April 2007

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Monday, 4-30-7

I drove deep into Georgia this morning.  I came through Sumpter County and saw the tornado damage from last month or so.  I've never seen any real tornado damage.  I've seen a lot of trees knocked over, a few signs blown down and one McDonald's destroyed.  I've never seen damage like this before.  You know how they always talk about how a tornado will touch down, destroy a house and then jump over the next one?  Well someone forgot to tell this one to jump.  There was a long line of blue tarps and rubble walls.  It was pretty weird to see it up close like that.  It was almost like a museum piece.  No one was paying attention to the houses and businesses.  Since this happened a month or two ago I guess it is old news to the locals but I thought it was pretty weird.

I'm listening to one of the many Podcasts I always check out and I'm having a hard time cutting this one off.  She is a nice lady and I'm sure she helps some people out with her opinions and all but she's too wishy-washy and contradictory for me to enjoy any more.  I came across her Podcast last year and I've listened to every episode she's put out.  While most of it was interesting, she takes an hour to divulge about twenty minutes worth of content.  She puts out a show about once a month and for the last four months or so I've decided to "unsubscribe" to her feed because she's just not for me.  But, I feel weird about it because she really is so nice.  There are Podcasters that I have had e-conversations with but she's not one of them.  I've never talked to her but it's like I'm breaking up with a Podcast or something.  It is so weird.

Last week I watched "The Reaping" and in the review I pointed out the two scientists with/without faith.  This is the second time this week that someone has pointed out to me that being a Christian is detrimental to your life expectancy.  The scientist that had his faith in God was killed.  The doubting scientist lived through the whole movie because we had to complete the circle and bring her back to her faith in God.  The one that had faith was expendable because he's already going to a better place and there's not much character development to explore with him.  So in terms of movie plot, being secure in your faith gets you killed earlier.

Also, I once again received that e-mail about a father and son and the son's friend out on a boat and the seas turn rough.  The boat capsizes and the father can only save one of the boys.  Knowing his son is a Christian and that his son's friend is not, the father chooses to save the friend instead of his own son.  The story always ends up with someone calling "Bullshit" and it turns out the storyteller was the father or he was the little boy and now he's turned into the world's greatest preacher or something.  Doesn't this sound to you like being a Christian is going to get you killed?  I can't ever imagine a situation where (all things being equal) I could only save one person and I don't pick my child.  You change the situation a little and maybe I could pick the friend but not with all things being equal.  I mean if you told me that if I tried to save Becca there was a 95% that they would both die but if I tried to save the friend, Becca would still die but there was only a 5% chance the friend would die...  MAYBE then I choose to save the friend, but still I doubt it.  Maybe I'm not such a nice guy but I believe we should make the best of life as we know it.  My lack of faith in a paradise-like afterworld prevents me from making decisions like that one.  Why refrain from living here on Earth when there is absolutely zero proof that there is something better waiting for us after we die, but only if we sacrifice what is given to us now?  It's like Monte Hall offering you door number two if you give up the $10,000 you have in your hands.  No thanks dude, you keep door number two, I'm going to buy a bike!  Door number two could be a million dollars, it could be a cow in a dress.  I'm making the best of what I've got.  If I'm wrong and I do have to face the Christian perception of judgment, at least I can hold my head high and say that I used the brains that he gave me to make the best decision possible and that I lived the life he gave me to the fullest, never wasting one second of it on what might be.  But, I don't think I'll have to give that speech.  Not to anyone with any authority to sit in judgment of me anyway...

Sunday, 4-29-7

The website being down is killing me.  How long before I just scrap the whole thing!?  How do you run a business with the tech support these guys offer?

Why is it that mainstream news outlets have gone soft?  It used to be that you could watch the 6:00 news and find out what was going on in your local area.  By 6:15 they were done with the weather, moving on to national news.  6:25; sports and done by 6:30.  At 6:30 the gossip shows like "Entertainment Tonight" took over for half an hour and at 7pm some national news program like "Nightline" came on for serious world wide news.  You can get a recap of everything you missed on the 11pm news before Leno.  I'm feeling my age because I still want to say Carson not Leno.
Now we get the news at 5pm and 6pm, 10pm and 11pm.  The gossip shows have their own networks and primetime showings.  With all of this time to fill, the news has gone from unbiased journalism and serious news to flighty and compassionate drivel.  They give us ten minute fluffs on adopting a puppy or heartwarming stories about some lady giving up a kidney to a stranger in Zaire.  The most gut-wrenching trend is this "celebrity news".  Treating people as if they are important just because they can (or can't) sing or just because they are in our favorite movies... it's just fucking stupid.  Letting Don Henley or Paul McCartney sway you on how to vote.  Do I give a shit about Don Imus?  Does ANYone give a shit about Anna Nichole-Smith?  Why do I know that Britney Spears is bald?  I shouldn't know this unless I was a fan.  Is it really national news that Alec Baldwin had a fight with his daughter?  In a day and age of wars, terrorism, political chess, nuclear threats and rogue nations, are they so hard up for news that the lead story is whether or not some bi-coastal rich kid ends up in therapy because daddy yelled at her?  I'm absolutely sure that if a nuclear bomb went off in a foreign country killing thousands of people and Brad Pitt was caught fishing without a license, both on the same day, they would compete for airtime.

I hate television.  My mother taught me that there are no bad words, only bad intentions behind the words.  She never let me curse and swear but I learned early on that the words are not at fault.  Mom forbid only one word in our house, "hate".  You were not allowed to use that word because it was too commonly applied to situations where "dislike" or "upset" should apply.  Now, all that being said...  I HATE what television has become.  I really mean it so that is proper use of the word and my mom won't be upset with me on that one I'm sure.

I had a pretty decent weekend.  Busy like always but hey, what are you gonna do? I always bitch about being too busy but I wouldn't have it any other way.  Maybe a little more time in the weekend...

So Friday I got up and took the truck in for maintenance.  While we were out we stopped in for breakfast at Panera Bread.  All I wanted was a danish and a coffee.  I saw the sign and it had the same damn stupid names for sizes that StarSchmucks does.  I won't start up on that because it's a tired, old bit and it won't play anymore but I REFUSE to order according to their stupid little chart.  I asked for my pastry and a "small coffee".  I expected the guy to correct me and at that point I was prepared to jump over the counter and bleed him all over their cappuccino machine.  I was going to pounce on him and beat him with stale bread yelling, "You're a clerk behind a counter, not a fucking "Coffee Barista" and small does NOT equal tall in any sense of the word.  Never ever, ever, EVER correct another customer with your uppity-bullshit-made up language again!"  But, nothing happened.  He took the order and gave me my cup all without any trouble.  I was happy.  Until...  I went over to the self-serve coffee area and could barely find the coffee.  Tea and flavored coffees all over the place but regular, caffeinated, coffee-flavored-coffee was in the back hiding like a relic from a forgotten time.  Back when humans used to drink coffee and not mocha-latte-double-espresso-fuck-you-coffee.  I had an enjoyable breakfast with Teresa and we left.  On the way out the door, I threw away my empty coffee cup.  I didn't carry it around for a few hours so that everyone could see me with trendy coffee.  Ok, I swore I wouldn't play this tired bit again but damn, it gets me every time!  And only because the two of you are waiting for it, "Foua bucks foa a cup a fuwkin cawfe!?"

Friday night we got to hang out with some friends for the whole evening.  It was a rare treat.  I got to relax and didn't have to be anywhere.  It didn't stop me from feeling that way but I was able to tell myself to calm down.  It felt weird, not having any pressure to perform like the dancing monkey I always feel like.  I was able to sit and talk and really communicate.  Talking as well as listening.  I learned a lot I didn't know.  I forgot how fulfilling it can be to have full conversations rather than just a string of anecdotes.  Normally Teresa is the only person I get to have any real meaningful discussions with.  I enjoyed the company and the alternate points of view.  It's also nice to hear people tell Teresa the same stuff I've been telling her for a long time.  She never listens to me but somehow, when it comes from other people, she listens.  It's like she knows there's a bias when it comes from me.  Baby, you really are beautiful, no matter who does or doesn't say it.

Saturday I got up early and started working in the backyard.  I did a lot more than I expected to do.  I told Becca she had to work in the yard with me for an hour and a half.  I figured I‘d let her do some cleaning and then we'd work on her bike and I'd let her ride around for the rest of the time.  I just wanted her outside rather than in on her computer or in front of the television.

The dogs have been chewing on tree branches.  They have been dragging them onto the patio and knowing on these 6" logs.  So the backyard looks like it migrated up to the back door.  Every time I move them back to the yard, they migrate again.  So this time I started a fire.  I burned almost every bit of scrap wood in the back yard. 

While I was out there, I took down Becca's old swing set.  It hasn't seen any use in the last two years.  It was still stable enough to be good for use but rusty enough that you couldn't really move it to someone else's yard.  I was out there with the reciprocating saw and found that the wood blades worked better than the metal blades for these empty pipes.  I didn't want to get rid of everything, I am sure I could use these pipes for SOMETHING.  Nope, get rid of them.  I would save everything if I could.

The next to go was her trampoline.  It is a smaller one and too low to the ground for her to bounce on.  The padding and netting were all torn up but the frame, springs and trampoline part all looked new(ish).  So we decided to ask the new family on the block if they wanted it.  They have two small children that are always riding their bikes up and down the street.  We went out front and they weren't home so we put the trampoline in front of my work truck and went back to work.  About an hour later there is a knock at the front door.  The two little kids are at the door asking what we are doing with the trampoline.  Their mother is just walking up the driveway and I tell her that if she wants it, it's hers.  I tell her where she can buy a new net for it and we carry it over to her front yard.  Becca was a little sad to see it go but she was happier knowing that someone was using it.  Just like her daddy.  I'd give away just about anything I have, as long as I knew someone wanted it and it wasn't going to waste.

The only things I did save from the fire were a couple of solid 4x4 posts.  I'm going to do some fence-work here soon and I know I'll be using them.  One of them was a long 14' post in good shape.  I dragged it over to the patio and cleaned it off.  We decided it would be a perfect measuring device for her science project.  We marked it off and she painted it black and white (alternating each foot) and we secured it to what is left of her swing set.  Now she can shoot her Mentos/Diet Coke rockets into the air and we'll have a way of measuring it.  She never got above five feet but we also never restricted the opening.  I'm going to show her how to make it shoot up really high when I get home.  For anyone keeping score at home, her science project showed that the "Caffeine-free Diet Coke" was the best result.  It shot almost a foot higher than all the others.  So now we're stocking up on the stuff.

