16th Post: A Poem

Gentle reader(s),
Below you will find a poem that I have been writing off and on for the last eight months. I almost feel bad for telling you that, because now you will read it and say, 'Eight months for this??!?? This chumba-wumba is clearly NOT the writer he thinks he is.' Well, I am the writer I think I am... warts and all. This is a personal piece, derived from witnessing the near-total and absolute destruction of so many hopes and dreams all over this country. I am proud of what you will read below and I dedicate it to all of those who need a snorkel to move around in their home.

Best,
Ed

One in the Hand

Seated on a Bank’s back porch

In a chair ere too once mine

I spied upon a common bird

Perched on a scrawny pine

Why he chose such real estate

I cannot surely say

He likely found it suited him

Despite its perilous sway

Whether dove or crow or mocking bird

I could not then discern

For ‘twas the portent of the clouds

That beckoned my concern

It was a sight beheld before

On a day that promised sun

And I’d been proven ill-prepared

When all was said and done

My battered heart grew faint with fear

A punch-drunk’s flinch derived

From oft-dwelling on my own affair

With wind and storm and pride

A nest I’d built (or bought…who cares?)

For life and wife and years

A nest I’d filled (for naught…who knew?)

With this and that and – finally – my tears

As with a bird, the proverb goes

I’d chosen bush, not hand

And opting for the softer course

I’d bypassed rock for sand

For what is rock, my reason said,

But sand pressured and proven true

And so it went with bird and Benz

What is better than one, but two?

My ways bespoke one life

My means bespoke another

And by and buy my story went

‘Till one sank upon the other

The storm called forth, I stood to flee

I had long forgot the bird

So engrossed I was by thoughts of me

But then a song I heard

No, not song, more battle-cry

‘Twas loud and sharp and clear,

“I shall not be forced to fly,

My chosen plot is here!”

Inspired by this one vs. all

I sat back into my the chair

I would bear witness to this fight

One neither clean nor fair

Are not birds imbued with nature’s grace?

With such seeming ease they soar

And now this one would be battered by

What had buttressed it before...

…all at once

Lashing wind and pelting rain

Assailed my former porch

Seeping darkness overcame me

I sat in want of torch

Oh but to see my kindred friend

On whom my hopes were pinned

To revel in his resolute

Defiance of the wind

Stand fast my spirit-brother

Keep your regal, rigid form

Stand fast despite your footing

Stand fast despite the storm

Spears of lightning, each a vision

My feathered-friend was there(!)

Though the wind blew rain in torrents

And stripped his nest-tree bare

Soon gone were all the nettles

Soon gone were all the cones

Soon gone were all the unhatched eggs

Soon wind would pick the bones

I knew this storm would take and take

Until taking became took

I wanted hard to turn away

But God made our eyes to look

The bird gave ground, mere inches

But ground given is ground lost

No blood could sate the vampire thirst

And no fee offset the cost

Perhaps offended by so small a foe

The storm surged to full extent

The pine soon listed, fell to Earth

The victor thumped its chest and went

I ran over to the wreckage

And all through the tree I searched...

...I found my friend, my brave, brave friend

Crushed by his cherished perch

The sun returned, the coward

He had fled the coming storm

Now, as if to beg forgiveness

He sought to make my cold friend warm

Alas…

There will be no more songs, no battle-hymns

My champion, my David undermined

By rotted trunk and stunted roots

I wonder, can you a parallel derive?

I too had fought, and hard, to keep

My chosen plot and place

But I too succumbed to odds unfair

I’d lost my home…and face

I mourned him then, I mourn him now

God bless his lion heart

Surely he was doomed to fail

And deep down known it from the start

His story ends, mine lingers on

On these two legs I’ll stand

From this day forth, I’ll know ground firm

And cling well to bird in hand.

Epilogue:

The storm, it would be later said

Was worst since last it came

But words ‘worst since’ to me and you

Means worse loom still, or same

15th Post: A short story Pt. 1

The End Starts Here (<--- tentative title)

“Does the line form here, do you know?”

“Yeppers.”

“Ok, good. Thank you.”

“Excited to meet Avia Walker? I heard her speak at a literary summit in Boulder last spring. It was such a treat.”

“Wait, I thought this line was for Anthony Spencer.”

“Oh that was yesterday, hon.” She crinkled her nose a bit. “I didn’t much care for him, though. He kept looking down my shirt.”

“Yesterday?!? I could have sworn the notice said today.” He exhaled a mixture of coffee and bran. “Now what am I going to do?” He held up manuscript. “I brought my novel. I knew Spencer would appreciate it.”

“Oh, Yeah? That’s kind of rude, don’t you think?” She gave him that look like his Mother used to, a mixture of ‘really, that was your decision?’ and ‘why am I not surprised.’ It felt wrong for a complete stranger to seem so familair. “To bring your own stuff to a book signing? I mean, it’s all so very, ‘Hey look at me everyone, I’m a writer too. I’ll just set up my table next to yours, Avia. Scoot over, honey, your hogging the masses.” She looked at him again, and repeated her thesis, “A little rude, don’t you think…ah…”

She held out the ‘ah’ inviting him to proffer his name. He obliged, “Roman. My name is Roman.” Clearly she wasn’t a writer; she had used the word ‘stuff’ and the wrong ‘your’, but she did use the correct ‘too’ so she had potential to be a literary agent. Roman scanned the scene. This line is at least three hundred people long and that means I will be stuck next to this beneficiary of public education for at LEAST 2 hours. If that happens I’ll snap, plain and simple.

“Roman, huh? What a manly name.” She actually looked impressed, and that made her instantly more attractive in Roman’s eyes. “So, Rrrrroman…” Rolling the ‘r’ in his name made Roman have impure thoughts, “…my name is Ahshleigh. The first ‘h’ and the ‘gh’ are silent.”

Roman had to think about that for a minute……………………, “Do you mean to say that your name is spelled in a non-traditional fashion?”

“Yeppers. My Momma wanted her little girl to stand out in a crowd.”

“How is that possible? Unless everyone were to wear name tags all the time…” Roman stopped because he thought there was short story in there somewhere. Something allegorical about social status relative to how non-traditionally the name was spelled, perhaps?…He instantly named his protagonist ‘Roman’ and the antagonist ‘Grrrrtrood’, then mentally filed it away.

“Hello? Anybody home?” She waved her hand in front of Roman’s face and the saccharin sweet smell of cucumber and melon made him simultaneously hungry and nauseous.

“What!?” He snapped.

“Don’t be snappy, you zoned out there for – like – 30 seconds. Anyways, you aren’t seriously going to hand over that stuff to Avia Walker, right Roman? I mean, that’s just rude, don’t you think?

I cannot be around this repetitive negativity…also, she’ll probably tip off Walker that I’ve got a manuscript and then I’ll get tossed, or worse, Walker will take my work and dump it off to her assistant. He shuddered at the thought. I need to buy some time…He caught another whiff of puke-cumber melon...and some space. What to do, what to do…(!)…Fake Phone Call. Brilliant! He jumped a little and reached into his pocket, “Excuse me, I need to get this.” Then, in a further flash of genius, he gave her a ‘what can you do’ look, “I’m expecting my Doctor. The lab results were coming back today and I’m waiting to hear if it’s contagious or not. Save my spot?”

The look on her face made his morning. He stepped out of line and slowly walked further down the concourse with the phone by his ear saying just loud enough over his shoulder, “But Doctor that can’t be right. How can a person be expected to not breathe on someone else? Well, yeah…I guess I could quarantine myself for a month.”

