Welcome to my Pity Party

Today is the day when I feel as if I can do nothing well. I look over the past few weeks and wonder what I have and what I do that is comparatively superior in my life. I don't think I am better at anything compared to the people I know. I just lost three straight raquetball games, a follow up to losing 4 straight on my birthday. After today's lost, I followed it up with a losing one-on-one basketball game. I ponder my other skills and can think of at least one person who is better than me. I am not looking, nor do I want responses telling me I am special or great in...whatever, or blah, blah, blah. I know who and what I am.

I am know to say it is better to know a little about everything, than everything about one thing. The definition of a "renaissance man." Whatever, I don't long to be famous, I don't wish to be on t.v., I am ok with being by myself, but I am not a big fan of second best in everything. Alas, it is a fact of life, one which I will get over (probably by the end of the day). It presents a challenge, and challenges are what I am about...so bring it on.

Crusades of the Mind

I am having one those weeks where my mind causes struggle, second guessing, and internal turmoil. Don't get me wrong, everything is fine, work is good, relationships are good. But, I feel as if God is waging a spiritual war in my mind. I am fighting the on going battle of where I am vs. where I need to/should be. I see an end result, I see paths to take to get there, but it is the in between parts that are taking me for a loop. When one portion of my faith wanes, BAM! God answers with a blessing or something that throws me for a loop, in a good way. I ask God what he wants, but then don't listen to the answer. Fear of the answer is the reason I do this. I know this is not my life I am living, but God's life for me, but at some point I have to fully relinquish my hold on what I think it should be.

I find myself negatively reacting to situations that are either completely out of my control or are actually awesome "God Times." I, thankfully, have been able to recognize when this is happening and try to fix it, but I just don't know why it is happening. I am bless to have outlets for this but, some things I must tackle with God. I metal wrestle with the goods and evils.

Let Go, Let God...my writing has too much Me, I, My...less selfishness, more growth and compromise. I know where I need to be, it's getting there that is the hard part. But, alas, I will make it through.

Montana Rocks

Evolution and My Place in the Mix

Evolution...the nature progression of things. It is what turned the fish into a mammal, the mammal into a primate, the primate into a Neanderthal, the Neanderthal into a frat guy, and the frat guy into a human being. It is also responsible for turning the alligator into...well, a not so big version of an alligator, now, they compare in size to a canoe, which I will take over a school bus any day. But, not the focus of my thoughts...at least not right now.

For years I have been told my body has been subjected to the McCormick Curse. I mean everytime someone says I look like my father, I curse. Not really. No, it is more like my noise has the McCormick hump, or my feet look like those of my dad's brother or whatever...not to say my mother and her side hasn't pushed in a couple of doosey too. But, it really comes down to one big part of my body that I can now explain...my calves.

I have started to notice a pattern. My ability to grow facial hair more rapidly than others, uncanny ability to eat almost anything, cooked or not, but mostly it has been my enormous calves. Don't get me wrong, I am very proud of my legs, but I never knew what they were for...until now.

I have been born, nye evolved to hike mountains. This is my natural, God given purpose. Why else would I have the calves of a mountain goat, the face of a bear, and the stomach of a...a...ground squirrel (they too eat anything). I was meant to live in the mountainous woods and be one with nature. I don't belong in the flats of the Louisiana. So quickly I have forgotten the allure of the Rockies. How have I become accustomed to not having Mountains in the background of my early morning cup of coffee? Yet, a nine day "vacation" only brings me home depressed and searching for my way back. I search through Backpacker magazine to just remember the sight, the smell of last week before it is completely replaced by exhaust and jerry curl.

I tried for a work transfer, but alas, there is nothing of my company in Montana. I will figure out the way, and soon my newly realized evolved body will accomplish what it was meant to do. But, until then I will have to content myself with weekend hikes and once a year week long adventures.


P.S. By the way I just got back from 9 days vacation from Montana. If you didn't know this, then the whole post would just be, well, weird.

Prelude to a Geriatric Circus

The following post is not intended to offend anyone as this is not the situation I feel towards anyone who I know that would read this blog. Please don't take my angered writings to heart. Have a good day.

Geriatric Circus

I have found that many older people are taking their opinions and pushing them off as fact. They think "youngsters" such as myself will not question the validity of the refuse coming from their mouths. They spout nonsense with no cause or room for debate. Granted I don't feel this way about every person I meet, especially not the Godmother or other's who I have an established connection. But those eccentrics, as we will call them, don't realize we are the Why Generation, the question asking, not-at-face value folks. They can peddle their verbal wares elsewhere.

Today I was in the car dealership, simply minding my business ( and I really was this time), reading my book. I casually glanced at a figure moving in front of me. I start at the black velcro shoes, my eyes move up the polyester pants to midway of the chest where a tucked in Hawaiian shirt with a palm tree island on the pocket holding the sagging contents of glasses, paper, and a wallet like a bulging grocery bag. His face was framed with matching hearing aids and a crest of dirty silver topped his head. He took one look at me, smiled and asked how long I had been here. After I answered him it was a twenty five minute berate of politics, religion, and the like.

He started on his Military career and chuckled as he spoke of his clout with long since deceased generals. He quipped of memorable stories and antidotes. Then the fun began. He went on to his recent surgeries, ailments, and other medical methods of preventing me from reading. Now, I am not without a heart, I do enjoy listening to the stories of old and the views of others, which I picked up on the fact that "P.C." was not a term he knew. I am a people person not without compassion and sense of propriety, but there is a limit. I gladly listened to the past 75 years of the man's life...but things took a turn.

He must have found me to be a fair enough mark to discuss religion. I use the term discuss lightly. I am always up for a good God discussion, even heated debate at times. But, his method of discussion brings forth the opening sentence of this. It's ok to have an opinion, even encouraged, but it is not ok to talk over someone else's opinion. To keep pushing your point more loudly and ferverntly when opposition arises. Repeating it and refusing to listen to other ideas doesn't make it true. It might in "crazy world," but not all of us live there. So, when you embark on mission of evangelicalism, remember it's not only the words you speak, but the words spoken to you. These are the methods for which your are more effective...hearing what the other person knows, thinks, and wants. God answer's prayers, this I know.

As I sat there staring blankly, at this point, to the man I pray for my cell phone to ring. A few minutes later I excuse myself to handle work...saved again...what amazing grace.

My new Country Song

My new country song is called "Stuck in the Mud in Cloutierville." Pronounced Cloochie-ville. Also known as BFE central Louisiana. That was my day.

Up at 7, out the door by quarter til 8 and home by 5:00pm. Now that's a full days work. Not too bad, but when you spend 3 hours stuck in the mud...it puts a damper on your day. Ok, it goes like this:

I go to a house, not in my regular territory. 30 minutes earlier I sat in a storm eating a burger wondering if this was going to affect me..."nah, I'll be fine," I tell myself. I rush to my next claim to beat the rain. I am kicking that rains butt, it is now thirty miles behind me and I laugh as I glance at the dark clouds of where I have just been. I causally slip the the clouds the deuce, pull my sunglasses down and turn off in Cloutierville...

Three phone calls and two miles later I have found the drive way of the insured home. Not pavement, not gravel, not hard dirt, but a mixture of grass and soft mud. I think to myself..."this is going to be fun." I bury my head and take off slipping and sliding in the mud the back of my mind questions if the company will ever provide SUVs...since 80% of my drive ways aren't paved.

Three slides, one close call and a S-curve and I come to rest at the lady's house. Mud on my tires, and sides of my car. I am the coolest city kid I know. I take care of her claim, with a smile and nod I get in my car, reve my engine and look forward to a little fun on the half mile mud drive out. This time, in my cocky mindset, I call my adjuster buddy and say..."Hey, I am going muddin in the pimpin Impala, if I don't call you in Ten minutes...I didn't make it." Not thirty seconds after getting off the phone with him, I take a section of the road at a weird angle and slide off, but not completely. I high-lowed it. With the right side hanging off a three foot ditch and the right side dangles on the road. I put my yellow rain coat on and walk to the RV 150 yards down the road. This just happened to be the insured's parents house and he told me if I get stuck to got there.

I wake the poor, hurricane refuge from Gretna (they got demolished) out of his small FEMA trailer. He gets in his two wheel, rear drive truck and trys to get me out. Yeah, you know where I am going with this. 20 minutes later and no movement from my car and one more buddy stuck in the mud.

The man's son calls someone who gets a tractor and pulls us out. I drive in the grass the remaining way out so as to not get stuck again. I now have a hour and half drive home, soaking wet, covered in mud and freezing. It July and I have the heater in my car on. My at one time new car with a nice new color floor board. Well, I don't know if brown mud is a color, but it seems to be everywhere.

I have to say it wasn't a total wash. I was able to do work as I waited for the tractor to pull us out. The people were extremely nice and I felt like the punch line of one of those country songs sung in smoke filled country bars on kareoke night. I thanked the men profusely and hall ass back to the safety and security of the big city...so to speak.

Mocca-Chooca-What the Hella-Lata Grande?

Well, the Cubs lost, again. Yahoo number 73 retained counsel, making my job exponentially harder. And, Youree Drive is turning into the strip mall capital of Louisiana. WoooHooo.

I was driving down the now infamous Youree drive, Shreveport's version of Rodeo Drive, when I noticed, yet another strip mall being built. Peddling the wares of 5 dollar cup of coffee with more syllables in the name than a Russian Novelist. Clothing stores promising the lasts style, for at least the next few weeks. Same style, color, and set up as the fifty others on the street. All of this nonsense can only be called one thing...Trendy.

