Nightmare on West Peachtree Street -- II

Before we get started, some background.

I went for a walk one Sunday night in Seattle. I want to say it was November or December 2007, after we'd set the clocks back. It was around 6:30pm, but it was night time. I was walking down the sidewalk of Queen Anne Ave at the top of the hill. There's a Safeway store up there, on the right hand side after you've made it up the hill. I was walking in front of the parking lot exit when I saw a car, a sedan, attempting to exit the lot. I crossed in front of him (or her, I didn't see) only the sedan didn't stop. I kept walking and the sedan bumped, very slowly, into my legs. It wasn't like I walked in front of the car, I was clearly crossing the exit and s/he just basically drove into me at a very low rate of speed.

Well, I was none too amused. I mean, the car wasn't going fast enough to hurt me at all or even cause me to lose my balance, but I still angry, angry at the idea of someone carelessly driving into me. I pointed at the driver and yelled "STOP" and then angrily slammed the palms of my hands into the hood, pretty hard, it made a loud noise as I recall. To my surprise, the driver of the car didn't do anything. No apology, no confrontation, nothing. So I kept walking and made sure to turn around shoot a bird at the driver, just in case there was any misunderstanding about my feelings on the matter.


The Nightmare on West Peachtree Street II started with a similar situation.


It was a city side street that I was crossing, on a busy block. I was walking down a wide street with one way traffic. The traffic was moving the opposite direction that I was. As I was attempting to cross the side street, a small Nissan pickup truck was sitting at the intersection. I was to cross in front of this truck from the driver's right to her left. While I was crossing the side street, the driver of the truck continued to inch forward. She bumped into me when I was in front of her. I looked at the driver and she shook her head, like she was saying "no". She then bumped into me again.

I stopped in front of her truck and pounded both fists into her hood and pointed at her and yelled "Stop f---ing moving!!" The driver simply looked at me, and again shook her head. I crossed the street all the way and turned around to look at her. "What are you doing?!" I demanded angrily.

Then she did something unexpected. She turned left and stopped right beside me. She stopped her truck facing the wrong way on a busy one way street. An oncoming car swerved around her at a very high rate of speed, but she didn't bat an eye. She just sat there, staring at me.

Then something very strange happened, something very very strange.

All of a sudden, I was seeing this scene unfold through her eyes. Not in a figurative sense, I mean, I was literally seeing things through her eyes, seeing myself standing on the sidewalk in my gray hoodie.

"I" looked down at the floor board of the truck, looked at "my" pink slip on shoes on "my" chocolate colored feet. "I" brushed "my" hand underneath the seat, but didn't feel anything. Then, "I" opened the glove compartment... and pulled out a silver revolver.

"I" cocked the revolver and lifted it up above the window.

It should be noted here that while I can see what she is seeing, my emotions have remained with me. So at this point, when she lifts the revolver above the window of the truck, I can see myself, my real self, standing on the sidewalk, but at the same time, what is about to happen is just now started to occur to me, the real me.

"I" hold the revolver up and see a look of dread and panic cross my face.

I'd picked the wrong person, clearly. This woman was just plain vanilla crazy, and she was going to take my life away.

"I" pointed the revolver right at the middle of the hoodie. Without any consideration or remorse, without any emotion or second thought, "I" pulled the trigger one time. That was all "I" needed to do. "I" watched my chest explode. And "I" just sat there, still facing oncoming traffic. "I" had no thoughts, no feelings. And "I" didn't move a muscle.

Then, like a movie, honest to goodness, the entire dream went white, bright white, that's all I could see.

When an image returned, I don't know whose eyes I was looking through. The vantage point was apparently on a dock near a river or lake. "I" saw three large men holding a large beige sack. Though "I" could not see inside the sack, "I" knew that it contained my lifeless body. There was no doubt. The men tossed the sack into the water and turned to walk away.

Commercial Liberties Part II

Bet you thought I wouldn't get around to writing this.

The Wendy's commercials really get on my nerves these days.

It's way better than fast food. It's Wendy's!

I don't have a problem with Wendy's saying that they're better than other fast food establishments, although I would find the veracity of that statement to be questionable as well. Wendy's is usually good in a pinch, I mean, you never set off to go to Wendy's, you always just sort of end up there. A few weeks ago, I was really craving some Krystal. I got in the car and started driving, not really knowing the location of the nearest Krystal. I got in I-75 north and began heading out of Atlanta, sure that I'd find a Krystal sooner or later. Before I knew it, I was 45 miles north of Atlanta. Out loud, I said to myself "I'm getting some dad gum Krystal." And I did, eventually. I could just never see myself going to those lengths to get Wendy's, literally willing myself to another exit, reaffirming my desire to eat their food with profane proclamations.

Any why not? Because it's just plain ole vanilla - wait for it - FAST FOOD. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I don't set out on quests for McDonald's or Burger King. But then, to be fair, I don't get angry with, well scratch that, the "i'm lovin it" ad campaign by McDonalds is pretty bad. Maybe that should be Part III of this series if Maddox hadn't already nailed it. Point is, I get a little bit irritated by this red headed step child telling me that her product is "way better than fast food."

Let's talk about the Wendy's "experience", shall we?

Does it involve:

-Making your meal selection from a large board? YES
-Iterating your order through a mircophone from a car window? YES
-Specifiying your meal as "small", "medium", or "large" (or "Biggie")? - YES
-Reading a sign informing you that you are under 24 hour video survelliance? YES
-Wondering idly What the hell is going on back there? YES
-Passing your money/ credit card through a window framed in bullet proof glass? YES
-Getting a drink, but not your food, until your payment is secured? YES
-Receiving your food in a paper bag with each item wrapped it its own container? YES
-Checking to ensure that your order is correct before you drive away? YES
-Being really pissed off if all of the above took more than five minutes? YES
-Tipping your server? NO

How, exactly, is that not fast food? If it isn't fast food, if it's on some sort of greater plane of existance, then what is it? Why play us for a bunch of fools?

Here are some other ideas, going along with Wendy's theme:

Budweiser: Way better than American beer

Lortab: Way better than a pain pill

Morton: Way better than iodized salt


Get the picture? I think that little red headed step child should watch Donnie Brasco toward the end, where Joe Pistone tells his wife "...I am them." And his wife is saddened, crushed that what she knew all along was now confirmed, he's no better than 'them', no different. Wendy's reminds me of what they say about crabs in bucket, how when one crab attempts to climb out, the other crabs will pull him back into the bucket. Only in this case, the crab trying to climb out is Wendy's marketing team, the other crabs are Wendy's attributes, and the bucket is, I don't know, a grease stained paper bag. And the old, salty fisherman watching it all is me, saying "What a bucha morons. On another note, I wish I could be on Deadliest Catch just for one season. I think I could do it. I wish that they hadn't revised all the regulations up there. The show was better when it was a true open season, I think."

I think that people typically like the idea of eating crab moreso than actually doing it. Crab legs are a lot of work, and the yield of meat is really pretty low when you think about it. Deviled crab is good, you get more food and you don't make such a mess doing it. The flavor is really good too. I tried to order a manhattan and deviled crab at Wendy's once. They told me they carry either of those things because they're a fast food restaurant.

Thoughts from the LSU game....

So yesterday I decided to do something a little different. Sans a game ticket, I decided to take some notes as I was watching the game. The last time I did anything like this was the live blog I participated in on this forum for the Tennessee game in 2007. Though I didn't consider this at 3:35p yesterday, that 07 Tennessee game was the last time I've seen us lose on television.