He took a seat at a Café around the corner from the bookstore and motioned to the female employee who was clearing off cups and saucers. When she approached Roman didn’t look at her, “I’ll take a large tap water with a lot of ice.” Then he deigned to glance at her name-tag, “Thank you…uhhh… Krystaphania?” He looked at her and was about to say ‘Seriously?!?’, but then thought better of it as ‘Krystaphania’ was once upon a time probably known as ‘Christopher’. Instead he quickly looked down and muttered, “Thank you.”

When (s)he brought the beverage, Roman didn’t touch it.

The plan was to wait about 20-30 minutes until Ahshle-whats-her-face was sufficiently further up the line before trying again. The plan also included a couple of quick re-writes so as to make it more palatable for Avia Walker. Roman had not read much of her work, but knew she was no fan of strong male leads and he had made a point of portraying his hero, ‘Roman’, as both virile and commanding, something Anthony Spencer’s leads all had in common. What to do…what to do…

Part 2 coming soon...I welcome your thoughts/suggestions. If you are having trouble leaving comments, just email them to me at: highspeed81@hotmail.com. Thanks!

14th Post: All Apologies

Dear gentle, loyal reader, this is a post of apologies. Apologies that cover a myriad of atrocities committed on behalf of my ego, my laziness, my obliviousness, my callousness, my selfishness, my short-sightedness, my anti-social...ness, my intense desire to be right...ness, and/or my reactionary nature. I owe so very many apologies to so very many people for so very many reasons, that I scarcely know where to begin. I guess all I can do is...

1) I want to apologize to you for not being more consistent with this Blog. In truth, I really do enjoy writing it. Also in truth, I am a lazy crap-for-crap and unless I am inspired (in TFTR fashion), I will not simply sit down and force myself to write. So for those of you (Mom) who keep checking back here, in vain, for updates...to you I must say, "You like me...you really like me!"

2) I want to apologize for - summarily, out-of-hand - dismissing anyone and everyone with a peace symbol on their car, person, or domicile as a naive, delusional, tree-hugging hippie. You are entitled to your delusions, and your naiveté brings a mirthful smile to my soul. Long may you live in your land of rainbows and unicorns; long may your consistent patronage inspire more and more head shops to dot the landscape.

3) I want to apologize to Dave Matthews Band (DMB). For many years now, I have loathed you. Sure, the quality of your musicianship is to be applauded. And who wouldn't commend your judicious choice of Tour Bus waste dumping sites ( http://www.tonyrogers.com/humor/dave_matthews_crap.htm ). Of course, your song titles are...interesting (Tripping Billies? Proudest Monkey?) and Dave, when you play you look like you have been constipated for close to 24 years. Long have I decried your existence as an opiate for the Abercrombie & Fitch masses; a banner for the coffeehouse pseudo-intellectuals to waive to the world to say, "See, we love soy lattes, earth tones AND accessible acoustic driven 'rock'." I also saw you as a banal, generic sign for the 'poor-little-trust-fund kids' to waive to the rest of us as if to say, "See? We listen to the same bands you do. The only exception is, I had my butler run out to Tower records and buy the boxed set...while you had to sell blood and other bodily fluids to buy nose-bleed seats to their shows." But then I heard the song Crush...and here we are...

4) I want to apologize to the Boston Red Sox. See above. (but I still won't root for you).

5) I want to apologize to Country Music. I dismissed you out of hand as formulaic and archaic purely on the basis that at least every other song deals with working outside all day and then finding alcohol, or partying by a lake with large trucks, bonfires, and alcohol (a dangerous combination), or breaking off a relationship and then drowning oneself (and one's horse) in alcohol, or operating large, multi-ton agricultural equipment while swigging alcohol. Ok, maybe I made that last one up...but the point is made. ON TOP OF ALL THAT you have a 'band' like Rascal Flatts who's lead singer may or may not have skipped puberty altogether and who perpetrated the most egregious aural assault on mankind since the US used AC/DC to pry Manuel Noriega from his church in Panama in the form of the 'song' Me and My Gang. But then my wife introduced me to Brad Paisley and his song This is Country Music (that he wrote by the way...the closest Rascal Flatts gets to writing a song is signing their CDs) and here we are...

6) I want to apologize to Stephenie Meyer for I shall never read your 'books'. Ever. Never ever. Never ever ever. The great, the sublime, the LEGENDARY author Anne Rice has ruined me for all other vampire fiction. She and she alone (further apologies to Bram Stoker), treated the monster as a man and, ultimately, the man as a monster. She expertly weaved a human heart into an inhuman beast...and when she finally rips it, bleeding and broken from the chest of Louis, you know that any future portrayal of sparkly diamond skin in the sunlight is a joke.

7) I want to apologize to my wife, she will read #6 and #5 and, well, pretty much all of this and accuse me - correctly, it would appear - of being an overly-dramatic, egomaniacal, gasbag. I love you too, sweetheart.

8) I want to apologize to all of the overly-dramatic, egomaniacal gasbags out there for being such a poor representation of you. You deserve better. I recommend Keith Olbermann.

9) I want to apologize to my novel(s), short stories, and haikus that are whirling and swirling around half-formed and under-fed in my mind. You deserve a better host. Someone who can breathe the proper life into you. Someone who will dedicate themselves to the nurturing and furthering of your eventual existence. I recommend...pretty much anyone but me. (but mostly Cormac McCarthy).

10) I want to apologize to my son. You see buddy, I love you too much. I want to protect you too much. I already can tell that I will be that Dad who won't let you play tackle football, or ride your bike without a helmet, or do any of those perceived high-risk activities all young boys want to do. I will shelter you, I will smother you...but it will all be in love.

11) I want to apologize to my friends who live near and far, I do not call you as often as I should. I do not seek you out to hang as often as I should. This is a problem...and I will fix it. Expect a call, soon. If you don't get one...you probably should get the hint...or give me your new number.

12) I want to apologize to my Brother-in-law, Luke...for the humiliating defeat I dealt you in FIFA so long ago. You will feign ignorance of this event (as any bested man would), but let me bring it all back to you: I was the USA (sans Clint Dempsey and Tim Howard...it was FIFA 06) and you were mighty England at the height of its Golden Era. And I beat you...nay, I CRUSHED you 4-0. I think I even scored two goals with Josh Wolff (Who? Exactly). AND THEN (this is the best part)...and then your X-box 360 broke. Yes, that's right...I beat you so bad, your own X-box committed suicide in shame. I want to apologize to you again, now, for dredging up the depths of your degradation and putting it on display for all to see. Should you dispute these things that I have said, I will call upon your wife - who was there - to attest to these events.

13) I want to apologize to the game of basketball. For whenever I pick up your rounded namesake...I bring great shame upon your legacy...and myself...and my family...and my wife's family...and anyone watching at that moment...You know what, I'm just going throw up an apology across the board. You all deserve one.

14) I want to apologize to my Bible...you have not been opened in so very long...I will rectify tonight.

15) I want to apologize to I-595...the words/names I habitually direct at you between the hours of 7:30am and 8:00am would make Richard Pryor blush.

16) I want to apologize to the Duke Blue Devils men's basketball team. We were young when we met (well, I was anyways) and I supported you loyally...even in the face of my wife and in-laws. But when my son was almost with us, my wife sat me down - and with an earnestness to rival most Joel Osteen book covers - pleaded with me to not force our as-yet-unborn son to chose between us. So, for love of my son (as described in #10), I forsook you for another...the UNC Tarheels. But we'll always have JJ...and his sweet, sweet jumper...

17) I want to apologize to my Fender Stratocaster guitar. I heard a rumor once that a young John Mayer came to Sam Ash in Margate looking for a Strat but tripped over his size 16 feet in the parking lot and hit his face on the side rail of an Expedition. He then spent 3 hours looking at his face in a side-view mirror trying to gauge if the fall did - in fact - improve it. He ultimately decided that one cannot improve upon perfection and strolled inside just as I was paying for you. Alas...what you could have been...

