• John McGary, Woodford Sun Staff

Here's Johnny - Get where you're going - sometimes

Last week my buddy Dave and I ran some errands and had a few laughs. He is my best friend and a good listener and a funny man and, most important, seems amused by me, too. We began with a trip to the Harley shop in Lexington, where he had to pick up a ceramic mug for some reason I can't recall. He did some Christmas shopping and I spoke to a fellow named Tim who used to work at another motorcycle shop where I'd purchased my last bike. (Bikers call 'em bikes, ya know - even bikers presently sans bike.) One of the sales guys asked if I was interested in anything. "Yes," I said. "I'm interested in a free motorcycle." Another sales guy thought for a moment and replied, "Well, they're all free for a month, then someone comes to pick them up shortly afterwards." There'll be no motorcycle under the tree for Johnny this Christmas. We left to go to the home of Terry, the sister of a friend of mine who lives near the Harley shop. On the way, I told Dave in excruciating detail how wonderful my GPS was - that it worked off three satellites and kept me from getting lost most of the time and had saved tons of blood pressure points. I'd worked up quite a fever about the GPS when I realized we were headed to Dave's house, not Terry's. Apparently, a GPS isn't of much use when you punch in the wrong address. Stupid GPS. So we course-corrected and got to Terry's house to retrieve a few items I'd left at Jeff's. I asked Terry if she'd met Dave before. She said, no, she hadn't, but that she'd heard me speak of "my buddy Dave" several times. I told her I also had a buddy named Buddy, aka "Buddy squared," which isn't really true - I do have a friend named Buddy, but I don't refer to him as Buddy squared - but it made her smile, God bless her. After punching in Dave's address (which wasn't really necessary because he knew how to get there, but old habits die hard) we drove to his place. It was time for a concoction I'd invented that Dave has dubbed "Veteranade" after my habit of telling him, as I reached for his tipple, that as a veteran, I thought I needed a drink. KET was in the midst of a fundraiser and we watched a news program intercut with appeals from hosts Bill Goodman (whose shoes Johnny would be happy to fill) and Renee Shaw. We were doing this because Dave's wife, Davonna, was one of the people taking calls and Dave hoped to see his beloved on television. Yes, her name really is Davonna, and she's a wonderful cook and an all-around good egg. I once met a nice lady named Jonna, but it was just too weird to work. Football was on another channel and I was getting tired of the news program, so I told Dave I was pretty sure all KET would show was Goodman and Shaw and the various items donors would receive. There was no point in showing the folks taking calls from donors, I said, reminding him that I'm not only a Navy veteran but also a TV news veteran. Just then, they cut to the folks taking calls from donors. Davonna, a pretty blonde, had the screen all to herself for several seconds. I forgot that Dave was videotaping the snippet with his iPhone and hooped and hollered and belly laughed, providing an idiotic sound track for the clip he'd show to his wife. There are worse things to do over the holidays than sharing bad jokes and good laughs and getting lost with a best friend. We called it a night and I set my GPS for home. P.S. At the Christmas parade Saturday, a young lady saw me shooting pictures and asked if I was cold. I told Chelsey Glover, 11, that indeed I was, and asked if I could borrow her coat. She said I could. I told her that, on second thought, it might be a bit small for me. Thank you, Chelsey. And thank you, Dear Readers.

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