Anyway, here are my notes. I'm not editing or adding to anything that I wrote down yesterday:

1st Quarter:

15:00 - Hairy Dawg fell coming onto the field? Bad omen?
15:00 - Rather start on D - get it out of the way
15:00 - Fields at FB?
13:30 - Bad ball. 1st down was there.
13:18 - Don't believe in JJefferson
12:09 - Knock him down Evans!
11:43 -What zone?
9:50 - Good pick - down it!!
8:34 - That would've been 6 easy
7:05 - Lot of LSU line surge
5:36 - Twice they've taken it down. Get a stop maybe?
3:51 - (3-0). Could be 14-0
3:51 - They are scared of Boykin - only one good return this year
2:07 - Wow. AJ = game changer.
1:01 - 3 drives - all punts. Promise now.
End 1: 14-0, 7-3? Go figure. We survived.

2nd Quarter

13:10 - Shepard can't throw? Jefferson will.
11:12 - Way to go Reshad! Nice option read.
10:55 - Heads up play by Bam. Let's get some O.
10:04 - If M Moore trails, it's an Immaculate Reception
9:55 - We can't run it
9:48 - How long can we survive w/ no offense?
8:24 - We have to be more physical
7:40 - Missed a hold? Soft zone - Bryan Evans? Stunning.
6:00 - Are we using 9 on defense this entire time?
5:43 - Did Reshad watch a Greg Blue highlight tape?
4:09 - Game changes here post 4th down
3:12 - See you later momentum

Halftime - Les left some points on the field. Stats would suggest a worst score. Cox needs to settle down. Wouldn't mind seeing Logan Gray. We can't run. Still feel good. LSU could've made some space on the scoreboard and didn't. CFB doesn't give so many 2nd chances. Think we will survive, still.

3rd Quarter

13:40 - Blitzes create mismatches? Really?
13:14 - Inspired D
12:30 - Short field. Let's make something happen!
8:43 - Seeing some punch. Missed FG. How games are lost
7:07 - Logan on a punt return near midfield? Not trusting Prince?
7:02 - Burn the shirt?! Good run though
5:12 - Washaun got the block down
3:57 - Orson finally! Nice conversion
3:57 - BS flag. Strip all emotion out

4th Quarter

15:00 - Wow, look at the clock. Hope you took the under. Offense looking good. When was last time we've been shutout through 3? Aub 2004? Let's win the 4th. Feel real good.
14:15 - Stonewalled up the middle all day. Great call for the TD.
13:12 - Missed a chance for a pick, Dewberry
12:19 - Another good stop. Defense looks really stout.
11:40 - How in the world was that not grounding?
11:20 - D getting much better rush
10:19 - K Weston is making some money today
9:50 - I trust Logan to catch anything
6:47 - Drew Butler is our MVP this yr
5:53 - Thought Bam had the sack. BIG conversion
5:25 - LSU moving. Don't like how this feels
4:32 - You have to keep contain, right? Long run JJeff
2:53 - TD LSU, big stop on 2pt. Let's go to work!
1:09 - Oh my goodness. What a catch. Again
1:09 - BS flag -- again
:54 - Wow, BS flag was huge
:46 - You tackle so well all day. Cold water.
:42 - Another?! BS flag -Bad blocking on the kick
:29 - Get the damn snap up
:21 - INT. Game. Hated the celebration flags on both teams. So proud of us today, moreso than SC or Arky. I am so damn proud of us, how we fought back. This team has heart, guts. I hope this doens't break us. We could be 5-0 or 0-5. Glad it's plus in the middle. Hard to swallow. This team wears the uniform the right way. Again, couldn't be prouder. My heard bleeds for these kids today.

Thoughts from the Oklahoma State Trip...

I realize that this is a little late. What can I say?


We flew into Dallas, which is about three and a half hours south of Stillwater. It was around $180 per person round trip to fly to Dallas. We actually could have, technically, flown into Wichita (about half the distance to Stillwater) for $160 a person, but in order to get that fare, we would have had to fly out at 5:50a Sunday morning, which we weren't too keen on doing. My brother has never been to Texas before either and kind of wanted to see it. There were a couple of Georgia fans on the plane to Dallas and it was neat talking to them about the game and roster and what not. I take a lot of pride in putting on a nice UGA shirt for a trip like that. I very well remember walking around Pike's Place Market in Seattle one September Friday afternoon in 2007. That was the weekend Ohio State was in town to play Washington. I was very impressed with how much Ohio State stuff I saw at Pike's that day and it really underscored to me the importance of being identifable when you go on a trip like that.

My brother looked up a few "authentic" Texas type places where we could eat Friday and Sunday lunch. I mean, we can eat McDonalds or Arby's here. The real gems are the local places, and we certainly found on Friday.

"Big Fatty's Spankin Shack" is located in the town square of Valley View Texas, a town of less than 800 people on I-35 about 45 miles north of Dallas. The place sits in what looks like a large metal outbuilding and is only marked by a large canvas sign tied to a trellis in front of the building. It was around 2:30p local time when we walked in. There were probably 8 tables in the entire restaurant. only one of which, a table for five, was occupied. As we walked in, everyone at that table turned and looked at us, with steel, unwelcoming eyes. I want to say that one bearded mesh back hat individual stopped his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth and at our entrance, but that may be a bit of an embellishment. Their faces, to a person, said silently "What is this f***ing s**t?!"

The waiter, who looked to be one of two people working there, was an older black man with hair halfway down his back said to us "sit anywhere you like fellas". He looked like an aged hippy and very far out of place given the other ambiance, which included a "Shut your f***ing mouth" candle, a wooden sign that said "shut up and eat", wooden tables, floors and walls, and a dry erase board with a magic marker made list of the day's side dishes. We sat down at a table near the dry erase board and not too close to the other table. The menus were already on the table. As we were looking the menus over, the other table got up to leave. After paying their bill and leaving my brother said "Man, did you see how those guys looked at us? That was awesome. If it's this much of a local place, you know it's going to be good."

I ordered the chopped brisket plate, which came with Texas toast and two sides (french fries and potato salad for me). About five minutes later, I was presented with a massive plate of food that probably included 3/4 lbs of chopped brisket. I was really hungry after not having had anything to eat that day. The brisket was quite simply the best I've ever had in my life. It was better without the sauce, really. The perfect amount of smoke flavor, not dried out, very little gristle or fat. The potato salad was very creamy, almost the same texture as creamed corn. Just a hell of a good lunch.

We stopped off at a gas station before re-entering the I-35. Our rental car, a black Chevy Impala, had a big oval G magnet on the passenger door and a black Georgia car flag on the driver's side. As I sat in the car, I noticed some Univ of Oklahoma fans at one of the gas pumps. An older guy with an OU shirt on looked at me and pumped his fists a few times. I said "We'll clean 'em up for you.." Flying into Dallas I hadn't really thought about the game being played there, but I noticed a good number of BYU fans in DFW and had noticed a lot of OU stuff going down the other side of the interstate, including the OU football team on four charter busses with two police cruisers in front and two in back. Seeing the Brigham Young University stuff around DFW, I thought "man, it's kind of sad that they've come all this way and they're going to see their team take a whipping..."

If I was a tornado, I'd really like Oklahoma. I had to make a Red Bull stop on I 35 because I got so drowsy driving mile after mile over flat land. We rolled into Guthrie, about 20 miles south of Stillwater, around 4:30p. That was the closest hotel we could find, though Stillwater isn't exactly Las Vegas when it comes to room space.

After a scouting trip to Stillwater and dinner in Guthrie, we hit the rack early Friday night.

