REAL quick....

Remember that scene in Kill Bill when Beatrix decends into Okinawa (or Tokyo?).... That song that plays in the background?

As I'm currently descending into Logan Airport in Boston, you can guess what I'm listening to on a loop....

I love it

I love boarding the plane wearing my UGA shirt, looking around for that familiar logo.

I love sitting restlessly through the flight, contemplating the weekend to come.

I love looking out the airplane window as some strange, new place gradually gets larger and more detailed.

I love joking with the person at the rental car counter, asking questions like "Does your loss damage waiver cover intentional acts?" or "If you're not going to charge my credit card until I bring the car back, why should I?"

I love attaching my UGA car flag to the rental car window.

I love crusing down some new street in some new city, seeing everything for the very first time.

I love that first meal in the new place, so hungry am I after the flight and drive.

I love eating at some small, local place for said first meal, some place where I may never dine again.

I love how MapQuest leads me right to the hotel.

I love seeing a new stadium for the first time, seeing familiar faces and that familiar logo in a sea of stangers.

I love the Friday night dinner, rehashing the game and other things over cold beers.

I love going to bed on Friday night, on the soft hotel pillows and crisp hotel sheets and wondering what the next two days will bring.

I love how the hotel room soap dries out my hands. It means I'm on the road.

I love having breakfast Saturday morning at some hole in the wall.

I love exploring before the game.

I love seeing the stadium again.

I love Saturday night in a new town.

I love "get-away day", repacking, checking out, and loading "my" economy car.

I love seeing the stadium again and this time, taking a mental picture of it.

I love taking one last look around on my way out of town and marveling at how well I've gotten to "know" the place over 48 hours.

I love a quiet Sunday night dinner.

I love seeing Atlanta again through the airplane window.

I love thinking about it doing it all over again.

Fake MARTA

I would highly encourage everyone to view the "Fake MARTA" Facebook page. For those who don't know, MARTA stands for "Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority" and consists of bus service and rail service. It's basically a joke. The rail service is meant to look and function like a subway, but for all intents and purposes is a commuter train. There simply aren't enough stops on the rail lines to make the rail a viable means of transport unless you live within walking distance of one rail station are going to a place within walking distance of another rail station. I know you're thinking "well duh"... but consider that the city of Atlanta is 132 sq miles and MARTA's rail system features all of four rail lines and 38 rail stations, an average of a whopping one rail station per 3.47 sq miles. Only that's not even accurate either, since at least 13 stations are located outside of the city limits of Atlanta, so it's more like one rail station every 5.28 sq miles inside the city of Atlanta.

Thanks to chronic mismanagement, inadequate infrastructure, and a bad reputation, MARTA is facing a fairly sizeable budget shortfall (this is discussed on the Fake MARTA facebook page). With the shortfall looming, MARTA is now forced to evaluate different alternatives for cutting costs. In order to gauge consumer impact, MARTA crafted this brilliant survey. I've taken the liberty of inserting some of the questions and possible responses below.


How would the following affect your MARTA ridership?

18 * Stop bus and rail service at midnight during weekends.


Would ride MARTA the same
Would ride MARTA more
Would ride MARTA less
Would not ride MARTA at all

19 * Stop bus and rail service at midnight 7 days a week.


Would ride MARTA the same
Would ride MARTA more
Would ride MARTA less
Would not ride MARTA at all

20 * Start bus and rail service after 6:00 a.m. on weekends


Would ride MARTA the same
Would ride MARTA more
Would ride MARTA less
Would not ride MARTA at all

21 * Start bus and rail service after 6:00 a.m. 7 days a week.


Would ride MARTA the same
Would ride MARTA more
Would ride MARTA less
Would not ride MARTA at all


Who designed these questions, some remedial 7th graders? I almost fell over when I read this. Who would ride the system MORE if LESS service was offered? Is there really a person who says "I'd certainly ride MARTA more frequently if they stopped service at midnight each night/ after 6:00a each day/ stopped rail service at midnight on the weekends, but not on weeknights"??? It's like asking someone if they would go to Wal Mart more frequently if Wal Mart decided to close at 5:00p on Tuesdays. It's a completely illogical scenario! And to think, the results of THIS survey are going aid MARTA in determining which, if any, services to cut? No wonder they're going broke.