I love a fire.  It really is a soothing element to me.  I just enjoy watching it consume everything down to a clean and empty end.  I stopped feeding the fire around 2p and it was embers by 6p.  We had to leave the house so as much as I hated to do it, I went out there with the hose to finish it off.  I always prefer seeing it collapse on itself, burning up the last possible ember and winking out.  But, with the dryness and the winds (two reasons I should never have had a backyard fire in the first place) I couldn't leave the house without knowing that the fire was safely out and cold.  I turned the embers with a shovel and hosed them down.  It took a lot longer than I thought.  Teresa was waiting to leave but the fire was hotter than I imagined and it took a good ten minutes to get it completely out.  In the end, there was nothing but the half-burned remains of a giant log, some charcoal and a few springs.  The springs were from some of the last notebooks I wrote in.  When Teresa saw them and I told her what they were she was pissed.  She was hoping she'd get to read some of my stories.  I told her she didn't want to read any of them, they were lousy shorts that I should have burned a long time ago.

So Saturday evening was "Ladies Night".  You know you are getting old and becoming "Dad" rather than "Chris" when ladies night is bowling with your daughter's Girl Scout troop.  We sat and cheered on the girls.  I could only relax after each of them finally scored at least one pin.  It took one girl until the fourth frame before she hit anything but the floor.  Once they started getting into the groove, everything was cool.  I was worried about Becca playing because she's so damn competitive, but lousy at bowling.  Every time we bowl with her, she gets upset and starts to really boil over by the middle of the second game.  She did not have that problem this time.  She was the second best bowler there.  In the beginning it looked like she would walk away with all three games but one of the other girls gave her a run for her money.  Becca won the first game but fell off from there.  She had fun and that's all she was supposed to do.

Just as the girls started their third game, a couple of the other parents decided to bowl a game in the next lane.  It was me, the co-leader, the co-leader's older daughter and another father.  He was dancing the whole time and really having fun.  He's the one who started calling it "Ladies Night".  I played for fun, not really competing but trying to play within the abilities of the other players.  Some people might call it sand-bagging, I prefer calling it playing under-speed.  I'm not really much of a bowler but if we were to shoot pool, I'm much better at pulling this off.  I sat there and watched the other three bowl and decided how well I had to hit this frame.  I tried to call my pins (quietly to Teresa) and pulled it off pretty well.  The other father was pulling away from me and I thought to myself that I was screwing around too much and lost the game.  I picked up speed and going in to the tenth frame I needed to hit it low, like a three because I got a spare in the ninth, but then I'll have to pick up the spare to get the extra ball in the tenth to win.  See, strategy is not always about winning, to me it is about how to just BARELY win.  Like by one point.  So I throw the ball and I hit it harder than I thought and got a seven.  Ok, I'll just do it in reverse.  A little less dramatic but I can still come close.  As I'm walking back, everyone cheers.  Somehow the last three pins fell down and I got the strike.  Damn!  Now I've already won and unless I getter the last two balls, I'll win by a significant amount.  It's a good thing I wasn't hustling for money or I would have come home with some broken fingers.

Wednesday, 4-25-7

Oh the pain, it just won't stop!  I feel another fit coming on and I am completely powerless to stop it.  I have to purge another bellyful of accumulated bile that is just eating away at me from the inside.  Lucky for you the website is still down and you might miss this post if it takes much longer for me to get it running again.

Hotel housekeeping:  I don't understand how they think.  I am borderline OCD.  Borderline because I am very selective in the things I am obsessive with.  When I get to a hotel room I have things I must do.  Among the many rituals I perform upon arrival, I have to set up the bathroom.  I take my "bathroom stuff" bag out of the suitcase and unpack it in the bathroom.  Toothpaste and deodorant on the left.  Contact lens solution and cleaner bottles on the right.  Wash toothbrush, place it on the left.  Empty hairbrush, place it on the right.  They always leave the hotel soaps and shampoo and a towel on the wall of the tub.  Open one soap, place it on the sink.  Put shampoo in the shower, take hotel shampoo and extra soap and put it on the back of the sink.  Spread towel on floor.
Now this (among the other set-ups I do in a new room) takes me a while.  If I'm traveling with someone and we're tired and want to go grab dinner, they always wonder what I'm doing in there.  Heffner will go to his room, literally drop his bag inside the door and say, "Let's go."  I have to set up my room.  I have to!  So, after all of this careful prep, I go on about my day and return to the room that night.  Housekeeping ALWAYS throws away the open soap and replaces it with a new one.  They take the shampoo from the back of the sink and place it on the tub wall again and for some damn reason, they always close the tub drain.  And while cleaning the sink-top, my personal items are moved.  Are they fucking with me?  I'm a dirty boy but one bar of soap will last me the three or four nights I am staying at the hotel.  I don't need to open a new soap every day.  They throw away the soap but they leave the note about reusing the towels to reduce the amount of laundry they have to do, thereby saving the environment.  The note always has pretty pictures of horses romping in the morning sun.  Pretty, but if they were serious about conservation, why throw away a perfectly good bar of soap and force me to open another one?  I've taken to concealing the soap in my "bathroom stuff" bag and reusing it.  Why close the tub drain?  At least answer me that.  All the rest I can accept but why close the tub drain.  Every time!?  If I forget to open it at night, I'll be standing ankle deep in water in the morning.

Why is it that only "bad guys" have henchmen?  I was watching an old show on the History Channel (reruns on History Channel are often better than the new shows on Network TV) and it was all about Hitler's plan to build the "World Capital" Germania.  It was waxing fantastical about Albert Speer and his cutting edge designs and how it was incredible that they could build to such a scale back then.  I enjoyed the show back when I first saw it so I left it on in the background as I typed up some work on the computer.  Out of the corner of my ear I hear them talking about Hitler and his henchmen.  This was a show about architecture, not politics.  It should have said Hitler and his cabinet, Hitler and his staff, Hitler and his men, Hitler and his advisors, Hitler and his cronies... but "Henchmen"?  Ok, I get it, he was a bad guy.  Maybe even the bad guy but it made me notice that "henchmen" is always reserved for the bad guys.  When a "good guy" has a group of people doing his bidding, they call them apostles.

And as long as I'm on the idea of stigmatizing a word or phrase, why is it that an "Act of God" is always a bad thing?  Insurance policies, warranty contracts, non-refundable tickets, all of them tell you that basically, in the event of an act of God, you're fucked.  Lightning, freak snow storm, earthquake, floods, hurricanes... why is it that an act of God always ends up killing people or screwing me out of money?  Why can't an act of God end up with everyone getting free ice cream or a new DVD player?  And on all of these forms, they use the capital "G" for God so it's not MY gods' fault, it's YOUR god's fault.  My gods aren't so egotistical that they need every pronoun or phrase referring to them capitalized.  Jesus is capitalized because it is a name.  So is Chris.  But when you say "he" or "him" while referring to me, you don't capitalize it, why would you when referring to Him?  Just one more silly rule that drives me crazy when trying to converse with these people.  I can't count how many times I have been in an on-line discussion and some dink gets upset because I refer to Jesus with a lowercase "he".  They were losing the debate and decided to call the game based on stupidity.  The best part is, if you ever read their own propaganda, they say you shouldn't discuss/debate religion with non-believers because Satan will make it look like the non-believer is right.  They have a plan for everything don't they?  Circular reasoning is their specialty.  The morons are out there but why do they always fly straight into me?

I spent 30 minutes (that is an eternity) at a gas station Monday morning.  My gas card worked just fine.  It asked me for my odometer reading and my driver PIN.  After I filled up, it didn't give me my receipt and told me to "see cashier".  Behind the counter was a very small, frail looking Asian woman.  In barely understandable English, she tells me that the card didn't take and I need to run it again.  I run the card and it doesn't take.  Again and again she tries.  She's hollering at the machine and this frail woman has become a highly animated and enraged monster.  She yelling, "It not creer, it no creer!"  That was the closest she came to speaking English during our entire encounter.  After several other language clashes, we have checked that the nozzle of the pump is hung back up properly and run the card probably ten times now.  This lady is losing her mind and finally I whip out my AmEx and tell her to put it on that.  The card clears quickly and I all but jump in the truck and I'm gone and away from the crazy Asian lady that made my bigotry against "non-English speaking workers in America" spark back to life.  I just wanted to be away from her before I started to really feel the anger rise.  I stopped at another gas station 100 yards away because I wanted to get some cigars and a case of water but I wasn't willing to deal with the crazy lady any longer.  In the name of international peace, I was willing to make the second stop.  I pick up the water (and a Cheerwine soda-pop) and place it on the counter.  The guy asks me, in a heavy Indian accent BUT perfectly understandable English, how my day was going.  I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth, I told him, "It's going good.  Today will be a good day."  He told me he was happy to hear it, rang me up and bid me the obligatory, "Come again".  I smiled and thought to myself, "My what a difference in those two experiences."  Both of the clerks spoke in broken English.  The Indian guy made me want to smile, made me want to be his friend.  The Asian lady made me realize that before this day is through, I just might have to kill someone.

I saw a great e-mail signature yesterday.  It made me laugh aloud even though I'm probably coming late to the party and its old news.
"There are only 10 kinds of people, those that can read binary and those that can't."

Those billboards that have babies with the word "Fragile" stamped on their forehead.  That's a bit obnoxious.  The caption is a warning about never shaking a baby but what is the point?  If you're fucking stupid enough to shake an infant to death, then you're probably too stupid to read.  It's not like some dumb redneck is driving home from work thinking, "I'm bored, I think I'll go home and shake the baby" and then sees the billboard and realizes it is dangerous.
I think the worst thing about that billboard is the visual.  It is poorly done, any novice graphic artist could have done a better job of making it look better.  But the image of these kids looking docile and innocent after being "processed" and stamped just gives me the idea that they are part of some futuristic baby farm where everyone if given a bar-code and processed, stamped and sent out to the kennels, awaiting their assignments to parents.  Maybe it's just me but that's what that billboard makes me think of and it creeps me out.

