll be happier. You’ll be glad you did. And you’ll have a great day.

Thanks again for the coffee, Randy, I still remember it. I’ll see you and Milo when I return in the fall.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

Check out this episode!

Tinkle Bell

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

I have an idea for a business. Make up words customers can’t understand then upcharge 75%.

—–

I think our dog is constipated. She rung her tinkle bell early early in the morning to go outside and she just roamed around the yard in a hurry with her nose down. I have no idea if this is what a constipated dog looks like. I’m assuming that’s her issue. She appears to want to do something but…can’t.

The tinkle bell hangs next to the back door. The dog rings it with her nose when she needs to go out. In the wee hours my wife or I stand bleary-eyed in the door waiting for her to do her business in the bushes. The dog’s been trained, Lucy is her name, by the way. Lucy’s been trained to ring the bell then do her business in the bushes, not in the yard. It took about six months of my wife demonstrating this process for Lucy for Lucy to finally catch on about what to do and where to do it. Those six months, by the way, were quite awkward with the neighbors, as you can imagine.

None of this would matter so much if I weren’t so very tired. I had my stroke about three months ago and it feels like every doctor in town has sensed an opportunity to run a test and send me an invoice. Yesterday at the doctor’s office the check-in document asked, “what are you here for?” I wrote, “something to do with taking a picture of the back of my heart through my throat.” Of course, there’s an official title for this test using a big giant series of important sounding words but I’ll get to that in a moment.

In a shocking example of a customer service failure, when I was called to the front desk the attendant had her very large computer screen turned with its back squarely facing me. I couldn’t even see her. My first encounter with a human in a place I didn’t want to be was not with a human, it was with the back of a computer screen with a disembodied voice somewhere on the other side. It was so shocking I took pictures of it on my phone. It was clear the computer screen was much more important than the patient. No reason to actually see me, or welcome me, or smile at me, or make eye contact which took me from not wanting to be there to angry about being there.

Anyway, the drug they used to sedate me was milky white. I asked about it when I saw it in the syringe. They said, “It’s white because it’s lipid based.” What? If I ever start a new business, it will be one using words and providing explanations that mean nothing to the customers. Businesses that use their own language can charge more than businesses where customers actually understand answers to their questions. I’ll create a business, use some Latin-sounding words, drop them into customer conversations, and upcharge at least seventy five percent.

Anyway, the sedation lingered all day and at eight PM I fell into bed exhausted. Until the tinkle bell began ringing and I wished my wife had demonstrated for Lucy how to hold it.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

Check out this episode!

Rahhhl Tihhhde, Y’all!

• Subscribe for Free:
• Apple Podcasts
• |
• iHeart
• |
• PlayerFM
• |
• Spotify
• |
• Stitcher

My wife and I were at Bama Bound this week for my son’s college orientation.

—–

I am oriented. It’s official. My wife, my son, and I spent a day and a half in Tuscaloosa this week at Bama Bound – the school’s orientation for students and parents. Roll Tide! Or as my wife says “Rowl Tihhhdee, yall”. We heard a lot of that these past few days. I attended out of curiosity to see what a parent’s college orientation includes. Here’s my review. And since this commentary broadcasts from the University of Alabama, if you’re hearing it, it cleared the censors:

First, the director of campus security assured us there are many ways our cherub-like son could get arrested. He listed them all. There is no shortage. One included domestic violence from parents and children fist fighting on move-in day due to disagreements over dorm décor. Apparently, it’s happened. I’ll need to remember that in August when we move him in.

Next, there are 687 different student organizations including ones for watching Disney movies together and another made up of guys who gather solely to discuss trucks. “Rahwl Tidde.”

At one point in the business school session with my son, I suggested that this degree sure sounds like a lot of work and maybe we should just go to the book store buy a degree. He shook his head. Rolled his eyes.

I learned I must get my son’s permission to see his grades and to see where he’s spending our money. As the parent, the bill payer, the bailer-outer, the “hey, what’s going at school-er”, I’m not allowed to see his grades or how our money is being spent without his permission due to privacy laws.

In a parent’s only session, we had a group of students there to take any random questions we had. The room had some super-moms and Karens and some super-dads and we’ll call them Darrens. Super Karens and Super Darrens ran the show. They asked questions that I had never considered. We had to cut the session short. Suffice it to say that there are parents leaving no part of their children’s college experience for the children to enjoy or figure out on their own.

There is a part of me that wants to know where my son is and what he’s doing when he heads off to Tuscaloosa in August. There is another part that wants him to discover much of it on his own. For him to solve some problems and tell me about them when he comes home. So, somewhere between knowing everything and knowing nothing may be the Goldilocks zone. May be just right.

Leaving the event I stopped in the campus bookstore. There is nothing on God’s green planet that cannot be branded with an Alabama logo. At the register in a big cardboard bin were blank diplomas and a Sharpie marker. I’m now have a Doctorate in Average Parenting and he has a double MBA with a concentration in College Football. All for forty bucks. I’m going to display mine in my office and hold his until he gets that other degree in, I hope, four-ish years. 

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just Keepin’ It Real. Rahl Tyde!

Check out this episode!