18) I want to apologize to former American Idol winner Taylor Hicks. I put a voodoo curse upon you because my wife had an unhealthy infatuation with your voice. While your precipitous decline in popularity is a boon to the Earth...I am sure it has caused you much in the way of hardship.

19) I want to apologize to Umberto Eco. You worked so hard to write The Name of the Rose, but I gave up mid-way through...It was just too much. I get it, you're brilliant. You don't need to bash me over the head with your philosophy on Sin and Penance. And your philosophy on the value of Science. And your philosophy on the importance of language. And your philosophy on the role of the Church in society. And your philosophy on forbidden knowledge. And your philosophy on...well, you get the idea.

20) I want to - lastly - apologize to my Mother. That one time in 1995...it was me. I did it, and I felt terrible for minutes afterwards.

FIN

13th Post: Observations and Prognostications

Greetings Bloggy Wog reader-ship (AKA: Mom). I have returned from my longer-than-expected minor hiatus to make a few observations (prognostications?) gleaned on this joyous voyage into parenthood.

1) For my son, diapers are merely for decoration. The score stands at Diapers: 3 My shirt (and the shirts/blouses of others) 23,412.

2) For my son, sleeping at night is so foreign a concept, I may as well be asking him to solve the US debt crisis...with an abacus.

3) For my son, bath time is not just simply a wonderful chance to pee on daddy, it's a chance to pee on daddy while looking so sweet and cute that Daddy doesn't even mind it. I fear this strategy (in varying forms, I hope) will carry over into his older years.

4) For my son, a running vacuum works as a lullaby. Therefore my son is destined to be a future ROCK STAR!!!!

5) For my son, a mirror offers hours of endless wonder. Therefore my son is destined to be a future MALE MODEL!!!!

6) For my son, a rotating ceiling fan is a wonder to behold. Therefore my son is destined to be a future PILOT!!!!

7) For my son, being thumped on the back for ten minutes straight is enjoyable. Therefore my son is destined to be a future MAJOR SUCCESS!!!

8) For my son, holding onto a finger and shaking it is a must.Therefore my son is destined to be a future POLITICIAN!!!!

9) Oh crap...my son could be a future politician.

10) Well, for your information, my son would make an excellent politician thankyouverymuch and anyone who says otherwise will also get thumped on the back for ten minutes straight...with a dump truck.

BAM!

What I'm reading now:
Our Man in Havana - Graham Greene
The Guns of August - Barbara W. Tuchman

12th Post: The Final Frontier

My wife (heretofore known as Chelsey) said to me the other day as we were seated on our couch watching '70s show' reruns, "You know, in less than a month...there will be three of us living here." I looked at her and nearly channeled Elaine Benes' "SHUT UP?!?". Now I am not an imbecile, I just play one on TV...and not well. I have known for some time now that Chelsey was with child. I have been on multiple (multiple multiple multiple) shopping excursions to Babies R' Us, Buy Buy Baby, Target, and other stores dedicated to expanding the population of the Earth. I have been 'showered'. I have even been harassed (in love, to be sure) by extended family members as to the decision to not name my son Edward Richard Purchase V. I almost even bought a Honda Pilot with which to chauffeur my progeny in comfort and safety. In short (too late), I flippin' knew a baby was on the way! Yet that simple statement, said with a wistful smile and tilted head, stunned me to my core. I am going to be a father?

It was upon that Muhammadian-esque revelation that three monumental realizations came to the forefront of my mind:

From now on I am going to have to watch what I say. One of my favorite movies (and one of Chelsey's too, don't let her tell you different...her cousin even has a cameo in it BTW) is "Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby". If you'll recall (because we all know you've seen it), there is a scene early on where Ricky's dad, Reese Bobby, comes to Career Day and talks - among other things - about what he does for a living: Racing. As a direct result of the 'among other things', Ricky's dad gets tossed out of the school and tells Ricky before he drives off (and out of his life for another ten years or so), "If you ain't first, you're last." Well, Ricky's life from then on is lived by that code and it becomes his trademark. Near the end of that film, Ricky confronts his father with that phrase (because it worked out so well for him). Reese then proceeds to call it nonsensical and blames being high at the time for having said it at all. To him, it was just something cool to say. To his son, who idolized him, it was important. Many times I have traced an opinion or mindset or outlook that I have held for years back to something my father said when I was younger. Those of you who know me, and have known me for a while, know that I have little to no control over what pops out of my oral orifice. My son is doomed.

Solution: Do a LOT less talking. Especially when I am driving and some #$%&$&%& moron cuts me off! Or when Chad 'My Chin Has Its Own Zip Code' Henne !$#$^%$ overthrows a $%#$%&$%wide open receiver!! See what I mean?

From now on I am going to have to watch what I listen to. Some...ok, most of my favorite bands come from the secular side of the spectrum. My wife would add that they also come from the 1990s teenage-wannabe side of the spectrum too...but what does she know? Bands like Radiohead, Weezer, AFI, Smashing Pumpkins, The Offspring, and Jimmy Eat World have dominated my vehicle's CD player for years. Songs like, 'Cherub Rock', 'Evidence', 'Beautiful Thieves', 'Let Down', 'Karma Police', The Greatest Man That Ever Lived', 'My Name is Jonas', and 'Come Out And Play' have been belted (mostly on key) by my person over and over. On my way home from work, I usually listen to sports talk radio on the AM dial (790, 640, 560). I don't know the last time you have heard any of those bands, songs or stations before...but they all aren't rated 'G'. (Especially those AM stations...man, some of the adds they run are pretty sketchy).

Solution: I have already started on this one, listen to more jazz and classical music. As of now I refuse (REFUSE) to allow The Wiggles, Raffi, or Charlie Waffles (eh? eh? Anyone?) into my car. We shall see how long I can hold out.


From now on I am going to have to watch what I watch. Some of our (I am not letting Chelsey off on this one)favorite shows are: The Office, Modern Family, Parks and Recreation, 30 Rock, Seinfeld reruns, 70's show reruns, How I Met Your Mother, Two and a Half Men, and The Soup (<--- we are not particularly proud of those last two...but they are soooooooo funny). Now, even the better shows listed above all have some language and other themes that do not translate well into 'Toddler-ese' and constant exposure to the very young would ultimately lead to one of these moments...and then - in the words of the bard, "It's all downhill from here...". Also, there are movies that I love to watch: "Unforgiven", "Anchorman", "Forrest Gump", "Eastern Promises", "Band of Brothers", and "The Dark Knight" that - even when edited for TV - still would put blush on the ears of my Mother were she around. I'll do you one better, anyone played 'Call of Duty' recently? I'll tell you this much, they capture the vernacular of the military all too well.

Solution: Either watch them really late after he goes to sleep, or find new shows...anyone care to make a recommendation? Also, it's now strictly sports games on the ol' X-Box 360 for me (pre-ordered NHL 12, it's gonna be amazing!!!).

Needless to say, I will need to make some definite life-style changes in order rise up to the standard of Fatherdom my Father set for me. I'll say this much: I cannot wait to hold that little miracle in my arms and tell him over and over how much I love him. I cannot wait for the first time he looks directly at me and says, 'Dada'. I cannot wait for the first time he asks me to play catch with him (or go skating). I cannot wait to take him to his first Panthers game (provided they haven't relocated by then). I do however hope to wait a looooong time before I catch him swearing (my Mom caught me in the 9th grade...and it was not pretty).

FIN

What I am reading now:
1776 - David McCullough
War and Our World - John Keegan

11th Post: Tales From the Ridge

Here follows the third installment in the ever-popular Tales From the Ridge franchise. Some would call this one the best yet, those 'some' being me, and as such I was reluctant to unveil it...but then I realized that nobody would read my Bloggy Wog unless it involved a TFTR...you jerks...so here you go.