I do ride MARTA on occasion. A rail station is across the street from my condo and $4.00 round trip to the airport is a lot better than $9/ day to park; $4.00 round trip to Turner Field is a lot better than $15 to park and not allowing myself to have a few extra beers for fear of the drive home, etc. Below are some of my more memorable MARTA rail experiences:

-Riding the airport last summer, a couple of overweight, blue collar looking guys boarded the train at one of the south Atlanta stops, which isn't a very good area. One of the guys was a drinking a beer from a tall boy can wrapped in a slim brown paper bag. The guy sat there and drank his beer, other than the bag, not even trying to conceal it. At one point, he half burped/ half gagged and spit half a mouth full of beer onto his shirt, which, for the sake of consistency, was about half the size and cleanliness that one would expect for public wear. The best part was that a MARTA cop was on that rail car, standing 15 feet from the guy at the most, looking straight at him during his "spill" and didn't even say anything.

-Following UGA's win over tech in Atlanta, I left the Omni Hotel after a few post game beers, hoping to take the train back to my place in Midtown. I entered the Philips Arena/ Ga Dome rail station. It was a little after 2:00a at this time. The station was empty, but I figured it was because it was late, nothing was going on at the Dome, and the the hockey game at Philips had concluded hours ago. I bought a ticket from the vending machine and proceeded to the platform. Nobody was down there, but the sign said that the next eastbound train was due in 15 minutes. I had a feeling something was wrong, but decided to wait it out, giving the situation 10 minutes to show some signs of life. About 5 minutes later, I hear a voice from the other end of the platform saying "Hey, what are you doing?" I look up and see a cop. I say "Waiting on the train." He says "Trains stopped running a few hours ago man. How'd you get down here?" I said "I bought a ticket and rode the escalator." He said "Ah man, I don't know why they don't lock this place. Next train won't run until the morning. You can't stay down here. Probably ought to get a cab." I said "Well, why did the machine sell me a ticket and why do these signs say that the next train is due in 15 minutes, and how was I just able to come down here?" He responded with "I don't know man. I guess the sign just defaults to that."

-"Hey man, think you could help me out?" This is a phrase heard often during a MARTA rail ride. I always chuckle at the irony of someone asking for extra change after they've (presumably) paid $2.00 to board the train in the first place.

-NOT passing my "Breeze Card" back. Fares are paid through a "Breeze Card", which is, either a paper or hard plastic card. The paper cards are not reusable, but the hard plastic cards, credit card sized, are "reloadable." Ever ridden the subway in New York? You know how you swipe your MTA card and pass it back to your friend, s/he swipes it too, and card is debited two fares (instead of one)? No dice on MARTA. After you "tap" your Breeze Card, the system "locks out" the card for 5-10 minutes, meaning that it can't be used again in that time. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. I wonder how much it costs to print all those extra paper and plastic Breeze Cards anyway.

Looks Askance

It's hard to believe that it's now been over a month since the Waco Texas adventure. My brother and I flew out there in late February to see UGA play Baylor and Duke in a three team round robin weekend to begin the baseball season. You spend so much time looking forward to a trip, then it comes and goes, and before you know it, it's getting small in the rear view mirror.

We each arrived in Dallas Friday mid-morning; me from Atlanta and him from Boston. Knowing that it was a good bet that the rental car would not have an iPod adapter, I made a CD for the trip. It's my 2010 Baseball CD, and each track has something to do, in some way, with Georgia baseball (for example - "Bleed it Out" by Linkin Park was used on a YouTube highlight video of the 2007 UGA v. tech football game. I watched that video numerous times in spring 2008 when that baseball season was underway, so I associate it with both). I only mention this because I want to be able to mention how awesome it is to drive around on the freeways in Dallas, past Texas Stadium and through their skyline, all while blaring the theme song to "Dallas" through the economy car. The "Dallas" theme song is track #2 on my CD. "The Yellow Rose of Texas" is track #1, you see, Texas is where this baseball season began.

The drive down to Waco was about two hours on I-35 and the ride went quickly. We arrived at the team hotel (that's right) around lunchtime. We wanted to eat some authentic Texas cuisine while we were visiting, so we tried to seek out small, local BBQ places as well as steakhouses. I think that's the best way to do it when you travel... Find the places with the local license plates in the parking lot. It's tough to go wrong there. And both being hungry on this Friday afternoon, we decided to head out to find some "real" Waco fare.

It didn't take long to find a place called "Vitek's BBQ". This particular place offered something called a "Gut Pak" as their main menu item. A "Gut Pak" is, remarkably, even less healthy than it sounds, you see it's a styrofoam box filled with Fritos, cheese, chopped beef, beans, sausage, pickles, onions, and jalapenos. You also get two slices of loaf bread for good measure. It comes in two sizes; regular and large. My brother had to have one. I decided to go a different route...

