New furniture delivery this morning! We got a new sectional and man did we need it. Our old couch was 7 years old and everytime you sat in it, you collapsed into the middle of the back cushions, so if you wanted to talk to anyone, you'd have to push the side of the cushion back because otherwise you'd now be talking to the pillow. Plus, this sectional can easily seat 5, maybe 6 people, whereas our old couch could maybe seat 2-3, mostly because one slob would sit on it, spread his legs and take up 2.5 seats all by himself. Said person most likely smelled completely rank, so the greater majority of our friends have no interest in sitting near this person in the half of a seat that is now available on the couch. So then what happens is Smelly Friend ends up sitting on the couch with all of the cushions caved in, while everyone else at our party stands around keeping their distance. After some time, Smelly Friend gets up and the couch looks like a crime scene with cushions all over the place, the couch being slid back and forth so that it is now at a diagonal angle from where it originally sat, and the pillows are tossed amuck.
Having said that, we posted the old couch on Craigslist and a wonderful couple came and picked it up. They were moving into their first apartment, so this was a perfect set up for them. They got an entire room of furniture and we got rid of an overcrowding furniture situation that dated back to the wall to wall furniture situation that I referenced in the Man Fest blog. I think the only person who might be disappointed is Sammie, because the Love Seat was where she slept some of the time during the day. Not to fear though, there are 2 other couches that she can sleep on.
Our new couch is so big that even Shaq can sleep on it. I'm fully stretched out and not even reaching the last couch cushion. Isn't that crazy? It's about time we owned some furniture like this. I'm wondering if this means we're officially adults. You know how it is when you first move out. All of your furniture is hand me down, or mix matched. You'll walk in to a home with this furniture and you'll see something out of an Austin Powers movie. There'll be some wild colors - something bright orange or purple resembling a Sesame Street character. You're sitting down on it wondering if it's going to ask you to be their neighbor or something. Then you graduate to your first set. It's basically the cheapest set that matches. You're complimented by all of your friends because you have actually found something north of the garage sale. "OH! Look at this! It looks great!" really means "Thank goodness you finally came to your senses, or somebody clubbed you from the back and you realized that it was time to get something that didn't look like it was a hand me down from Sanford and Son."
So, you go for years with this starter set, mainly because you don't have the money to buy anything legit. You've got student loans, credit cards, mortgage, car payments, etc. New furniture isn't high on the priority list. Especially when you start off the conversation by saying "Let's see what we can get for $2-3 hundred". The sales person is literally pointing out the front window to the Flea Market that is across the street. "I'm sure that you'll find something over there, and if not there is a Good Will down the block." Nice!
So, that's where we are in our life. We finally upgraded from the starter set to the legit set. FYI, it didn't take Sammie more than a few hours to leap up on the couch and curl up. We were like, "GET DOWN SAMMMMMMMMMMMMIE!" Basically she just looked at us, as if to say "Who me?" =) Thanks to Grandma, she got in the habit. Grandma can't say no to those big beautiful doggie eyes!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
MAN FEST!
Wedding Day Smedding Day! This is the story of the birth of MAN FEST! (a.k.a the story of my marriage ceremony) It's the day that many women think about from the time they are a little girl and that most guys think of during that morning or somewhere thereabouts.
The morning of my wedding began the day of Man Glory. My friends met at my apartment, which was sometimes confused with the Toxic Landfill nearby. While most people rent a storage unit or, God forbid, throw things away when they move from one place to another, my wife and I decided that we wanted to live with all of our earthly possessions. We were waiting for our new house to be built and in the meantime we were staying in an apartment that was doubling as a garage sale or fallout shelter. Many people credit the term "Ground Zero" with the site of the World Trade Center. Not true, it wasn't until years later when the maintainence man tried to come into our apartment to change an air filter and then, looking around at the filth, realized it wouldn't make much of a difference and coined the magic phrase while filming the pilot video for "Hoarders" in our back bedroom. Ultimately, the show never got off the ground because there weren't any other people who could match our collection of filth, funk, and resemblence to land fill properties within their living space. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary in this bedroom. Just normal stuff, like a gas grill, landscaping bricks, a lawn mower, mattresses, bicycles, book cases, an aquarium, and almost anything else you can think of. That did not leave much imagination for the living room, whose best feature was the wall to wall couches. We were all set if the Brady Bunch and their extended family/life partners wanted to come over for a visit. Seriously, the apartment couldn't have been more than 700 square feet, but after you took into account all of our belongings, we were reduced to a spacious 35-40 square feet of walkable area. I believe that the step to kick/trip ratio even got up to 4 to 1 at one point after a random garbage day. With that in mind, the only people we invited over were those with empty cars so that they could take some "parting presents" when they left, so you could see that this was going to be a truly special day.
On the morning of the wedding, similar to most guys I was wracked with nerves as I turned on my Playstation to play Home Run Derby. There were a million things on my mind, such as whether or not there was a toggle switch that could simulate Giambi's steroid use and resulting production, or which stadium to use that would favor the various home run hitters, or how many games we could get in and still take advantage of the free breakfast that was waiting for us at the hotel, and a litany of other concerns that were fresh on my mind. In the end, I knew that I had made the right decision on this day. You see, Gary Sheffield is a power hitter to left and Wrigley Field was a right handed hitter's paradise. I suppose that it was meant to be that I win the Home Run Derby on my wedding day, either that or my friends were unconscious from the methane gas that I'm sure was eminating from our apartment de jour.
After a few games, we piled into my car to head for the hotel, where the women had been up for hours and off to get their hair and makeup done. I, on the other hand, was still wearing my favorite FILA shorts and the T-Shirt that I had slept in the night before. I had an awesome breakfast, complete with any food item that I could hope for. Before long, I noticed the photographer ambling about. While my wrinkled T-Shirt looked good to me, I'm pretty confident that it would fly like a fart in church for our wedding pictures. I was pretty sure we were supposed to get a fair amount of "pre-game" photos and here it was about 3 hours before the wedding and I had egg on my face, literally - they were delicious though so it was worth it.
Once all of the groomsmen got dressed, we went downstairs for some "pre-game" photos before boarding the trolley that would take us to the church. Once at the church, all of the groomsmen assumed the position. That is, the position of making fun of me. We had written some reflective passages in our program about each member of the bridal party. While we were really appreciative of all that the groomsmen did for us, I believe the fart noises and belching will stand out most in my mind, while they each claimed to be the "brother I never had". I hadn't seen this many brothers since I had visited the Friar House at St. Bonaventure.
Fast forward past all of the jokes and noises and it was finally time to take my place in the room behind the alter and wait for the ceremony to begin. Except that I noticed in this back room that there was a surplus of the body and blood of Christ in it's unblessed state. After discussing the matter, my best man and I decided that we would pass Go and head straight for Hell if we tampered with the bread and wine, and also that our relative hunger and thirst levels would not be a talking point in our favor. So, clearly famished, we headed out to the alter to await the magical appearance of the bride.
Everything was perfect, the attire, the smile, the timing, the hair, and...well it's probably a stretch to say that the hair was perfect as I was clearly balding at the time. On a side note, my wife looked beautiful as well. Then the mass began and all of the pagans sat in confusion as we worked through the service that was as familiar to the crowd as an igloo tribe in the west wing of a raging inferno. After some initial confusion though, they all seemed to slip comfortably into slumber and the service went rather smoothly.
Then, the part of the wedding that everyone was waiting for...OPEN BAR TIME in the hotel lobby at the reception. My wife and I walked around and observed that there wasn't a dry eye, or palate for that matter, in the house. I'm pretty sure sobriety was at a minimum as well. I mean, what was this, Amateur hour? Apparently, tolerance only comes into play in nonalcholic situations. Do they not allow alcohol into the Senior Center? How did these people get to be senile anyway? Something's got to take the edge off when your spouse has been nagging you to death for the past 20, 30, 40, 50 years or so, doesn't it? Anyone ever hear of the old flask on the garter trick? Guess not...