I think I am one of the few who can remember driving down that street in the late summer and seeing miles and miles of cotton fields, hay bales, and livestock. The sun cresting over the trees as it sets, sending an orange hue over the fields. Southern Sunsets, southern smells, southern comfort. Now the only cotton you see is in the form of $75 designer T shirt, hay is gone because it has bugs, and the only livestock seen is between a bun covered with cheese. All made way so shreveport can be...Trendy.

I once heard that progress would eventually result in Dallas and Shreveport combining. One 2oo mile long city/metropolitan. People everywhere living in the concrete creation. Wow, I can't wait for that (pause for sarcasm to set in...ok). I was in Dallas last weekend and I noticed not an unkempt person around. Blonde Hair, Dark Skin, and Well Maintained. Dallas exists for those searching to be Trendy and Shreveport is falling in line, like the bastard son of East Texas, long to be...Trendy.

I myself am not without guilt. I admit I have succumb to the trendiness. I have convinced myself the $2.11 bottle of water is better than the $1.15...come on bottled water is bottled water. I search out the name brands, latest fashions, and obscure relics that will make me stand out in a positive social light. I find starbuck's coffee to not be as terrible as I first imagined. I am a coporate stooge, with coporate aspirations. I myself am attempting to be...Trendy.

But, I think I will tune it down and try to seek out more unique, special establishments. I will, try, to stay away from big guys, and support the local mom and pops. I will join the grass roots movement to make sure the city I live in has a little personality and doesn't become a carbon copy of Dallas. I will fight the power and not follow the trend, as much as I can. I think I will be satisfied with being...Original.

Softball Monsters are coming to Town

At this point you must be in a state of shock. You contemplate to yourself, "am I dreaming? Can it really be true? Is this the feeling of euphoria I have missed by not having senseless ramblings to read?" Well, I guarantee nothing of any educational value will follow, but after a much needed hiatus, I have decided to continue my virtual musings.

These past two months have been a blur of music festivals, friends, good times, and work. I have found momentary peace sitting on my couch listening to Jack Johnson and letting the words spew from my mind to this post as a college freshman would empties his stomach from the nights keg party. Caring little for literary eloquence or even a coherent thought, I will write till I fall asleep. So I hope you are in for a good long distraction.

Have you ever realized, after the fact of course, you have gotten yourself into something over your head? My most recent cause for disapproving head nod was agreeing to play softball. A buddy of mine called the other day and asked if I would be interested in playing in a summer softball league. I quickly answer yes as I if I didn't have enough to do with work and all the other extracurriculars I was doing. As he got off the phone with me the only info I new was I had a game on Monday. I also new where it was, but not the field or any other information. At this point I so use to flying by the seat of my pants, I have had to get my mother to sew and patch my britches. But, I stand ready and look forward to the summer sporting.

I show up on Monday night, now knowing that we are suppose wear white t shirts, until we can get jerseys with our names on it (fancy...I know, but hey at some point I have to expect the best). I stumble around the park until I can find the diamond we were on. I frantically look around for a familiar face whilst memories of freshman year enter my head. Fortunately I find a buddy of mine and we start to talk. As we wait for the rest of the crew to show up we causally notice the team we are going to be playing.

Decked out in full baseball apparel, from authentic team named jerseys to those tight baseball pants, the feeling of "Oh Crap" comes over me as I look them over. Everyone matches, all have batting gloves, baseball cleats, and freshly oiled gloves. The rest of our team shoes up and I compare them to us. Half of us are wearing soccer cleats, wearing old fraternity shirts, and trying to decide which side of the one bat we have is the side to hold. At that point I knew we were in for some embarrassment. I wish I could say I was wrong, but that just wouldn't be our style.

With little to no warm up, we amble onto the field, me playing the catcher. As I am the third oldest person on my team, I feel my knees twinge with pain as I assume the crouched position. My fancy new knee brace creaks as my knee bends. The fat man in blue standing behind me, makes judgmental comments about our team...he made almost enough to get a piece of my mind, and not the good piece I reserve for family and friends. However, I manage to stifle my comments and hold my mouth shut. The first pitch is thrown...Illegal pitch, whatever that is. The next 13 pitches all balls. this has pretty much loaded the bases. Then the hitting begins. I managed to some how knock some guy in the face with my elbow. He stares me down...I laugh...he looks harder...I laugh harder...he walks away. That's my kind of confrentation, you know, the one that ends up in me not getting beat up. We struggle through the top of the first inning and get three outs with only a score of 12 to 0. Not our finest moment. However, the two fans there for us decided to make us feel better by pointing out the team next to us was losing 19 to 1...so here is to bright sides and them being our Mississippi (you know the one state/team/person who is always worse than you...thank MS).

We fight through the next few innings trying to get runs in...alas we score a unaffective six to there total 15. Not enough to win, and just short of getting made fun of forever. At the end of the game there was mention of maybe getting together to practice. An idea that was quickly shot down for a better one of just sneaking beer in before the games. Now that's a strategy I can agree with.

Tomorrow night is our second game. I am anticipating better play and more comfortable cohesion. But, I will keep you posted.

I am too tired to finish, in fact I am not even going to check this to see if it makes sense. I am just going to go to bed. But, I will try to keep more stuff on here and Keep you guys entertained...if I can. But, for now, I can hear my bed calling my name. Peace out.

Eat Your Heart Out Superman

Procrastination is a virus. Once it starts, it continues to grow and spread infecting every portion of your daily life. Breaking down your regularly scheduled life and replacing it will a tattered, torn shell of what you once had. No longer are you satisfied by the productivity of the day, but replaced are the sleepless nights, tossing and turning as the turmoil of the next day's impending load.

So far, I have been awake, showered, and ready for the day for going on four hours. My accomplishments to this point are: Two cups of coffee, one bowl of cereal, two DVRed shows watched, one phone call, one fax, and two hours (at least) of mindless surfing the net. Is this because of a lack of items on my To-Do list? Of course not, I have just caught the procrastination bug.

Now, first off, as far as work stuff goes, I am on top of all my responsibilities save one. I will not and do not let my affinity for procrastination affect my work...never. But, when it comes to other portions of my life, I find it better to wait until I have to cram it all together in fail swoop of productivity.

My list includes: washing clothes, cleaning the kitchen, doing house work, packing for the weekend, going to the bank, planning dinners, and other menial tasks.

As I stare a rather empty day in the eyes, I find myself shying away from getting involved in lieu of distractions. The top two, TV and Internet. I even stopped in the middle of this post to watch TV, I procrastinated my rant on procrastination...how bad is that. But, I wonder if I am using the correct terminology.

Take for example what I call the TV spin. This "spin" is why some people watch Fox News and other watch CNN. "Spin" is what keeps MTV competing with VH1 and Google.com competing with Ask.com. All these examples share the same information, daunt on the same topics, but the subtleties are what make them different. They call themselves Partisanly Biased or Freshest in Music, or Best Search Engine. But, the difference is minimal. It is all in the interpretation. This is where my biasness of procrastination comes in.

You must take in consideration this definition does not work for everyone. But, I don't look at my afore-mentioned actions as procrastination as much as view it as efficiency. Instead of a gradual process of doing one of the task and then resting, I choose to exert all energies at once, thus expending the least amount of energy for the day. Besides, I feel I am much better at working when the pressure is on. I thrive on it. I have heard it said, "Don't work harder...work smarter." I believe that by surfing the web, watching the tube, and then efficiently knocking out all of the To-Dos at once, I am the example of working smarter. Harnessing energy so as to expend it all at once...that makes me a super hero. Unleashing my energy ray all at once to conquer the antagonist that is dirt, grime, and chores. I think I will call myself DE (Dave Efficiency). Able to do the meaningless task in a single bound, hands of fury slicing and dicing dinner, mindnumbing powers of control to keep the distractions out. Of course there is also my alter ego...Dave the Distracted. Every day people see merely Dave the Distracted, but if you are lucky, if the moon shines bright enough, if you hide in the closet till the room gets too dirty, you might be able to catch a glimse of DE..possible as it is, but difficult as he moves at the speed of washing machine's spin cycle. Now, I just have to think of a costume design. I am thinking something with yellow rubber gloves, and maybe a cape you wear on the front...one that wraps around your neck and waist and will keep the stuff of your clothes (I forget the exact name of it). And I need a mask.

Wow, you would think after a rant like that I would have motivated myself to get some work done, but unfortunately Dave the Distracted is still about and I have made some more coffee in anticipation of the Cosby Show which comes on in a minute. Now, aren't you glad I have wasted your time as well? You have given way to procrastination, as I am sure you have something else you need to get done. Shame on you...but I guess this is just you own special way of becoming a more efficient human being. Good Luck with that.

Freeze Sucka

Boredom got the best of me this past Friday. I worked for a couple of hours, then switched between reading and the television as the internal struggle of mindless enjoyment fought with imagination like two kids fighting over the swing set on a school playground. I resigned myself to getting out for a while and driving around. This lasted all of about three miles as I pulled in to an empty spot at the local mall. I had no agenda, no plan of action save for the wondering around and killing time. This is where my powers of perception hit.

Have you ever notice the swagger that accompanies all law enforcement personal? You find it in every echelon of power, from the "high and mighty" federal agents, to the lowly mall security guards. It appears to be a combination of a model's booty shaking with an Olympic speed walkers form. Arms swing from side to side, increasing speed as the footsteps build. Hips swishing as they perfect the intimidation stare on passing store front windows. How do you not laugh at this?