The line in Vitek's was long, a good sign. This was the kind of joint where you order your plate at the counter and then find a table to consume it, should such a table exist. Given that it was the lunch hour on Friday, such a table didn't really exist. Another good sign... People want to hang around Vitek's. I'm pretty hungry by this point. My alarm had gone off before 5:00a (Eastern) that morning and I hadn't had anything yet to eat (if you don't count the feast that was served on the flight, which I don't). Whenever I fly, I'm usually so focused on "getting there" that I don't eat before I go to the airport or when I'm there, a shame in itself that I deprive myself of delicious airport cuisine. Anyway, I'm eight hours into this day, nothing in my stomach except for six peanuts and I'm ready to eat a meal, a real Texas sized payday lunch. So, when it's my turn at the counter, I know what I want:

"Let me get a chopped beef sandwich and a hot link."

"You want the hot link sandwich?"

[Trouble. I didn't know the hot link came as a sandwich. This sounds interesting. I'll go with it.]

"Yeah, hot link sandwich."

"Peppers or onions?"

"Nothing on the chopped beef. Both on the hot link.... sandwich."

"Just to make sure, you want two sandwiches, right?"

"Correct."

"Chopped beef and a hot link?"

"Yes." I say this part emphatically, with the half nod, half thrust of my entire head.

The guy paused for a second and looked askance at me. He then proceeded to prepare my order.

I'll admit, every once in a while, something comes along that truly gives me pause. This was such a time. I mean, it's not up to this guy to piece together that since I was wearing a UGA shirt, I probably came from a long way, maybe had a long day already, maybe not, but obviously wasn't from around there (come on, even without the UGA shirt, even I don't believe that I'm great enough to appear to be from Texas) and thus, was either really hungry or wanted to try a couple of different things. But no, that's not what gave me pause. What irked me about that situation was that this guy looked at me like I had two heads (one head representing each sandwich that I'd ordered) when I gave my order. I wanted to scream "Eight out of every ten people come into this place and order something called a 'Large Gut Pak' and you're going to look funny at me for order two sandwiches?!"

Anyway, we get back to the hotel and pass a couple of Georgia people I'd met on the rental car bus at DFW. Proudly boasting our styrofoam treasures, we got a good laugh out of the perceived caloric content this meal, and I highly recommended Vitek's to these others, although I hadn't yet taken a bit out of either of my sandwiches. Even though I was (and still am) floored to receive that look for ordering for two sandwiches, that experience reinforced something that I love about Texas; it's just fine and well without me. I can really respect that.

The sandwiches of mine were awesome, no other way to describe them. About a half hour after we finished, my brother declared that he didn't "feel so hot" after consuming the vast majority of his large Gut Pak.

It was a good trip, all in all. It's hard to imagine going to school for four years in Waco, but I say that about every campus I visit, and that list is now becoming respectable. I guess that just means that I love UGA and our campus. Baylor Ballpark was nice too. It seats around 5,000 and is built on the Brazos River, such that the river is visible beyond the right field to center field wall. AND, in the top of the 7th, they play "Deep in the Heart of Texas" over the PA.

Baseball plays at UCLA next season and I'm already looking forward to making my first ever trip to Los Angeles. I'm thinking that track #1 on the 2011 Baseball CD will be "I love LA" by Randy Newman.

Many Thanks

Many thanks to Anne E. Hull for her "Kreativ Blogger" award given to me today in the afternoon hours. Just to prove that this is legit, I am posting a picture of the award within this very text.

I had a visit a pawn shop today. The visit was not to pawn or sell any personal belongings or anything like that, rather the visit was work related. I had these two sewing machines that were part of a claim I worked on two summers ago that, to make a long story short, were later discovered as damaged. My company paid to replace the subject machines and I got to make a drive to lovely Cobb County to hand deliver the check and collect the subject machines. You see, when we pay to replace something, we get to take possession of it and do with it what we will. We've paid you for a new one. We get the old one (if the old one hasn't been discarded, which it almost always has). Anyway, the idea is that we take the old item and sell it for salvage value and credit whatever cash we generate back to our claim file. So, every once in a while, I get charged with trying to sell some bizarre item for pennies on the dollar. I used to just list things on eBay, trying my best to write comedic descriptions (For a set of four Mercedes wheels: "4 Mercedes wheels ON THE CHEAP". For a single diamond stud earring: "Perfect for the one-eared woman").