On an unrelated related note, I am no longer employed by the Ridge. So I will only ever have the seven or eight really good stories that I have collected over my three years there. Should I fabricate future ones, I will - of course - let you all know up front.

Best,
-Ed(die) IV

As with previous installments, what you are about to read (and therefore see with your minds eye) is 100% truth. Scary, huh?

Chapter 2: They know me around here...

It was a Saturday night like any other, filled with my friends doing tons of fun and exciting things while I was stuck at the Ridge...jerks. The time was inching close to 10:30PM and I was trying desperately to kill the last hour-and-a-half, before boredom did me in first.

I was hunkered down in the Security office scrolling through Myspace (I know I am dating myself here, it was before Facebook became so very important...circa Fall 2006) a movement caught my eye. It was a ratty and faded baseball hat and it was floating at the bottom of the camera just outside the front of the building I was sitting in. Having been on the job for an entire three months, I knew what that meant, a 'guest' had arrived. "Oh goody." I said to myself as I slowly got up and collected the tools of my chosen trade: a radio, the keys, and a pseudo-tough exterior that belied an understanding of the overall uselessness of my job.

As I locked the security office door behind me, I said a little prayer that went a little something like this, “Lord, I am freshly married and the Dolphins have not yet won anything significant in my lifetime. So please don’t let me die now at the hands of a psycho drifter with a hankering for livers and spleens. Amen.” Thus armed, I opened the magnet-locked door and stepped outside to find the bearer of the ratty hat.

I looked to my right down the breeze way towards US-1, then looked left and very nearly crapped myself. There, standing not 15 feet away, was the largest non-professional football playing man I had ever seen. He was about 6'7", a solid (if not rotund) 330lb white male with a beard to make Charles Manson cringe and a stare made to bore through granite. To top it all off - literally - he was a Boston Red Sox fan. "Oh, boy..." I exhaled, "...they don't get much bigger and bandwagon-ier than that."

I quickly collected my thoughts (all two of them...more than usual, I know) and turned to squarely face the Yeti-In-Man’s-Clothing. “How are you tonight, brother? May I help you with something?” I secretly hoped I had put enough ‘gruff’ in the question; that coupled with my squared posture and solid eye-contact should alert the behemoth that I took him seriously.

“I’m here,” Gigantor began in a deep baritone, “looking for my people. Perhaps you’ve seen them?”

I took stock of the situation: One large man, one large hiking backpack on the ground, matching sneakers in relatively good condition, dirty clothes, open fly (that’s no good), and (Whew!) that smell means he’s been on the streets awhile. This one was going to be a doozy. “No, I haven’t seen your people, brother. What do they look like?"

I did not want to step back, although the smell was nailing me full-force, because giving ground - as any soldier will tell you - is the first sign of weakness and supplication. Besides, I stood only 6'1" and weighed (at that time) around 190 pounds...I needed to appear as big as possible in case Tiny decided to get hostile.

“Sure you have. You’ve seen my people.” Big Boy waved his ham-hock hands upwards and in a circular motion, “All God’s people are my people.” And he fixed me with that laser-gaze again.

"Oh great...he’s a hippie. Lord, why do you do this to me?" I thought with a subconscious look skyward. So I replied, “Why of course they are. The Bible says to love your neighbor.” I didn’t think that verse really applied there, but I was nervous...and when I get nervous, I ramble.

“They misquoted me.” Tons-O-Fun said with more than a little disgust in his voice.

“Who did?”

“The Bible writers.” Tubby said with a shrug and shake of his head.

“You lost me, pal.” I confessed with a wince of ‘here-it-comes’ fatalism.

Jumbo looked me dead in the eye and with a sincerity to rival most Elvis impersonators said, “I’m Jesus Christ, Son of God.”

I remembered then having read somewhere that it was usually best to let the looney tunes talk their mania out and NOT to interject or correct. So I proffered, “Well, if you’re who you say you are, you’re a pretty popular guy.”

Not missing a beat, JCSOG put his hand out against the wall of the church, crossed his right leg over his left one, nodded a bit and said, “Yeah, they know me around here.”

I stifled some serious laughter, "Best. Story. Ever." Was all I was thinking. "Nobody will believe this. Nobody." I looked around to avoid the earnestness of the Fat Man’s eyes, knowing that if I made eye contact now, I would be thrown into a fit of uncontrolled laughter.

I managed to muster a “Congratulations” or “Must be nice” or something to that effect. I tried to compose myself. When I looked back at that strange stranger again, I was surprised to see that I was being studied intently by those big creepy eyes.

“Are you security here?” Double-Stuff asked. 

“I am.”

"What?"

"I am."

"What it is my son?"

"I said, I am."

“NO! I Am."

"I'm lost." <---- my best Captain Obvious impression.

"I am that I am!" When he added the emphasis, (and You Bible scholars out there know what he was referring to). I knew that this Chunky Monkey needed a platoon of shrinks...and fast.

"Sorry. I meant: Yes, I am the security here."

Pudgy nodded thoughtfully and asked, "Does it pay good?”

A little annoyed at the blatant grammatical error by one who held claim to being perfect and without sin, I replied in an even tone, “It pays well...but the Army paid better.” I added that last part in the hopes of letting XXXL know that I was no pushover. I also said it with my eyes as drew myself up to my full height...still woefully inadequate for the potential task at hand.

“Army, huh?” Bacon Bits raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side a bit, “Would you like me to commit your body to the deep, my son?”

Chubby spoke the request in such an innocent, earnest way, that I didn't immediately put two and two together. You see, in the Navy, 'committing a body to the deep' is a phrase said during a burial at sea. A. Burial. At. Sea. "A BURIAL AT SEA!!!!! WAKE UP YOU MORON AND GET THE MACE READY!!!" It was about that time that I realized I had left the can of pepper spray back inside the office.

With that cacophony ringing in my head coupled with me mentally kicking my own rear end, I managed to mumble something to the effect of, “How for you mean to that do?”

Obviously used to such a fluid response, The Two-Legged Manatee said matter-of-factly, “Well first off, I’d have to suck out your soul...to purify it, of course.”

My threat level instantly went to DEFCON 5. "This isn’t happening...This. Is. Not. Hap. Pen. Ing." I began to embrace the fact that Piggly-Wiggly meant to kill me in ways that would make Stephen King blanch. I responded, “And just how do you plan on doing that?”

“A little mouth on mouth action."

"Oh." In the absence of all other options I realized there was but one hope left to me, “I think it’s time for you to move along.”

“Ok...later dude.” And just like that, Chumba-Wumba turned, picked up his rucksack, and walked away into the night.

I watched him go - at a safe distance - then headed back to the office thinking about what had just transpired. Needless to say, I continuously threw up prayers to the actual Jesus Christ, Son of God as I finished up my shift.

EPILOGUE:

An hour later, I kicked out a couple of high school kids making out in the back seat of their car. From what I could see, he was trying really hard to purify her soul.

FIN

What I am reading now:
The Call - Os Guinness
The Natural - Bernard Malamud

10th Post: Conventional Wisdom for my Son

My apologies for not blogging for the entire month of June. Let me fill you in on all that has happened since post #9. I got food poisoning...and that's pretty much it.

Below you will find some tidbits of conventional wisdom that I want to pass on to my son, and I am sure you will also find them to be useful in your various pursuits. Bon appetit.

1) A stitch in time saves nine...unless you aren't an 80-year-old lady, then you'll have no idea what the heck that even means.

2) Dress for the job you want, not the job you have...unless you are a Secret Service Agent and you really want to be a clown.

3) Don't drink and drive...unless you are playing golf, then drinking may be the only way to avoid noticing how bad your slice is.

4) There are only two sure things in life: death and taxes...unless you smart off to your mother, then you'll surely get a whuppin'.