I wonder the origins of the candid cop walk, as I have so deemed it. I believe it is a required course in police training. They fit it in somewhere between Miranda and marksmanship. I can imagine two days dedicated to Talking the Talk and Walking the Walk. You learn witty retorts to crack heads' answers and hooker come ones in the off chance you are "lucky" enough to be on an episode of Cops. The next day the captain, his wife, and some detective come in to critic and judge your walking abilities. Six hours, four bottles of water, and two sweat towels later you have your paper certificate stating you have graduated from your day course Walking the Cop Walk 101. Well, all of you except Steve who could never reach his center and would either fall over or slap himself in the face with the confusion of left leg, right arm. Poor Steve. Now that you have the basics you can continue on to the important things, like how to be a dick 24/7.

And like in Middle School gym class they separate the girl cops trainees from the boys. Girls in one room and boys in the other. Boys learn the walk emphasizing there masculinity, while girls learn the walk to fake masculinity. They have to be separated to keep the teasing down to a minimum. Girl cops can be so mean.

This explains why mall security guards are so bad at it. They don't have the luxury of a six weeks of training. No their Walking the Walk get squeezed in between "How to button your buttons" and Lunch. Their one day course doesn't allow them to fine tune their actions or even be judge by a group of their peers. They get no ticker tate parades, certificate, or celebratory ice cream for these guys, they have to get everything in before the sun goes down and Bob the janitor locks the doors. The insecurity and over compensating for lack of proper training has lead them to more of a hindrance to mall rats then help. Also when they are recruiting 17 year olds, it makes it hard not to laugh.

I know what you are thinking..."David it's the belt and all the crap they wear that makes them walk like that." Well, granted they have a regular belt, and a Batman utility belt that clips to the real belt and to the pants, and I know the belt probably weigh about 15 to 20 pounds, but I still think they would walk that way if they were as naked as the day they were born. It's that cocksure attitude that morphes their one time normal walk to a six foot male member walk. You know what I am talking about and you know I am right. Watch and see how the cops walk and then talk to them. See if the extent of the Candid Cop Walk directly correlates with how big of punk they are. And when I am right, you have to pay my bail for when I point this out the next cop who decide to give me the ole stink eye.

A Fool and His Money…

After being here less than 24 hours it is apparent, like my father said, “Vegas’ sole purpose it to separate you from your money.” This philosophy has infected every tier of operation around this desert oasis. Flashy lights, attractive women, and expense booze masterfully play to open you wallet and dance your money away as if it were a Russian ballet. I had heard this was true, but my experience in most of the larger cities, New Orleans, Chicago, and Dallas, had not set me up for this.

It starts with a 30 minute line out of the air port to catch a cab, followed by a 35 minute line to check into your hotel. But the oddity is the amenities you would normally get at any hotel free of charge are anything but here in the Vegas.

Being a product of the 20th century, the first thing I do when I get to the room is open my computer and attempt to log on there. At first glances my wireless picked up what they call a “Hospitality” bandwidth. I silently get excited, for I know the one true link to the outside world is the internet. I open my browser and wait as the page loads. Sure enough, where is every other hotel has free access, the Hard Rock doesn’t. Granted it was a nominal fee, I was taken back to see a fee at all. I mouth a few obscenities, but thought, “No worries, I can live without the internet for a couple of days.” However, I can feel the withdrawal ticks of the addicted.

Drinks are free, while you are playing the games, which essentially means the drinks cost you more than any other bar in town. However, I got the gambling out of my system early…funny how loosing money, hard-earned of course, really gets the taste of speculative risk out of my mouth. But, I was able to have the experience and get a couple of drinks. However, when I woke up at 7 this morning, I wanted a cup of coffee. I went down to the front desk and experienced the perfectedness of Vegas sucking you in. I only wanted a cup of coffee, but was side tracked by a hottie at the tables. I sat down, willingly opened my wallet…First position,…pulled some cash…Second Position…., and laid it on the table…Third Position. The next hour I sat and watched the spins, lifts, and pirouettes of my fleeting money. This young lady was very attractive and spoke with a entrancing accent. But, I can honestly say, as hind sight is 20/20, I don’t like her at all. That was the most expensive cup of coffee I have ever had. Fortunately it was good coffee.

I bid my devil in a fine form good bye and walk to the bar to get more coffee. Now, my experience at the Casinos at home have taught me, you can get free drinks at the casino bar, you guessed it, not here. I wait as they brew the coffee, expecting to get it free, but was less shocked at this point, as my 5 ounce cup of wake up juice cost more than the Starbucks stores you see invading every corner. Not too mad, I walk back towards the room and think to myself of how I would like a morning paper to accompany me to the end result of the coffee, but as I walk to the front desk, I reflect on the past hours in the Sin City and realize paying 3 dollars for a foreign paper is not worth it.

Monday will bring renewed zest of working hard and resolutions to break. But for now, I am having a great time, and I have learned a lot about the commerce of LV. As my buddy with me says… ”When it comes to money, you never have enough and you can always make more.” But, foolishly parting with you money for things you can and do live with out, well that is only know as one thing…Vacation, and I love the vacation, and I love The Vegas…

For Bored People and Company Executives

I just saw a commercial for the new Gatorade flavor. It started with a basketball in the middle of an open concrete basketball court. Rain was coming down. Suddenly birthed from the basketball was a very large black man. He stretched and guzzled down the new Gatorade flavor. Granted the new birth symbolism equating to the new flavor was overtly obvious, the name of the flavor was what caught me by surprise. The new flavor was "Rain." What the hell it that.

Rain is not a flavor. Rain is something you hide from, something that prevents yard work. Rain is children playing, sleeping late, and renewed cleanliness. It's not something that invokes feelings of thirst quenching joy. I don't look forward to tall glass of rain water after I work out. It provoked a feeling, as I am sure the commercial wanted, but I don't know if they hit the mark with that one.

More and more you are starting to see what I call hippie names for products. Old Spice has body wash and deodorant entitled Pacific Surge, Mountain Rain, Cool Blast. You get candles in the scent of fresh linen, cotton, clean air. Laundry detergent boasting fresh spring, late fall, cold of winter. I just don't understand what's going on. Isn't enough we have to have everything smell like we rolled around in Mother Earth, but now we have to drink her to?

What happened to the favorites? Orange, Grape, or the ever special Lemonlime, now that's a flavor for sports drinks.You know exactly what you are getting when you twist the top and pound down half the bottle as the sweat drains from you face. It replenishes you like the morning shower after a night of drinking. What about kool aid. When the answer to the question of "what flavor do you want," was easily answered and understood when you replied "Red." Now red can mean...Fruit Punch, Passion Fruit, Strawberry, raspberry, Strawberry-Banana, Sun, Fire, Hell's Broth, and whatever the ivy league marketing intern can think of to equate the "newness" of what you drink. I miss the simplicity.

I was in Walmart the other day getting some shampoo. Standing in the middle of the isle overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of choices, I start to get frustrated. Damaged Hair, Curly hair, No Hair, Fragile Hair, Damaged and Fragile Hair, Curly but yet damaged and fragile hair...there were just too many choices. I lash out at the inanimate object by saying through gritted teeth, "What happened to just focusing on cleaning hair, where is the Clean hair Shampoo." About to give up and just pick the most manly looking bottle, the lady next to me hands me a bottle. I glance at the description and smile as it states...For Clean Hair." I knew that was the stuff for me. Now I just have to find the For Non Sweaty/Stinking underarms, and the For Clean Teeth and No Cavities, and For Clean Skin soap. These containers are not usually decorated with bright colors leading to a colorfully stocked medicine cabinets. But, the drabness of the bottles saves money and keeps the Metrosexual accusations at a minimum.

I don't need advertisements to allure me with catchy names and flashing wrappings. I need honesty, directness, and truth. This will lead to product loyalty, and once your hooked, like crack, there's now turning back. So Johnson and Johnson and Proctor and Gamble, when your executives have nothing better to do than reading the nobody public's blogs, take this to your next power meeting.

Here you go Uncle Mike

My mind is my enemy. Fighting like junkyard dogs over a scrap of day old meat, my mind keeps me from a restful night sleep. There are no sugar plumb fairies dancing in my mind when I rest. The people, places, and events change, but still I wake up going "what the hell was that about?" I read somewhere a good night sleep was God's reward for a guiltless conscience." Now I must search the harddrive of my mind and emotions to find the source of worry and guilt.

I don't necessarily buy into that whole guilt crap. I think I just watch weird Sci Fi movies, read part of a strange book, and then try to sleep. Sounds like I need to change my interest for sleep. That ain't happening.


...This was a draft from a couple of days ago, it's not really complete, but it won't have anything else added to it. Check back soon I'll have the interesting events of my past week.

Reverse Nap

It's 3am. The entire house is dark, both rooms opposite of my hold in it's bowls sleeping men, re-energizing for the new week. One spot in the house glows light, casting a reflection of a tired, aged man in the window. My computer connecting me to the outside world with silent judgment for being up this late. I've stopped sleeping through Thunderstorms.

At one time the melodic symphony of pidder padder outside danced with the drumming thunder and awesomeness of a light show, was what I loved. Nature's own audio/visual show inspires, scares, and brings to tears the heart of dime store novel lovers. But, now, I am set apart by worry. I wake up in the middle of the night listening to thunder in turn with the lightning. I hear every creek of my almost 70 year old home. The rattling windows, the deflection of rain from window to window sill and I worry about how the house will hold up. Will I wake tomorrow to find more areas in need of fixing? I silently think to myself "girl, I know you can do, stand strong." I have missed my last night of worriless sleep. It was in July of 04, a month before I decided to buy a house. No worries, few responsibilities, and deep rain filled sleep.