These sewing machines were heavy though, like 30-40lbs a pop, bulky, and just generally difficult to carry around. As such, I decided to leave them in my car after I collected them and would attempt to sell them directly to a third party (so as to avoid carrying them up to the office, putting them in the supply room, waiting 14 months, and then having someone ask me why they're in the supply room, then carrying them back down to my car to try and sell). I'm not lazy, it's not that, but the reality is that I have more pressing things to do most days than to try and sell two water damaged sewing machines. So, they sat on my backseat for several weeks, although I was going to places one or twice a week attempting to sell the subject machines, with no luck.

I was motivated today following a large cup of McDonalds coffee and several glasses of sweet tea at lunch time and a very productive morning that saw my knock out all of today's work and all of tomorrow's as well.

I wound up at a lovely place in Norcross called "The Pawn Shop, Inc." I walked inside and asked one of the shop keeps if he was interested in buying some sewing machines. He doubted that he would be. I bolstered my case by explaining that the machines were water damaged, I didn't know if they'd actually been repaired, and that based on their weight, they seemed really nice (I also told him what we paid to replace them which confirmed how nice they were; very nice).

A few minutes later, I have both sewing machines sitting on the glass counter above some pistols, each machine plugged in, and me clumsily trying to figure out how they worked, to prove that they did work. Upon randomly pressing some buttons on the larger machine and watching the needle suddenly come to life and pound like a piston in a race car I proudly exclaimed "Well, I'll be damned, it does work...."

I may have been the worst "pawner" ever, which I guess is inevitable when it's someone else's money that's being dealt. I started amusing myself at the dialogue that was taking place in front of the used DVDs.

"Why are you trying to sell these things?"

"Because I'm tired of seeing them on my back seat."

"Have they been repaired?"

"I have no idea. I don't know how long they'll work either."

"How much do you think they retail for?"

"(redacted)"

"How much you want for them?"

"I don't know. $30 a piece? $60 total?"

"If you paid (redacted) for them and you're selling them for $60, something must be wrong."

"Yeah, what's wrong is that I'm tired of looking at them."

"It says here [from online research] that the bigger one should have a foot pedal. Does it have one?"

"You're asking the wrong guy. I don't see one in the box, so I guess it doesn't have one."

Finally, after some debate, they agreed to buy the subject machines for $40 total. I was happy with that. This is when the fun really started. They asked for my driver's license, which I provided. Then for my social security number. After giving it to the clerk, I smiled and said "you think these are hot?"

He replied with "Well, we report everything. So if they are, we'll know." He looked at my very seriously, almost sternly, and added "OK?"

I said "Well, if I was going to steal something and then pawn it, I'd at least take something that I knew the value of...." He found this mildly funny and at this point, I think he dropped any concern he may have had.

They printed the invoice and asked me to sign at the bottom. I wrote my signature with our company name right beside it. Then the clerk asked for my right index finger. He pressed it onto an ink pad and rolled it across the invoice near my signature. Take no chances.

The topper came next. The clerk wrote a number, it was 13, in a big red letters at the top of the invoice. He then handed the invoice to me and said "Hold this up by your face". I did as I was told, laughing at this point, while the clerk, I kid you not, took my picture holding this invoice. I said "Do you want to take another one with me holding today's newspaper in the other hand?" which really amused one of the other clerks.

All in all, I was happy. I got some money back for the company and cleaned up my backseat. I managed to have a good time in doing both of those things and now, should I ever want to buy some used power tools or mircowaves, I know exactly where to go. It's a win for everyone, really.

Killin' Time

So, I'm sitting in the parking lot at the West Cobb Marketplace as I type this. It's 9:52a. I have to be in Woodstock, which my GPS tells me is about 30 minutes away, for appointment between 11:00a and noon. I've already been told that it's going to be closer to noon. In other words, I find myself with some time to kill.

I've already been to Dallas GA this morning. It was a rare set of circumstances that lead me to two appointments in the same day and so far this morning has reminded me how much I enjoy being "on the road" as they say in our company's vernacular. The stress of getting to your first stop on time, the chemically induced jitters that come with a large cup of coffee, the thoughts, work related and not, that go through your head mixed in with the sounds of the AM radio. I love that.

If you need to make a restroom stop, use a Publix (if you're in Georgia or the southeast). The bathrooms are clean and you won't get hassled for using the restroom and not buying anything. Quick Trip works well for that purpose too. Maybe I'll even grab some Arby's for lunch today... it'll be just like "old time" when I was "on the road" constantly.