5) Don't throw the baby out with the bath water...Oh, wait a second, that one's for me. Next!

6) If at first you don't succeed, write a book about it...I'm looking at you, Sarah Palin.

7) Do not spit into the wind...'nuf said.

8) If you can open a People magazine and not know 50% of the 'people' featured therein, you are doing many things right. Keep it up son.

9) Picking a team to root for is a fine art. You don't want to jump on a bandwagon (or - even worse - jump from bandwagon to bandwagon), unless its your home-town team, then you get a pass (Example: Miami Heat). If you want to root for a winner, I recommend these three litmus tests: 1) Look for a team that always seems to be in the fight. In any given season they could get hot and take the title. Example: San Jose Sharks (NHL), Atlanta Braves (MLB), Florida State Seminoles (NCAAFB/BB), and Baltimore Ravens (NFL). OR 2) Look for a team with a winning tradition that has fallen on hard times in recent seasons. Their fan bases (while understanding the cyclical nature of seasonal team-sport dominance) will not tolerate mediocrity for long, and the ownership will do whatever is necessary to get back on track. Example: Miami Dolphins (NFL), LA Dodgers (MLB), Colorado Avalanche (NHL), and Nebraska Cornhuskers (NCAAFB). OR 3) Pick a team that has stunk so bad, for so long, and so hard that they have accumulated numerous top-5 draft picks. Now all of those kids are reaching their prime all at once, and they will reign high upon the mountain for at LEAST the next 7-10 years. Examples: Kansas City Royals (MLB), Florida Panthers (NHL), Detroit Lions (NFL), and New York Islanders (NHL).

Now you'll notice that I have one of my favorite teams listed in each of those three examples...I like to keep my bases covered. Which reminds me:

10) Always keep your bases covered.

I love you, son. Cannot wait to see you in two months...or so.

9th Post: Memorial Day 2011

I personally know of three men who have paid the ultimate price for the freedoms we enjoy (appreciate?) every day. Today I will honor them with three 'pour outs' and a prayer. Also, I will tell you a little about them (anecdotes, if you will) and the nature of their passing. Please keep their loved ones in your thoughts and prayers today.


SGT Jack Hennessy ( http://www.iraqwarheroes.org/hennessy.htm )

I knew Jack from Basic Training at Fort Benning, GA. He was a good friend of my good friend Billy Ratcliff and we all hung out together on pass and on our (scant) free time. They were both in 1st platoon and I was in 4th. Our two platoons had a pretty nasty feud going on all through basic and when it was statistically (overall platoon marksmanship, PT, individual awards, testing, etc.) determined which platoon was best (4th, of course), he led a prank raid on our FTX (Field Training Exercise) site that resulted in not only their resounding defeat, but his personal shame (he face-planted into a patch of poison oak). Despite all that, he had a tremendous sense of humor and helped me to - finally - pass the sit-ups on my PT test.

Our mutual friend Billy informed me that Jack was killed when his checkpoint was attacked in Baghdad in October 2004. His neighborhood chose to honor him in a wonderful way (see: http://www.dailyherald.com/article/20100916/news/309169776/ ).



SGT Brett Swank ( http://www.iraqwarheroes.org/swank.htm and http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/uticaod/obituary.aspx?n=brett-d-swank&pid=3098408 )

I met Brett when we were shuffled into our Training Platoons at 2/19 in Fort Benning, GA. I have to admit I didn't care for him much; it was mutual. In fact we almost came to blows once (such is often the case when you lump 56 men into an enclosed space) over something...I cannot recall what exactly now. He was an exceptional shot and very good at PT. In short, everything an Infantry soldier should be (and neither of which I was...hmmm). I remember he came to notoriety when a picture of his girlfriend arrived and he was showing it around to everyone, and somebody remarked that she looked an awful lot like another guy in our platoon. It was true, she was a dead ringer for this guy (who shall remain nameless...No, it was not me) and it got so bad that the soldier in question went to the Drill Sergeants to have them ask us to stop calling him 'Swank's chick'. It was too funny...

I stumbled upon news of Brett's death when I was looking up another friend who I hadn't heard from in a while (Larry Sixberry was his name, and he is fine). He was killed in Iraq in January of 2005 by an IED; just two months before his 22nd birthday. The news struck me in an altogether different way than Jack's and Kip's (see below). While I didn't particularly care for Brett, I absolutely respected him as a fellow soldier and the world is - truly - a lesser place without him and other men of his caliber and their 'other's first' mentality. His community chose to honor him as well. ( http://dailyitem.com/0100_news/x1850234543/40-attend-renaming-of-road-for-soldier )


SGT Kip Jacoby ( http://www.fallenheroesproject.org/united-states/kip-allen-jacoby/  )

Kip was an amazing young man. I had the opportunity to know him for a few years in the civilian world of Good ol' Pompano Beach. He came to FBC Pompano with some mutual friends and we had many opportunities to hang out and talk together. I remember when he first came up to me saying how he wanted to enlist - at that time it was the Air Force - and I have said before ( http://edpurchaseiv.blogspot.com/2011/05/7th-post-my-thoughts-on-osama.html ) I feel somewhat responsible for his final decision.

What I remember most about Kip was his love for living! He was the best local skateboarder many people knew. He loved his music. He loved to drive very fast. In fact, he knew of a gas station waaaaaay out in the Everglades that sold higher octane gasoline than anywhere else and would repeatedly drive out there to fill his tank. He was a great listener and I knew he would make a great soldier. His loyalty to his friends, his love of country and his eagerness to serve was proof enough of that.

Kip was killed during Operation Red Wings (See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Red_Wings ) in June 2005. As you will read, it is truly one of the more harrowing tales of the war. No word on whether or not Pompano Beach will honor him officially. Hmmm...that may be something to look into...

On this day, I think of these men. I remember our interactions (both good and bad) and I speak a silent prayer for them and their loved ones. I am sure some of you know others who have served and fallen both in OIF/OEF and in the other wars/conflicts that mark (mar?) our nation's storied past. On this day, I would ask you to please do the same for them.

"The soldier, above all other people, prays for peace, for he must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war."
-Gen. Douglas MacArthur

8th Post: Another "Tale From the Ridge"

What follows is another installment of my future magnum opus 'Tales From the Ridge'.

Chapter 3: He wants what?!?

It was a Thursday morning like any other, busy and full of promise and I was having none of it. I was feeling sick as a dog due to a mixture of eating garbage and staying up until all hours of the night (translation: my wife was out of town). All I wanted was the time to fly by as quickly as possible so I could go home and - finally!!! - beat that stupid level in Halo 3 that was kicking my tookus all over the place (the one where you have to infiltrate the crashed flood-controlled ship...I HATED that level). Anyway, the sleep-deprived haze I was under lifted suddenly when I was alerted on the radio by one of our Facilities workers, 'Vince'.

"Hey, Ed!"
"Go ahead, Vince."
"Hey, Ed we have a guy here in the Fellowship Hall looking for you!"
"I'm on my way."

Now Vince was a nervous guy, and he would get very nervous when it came to homeless people...not just the 'go-all-quiet' kind of nervous, but the awkward 'overly-worked-up-because-this-could-be-a-terrorist-or-a-Mormon-or-both-and-I-need-to-get-an-adult-to-deal-with-this' kind of nervous. Vince is 47 years old.

I walked into the fellowship hall and was immediately assailed by an over-whelming odor; a mixture of sweat, smoke, and general nastiness. My eyes instantly teared up, and it was through that glassy haze that I first beheld, 'Petey'.

Petey stood about 5 feet tall and weighed - easily - 85lbs (about 20 of that was beard). He had on a black t-shirt that said 'F.B.I. Female Body Inspector', very tight blue jeans (quite possibly sized for a toddler), and a pair of mismatched black boots. I noticed he had something in his front pocket shaped like a lighter...but I didn't want to know for sure...if you catch my meaning.