6:15a came quickly, but some mornings you just don't need any coffee to get going. The early morning greated us with a foggy drive up to Stillwater and horn honks and fist pumps for the other Georgia fans on I-35 that morning.

I have to say that the Oklahoma State people were the classiest fans I've ever met in my life. Walking around Stillwater that morning, people were rolling down their windows yelling "Welcome to Stillwater" and "Thanks for coming guys!" Eating breakfast at a local donut shop, locals in Oklahoma State gear would come up to us and say "We appreciate you coming out here fellas" and things of that nature, like we'd done them a favor. It was really something. I figure at most SEC schools we would've heard some VERY colorful langage by that time, to say the least. Not here though. It was really something.

We hit this place called Willy's Saloon for pregame drinks. Willy's proudly displayed a sign along the back wall that said "Garth Brooks First Public Performances: 1985-1987." Willy's is the kind of place where the men's bathroom has a trough urinal and no mirror on the wood panel walls. We stayed there until just before kickoff and had some great talks with the OSU people.

Then the game happened.

Walking outside of the stadium, I got really upset at what had just happened. This was different that Florida or tech, it just felt different. I could almost feel some tears welling up in my eyes. It was just a feeling more of great saddness than anger.

One of my softball games a few weeks ago didn't go very well. I hit leadoff that night and went 0-3 and actually made the first and last outs of the game. I was flipping through this BoDeans CD that I had in the car on the way back to Atlanta and was really in a blue funk over the way I'd played and some other stuff as well. I found this song pretty much by accident and felt that it summarized how I was feeling to a "T".

That's the song that I felt summed up the Oklahoma State game pretty well too. It sure was a sad, long walk out of the stadium. No taunts from the Oklahoma State people though, as I'd come to expect.

We headed back to Dallas Sunday afternoon and stopped at a place in Sanger Texas called "Babe's Chicken Dinner House". After a 20 minute wait, we were seated in the middle of this large resturant that featured waitresses taking turns singing karoke. They don't even bother with menu's at Babe's. You pick a meat (Chicken Fried Steak, Fried Chicken, and a few other similar choices) and it comes with family style sides of biscuits, green beans, mashed potatos and gravy, and creamed corn. We both got the chicken fried steak.

While waiting for our food, we noticed that a line of waitresses were standing in the middle of the restaurant line dancing to the song another waitress was singing, in this case "The hokie pokie". I said to my brother, in a semi loud voice "Oh, so it's like a Joe's Crab Shack...." with "serious sarcasm" as usual. We both chukled, and then he leaned across the table and said "when you said that, that old woman sitting to your right gave you the meanest 'eat s**t' look you can imagine for about five seconds." Welcome back to Texas. I really respect a place that doesn't need me for anything.

The flight home was quiet and we got back into Atlanta around 8:30p, less than 60 hours after we'd left. It's always kind of sad to see a trip end that you anticipate for so long. You think of the things that have to be juggled and worked out just for the trip to happen. Then it does, you don't win, and it's over before you know it. And now, South Carolina is only a couple of days away. Now the focus will shift to planning the Florida game.

Another trip is in the books though. Three times now in the past year I've been able to get on a plane to watch Georgia play football or baseball and for that I'm incredibly grateful. For the frustration of having to pay $150/ each for tickets or all those hidden costs of a rental car, or the hassle of finding a hotel room and choosing which airport to fly into, you can't really assign a value to the experience of eating at a place like Big Fatty's or drinking beers on a Saturday morning in Willy's saloon. I don't really have any urge to travel internationally. I just have too much fun seeing this country.

I don't understand

So, I ran across some interesting news tonight in my browsing of the message boards.

The Oklahoma State - Georgia game has been designated a "premium" game by the Cowboy athletic department. This means that Oklahoma State did not make any single game tickets available. You have to a be season ticket holder (or student) to get tickets to the Georgia game. Oklahoma State projects to sell around 44,000 season tickets this season. They gave UGA 5,000. The stadium seats 60,000. Apparently, there are going to be 11,000 empty seats for the game Sept 5.

Check out the Oklahoma State board. The OSU people are saying "It'll look like a sellout on TV." That's the best they can come up with apparently.

This kind of burns me up because I heard (though did not verify) that Oklahoma State would not sell season tickets to Georgia residents. It seems to me that they're leaving an awful lot of money on the table. We took 20,000 people to Tempe last year, so I'm sure we would have taken 16,000 to Stillwater if we were given the excess allotment. These tickets are $100.00 face value. Do the math. With 11,000 projected empty seats, if Oklahoma State would only sell HALF (either to UGA or their own fans as single game tickets), they'd gross $550,000.00. That's an awful lot of money that they are almost certainly foregoing, only to severely limit the opposition's numbers and goad your own fans into buying season tickets.

I really do fail to see how that model makes any real sense... I'm sure that the rest of the coaches throughout their athletic department are thrilled that Oklahoma State left a gross payday guaranteed to be over a half a million dollars sitting on the table. I'm sure that the local business in Stillwater are thrilled about the prospect of several thousand people who would have come out, bought beers, food, merchandise, stayed in hotel rooms, you name it, not doing any of that because the Oklahoma State athletic department decided to only sell the Georgia game to season ticket holders. It cuts both ways. It's obviously a rough economy, so why would you try and force your own fans to lay out several hundred dollars a piece for season tickets when they don't want to? And why would you take revenue away from your local businesses?

I'm wondering who benefits from Oklahoma State's ticket policy for this game, and honest to goodness, I cannot come up with one entity. Oklahoma State has pointed to the Georgia game as a chance to show that they are a national program, an emerging powerhouse. More power to them, it's a great opportunity for them to do so. But I have to say, that's very much a bush league approach by their athletic department, and it says anything but "elite", in my view.

Nightmare on West Peachtree Street

I don't know why I felt this was necessary, although I suppose that the follow up would answer the question.

He was wearing a blue hat and riding a bicycle in front of the High Museum of Art, moving right to left as a stared at him from my apartment balcony. Lifting my 30.06 rifle to my right shoulder and holding it with my left hand, I put the iron sight on him. The tip of the rifle was very steady and I was calm. I squeezed the trigger, the rifle fired, but nothing happened. He was not knocked off of his bicycle and not affected in the least. I didn't fire a second shot, rather, went back inside my apartment. I don't know why.

About 10 minutes later, I noticed a ladder resting on the outer half of the balcony rail. I walked outside to see that the ladder extended down to a balcony two floors below mine. I didn't think much of it and walked back inside.

A few minutes later, I walked back outside. I don't know why, I just did. I looked down the ladder to see the guy with the blue hat climbing up. He was very deliberate and methodical. He didn't miss a step. I walked back inside. I don't know why.

Several seconds later, I looked up to see him climbing off of the ladder and onto the balcony.

I said out loud, "He's going to kill me."

I ran for the door and attempted to lock it behind me. I don't know why. It's not like he can't unlock it from the inside. I could feel him pulling the door open as I attempted to hold it shut. Looking down the hall, I figured I had two options. I could go for the elevator or the stairs. As time was quite a consideration, I went for the stairs. As I sprinted for the door to the stairwell. I could feel him behind me. If I could just get down one flight of stairs I could, theoretically, lose him.

I'm sprinting down the first row of stairs when I hear the door swing open behind me. "He saw me" I think to myself, and I think again "This man is going to kill me."

I'm almost down one floor when I hear him yell "HEY PEACOCK." I freeze, dead in my tracks, and look up. We lock eyes.

And then I woke up.