Also, is the nature of my job. Big storms, mean big work. Long days, filled with unhappy people whose homes are broken. The thought of waking up tomorrow and having more work than I can handle, but having nothing to do to stop it, also keeps the eyelids open at night. I don't know why I am worried about it. I am good when it comes to busy situations, I thrive well. I know what needs to be done and I do it. But, that doesn't mean I enjoy the bountiful times more than the lean. I like the small work load. The time to do things right as opposed to fast. I don't want to kiss my social life goodbye for the next few weeks. So I sit up and I think about it.

My bed is so comfortable, and my mind is not comfortable. Sleep is one of my favorite things, I guess this is like a reverse nap. You take a nap during the day, but when you wake up from sleep during the night, briefly, and then you return to sleep, I guess can only be a reverse nap. My mind is hazy with sleep and my words tend to make less sense at this point. With a quick prayer I will give my problems to God and try to salvage the rest of my night, maybe a extra pillow over my head will do the trick.

Irish eyes are Smiling

Yesterday was not what you would consider a typical day. Even for those of us who seem to never have an "ordinary" day, yesterday was out of sorts. Allow me to illustrate:
My morning commute to my claims found me stopped at a red light staring at the ass end of this yahoo. With a half hearted "ugh" I felt it necessary to document the insanity of some people. As I have learned over the past couple of weeks, there seems to be lots of contradiction and conspiracy theories around the events of 9/11. I find it odd as to see this as in just earlier this week I read an article in a Maxim about a plethora of other theories. These usually start with digital nerds searching video archives for any excuse to abuse their first amendment rights, or those eccentric, old-money millionaires blowing daddy's start from nothing fortune on back door methods of being famous. Apparently having gobs of money is nothing unless it comes with obscure fame in seedy magazines. But, who am I to know...millions I don't have, but eccentricities I have a few. This kind of mania justifies the need for psychologist...so I say "Go Dad, heal the world of it's mental cases and save those millions because I want to prove how aliens actually landed in New York, not Roswell, to populate the earth." Whatever to those cats.

Anyway...It's too bad how unfortunate events over shadow the pleasant ones. You find yourself dwelling on the funny, yet disgusting occurrences and leaving the heart warming ones at the whey side.

Yesterday, my fist claim was for wind damage to a lady's roof. I knocked on the door, she greeted me with a smile, as did her daughter. I looked over her damages. Half of it was not covered and the other half didn't amount to more than her deductible. As I sat and explained this to her...words most would scoff and yell about...she patiently listened, asked valid questions and understood. Afterwards, she and her daughter, proceeded to invite me to their church for Easter and then extended an verbal invitation to a crawfish boil they were having in the near future. I was taken aback. Normally after telling them the company they have been giving money to for years and years is going to leave you high, and not so dry, they give the obligatory "screw off" nod and I leave. I don't know if the daughter thought I was cute, or what...maybe good people are good no matter what happens, but I left there feeling pretty good. Little did I know that would change.

I arrived at my next claim. I really old trailer in the middle of a really old trailer park. Not exactly an uncommon sight for me. I park my new car beside a truck older than I am, and proceed to maneuver car parts, beer cans, and mangy animals in my trek to the front door. Up one, two, three, cracked and broken steps, I stand firm on the temporary porch, that looks as if it has been there since the truck was new. I knock on the door and wait for someone to answer. I am greeted by a muffled "Come On" from inside. I peel back the screen door, thankful I had a tetanus shout a couple of months ago, and step through the threshold into the home. There, not three feet away from me was the man I was there to met. He was a large, old, black man...and he was completely NAKED! As he was toweling himself off, while sitting in a ratty arm chair with the stuffy hanging out in more than a few places, I didn't quite grasp what was going on. My eyes flashed from the top of him to the bottom and I quickly averted my eyes to watch a fly which had landed on the opposite wall. I ask "Did you say I could come in?" To which he responded "Yeah." I informed him I think it was going to be best if I just wait out side till he gets dressed. And without waiting for a response, I turned go the hell outta Dodge. I have been greeted with many different and unique things, from Great Danes, to scantily clad women, and I can definitely say large naked black men are my least favorite, hands down. Now if that was all to the story that would be good enough, but alas, it there's more.

As I was waiting for him to get dressed his cohort came outside to start showing me the damaged areas. I was looking, nodding, and flipping through the archives of my mind to find anything to push the vision of a few minutes ago out. Zeroed in on my happy place, I professionally proceed. At this point I am under this 28 year old mobile home, where I know there are large rats (I know, because the man told me they were there). Freaking out and crawling commando style on my elbows and knees I take a couple of misaimed pictures and bugger out. Standing up in the sunshine with mud, muck, and a something I didn't want to recognize on my rain suit, I stretch and whisper a word of victory for surviving with out being eaten by a Bossier rat. My noise burns and my eyes twitch. I started smelling something I haven't smelled in a while...I look around and see the other man standing there with both hands behind his back and then I know. This man has just lit a joint and was smoking it as if I was an old football buddy coming by for beer and dominoes. Agian, I am momentarily speechless, but resecure my happily place in my mind and push onward. I wrapped that claim up quicker than most, gravel shooting from my back tires as I peel away from scaryville, I utter a sigh of relief and cover my body with antibacterial lotion.

That was not what I would consider a normal adjustment or insurance exchange. I treated that more along the lines of I will do whatever it takes to get me out of here as quickly as possible. Unfortunately I will be haunted by this, but I do know, when all the adjusters come around, my water cooler story will be the blue medal champion.

The rest of the day was pretty standard. Finish work and go. I had an engagement part to go to. Not my first choice, but I had fun. Despite having to dress up, I suffered through it and my eyes lit up at the prospect of going to the Noble Savage, the only almost Irish pub in town, and enjoying a cold pint of Guinness. MMmmm, Irish beer on Saint Patty's Day. My very own Glenn here in town. I drank Guinness until they ran out and listened to Irish drinking songs, sung by old Irish immigrants. Not a bad end to an unusual day.

Today finds me staring out the window at the rain coming down and feeling relieved at any excuse to be lazy. I think today will be a day nerdom. Piddling on the computer, reading the paper, and maybe an afternoon matinee, solo. After a really crappy week of work, todays prospects look almost perfect. Now if I can just get those Irish songs out of my head I will be fine..."Oh, Danny boy..."

Say What?

I find it discouraging that merely a day after I spent four hours filling 13 bags of leaves from my front yard, it looks as if nothing has been done. More leaves have returned to take the place of their falled brethren. Hiding in nooks and crannies like an insect afraid of the daylight. It took me a long time to work up the energy and motivation to rake. And when I say a long time I mean somewhere in the area of 4 months.

My diligent neighbor can be found on most Fridays, and even some Mondays, meticulously combing his yard with his rake, sweeping each particle of dust from the sidewalk, and occasionally spray painting his ornamental lions that greet his guest...gold spray paint, of course. I stare out the window and watch him, in the zone, taking pride in his manual labor. I am guessing he is wired differently than I am. My thought process during my experience of yard maintenance was "why don't I just pay one of my youth to do this?" Granted the end result and appreciation period of sitting on the porch sipping a cold beer was almost worth the blisters and sweat...almost. However, the looming dread of, at some point, tackling the backyard protruded through my euphoric bliss.

Does this make me lazy or just a stereotypical example of the "next" generation. One of quick, easy solutions, willing to throw money at the problems in exchange for ease and comfort. Is it sad that sometimes I would rather buy a new stove, than put forth the effort to make it spotless? Not what one would consider a fiscally responsible choice.

I did see something very unusual while I was cleaning my yard. A older Black man was walking down the street (not unusual, but his attire was). He was wearing camouflaged pants and a white t-shirt. The strange bit of it all was the emblem on the reverse of his shirt. It was the rebel flag, the stars and bars. Traditionally this was the battle flag for the confederacy. Something, to current society, represents slavery, oppresion, and more ignorant times. Usually the stars and bars are displayed by red necks, racists, and true Civil War buffs. It was, to say the least, comical to see this man wearing this shirt. To be more specific, the center of the flag had a soccer ball on it and a mention to dixie written above the flag in big letters. My reaction was the classic movie double take. The causal glance followed by the second more surprised stare of bewilderment. I chuckled to myself as I watched him walk away. I wanted to ask him of his intentions behind the shirt, but felt it better to just speculate as my current task came back to the fore front of my mind. I don't think I have ever seen a black man react positively to the confederate flag, better yet, I have never seen one wear anything that could be considered embracing the evolved stigma of the stars and bars. It was all very odd.

Now I must prepare the lesson for youth tonight. When I am in charge, weird things happen. Good, but weird.

Did you just call me sir?

This past week or so has been pretty good for me. I was lucky enough to pass my Texas P and C adjuster exam, which has currently landed me in San Antonio for this week. Now I am brewing a cup of coffee and staring out of my 7th floor balcony to look over the city. Not a bad set up.

Work was slow this week leading the way to a restful Wed thru Fri. Working a combined 2 hrs for those three days. I went shopping earlier this week and bought a bunch of new cloths with the company bonuses. I have figured the trick to a pleasant shopping experience. Let me first start off by stating...I am a male. This means, I don't like to shop, I feel uncomfortable foraging for sales and competing with the latest trends for my age. When I must go shopping, I look for ten minutes max, try on the one thing I need, and then leave the store. I don't linger, I don't converse with the staff, I get in, get out, and get back to the sanctity of my home. Pretty typical for me, and I like it that way. But, this week was different. In fact, I think I have found the only way to shop. Find a girl to go with you. She picks out the clothes, tells you what looks good, and steers you away from the wardrobe regrets. It's a big step to put your money and your style into her hands, but if you trust her, then you come out looking great. Which I think I did. So, next time I have to go shopping I am bringing reinforcements.