I walked up to Petey and Vince ran up to me and practically squealed, "I caught him smoking in the men's room!"
"Aw yur full'a ****. I wern't no smoking." Was Petey's articulate reply.
"You were so! Ed, the whole place reeks of it."
I made a gesture for Vince to calm down and looked at Petey, "What's your name, brother?"
"Petey, Sir. Are you the Lord Marshall?"
I really wanted to say 'yes' to that, because that is a sick title if ere there were one. Alas, I said, "No, Petey. I'm just the Security guy here. Were you smoking in the bathroom?"
"Nope, Sir...not smoking...not meeee. I always r'spect duh law'r."
"Petey," I said, "I'm smelling a lot of smoke coming from your (I waived my hand in a big circle in front of him) general area right now...and I think you're fibbing to me." I took a step closer, "Tell me the truth, please."
Petey had been staring intently at me the whole conversation up until this point and at my last statement, he looked at Vince, pointed and said, "He wants my body."
"He wants what?!?"
Vince visibly jumped and screamed, "THAT'S NOT WHAT I SAID!!!" He turned to me and grabbed my arm, "Ed, I promise you...that is NOT what I said."
"Wait, you mean he might be almost correct in that statement?"
"All I said was, 'I will need to frisk you'."
"You're an idiot."
"He wouldn't give me the cigarettes."
"Are you a cop, Vince? Don't answer that, OF COURSE you're not! Therefore, you do not frisk anyone. Ever!"

I turned to look back at Petey and he was halfway down the Fellowship Hall at a full sprint. I ran after him and yelled, "Petey, stop!" In what was to be the third in a series of surprises that morning, he did.
"Whut d'yer want, Lord Marshall? I have to go."
"I want to know the truth."
"I may have been smok'n."
"Ok, do you know why you cannot smoke indoors and in bathrooms specifically?"
God love him, he really thought about it for a few seconds, "Cuz you might drop'em in der toy-lit?"
"Well, there is that...but I was going to say you could set off the fire sprinklers and that would make it a bad day for everybody."
"Do you even know whut a bad day looks like?!?" Petey asked me in a startling shift in personality. "I'll give you a lil' clue, you ig'nrant *******. It'zz a bus full'o kids and a bomb! A BOMB!!!!!!"

It's never easy dealing with the obviously insane and I have never taken a course or read a book, but I have learned more about looney-toons in 3 years at The Ridge than in any 40 books or lectures. Of course at that time I had barely been on the job a few weeks and was not quite sure where to take the convo from there. So I simply said, "I can dig it."
"Yeah." Was all Vince could think to add.

Petey had taken a very aggressive posture and was fidgeting with his left hand at his back pocket. So I asked him, "What you got back there, Petey?"
"Mud-butt. I got the mud-butt purty bad. D'ya mind eff'n I smoke?" And he proceeded to produce a pathetic excuse for a cigarette from his back pocket, as well as a lighter...my eyes immediately went to the aforementioned front pocket and instantly regretted it...because a dark stain was spreading.
"Petey! It's time to go, brother...NOW!"
"I am a'goin."
"NO! I mean leave!"
"You can't kick me out, you ************. This is a ************* church!"
"Oh yes I can, and you will leave right now or I'm calling the police."
"YOU SIT ON A BLACK THRONE OF LIES!!!! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHO I AM!!!!! I'M THE KING OF FRANCE!!! I'M THE KING OF ************* FRANCE YOU *******!!!!"

I didn't really care what all he said after that, because he said it as he was running out the door towards US-1. I turned to look at Vince, and he was white as a ghost. Then Vince turned to me and said - I am not making this up, "I told you he was smoking."

Really?

EPILOGUE:

Later that afternoon, Petey was seen hiding behind the bushes in the back parking lot and I got called again. I ignored it.

FIN

What I am reading now:
You Can Change - Tim Chester
Think - John Piper
The Name of the Rose - Umberto Eco (Sean Connery did the movie based on this book, so you know its boss!)

7th Post: My Thoughts on Osama

"Where were you when the world stopped turning on that September day?"
- Alan Jackson

I was in Fort Benning, Georgia preparing to transfer from 30th AG (think of it as a prep-school for Basic) to 2-19th INF TRN REG (Infantry Training Regiment). I was going to be assigned to Alpha Company 4th Platoon 'Dogs of War' (We have such interesting nicknames for our units. As an aside I have been a 'Dog of War', a 'Gator', a 'Bushmaster', a 'Copperhead', a 'Scorpion', a 'Dragon', a 'Demon', and for a very short time a 'Delta Dog'...but I digress). It was 9-ish in the morning (I did not consult my watch) and I was seated on the floor (which is where you sit when you are a Private...chairs are for big-boy soldiers) at the end of a row of about 60 other Privates. There was a very angry Captain standing behind me muttering under his breath, "I cannot believe I have to ------- babysit these ------- Privates again." Or something to that effect, when a Sergeant walked in and whispered to him, "A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center. A big one. They think the pilot had a stroke or something." "Really? That sucks." I was the only person to hear that conversation and I shared the Captain's sentiment. I didn't get to hear any more on that subject as just at that moment we (all 250of us) were ordered outside to do the changeover ceremony.

Once the ceremony was complete we were marched around Sand Hill (the training area) and shown all that awaited us for the next 14 weeks. It took all of about two hours (and a lot of marching) to get everywhere, and finally we were marched into the formation grounds of Alpha Company. This is typically where the fun begins. If you've gone through Basic, or at least seen the first 10 minutes of Full Metal Jacket or An Officer and A Gentleman, you know what I am talking about...but this was very different...and far more unsettling.

There are three Drill Sergeants assigned to each training platoon (four platoons to a company), 12 total. But we only saw four at a time. They cycled in and out of this room with a TV on inside. Each time they came out they were more and more irritated; irritated at us it seemed.

Now, I expected the usual jibes:
- 'How tall are you, son?'
- '6ft tall.'
- 'SIX FEET TALL WHAT? SIX FEET TALL, MORON? SIX FEET TALL, JACK%$#? SIX FEET TALL WHAT?!!???!!!'
- 'Six feet tall, Drill Sergeant.'
- 'Really?!? I didn't know they stacked !#$% that high.'

It was that, but there was something else there...in the eyes. Something that betrayed an altogether different motivation than 'breaking down' a Private. I didn't realize it until later, after they had divided us up into platoons, taken us up to our platoon barracks, and THEN informed us what had happened, that the emotion they had was anger. Anger at not being with their units, not being able to retaliate. You see Infantry Drill Sergeants are culled from the ranks of the best combat units. They are usually the best soldiers and some of the smartest (think super-teachers). They have the skill and the aptitude to teach that skill to others. Imagine knowing you are a great soldier, but not being able to BE that soldier. It was a bitter pill, and we bore the brunt of it for the duration. Many of the Drill Sergeants put in for transfers back to their combat units once our training cycle ended. Hopefully they got their chance.

I didn't think in a million years that I would see the sands of Afghanistan. I was in the National Guard for crying out loud. I mean, I was in the Infantry, but I enlisted in February of 2001 to pay for college and hopefully get some self-discipline. Shoot, I spent the 6 months between enlistment and leaving for Fort Benning, not in training with my soon-to-be unit, not in getting prepared physically for the strain of training; I spent it laying about doing nothing in particular. I hung out with my friends, spent a lot of time with my girlfriend, saw movies, went to concerts, etc. I thought that joining the Infantry would be a cool way to spend a weekend (blowing stuff up, which I did...and IT WAS AWESOME!!! Example: Have YOU ever fired a rocket launcher?) AND it was the quickest Basic Training/AIT (Advanced Individual Training), so I could get back home in time to start the spring semester...and on the Army's dime. Such was my detachment, such was my naivete. Of course I instantly regretted all of that on Tuesday morning.