Finally, the main event was upon us. The reception hall opened and the beginning of my three meal plated dinner was about to begin. This well crafted strategy was birthed almost from the moment I slid the engagement ring on my wife's finger when I devised this plan by which I would eat each one of the meals that was offered to our guests on that day. Similar to many great ideas, this was not without flaw as midway through the 2nd meal I began to think back to the tuxedo rental day. It was at this moment that I truly realized the advantages my trained sales professional was speaking of in reference to the adjustable waist band on my tuxedo pants. Unfortunately, these pants were still hanging in the window of the rental store as I opted for the less expensive "Spanx" prototype model which, in an emergency, can double as a tourniquet. Fortunately you can view these circulation stifling beauties in many of my wedding photos. If I had only consulted trained professionals, such as, Eater X, Takero Kobiyashi, The Black Widow, or Joey Chestnut, then I'm confident I could have plowed ahead. Instead, I sat with borderline indigestion and a gurggling stomach. Once recovered from wedding meal heaven, I looked up from my unfinished portion of food to notice that I was the only person from the bridal party left at the head table surrounded by all of my friends, er, I mean all of my plated meals.
All in all, a perfect wedding. Who said that the day is all about the women? But I can't help but think about the one that got away. I should have eaten the Chicken first and it wouldn't have gone to waste...
For Men across the world, Wedding Day is no more. A Man's Day of Marriage will now be known as Man Fest! HOORAY MAN FEST!
The morning of my wedding began the day of Man Glory. My friends met at my apartment, which was sometimes confused with the Toxic Landfill nearby. While most people rent a storage unit or, God forbid, throw things away when they move from one place to another, my wife and I decided that we wanted to live with all of our earthly possessions. We were waiting for our new house to be built and in the meantime we were staying in an apartment that was doubling as a garage sale or fallout shelter. Many people credit the term "Ground Zero" with the site of the World Trade Center. Not true, it wasn't until years later when the maintainence man tried to come into our apartment to change an air filter and then, looking around at the filth, realized it wouldn't make much of a difference and coined the magic phrase while filming the pilot video for "Hoarders" in our back bedroom. Ultimately, the show never got off the ground because there weren't any other people who could match our collection of filth, funk, and resemblence to land fill properties within their living space. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary in this bedroom. Just normal stuff, like a gas grill, landscaping bricks, a lawn mower, mattresses, bicycles, book cases, an aquarium, and almost anything else you can think of. That did not leave much imagination for the living room, whose best feature was the wall to wall couches. We were all set if the Brady Bunch and their extended family/life partners wanted to come over for a visit. Seriously, the apartment couldn't have been more than 700 square feet, but after you took into account all of our belongings, we were reduced to a spacious 35-40 square feet of walkable area. I believe that the step to kick/trip ratio even got up to 4 to 1 at one point after a random garbage day. With that in mind, the only people we invited over were those with empty cars so that they could take some "parting presents" when they left, so you could see that this was going to be a truly special day.
On the morning of the wedding, similar to most guys I was wracked with nerves as I turned on my Playstation to play Home Run Derby. There were a million things on my mind, such as whether or not there was a toggle switch that could simulate Giambi's steroid use and resulting production, or which stadium to use that would favor the various home run hitters, or how many games we could get in and still take advantage of the free breakfast that was waiting for us at the hotel, and a litany of other concerns that were fresh on my mind. In the end, I knew that I had made the right decision on this day. You see, Gary Sheffield is a power hitter to left and Wrigley Field was a right handed hitter's paradise. I suppose that it was meant to be that I win the Home Run Derby on my wedding day, either that or my friends were unconscious from the methane gas that I'm sure was eminating from our apartment de jour.
After a few games, we piled into my car to head for the hotel, where the women had been up for hours and off to get their hair and makeup done. I, on the other hand, was still wearing my favorite FILA shorts and the T-Shirt that I had slept in the night before. I had an awesome breakfast, complete with any food item that I could hope for. Before long, I noticed the photographer ambling about. While my wrinkled T-Shirt looked good to me, I'm pretty confident that it would fly like a fart in church for our wedding pictures. I was pretty sure we were supposed to get a fair amount of "pre-game" photos and here it was about 3 hours before the wedding and I had egg on my face, literally - they were delicious though so it was worth it.
Once all of the groomsmen got dressed, we went downstairs for some "pre-game" photos before boarding the trolley that would take us to the church. Once at the church, all of the groomsmen assumed the position. That is, the position of making fun of me. We had written some reflective passages in our program about each member of the bridal party. While we were really appreciative of all that the groomsmen did for us, I believe the fart noises and belching will stand out most in my mind, while they each claimed to be the "brother I never had". I hadn't seen this many brothers since I had visited the Friar House at St. Bonaventure.
Fast forward past all of the jokes and noises and it was finally time to take my place in the room behind the alter and wait for the ceremony to begin. Except that I noticed in this back room that there was a surplus of the body and blood of Christ in it's unblessed state. After discussing the matter, my best man and I decided that we would pass Go and head straight for Hell if we tampered with the bread and wine, and also that our relative hunger and thirst levels would not be a talking point in our favor. So, clearly famished, we headed out to the alter to await the magical appearance of the bride.
Everything was perfect, the attire, the smile, the timing, the hair, and...well it's probably a stretch to say that the hair was perfect as I was clearly balding at the time. On a side note, my wife looked beautiful as well. Then the mass began and all of the pagans sat in confusion as we worked through the service that was as familiar to the crowd as an igloo tribe in the west wing of a raging inferno. After some initial confusion though, they all seemed to slip comfortably into slumber and the service went rather smoothly.
Then, the part of the wedding that everyone was waiting for...OPEN BAR TIME in the hotel lobby at the reception. My wife and I walked around and observed that there wasn't a dry eye, or palate for that matter, in the house. I'm pretty sure sobriety was at a minimum as well. I mean, what was this, Amateur hour? Apparently, tolerance only comes into play in nonalcholic situations. Do they not allow alcohol into the Senior Center? How did these people get to be senile anyway? Something's got to take the edge off when your spouse has been nagging you to death for the past 20, 30, 40, 50 years or so, doesn't it? Anyone ever hear of the old flask on the garter trick? Guess not...
Finally, the main event was upon us. The reception hall opened and the beginning of my three meal plated dinner was about to begin. This well crafted strategy was birthed almost from the moment I slid the engagement ring on my wife's finger when I devised this plan by which I would eat each one of the meals that was offered to our guests on that day. Similar to many great ideas, this was not without flaw as midway through the 2nd meal I began to think back to the tuxedo rental day. It was at this moment that I truly realized the advantages my trained sales professional was speaking of in reference to the adjustable waist band on my tuxedo pants. Unfortunately, these pants were still hanging in the window of the rental store as I opted for the less expensive "Spanx" prototype model which, in an emergency, can double as a tourniquet. Fortunately you can view these circulation stifling beauties in many of my wedding photos. If I had only consulted trained professionals, such as, Eater X, Takero Kobiyashi, The Black Widow, or Joey Chestnut, then I'm confident I could have plowed ahead. Instead, I sat with borderline indigestion and a gurggling stomach. Once recovered from wedding meal heaven, I looked up from my unfinished portion of food to notice that I was the only person from the bridal party left at the head table surrounded by all of my friends, er, I mean all of my plated meals.
All in all, a perfect wedding. Who said that the day is all about the women? But I can't help but think about the one that got away. I should have eaten the Chicken first and it wouldn't have gone to waste...