One over Zero

I remember that old Clint Black song that went "Ain't in funny how a melody/ Can bring back a memory/ Take you to another place in time/ Completely change your state of mind?"

I've written about this before, elsewhere, but that song "Know it All" by Lagwagon always takes me back to 2006. I graduated school that May, took a trip that July, moved back to my parent's house in August as my lease at my college house ran out, moved to Providence Rhode Island for about two months in October for the company training program, and then moved to Seattle to begin work at the end of November.

I guess it was the first or second Friday that I was there, I found myself up late in my hotel (excuse me, "temporary living"), drinking a can of Bud Light and listening to that Lagwagon song on YouTube. I started thinking about Athens and home and everything that had happened this year already.

It's funny, the things you remember. What seems significant after the fact, and what doesn't. Earlier today I was talking to my dad about the last fishing trip I took in Destin, last August. I said "You know, we got out there, it was really hot, I started feeling sick, hadn't slept much the night before, and was really feeling bad. We weren't catching any fish either. We were about 40 miles out, right around the edge of the continental shelf. And it's funny, I remember being irritated that we weren't catching anything then, I was a little bent out of shape about it. But looking back, I don't remember it for that reason. I was kind of mad at that moment, but even by the next day I didn't really care...."

I tend to remember things more favorably after the fact that I experience them, if that makes sense.

I didn't like my first place in Seattle very much. It was actually in Renton, and I didn't care for the neighborhood. I was so happy that I only signed a six month lease there and was overjoyed at the prospect of moving out. There was so much street noise outside that I spent the last two months or so that I lived there sleeping on my couch. How silly is that? Looking back at it though, I remember how nice it was to come home and build a fire in my fireplace. I remember how the shower had a small window about five feet up the wall that you were supposed to slide open while you bathed, to allow the steam to escape. When I first moved in, I was getting up around 6:30a each morning for work. I remember I'd crack that window open in the shower and feel the frigid January air hitting my wet face. I'd stare out the window at the cars driving down the street, it was still "night" time outside. I'm glad I can remember the place for that and not for the Sunday morning when I lay on my couch, listening to my neighbors screaming at each other, five or six different voices, and wondering if there would be a weapon involved at any point. I'm glad that I remember the Saturday night sushi dinners I used to eat in my dark living room, illuminated only by the fire and the movie on television and not the street bikes that would wake me up in the middle of the night.

I remember laying on that couch, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace and scheming about ways to move back home. I thought about the line from opening of "Lucky Number Sleven" that went "Guy wants what the fellas call a sure thing, so he schemes to make it so." And I thought that I was going to make going back home a "sure thing", because I missed it. I missed what I remembered.

Now, I miss living up there. Not Renton as much as Seattle, the second place I lived. I'm glad that I remember the long walks in the evening and the scenery, not the horrible traffic or passive aggressive mentality of that city. I'm glad I miss the city living, not having to find a place to park on the street when you're exhausted at the end of the day. I'm glad that I miss the fun I had, not the frustration of trying to learn how to do my job.

I'm glad when I listen to "Know it All", I remember 2006 for its ups, and not its downs. There were plenty of the latter. It had to be the most up and down year of my life. But I remember the ups. And of the downs, I appreciate what it took to get through those.

Commercial Liberties Part I

It seems to me that, these days, companies are taking some real liberties with their commercial advertisements. Here are some of the worst offenders.

Part I. Blue Bell Ice Cream

Known for their ultra-cheesy guitar strung song lyrics such as:

I remember our old country home.
The sweet fresh air, the flowers blowing in the breeze, along the path, beside our swimmin' hole.
Momma yelling through the screen,
Would you kids like some home made ice cream?
That was such a simpler time and place...
Blue Bell taste just like the good ol' days...

And more recently

Blue Bell home made ice cream
Is home made country style
The tip of the top
The cream of the crop
Like havin' your own ice cream shop
Blue Bell home made ice cream
Is home made country style
And Blue Bell
Is better by a country smile

The latter song is the "new" one I guess, based on the fact that I hear it several times every time I listen to the Braves on the radio. Among the many problems I have with this commercial:

1. "Home made ice cream"...

Well, no it's not. It's produced in a factory... Well, let me clarify. It's produced in a "Production Facility" (ie, not a home). The following is from the FAQ from Blue Bell's website:

Q: Why do you call yourselves "the Little Creamery in Brenham" if you can make enough ice cream to supply all of these areas?

A: "The Little Creamery in Brenham" is an accurate description of the way our entire company operates using old-fashioned ideals. We make our ice cream the old-fashioned way- using the best ingredients, maintaining close attention to detail, and working at every stage to make sure the ice cream is perfect. We focus strongly on service, both in providing an excellent product at an excellent price, and in working closely with our customers to make sure we are doing all that we can to ensure that they are pleased to have Blue Bell items in their store.

Q: I heard you have two other production facilities, one in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma and one in Sylacauga, Alabama. What do they make there, and where does that ice cream go?

A: The purpose of the two plants is to support the Brenham production facility by providing some products, mostly half gallons, to our northern and southeastern-most distribution areas. The Broken Arrow area includes: Oklahoma, Kansas, Arkansas and Missouri. The Sylacauga area includes: Alabama, Georgia, Florida, Tennessee, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina and South Carolina.


When you read those FAQ answers, even they are full of it. "We make our ice cream the old fashioned way"... The "old fashioned way" involves a hand crank you know... I'd really love to know how many people are sitting around the Production Facility hand cranking an ice cream maker. Wikipedia's entry on Blue Bell (and go ahead and question the veracity, I always do) states that the 580,000 sq ft Production Facility in Brenham Texas uses 60,000 gallons of milk of per day. The facility employs 850 people. If every one of those employs works 24 hours per day making ice cream "the old fashioned way" then over 70 gallons of ice cream would have to be produced per person in order to not waste any milk. On the bright side, that's not quite 3 gallons per person, per hour, but I still have to think that making ice cream "the old fashioned way" probably means labor camp like conditions and extremely sore shoulders. I imagine that there is probably a person banging a drum to keep rhythm like the ship on "Ben Hur".... He probably yells things like "CHILLING SPEED".... and then "CRYSTALLIZATION SPEED...." Either that, or it's not really "home made the old fashioned way", but rather mass produced, just like you'd expect from a self termed "Production Facility" that occupies over 13 acres of land.

2. Home made [sic] country style:

What does this even mean? Which feature of the mass production of Blue Bell Ice Cream makes it "country style"? This is one thing that is particularly galling to me... the use of an adjective to conjure an image itself, rather to accurately describe the noun. Take that "Alabama" song which has a line that reads "Make a little lovin/ little turtle dovin/ on a Mason-Dixon night." If I'm reading that right, the love filled evening could best be described as "an invisible line that separates Pennsylvania and Delaware from Maryland and West Virginia"?! Boy I tell ya, today was one tough 38th parallel Monday.... Of course there really is no such thing as "country style", otherwise I'm sure the song or other advertisements would define "country style" in some way.... I mean, "Country Fried" is a certain way of preparing beef, I get that, but there's no such thing as "country style" ice cream, especially if it's mass produced, and now we're back to point one. This morning I made some coffee "30309 style"... See how silly that is?

3. The whole premise of the song.

I could see, I guess, writing a song about ice cream itself, especially if you were trying to appeal to a group of first graders. But who would write a song about a BRAND of a ice cream? It's not a diddy like "By Mennan...." or something to that effect, it's supposed to sound like a country song about Blue Bell Ice Cream. Can you imagine some polka band sitting down to write a song about Sargento cheese? It's the same thing.