But, the real downer of the week was coming to terms with the fact I am getting old. I always thought the process of getting old was going to be gross, but easy. You know, the longer recovery periods from nights out, being excited when you buy new appliances, or those newly discovered patches of back hair. But, I was not expecting aches and pains.

Through my life I have played 9 years of soccer, 4 and a half years of inter colligent sports, and many a night of stupidity at a Fraternity house. All of these with no major injuries and only a couple of scars. But, now, in only three weeks of church volleyball, I have injured myself twice, both pretty badly. The first was to my big toe. I jumped up and landed, with all my weight, on my left big toe. It hurt for almost two weeks. Then just last week, I made a beautiful point saving dive on the court to keep the play going. Unfortunate I landed on my right knee. That took me out of the games for the rest of the night. The next morning I couldn't bend my knee. It hurt to walk and it took me four or five attempts to get up from a sitted position. I started popping advil and called the doctor. By the time appointment arrived, I could walk and bend it some, but it still hurt like hell. The doctor took the x-rays and with a pensive "hmm" started to poke and prod my knee. The questions you dislike the most from the doctor is "Does this hurt?" Because you know, even if that spot doesn't' hurt, you will eventually get to the area that does, and when the doctor doesn't have to ask you, but can see from the grimace on your face...he knows he has hit medical gold.

The doctor told me I have a possible tear in my medial meniscus. He then explained to me what that was...which I have forgotten by now, but I think it is the area where the rounded portions of the leg bones meet and for a cup. He said, it didn't look severe enough to send me to another doctor, but told me it would hurt for 7 to 10 days, and if it didn't feel better then to call him back. I was told to not run, jump, play racketball, or basically do anything athleticlly fun. Which stinks, but I guess it is best to follow his orders and avoid surgery. So I guess this gives me a doctor's note to be lazy. I can dig that. He then gave me a bunch of free meds and sent me on my way. Four days later and I am not having any more trouble sleeping from the pain, but I tackled a mountain of stair yesterday and I can feel the effects.

Getting old I can handle. The added responsibility, the waning metabolism, the shifting of goals, all of that is fine and and acceptable to me. But, the deterioration of the body is not something I want to deal with. A buddy of mine told me that he wakes up every day with something new hurting. Not something I am looking forward to. But, I guess it is better than the alternative.

Do as I say, not as I do

Some times the memories wear you down. It usually happens when you are stressed or vulnerable. You reach out with you mind to find the times when life was less about where you are going and more about where you are. For me, flashes of college, failed relationships, and missed opportunities swim through my head. The fight against the questions of what could I have done differently or what if I had made this choice instead of that one are brought to the fore front of my conscience.

On my way home tonight I passed my alma mater. There was a rush of at least 20 memories, all of which made me smile, instantaneously pulled from the archives of my brain. These happy times were quickly replaced with a sense of dread at the lack of care free, no regret situations I face before me.

I have, recently, been the person happy with my current status. I like my job, I enjoy my accomplishments, and I have a personal relationship with God. But, this doesn't make me miss my "old life" any less. A by-product of growing up is embracing responsibility and forming a new life with what you have built upon in the past. Maybe my pessimistic side is taking over at this point, but I can't tell you how many times I want to, for lack of a better word, escape.

I have been a shreveportian for going on 15 years. I have watched the cotton fields of south Youree turn into the booming mecca for the economically comfortable. I have watched schools and neighborhoods go from respectable to shambles. Most importantly I have seen many friends leave, with their heads held high and their cars pointed East. This bothers me as I look at what there is here, and what there is not here. Many times over the past couple of years I have thought about forgoing my fiscal responsibilities and disappearing. Hitchhiking down to the tip of South America has always had an appeal to me. I would also love to just move to Colorado or North Carolina. Give up my educational roots and be a seasonal instructor, floating from river guide to snow instructor as the years passed. Unfortunately, or fortunately, my mind takes over where my body fails. I am here, making my living and pursuing the "American Dream." At what cost though? When you stop being defined as what you want and start being defined as what you do, where do you go from there?

Maybe it is the few beers I had tonight or maybe it is the truth finally seeping through. Am I happy? Yes, no questions. Is there more out there? Yes, no questions. Will there every be a meeting of what I want to do and what I am doing? Now that's the real questions.

It is easy to SAY give it all up and do what your heart wants, but doing it is something completely different. How many people make these decisions and end up ruining their life and others...but how many live their dream. I have the feeling tomorrow when I check what I have written my mind will have completely changed, but that is my purgative. Most of this is just my inner ramblings written down and then stupidly shared with the world, but seeing it written brings order to the chaos of my mind. I guess when it comes down to it(the moral if you will), do what you will, but don't regret your decisions. I may never go to South America or this be a precurssor to a future decision. If I, on a whim, sell everything I have and escape to South America, don't worry about me for I am attempting to tame my inner beast and longing dreams, I will be rocking it out with my Latino friends(but don't' count on anything happening for a while). Pulling it all together has not always been a strong suit of mine.

Novelette, as Previously Warned

Humility is a dish best not served at all. Or so you would think. My last post was a while ago, not because I have nothing to discuss, because lets face it, with all the idiocy in the world, there is always something to talk about. My reasons for not updating the blog has been more of a time issue.

As some of you know I took an exam to be licensed to do my job in Texas. Texas, unlike Louisiana, is a little bit more selective of who can work, live, and basically exist. Why, I couldn't tell you, but as they say "Everything is bigger...and better...in Texas." Due to time constraints and seminars in the future based on my performance on the test, I had to bump up my original scheduling of the test by more than a week. This limited my original study plans, forcing me to focus all of my attention on three things. My last week consisted of working, going to the gym, and studying till I fell asleep.

Thursday came and I believed I was adequately prepared...but, I was not. I miss passing the exam by two points. Needless to say I was a little pissed at the outcome, but more shocked than anything. I am not usually a person who performs below par. I, and it may seem cocky, am use to achieving what I put my time and efforts to. However, every now and then something happens and The Man up stairs lets me know I have little to no control over the events. A little taste of humility to put me in check.

I believe a reality check is important every now and again. Granted it is not the most wonderful feeling, and you are left seconded guessing all the answers you changed and decisions you made, but knowing you are not perfect and limited in you ability puts things in place and forces you to do one of two things. You either work harder or give up. Well, I am not a quitter so I will choose to balls up and do better next time. I am not going to say I am happy with the outcome of the test, but at least I know that it wasn't a bad experience and it will keep in on track for the time being. Until the bit of humility blind sides me again.

Enough of the deep, now for the condescending shallow...

I was studying last Saturday in the local coffee shop, a tradition I have recently started...and for soon to be known reasons, I have recently suspended. But I arrived early and I was going to get some good studying in. I sat down with my way too hot Colombian roast coffee, opened my new backpack and pulled out a studying necessity...my ipod. After lefty and righty were in place and Jack Johnson was sing just for me, I cracked my book. The knowledge was flowing and people were started to trickle in. This shop also serves breakfast, and as it was Saturday, there were patrons. You had you eclectic crowd. The two middle aged ladies quietly sipping coffee and discussing some "junior league" event of the night before, The college kid sitting in the corner with his computer hard at work on some project. The old man sitting alone eating his croisaunt and diligently figuring out the word jumble from todays paper (why the word jumble, I don't know, I have always thought that to be the least fun of the them all). These were the "good guys" and pleasant people. I continued to focus on what I was doing and time was passing. Periodically there would be a quite cell phone ring and the recipient would quietly excuse himself from the building to take necessary calls. Pretty normal

About an hour or two into the morning, I had a man, around my age, sit behind me. He was alone and he didn't bring anything to further his crannial capacity. I didn't think about this much as I have seen and been someone who has the ability to just sit and think things through without a distraction. I mean how often to do you get the gist of the book by only reading the cover. Well, I can think of one. This man proceeds to get on his cell phone and randomly call his buddies. A sporadic call here and there is not too bad, but a 20 minute conversation with someone who has problems is not what one would consider public info. This didn't stop ole boy as he continued at a less than inside voice. This went on for about 40 minutes. I kept stopping what I was doing, turning my tunes up louder, looking around at all the other people he was disturbing. With no end it sight, I had the thought of turning around to him and say..."You look like a quasi smart guy. What is the difference between everyone else in this place and you? Then I was going to sing him the "some of us are not like the other" song (it's more of an insult then and presentation of facts). But, as the vail of red fury closed on over my eyes and I turned to confront my day ruiner, I remember a bit of an earlier conversation he had mentioning how he wanted to and I quote "get my hands on a piece. I need something to shoot." For the anti-pop culture aficionados, this man was trying to get his hands on a pistol. Over the phone, in a public place. Luckily I remember this and as my mouth opened I merely commented him on his NASCAR hat (and I loathe NASCAR). I decided a couple of ruined hours was worth not having missing teeth or a new air vent in my forehead. Keeping my mouth shut was more about self preservation then the righting of a wrong...selfish, maybe, but I'm ok with it.