For Men across the world, Wedding Day is no more. A Man's Day of Marriage will now be known as Man Fest! HOORAY MAN FEST!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Gift that keeps on giving...or something
When I first moved out of my parents house, I knew that getting gifts for my family was a given, but beyond that it was always a guessing game who to get gifts for. I worked 2 part time jobs to pay my rent and bills, so anything more than that was very difficult to scrape together the money for. I thought to myself that the worst thing would be if someone got me a gift and I didn't have anything to give them in return. For some reason, I felt a great deal of shame if someone did something nice for me without me being able to show my appreciation in return. So, in my mind, I had to be prepared. What I did, was I went to the store and bought a bunch of random, gender neutral gifts.
Ok, to be clear, these gifts were total crap. If someone gave me a gift like this, I would look at the gift, raise an eyebrow and think to myself, "What am I supposed to do with this?" I honestly think that I would consider whether or not we were actually friends. Come to think of it, that may explain some things about the culmination of a few friendships around that time period that I couldn't quite put my finger on. "Hmm, that's weird, I haven't heard from so and so in awhile."
I went home and wrapped the gifts and put them in the trunk of my car. If anyone ever gave me a gift, I'd ask them to wait while I went back to the car to get their gift. I would go into the trunk and take a pen and write their name on the tag and give them one of the random gifts of crap from my Giftmobile. I don't recall how many of these gifts I gave out, but looking back on this I couldn't help but thinking it was a classic case of the thought that counts. Clearly in this case, I had put as much thought into the gifts as a falling tree gave to the ground it was about to hit. So, as I would hand over these gifts with a smile spreading across my face, I can only imagine the looks of bewilderment when my friends would open these carcasses of the season. Let's just say that I recall looking for the gifts that would perfect and as part of the narrowing down process, "Makin' Bacon" did not make the cut. So, ask yourself, if a microwavable tray to put bacon on is not a worthy enough gift, what must these poor people have received as gifts? Let me tell you that I didn't make these gifts, which, in retrospect would have been a much more compelling show of friendship. I actually bought these items and it was in the day before the Dollar Store took off, so there was some financial value...
As I type that last line, I realize how I must have gotten ripped off, because clearly I could have gotten much better gifts for just a dollar.
Consider that I could have purchased a fruit cake, a book, a dog toy, a Christmas stuffed animal, candy, a bottle of gatorade, or even a ridiculous looking figurine that I am positive Helen Keller must have constructed. But no, these gifts would not do. I had to get a gift that looked as if it washed ashore on a random beach. To think that each one of these gifts would have been ten steps to the positive makes me sick because now I'm realizing that I bought these nuggets of misfortune as a means to save face and I didn't even do that because there were better options available. So, if for a moment I would have stopped thinking of myself and tried to think of others, then this could have been something more than a frenzy of B.S. that I attempted to pull over the faces of my friends.
So, consider that instead of giving a gift of dung, I stepped in it myself.
My ideas surrounding gift giving have evolved from decrepit to less heinous through the years. Last year, we had given a gift to our friend, Wendy. Trust me, I've learned my lesson and if I can't find a thoughtful gift, a gift card to this person's favorite place or restaurant seems to be appreciated much more than the homemade coupon book that reads "Good for one ride to work" or "Good for one night of hanging out with me"(Let's be honest, who wouldn't want a piece of that action, but there's only so much of me to go around). Wendy, so overjoyed with our gift, responded that we shouldn't expect a gift from her in the future, because she is bad with dates. What does that mean? We're not asking her out on a date. We put back the calendar that would were going to give as a gift with my birthday starred. I mean, was our gift that objectionable? Was it so bad that the only possible reaction elicited was amongst the lowest forms of human emotion? I don't understand. While the bag of potpourri that resembled a batch harvested during the Carter Administration was at one point in my hand, I'm quite sure that I put that down in favor of Masterpiece Theatre Classics on 8-Track. At least that's what you would have thought based on the reaction we received. While a "Thank You" seems most appropriate in these scenarios, I suppose an "I'm not going to find it necessary to remember your birthday" is probably a close second, right? I'm pretty sure that the disconnect comes from the fact that I provide Wendy with my birthday list beginning on the day after my birthday from the previous year. In my defense, I do label the top as birthday SUGGESTIONS, not requirements. I mean, if you can't tell your friends about that new car, or Blu-Ray Player, etc, then who can you tell? I believe that your friends should recognize the considerable effort put forth to create a quality list of items that would really make my day. I could have put down items I didn't really want, but would be inexpensive, like the "Sham-Wow", a jar of black olives, or perhaps a "Rock Star" energy drink. Let's be honest, who would a list like that help? Well, as much as hate to say this, I will never again be purchasing a "My friend went to El Paso and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt" gift. I believe I've realized to quit while I'm ....well, let's just not finish that line.
Ok, to be clear, these gifts were total crap. If someone gave me a gift like this, I would look at the gift, raise an eyebrow and think to myself, "What am I supposed to do with this?" I honestly think that I would consider whether or not we were actually friends. Come to think of it, that may explain some things about the culmination of a few friendships around that time period that I couldn't quite put my finger on. "Hmm, that's weird, I haven't heard from so and so in awhile."
I went home and wrapped the gifts and put them in the trunk of my car. If anyone ever gave me a gift, I'd ask them to wait while I went back to the car to get their gift. I would go into the trunk and take a pen and write their name on the tag and give them one of the random gifts of crap from my Giftmobile. I don't recall how many of these gifts I gave out, but looking back on this I couldn't help but thinking it was a classic case of the thought that counts. Clearly in this case, I had put as much thought into the gifts as a falling tree gave to the ground it was about to hit. So, as I would hand over these gifts with a smile spreading across my face, I can only imagine the looks of bewilderment when my friends would open these carcasses of the season. Let's just say that I recall looking for the gifts that would perfect and as part of the narrowing down process, "Makin' Bacon" did not make the cut. So, ask yourself, if a microwavable tray to put bacon on is not a worthy enough gift, what must these poor people have received as gifts? Let me tell you that I didn't make these gifts, which, in retrospect would have been a much more compelling show of friendship. I actually bought these items and it was in the day before the Dollar Store took off, so there was some financial value...
As I type that last line, I realize how I must have gotten ripped off, because clearly I could have gotten much better gifts for just a dollar.
Consider that I could have purchased a fruit cake, a book, a dog toy, a Christmas stuffed animal, candy, a bottle of gatorade, or even a ridiculous looking figurine that I am positive Helen Keller must have constructed. But no, these gifts would not do. I had to get a gift that looked as if it washed ashore on a random beach. To think that each one of these gifts would have been ten steps to the positive makes me sick because now I'm realizing that I bought these nuggets of misfortune as a means to save face and I didn't even do that because there were better options available. So, if for a moment I would have stopped thinking of myself and tried to think of others, then this could have been something more than a frenzy of B.S. that I attempted to pull over the faces of my friends.
So, consider that instead of giving a gift of dung, I stepped in it myself.
My ideas surrounding gift giving have evolved from decrepit to less heinous through the years. Last year, we had given a gift to our friend, Wendy. Trust me, I've learned my lesson and if I can't find a thoughtful gift, a gift card to this person's favorite place or restaurant seems to be appreciated much more than the homemade coupon book that reads "Good for one ride to work" or "Good for one night of hanging out with me"(Let's be honest, who wouldn't want a piece of that action, but there's only so much of me to go around). Wendy, so overjoyed with our gift, responded that we shouldn't expect a gift from her in the future, because she is bad with dates. What does that mean? We're not asking her out on a date. We put back the calendar that would were going to give as a gift with my birthday starred. I mean, was our gift that objectionable? Was it so bad that the only possible reaction elicited was amongst the lowest forms of human emotion? I don't understand. While the bag of potpourri that resembled a batch harvested during the Carter Administration was at one point in my hand, I'm quite sure that I put that down in favor of Masterpiece Theatre Classics on 8-Track. At least that's what you would have thought based on the reaction we received. While a "Thank You" seems most appropriate in these scenarios, I suppose an "I'm not going to find it necessary to remember your birthday" is probably a close second, right? I'm pretty sure that the disconnect comes from the fact that I provide Wendy with my birthday list beginning on the day after my birthday from the previous year. In my defense, I do label the top as birthday SUGGESTIONS, not requirements. I mean, if you can't tell your friends about that new car, or Blu-Ray Player, etc, then who can you tell? I believe that your friends should recognize the considerable effort put forth to create a quality list of items that would really make my day. I could have put down items I didn't really want, but would be inexpensive, like the "Sham-Wow", a jar of black olives, or perhaps a "Rock Star" energy drink. Let's be honest, who would a list like that help? Well, as much as hate to say this, I will never again be purchasing a "My friend went to El Paso and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt" gift. I believe I've realized to quit while I'm ....well, let's just not finish that line.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Stone Mountain and BEYOND!!!!!
