Tuesday, July 25, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, July 7, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
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.
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.
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