Next was the middle 40s man who set up his computer about 15 feet from me. Nothing out of the ordinary with this guy. Keep to himself, no cell phone I could see, but something happened (as you know it was going to because if it didn't that wouldn't be funny). Well, Mister Man decided he wanted to watch some videos on his computer. No big deal, I have done the same thing in there. However, I have the cognizance to do a couple of things. Namely make sure no one else can hear what I am listening to. He was wearing headphones so I only assumed it wouldn't be a problem. Now, I am not sure if he thought they were plugged in and they weren't, or if he just had the volume up so loud he might as well have had them unplugged, but something went awry. I endured rousing tunes by Kelly Clarkson, provocative clips of college cheerleaders complete with interactive cheers, and the occasional news story. At the least you could say this man ran the gamment of info, granted there was some border line sketchy, dirty old man stuff going on. It took me a while to pinpoint the actual noise, but I exchanged some glances and stifled laughs with those of around at the pure unawareness of this man's inner pleasures he was sharing with the shop. Another 20 minutes I couldn't study.

That's when I decided to study well I needed my quite room with Cold Play in the background and my comfortable pillows tugging me into a boredom induced sleep. Just the way a man should study...maybe that's why I didn't pass? But, for now, the coffee shop will be reserved only for recreational reading and internet browsing, and the occasional cup of coffee.

Part II

I know Valentine's day (VD) was a few days ago, but I can still comment on it. I was busy studying, so I treated it as just another day, but I have decided VD is bad for three reasons. It perpetuates the commercial nature of Americans and desire to acquire junk. A three cent card sold at a 1000% mark up is the only way to get across to my love how I feel, I'm calling BS on that one. Because nothing says I Love You like a mass produced, unorginal, poem delivered by a cartoon. I am all about the effort, end results aren't as important as the effort. Just a special kind word or something new and fun...Remember that Ladies (hint hint). Secondly, it has progressed to a competition between men and woman. Whose man can outdo the others. What lady can best read and please their man. The 14ths escapades become the topics of the 15ths water cooler club. I guess I don't regard it as a real holiday, because shouldn't everyday be a day to tell the person you love how you feel? Does it really take a special day created by Big American to convey those feelings? Maybe I am just bitter because I did spend it alone and also I know I am a part of the Corporate Little Guy Killing Machine World, and I am ok with that too. Thirdly, and most importantly, it makes woman crazy. Not the cute, funny...awe that so sweet crazy. No, the pull your hair, slice your wrist, bat-shit crazy you only see in Kubric movies ("All work and No play" type of stuff). I can't tell you how many conversations I had with my female friends guessing and second guessing plans, presents, and situations. There were coming out of the woodwork, in all stages of the relationship from 2 dates, to 3 weeks of "hanging" out, to long term relationships. I listened, I feigned concern, I even did the gratuitous nods, "uh-huhs", and yeses into the phone. You know the ones were you are actually reading or watching tv, but periodically putting in a word to keep her going so you don't actually have to pay attention. Kind of like rewinding the monkey everynow and then so it continues to beat the symbols and dance, and by doing so gives the kids something to do while you relax. Apparently, I don't give a crap wasn't a good answer either. This condition also extended into those without dates. I went over to a friends house that night. He was having a party with his female remote...they both like guys if that indicates anything. They party theme was Happy Non Valentines day. Not exactly a stunningly original idea, but they went to extremes with the decorations. For example heart cookies were purchase, broken in half and put out. Happy couple streamers where hung on the walls, minus their heads. Roses, daises, and other flowers where displayed around the home, either missing the petals or with burned petals. I had to admit to myself this was a little scary. So I lumped them in with the VD crazies, excused myself after one drink, went home, and made sure all my doors and windows were locked, turned off the lights and prayed that I did not become part of the collateral damage of VD. Fortunately, I made it out unsacthed. Now less than a year before we go through it all again. Oh boy, I just can't wait.

Well, if you have read this far you deserve a prize, maybe a medal. At the least you can halve is an "attaboy." So give me a call and I will give you your reward. I have rescheduled my test for next week, I will keep you posted on how it goes.

A buddy of mine, who is an adjuster, sent me this picture. Always with the bad wrap. God forbid these morons actually evaluate the situation and blame the right person...themselves. (I'm not bitter, cant' you tell.)


I was driving done in podunk now where the other day when I say this bumper sticker I like. I took a couple of pictures. You might not be able to read it, but you wont' be surprised of this car's current place when I tell you what it is. The sticker says "Honk if anything falls off." I say well done to the owner of that car. They the get the winner award of the evening.

Until Next Time...Peace Out!

Wanna Be Ballar, Shockallar, 20" blades on the Impala.

at some point you need to live up to what you are. I have said this before, but in my mind I am still 22. In reality I am on the downward slide to 30. At 22 you have fast cars, fast times, and stupid woman. These things are great, but eventually you have to grow up. Your focus switches to retirement plans, sensible automobiles, and a well balanced diet.

I first noticed a change when I went to my parents house last week. I was hungry and decided an exploratory evaluation of the frig was needed. In my youth I can remember their frig being filled with cokes, hot pockets, bolonga, and other tasty processed meats, cheeses, and junk food. Now, my options were organic bean sprouts, low fat yogurt, skim milk, and whole wheat. I sighed to myself thinking, I guess I will settle with a non fat weight watchers bar that tastes like cardboard with raisins. I think I would have had better flavor and enjoyment if I had taken a knife and fork to my boots, but I needed them for work.

Not that I am better at my house. The frig reflects, turkey instead of red meat, skim milk, heart healthy/cholesterol lowering cereal, and 100% fruit juices. But alas, I have decided attempting a healthy life is better than living a short uncomfortable one.

Along with this, I got my new company car on Friday. I traded in a Grand Prix (GP) for a new Impala. The GP was awesome. It was sleek, fast, and had the body of sports car. I was able to tear up the roads and make the woman swoon. Now, I have the sensible car. The sedan with impressive gas mileage and stylish body commanding a young professional aire. It's not a bad car at all and I do like it. Now I didn't select this car with the mindset of being more professional and achieving accessories to lead me to mentally realize my age. No, I chose this care because the GP was no longer an option. I was willing and ready to hold fast to the mind games of being younger than I am. Small steps.

Truth be told I don't think I will ever act my age. I don't even think most people act their age. My outside may be forced to middle age, but my mind, my mouth, and my silver tongue will keep me young for years. However, if I you see me wearing gray polyester pants up past my belly button with a nylon belt, constantly complaining about anything, do me a favor...smack me around a bit. The directions on my map are short but adequate..."Second star the the right and on till morning."

342 Merrick Street

Do you ever get to the point where there is so much going on in you mind and you are so tired finding a coherent thought is more difficult than Ray Nagin pulling down the white vote? That's how I am now. I usually don't have any problems writing my thoughts or happenings of my scattered mind. But, the unusual thing is I have been thinking about what I wanted to write about for a week now. However, now that I have time I can't seem to write about it. I tried four different starting ideas only to delete them. But, I am going to give it the ole college try and see if I can't get it out.

No, I just can't do it. I will have to think about it more. Actually I started and had a good portion written, but then a contradictory idea plopped in my head and I decided I would have to contemplate it for awhile longer. So, as to not disappoint those who are hiding from a work deadline under the muse of a quick computer break or those blantantly not working ( and I know who you are) I will perservire and write about something near and dear to my heart...

I think dessert is fine, but I have finally determined my favorite after dinner treat (see you thought I was going to get political, spiritual, or deep in some other form or fashion...well not tonight buddy). I like cookies. I will choose cookies over probably 99% of every other dessert. That's just what I like. I like cheese cake, ice cream, regular cake, tiramisuu, and donuts and all that other jazz, but I have a weak spot for cookies. I can pass on the other junk but I am hard pressed not to skip the cookies. I don't like oatmeal and raisins, or oatmeal for that matter. But any type of cookie is great for me, homemade, store bought, pretty, ugly, sugary, sugar free, it doesn't matter, I'll eat it. I am not a cookie bigit, well expect for those nasty, low income oatmeal cookies. When put together in a "melting pot" of cookies they are always the ones to beat up the sissy, yet wonderful, sugar cookies. Then before you know it they are stealing the chocolate chips from others and claiming them of their own. Then they mate with the pecan sandies and leave you with oatmeal chocolate nutty cookies. Those are the ones who really start causing the trouble because they go straight to my hips. So watch out oatmeal cookies cause I got a plan to make a special "oatmeal plate" for you and that is a one way ticket to my buddy who eats oatmeal cookies like you for breakfast...mostly cause he doesn't like cereal. Who would be the mayor of cookie town I wonder. If you go by the popular vote it would have to be chocolate Chip, but the Oreos would pull in the diversity factor, and Elfn Fudge cookies would also have a lot of clout with those people suffering from a Napoleon complex. It's hard to say. Personally I think it would be Milanos. Those guys are Thin, ergonomically different, the upper class of the cookie family. Face it, if you were presented with all of those on a plate, something tells me The Milano would win. Then he would push all the other little cookies, and even oatmeal out to the outside rings so it could make room for it's brand buddies to fill the council and cookie city positions. Yeah, Milanos are the mafia of the cookies. That's it, this means war...we are hitting the mattresses...with plates of cookies, big glass of milk, and a Jane Austin novel. (No, wait, I am man...cookies, milk, and football, yeah that's it)

Well, if you enjoyed my tangent about cookies and society then good. I would like to say it was for you enjoyment but that's not it. I wanted to make you crave a cookie, but there are selfish reasons behind it. When you are on the way home and you stop to buy the fixins for cookies, make sure you pick up some extra to send to me. After all I wrote this to get you all to give me cookies. I want cookies, because I love the cookies.

Cold Coffee Sucks

Right now I am sitting in a local coffee shop, listening to my ipod, drinking a cold cup of french dark roast(pretentious I know). Contemplating the day. It started with a loud wake up call at 7am. My cell phone alarm annoyingly signifying the start of the day. After two snoozes and a two minute gaze at the ceiling I determined one thing...I need to paint the ceiling of my bedroom. I rolled out bed straight to the shower. The day had started.