Known for being the largest piece of exposed granite in the world (although I hear this isn't completely true - that the mountain is actually comprised of a mixture of different types of rock) Stone Mountain is located just east of Atlanta, Georgia and is surely a trip that can be enjoyed by people of all ages and interests.
The blog about this trip has been in the works for some time. We went on this trip last January and had a blast. Here are some pictures from an AWESOME and unexpected trip. We had gone down to Atlanta to see a hockey game. Here's the amazing thing about going to see a game in Atlanta, you can get a seat at center ice for $10! Sure, you're in the clouds, but the view is awesome! We've been a couple of times, and on each occasion we stop at Taco Mac to eat because there is a door from the restaurant directly into the arena. It's great!
So we went to the game and met up with some friends who moved to the area. We were spending the next day in town and asked for something worth seeing and Stone Mountain was their recommendation. We were not disappointed at all. Now, our trip was off the cuff, but I would recommend if you want to take this trip, bring a backpack with a snack and drink and be prepared for a much different climate at the top from what you encounter at the beginning of your voyage.
I remember walking amongst the trees and then after a time, you're no longer walking on grass and dirt, you're now walking on rocks. The trees that offered you shade are now being replaced by more rocks. You're no longer walking, but jumping from rock to rock. I would dare say that if you don't have a decent pair of shoes, you'll regret it. I was wearing shoes with a lot of shock support and my knees and calves were throbbing by the end of the trip.
Stone Mountain is like a monument to the Confederacy. I never realized this, but when you get close to the mountain you sure become aware immediately. There is a huge carving into the side of the mountain of confederate soldiers. It's amazing. In describing it, I would consider a middle point between Mount Rushmore and a Stone textured Billboard sign. If you go and plan to get a picture, you'd better have a good camera because the sun goes directly over the mountain making the shadows very unforgiving for the novice photographer. Hence the absence of pictures depicting the carving monument.
Another such monument is a row of flags denoting each of the flags from the Confederate time period. Most people, when thinking of the Confederacy, see the General Lee and think of nothing else. Each flag has a plaque under it describing the significance. Sadly, this monument was off the beaten path and we would have missed it had we come down the same way we went up. It looked like a clearing in the woods where the weather had cleared a path, but otherwise it was dirty and unkept.
We just spent a few hours there, but truthfully, there is so much to see and do. There were people having sled races at the bottom of the mountain. If you look below at the last picture on the far left you'll see a white rectangle. That is the path where the sleds were raced. I believe in the summer, there is a laser or fireworks show in the evening to classic confederate songs. I'm not sure whether this is something you view from down below, or from the top of Stone Mountain. I have to think it would be amazing to see these, whether from the top or the bottom. There are also tons of attractions in the village below that were all closed the day we were visiting.
Check out our pictures below!!!
The blog about this trip has been in the works for some time. We went on this trip last January and had a blast. Here are some pictures from an AWESOME and unexpected trip. We had gone down to Atlanta to see a hockey game. Here's the amazing thing about going to see a game in Atlanta, you can get a seat at center ice for $10! Sure, you're in the clouds, but the view is awesome! We've been a couple of times, and on each occasion we stop at Taco Mac to eat because there is a door from the restaurant directly into the arena. It's great!
So we went to the game and met up with some friends who moved to the area. We were spending the next day in town and asked for something worth seeing and Stone Mountain was their recommendation. We were not disappointed at all. Now, our trip was off the cuff, but I would recommend if you want to take this trip, bring a backpack with a snack and drink and be prepared for a much different climate at the top from what you encounter at the beginning of your voyage.
I remember walking amongst the trees and then after a time, you're no longer walking on grass and dirt, you're now walking on rocks. The trees that offered you shade are now being replaced by more rocks. You're no longer walking, but jumping from rock to rock. I would dare say that if you don't have a decent pair of shoes, you'll regret it. I was wearing shoes with a lot of shock support and my knees and calves were throbbing by the end of the trip.
Stone Mountain is like a monument to the Confederacy. I never realized this, but when you get close to the mountain you sure become aware immediately. There is a huge carving into the side of the mountain of confederate soldiers. It's amazing. In describing it, I would consider a middle point between Mount Rushmore and a Stone textured Billboard sign. If you go and plan to get a picture, you'd better have a good camera because the sun goes directly over the mountain making the shadows very unforgiving for the novice photographer. Hence the absence of pictures depicting the carving monument.
Another such monument is a row of flags denoting each of the flags from the Confederate time period. Most people, when thinking of the Confederacy, see the General Lee and think of nothing else. Each flag has a plaque under it describing the significance. Sadly, this monument was off the beaten path and we would have missed it had we come down the same way we went up. It looked like a clearing in the woods where the weather had cleared a path, but otherwise it was dirty and unkept.
We just spent a few hours there, but truthfully, there is so much to see and do. There were people having sled races at the bottom of the mountain. If you look below at the last picture on the far left you'll see a white rectangle. That is the path where the sleds were raced. I believe in the summer, there is a laser or fireworks show in the evening to classic confederate songs. I'm not sure whether this is something you view from down below, or from the top of Stone Mountain. I have to think it would be amazing to see these, whether from the top or the bottom. There are also tons of attractions in the village below that were all closed the day we were visiting.
Check out our pictures below!!!
At the top of Stone Mountain. If you look behind me, you can see the village. I'm sure on a clear day you could see at least 20 miles.
This is the path we took to go up and down. There is a woman in front of us with high heels on. This was tough enough to do with the Filas on. I can't imagine not having the proper footwear. It was in this region that people have carved messages in the rock. Some dated back to the early 1900's.
I'm taking a break near the top. It's ridiculous to think of how cold it was at the start, and how warm at the top of Stone Mountain. On this day, there was snow at the bottom of the mountain. At the top, it was in the mid to upper 50s.
Here I am overlooking the village below. In the right hand corner of the picture, you can see cables for the tram that can take you up and back where the view is spectacular.
Daily Musings
So, I've had this blog entry in the queue for about 3 weeks now about the vacation that Jill and I took to Stone Mountain, which is near Atlanta, Georgia. It's a neat area, but I won't spoil the blog entry that is waiting for some pictures.
I decided, instead, to write a little bit about what's been happening to me lately. I was out sick on Thursday and I missed BH's trip to the Sample Sale that takes place in our office. What the sample sale resembles is feeding time at the local trough. What it actually is the opportunity for is some great deals. BH never misses one. All of the offices have samples that they discard because they are not carrying the product, or the photography has been completed and the vendor does not require the sample to be returned, or something to that effect. I really wish that I had pictures of this, because it is truly an insane event. What happens is that BH will go down a few days prior and case the joint so that she can eyeball whatever she has interest in. It might be clothing, china, home decor items, seasonal merchandise, or some kitchen electrics. The assortment is never the same on any two occasions. What marvels me is not that BH will fill her car with a litany of merchandise, but that she will give away almost all of it. Apparently, there is a large fellow who lives near BH and so she will buy him bathing suits, golf polos, or any item that she can find in the largest size we carry.