I won't go into how they told us, needless to say there were a lot of 'F-bombs'. I won't go into the reactions from my platoon, needless to say fear and anxiety ran rampant. I do want to say this: We were lined up in front of our assigned bunks in a sort of giant rectangle (beds lined up along both long walls with a big open space in the middle of the bay) and each man could turn his head and see the rest. The Senior Drill Sergeant said, "Look around, Privates. Some men in this room will die, on foreign soil, avenging this act." He was right.

We did lose a man from 4th, Sgt. Brett Swank and another from 1st platoon: SSG Jack Hennessy (that I know of, perhaps there were more. There were at least a dozen wounded.). Swank wasn't my friend per say...in fact we almost got into a fistfight once. Hennessy was a really good friend of a friend, and helped me on my PT test prep runs from time to time. When I heard of their deaths, it saddened me, obviously...but it made me think that on that September morning when they heard about the attack (the same way I did), and they looked around their specific platoons did they think it would be them?

On an even sadder note, I lost another friend in Afghanistan. He was shot down in a rescue chopper in the mountains during Operation Red Wing in May 2005. He was a member of the famed Night Stalkers (again, we love those cool names in the Army), 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. They are making a movie about that mission, I do not know when it will come out. I heard about his death from my brother while I was in Mississippi preparing for my own excursion into the sandbox. It was sobering, not simply because it reinforced the dangers of what I was preparing to do, but that I had actually talked this man out of joining the Air Force and into joining the Army. His name was Sgt. Kip Jacoby of good ol' Pompano Beach. I know if he were here right now, he wouldn't hold it against me, but I'm here and I will hold it against me.

I said all of that to show that I am not insulated from the tragedies and wars stemming from 9/11, not so obtuse as to think that death is something to be celebrated and not so vain as to think that American lives are more special than Afghan lives, or Iraqi lives, or Libyan lives, or Vietnamese lives, or North Korean lives, or Japanese lives, or German lives, or Italian lives, or American Indian lives, or British lives. But isn't the point of 'life' to live it well? To contribute to the betterment of mankind? Shouldn't a life be spent not in striving against accepted societal norms, but in a way that hones them further; focuses them sharper. Shouldn't it be that all humankind exists/lives for the perpetuation of humanity? To that end Osama failed as a human. Just as Hitler did. Just as Stalin did. Just as Saddam did. Just as Robespierre did. Just as Nero did.

I suppose it is reasonable to assume that all of those listed above showed love and genuine compassion at some point in time. I am sure they loved their children, spouse (sometimes more than one), pets, friends etc. However, each saw the world, not as something to better or enhance, but as something to force-meld into their image. Sure, they had followers, some numbering in the millions...but they clearly went against the grain of common decency. Clearly.

Now I know we're getting into 'debatable' territory, 'one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter' and all that, but when you look at it, really look at it, What they wanted was so aberrant, so wantonly devoid of morality and benevolence that it caused the rest of the civilized world to unite and fight against them. Those types of individuals have spurned the value of life and pursued - in the words of Coldplay - Death and all his friends. So...is it really such a shame that they found him?

On a lighter note:

Did you hear about the latest trendy drink, the 'Osama Bin Laden'? It has two shots and a splash of water.

FIN

6th Post: Things I Hope to Teach my Son

1) Nobody pays a pitcher to hit. The DH is good for the game.

2) Always hold open a door for ladies, people with their hands full and me...of course.

3) Prayer is THE necessity.

4) Read for pleasure. Read for pain. Read for escapism. Just READ!

5) The Godfather trilogy must be watched annually and the life-lessons contained therein are to be valued. Chief of which is to never go alone in a fishing boat into the middle of huge lake with a hitman, especially after you've tried to kill your brother...who - coincidentally - is the boss of said hitman. #youbrokemyheartFredo.

6) When driving always look for the seam. If you have to hit your breaks for anything other than an accident or a red light, you have failed.

7) There is more to Nascar than 'Speed up, turn left. Speed up, turn left'...I just don't know what it is.

8) Duke = Puke (this one is from Mommy)

9) A firm handshake, solid eye-contact, and repeating the name of the person you just met will do more for a first impression that whatever you are wearing at the time.

10) Should you ever enter an enclosed space with FAU Prof Simon Glynn PhD, say that you do not know me and that your last name is just a horrible coincidence and perhaps he will let you live...perhaps.

11) Should you ever enter an enclosed space with Mike Keenan and Mike Yormark, kick them both in the kneecaps and say it is from me (and the rest of the Panther nation).

12) The best food/drink combo to watch any game with is your Mom's chicken nachos and coke with lime.

13) Your Mom is always right...even when she's wrong (which is never).

14) College basketball is the game at its finest. The NBA is a joke.

15) There is nothing wrong with walking away from a fight, as long as you've left the other person unconscious.

16) Do not take yourself so seriously that no one else will.

17) 'Politics' is not a dirty word, but 'Politician' is.

18) Proper grammar, spelling and punctuation are priceless. Nothing screams 'I'm a moron' louder than: 'your welcom', 'I lik it two', 'there boat iz sweet!', 'UR awsum', or my personal favorite, 'U need 2 C there nu hows its sik'. #likenailsonachalkboard

19) Authors to appreciate: Cormac McCarthy, Ursula K. Le Guin, J.K. Rowling, David McCullough, Kurt Vonnegut, Dave Barry and Ray Bradbury.

20) Literature/Novels to love: 'Starship Troopers' - Robert Heinlein, 'The Lottery' - Shirley Jackson, 'Ender's Game' - Orson Scott Card, 'Slaughterhouse 5' - Kurt Vonnegut, 'The Goblet of Fire' - J.K. Rowling, 'Young Goodman Brown' - Nathaniel Hawthorne, 'The Things They Carried' - Tim O'Brien, 'The Raven' - Edgar Allan Poe, 'A Canticle for Leibowitz' - Walter M. Miller Jr., 'The Count of Monte Cristo' - Alexandre Dumas, 'Blood Meridian' and 'The Road' - Cormac McCarthy, 'Blackhawk Down' - Mark Bowden, 'Heart of Darkness' - Joseph Conrad, and basically anything by Ray Bradbury.

21) Movies to enjoy: Amadeus, The Prestige, Band of Brothers, Patton, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Fantasia, Master and Commander, Casablanca, Eastern Promises, Open Range, Gladiator, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Napoleon Dynamite, Unforgiven, The Untouchables, Forrest Gump, and the first 20 minutes of Full Metal Jacket.

22) Bands to follow: Weezer, Jimmy Eat World, Denison Marrs, AFI, Coldplay, Plankeye, and The Smashing Pumpkins.

23) Albums to own: 'Kind of Blue' - Miles Davis, 'Pinkerton' and 'The Blue Album' - Weezer, 'Siamese Dream' - Smashing Pumpkins, 'Holding Hands @ 35,000 ft' - Denison Marrs, 'Time Out' - Dave Brubeck, 'X&Y' - Coldplay, 'Invented' - Jimmy Eat World, 'Commonwealth' and 'The Spark' - Plankeye, 'Beneath Medicine Tree' - Copeland, 'Sing the Sorrow' - AFI, and '3eB' - Third Eye Blind.

23) Sports teams to CHEER!: Miami Dolphins, Florida Panthers, Florida Marlins, Fulham FC (soccer), FSU football, UNC basketball, USA Men's National Soccer Team, Rory McIlroy, and whoever drives the National Guard car.

24) Sports teams to BOO!: New England Patriots, New York Jets, every NBA team (except maybe Miami), Florida Gators, Miami Hurricanes, New Jersey Devils (YOU ALMOST KILLED THE GAME!!), and Tiger Woods (I hated on him before anyone else did).