I took my car to the body shop to get a couple of dings and scratches taken care of. I am going to be without my car for a week, so I needed a rental. I thought I had reserved a nissan sonata from the dealership, but alas, I was mistaken. Apparently when the guy told me I was getting a sonata he really meant, "you are going to get a PT Cruiser." Or, as my friend calls them, a PT Loser. I would have to agree, not my favorite car. I get in the burnt, red car, complete with matching interior trim, and head to my house. My first thoughts being, "God, I miss my V6." the tiny American motor whines it's way to my house where I quickly finish getting ready, load up my work gear and head for Arkansas. This is were I realize I am without cruise control. This is bad for I am a cruise control freak. Be it 3 miles or 300 miles, I use that cruise control. It allows me to regulate my speed and give my poor footsie a rest. So...1o0 miles to drive, 75 miles an hour and no cruise. I can let my mind wonder, as per usual, for fear of speeding and getting a ticket. PT cruiser strike one. I then put my favorite CD in the player and turn it up. Bad sound system. I sounds as if the player is routing the music through a box under the hood and then to a can with a string stretched to the speakers (other can). PT cruiser strike two. The awesome hatch back doesn't fit my ladder and I have had to fold down the seats and prop it up. A hatch back car, it reminds me of my mother's Matrix. Strike three, I don't like the matrix either. I am the recipient of a great big shaft right up the tailpipe.

I went to a fire claim today. I enjoy these. They are probably the most difficult, most time consuming, and detailed oriented claim I can have. But, they do allow me to do one thing most of the others don't. I get to think, I get to go CSI on it. The people also need to be reassured and comforted more, and I feel God has blessed me with an above average ability to bring ease to people in dire straights (future Calling? Maybe). I spent two and a half hours there talking with them, this is opposed to the half hour to hour I usually spend per claim. The claim was inspected, but there was still about 3 hours worth of estimates, reports, lienholder redtape, photos, and etc to do. I hit one more claim in AK and started the miserable drive home. My cell phone battery was almost dead, and I was falling asleep at the wheel. I risked it, I call a couple of friends and persuaded them to take a break from work to help save my life. Man my friends are generous.

I get home, check the mail to find my new company car is in. Hallelujah, finally, now the fear of them finding out the rest of the deterioration of my car. So be it, I will face it head on with no excuses and no pride. If they fire me, I will become a teacher. Yeah, that sounds like fun. Or maybe I will travel with my photog uncle writing commentary, I just don't know. I know I have options though. Anyway back on topic. So I will hopefully get a new car in the next week or so. The good of the day.

Work ends, I don't feel like cooking. I check my email. I have won a pink shirt on ebay. I'm happy, but wonder if by the time I get it, will it still be kosher for straight men to wear pink. I could be buying a brand new designer dish rag, who knows. Still don't feel like cooking. Call my roommate at work, cash in a favor and get a free pizza. Hell yeah, that hits the spot. I laid on the couch for about half an hour willing myself to think of something to do so I don't veg infront of the tv. Then Drew walks in, suggest coffee shop, I'm in like Flint ( I had always thought that saying was in like Flynn as in Errol Flynn, because he was a stud and popular, but I saw a movie on AMC, one of my favorite channels now, named In like Flint, so instead of researching why I was wrong, I blindly and abruptly changed my saying and I will hope people will not notice this not so drastic change of vernacular). And here I am. La Te Da.

Now, I know you are thinking I can't believe he wasted my time with a spotty blow by blow of his day, and for that I have only one thing to say. "To know me, is to Love me."

That Guy

Today I had a "That Guy" experience. Everyone knows or has seen "that guy." He is usually the one in the group that you look on with disapproving eyes. The one idiot who does or says something that you can't believe. He's the one when he around you either laugh at him or pretend you don't know him, the one you tell your children..."Don't be that guy." Well today "that guy" was me.

As per my usually Thursday routine I went to the gym around 3:30pm. I can do this because I didn't have any work I had to get done right then. I piddled around for a while ran some, did a couple of machines and what not. I remembered there was a yoga class at five, so I had some internal debate if I would stay for it or just go home and cook dinner. Now me going home and cooking dinner wouldn't be funny, so I think you know where I am going with this one. After walking by the room a few times, I decided, what the hell, it can't hurt to go to one class...so I went. That's where it went down hill.

There were lots of people in the class. 21 to be exact. I quickly counted the males in the class on one hand...Actually on one finger, yeah, it was me. I was dripping sweat from my previous workout and sitting in the corner looking very out of place and uncomfortable. Not to mention the room had full length mirrors on three walls, so not only was I in a class with 20 reall women, I was also in a class with an infinite amount of judging women. I was sure when the class actually started I would fell better. Boy was I wrong.

Do any of you know how sensual yoga can be. Granted this was my first time to do yoga for many many years and even then it was just usually me and an old lady in the room. It's a completely different story when you are surrounded by 20 college coeds, not at all bad, but different. Yoga is a very sexual practice. I found myself having to pay particular attention to not staring.

The yoga instructor turned off the lights, which I found both a blessing and a curse. My range of vision was limited to the few people around me silhouetted from closet light. The good part was through the fumbling and intermingling of body parts, I was not in too much danger of being found out to be a big-boned klutz. The down side was I picked the side of the room with the old lady, the hefty gal, and the manly athlete. But since I was trying to keep the "Chester the molester" image on the down low, I was thankful the lights were out.

I proceeded to contort my body into many different positions...the cobra...the monkey...the jack knife...the broken dog. I laughed a little to myself and these names were called out. The mountain was fun, but I could have done with out the corpse. The mental image of a couple of hippies sitting out in the mountains smoking a doobie laced with the white lady came to mind. I can imagine them saying "Hey Man, lets make up some cool new way to exercise, man, that will incorporate Mother Earth, man, and all her glory. We'll call it yoga, man, so all the squares will be afraid, man, it will be narley." Little did they know all the yuppies, gold diggers, and bored soccer moms would embrace the brain child of the age of Aquarius.

So, I am currently lifting my left leg over my head, I have my left arm nearly missing the family maker and reaching for the right ankle. A few seconds later I'm flat on my stomach both feet in both hands, breathing through my nose, and trying not to laugh at the people around me and myself to be honest. A few seconds after that, I have actually tucked my head down so far I can lick my belly button. I resist the urge and focus on the next move...I kept wishing for something easy, boy I'm dumb.

So, the yogi (yeah like the damn bear), as the instructor called himself, had brought music for this. I am all about the music, so I was anticipating some relaxing jams for the Streeching of my already sore body. There was your typical stuff, indian flute music, enya, Mustang Sally. It was pretty standard I guess, though I questioned Mustang Sally. Then Sexual Healing came on. I was fighting with all my might not to bust out laughing and thus causing me to fall from the barking horse position. I fought the temptation well. There were snickers from me, but there were only audible by my immediate yogamates (yeah, I made that word up). I thought this couldn't have been more perfect, sexual healing, yoga, through in a bottle of cheap wine and it's an over 50's idea of a second honeymoon. At this point I wanted out more than a fat kid wants a cupcake. Unfortunately the exits were at opposite ends and I didn't want to break anyone's mental concentration. I know Sexual Healing can be trance inducing, especially while the instructor is persuading you to...and I quote..."Thrust your hips up into the reverse plank and repeat three more times." My mind flashes to a robot with flailing arms screaming "danger David Mac, danger." This went on for about an hour, then the yogi says thanks and see you later. I then hauled ass.

I was the only guy, besides the instructor there, it was like one of those bad sitcom shows where the wife drags the hubby in to "share" common interests. Except I had no significant other. I was stuck looking like a pervert coming to a class full of women. I avoided eye contact for fear seeing my future of pitched forks and torches. Me running saying "I didn't know it would be this awkward", the mob of PC upity women chasing me through the dark forest hurling tampons at me to make me feel more out of place. Scare. At least I was able to recognize I was "that guy" and knowing is half the battle. Next week, yoga, same bat time, same bat place, the only different is that class will be sans a "that guy."

Gotta Get Upstairs

Do you ever get that BLAH feeling and don't know why. It's not that anything bad has happened or is really looming in the near future. Maybe it's to much information, too many questions, or just too much stuff written down on that "To Do" list. When I get in this mood I become real lazy and apathetic. I am usually an outgoing person, but when I have "the funk," as I call it, I just don't feel like talking to anybody. I can be in a full room and be completely content not talking to anyone. I say content because I know this is the choice I have made to be in this mood. I can easily switch from sullen and pensive to happy and cheerful, but sometimes that introspective time of BLAH is good for you.

One night around 12:30- 1:00am, a buddy of mine decided he wanted to drive home. Not an uncommon decision by any means, but he lives over and hour away in Longview. I questioned the intelligence of this move and wondered if was safe for him to go, cause I am a good friend. I asked if he would have any trouble staying awake. He replied "I've got to much going on upstairs to have to worry about that." By upstairs he meant lots to think about. I've started using that phrase to describe when I have a lot on my mind. Mostly the times up stairs are for mulling over certain worries, future plans, or my loved ones.

Well, if you haven't figured, today is one of those Blah days. Lots going on upstairs and I choose not to be overtly cheerful and outgoing today. I enjoy the opportunities when I am in the right mood to just think about what's going on around me. In about 30 minutes I am going to go to the gym, put my headphones on, and listen to music as I run. Running I hate, but the music I love, plus it gives me a good reason not to talk with anyone. Everything's fine, but today is a day of thought. So be it.