I woke up Saturday morning iching to go on another trip. By Saturday night, I'd booked my plane tickets and set everything in motion. I love having that degree of flexibility. I made myself wait about 12 hours to book the plane tickets, just in case I needed to talk myself out of it, but I wound up bolstering the case for myself mentally. Who knows that the situtaion will be next year... maybe I won't have those options then. You just never know. That was the same mindset that lead me to take the job with Amica, and its required relocation, out of college. I knew that there may never be another time for me to relocate and it was something that I wanted to be able to experience. It's easy to justify things to myself that way, prudent a person as I may be.

I feel like I could jump over this car right now. I don't drink coffee all that often, so on days that I do, it's like shooting cocaine directly into my aorta. Could you even do that with cocaine? I guess you'd have to mix it with something, I don't know.

It would be nice if I had a wireless card, I could get some work done while I sit here. I'm just too far out to head to the office, so there really isn't much I can do at this point except wait. I couldn't justify the cost of a wireless card to the company, no more roadwork than I do these days. But days like today, I would be nice to have.

Do you remember that scene on "Stand by Me" when Gordy wakes up early and is writing in his journal by the train tracks? He sees that deer stumble out of the woods and stand for a minute near the tracks. Gordy and the deer lock eyes for a few seconds and the deer trots away. In the movie, Gordy's monologue is "The passing freight train woke the others and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell them about the deer, but I didn't. That was the one thing that I kept to myself. I've never spoken of it or written of it until now." I can think of a couple of things that happened in my life that are along those same lines, that immediately after they occur, I grab my phone or blackberry so I can tell someone. But then I stop and decide to keep it to myself, to hide it. I don't know why. Some things I just feel better about if they're "mine" and that alone. There's no real reason for it, I suppose that I just find more peace that way. I wouldn't want someone to think that I was bragging or given to hyperbole or anything else. And on days like today, when I'm killing time, I can revist those places in my mind and remember them and they're mine, they haven't been disturbed. They may not always stay that way... one thing that I greatly enjoy when I'm becoming emotionally close to someone is to ask them to tell me something that nobody else knows. I love having that degree of trust with someone and in those moments, some of my hidden things become revealed. And some stay hidden, waiting for other moments.

I don't like it when people compliment me very much. Well, I do like it some, but I don't have peace with it. When they tell me how well I do with work or how funny I am or that I should do this, that, or the other because I'm good at it, I just want to change the subject. I know why that's the case, I've figured out why I react that way. Maybe you know that too, although if you don't, I guess you can figure it out for yourself, if you like.

Potenially I have jury duty tomorrow. I'm a standby. I'll find out tonight if I have to report in the morning (edit: I do have to report). I wonder, given my occupation, if they'll let me sit. I think I'd have a hard time being selected for almost any civil matter. It will be interesting to say though. I'm 50/50 on it... I knew for about two weeks that I may be called tomorrow, so I scheduled tomorrow kind of lightly work wise. If I have to sit for one day, it won't put me behind. Beyond that though, it may get complicated. We'll see what happens. My gut feel is that I won't be called.

It's 10:23a now. I'll just keep killing time until.... there's no time to kill. That's all well and good, except that I do have a lot of work to do this afternoon and I wish I could get a jump on it now. What are you going to do? That's just life.

When it's time, I'll be ready.

Roundin' third and heading for home....

A little less than a year ago I bought this book on a Saturday afternoon in Athens. After reading the first couple of pages I knew that I was for a few late nights. I think it was Monday night when I finished the book and I only put it down when I literally couldn't stay awake any longer, or, as was the case that Sunday, I had a baseball game to go to. It was that good.

Basically, the book is about a guy named Matt McCarthy. He played college baseball at Yale and was drafted in the 21st round by the Anaheim Angels organization. The book details his year of playing rookie league baseball in Provo Utah, as well as his experience at the next season's spring training.

I'll share now a little secret that is not so much of one because I've already shared it with a few people. Soon, I'll share it with the boss man.

This year, I will be declaring myself eligible for the 2010 Major League Baseball Draft. While I harbor no illusions of being drafted based on talent (seeing as that I've never played competitive baseball beyond the little league level), my hope is that some orgaization out there will spend their 50th (last) round pick on a nice kid who loves the game and will most certainly serve as a bullpen catcher for his assigned minor league team. I have no ego when it comes to playing time, "signability" will not be an issue for me, and you'll never once hear me bitch about having to ride 11 hours one way on a bus to sleep at a Motel 6 and play four games in the middle of the week in front of a few hundred fans. SIGN ME UP.