Last week when I was in Valdosta, Heffner and I hit the strip club.  If you are following along and playing at home, this was the same place we tried to go to on Valentine's Day earlier this year.  I'm not much of a strip club guy but I'll never turn down looking at boobs.  I'd never go to one alone or suggest it as a plan of action but I'd also never turn it down if suggested by others and I'm always up for playing Heffner's wingman.
We go in and it's just what you'd imagine a strip club in Valdosta, Ga would look like.  It's a redneck looking bar with a stage.  There are pool tables and it looks just like a regular bar except for the television on the wall playing hardcore porn from the 80's.  There are some girls dancing around and I'll bet their mommas told them they were the prettiest girls in the trailer park.  Actually they are all pretty good looking.  A little flat-chested for the stripper scene but very nice.  They do the usual hanging around and trying to chat you up, figuring that if you know something about them you'll give them more money...  I'm sitting there and enjoying the weird sensation.  I'm almost never in these places so it feels weird every time.  Almost like I expect my Mom to come through the door and tell me to go home.  Weird but not bad.  I'm with a good friend, drinking, smoking a cigar and looking at boobs.  When one of the dancers is on stage, I'm actually more interested in the porn channel rather than her.  One of the strippers dances to Eminem's "Without Me".  As she's dancing, I notice that the music is the censored version of the song.  After that, I noticed it with every song played; they never played an explicit song, everything was censored.  How absurd is that?
I'm a grown man, old enough to smoke, old enough to drink, old enough to know better.  I am in a dark truck-stop bar with twenty guys, half of which are probably baked out of their minds.  We're watching Ron Jeremy and two other guys shooting ropes across some woman's body on the TV.  There is a stripper on stage wearing only a thong and stockings trying to show us her goodies.  But they can't let Eminem say "fuck"?  Based on the surroundings, it seemed a bit ridiculous!  Protecting you from filthy language, even while you surround yourself with every other vice known to man...

Heffner did a piece last week.  All of the comments I have received have been of high praise so we will endeavor to have him back on the show soon.  Anyway, his inaugural piece was on the VA Tech shootings and in it he said that drugs are illegal and that's why a lot of us won't do them.  Something that came up in our conversation but never made it to his editorial is this: drinking is a man's high, drugs are for wimps.  It was another small nugget of brilliance and I thought it should see the light of day.  Most recreational drugs don't have hangovers.  You smoke the joint, you have your fun and go to sleep.  The next morning, you wake up feeling fine.  No consequences for your indulgence.  Getting high, getting drunk, they are both time wasters and a huge indulgence against getting everything you want to get done, done.  But sometimes you've got to say, "What the fuck".  (This being one of the only times you'll catch me quoting Tom Cruise) I don't draw any line of distinction between drink or drug other than our government's infinite wisdom to make the less dangerous one illegal.  Heffner pointed out the fact that alcohol makes you pay for what you have done.  If you are man enough to drink all night than you had better be man enough to take your ass-whipping in the morning.  Drugs (most) don't make you pay.  You can get high all you want and then move on with a normal day tomorrow.  In this way, alcohol has created a more selective drinker, one who will give pause and consider his actions.  Of course there are always exceptions to the rule and I believe that the alcoholic is not damned due only to the demon alcohol.  If it were unavailable, the alcoholic would find his addiction elsewhere.  So, exceptions aside, the man who drinks balances accomplishments with his indulgences.  Drugs do not enforce this same balance.  With no consequence, there is no pause and some choose to sit all day, getting high, accomplishing nothing.

I've been working on a lot of military bases recently.  We received an e-mail from the faceless higher-ups about recent events involving young Arabic men posing as telephone men attempting to gain access to military bases.  As of the e-mail last week, 13 such cases in the last eight weeks.  Three of them have been investigated and found to have direct links to terrorist organizations.  In the e-mail we were told to take basic precautions.  Always have ID, always have a point of contact on the base before showing up, always know where on the base you need to go... etc.  So silly me, I'm thinking, "Great, now I won't be sent out to these places unaware of what the hell is going on."  Normally, I find my POC on base about three hours after sitting in the visitor's parking lot and I never know where any of the buildings are.  We received the e-mail over the weekend.  Monday I drove to Shaw AFB without a POC and no clue where the buildings are.  Things never change.  The only thing that has changed is that now they can say, "We told you so" if problems ever arise.  I find myself giving in a little bit.  I'm not pointing out the contradictions, I'm not bitching about the obvious flaws.  I have (temporarily at least) just stopped giving a shit.  As long as they don't throw me in the military prison, I'll sit here all day long, waiting on a POC who didn't know I was coming until he got the phone call two minutes ago.
Once I get inside, I feel like a slacker.  Here I am fat and out of shape, long hair, surrounded by people that take PT seriously.  These people are machines.  They wake, exercise, work, eat and sleep when the man tells them to.  And here I come, strolling in whenever I want, testing circuits and then strolling out.  They must hate me.  I make it on base by a phone call, no face to face other than the hired guard at the gate.  Isn't that funny?  The people who assign guest passes for the bases are third party civilians.  Strange.  So I talk my way on base by giving a company name and showing my badge.  I am granted a three day pass, I come and go as I please.  I drive around hoping to find the right buildings, sometimes finding myself in restricted areas.  I walk in and tell the person at the first desk I see "I'm here to work in your phone room" and they let me in.  Feel safe?

As I finish this up, let me leave you with a couple of thoughts.  "It can always get worse", and "two of your favorite things don't always go well together".  Teresa always takes care of me.  (More than she probably should)  She makes sure that when I am driving out a long way on Monday that I have some basic provisions.  She gets my coffee ready so all I have to do is hit the button in the morning and she packs a couple of sandwiches in a cooler so I have lunch on the road (because she knows I won't stop to eat).  Isn't she the sweetest thing?  In that cooler she'll also pack a couple of snacks so that I have something to munch on back at the hotel.  This time she put in my last box of Samoa Girl Scout cookies.  I ate one of the sandwiches and a few of the Samoas while driving.  I put the rest in the refrigerator in the hotel room.  If I can make the "home" food last a few days, I can keep more of the per diem pay.  Tuesday night, I ate the other sandwiches and tonight I tried to eat some of the Samoas.  I ate one and thought, "Something tastes funny."  I figured it was just my imagination and ate another.  It was bad too.  I set them aside and drank another bottle of water.  A few hours later I tried another cookie.  It was horrible!  I love these cookies.  I can (and have) gone through an entire box in minutes.  Why are these so disgusting?  The taste finally dawned on me.  Liverwurst.  The sandwiches I had were liverwurst and onion.  The cookies must have absorbed the odor from the sandwiches.  Once I identified the taste I tried another cookie and I just couldn't eat any more.  You know me, I'll eat a Samoa cookie if it falls in a pile of wet dog shit but I actually threw away the rest of the box.  They were inedible.

So, when everyone is complaining about the new flavors of the Girl Scout cookies being bland, it could be worse.  They could manufacture liverwurst and Samoa flavored cookies.

Friday, 4-20-7

Happy IV-XX everyone, smoke it if you've got it!

When Johnny Carson took a night off, he had people fill in for him.  (Not that I'm Carson or anything)  He scheduled friends and peers to host the show that night, people that he knew would keep his audience entertained.

Well the other night, Heffner and I were sitting around getting "Crowned" and he came up with an idea so brilliant that I just couldn't steal his thunder from him.  I always absorb ideas from those around me and if I take entire concepts I give credit to the person I was inspired by.  I couldn't even do that in this case.  It's all him.  I would post this right here in the normal day to day rants but he even described his idea with appropriate background music and all.

So click here and without further ado, "Heeeerrrrre's Heffner!"

Wednesday, 4-18-7

I've had a few people ask why I don't let anyone read my writing.  Now that horror and fantasy writing is back in the news, I'll address it once again.  I've written lots of poems, short-stories, novellas, screenplays and now a third novel-length work, no one has ever read them but me.  Actually I take that back, I had one of my pieces printed in a magazine a long time ago but I never got paid (or credited) for it.  I began writing for an escape.  I could read well enough, but none of the books I read took me out far enough.  None showed me the visions I wanted to see.  I loved some of the stories but I couldn't relate to them like I wanted to.  The ideas (voices) in my head had a much darker tone and I used pencil and paper to vent them out.  I couldn't draw worth a crap but I could write extremely well.  The finished work is always a surprise to me, I have a general idea of where I'm going but how I get there is something I always discover along the way.  I'm not a novelist; I'm not even a writer.  I'm in therapy.  I'm Jekyll and the stories are Hyde.  Those voices need to get out.  Some of the things they say are horrible and nasty.  Some of you know that even my Dr. Jekyll side isn't very tame; do you really want to imagine what my Mr. Hyde is like?  I'm not ashamed of what I write but it can get pretty damned vile.  That is why I never let anyone read them.

I used to write in notebooks, now I have converted to computer.  When I have finished a story, I print out the manuscript just as if I were going to submit it to a publisher (courier font, double spaced...) I read through it again, make any notations, just to make sure the story is complete.  And then I make it go away and the voices go with it.  That is not writing, that is therapy.  I never intended to let anyone read my work but I'll admit, Teresa has been working the angle a bit lately and I was considering letting her get a peek behind my mask.  Now I'm reading the paper about Cho Seung-Hui (Ok, no middle name but a hyphenated last name sounds just as good) the shooter in Virginia, and what they are saying scares me to the point that I'm afraid to even write anything let alone share it with anyone!  They are going on and on about his violent and horrific plays and poems he turned in and that will make everyone watch out for "more of the same".  The next unknown fiction writer to submit his work could be arrested for suspicion of being the next mass murderer.  That sounds crazy but you know as well as I do that the media is playing this up and the general public (sheep, LCD, average American, bored housewives, whatever you want to call them) are always looking for a way to blame something else when any tragedy hits.  Don't believe me?  Jerry Falwell and Pat Roberson blamed pagans and lesbians for the WTC attacks.  It's not the terrorist's fault, it's those damned tree-huggers.  It's always someone else's fault.  There always has to be an underlying blame.

If he has a Judas Priest or any gangsta-rap CD, it was the music's fault.  If he has any RPG books, it was Dungeon's and Dragon's fault.  If he ever played Grand Theft Auto, it was the video game's fault.  If he has any HP Lovecraft, it was the occult's fault.  Maybe he was raised in a bad home, maybe it was the other kid's fault for not accepting him, maybe it was television shows, maybe it was the violence in the video games, maybe, maybe, maybe...  What ever happened to just being fucking crazy?  Lots of us out here do all that stuff and haven't killed anyone yet!  The only music that ever inspired me to kill was Britney Spears.

And a great movie with the theme of always looking for an underlying blame, I went to watch "Arlington Road" this weekend and it's not there.  Did I loan it out to any of you? 

Tuesday, 4-17-7

Wow was yesterday and exhausting day or what?  I had a slew of issues that just sapped every bit of energy I had in me.