4. Lack of respect.

The is what bothers me the most, not only about Blue Bell, but some of the other ones I plan to write about too. The Blue Bell commercial that's playing now, the diddy about "home made country style" ice cream... I think that it almost assumes a level of compete idiocy on the part of the listener if he's going to do anything other than roll his eyes and later write a blog about it. Whenever I hear that, or any other Blue Bell commercial, I have to think "They must not take me for too much...."

Or maybe they do. Maybe their goal is to make commercials so cheesy and bad that I'll talk about it later and "any buzz is good buzz." Well, not this time. I hearby pledge that I will never buy Blue Bell Ice Cream for the rest of my life.

I'm boycotting you country style.


Next up. Part II -- Wendy's.

To Update

From a few posts below:

It's been two weeks and I have yet to see my $40.00 show up at my office. I think I may have gotten worked.

That's really too bad. I thought that I was doing a good thing at the time, helping someone out who was genuinely in need. But now it looks like my kindness may have been taken advantage of. It would be nice to get it back, but I'm no longer holding my breath.


It was 97 degrees in Atlanta today. I climbed onto a roof around 2:30pm. It was so hot that I could feel literally feel the heat rising up through my shoes, and found myself shifting my feet around wondering if I was going to get burned. They call it "Hotlanta" for a reason. But it's hardly the hottest city in the country. Phoenix and Tucson in Arizona are renowned for their "dry heat", but I've always heard that Houston is the "hottest" city in America. I can believe it too, from the three weeks I spent down there last November. I can only imagine that place in August. Some people also say that Atlanta traffic is the worst in the country, but I know that isn't true. Traffic is worse in Houston and Seattle, those two I can personally vouch for. Boston and New York are also infamous for having some of the worst traffic in America. I guess the point is that what seems bad here is worse in Houston (haha).... Or better put, it's always worse somewhere else. And while nobody wants to deal with unbearable heat, anyone who tells you that they'd rather be cold than hot has never REALLY been cold. But get this, here's something I never knew. I learned this from a "Welcome to Atlanta" book I picked up right around this time last year. The city of Atlanta actually has more days during the year where the temp is under 32 degrees than over 90 degrees.

So I guess we have misconceptions here about heat, traffic, and the veracity of someone's promise to pay back $40.00 borrowed in a grocery store parking lot.

Swing-and-a-miss

So I dug into the right handed batter's box... although it would probably more accurate to say that I "fell" into it, given that my left foot sank into the indention there that has been rutted out by countless players before me. I wanted to take some pitches this time, I felt that in my last at bat I had been too aggressive and swung at a pitch that I didn't really like. I still got on base, but I didn't square the ball up the way I wanted to. It was a 2-0 count and the pitcher dropped in a called strike, so it was now 2-1. I hate looking at pitches. The longer I stand up there, the more I think and the worse I go. If it were up to me, I'd swing at the first pitch every time just so I didn't have to stand up there, think about my stance, remind myself to keep my back foot "in the bucket" as I always tell myself, continually size up the 3B and SS, make sure my back elbow is up, am I open enough?, what does a good pitch look like?, are my hands in the right place?.... I hate it. The longer I stand there, the more questions I ask myself and the more unlikely it seems that I'll get a hit.

So after looking at three pitches in this at bat, I wanted to swing, dad gummit. I didn't want to have to continue going over that silly checklist in my mind... In the batter's box, I'm like a fat kid at the swimming pool; just a little bit uncomfortable.

The fourth pitch was getting swung at, no matter what. It came in and was pretty far outside. By this time, I'd convinced myself that I couldn't tell a bad pitch from a good one. I stepped toward with my front foot and put a long, loopy swing on the ball. And missed. Before the catcher could throw it back to the pitcher I turned around and said "That won't ever happen again." And so far this season, it hasn't.

One of my all time favorite songs is Solsbury Hill by Peter Gabriel. See the live version of it here.
I've spent a good deal of debating on what the song was REALLY about. Some years ago I thought I found an answer. I thought it was about coming to terms with your faith. But not just coming to terms with your faith, but CELEBRATING it. This analysis seemed to fit the song perfectly and for a while I was content that I'd solved it.

I read an interpretation of it once that put the terms in context of a person being committed to a mental institution, not by his choice, and his feelings of being taken away from (or to?) there. But I never liked that one very much, and always felt the my faith my interpretation was more fitting, particularly given some the lines in the song: "turning water into wine"... "I will show another me/ Today I don't need a replacement/ I'll show them what the smile on face meant"... and "I did not believe the information/ I just had to trust imagination..."

I would also be remiss if I didn't point out how often I'd sing this song to myself on my nightly walks around Queen Anne in Seattle when I'd reach the Kerry Park viewpoint (because I'm awesome like that). No matter how many times I saw this, I always admired it. Often, I'd repeat the first two lines of "Solsbury Hill" to myself when passing by or admiring this view of the city.

So the other night, completely randomly, I read Peter Gabriel's entry on Wikipedia. There was a section devoted to Gabriel's departure from "Genesis" to go out on his own. And there it was, in cold black and white.... "Solsbury Hill, Gabriel's début single as a solo artist, was written specifically about his departure from Genesis." Read the entire entry here. While I do know that one shouldn't trust completely what is found on Wikipedia, I was still a little bit floored. If I had a nickel for everytime I've listened to "Solsbury Hill" and been moved by it, on one level or another.... well, I'd have a lot of nickels. I just couldn't believe that I missed it though, what the song was actually about. I didn't need to listen to it again, I knew that it fit Gabriel's departure from "Genesis" like a rubber glove. And sure, it COULD be about accepting and celebrating faith. But it isn't. At least, now I don't think it is. I just think it's about Peter Gabriel leaving "Genesis"... And that's fine. It doesn't diminish my apprecation of the song any, and to be honest, when I hear it, I'm still going to go to my analysis of it, I think. It just bothers me that, for all the time I put into it, I was probably wrong. Or was wrong.

There's no catcher to turn around to and say "that won't ever happen again".... But still, that same ticked off feeling is there, of a swing-and-a-miss.

Thoughts from the Arizona Trip

I originally posted the following on a message board shortly after my trip to Arizona for the UGA v. UA baseball series that took place back in late Feb.

So last weekend my brother and I went to Arizona for the weekend to see UGA play baseball against Univ of Arizona. We both had a really good time at the Arizona State football game last year and we both got some pretty good deals on airfare for this trip. So why not?

He flew down from New York to Atlanta and we were both on the same flight to Phoenix. I really like the Delta 767's and 757's that have the TV's built into the seatbacks... This was one such flight, and those things really make the flight go by faster. Not to mention they have to be a good revenue generator for Delta.... I know I personally buy something pay-per-view on about every flight that I take.

So we land in Phoenix around 1:00pm local time. It was funny. Walking outside, I remembered how, the last time I was there, EVERYONE was wearing Georgia stuff. That football game was really an invasion, I was so proud of the way our fans traveled for that. But this time, it was a little cooler outside, and no other oval G's to be found.