25) Do not - under any circumstances - spit into the wind.

What I'm reading now:
You Can Change - Tim Chester (devotional)
Think - John Piper
How to Read and Why - Harold Bloom

5th Post: Yet More Random Thoughts...

- Move over Walter "Sweetness" Peyton, there is a new best nickname in all of sports: Cliff "The Adverb" Lee. Anyone NOT an English major get that?

- Is it just me or has Google become that annoying guy/gal you work/hang with who finishes your thoughts before you even finish your first word? Example:
Me: "You know Google, I really like P..."
Google: "Pandora Radio. I know, me too."
Me: "Uh...no. I was saying I really like Pa..."
Google: "Pandora Jewelry. So very fetch."
Me: "NO! I really like Panda Bears!!! OH MY GOSH!!!!!"
Google: "Oh...well that was going to be my 2,346,029,762,396,923rd guess. Pandorajewelry17%offbuynow."

- Donald Trump needs to figure it out already. Is President Obama a qualified President of the USA or not? Trump goes from this:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfoCrZJ8dQY   to this:  http://www.ny1.com/content/top_stories/88778/-i-ny1-exclusive---i--donald-trump-slams--evil--bush--praises-obama/  in a weeks time. Pick one already, John Ker...I mean, Donald Trump.

- "Interview With The Vampire" > "Twilight". Period. The End.

- I am more than a little concerned with this: http://finance.yahoo.com/news/BRICS-demand-global-monetary-rb-217782600.html?x=0&.v=3. Or...I would be if South Africa weren't involved. They created the vuvuzela, no one can ever take them seriously after that...except maybe deaf people.

- Try as I may...I still cannot see the purpose of putting braille on the DIGITAL SCREEN IMAGES of a DRIVE-THRU ATM. I'm looking at you Bank of America. #doublefail

- Hash tags are the epitaph of modern thought. #toodeepforyou

4th Post: Random Thoughts...and a Marxist or two

Some assorted musings from the danky depths of my mind...be careful, madness is catchy.

- I have seen Paradise, and it is in deep blue eyes of Rowan Elisabeth Purchase. Simply gorgeous!

- Hockey season is almost over...at least as far as my beloved - and beleaguered - Florida Panthers are concerned. Now comes my favorite game, "Pick out another - actually decent - team to root for in the Playoffs." I'm feeling the Washington Capitals.

- You can call it whatever you want (my wife says it's a lack of taste), but I really like the following bands and will buy their albums (not just the singles on I-tunes) whenever they release them: Jimmy Eat World, Coldplay, and Weezer (they tease me always with their 2-or-3-amazing-songs-surrounded-by-crummy-filler, but I cannot stop myself...the laughably terrible 'Raditude' notwithstanding).

- I just finished reading the play 'Death of a Salesman' by Arthur Miller and I must say, I found it heartbreaking. It was written - and most assuredly succeeds - as a critique of the American Dream. If you have not read it, please do. To the christian reader, it is a stark portrayal of a life lived apart from God. In fact, I don't believe 'God' is mentioned at all unless attached to a certain 4-letter word. In it, you see a wife who feels her only hope against the inevitable is to put on a brave face. You see two sons, each embodying a separate fatal flaw bestowed (even nurtured) by their fatally flawed father. You see a man so lost in his own failings, that he must constantly re-live the past because he cannot bear to witness his future. A man who gauges his life's worth solely in how it is reflected in the eyes of other men. As I was reading it, I wanted to grab Willy Loman (the main protagonist) and embrace him and hand him a Bible and say, 'Read this! Your life's worth is to be found here!' Alas, I could not...

- LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: There is a United States Pirate Party. FOR REAL!!! Who wants to join it with me? Maybe they give out free eye-patches and parrots.
Here is their logo:

How cute: The flag makes a 'P'. Now I really want to join.

Oh...wait a minute...nevermind. It's just a political party to promote the abolition of copyright laws and Digital Rights Management (DRM). Nerds, they ruin everything.

SPEAKING OF POLITICAL PARTIES:

- I met two 'Marxists' today in the Non-fiction section of a newly discovered used bookstore called 'The Book Rack' (on Commercial east of US-1 but before the bridge on the North side). I was looking through a book titled 'Soviet Polity in the Modern Era' (I mean, who wouldn't?) and this guy and his friend come up to me (me, mind you) and asked if I was a member of the CPUSA ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Communist_Party_USA ).

I didn't answer right away (big mistake) and they started asking me my opinions on 'Lenin' this and 'China' that. I looked right at them and asked if they were - in fact - serious. They said they were, and I asked them if they were - in fact - aware that Communism was a global failure. They didn't take too kindly to that and pointed out that China owned the USA up to its ears. I pointed out that sure, China is pretty nifty, if you like to ignore little things like gross disregard for human rights, massive levels of starvation/poverty, blatant seizures of land to build the world's largest this and the world's biggest that, the utter and total abolition of a free press, and all that jazz (which - in point of fact - was also banned in China until the late 1980s). The two of them had clearly heard these arguments before and were prepared, "Well, at least they don't own slaves!" "Buddy," I replied, "Their entire population are slaves." This started a huge rant (which I promptly forgot) on American Capitalist Slave culture and how the US was based on a land/slave owner philosophy. My reply, "Funny how we still manage to function, now that slavery has been abolished for over 100 years."

They were not to be deterred. "Look at Cuba," They said, "Best health care system and scientific research stations in the Western Hemisphere!" My reply, "Yeah, you can tell they really appreciate it there...that's why tens of thousands have risked life and limb to cross 90 miles of ocean in the dead of night on inner-tubes and hallowed out tree trunks to join our Capitalist-slave-holding country." They didn't like that either. Then I dropped the bomb, "How old are you two anyways?" One said he was old enough to see through the lies of the establishment (translation: 17-19) and the other mumbled something about being old enough to burn his selective service card (translation: 18-19). I then asked them, "Have either of you ever been outside of the US?" One said not yet and the other said he had been outside the US. I said then that being on a cruise didn't really count. He muttered something I can't repeat here and I said that I had seen up-close and personal the effects of Soviet Communism and that it isn't pretty. "Where were you?" The 'Burner' asked. "Afghanistan and Kyrgyzstan." I said. He squinted at me and frowned, "Whatever."

I then told them that Communism removes the 'humanity' out of governance. I told them that in a Communistic society, the 'essence of the individual' is sacrificed upon the alter of the state. The 'Cruiser' interrupted me right there and said (this is an actual quote, I will never forget it), "Yeah, America really cares about the individual. NOT! So what if America doesn't allow for slavery ON THESE SHORES! They just get their slaves in other countries like Mexico and Thailand and El Salvador and China." I cut him off right there (rude, I know) and said, "I thought you said China 'owned the US'?" He ignored me and said, "They send the slave-type jobs overseas and make a mint!" I conceded that point. Truth be told, I do think American corporations send out for a lot of cheap labor that is only sparsely regulated; jobs that could keep America from the double-digit unemployment it currently has.

Once they saw that they had - in fact - made an actual point, they decided to retire as champions and bade me farewell. Which was a pity, because I so wanted to ask them how they liked being hypocrites for wearing Nike sneakers (made in China) and Quicksilver T-shirts (made in Mexico). However, poetic justice was to be had after all. They went to the clerk to buy the books they had picked out, and proceeded to balk that the store did not take credit/debit cards (the total was a measly 17 dollars...apparently communists don't carry cash), they settled for one book and left...IN A MERCEDES BENZ. Go figure...

What I am reading now:
You Can Change - Tim Chester (devotional)
The Call - Os Guiness
No Country for Old Men - Cormac McCarthy
Marxism for Dummies and Un-Washed Benz-Driving Hipsters: - No, not really