I got up early and drove in to Valdosta by 8am.  I have a schedule of events that I have to have completed by the end of the week and that is broken up on a day/day schedule.  The full week schedule is at least two full weeks worth of work if things go like normal.  So when things started to go right and I got my daily schedule completed by 9:30am, I started to feel a bit more optimistic.  After all, if ANYone can complete this full schedule, it is "Team Chris".  I'm working with Heffner this week so I know I have a knowledgeable and competent tech that I can rely on.  That always makes the work go smoother.  9:30 and we already finished everything planned for the day, I'm feeling happy and ready to get to work on the other sites so we can get ahead of schedule.  By 10:30 I'm already back in my funk and fully aware that nothing EVER goes right and that optimism has no place in this field.  By 5pm, I'm ready to slit my wrists.  I really can't stand the constant rollercoaster of thinking things are going well (elated high) and the inevitable crash of reality.  What goes up must come down and gravity is working overtime around here.  Emotionally tiring.

Is it just me or is everyone else really fucking tired of the media making big stories out of little people?  Do you give a shit about Anna Nichole Smith?  Neither do I.  Why is she a news story a full month after she goes tits-up?  (Sorry, but how can you pass THAT one up???)  Don Imus insulting people, is this news?  I thought that was what he was hired for, to give CBS a counter to NBC's Howard Stern.  I guess now that Stern isn't on terrestrial radio anymore someone decided they didn't need Imus and railroaded him.  For the record, I'm not an Imus fan, I don't think he's entertaining at all and I don't listen to him but I'm sure his comments were much tamer that the trash-talking going on between these girls and their opponents while on/off the court.  These girls know what power their race provides them and they are wielding that power for their entire 15 minutes of fame.  There is no defense at all for the race-card attack.  Once someone hollers 'racism', you might as well pack it up and go home.  What ever happened to changing the channel?  Let the people decide what offends them.  If the people were really offended by his comments, they would change the channel and ratings would drop.  But instead of allowing people that choice, Jessie and Al stepped in and basically incited a riot.  I just love that recent episode of South Park where Stan's dad tries to apologize to Jessie Jackson a Jessie drops his pants and wiggles his butt at him and says, "Kiss it, kiss it, apologize..."

I've heard downright nasty and hateful things said about white people on many different radio shows, where were Jessie and Al then?  Why aren't they "standing on the side of what is right" then?  Because they are both racist media whores.  They only come out when it is a black being hurt by a white.  What about white being hurt by black?  What about black being hurt by black?  They only make an appearance if it is white hurting black because that is where the news cameras are.  Oh sure, they denounce black on black crimes and slurs but why aren't they doing anything about it?  Why aren't they at LEAST doing what they try to do when whitey is the offender?  A redneck radio talk host says "nappy-headed hoes" and the world loses its fucking mind but you change the channel (because you don't care for that kind of talk) and you got DMX, 50-Cent and Snoop-Dogg telling you about their bitches and hoes.

Which phrase offends you more:

Nappy-headed hoes

Life ain't nuttin but bitches and money.

And baby girl steady takin' dick to the brain.  Now it ain't no thing, cus she swallowed it up

Bitches aint nothin but hoes n tricks, Lick on these balls and suck my dick

Imus was not the heaviest offender on radio.

So as I work my way through the day, we enter one of the buildings and everyone is gathered around the break room television watching the Virginia Tech shooter.  We got to work but check out the web at the same time.  Now you all know me, you know I have very little sense of decency and a morbid fascination with serial killers and mass-murderers.  This does not mix well in public.  I'm with Heffner and Steve (TOR) and we're talking about the breaking news.  I correct the news reports that call him a serial-killer as he is merely a mass-murderer.  I explain the difference between the two with maybe a bit too much clarity.  There guys are maybe a little worried that they are in a windowless room with a guy that is amazed at the number of dead not because of the loss but because it breaks a record.  I mean, regardless of what weapon he had (common availability) he had to have reloaded the gun a few times to get that many.  Most people shoot until the gun is empty and then they fall apart.  This guy had to be calculating.  This guy had to plan this.  And with that gleam in my eye that could be mistaken for admiration, Heffner and Steve take a step back from me.  Steve mentions Charles Whitman and I fill in all the gaps on him too.  Then we get to taking bets on whether this new guy is tagged with a middle name or not.  I say that there are a few well known ones but that a lot of the best ones are known by their first and last names only.  I look it up online just to get a comparison.  Wikipedia is not the place you want to go when you are doing a report for school but it does provide quick and easy information.  How quick?  I looked up the list at 2pm and it already had "Unnamed shooter at Virginia Tech, April 16, 2007" on the list.  Damn you've got to love morbid techies.  Maybe I'm not alone.

So, I get back to the hotel and instead of getting my work done, I play a level of WarCraft and then fall asleep in the chair.  Heffner calls me and we hit dinner and then crash back at the hotel.

Now, what I should have done is: complete my work and go to sleep.

What I planned on doing was: scan the channels and see if anything good is on to play in the background WHILE I complete my work and then go to sleep.

What I really did was: scanned a few channels, found a movie I was interested in that was just starting, watched the movie, attempted to complete my work and found errors, played another level of WarCraft and then went to sleep.

The movie was "United 93", the re-creation of the 4^th hijacked plane on Sept, 11.  That movie was another emotion drain.  After all the events of the day I am exhausted and between that damn game and television, I wonder why I'm getting zero sleep.  Although, I have been staying in hotels recently that have the large flat-screen TVs.  Very nice.  Maybe I'll have to look into one of them...  I finally crashed around 2am and got up this morning at 5:30.  Will I sleep tonight?  Probably not, I'm still in the first campaign of the game's expansion series.  I have a lot more levels to go...

Sunday, 4-15-7

Guess what I just got in the mail...?  I'm holding, in my chubby little hands, a book.  'EarthCore' by Scott Sigler.  I'm still waiting on my copy of 'Ancestor' but I'm holding a book by someone with whom I regularly converse.  I will be even MORE excited when JC Hutchins gets his '7^th Son' books into print.  I mean, I'd have to be a sad and lonely guy to say that I KNOW these guys just because I chat on-line with them but it is still a little cool to talk with these guys and hear how the publishing system works (or doesn't).  Now these guys are writers that have pushed their books through conventional channels as well as through podcasting but it gives a lot of us little writers out here hope.  One day, maybe I'll give it a try...

A lot has been publicized about Jackie Robinson's 60^th anniversary tomorrow.  No one has even mentioned that he wasn't the first.  I'm not taking anything away from Robinson or the trials of doing what he did; I'm just a big fan of truth and trivia.  Not everyone knows it but the truth is, Robinson was not the first, he was the third.  I wrote a little blurb about this two years ago, I'll re-post it here...

Wednesday, 3-2-5

Today Hank Aaron told me that Jackie Robinson was not the first black player in Major League Baseball.
The first black player was Moses Fleetwood Walker.
After some more research, I found Bud Fowler was the first black player to play in any white league (New Castle, PA in 1872) but, back to the majors...

Fleetwood Walker was a catcher for the Toledo Blue Stockings in 1884. Toledo had just joined the American Association, which was a major league. He played in 42 games and hit .263 that year.
His brother Welday Walker played 6 games for the same team.
With teams refusing to take the field against black players and hotels refusing to give him a room, Fleetwood Walker went back down to the minor leagues. A silent agreement was reached by team owners to keep baseball segregated.
Walker was accosted one night by a white man with a knife. He killed his attacker and was brought to trial. He was acquitted by an all white jury.

In 1947, Jackie Robinson becomes the 1st black player in the majors in 63 years. Overall, he was the 3rd black player, not the first.

Ok, back to random BS.  How long does the Jedi Mind Trick last?  The Jedi's are honest so they wouldn't want to steal anything.  In Episode 1, QuiGon-Jinn tried to get Watto to accept the Galactic Credits for the parts he needed.  He could have stolen them or tried to 'mind trick' Watto into giving them to him but he chose to pay for them with a valid (although unaccepted) currency.  The mind trick doesn't work on Watto and the movie goes on..

Suppose it had worked, how long before Watto discovered he had Galactic Credits in the till and had to make a currency exchange?  A full day?  A few hours?  20 seconds?  Could he have walked out of his shop and called after QuiGon saying, "Hey, you ripped me off!"  Could QuiGon have said, "I'm not the Jedi you are looking for"?  These are the thoughts keeping me from getting any real sleep.

I completed the latest music quiz and added a few more "modern' songs to the list.  I've always wondered why I hate nu-rock.  All the punk/pop/rock crap that Becca listens to.  Stone Sour, 30 Second to Mars, My Chemical Romance, Flyleaf, Goodnight Nurse, Fallout Boy... I just can't stand them, there's no soul behind their music!  In listening to these songs, I have come to realize why I don't like them.  I am getting old.

I am very condescending toward these bands.  I look at them like, "Awww isn't that cute, these guys are twying to pway music with their wittel inswements...You kids play nice now, Mommy and Daddy will be back in an hour.  If you're good, we'll go out to get ice cream!"  Get some balls man, play some real music.  If you are going to call yourself "rock", sound like a fucking rock band!  Calling yourself "metal"?  You'd better play so hard you bleed!  And for those of you calling yourself "punk", come here.  Come a little closer so you can hear me when I say, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS PUNK ANYMORE!!!  Dressing in chains/torn shirts, not being able to play your instruments and dying your mohawk bright green does not give you the right to bastardize a movement that was over before most of you were born you fucking retard!

I think if I were a casual fan of music I might enjoy some of their music.  But being a rabid fan and a sometime musician, their music offends my ears and their posturing offends my soul.  I tried man, I really tried.  Every once in a while I hear a track and I go, "ohh, hey, this one sounds good."  I'll listen for a while and the band always shits the bed.  They start out with a blaze, they build the intro with a solid enough riff.  Then they got to the first verse and the music goes cold.  The flailing drums and chainsaw guitars give way to a simple 2/4 pattern and acoustic-sounding emptiness from the guitars.  All this is to make sure we hear the "singer".  Most often he has gone to the Eddie Vetter/Kurt Cobain school of rock where whining and mumbling pass for vocals.  Rock/metal vocals have always been hard-pressed to call what we do actually 'singing' but this whiny cry-baby shit has got to go.  They already have a genre for whiners, they call it country music!