In God We Trust?

I wonder about the piousness of our country. We are a nation founded on religious freedom and the ability to choose what, when, who, and why we worship what we do. But, recently it seems as if religion is only important if it doesn't conflict with politics, the bill of rights, and football schedules.

I look at other countries and the fortitude of faith they have. Take Israel for example, Sharon was not popular with everyone, but dissenters made it known that they would still pray for him and his healing. When someone mentions in a prayer to bless our President and Government, how many secretly condemn or forgo that portion of the prayer?

Take the recent tragedy stampedes. These believers travel every year to throw stones at three pillars in a symbolic gesture of defeating the devil. Albeit it may be a little strange in our eyes, but this is something they believe in with their whole being. It was widely know how dangerous that pilgrimage was. This was no the first incident of 100+ deaths, yet it did not keeps them from making the spiritual journey. Facing fear head on.

Then, and I know this is silly fiction, there are some of the movies I have seen. Religious men pushed to breaking points over there religion. Forfeiting their life in the Name of God/Allah with out batting an eye. They live in the true comfort of complete faith.

Then look at us. Afraid of stepping on others toes. Ten Commandments statues found unconstitutional at court houses, lesson plans curved to "neatly" not offend (that's a well rounded education, huh), and the controversy of "In God We Trust" on our monies . I guarantee Franklin, Jefferson, and even MLK would would be abashed at us. They would probably pull their wigs back on and kick our butts for straying from what the "Framers" of our country intended our rights to be.

How about Pat Roberts. Now there is a character. He has had to publically apologize more lately than Howard Stern's lawyers. This person is considered a religious leader.

Basically I wonder what the other countries, people, or religions do to be so united. Maybe it is the adolescence of the United States that lends to these lapses in Religious Strength. A country founded by Christians, with a majority of Christian inhabitants and leaders, yet what our country stood for is pushed aside. Not even just Christianity, but all religions are being forced into proverbial corners so is not to offend. I say it's part of religious journey. Living together despite religious choice. Learning from each other. Jesus gives examples of this; The Samaritan, the Women at the Well, etc. But no, in order to keep our worldly rights we disregard out heavenly promise and legacy. Thank God for Grace and the ability to be forgiven.

(yeah, I haven't' researched a whole lot...or really any, for the above post. So, chalk up ignorance and misinformation to misguided views, I don't really care how you think about it actually. I do know there are two sides to every story, too. Peace out.)

Nothing like a little R and R

Men are fierce when it comes to sports. Full-contact, bone crushing, no girls allowed, sports are what we live for. There are all types of manly sports...football...soccer...rugby...EXTREME racketball. Check out ESPN Ocho and you too can see the blood and sweat going into extreme racketball.

Ok so I lied. There is no organized sport called extreme racketball. There is also no such station as ESPN Ocho, but it's gaining popularity in the alleys and local gyms where you are. Or, mostly it's just a game the roommates and I came up with. Here's the scoop.

There are three people living in the Hostel (knickname of the house), we all like racketball, you're only suppose to have two people playing at a time, we have an affinity for breaking the rules or adapting rules to encompass our intentions, blend all of that together and bake on high for a hour. Let cool for 4 seconds and you have a kick butt sport.

Actually it's a game that rotates scoring positions, and therefore, at any given time pits two players against one. Drew has the advantage as having played NCAA tennis, oh yeah, and being like eight feet tall. Long arms, long legs, yeah, he sucks...at life, but not racketball. The game is fast paced and fun. There is also the added bonus of being potentially dangerous. Getting zinged with a small blue ball traveling 80 feet per second hurts when you are ten feet from your opponent.

We play mostly for exercise, but I swear we end up burning more calories from laughing at each other than the physical activity. Today I laughed to extent where I was almost falling on the ground incompasitated. This fit of laughter came at a particular dashing dive equal to that of giraffe on ice, with the end result in some one getting hit with the ball. Demented it seems, but hilarious it always is. By the way R and R, for those who still don't get it. Roomates and Racketball.

Bet You Don't Know Where I'm Going With This One

So the previous post was basically just a vomiting of thoughts in my mind, nice image huh. I noticed it has been about ten days since my last post. Apparently my link gets bumped at nine inactive days. I'm cool with that.

Right now I am sitting in my living room, all the lights in the house are off. No movement, no distractions. Just the glow of the laptop and the melody of Death Cab ringing in the dark. One of my roommates has been out of town this week, and the other one mostly uses the home as a storage unit. So that's given me a lot of time flying solo this week. It's pretty damn nice, but I do miss my peeps (that's people/homies/friends for the over thirty crowd joining us today).

These next few months are going to be crazy. I am going to be in Houston, Jackson, Dallas, New Orleans, Cincinnati, Vegas, and hopefully Baltimore all before the end of May. When I am not out of town I am going to be jammed pack with the goings on here in town. I am not complaining, 80% of those trips are going to be fun, and I do intend on maximizing the fun in each city, but I am going to have to take some time off to just be...Just Be, the essential to a mentally healthy life.

I need to squeeze some camping in there too at some point. A weekend trip to RKansas, as I call it, for some hiking and tom-foolery. You want peace? Here's how you get it. Pack a bag, hike a mountain/hill sit on top and eat lunch. No talking, little thinking, just be in the moment. That's awesome.

Colin and I hiked the shining rock trail in NC a few years ago. We sat on top of the largest quartz or granite or some kind of rock and looked out at everything and said nothing, but nothing needed to be said. One of the most peaceful moments in life. Which brings me to the best meal ever...Write this down: Get two pieces of bread, put light mayo on one slice of bread, processed cheese on the other along with a generous helping of thinly sliced turkey. Here's the hard part, put them together, and put the whole thing in zip lock bag. Now, take the sandwich and put it in your back pack. Don't worry about placing it at the top or out of harms way, it tastes better smashed a little bit. Hike 8 miles uphill. Rest on a big rock or dead tree limb. Eat sandwich, garnish with Nature's Valley Granola Bars, a pear, and luke warm water. Finish it up with half a snickers. Best meal ever. Always my first day meal on a hike. Now I'm hungry for that exact meal now. That's it, I am going hiking very soon, maybe by myself. Uncle Mike I need to borrow some gear...Stove and water filter...if you don't mind. Well, I am going to plan my trip...I know you love the randomness of my mind. Out.

Life in Slow Motion

I have found there a few things that can keep up with me. My computer doesn't move fast enough...Which leads me to yelling at it. My cell phone doesn't operate as fast as I do...Which leads me to yell at it. The coffee doesn't make fast enough...Which leads me to yell at it. So this can only lead to one conclusion. I am a pushy, stressed out mess. I have fallen into the Mcdonaldization of society. Everything pushing towards a easy, fast way out. Fast Food, single servings, microwave dinners...short cuts, detours, bypasses...artificial turf, booth reviews, uneducated heros hyped up on "roids." Where is the purity. Where is the Sunday afternoon drinking lemonade and reading a ragged copy of a Louis Lamour book? I am constantly fighting deadlines and proficiently goals. Not to mention a slew of pissed off people. I say I have the aptitude to handle it, which I do, but at times I have to let my steam off. Thank God for Golf. I can picture every dimple of the ball as some person hell bent and determined to blame me for wronging them for some trumped up charge. Grip it and Rip it. Bye Bye people, hello easy chip shot for a birdie putt (if you don't know what that means, mom, let me know and I will explain it to you). Anyway, I am off task.

I read a book called McDonaldization of Society a while ago. The basic premise of the book was how society as a whole is moving to the easy way of life at the expense of health and enjoyment. There is some faux happiness people get with a quick fix, eating away at the heart of what many of us have grown up with. (right now you are saying to yourself "what the hell is he talking about." Truth be told I don't know.) I read this book a while ago, but some of the issues still stick in my head. For example...I have recently become a pretty big baseball fan, Go Cubbies, and have always been a soccer fan. Soccer has never been a high scoring game, so the intense release of excitment after a goal is addicting. Baseball use to be the same way, but mcdonaldized now with astro turf. This makes the ball bounce differently and move faster on the ground...end result higher scores. Which leads me to another rant. Ball players making millions of dollars, arms as big around as my head, but can't string a coherent sentence together. What the deuce is that? People Suck.

Three Little Words

Damn I'm Good. Yes those three words describe my recent culinary victories. This past Thursday I cooked Lamb Tangine with potatoes and chickpeas. Sounds good, huh. Well, it was, but Dinner was served around 7pm, but cooking started at around 1pm. Yeah, that's right, that's six hour prep, marinade, and cook. That a long damn time. It began with cubing a 7.5 pound lamb. Not my most favorite thing to do. Not that I do it often, but I could be ok with not doing it again for a long while. It ended up being very good, we had 10 people over and ate on the floor. No, we did not eat off the floor, but in true Moroccan tradition, we took the top of the table off and laid it on the floor. We sat around on pillows and laughed at the exotic dinner party.

Today, for the first time, I cooked cabbage, black-eyed peas, and cornbread. It turned out to be an awesome New Years lunch. I think my favorite was the cornbread. Finally I have a cast iron skillet to make mom's secret recipe (actually it's Jiffy's recipe). It was good, good, good. Shout out to my sister for the awesome Christmas gift.

Now tonight I was roped into cooking breakfast food for a bunch of people. Three pounds of bacon, two and half pounds of sausage, 3 and half dozen eggs, and about 65 biscuits/rolls. It should be a blast. The premises was for everyone to come over here and watch movies and just relax, that is, except for the person cooking all this food. But I am not worried because I know before I go to bed I'll be able to say, "Damn I'm Good."