If I am drafted, I will sign. I will resign from my beloved career, I will take their $1,000.00 mandatory signing bonus, I will figure out what to do with my current housing (probably nothing) and will report where assigned. Each MLB team has a spring training facility in Florida or Arizona. I hope its the latter. I think I'd like the desert a little bit more, but I really don't care. I really don't.

Look, the odds of it happening are non-existant. Decent college players (you know, who actually do play baseball) don't get picked. UGA had a senior left handed starting pitcher back in 2006. He was our Friday night starter, meaning that he was the #1 pitcher on the staff. He didn't get picked. Granted, he had some issues with his shoulder and labrum and couldn't throw very hard, but still, he wasn't drafted. It doesn't look good for me. But I'll still declare myself and see what happens. It may be the start of something fantastic.

And look at it this way... an MLB team is going to draft tons of kids who won't sign. UGA had three juniors last year to be drafted who all chose not to sign and came back. Usually about half of our signing class each year is drafted out of HS and they don't sign. Here's what I have going for me.... I WILL sign. You won't waste your pick, even your 50th round pick, on me. For $1,000.00, plus the league mandated $850.00 per month, I'll be dad gum happy to take the most thankless spot on the whole roster and sit night after night in the bullpen and play catch with relief pitchers. From a financial standpoint, I think that's a steal, to say nothing of the headaches I WON'T cause the manager by carping over my lack of playing time.

Pick me, tell me where to go, and I'll be the first one standing in line. Send me to an outpost. We've already established that I don't have a problem going to such a place. No reason that this shouldn't happen (well, except the reason of me not actually being a baseball player).

And if not, hey, the current gig ain't so bad either.

The Noise

I tell ya what, it's hard to sleep sometimes. I'd wager that at least 35% of the time when I start off in bed, I wind up migrating to the sofa so I can turn on the TV (usually ESPNews) and use the white noise to put me to sleep. If I don't, the noise in my head keeps me awake. A lot of times, I'll just go to sleep on the sofa to begin with, just to skip the whole charade.

I walk around most of the time trying to suppress a laugh. It always make me feel kind of weird, like everyone else can notice my trying so hard to press my lips together, like I'm holding something inside (how do you not end that sentence with a preposition?). I am. And most of the time, it's not even something that I'm seeing, it's just about something else that I'm thinking about, some idea that I've had, some completely inappropriate comment I wanted so badly to make, or some conversation that I'd wished that I'd had. The noise fills me up, and it's good, it's good when I'm working (until it prevents me from concentrating) or walking or driving, or doing anything else awake. I bet people pass me in traffic and think "what's the hell is he laughing about?" I get up at work to walk to the printer and I have to pass by a bank of cubicles. So many times I've had to almost turn around and walk quickly back to my desk because I'm literally on the cusp of laughing out loud over something and don't want to have to explain it when it happens because it's never as funny the second time around.

Like "What is so funny Peacock?"

"I dunno, I was just thinking about how whenever I leave this job I'm going to write in my resignation letter that I have finally settled a very large claim... with the enemy from within."

"Oh.... "

It's all well and good until I look like a weird-o or can't turn "it" off long enough to fall asleep. Then the alarm clock goes off, and that's very rarely ever funny, although I usually laugh a little bit when I wind it back an hour. Why is it that each night I get my absolute best sleep between 6:00a and 7:00a?

Anyway, I've got ideas. Always. Some I'll go after and some, I'm sure, will die on the vine.

I want to do a ride along with Captain Herb Emery, the traffic guy for AM 750 here in Atlanta. He flies a helicopter around in the mornings and afternoons. I want to do that with him, see what it's like. How do you do something like that? I did a ride along with a cop one time in Athens. It stands to reason that I could do one with Captain Herb. I had a dream that I did that the other night, I guess that's where I got my inspiration. It was morning time and he and I were flying around I-75 in Cobb County, north of Atlanta, checking out the traffic. All of a sudden Captain Herb decided that he wanted to "check on something" so he slammed the "brakes" on the helicopter mid flight. Scared the hell out of me in the dream. But I still want to go on a ride along with him though. Ah, but they probably got their damn unions. And Captain, you know I'm not a pro union guy.

I can't wait for baseball season. I wish that there was a way that I could go to baseball games every day and then, like, tell people about it, and get paid for doing so. But then the guy who does that probably wishes that he could spend his days writing letters that start off with "Please advise" or "Thank you for speaking with me today, this letter shall confirm...." Maybe Captain Herb wishes he could get some attorney on the telephone and start off with a snappy one liner like "Listen Barrister...."