So now I am old and I can face that.  I don't like nu-rock because I am old, not because of any other reason.  Lots of people like it and that's okay...NO IT'S NOT!  I tried man, I really tried to accept it.  I just can't bring myself to agree with people that like this drivel but on the other hand, I don't want to be the old parent type.  I look at Becca's music and I can not like it and be fine with that, when it's pop.  I can go, "yuck, I don't like what you kids are listening to today" and I'll be okay with that.  But when it calls itself rock or metal, it MUST live up to a standard or go beyond it.  Most "rock and metal" today is just aggressive-pop!  At least when I was listening to rock and my father didn't like it; it was because it was too fast, too loud and too hard.  He may not have agreed with my music, and I know he didn't like it, but at least rock was progressing.  Now as a father, I'm looking at rock today and saying, "What the fuck happened to you pussies!?"  Rock is too soft, too bland and too wimpy.  I feel like strapping Becca to a chair and forcing her to listen to the first five Slayer albums and yelling, "THIS is what metal is supposed to sound like!  Van Halen, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, this is what rock sounds like!"

It sucks getting old.  I'm not quite curmudgeonly yet but I'm working toward it...

Friday, 4-13-7

Happy spooky day!  (spooky!)

You have to read the following post on a Quentin Tarantino timeline.  I jump from Monday to Thursday to Tuesday and back to Friday.  Still recovering from sleep dep.  As soon as I post this I'm going in to get some real sleep.  Teresa and Becca are out at a Girl Scout overnight trip and instead of living it up bachelor style, I'm posting web updates and going to sleep.  I really am boring aren't I?

Living in hotels and working in air traffic towers I have to face one of my fears every day.  Getting on and off of the elevator.  Not the elevator itself or the possibility of it crashing and killing me, the idea that it might fall while I am halfway on or off, squishing me at the threshold.  Every time I get on or off, I wait for that crack sound and I wonder if I'll even hear it before I'm cut in two.  I guess that's really just a fear not a superstition.  Friday the 13^th is about superstitions.  I have lots of rituals I do in my every day life, most people would call that OCD not superstition.  When I write in my notebook I only use pencil.  I refuse to use pen.  That might be superstitious, but I rarely write on paper anymore.  I've fully converted to e-writing.

I still believe that my iPod is haunted or something.  Driving home from work this morning I had another three incidences, back to back!  While out with Heffner and his buddy, we were talking about people playing pop songs on the guitar and how this one guy played Paula Abdul's 'Straight Up' on the guitar and it sounded pretty good.  The next morning I got up to drive in to work and sure enough; Paula Abdul, Straight Up was the first song on the iPod.  The next night Donovan's 'Atlantis' came on and I thought to myself, "If I have to listen to a story-song, at least give me a more detailed story than that!"  The next song was '2112'.  20 minutes later, towards the end of 2112, Heffner calls me to discuss the botched maintenance window.  We get to talking about hanging out and concerts.  He says that they usually go to SunFest but that the line-up has sucked for the last few years.  He mentions Melissa Etheridge, Indigo Girls, and a few others.  I tell him that Melissa Etheridge is tolerable.  I actually like one song by her.  Of course, after we hang up, 2112 ends and the next song is the one Melissa Etheridge track that I like.  I'm telling you man, that iPod is spooky!  Ok, there again, that's not really superstitious that's just coincidence.  I guess I'm not very superstitious.  Not much anyway.

This week was tough right out of the gate but I had an easy midweek.  Wednesday was travel, Thursday I didn't have to go to work until 9pm.  So, that meant Wednesday night was perfect for drinking!  Heffner invited me up to his old friend's house in West Palm Beach.  He's told me a lot about this guy and he turned out to be really nice.  We got along really well and by the end of the night (3am) I was really exhausted but happy.  They were giving me shit because I had stopped drinking beer around midnight and was just drinking water.  The last thing I wanted to do was throw up all over Heffner's buddy.  All of the bars we hit were within walking distance of this guy's house.  When we got back to his house I was ready to drive back to my hotel in Ft. Lauderdale.  I was sober and I figured 3am traffic has got to be better than whatever time I get up tomorrow morning.  They insisted I crash on the futon almost to the point of being insulted that I didn't want to stay.  It's not that I didn't like the place, it's just that I didn't want to be the unknown guy that is snoring in the other room keeping everyone else awake.  Heffner and this guy go back a long way, I didn't want to be the 'hanger-on'.  I had a good time, even if I did stop drinking early, I hope I didn't disappoint my friend by not being the outrageous freak I can be from time to time.  I'm always a bit reserved around new people, especially when I'll be sleeping in their house later that night.  Can you imagine, "I'd like you to meet my friend Morgan.  He's a good guy if you can ignore the batch of puke all over your futon."  (For those of you who remember it, you can replace the "puke on the futon" with the "puke all over the front of his shirt".  Oh man I still feel so stupid for that day...)

So I get to my hotel in Ft. Lauderdale and when I open the door I almost called the front desk to see if they had me in the right room.  A huge room with a giant flat panel LCD TV on the wall, stone/glass bathroom and one of those mattresses you can drop bowling balls on without spilling the glass of wine.  I am in heaven here.  Boy are they going to be pissed off when they find out they booked a bum like me into a suite.  I haven't turned off the TV yet.  I found a channel called "the Tube"  They play music videos without a lot of commercials.  What a good idea.  Someone should market that and make a regular channel that is nothing but music television.  Music TV.  MTV.  Oh wait, never mind, they already did that and they stopped playing music.  I guess there's no market for music on TV huh?

I did turn the channel last night when I got in from the maintenance window.  I'm laying there at 2am flipping channels.  I settled on a documentary on the "People's Temple", the Jim Jones cult.  I was really digging it but of course I fell asleep.  The strange thing was waking up this morning to "Dora The Explorer".  How many drugs do you have to be on before Jim Jones melts into Dora the Explorer?

I was in Kiln, Mississippi Monday and Tuesday.  13 miles from Louisiana.  The circuit I was testing was in a brand new ATCT.  Looking at the other buildings on site, I'd imagine the old tower was destroyed in the hurricanes.  The airplane hangers out here look like they were in a shredder.  The trees along the highway are still at a 45 degree angle.  Soon enough, everything will be rebuilt and the trees will straighten up.  Soon there will be no evidence that it happened.  The system will clean and correct itself.  The trees are still bent but all the new casino billboards are up.  I guess mankind is a little more impatient than nature.  I wonder if one day someone will deny that hurricane Katrina did anything but cause a little rain.  Probably not, but we have whack-a-doos out there that are adamant Holocaust deniers.  Strange, the level of importance we put on material damage over human life.  6 million people were murdered.  "Nope, never happened, but you should see the damage to the Superdome!"

Why is it that at one end of the hotel property there is a huge 20' high, 150' long fence with razor wire on top?  There's an empty lot behind it and there's no fencing of any kind anywhere else.  Just a huge fuck-all fence that you can walk around.  This hotel sucks anyway.  Gulfport isn't my idea of a vacation getaway.  It's like a jail sentence.

I remember driving out this way to visit my Mom and Dad.  They lived in Ocean Springs, Mississippi and in Luling, Louisiana.  I remember that driving out to Ocean Springs took forever and we thought we'd never get there!  When I passed the signs for it on the way out here I realized that distance driving is a relative concept.  Ocean Springs used to be about the farthest I drove back then.  Now I regularly drive to Miami, Pensacola and Pittsburg.  Long distances were shortened up a bit and when I passed Ocean Springs I felt like I could use a break but like I could drive that distance again.

Is anyone else a little frightened by rest stop bathrooms that have signs proclaiming it to be a "Hands free operational bathroom"?  I mean at some point I have to unzip my fly and pull out the weapon of choice.  I don't want a completely hands free operation.  If I go in to a bathroom and there's a machine waiting to grab my dick, I'll just turn around and walk back to the truck, pissing my pants the whole way.

I was listening to one of my regular podcasts and they are a regular radio show out of Maine.  They just announced that they are being simulcast out of a radio station in Alaska, KRUA.  That's a hell of a gap.  To jump from Maine to Alaska.  Why can't I listen to him here in Florida?  Ok, yeah I know why, because he probably has a buddy that goes to U of Alaska and talked him into putting the show on late at night and all but still, I wish I could get the show around here.  I guess I'll just shut up and be happy that I can still listen to the archived show on the Podcast.  I want too much, that's what my problem is.

Another Podcast I listen to was reminiscing about the toys of our youth.  The next show they said they got a few calls about how they were privileged kids and spoiled because they had too many toys.  I guess I was too because I was remembering right along with them. All of the Star Wars action figures.  I had an X-Wing as well as a TIE fighter.  I never had the Millennium Falcon though.  When my X-wing got broken (a neighbor kid decided to see if it could fly for real and threw it into the garden) my dad had to bolt the wings shut to keep it from falling apart.  I had just about every Star Wars figure I wanted.  My cousin had the big 14" dolls but I never wanted them anyway.  I was happy with the smaller 3" figures because I already had some Micronauts and my friend had all their vehicles.  We would play in the dirt all day long creating some huge space battle.  Toys were fun back then, they required some imagination.  Now they move and talk for you.  Back then you posed them and came up with the dialog yourself (which usually included Luke and Leia "doing it")  I used to play with my G.I. Joes while my sister played with her Barbies.  Joe always beat up Ken and ended up "doing it" with Barbie.  And always on my red Merlin.  Anyone remember the hand-held beeping game?  It made a perfect bed for G.I. Joe.  At least until they came out with the smaller Joes.  They always got their ass kicked by the Star Wars guys.  I had a friend that was really into the smaller Joes and I was (still am) a huge Star Wars geek.  We used to always fight over which universe rules to play by.  I remember getting so upset at one of the younger kids when we played with cars.  He always had the General Lee from the "Dukes of Hazzard" and he would do these incredible stunts in midair and I used to always call him on it.  "You can't do that!"  Leave it to me to look for reality while playing with toys based on fiction.  I am such a nerd.

As long as I'm rambling and not making much sense here...  I've always wondered (but never enough to look it up) why the Disney-MGM studios has Star Wars weekends and has a Star Wars ride but Star Wars is a 20^th Century Fox movie, not MGM.  While we're on that, they also show scenes from "Alien" which is also 20^th Century Fox.  Does MGM own 20^th CF?  I can't imagine that being the case but why would MGM allow cross promotion of rival studio films?  I don't get it.

Driving down to Ft. Lauderdale I just got done driving in to Jacksonville from the panhandle.  I have to wonder, which cops are better, the I-10 FHP or the I-95 FHP?  And what defines 'better'?  The cops on I-10 generally leave you alone and nail you in the usual places.  The I-95 cops are vicious about everything.  They are a constant presence and they make driving a little more tedious.  I always watch my speed now but I know that on I-10 I can push it a little and flow with traffic at 75 or 80.  On I-95 I won't go above 65 or 70.  They are all over the place down here.