We rented a Jeep Wrangler for the drive down to Tucson, which is a little under two hours (keep that time in mind). I got a pretty good deal on the Jeep from Fox Rental Car off of Orbitz. I'd never heard of Fox before, and was wondering if it was just some guy named something like Mike Fox, who was going to let us drive his Jeep for the weekend. But it seemed to be a legit operation. We had to wait around for several minutes at the counter while someone "retrived" our rental. The first person who was helping us shifted to another terminal to help another customer. While she was doing that, a manager walked out, looked at us, and then looked at the first woman who had assisted us. The manager said "Is anyone helping them?" The clerk responded "Yeah, Carlos has gone to pick up the Jeep." Right on cue, I said "Yeah, he took the coat hanger with him." Moderately funny I guess. But both my brother and I started laughing and couldn't stop. I was legitimately doubled over for a good two minutes imagining some kid stealing a Jeep Wrangler, running it through a car wash, and then renting it to us. Guess that just spoke to what kind of mood I was in.

So we peeled the top down on Jeep, which is a whole lot more trouble than taking the top down on a Ford Mustang like we rented last time in Arizona. Still, it was nice and warm, and always good to feel the wind in your hair as you drive down the interstate. We stopped for lunch at an In & Out Burger, right next to that theater where I'd watched "Burn After Reading" when I was trying to kill time on the Monday last September, in Casa Grande Arizona.

It's always neat to me to be able to remember locations in far away places like that. I remember going to Seattle back in summer 2006 for a week long trip, it was before before I found out I was moving there. Anyway, I'd been to this restaurant on Bainbridge Island once before, all the way back in 2003. But I wanted to go again and wanted to take the ferry and what not. Without any directions or anything, I was able to walk right to that restaurant. Things like that make me happy, to see something and "know" a place, even if you haven't been there for several months, or even a few years. Incidently, the weekend after the Tucson trip I made a trip to the northwest, flew into Seattle and drove with some friends to Whistler BC. We were there for a few days and had a day to spend in Seattle. I had several hours of alone time to spend in Seattle on that Monday and I spent it walking around my old neighborhood and wound up eating lunch at the same Bainbridge Island restaurant. I think two of the best days of my life included eating a meal there. I don't know how things like that happen, they just do. You live a day and remember it months or years later and wish like anything you go back and do it again. To know that there is a place like that literally thousands of miles away and I "know it" and I've experienced it... It's a feeling that I take great pride and great comfort in having. And Casa Grande Arizona is one such place. I don't know for sure, but I bet I'll see Doc's on Bainbridge Island once more and I bet I'll see Casa Grande again one day too.

We pulled into Tucson around 4:30pm. Game started at 7:00pm. The Arizona stadium was about 3/4 of a mile from the hotel, easy walk. After getting settled into the hotel, we had a beer at the hotel bar and proceeded to the stadium to see UGA's first real test of the year. Though we came in 5-0, the five wins were over Youngstown State and Presbyterian. We knew Arizona would be in a different league. Driving and walking around Tucson in the dry heat, I tried to imagine what it would be like to go to school there, to live there. What a different "place" in so many ways, than Athens.

All of Frank Sancet Stadium is general admission. I like sitting as low as possible at ball games, so that worked out great. We grabbed a seat on the second row, just to the right of our 3rd base dugout. Row one is essentially at field level, and you could hear the players and coaches in the dugout from our seats. That was really cool, I thought, we'll get to hear a lot of coaching. In the first inning, Colby May, our #3 hitter, lay down a sac bunt to move Jonathan Taylor to 3rd and Michael Dempario to 2nd. Coach Perno was the first person out of the dugout to shake May's hand. I was impressed with that.

Part of the Arizona student section was to our right. This one guy had a big dry erase board which he would change during the game. He was funny. At the start, he had a grid comparing Athens to Tucson, it compared everything from population to nickname (though he incorrectly wrote that Athens had no nickname) and he even included "air quality index".... It was funny stuff. He and his friends were hecklers, but in a good way.

Another part of the Arizona student body, unfortunately, was not the same. Several guys came and sat in the Georgia section down low, on our row, and just heckled our kids unmerifully. And that wasn't funny, because they just kept repeating things like "Poytress you're sooooffffttttt" over and over. These guys were real low class, just immature college students. Probably sophomores if I had to guess. Anyway, one kid really crossed the line when he walked up to the net, stood right over Bryce Massanari, who was on deck, and started calling Mass everything under the sun, but namely "you f***ing f***ot" and may have even spit on him. That got Coach Perno out of the dugout and he walked up to the net and pointed at that kid and his friends and yelld "You guys say what you want, but lay off that cussing." The kids tried to give it back to Perno, and he was standing there yelling "You lay off that cussing." A cop came and hauled the kid away from the net, but not before he followed Perno back toward the dugout and got into it with our pitching coach. It was pretty loud at that point so I couldn't hear the exhange, but Widerhold (the pitching coach) had some veins popping out of his neck from yelling. It was testy. And completely un-neccesary. Bryce Massanari is from Las Vegas and probably had 30 some odd people there to see him play. But you get that with college kids sometimes, though I'm happy now to say that I mainly avoided that kind of garbage. What those kids didn't realize, and what I realize today, is that acting like that really is embarrassing to you down the road. I'd hate to think of someone associating me with UGA and thinking "man, what a douchebag" or "that kid was such a tool." All of those kids sitting in that section were ejected by the 8th inning. They promised to be back Saturday.

UGA broke open a fairly close game Friday night in the later innings and won 11-4. It was a great series opening win, and I was really proud of the way that the players, especially the freshman, kept their heads in that environment. Those Arizona students really got on our guys hard, but they didn't seem to let it faze them. Our kids wear the "G" the right way.

After the game, we walked back to the hotel and looked up some good Mexican fare, which we found in the form of some hole in the wall place whose name I can't recall. This was a Mexican restaurant where most of the patrons looked to be Mexican. Most of the men were wearing cowboy hats. You knew it'd be authentic. And it sure was. Apparently Bill Clinton had eaten a meal there once upon a time based on some picture on the wall.

Leaving the restaurant, the air had turned cooler, as we heard would happen in the desert. Putting the top up on the jeep proved to be a chore that was deemed too demanding on the spot, and we drove the couple of miles back to the hotel with the top down, heater on, and hunched under the windshield glass.

Friday had been a long day of travel and we hit the rack pretty early.

Next day we got up and did some exploring, though not too much since we had a Cactus League game to see at 1:05. We drove out on Hwy 86, southwest of Tucson, and wound up eating at this small road side cafe in the middle of nowhere (it was close to Three Points Arizona). Driving through rural Arizona, you'd swear that the population density for the state is less that a person per sq mile. Nothing is there. It's a pretty awesome sight.

The Cactus League game was the Dodgers and Rockies from Hi Corbett Field in Tucson. Great day for baseball, blue sky, warm... make that hot. I got a picture of the scoreboard with the reading of 91 degrees. The game was pretty unremarkable as most of the starters didn't play very long. Matt Kemp homered for LA. Russell Martin had a nice throw down to second to nab someone stealing. The Dodgers won, but I can't remember the score. Drinking my first cold beer under the blue sky and warm sun, I couldn't help but think that there could be nothing more American than baseball and there was very little that I'd rather be doing at that moment.

With the Georgia game starting at 6:00pm, we went back to the hotel and grabbed a few beers and appetizers from the hotel bar. We rolled into the stadium around 5:45 to find the Georgia fans packing the lower rows above our on-deck circle. That was good. We sat on row three for that game and all the Georgia fans made sure to leave no rows of several empty seats. We were loud too. Those Arizona kids had pissed us off, most of us I think. That game had a real intense feel to it and we jumped off to an early lead and never looked back. Second night in a row we scored in the first inning. We got out to a 9-0 lead before winning 12-5. Joey Lewis hit a monster homerun and Matt Cerione finished a homer short of the cycle in his season debut. Without those idiot students sitting down there, you could hear a lot of coaching coming from our dugout. I never realized how much of that goes on during the game. At Foley, you sit up higher off of the field, so you don't hear much at field level. But the coaches are always talking to the players from the dugout though, whether it's a ground ball and you hear "Stay down Levi!" or hear someone shout "RICH!" and see some hand signals from the dugout rail. Jason Eller, the hitting coach, talks A LOT in the coach's box as well, coaching whichever hitter is at the plate. Arizona's third base coach didn't seem to do that as much.