To think, I used to lie in bed and fear that a certain monkey would attack me the following morning at my college job. Them's were the times. I was in charge of washing animal caging, to the extent that one can be "in charge" of that duty. I'd shut the doors in our washing area, blast the cages with scalding hot water, yelling at the top of my lungs along with the stereo "GIVE ME STEAM, AND HOW YOU FEEL CAN MAKE IT REAL, REAL AS ANYTHING YOU SEE.... GET ALI---IVE, WITH THE DREAMER'S DREAM...." The bottom six inches of my scrubs pants would be soaking wet and I'd be out of breath from yelling song lyrics for several minutes. Best $6.50 an hour I ever made. We used to have to wear nitrile gloves (sort of like latex, only they weren't powdery). One day, I was screwing around and had a pair of gloves on and thought that it would look cool if I taped up my wrists up like a linebacker. So I found some masking tape and went to town, taping my wrists about four inches up from the base of my hands. Then I realized that I neglected to use prewrap. It hurt like the dickens pulling all that tape off, but I had some fun with it.

I guess I've had fun with every job I've had. People may take that as a sign of not taking things seriously, but it's anything but that. How can I take something seriously if I don't enjoy it?

I went home for Christmas one year when I was in college. My folks live fairly close to campus anyway, so it's not like going home was some huge deal. But around Christmas each year, I'd go and spend several days there. I think it was a Wednesday afternoon, that sounds right, when I went home one year. It was early afternoon. Nobody was home. As luck would have it, I had a half empty pint bottle of bourbon in my truck. I know, bad idea to drive around with an open container, but I had it hidden pretty good I guess. Anyway, it was early afternoon, around 2:00p or so. I moved my stuff inside and grabbed that bourbon bottle. I stretched out on my parent's sofa, on my back, holding the bottle in my hand and resting it on my chest. I lay there with my eyes shut until I fell asleep. My mom shows up a little later, I guess she had been out running errands or something, and finds me asleep, on my back, holding a half empty bottle of liquor on my chest. I was awakened by her saying "Oh for God's sake..."

Good night everyone, I hope.

Into the Wild

So I just finished reading a fantastic book. I had actually given this to my dad as a Christmas present, he read it quickly and recommended it so enthusiastically that I borrowed it and read it myself. I started Sunday around midnight and stayed up until nearly 3:00a reading it. I finished it last night.

You can read a synopsis of the book right there on the cover, but obviously there is a lot more to the story than that. The protagonist, Chris McCandless, essentially disappeared from his family after he graduated from college. He drove across the country from Atlanta to Arizona until his car failed him, then hitch-hiked and boated in a zig zag pattern around the western United States before concluding his grand adventure on the Stampede Trail in Alaska.

It's a fantastic read, although I have to think it would appeal more to men than to women. It struck a cord with me, and I think it would with most men, because I believe that it speaks to the inherent male desire to explore and seek adventure.

We all go about it in different ways and some obviously seek (or define) adventure to a much larger degree than others. You won't soon catch me hitchhiking through the Yukon Territory or living for weeks on end alone in a tent. But I think that it's every man's inherent desire to explore and test himself and his resiliency.

Scanning through my blog last night it occurred to me how often I write about that period of time when I lived in the Northwest. Though I said when I left that I would close that chapter of my life, I guess I never really did. After finishing "Into the Wild", I got to thinking about how that chapter was to date my greatest "adventure" and that's likely why I hold onto it the way I have.

In another sense, I felt connected to Chris McCandless through his relentless search for an "outpost". Personally, I've always had a fascination with the remote, secluded places across America. I've always found myself fantasizing about what it would be like to live in such a place, a place like Forks Washington, Jackman Maine, or Three Points Arizona. To me, there is something incredibly romantic about finding significance in an insignificant map dot. A place with one stop light, one local pub, and a small lunchbox, a place that embodies that lyric from the John Prine song "Jesus, the Missing Years" that reads Things shut down at midnight. At least 'round here they do. Cause we all reside down the block inside, at 23 Skidoo.