I say I don't speed but that's not entirely true is it?  This afternoon I hit Jupiter, FL and from there south it is always one big parking lot.  Traffic was moving along nicely about 70 and I was enjoying the drive.  The music is playing and as always; on random.  All of a sudden I notice I am doing 95mph and weaving in and out of traffic.  The John Williams "Superman" score came on and I just started driving like a freaking maniac!  Some people say Rock n' Roll is guilty for making people drive crazy but I think it can be any kind of music.

I just finished writing up the update I posted yesterday (if you are reading this today) and in it I say that exhaustion is the reason I haven't written much.  The other reason is WarCraft.  I completed WCIII and didn't really mess with it too much but now I have installed the expansion pack and now I've got a whole new world to play in.  A whole lot more time to waste.

Everything from here back was intended to be posted this morning before I left Ft. Lauderdale but I had connectivity issues so now I get to ramble a little more.

Driving back to Jacksonville this morning I hit traffic.  Surprise!  Everything from Jupiter south is traffic 24/7, why should I be surprised to see traffic at 10am?  I was sitting in the truck, at a stand still on I-95.  North and Southbound were both stopped.  Miles of cars and trucks, 4 lanes wide in either direction, and this is a regular occurrence.  I could just hear Mother Earth coughing.  When I have to get a new vehicle for me to get around in I want a bike, but I'll also look into a green car.  Made from corn husks and wicker...  No, I think I'll look into an old diesel and have it converted to an oil burner.  It looks simple to do.  You install the dual tank switch.  Start it up on diesel, once it's warm you switch tanks and then switch back to diesel five minutes before you turn it off (to keep the oil from congealing in the engine parts).  Fast food restaurants have to pay to have this stuff hauled away so it should be cheap to get it from them...  just a thought.

On the way home I saw a billboard while listening to a song and I just thought of how relative money is.  I was listening to "The Message" by Grandmaster Flash.  He's talking from a 1982 ghetto point of view about looking up to the criminals who spend $20's and $10's.  Meanwhile I'm driving past three different billboards advertising "Second homes from $1.6 million."  It occurs to me that 'criminal' is also another word that is very relative...

I stopped for lunch on the way home.  I stopped at a Wendy's and got lunch and a large Frosty.  Every time I get one of these I never understand why they give me a straw for it.  It's useless.  But, like a fool, I try again anyway.  I actually read the side of the cup this time.  It has a warning on it; "Not for infants or young children.  It will cause them to suck hard enough to cave in that soft spot on the top of their heads."

Ok, one last thing and I'll go for now.  Fortunately, it's one of those really good stories.  I got pulled over on the way home tonight.  About 30 miles south of Jacksonville I saw a state trooper on the side of the road but I wasn't worried because I knew I wasn't speeding.  He pulled out in a hurry when I passed and he hit his lights and pulled in behind me.  I pulled over and he approached the truck faster than any cop I've ever seen before.  I offered him my license and registration... the usual.  But he didn't want to see it.  He peered into the truck and asked me to slowly unbuckle my seatbelt and step out of the truck.  Now I'm really wondering what is going on but he has that really pissed off cop attitude so I just did what he asked without any questions yet.  I'm also noticing that this cop is younger than me.  I'm getting so old.  So now I'm standing on the side of I-95 and he asks me to lift my shirt above my beltline.  I thought maybe he was looking for a gun tucked into my belt or something so I just pulled it up and showed him I didn't have a gun.  Now I'm a little scared and wondering when he was going to cuff me.  He then asks me if my pants had been buckled while I was driving.  Now I'm not scared, I'm freaked out and thinking I'm being set up by a fake cop or something.   So now I'm asking questions.  What is going on?  It turns out that he is about to arrest me for public indecency and exposure.

As I drove by, he happened to be looking my direction and saw my left hand stroking what appeared to be my penis.  I was shocked and horrified, and then I knew what had happened.  Because I drive a lot, I take my drumsticks with me and I keep them in the front seat.  On long drives when I'll be away from my drums for a while, I keep up the muscle memory by tapping along with the radio.  As I drove by, the cop saw my left hand moving the drumstick.  I was holding it in cross-stick position and I was tapping the seat just between my legs.  I guess at a glance it could look odd.

When the cop heard that and then saw the drumsticks on the seat, he went from "angry, gonna-bury-you" cop attitude to uncontrolled laughter.  He must have laughed for a good three minutes.  He walked back to his cruiser and than back to me.  Finally he calmed down enough to talk.  He explained that they bust truckers doing that all the time.  I guess a lot of the long-haul truckers you see on the roads next to you are grinding one out as they pass by.  Gross?  He actually apologized to me.  He told me that I also had a tail light out but after all of that he didn't have the heart to give me a ticket for it.  I got back in the truck and drove away knowing that I was going to be the talk of the police station tonight.  I never thought to thank him for the compliment though.  Those drumsticks are 17" long...

Thursday, 4-12-7

And here you were thinking I'd never post again...  You know better than that.  The main thing keeping me from posting is exhaustion.  It seems that every festival, I return to work to a really rough week.  This time was no exception.  We came home on Sunday night and I fell asleep trying to watch my regular Easter Sunday night movie, "Night of the Living Dead".  Monday I drove almost all the way to Louisiana.  Tuesday I tested a circuit and drove back to Jacksonville only to get up and drive down to Ft. Lauderdale.  Last night my buddy wanted to hang out so I ended up driving back into W. Palm Beach.  I could have said no but how often do I get to hang out anymore?  I miss hanging out with him as much as anyone else.  Now I'm here in Ft. Lauderdale and I can't get any sleep.  Have you ever been too tired to sleep?  That doesn't make much sense to me but there it is.  I wish this trip were a few weeks back or a few weeks away, I'd love to use it as a stop-over trip for some diving but with festival come and gone there is no money left for that.

PhoenixPhyre 07 was a blast.  Everything went pretty smooth and the few bumps along the way were dealt with.  The kitchen ran smoother than any time before.  Teresa officially joined our kitchen staff and she was a welcome and necessary addition.  She was always there in the background, helping out whenever she could but now that she's 'official' she jumped in and really went to town.  I'm lucky enough to be surrounded by three highly competent women in my kitchen and each of them plays their part perfectly.  We are going to make some changes to the kitchen area for next event.  I received some suggestions and I loved them but I didn't have the time to get it all together for this event.  One change that we found quite by accident is going to become a regular event.  We finished cooking early and we were ready to serve 10 minutes early.  The four of us sat down and ate together at our prep table while Wade was holding the community meeting.  I almost ruined it by trying to prove a point to Becca about hard work and rewards but even that passed without too much incident.  That meal was a good feeling and a step in the right direction for all those appearance/energy changes we want to implement for next event.

We had a few people raid the kitchen late at night and that sucked.  One lady ran off with 6 desserts!  I don't care how high you are; don't steal from the community's kitchen.  I always bring some food from home to cook at my own camp; I will gladly share it with anyone who needs it.  I actually only ate about half of the food I brought because I shared it with two or three people.  But that's MY food, I can do that if I wish.  The festival kitchen is on a budget and on a schedule.  We started with enough to go around but after her and a few other raiders, our sweets supply was decimated.  It's a double sided issue.  On one hand, I'm upset that I can't leave the food unlocked and on the other hand, Teresa is giddy that people really like her cooking enough to steal it.  Because of the new shortage, I tried to make the other desserts stretch over into the other nights.  I put them away after we served dinner rather than leave them out all night for everyone to snack on.  I had no less than three bodily harm threats if I didn't get the fudge back out there NOW!  At that point the "friendly raids" happened.  People asked to raid the desserts.  By then there wasn't enough for the whole site so I couldn't serve them at the meal so they might as well enjoy them.  People are rabid about Teresa's fudge.  Damn I had no idea.  I get the good stuff all the time; I guess I take it for granted.  I'm still a little bummed out that we keep getting the occasional person at festival that doesn't "get it".  A few events back there was merchandise missing from a few vendors, people are always barking orders at the kitchen staff and some people insist on behaving like the world revolves around them.  The ratio of these people is microscopic when compared to the outside, mundane world but still, they can really bring you down.

Tuesday evening, Zephyr presented me with a gift of a bottle of Captain Morgan Private Stock.  I shared it with anyone who wanted any.  I did consume the lion's share of the bottle though.  It was nice, lots of people stopped by our camp to visit and get a nip of rum.  During the conversation we talked about a great many things.  One of them happened to be Atlanta and Jerry's latest show.  At some point it was suggested that I dress in drag for the Friday night concert.  I was having fun and thought, "What the hell, why not?"  Then I sobered up.  How did I agree to this?  I'm an ugly, ugly man.  Can you imagine how hideous I'd be as a woman?  Friday night came and I faced my shame.  I had made a promise and I was going to let them humiliate me.  Zephyr and Teresa took me to the tent and got me ready.  The idea was that I was going to wear Zephyr's outfit and she'd wear mine.  I knew if I weaseled out of this, the weaseling would be harder to live down than the inevitable photographs of me in drag.

Luckily for me, the gods did not want me dressed that way and saw fit to find a way out for me.  I got as far as the pig-tail hair and skirt.  None of their shirts fit me.  They really wanted to make it work but nothing fit.  They decided that this wasn't going to work and they let me off the hook.  Without the full get up I didn't look like anything unusual.  In fact I kept the skirt and the pig-tails.  It was just a plain black skirt so other then looking closely and seeing the tiny bit of lace at the bottom, it just looked like a crappy kilt.  I looked like some insane Scottish Samurai.  I made the promise and I surrendered to them to fulfill my promise.  We gave it an honest try but it just turned out that I was given a pardon for my drunken oaths.  I'll have to try to remember for the future that that guy at the party with the lampshade on his head is not always the life of the party.