I don't know what I'd think if my neighbor happened over with a golf polo and a bathing suit in his hand and told me that he picked that up for me at work. I'd be wondering what the matter was with the outfit that he was giving it to me. Was it picked out of the garbage? Did someone throw up on it after a night of drinking beer towers topped off with a Irish Car Bomb? Did someone with an infectious topical disease wear these clothes? But no, BH does this to everyone. So, on Thursday she told me that she got a whole car load of clothing, shoes, and accessories, and by this morning, she had given all of them away.
The thing that I love about working with BH is that she tells stories that never in a million years would cross my mind. One of the best things is that in her town there a quite a few differences from living in the big city. So many of the down home examples that she provides bring me back to a time in college where I was asked to show an example of taking things for granted. I thought and thought about what has happened in my life and finally I came up with an example.
When I was younger, my uncle and I enjoyed playing Super Nintendo games together. One game that we particularly enjoyed was Tecmo Super Bowl. We would each take a team and play out our season and if we met in the end then we would play head-to-head. I would practice and practice so that I could come out on top in this matchup against my uncle. We were both confident that we'd beat the computer controlled opposition, not only for the 16 weeks of the season, but also for the two playoff rounds that we would need to eclipse in order to get to our matchup. Our matchups were especially challenging because all of the games against the computer forced us to compete on the left hand side of the screen, moving towards the right. Once we went head-to-head though, one of us would have to play on the right moving towards the left, which was a huge adjustment. We tried to make the adjustment by playing a best of three series where we would each take a turn on the left side. At one point, I had practiced enough that my uncle could not touch me. I beat him like a drum. Then, I got overconfident. I didn't practice a lot and we went to play against each other, and I didn't even make it to the head-to-head matchup because I lost in the playoffs. I was so overconfident that I forgot what got me to that point. I was strong at running the football, but once I got into that game, I tried to throw on every down because I didn't think that I could run well enough.
So, that was the example that I wrote in my response journal to a passage we read from Beowulf. My teacher wrote in my journal, "A real down-home example!" That's what I think about BH. She tells me stories that are very important to her, but I don't see the connection right away. There is a saying that she has, "There's a dead cat in that river," or something to that effect. What I've learned from BH is that this phrase means that even though you can't see...you know what, I have no idea what it means. In fact, I'm not even sure I got the phrase right. She's got a lot of great stories, but there are quite a few that have me scratching my head.
If I had to tell you one story about BH that will tell you what a wonderful woman she is, it's that on my birthday this past year, she discovered that my favorite cake (other than ice cream cake) is cherry chip. To her credit, there is no southern born, southern living person alive who has heard of cherry chip cake unless they've been hanging around some northern folk. They don't even sell Cherry Chip Cake down where we are. BH went to every store that sold cake mix that she could think of and there wasn't a soul that even knew what she was talking about. Finally, she found some on-line and bought some and made me a Cherry Chip Cake for my birthday. OMG, it tasted so wonderful! The best part was that there was a minimum purchase of 4 boxes, so there were 3 boxes left over for me to make throughout the year. I still have one box left now! Ha Ha! I'm so glad that I got to meet BH because she is a wonderful, wonderful person!
I decided, instead, to write a little bit about what's been happening to me lately. I was out sick on Thursday and I missed BH's trip to the Sample Sale that takes place in our office. What the sample sale resembles is feeding time at the local trough. What it actually is the opportunity for is some great deals. BH never misses one. All of the offices have samples that they discard because they are not carrying the product, or the photography has been completed and the vendor does not require the sample to be returned, or something to that effect. I really wish that I had pictures of this, because it is truly an insane event. What happens is that BH will go down a few days prior and case the joint so that she can eyeball whatever she has interest in. It might be clothing, china, home decor items, seasonal merchandise, or some kitchen electrics. The assortment is never the same on any two occasions. What marvels me is not that BH will fill her car with a litany of merchandise, but that she will give away almost all of it. Apparently, there is a large fellow who lives near BH and so she will buy him bathing suits, golf polos, or any item that she can find in the largest size we carry.
I don't know what I'd think if my neighbor happened over with a golf polo and a bathing suit in his hand and told me that he picked that up for me at work. I'd be wondering what the matter was with the outfit that he was giving it to me. Was it picked out of the garbage? Did someone throw up on it after a night of drinking beer towers topped off with a Irish Car Bomb? Did someone with an infectious topical disease wear these clothes? But no, BH does this to everyone. So, on Thursday she told me that she got a whole car load of clothing, shoes, and accessories, and by this morning, she had given all of them away.
The thing that I love about working with BH is that she tells stories that never in a million years would cross my mind. One of the best things is that in her town there a quite a few differences from living in the big city. So many of the down home examples that she provides bring me back to a time in college where I was asked to show an example of taking things for granted. I thought and thought about what has happened in my life and finally I came up with an example.
When I was younger, my uncle and I enjoyed playing Super Nintendo games together. One game that we particularly enjoyed was Tecmo Super Bowl. We would each take a team and play out our season and if we met in the end then we would play head-to-head. I would practice and practice so that I could come out on top in this matchup against my uncle. We were both confident that we'd beat the computer controlled opposition, not only for the 16 weeks of the season, but also for the two playoff rounds that we would need to eclipse in order to get to our matchup. Our matchups were especially challenging because all of the games against the computer forced us to compete on the left hand side of the screen, moving towards the right. Once we went head-to-head though, one of us would have to play on the right moving towards the left, which was a huge adjustment. We tried to make the adjustment by playing a best of three series where we would each take a turn on the left side. At one point, I had practiced enough that my uncle could not touch me. I beat him like a drum. Then, I got overconfident. I didn't practice a lot and we went to play against each other, and I didn't even make it to the head-to-head matchup because I lost in the playoffs. I was so overconfident that I forgot what got me to that point. I was strong at running the football, but once I got into that game, I tried to throw on every down because I didn't think that I could run well enough.
So, that was the example that I wrote in my response journal to a passage we read from Beowulf. My teacher wrote in my journal, "A real down-home example!" That's what I think about BH. She tells me stories that are very important to her, but I don't see the connection right away. There is a saying that she has, "There's a dead cat in that river," or something to that effect. What I've learned from BH is that this phrase means that even though you can't see...you know what, I have no idea what it means. In fact, I'm not even sure I got the phrase right. She's got a lot of great stories, but there are quite a few that have me scratching my head.
If I had to tell you one story about BH that will tell you what a wonderful woman she is, it's that on my birthday this past year, she discovered that my favorite cake (other than ice cream cake) is cherry chip. To her credit, there is no southern born, southern living person alive who has heard of cherry chip cake unless they've been hanging around some northern folk. They don't even sell Cherry Chip Cake down where we are. BH went to every store that sold cake mix that she could think of and there wasn't a soul that even knew what she was talking about. Finally, she found some on-line and bought some and made me a Cherry Chip Cake for my birthday. OMG, it tasted so wonderful! The best part was that there was a minimum purchase of 4 boxes, so there were 3 boxes left over for me to make throughout the year. I still have one box left now! Ha Ha! I'm so glad that I got to meet BH because she is a wonderful, wonderful person!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Library
I found that one way to stay out of trouble when I was in college is for people to think that I was in the library. This interesting building was a perfect place to people watch which, if you're a faithful reader of this blog, you know is one of my favorite hobbies. The library was set up with a room full of tables as you entered, then there were random places to study that were dispered through the stacks of books. Our library was 3 floors, including the basement. I loved getting a seat in the first room when you entered because you could see everyone that entered and left the building. I must admit though, I got almost no studying done in this room. I basically just put my headphones on and watched everyone that entered or left. These tables were so hard to come by that I eventually came to the library first thing in the morning, set up my books and notebooks all over the table and then went to breakfast, classes, lunch, more classes, dinner, and then eventually to the library. Isn't that horrible? Someone went through the library two and three times unable to find a table because there wasn't one available in the people watching room.