I spent a night in Forks back in December 2006, completely unplanned. Exploring the Olympic Peninsula one Saturday, I found myself in Forks in the evening and figured I was too far to drive home that night, and I still had some things I wanted to see on Sunday. I got a cheap hotel room and walked to a small "American" style restaurant for dinner where I ate a shrimp basket and drank a couple of bottles of beer, by myself. The restaurant closed at 9:00pm, I was the last person in there. I paid my bill and walked back to the hotel. At this hour on a Saturday night shortly before Christmas, there was nothing going on in that town. It was quiet and felt deserted. It was an outpost, and I was strangely happy that I'd found it.

The next morning I drove to La Push, on the Pacific Coast, and walked a steep two mile trail that led to the ocean. Walking through the forest, I could not hear a sound to suggest any human presence anywhere in the world. It was pure solitude. Upon reaching the ocean, I noticed that there were no footprints on the beach. It was truly an awesome sight to see something so large and so undisturbed and I felt an immense happiness for being in the "middle of nowhere", if only for an hour or so.

I can imagine multiplying those feelings by one hundred thousand and that may be what Chris McCandless felt as he hiked into the Alaskan wilderness.

As for me, I guess my adventures lie in finding those new and far-away places, spots that are exotic to me and painfully common to the locals. We stayed in Guthrie Oklahoma for the UGA v. Oklahoma State game the past September. Guthrie is about 25 miles or so from Stillwater, where Oklahoma State is located. Guthrie is a small town, larger than Forks, but struck me as very quiet and low key. Pulling into town that Friday night and passing through the "downtown" area, I remembered again how much I enjoy these small, random towns that make up America and how I wished I could travel more to such "non-exotic" locales.

At any rate, I would highly recommend "Into the Wild" to anyone looking for an interesting read.

"I'm alive, but I don't know what it means"

You'll reference my post from 7/25/09.

I was just listening to "Have you Ever Seen the Rain" by CCR and got to thinking back.

12/27/06. I was flying back to the west coast on a late night Delta flight following a brief visit home for Christmas. I had moved to Seattle about a month before, but at the time that I moved there, I knew that I'd be back home in a month or so anyway, if only for a few days.

Anyway, I was sitting on the flight listening to some music on the flight, it was one of those Delta flights with the TVs in the seat back so you get some entertainment. I found "Have you Ever Seen the Rain" in the music menu and listened to it a few times.

That flight was one of the only times in my life that I've felt true desperation. Sitting on that airplane, looking at nothing but darkness out the window, I could feel myself panic. What have I gotten myself into, moving out here? Did I make the right decision? What's going to happen now?

Those moments are funny, but only after the fact. As disconcerting as it was to face so much uncertainty (and I couldn't help but feel it was appropriate that I couldn't see anything out of the windows), I look back and think about how alive that made me feel.

I've heard that the real addiction with gamblers isn't winning or making money or picking games right. I hear that the real addiction is that feeling that comes in the waning seconds before the fate of your bet is determined. The joy, the angst, the disgust, the regret, the happiness. I hear that the side doesn't matter, it's all about feeling those feelings on high.

In some ways, I can see that. Last summer I visited the Belmont race track on Long Island one Saturday afternoon. I didn't bet or lose enough money to really "feel" a loss or win, but betting any amount of money on anything makes that thing so much more interesting. The last race there, I had bet a trifecta. $10 or $20, I can't remember. A trifecta is a bet where the top three horses are chosen, in order. You would tell the teller at the window "Next race here, $10 trifecta on 1,3, and 7" and that means that you're betting $10 that horse #1 will win, horse #3 will place and horse #7 will show. The payouts are pretty good, depending on the odds of each horse. For my bet, I figured it would have paid well in excess of $100. Anyway, as the horses were coming down the backstretch, the three that I'd chosen for my trifecta were among the four leaders, and all four were bunched in tight. For a split second, the board showed my exact bet as the top as the horses neared the finish line. I was going bannanas. Standing up, I was screaming at the top of my lungs "HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT". I mean, I was yelling so loud and hard that my chest hurt. So hard that I became dizzy after I stopped. Unfortunately, the horses didn't hold it, and I wound up losing my bet. But at that moment and the moments that followed, I understood how gamblers get hoooked. It's hard to forget the rush of feeling alive, the feeling of being so heavily invested in an outcome over which you have no control.

Obviously, the feeling on that flight and the feeling at Belmont are different in that of the former, once I hit the ground and made sense of the gravity of it all, I could, to a large degree, control how happy I would be. So maybe control, or lack thereof, isn't what gives me the feeling of being alive. Maybe it's the complete uncertainty of a situation and the awareness of the ramifications of the outcome. Maybe it is angst and questioning that gives me that feeling, rather than the outcome itself.

Who knows? But that's your update for now.

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.