Oh fuck was it cold!  Thursday night the cold front moved through and it never warmed up on Friday.  Becca made it through the night (without incident) in her own tent on Thursday but Teresa pulled her into our tent for Friday and Saturday.  We had hard freeze warnings and Teresa said she would feel better if Becca was in the same tent as us.  They said it got into the 20's Friday and Saturday nights.  I tried to explain to Teresa that Becca's tent was smaller and she would probably be warmer in her own tent.  Our tent is freaking HUGE and there was no way we were going to keep warm in there other than just snuggling up against each other.  It was cold but I didn't really have too much trouble with it.  I was happy that one of my t-shirt orders came in right as Teresa was leaving the house.  She brought the delivery out to the site for me and one of the new shirts was a long-sleeve.  So yeah, it was cold enough that I was very happy to have my long-sleeve but it didn't feel much colder than usual.  I was walking back and forth from the tent to the shower, half naked and wet at 3am, it was cold but I got over it.  Teresa shivered all night and I slept like a baby.  I tried to tell her that my Boy Scout training said that you should shower before going to sleep because your body sweat will freeze you out if not.  I remember camping in the snow with my dad once.  I keep remembering having to clear out a space in the snow for the tent but I don't know it that's true or just years of imagination and embellishment.  What I do remember is being one of the only boys to wash off and change clothes before bed.  Everyone else went to bed in their jeans because it was too cold to change clothes.  When we awoke to fresh snow on the ground in the morning, I was the only one who wasn't dying of chills.  So Teresa wouldn't accept my training as fact and she shivered all night.  Now she made me promise that we won't go camping (even in the dead of summer) without a propane heater for the tent.  Ok, cool with me, I get to buy more toys!  My camp stove stopped working in the middle of the event.  It's an old pump/gas stove.  It was in Freddy's garage and never used.  So in brand new condition, I've been using a 20 year old camp stove for 4 years now.  I guess one of the seals finally gave out or something.  Maybe when I buy the heater I'll get a stove as well.

The drumming was good.  That's the only reason (other than visiting with friends) why I do this.  I like the drum circle.  We had a good Wednesday night.  Thursday night didn't get started until real late and it was cold.  We were doing the visiting-at-camp thing and I never got down to play that night.  They didn't finish with "Bardic" until something like 10 or 11 so by the time the drums started up around 11, I just stayed put and hung out with everyone in camp.  I remember thinking that if it picked up a little I'd go down there but it never seemed to really get underway and god-damn was it cold!

Friday was good but Saturday was better.  I cut out around 1am on Friday so I felt like I ran short.  So on Saturday I was hunkered down, I wasn't leaving until everyone else left first.  We started out playing a very simple beat.  Everyone was there and it was a really nice circle.  I remember having a lot of fun playing alongside my friends and really enjoying the feeling.  There was a self-proclaimed newbie on Freedom's huge kettle drum and she was doing fine.  We talked a little bit about drums and she played for a while.  When she stopped, there was a noticeable lull in the drumming.  It was like everyone was taking their queue from her bass and now that it stopped it sounded like the whole circle would stop.  I didn't want that to happen because we were grooving along pretty well.  I stood up and picked up the mallets and started playing bass.  I don't know what got into me but after a minute or two of getting used to how this thing played and how she sounded, I really played the hell out of this thing.  I felt like the guy on a slave ship, "boom, boom, boom...  Row you bastards!  boom, boom, boom..." but I went from the regular heartbeat of "boom, boom, boom" to playing lots of double taps, rolls, flourishes and everything else.  I know better but it felt like I was really driving the circle.  It's always a collective lead/follow thing but playing that bass I really felt a lot of power.  And I really beat the hell out of it too.  I felt it in my hands.  I opened up and bled for this drum and nothing was going to make me stop.
Nothing but the cops of course.  The drums were like a locomotive and we were running strong.  Thom had just stoked up the fire to a raging inferno and the dancers were moving every muscle they had!  It was perfect.  Then we got the word that the locals had complained and we had to hold it down.  You ever seen a high speed train derailment?  I never had until that moment.  Everything just crashed.  It had to collapse at some point, we were burning so hot that there was no way we were going to hold up that pace forever but ohhhh man was it nice while it lasted.  The dancers actually welcomed the break because they were trapped and on fire.  The fire had gotten hotter and we drummers were still up close like we were when the fire was smaller.  The dancers were literally cooking in the small ring between us and the fire.  We moved back a little and after some grumbling, we started to play again, softly this time.  Break out the harp and flute solos...  So I took the opportunity to get back on my djembe.  I walked up and checked on the kitchen and got some water.  We played for another hour or so but it was so subdued that I was really bummed out.  Lots of the other drummers and dancers left when we got the orders to bring it down.  Teresa and Becca had gone to bed too.  It looked like the night was going to be a bit of a bust.  That sucks!  So, I'm playing alongside Nighthawk and he looks over at me and says, "Let's open it up, you ready kid?"  I guess the guardians had relayed word back to him that we were quiet enough that we could pick it up a little.  With my Yoda in the lead, we just went for it.  We figured they'd let us know when we hit the upper limits.  It was a blast.  There was a whole call and response thing going on between us.  He'd play something intricate and I'd follow up with one of my own.  We went on like that for a while and then just flowed along with the rest of the drums.  It was a great time.  At some point in the night I ended up back on the bass for a little while.  It was still fun but no where near as awesome as the first time when everything was on fire.  We did get our upper limits warning and we were happy enough to keep playing all night.  I finally stumbled into bed around 4am after a shower and a shave.

I decided to get rid of the beard about a month ago.  I figured at the spring festival was the best time.  When the drumming stopped on Saturday night, the festival was over for me so I shaved it off that night.  Sunday morning (only three shivering hours later) I had forgotten I had shaved it off and it took me a few seconds to figure out why people were staring at me.  If I grew facial hair at regular human speed, I would have kept it because I wanted to braid it out.  Unfortunately, I grow facial hair like a 7 year old so it would take years for me to get what I want.

All week I heard the logging company clearing land on the other side of the property.  There were different stories if they were building houses or clearing cow pasture.  It doesn't matter.  If we are already getting the cops telling us to keep it down now, if you clear out more of the trees that are buffering the sounds, it will only get worse.  That's a little depressing because I really like the property there.  The kitchen has become better equipped every time and the lady that runs the place is really nice.  I hope we don't have to move to another location but I also want to be able to drum!  I'm going to take a few weekends this year and start attending other festivals and see what their drum circles are like.  Oh man, imagine playing all night, no limits and not have to be up at 6:30am to cook breakfast!  Now that sounds like a nice trip.  I hear all kinds of things about these other sites, the fire is gigantic, the "real" drummers show up to these other sites and a bunch of other things.  But I also hear that they aren't as close of a community either.  I've constantly heard from people that they are amazed at how close people treat each other here.  See, there again I have been spoiled by having the best the whole time without knowing it...  So, I'll try out these other spots and enjoy the drumming but I don't think it will make me feel any different about my commitment to this community, other than possibly strengthening it a little.

Oh man, when that lottery hits!  Teresa and I have lots of ideas, taking care of our family, what kind of cars we'd get and all the regular dreams but number one on both of our lists is land.  Lots and lots of land where festival won't be shut down because of any outside force.  I imagine a "hundred acre wood" with drum circle situated right in the center so it will be surrounded by lots of trees on all sides.  No neighbors to worry about.  From there Teresa and I differ of what else to build.  I want to build a Viking Great Hall on one side of the property and on the other side a Native American Council Hall.  She wants to build a non-profit "no-kill" animal shelter.  I guess her ideas are a bit nobler than mine.  One thing we both agree on is living on the property year-round developing the land.  Oh wow, a huge earthen amphitheatre!  Yeah, I could dream about this all day long.

The drumming is a big draw for me but the number one reason I like going to festival is to see my friends and phamily.  This event was really nice.  I got to spend some real time with people I haven't seen in a while and I got to meet some new people.  I never get enough time in with some people.  I'm sure I could spend 24/7 with them and when we separate, I'd feel like I didn't get enough time with them.  That and one of them promised me some fresh baked chocolate-chip cookies that I never got!

It was not my paranoia, some people really were watching me.  To be more specific they were watching, Zephyr, Teresa and me.  It was amazing how many people were interested in what was going to happen between us now that Zephyr moved out of the house.  I wish I had thought of it fast enough but we could have put on a show for our watchers.  We could have been mock-fighting and bickering the whole time or something.  At least given them something to watch.  Here you go folks.  The only confirmation/denial I'll give you.  Nothing has changed between the three of us.  We all still love each other very much.  There is nothing but warm feelings between us.  Zephyr just came to the realization (one that I have been trying to warn her about for well over a year now) that I am IMPOSSIBLE to live with.  Teresa has the strength of the goddess in her or something, no one knows how she has the ability to put up with my shit day-in and day-out but she does and that (among a myriad of other reasons) is why I love her.  I'm sure there are times that Teresa wants to cut and run too but so far... she's still here.  Every relationship for every person is different.  Zephyr does not share the same bond with me that I have with Teresa.  Time and shared experiences have grown us together and it would be impossible to duplicate that level of love and trust with anyone else on the planet, even if I had such a silly notion as to try.  So, as much as Teresa and I love Zephyr, the day to day problems of regular life became overwhelming and she found a place where she is VERY happy.  I won't speak for her but from what she has told me, she is happy and feels fulfilled where she is.  Something all of us need to feel.  Nothing has changed and I think that was evident at festival.  The three of us had a good time together.  There are a few changes and adjustments to be made because of the new situation but that is strictly between the three of us and are very minor in scope.  For the record, we are cool, now stop staring.

In the "meeting new people" respect, I have to remember to trust my instincts.  I may not always get it right but I almost never get it wrong.  I'm not one of the dirty hippies so I don't believe in all of that hocus-pocus stuff (haha) but I'm usually dead on about the vibes I get from people.  I spent some time with someone I hadn't met before.  Upon first meeting this person, I felt like I was already familiar with them.  After a very brief conversation I realized why.  This person was a carbon copy (right down to physical appearance) of someone else I had known in my past.  After observing behavior and actions through the entire festival, this person was making that deja-vu come to life.  And that is the reason this person from my past is in my past.  It was an unhealthy relationship and I knew this person would only bring trouble my way.  I felt that same way about the new carbon copy version.  I'm sure they are a really nice person but I just have had too many flags go up with them.  I wish them well but I really don't see getting to know them much better if I can help it.

I hate judging people like that but to be honest, each of us does that every day.  We judge things on face value in life many times without even thinking about it.  If you see trouble coming your way, you try to avoid it.  You don't take the time to analyze it until after you are out of danger.  The judgment has already been made.  I'm not judging this person as good or bad or right or wrong, only as wrong for me.  And as we've already covered, I'm very hard to please.  It's quite possible that wrong for me is right for 90% of everyone else.