After the game, we hit the hotel bar again and then a sports bar for dinner. As the drinks flowed and we reminised about Georgia games past, one thought kept coming to my mind, which I iterated more than once: "We've gotta sweep those bastards tomorrow."

Around 8:00am on Sunday, my phone rang. Through the cotton mouth and headache I picked it up to see a 1-800 number on the caller ID. I answered, and much to my chagrin, heard an automated recording saying that my flight from Phoenix that night had been cancelled. Delta rebooked me on a flight out of Phoenix at 6:00am on TUESDAY morning. So what did I do? I went back to sleep. But after that, and after trying to call the 800 number to get rebooked on something else only to get a busy signal, I had another idea. We both got dressed, hopped in the Jeep, and drove to the Tucson airport. I figured I'd just talk to someone at the Delta ticket counter. There was no line and I approached the clerk and told him my story, about how I had to get home earlier than Tuesday. I offered to fly out of Tucson. To my surprise, he was able to put me on a Monday morning flight to Atlanta, leaving Tucson at 9:30am. I couldn't believe how easy it was. Being that it was already around 11:00am, I thought "I should go ahead and just check in for this flight now"... but decided against it. I could just do that Monday.

Less intense atmosphere at the game Sunday. It was noon start, very bright, hot, and the Arizona students were mostly nowhere to be found (except the dry erase board guy, but I kind of liked him).

Throughout the three games, various Georgia people would ask me or my brother if we knew someone on the team. We don't, but we both got into baseball when we were in college, and thought this trip would be fun. I'll go to at least one SEC road series this year as well. I'm just a fan. People thought that was neat, being that most of the Georgia folks there were parents or relatives. I talked with several player's parents while I was there about their kids and their experiences and what not. It was really fun.

We jumped out to a 7-0 lead after two innings, though this one felt different. Arizona just wouldn't go away and I never had a good feeling about it. Michael Pallazone and Dean Weaver came on and pitched great over the last five innings and we wound up winning 10-5. Big road sweep. Another great day for Joey Lewis and Matt Cierone. Another great weekend for Jonathan Taylor.

As we filed out of the stadium, I was sad to see the weekend come to a close. It had been a good time and a very impressive series by UGA. To come that far away from home, take that kind of verbal abuse in the opener, in an unfamilar place, and play that well, you just can't say enough about it.

After the game, we hit another Mexican place called Rosa's, which was also delicious, and drove out the Saguaro National Park, southwest of Tucson.

This was some legit desert here. Scrub grass, huge saguaros every where you look, rocks and sand... it was neat. The road into the national park looked like a radio wave... it kind of reminded me of the road that Snoopy drove his motorcycle over in "Charlie Brown goes to Camp".... And I always thought too that you might see a Saguaro every few hundred square feet, but not so, not at all. Those things are EVERYWHERE.

My brother was set to fly back to Newark on Continental from Phoenix that night. We learned that his flight was cancelled, so we went back to the sleepy little Tucson airport to try and rebook him. Only problem was, with so few Continental flights there, they just shut down their ticket counter at like 4:00pm. It was 6:00pm now. Too bad. The 1800 number for Continental was overwhelmed and offered no help either.

We had to take the Jeep back to Phoenix that night and I was the only one who'd signed up to drive it. So we decided to rent a second car, list us both as drivers, and caravan back to Phoenix. He would go to the airport and rebook there, since we figured the Continetal counters would be open in Phoenix, and I would take the Jeep back. If he could fly out of Tucson, we'd drive back down there. If not, we'd find a place closer to Phoenix and I'd drive back to Tucson the next morning. Perfect.

So he was able to get rebooked on a flight from Phoenix to Newark at noon Monday. We wound up staying at the same hotel in Tempe where we'd stayed for the football game. I didn't know if it was going to happen. The place was only a Days Inn, but wanted to charge $114 for the room. The woman said she could offer it for $94. We didn't respond. She asked her manager the lowest rate she could sell. Her manager said "coupon rate, $64." SOLD.

It was nice. I asked for a 6:20am wake up call and planned to be on the road by 7:00am.

And that's exactly what happened. And it dawned on me, as I drove out of Phoenix, looked at the clock and saw that it was 7:25am and saw a road sign saying it was 99 miles to Tucson. I would be cutting it AWFULLY close. And I'd have to stop and gas up the car.

Most of the interstate between Phoenix and Tucson is 75mph. I did 85 in those spots. If only I'd checked in yesterday, I could just print off my boarding pass at the airport and go to the gate, none of that 30 minutes before business. Flight was at 9:30. At 8:50, I pulled up to an AM/ PM to attempt to gas up. The pump wouldn't read by debit card. I had no choice. Take the car back with 1/4 of a tank.

At 8:57 I arrived in the rental garage. The guy checked me out said that the computer changed me $102 for gasoline. Late or not, I wasn't going to stand for that. With gas around $1.80 a gallon, that is about $25.00 of gasoline AT THE MOST that would need to be added. The guy was nice, but told me there wasn't much he could do. I went inside to counter. Thankfully, no line. It was 9:01am. I argued my point with the clerk who went in the backroom to discuss with his manager (just like Seinfeld) and came out and told me that they could reduce to fee to $35.00, which was about $2.50/ gallon. I accepted that and thanked him. At 9:08am, I learned that it was too late to check in for my flight. I'd missed it.

And now, it's complicated. There were a lot of flights cancelled to Atlanta because of the snow, and there was only more more flight out that day, leaving at 1:45pm. The best they could do was add me to the standby list. I offered to fly to Salt Lake City and catch a connection to Atlanta there, but no dice, all the flights to Salt Lake City were booked too. But, the guy at the ticket counter told me that I had a "pretty good" chance of getting on that afternoon flight.

You have to realize at this point that I'm getting pretty haggared. My cell phone battery is almost dead and I didn't bring a charger. My debit card hasn't worked the last two times I tried to use it and I wondered if the bank had frozen my account for all the out of state charges (I later found out the card was cracked along the black strip), I didn't know if I could get home that day, I was leaving for Seattle on Thursday and had a lot of work to do in the mean time, I didn't know what my brother was going to do, if he was going to be able to get out or not... and now I had four hours to sit at the gate and think about it. I was glad I went on the trip, no question, but now I was over budget. And the timing of this trip and the Seattle trip a few days later.... that was tough to do workwise, and it would be really tough when I got back to Atlanta. And there was nothing to do about it now. My laptop and Blackberry were 2000 miles away. All I had was a cell phone with a dangerously low battery.

I did the best I could though. You can fault me for being too optimistic a lot of the time. The thing with the missing flight that morning was on me. I've always been very good about timing things out, but I'd just mis-calculated the drive distance down to Tucson. That happens. But I was able to get myself together a little bit. I called the office to tell the boss man what happened. I work from home a lot, so if I'd made that first flight, I could've been back mid-afternoon and "appeared" to be working all day. Now, I couldn't fake it, so I had to take another day off. No biggie. And I was able to read the rest of "Meat Market", Bruce Feldman's book about the Ed Orgeron regime at Ole Miss, focused on recruiting, which was just fascinating. I was glad to have a chunk of that left to look at. But mainly I sat there and wondered if I'd be able to go home that day or not. I wondered why my debit card wasn't working. I wondered how I'd pay for another hotel room if I had to stay the night.

