The handy man

I have a bachelor’s degree in history, an associate degree in electrical construction technology. And I’m one course shy of another associate degree in computer science.

CableI worked as an industrial electrician for a few months in New Orleans, building a giant Schwegmann’s supermarket.

I’m a certified bartender, a certified massage therapist and a licensed pilot of small aircraft.

I served highballs and cocktails in two watering holes in New Orleans, getting fired from both. I’ve never done massage professionally, and I once flew a small plane off the runway in Slidell, Louisiana, right into the weeds.

Scared the bejesus out of myself. My passenger too.

I’ve never gone to church except to chase girls. I’ve never been baptized, never dunked into sacred waters, never sprinkled or even touched by a wet, holy hand, none of that sort of thing.

Though I toiled in newsrooms for about 30 years, I’ve never taken a journalism class. I couldn’t diagram a sentence if my life depended on it.

In college, I only took one non-required English course, and earned a C.

As a young man, I was a lefty. As an old man, I am a righty, a manifestation of the Sage Saying in the right column of this website’s home page. As you age, you should get wiser and more perceptive.

Alas, so many do not, which leaves the world in eternal uproar.

HandThough I’ve never worked as a pro masseur, possessing magic hands creates a better husband. Only the last of my three wives can attest to that. I came to massage late in life, in my 50s.

I’ve enjoyed our chat, though it seemed a bit one-sided.