If I ever needed to study, I had to go somewhere without distractions. I went to tables in remote areas of the library, but that didn't work because I felt like a special agent who was hiding from the police. My mind raced about things I had seen in the movies about tipping over the stacks of books in a domino formation to get away from prosecution. Then there was the "secret" stairs that went down into the archives from the front desk that I would get easy access to freedom from.
I also tried a cubicle and that was no good because I would listen for people talking around me to see if there was anything interesting going on. I was pretty much the nosiest person on campus.
There were some chairs on the upper floor that were pretty secluded. I found out very quickly why this wouldn't work for me. The chairs sat in front of a huge window which overlooked "The Heart". This was a formation in the mountains where there was an absence of trees in the shape of a heart. I spent all day looking out into the scenery.
No, if I wanted to get studying/work done, there was only one place in that library where I could do it. That was the bathroom in the basement behind the stacks. It was the perfect place, because barely anyone knew this bathroom existed, and even better, there were only 2 stalls, so most people that did know about the bathroom opted for another choice that provided many more stalls. I would bring my notebook, textbooks, and pens in there and sit down and study for hours. It was perfect. There were no distractions because I was basically looking at the walls of the stall if I looked up. If someone came in, I was pretty sure they weren't going to be talking to anyone, especially since there were only 2 stalls and I was using up one of them. I got so many "A's" from the studying that I did in that bathroom stall. It's hilarious to think about now.
My roommate and I had a pact that anytime either of our parents called if we weren't there, we were always in the library. That strategy worked well until Big Red told my parents on a Saturday night that I was in the library. They didn't buy that for a second. There actually was one Saturday that I was in library during the evening time. Rather than use the bathroom, I went into the basement and around the right corner. Back in this area, there was a row of tables, but hardly anyone went down this way unless they were going to get some microfilm. So, there I was doing some of my most productive studying ever until the lights went out. When I say they went out, I mean all of them. There were no safety lights and since I was in the basement, there were no windows to let in street lights or other means that would have helped me get out of the basement. So, I scurried my materials together as quickly as I could. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in the library all night. I got down on all 4's and crawled my way back as I remembered coming in. I reasoned that on all 4's, I wouldn't have far to fall if I ran into anything. After a considerable effort and with minimal bumps and bruises, I finally found my way to the staircase that led to the main level of the library. I crawled up the stairs and arrived on the main floor, where I got to my feet and ran for the front. Luckily, I made it just as the front desk staff was sitting by the door waiting to exit. There were like, "Oh wow! We didn't realize anyone was left in the library! We're so sorry!" I was ok with it, after all it was approaching Saturday night and here I was in the library studying. What kind of life was that? That was pretty much the last Saturday I was ever in the library, accused or actual!
If I ever needed to study, I had to go somewhere without distractions. I went to tables in remote areas of the library, but that didn't work because I felt like a special agent who was hiding from the police. My mind raced about things I had seen in the movies about tipping over the stacks of books in a domino formation to get away from prosecution. Then there was the "secret" stairs that went down into the archives from the front desk that I would get easy access to freedom from.
I also tried a cubicle and that was no good because I would listen for people talking around me to see if there was anything interesting going on. I was pretty much the nosiest person on campus.
There were some chairs on the upper floor that were pretty secluded. I found out very quickly why this wouldn't work for me. The chairs sat in front of a huge window which overlooked "The Heart". This was a formation in the mountains where there was an absence of trees in the shape of a heart. I spent all day looking out into the scenery.
No, if I wanted to get studying/work done, there was only one place in that library where I could do it. That was the bathroom in the basement behind the stacks. It was the perfect place, because barely anyone knew this bathroom existed, and even better, there were only 2 stalls, so most people that did know about the bathroom opted for another choice that provided many more stalls. I would bring my notebook, textbooks, and pens in there and sit down and study for hours. It was perfect. There were no distractions because I was basically looking at the walls of the stall if I looked up. If someone came in, I was pretty sure they weren't going to be talking to anyone, especially since there were only 2 stalls and I was using up one of them. I got so many "A's" from the studying that I did in that bathroom stall. It's hilarious to think about now.
My roommate and I had a pact that anytime either of our parents called if we weren't there, we were always in the library. That strategy worked well until Big Red told my parents on a Saturday night that I was in the library. They didn't buy that for a second. There actually was one Saturday that I was in library during the evening time. Rather than use the bathroom, I went into the basement and around the right corner. Back in this area, there was a row of tables, but hardly anyone went down this way unless they were going to get some microfilm. So, there I was doing some of my most productive studying ever until the lights went out. When I say they went out, I mean all of them. There were no safety lights and since I was in the basement, there were no windows to let in street lights or other means that would have helped me get out of the basement. So, I scurried my materials together as quickly as I could. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in the library all night. I got down on all 4's and crawled my way back as I remembered coming in. I reasoned that on all 4's, I wouldn't have far to fall if I ran into anything. After a considerable effort and with minimal bumps and bruises, I finally found my way to the staircase that led to the main level of the library. I crawled up the stairs and arrived on the main floor, where I got to my feet and ran for the front. Luckily, I made it just as the front desk staff was sitting by the door waiting to exit. There were like, "Oh wow! We didn't realize anyone was left in the library! We're so sorry!" I was ok with it, after all it was approaching Saturday night and here I was in the library studying. What kind of life was that? That was pretty much the last Saturday I was ever in the library, accused or actual!
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Tuesday Night Music Club
During this period in my life, I was dating a girl named Penny. I remember we always had this annoying conversation about how you get sick and she used to tell me that the cold weather doesn't make you sick. I mean, how do you argue with stupid logic like this? During this one occasion, Penny and this other guy were talking about it being cold outside and the conversation went around to being sick because of the weather. Penny smartly recited off her response about how you couldn't get sick from it being cold outside. I rolled my eyes and shook my head because I was so tired of hearing this, because maybe she was technically right, but if that was the case, people would be outside all the time when it was cold and they wouldn't be bundled up like astronauts just to take the trash out. The guy that Penny was talking to yelled back,"WELL IT SURE DOESN'T HELP!" I was like, "THANK YOU!" Finally, someone told her what I had been thinking for the longest time. That was the last time I heard that stupid logic and the first time I began to appreciate Sheryl Crow.
Eventually, although it would be a few years, I bought Tuesday Night Music Club. It's one of my favorite albums, but similarly to most old music, it has retreated to the bottom of my CD stack as newer music has entered my collection. This week, I found myself going back to this and thinking about what has changed in the 17 years since that day in the breakroom when I first began to appreciate this talented musician. Sheryl Crow had some very public romances, most notably with Lance Armstrong. She has released 6 more albums, and there has been a lot of good music within these collections.
***I feel like there is more to say here, but I cannot for the life of me think of where I was going with this***
Despite this, I go back to the Tuesday Night Music Club. What a great collection of music! I started to give a run-down of the songs and what I liked about each, but then I thought to myself there is so much to say. My favorite is definitely "All I Wanna Do". I swear, I could listen to that song a hundred times in a row and never get tired of it. Instead of breaking down each song, what I will say is that this album brings me back to the time when I first moved out of my parents house and began my life as an adult.
I went with my grandma to look at apartments that I thought I could afford. There was this one townhome styled place that was in the downtown area. The 4 walls inside of this place were really nice. The rent was $250 a month, which was about all I could afford at the time. There were a lot of unsettling things about the place though. There were a lot of people that were just standing around checking things out. It wasn't like they were casing the joint, but just making a presence to "mark their territory" or tell me that this was their area. Then the surrounding units, which each had an external entrance into a small courtyard, were littered with toys and personal belongings everywhere. I wondered if they were having a yard sale or something. STUFF WAS EVERYWHERE! To her credit, grandma didn't say too much. She let me make the decision and even though I was eager to get out on my own, I didn't feel like this was the place to do so. I settled on the place by the reservoir and loved it! If I could, I would have lived there for years. I had so much fun with my life. It wasn't sustainable though. I had 2 part time jobs and was barely making ends meets.