The flight to Atlanta was delayed a half hour. It looked pretty full, judging by the number of people in the gate area. I never once approached the counter to ask about my spot on the standby list. I just didn't want to know. If it was bad news, I didn't want to know it. If it was good news, it would only be potentially good news until I got that boarding pass. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

They had just called for Zone 4 to board when the person at the desk called for Passenger Peacock to approach the podium. I shot up like I'd been fired out of a cannon. He handed me a boarding pass. I said "thank you so much" and boarded the plane. Crisis averted. I was going home.

I used to hang on to my boarding passes as souviners when I was younger and didn't travel as much. Now, they usually just wind up in the trash. I've been fortunate in that I've gotten to go some places, some on the company dime and some on my own nickel, so flying somewhere isn't THAT big of a deal anymore. And it probably sounds cheesy to say this, but I'm going to save that boarding pass from Tucson to Atlanta. And everytime I feel like I've overextended myself, that I'm in a lonely place where I don't know how things will work out, when it feels like it's me against the world, I can look at the piece of paper and remember what happens when you keep a level head, keep thinking positive thoughts, and keep grinding, how good results will follow. Just it happened for me, and just like it happened for our baseball team.

Worked or Good Works?

So I'm going to try to give some better updates on here seeing as how I haven't had too much to say in several months (on this venue I mean).

I was a little bit behind on laundry last night. Why is that after you go on a trip, it takes so long to get your bag unpacked and get the contents washed? That's always the case with me... I come home and set down my roller bag, and I don't know why, but it's just "hard" to get it unpacked. Usually goes a day or so I think. Besides, I'll typically do a big load of laundry just before the trip, so I always have some clothes when I get home. Anyway, I went to West Palm Beach for a work thing last Saturday - Wednesday, wasn't proactive in unpacking my roller bag, and approached Friday evening with nary of pair of clean blue jeans.

I started getting hungry on Friday evening, as is wont to happen, and decided to go to Publix to procure some food stuffs. I really like their chicken wings in the deli. They do a "mardi gras" flavored wing which is unfried, but has a really good flavor. Felt like a good Friday meal. Since I had no clean non-semi-formal pants (and I don't wear shorts outside of fishing or swimming situations), I decided to re-dress myself in what I wore to work that day; a blue button down shirt, black pants, and my black cowboy boots.

I park in a space very close to the store and start to walk inside. I look up to see a white pickup truck in the parking lot driveway just off to my right. The truck comes to a stop and it sounds like the transmission was placed into "Park". I think to myself "Don't just park in the middle of the &$^#% driveway" and feel my blood pressure spike, so irritated am I by discourteous driving. A woman exists the driver side of the pickup truck and walks up to me. "Excuse me", she says. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I'm from out of town. And my credit card just got eaten by the ATM machine, and I'm trying to make it home....."

She continued talking while my mind drifted to the question of why people like to say "ATM machine." Being that "ATM" stands for "Automatic Teller Machine" you're basically saying "Automatic Teller Machine Machine." It's like "PIN number" or "A/C current".... I don't know why I always notice things like that, and I always kick myself when I slip up and say something along those lines myself.

The woman, who looked to be in her mid 40s, thin, short blonde hair, french tipped pedicure, and thick southern accent went on to tell me how lost she was and how she just had to get back to Thomasville (in very south Georgia) and "call daddy" and now she didn't have any money and didn't know where she was and just wanted to get home and could I help?

Then she said something that you don't hear much. "I'll pay you back, I mean, if you have a card or you can just give me your address..."

I guess she said "card" first because of how I was dressed.... And probably why she approached me in the first place. Not that I mind.... Hey, if I'm going to dress like a "business man", I'd better expect to solve problems.

"OK," I said. "I don't have any cash on me [which was true, I like to leave my cash in a disorganized stack on the countertop, makes me feel like a gangsta(r)] but I'm just going to go in here and pick up some chicken for dinner, I'll get some cash at the register, and you can meet me back here in a second."

"Bless your heart" she said in that southern drawl that came out like "hahwart".

As I walked into the store I wounded to myself why I chose to include my purchase in this new Plan of Action? I mean, did she really care that I was going to buy some chicken? And to think, if all I was going to buy inside was a case of beer or pack of toilet paper, I probably would've omitted it entirely. Was I so excited and happy to eat Publix chicken for dinner that I felt it necessary to drop that fact into conversation? Have I fallen that far?

When I was wondering to myself about the "ATM machine" remark, I heard her say something about $30 or $40. I figured I'd just pull out $40. That should be what she is looking for.

Walking out of the store, I saw the white truck dutifully parked next to my car. "You are such an angel" she said as I placed my bag of chicken (which turned out to be an entire bird, unknown to me at the time. Most of it is still in the refrigerator as I type this, it was a lot of bird, but let's be honest, I doubt I'll finish it, probably like you're doubting that I'll finish this sentence that I started) on the front seat. I didn't have a business card on my person, and had to chuckle internally because I'd thought earlier in the week that I should start carrying one or two in my front pocket just in case. I figured that I may have a card in the center console of my car, since sometimes I'll pull a card out of my front pocket when I'm driving to write something down and sometimes I don't write anything and the card ends up in the console. And sure enough, I did have one.

"Thank you so much," she said, the thankfulness in her eyes. "I'm just so far away from home and didn't know how I was going to get back...." Her voice broke a bit.

"Oh, it's no big deal," I said, handing her her my card and two twenty dollar bills. "Do you know how to get back to the interstate?"

"No, I sure don't. I've just been driving around..."

"OK, well, it's really easy. Just come out of the parking lot and turn right. That's Roswell Road. Just follow Roswell a couple of miles and you'll run into I-285. You can't miss it. Get on I-285 west. It'll be a left turn. Follow I-285 for a couple of miles and you'll hit I-75. I'm sure you know what to do from there."

"Yay-es, thank you again, I'll mail this back to you tomorrow I promise."

"No problem, have a good evening."

While I was talking to her I noticed that the truck had one of those "special" Georgia license plates that doesn't list the county at the bottom. I know my Georgia geography pretty well, and was kind of curious to see if the car had a south Georgia county on the plate. We parted ways and I was stopped at the redlight at the end of the parking lot attempting to turn left onto Roswell, I looked up to see the white pickup truck had exited the parking lot at the exit without the redlight, and turned left. I was sure that I told her to turn right and even pointed that way when I was telling her.

So that made me wonder. Would I ever see my $40 again? Could've been that I just got worked. This isn't a great economy, haven't you seen CNN? You figure that kind of thing is on the rise. Maybe she didn't approach me because I was dressed in customer contact appropriate apparel (per the Amica intranet) and presumably liquid, maybe she approached me because I looked like a mark. Maybe her accent thickened when she heard mine. Maybe she figured I'd be mentally tired on this Friday afternoon (after all, I was dressed in work clothes, it was after 7:00pm and I was quickly walking into the grocery store when she saw me). Maybe she figured I wouldn't ask too many questions.

But you know, I don't believe that. I think she really was in a bad way and needed some help. And I was happy to give it to her. So she turned the opposite way that I told her to. She was still heading in the correct cardinal direction and if you drive around Atlanta long enough, you'll hit an interstate anyway.

I fully expect to see an envelope containing $40 in cash or check on my desk at some point next week.

Until I do though, I guess the question will be: Worked or Good Works?