I won't be held hostage by my friends.  I have always been the type that can pass through the cliques and gain a minor amount of acceptance in most of them.  I like some people, I dislike others.  Personal taste.  When I have one person tell me they don't like some of my friends, I just smile and say that is their choice.  I am eclectic in many facets of my life.  Music is just the glaring example.  My friends are also chosen from a diversified portfolio.  Some of them don't understand why I go to festival and hang out with hippies.  That's ok, they don't have to understand why.  All they have to do is refrain from saying anything silly like, "If you are friends with them, I don't want to be your friend."  Oh well, that is your choice.  I will not be held hostage by my friends.  Now, I fully understand choosing not to hang out with someone and not coming around me when they are with me.  That is most understandable.  But, if you are exclusive enough that you find yourself picking and choosing who I can hang out with on my own time, then you are not who I thought you were and not worthy of my devotion.  I consider myself a solid friend and while this latest job has sapped all of my time and energy from me, I'm still a worthy friend and would do anything for you.  If I was having a party (we need another one of them soon) I'd invite everyone I liked.  If some of them decide they won't show up because they don't like some of the other friends, then that is their loss.  I've always maintained that life is nothing but a series of choices.  I can not control you, I can only react to your choices by making choices of my own.

We had some great music this time around.  Emerald Rose played again.  I was so happy to hear that they were coming.  It just doesn't feel right when they aren't there.  With exception to a few songs by one other band, I never go out for concert night because either the music doesn't feel right or something.  But every time Emerald Rose plays I feel alright.  Hell, I almost dance!  These guys are great.  They don't hide away from the rest of the festival and only come out to play at night.  They are right out there every day among the crowd and they are just like anyone else.  This time they were playing bocce and teaching anyone that wanted to learn.  I wish I had taken the time to play but I was busy shopping with my ladies.  Becca got everything she wanted and still asked for more.  Of course, being daddy's spoiled little girl, she pouted when she was finally told no.  I think that's the new word for her.  We need to start saying no to some stuff.  Even everyday stuff that we have no trouble with, just to get her to understand the word.  So anyway, back to Emerald Rose, I went over to their booth and found out that I already have all of their CDs so there was nothing new to buy.  There was a DVD but it was a "Firefly/Serenity" fan documentary.  I keep hearing about this show on just about every podcast I listen to but I have yet to see it.  So after asking about the DVD I found out it really wasn't worth it unless you are a fan of the show.  I almost bought it anyway but I'm just not a big Sci-fi TV fan.  "Heroes", "Battlestar Galactica", "Stargate",... all of them just passed me by without me even taking notice but I keep hearing about them on the podcasts.  Anyway, they are really nice guys and I always like it when they play.  It just "feels" right.

We left site Sunday and as usual that is a major emotional crash.  Everything was running along smoothly and Teresa and I weren't even having our usual, "I'm fed up with your shit" arguments.  We were really enjoying being around one another.  I was taking down the tent and we were laughing and joking.  By the time I was rolling up the tent, I snapped at her and she snapped back.  We were at each other for no good reason.  I apologized and everything went back to just about normal.  Just about then I realized there were no people around.  Just a few minutes ago they were all gather up at the pavilion.  Then it dawned on me, they are holding closing ritual and festival is really over.  I felt the tension enter my body the second they closed up and that is why I snapped.  I was laughing and joking one second and the next I was bitchy and irritable for no good reason.  That switch just happened to coincide with the dropping of the wards.  Not that I believe in all of that hocus-pocus stuff or anything mind you... (haha)

On the way home it felt weird to be driving.  I knew I'd have trouble remembering all of my passwords at work on Monday but it was almost like I forgot how to drive a car.  I kept finding myself trying to 'will' the truck back on the road instead of turning the steering wheel.  I'm sick in the head.

So, in a few days the henna tattoo will fade, in a few showers the dirt stains of 'festival foot' will wash out.  One thing I want to hold on to as long as possible is the warmth I feel right now.  At the end of most festivals I come away with a renewed love and hope.  This time I got a bonus.  I got a clear head.  The ideas have been pouring out of me like a freaking waterfall.  You can't stop the flow.  You can't even save it for later.  I've been to Niagara Falls and I've seen pictures of Niagara Falls.  These two don't even compare to each other.  When you are there, there is something a photograph can't capture.  Same with the muses.  If you don't write when they visit, you can take all the notes you like, you can take all the snapshots you want, but nothing is like being in the moment.  And right now I have been frantic with getting it all down on paper.  PhoenixPhyre 07 gave me lots of what I needed.  Peace, love, drums and inspiration...  What else could I want out of life?

What more could I want?  How about a warm pretzel?  Ok, peace, love, drums, inspiration and a warm pretzel.  This lamp, the book of matches, the remote control the chair and my dog.  Grrrrrr!  Well I don't need my dog...

Sorry, I'm fading in and out of sleep deprivation and I don't know where I am.  I do know that it is 5:15pm and I have to be at work at 9pm.  I don't want to stop because I know I'm forgetting something but I have to.  I'd better get some sleep.  Maybe something to eat too.  All I ate yesterday was 10 chicken wings and 12 Guinness drafts.  Yeah, sleep then food.  Maybe a warm pretzel?  Shut up, go to sleep.  No YOU shut up!  Dude, it's just me.  Why do you do this?  Every time you do this I have to explain myself.  Then stop it.  I can't stop, you're doing this.  No I'm not.  Stop hitting yourself.  Stop it!  Ok, I'm calling Mom!  MOOOOOOM!

Good night folks...

Monday, 4-2-7

I always love Monday the second.  It means we'll have a Friday the 13^th.  Some people give such power to a simple day of the week, or a full moon, or walking under a ladder, or their gods...  Watching people and their superstitions is of high interest to me.

Well it is noon and I've already been to the doctor's office, mowed the lawn and cleaned the fish tank.  I'm going to live!  Anyone who knows me knows I'd have to be losing consciousness before I agree to see a doctor.  I've got these two lumps on my leg that look weird, Teresa wants me to get them checked out but I say screw it, if it's bad I'll know sooner or later.  The other day I felt a hard lump in my naughty bits, a little too close to the McNuggets.  I immediately called Teresa and asked if she could set me up an appointment for first thing Monday morning.  Lose an arm?  Just a fleshwound!  Lose a nut?  No way man!  So, the doctor felt me up and said it was nothing.  The lumps on my leg are just scar tissue (Chicks dig scars!) and the other one is just a cyst.  Call him back if it swells.  I was actually a little concerned.  So, I have the rest of the day to relax.  It's damn silly that I have to take a day off of work just to mow the lawn.  I know I could do it on the weekend but I'm not there yet.  I'm still using the lame excuse of "I'm tired from working all week and driving so much..."  That has to come to a stop, everyone's got problems; the lawn still has to be mowed and the repairs have to be done.  No more sitting on my ass.

I went out to Tallahassee with Becca last Tuesday.  It was a field trip to the Mission San Luis dig site.  When they finish with the archeological dig, they reconstruct the building on the same spot so it is part dig, part re-enactment.  They had people dressed in period garb teaching what life was like back then.  All the kids were fascinated by the little fat Spanish lady dressed in her 1600's era clothes.  All of the kids but Becca.  She looks at me and says, "It just looks like everyone dressed at festival..."  Yeah, she's hip.  So we move from station to station where they have the Spanish lady's house, the farm/garden, the Apalachee Indian woman cook (who was giving me the eyes...), the Spanish/Apalachee mixed fire tender, the priest, the soldier... everyone explained what life was like from the Apalachee tribe before outside influence, the Spanish and British influence and up to when they moved from the area and dispersed.  There was a heavy amount of religion involved and they pulled no punches.  They told the kids all about it.  It was a mission site after all.  They even separated the boys and girls when we went into the church.  For me the most impressive part was the Council House.  It was a giant thatched cone with seating for 1500 inside.  There would be a huge fire in the middle at all times, year round.  I almost fell to my knees when I walked in there.  It was beautiful and I have all kinds of dialogues running through my head of what took place there centuries ago.  It was awesome in the true sense of the word.  So at the end of the day, I'm talking with Becca and I asked her if she had fun and what did she learn.  She comes up with this great line, "It sounded like the Apalachee were living just fine until the Spanish came over and forced them to worship Jesus.  Then they stopped doing their stuff and started going to church just to be allowed to live in their village.  And they got sick and died from all the new diseases the Spanish brought with them.  Dad, why can't people just let people live rather than fight about God all the time?"  I didn't have an answer for her.  She asked why Poppie is always upset with me (Daddy) about god and why can't we just be happy.  I told her that people have been fighting for thousands of years over that very same question and there is no answer but to lead by example.  If you live your life by whichever god you chose and you allow the kid next to you to do the same without picking on him for being different than you, then you are the answer to the question, you are leading the way.  She didn't get it because that's all she knows.  It never occurred to her to fight about which brand of god someone has until she saw the rest of the world do it and she doesn't understand it.  Religious intolerance is a completely foreign idea to her.  We must have done something right along the way.
For the record, I tempered the conversation with counterpoints just so she would see both sides of the story.  I explained (again) that Poppie is upset with me because he loves me and the same as the Spanish and the Apalachee.  They honestly believe they have to convert everyone they see or we are all going to suffer.  And so Poppie is scared for me and trying to help.  I asked her if she saw a kid lying on the floor in a burning house, would she try to help?  Of course she said yes and we talked about it a little more and she understands a little better now.  I had to give the other side, if only to make sure she gets the full story.  Otherwise I'd be as guilty of indoctrinating my child as I call foul on others doing the same thing.  Also, I can't have a 10-year-old being as cynical as I am at 34.

Speaking or religious diversity, we drove out Sunday to set up camp for festival.  I'm not going out until Tuesday night and Teresa and Becca won't be out until Thursday night but we set up on Sunday.  We get there early so we can set up in a good spot.  We had a great spot last time and we wanted to set up in the same place.  I'm there the better part of a week and like everyone else, working my butt off so I can at least be comfortable.  It was a little cramped last time so we brought shovels and rakes and implements of destruction to clean the spot out a little.  Becca also wants to try sleeping in her own tent (not that she'll actually get through the night on her own but we'll try anyway) so we needed a bit more room for Becca's tent too.  So we get there and our spot is taken, by the only person who knew we wanted to be in that spot!  Ugh, there's no such thing as reserved spots and its "first come first serve" but damn, starting off like that already...  Oh well, I'm not there for the view or to have fun, I'm there to work and hopefully visit with friends.  A friend sent some great ideas about dressing up the kitchen.  I didn't have time to really make the changes this time but if I'm still around in November I'm going to dress up the kitchen and it will really feel different.  It will feel like a large home kitchen.

With daily stuff like phone calls and studying with Becca (She's back on track with her new report card!!!) I'm finally finishing typing everything up and it's 7:30.  Teresa comes in and asks if I'm alright.  She says my mood has dropped throughout the day and my music sounds angry.  I'm listening to some old King Crimson, yeah, I can see where some of that chaos might sound angry.  I don't know why but she's right, I am feeling darker.  I hope this isn't the start...

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Last Updated: 05/14/07 08:11 p