You know how when you're young you really don't understand fear? You do things without thinking about the consequences and when people try to explain them to you, you just don't get it. Well, the apartment that I lived in was on the 2nd floor of a house that was divided into 4 apartments. It was surrounded by a warehouse and was relatively private. I had a deck in the back of my apartment that stopped right by the slanted roof that led to the upper roof of the structure. Upon examining this, I noticed that the upper roof was pretty flat and that if I could get up there, then I could lay out there and peacefully enjoy the day. So, I grabbed my boom box, some blankets and a few other things and climbed up there. In order to do this climb, I had to get in the seated position with my back against the roof. I took off my shoes and used my hands and feet to inch backwards up the slanted roof, which was probably at a 30-40 degree angle. It wasn't hard at all. Once I got to the top of the roof, which was probably about 30-35 feet off the ground, I spread out a blanket, turned on the boom box and laid down. It was at this time that the Tuesday Night Music Club had been out for about 2-3 years and I was starting to enjoy all of the songs on it, and not just the ones played on Kiss 98.5. I would listen to as much as I could up there and think that life was perfect. I could see into Canada from the top of my roof and I didn't have a care in the world. Sheryl Crow took me away to a place where I didn't have to think about what would happen in 5 years, or 10 years, or 17 years.
I look back to the cover of this album and I see an interesting smile on Sheryl Crow's face. The type that says, "I'm not Sheryl Crow, just yet. I'm just Sheryl." You look at this and see an innocence that has no idea what the next 2 decades are about to bring her. And, maybe that's ok. Too many people look at where they want to be instead of where they are. When I first got hired as a Merchandise Assistant, the Divisional who hired me probably could sense that I was going to advance in the company and cautioned me not to come in looking at what I was going to do next. She advised me to take the Merchandise Assistant position and be the best that I could be at it. Maybe that's the problem with life. People aren't thinking about living in the moment, they all want to get rich. I can be rich without making a lot of money. Like, I think, Sheryl is saying on this album - Life's a party, get into it or it'll be passing you by.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Writing a Life - Analysis
Katherine Bomer came to visit a school I taught at a few years back and we did an in-depth analysis on how to teach a student to write memoirs. My next few blogs will take her book, Writing a Life, and discuss the aspects that she brings up.
Why Teach Memoir?
Some Golden Lines/Ideas from Katherine Bomer in this first chapter:
Writing Memoirs gives a voice to the meaning of our lives.
It defines the "I"
Memoires preseve, re-create, and remind us of what must never be forgotten.
"...what most memoirs have in common is that they make meaning of the past from the standpoint of the present. Memoir interprets experience."
During a class that I took at UNC-Charlotte, Dr. Sam Watson asked me a question about my writing response and I told him that a person's written influence reminds me of when I was little and went to the eye doctor for the first time. Only at the point when the doctor put a pair of glasses on me did I realize all that I was missing before. I had previously thought that it was normal to see as I was seeing and didn't understand that at one point my vision was sharper than it was currently, or that everyone else around me could see much more than I could. When writing, I never realized that there was another way to write until I used the lessons learned in the text. It was at this point that I looked back on my previous writing from a new perspective and saw everything much differently.
This was probably the single best response that I gave to an unrehearsed question in my college career.
In this chapter, Katherine gives a passionate plea for the inclusion of memoir as an important part of the educational process. Moreso, it gives me a vantage point into my own life and why I look at certain events the way I do. Thinking about myself, I learn that I am patient with others, but impatient with myself. I am compassionate with others, but demanding of myself. While the flaws of others are cute or funny, mine are embarrassing and ridiculous. On an evaluation, I will never look at the nine positives, but rather the one "needs improvement" area. My thoughts about how I get through each day are meticulous to say the least. Just when I think that I've gotten over this hurdle, I hear a comment like "...so there isn't one projection that you made an error on, or one rebate that was missed..." When I hear words like that, all I can think about is the person making these comments has no idea how hard I am on myself...
To Be Continued...
Writing Memoirs gives a voice to the meaning of our lives.
It defines the "I"
Memoires preseve, re-create, and remind us of what must never be forgotten.
"...what most memoirs have in common is that they make meaning of the past from the standpoint of the present. Memoir interprets experience."
During a class that I took at UNC-Charlotte, Dr. Sam Watson asked me a question about my writing response and I told him that a person's written influence reminds me of when I was little and went to the eye doctor for the first time. Only at the point when the doctor put a pair of glasses on me did I realize all that I was missing before. I had previously thought that it was normal to see as I was seeing and didn't understand that at one point my vision was sharper than it was currently, or that everyone else around me could see much more than I could. When writing, I never realized that there was another way to write until I used the lessons learned in the text. It was at this point that I looked back on my previous writing from a new perspective and saw everything much differently.
This was probably the single best response that I gave to an unrehearsed question in my college career.
In this chapter, Katherine gives a passionate plea for the inclusion of memoir as an important part of the educational process. Moreso, it gives me a vantage point into my own life and why I look at certain events the way I do. Thinking about myself, I learn that I am patient with others, but impatient with myself. I am compassionate with others, but demanding of myself. While the flaws of others are cute or funny, mine are embarrassing and ridiculous. On an evaluation, I will never look at the nine positives, but rather the one "needs improvement" area. My thoughts about how I get through each day are meticulous to say the least. Just when I think that I've gotten over this hurdle, I hear a comment like "...so there isn't one projection that you made an error on, or one rebate that was missed..." When I hear words like that, all I can think about is the person making these comments has no idea how hard I am on myself...
To Be Continued...
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Angels in the Outfield
Like most young boys, I joined a little league baseball team when I was in elementary school. I had some good years, but then when I was in 6th grade, my eyesight suffered and my skills went downhill.
I had perhaps the dorkiest glasses in the land, complete with the brown smoker's lounge tint in the lenses, so I refused to wear them in public. I was what you might call "not cool" during my school years and the glasses, in my opinion, were the reason for this. During baseball, I was seen as an equal and was never made fun of. So, I didn't want to experience the torture I felt during school while I was on the baseball diamond. It was more important to me that I fit in and play poorly rather than get made fun of and play well. As an adult, it makes no sense to me, but as an impressionable preteen, you couldn't convince me otherwise.
There was a rule in our league that every player had to participate for one plate appearance and two innings in the field as a minimum. So, there were several games where I would strike out and play my two innings in right field where no one ever hit the ball.
One such game, I was lucky enough to play the entire game in right field. As I mentioned, rare was the day when a ball was hit to right field, so for the majority of the time the right fielder had some time to collect their thoughts. Our field was unique in that there wasn't a fence around the outfield. If you hit the ball in the right spot, it just kept right on going and you could run all the way around the bases. During this game, there was a batter on the opposing team who liked to hit to right field and got to test this theory of running around the bases. In both of his first two plate appearances, he hit the ball about as high and as far as I had ever seen. There were some trees that separated the diamond from a small children's play area. Well, both of these shots screamed through the trees and kept going. If I had to estimate, I would say that the ball came to a stop about 300-400 feet from home plate, which was a very rare feat for a ball batted to right field. To say that the batter ran all the way around the bases was probably a stretch. Trotted or strolled might be a more appropriate term. I'm pretty sure he could have fallen to the earth and backstroked his way around the diamond before I retrieved the ball and threw it back in. There is a distinct memory that I have of looking up on both occasions as the ball soared over my head like a condor.
Despite these mammoth shots, our team was leading going into the last inning when my good buddy came to the plate again. I decided that no matter what I wasn't going to let the ball go over my head again. I positioned myself right in front of the trees that were so far back I needed binoculars just to make out the players at the plate. It was at this point that I noticed that a friend of our family, Father Dimitri, came to see me play. I have no idea why. I'm pretty sure my parents weren't even at this game.
Father Dimitri was a priest at the hospital where my mom worked and he came over to visit at our home on several occasions. I recall one year that he made a big statement about turning over a new leaf and sending out Christmas cards, which he apparently had not done in the past. We received at least 4, each of which was numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, etc. We called Father Dimitri and asked him what the numbers represented and he replied that he numbered his cards as he mailed them out. We found this unusual because there were several days that lapsed between our receipt of each card, so we asked how many he sent out and the answer was that our cards were the only ones he sent out. He had to purchase a package of cards, though, so he just kept sending all of them to us.
Father Dimitri saw that I was playing right field and started calling out to me. I tried to acknowledge him, while paying attention to what little of the game I could see. He told me to move in and stop playing so deep. As he reasoned, there was no way this boy was going to hit this ball that far. I yelled back that he had just scorched back-to-back shots over my head. Father Dimitri didn't want to hear any of it. In part to have him stop drawing attention towards me, and in part because I trusted him, I took a few cautious steps in. Father Dimitri was now screaming louder than ever. "JEFFREY! COME ON IN! YOU'RE WAY TOO FAR OUT! THERE'S NO WAY HE CAN HIT IT THAT FAR!" At that point, I thought about it. If he hit the ball as hard as he did in the first two at bats, there was little chance I would catch it, even if I was playing at the edge of the trees, so what did it matter where I was lined up. So, I moved in. I moved in and I moved in some more. Father Dimitri continued to egg me on the whole way. Eventually, I was standing about 10-15 feet off the infield dirt. The coaches didn't say anything to me while I was moving in. I'm pretty sure they thought the same thing as I did about not being able to catch the ball regardless of where I was standing. I never got to complete this thought, however. There was a loud "PING" that disrupted my thoughts. I looked up and the batter had hit the pitch that was coming in and the ball was screeching towards right field. Time seemed to stop for a second. The din of the crowd was now silent. The seconds took minutes to go bye. My eyes widened to the size of melons and my mouth dropped open. The ball was coming right to me. I didn't have enough time to over think the matter. I took 2-3 steps in and stuck my glove up and heard the sound of the ball slamming into the rawhide. A puff of smoke flew up into the air out of my glove and the pain seared down my hand and arm like someone had just lit a match on my hand. I looked into my glove and the ball was in there, like someone had put some glue on my glove and the ball and they just stuck together. I did it! I saved the game! My teammates were jumping up and down running toward me and then off the field. For some reason, I didn't realize the magnitude of this event, probably because I was asleep for most of the game. I threw the ball into the infield and calmly jogged off the field.
In what was probably one of the proudest moments of my childhood, Coach got us all into a circle behind the dugout after the game and he praised all of our efforts. Then, in what was a complete surprise to me, Coach told the team that one person saved the game for us and without this person's efforts we would not have won. "...and that person is Jeff," coach called out to the group. He had a huge smile on his face as he walked over and handed me the baseball, explaining that the game ball was going to me today. I felt like I was a winner for one of the few times in my baseball career. I didn't have to go home and talk about how I need to work on my swing, or take some ground balls, or get hit in the head because I couldn't catch pop flies correctly. For this one day, I was a winner, period.
After the game, Father Dimitri came over and said, "I told you, Jeffrey! I told you!" I asked Father Dimitri how he knew where to position me. I don't recall his answer but I'm pretty sure God was involved. He brought this wonderful human being into my life and had him watch over me during a time when I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. Sadly, Father Dimitri would pass away a short time after this. I really miss him and wish that he was still a part of my life. I know that he is watching down on me from heaven, but I wish that I could listen to him tell me a story. Whenever we went to Mass, he would always tell a story during the homily that would be meaningful. I remember my parents always bragging to their friends about what a good priest he was. I only wish there were more people in this world like Father Dimitri. He believed in me when no one else did. I can't thank him enough. I just hope God is taking care of him as well as Father Dimitri took care of me that one day on the ball field when I was #1 for a night.
I had perhaps the dorkiest glasses in the land, complete with the brown smoker's lounge tint in the lenses, so I refused to wear them in public. I was what you might call "not cool" during my school years and the glasses, in my opinion, were the reason for this. During baseball, I was seen as an equal and was never made fun of. So, I didn't want to experience the torture I felt during school while I was on the baseball diamond. It was more important to me that I fit in and play poorly rather than get made fun of and play well. As an adult, it makes no sense to me, but as an impressionable preteen, you couldn't convince me otherwise.
There was a rule in our league that every player had to participate for one plate appearance and two innings in the field as a minimum. So, there were several games where I would strike out and play my two innings in right field where no one ever hit the ball.
One such game, I was lucky enough to play the entire game in right field. As I mentioned, rare was the day when a ball was hit to right field, so for the majority of the time the right fielder had some time to collect their thoughts. Our field was unique in that there wasn't a fence around the outfield. If you hit the ball in the right spot, it just kept right on going and you could run all the way around the bases. During this game, there was a batter on the opposing team who liked to hit to right field and got to test this theory of running around the bases. In both of his first two plate appearances, he hit the ball about as high and as far as I had ever seen. There were some trees that separated the diamond from a small children's play area. Well, both of these shots screamed through the trees and kept going. If I had to estimate, I would say that the ball came to a stop about 300-400 feet from home plate, which was a very rare feat for a ball batted to right field. To say that the batter ran all the way around the bases was probably a stretch. Trotted or strolled might be a more appropriate term. I'm pretty sure he could have fallen to the earth and backstroked his way around the diamond before I retrieved the ball and threw it back in. There is a distinct memory that I have of looking up on both occasions as the ball soared over my head like a condor.
Despite these mammoth shots, our team was leading going into the last inning when my good buddy came to the plate again. I decided that no matter what I wasn't going to let the ball go over my head again. I positioned myself right in front of the trees that were so far back I needed binoculars just to make out the players at the plate. It was at this point that I noticed that a friend of our family, Father Dimitri, came to see me play. I have no idea why. I'm pretty sure my parents weren't even at this game.
Father Dimitri was a priest at the hospital where my mom worked and he came over to visit at our home on several occasions. I recall one year that he made a big statement about turning over a new leaf and sending out Christmas cards, which he apparently had not done in the past. We received at least 4, each of which was numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, etc. We called Father Dimitri and asked him what the numbers represented and he replied that he numbered his cards as he mailed them out. We found this unusual because there were several days that lapsed between our receipt of each card, so we asked how many he sent out and the answer was that our cards were the only ones he sent out. He had to purchase a package of cards, though, so he just kept sending all of them to us.
Father Dimitri saw that I was playing right field and started calling out to me. I tried to acknowledge him, while paying attention to what little of the game I could see. He told me to move in and stop playing so deep. As he reasoned, there was no way this boy was going to hit this ball that far. I yelled back that he had just scorched back-to-back shots over my head. Father Dimitri didn't want to hear any of it. In part to have him stop drawing attention towards me, and in part because I trusted him, I took a few cautious steps in. Father Dimitri was now screaming louder than ever. "JEFFREY! COME ON IN! YOU'RE WAY TOO FAR OUT! THERE'S NO WAY HE CAN HIT IT THAT FAR!" At that point, I thought about it. If he hit the ball as hard as he did in the first two at bats, there was little chance I would catch it, even if I was playing at the edge of the trees, so what did it matter where I was lined up. So, I moved in. I moved in and I moved in some more. Father Dimitri continued to egg me on the whole way. Eventually, I was standing about 10-15 feet off the infield dirt. The coaches didn't say anything to me while I was moving in. I'm pretty sure they thought the same thing as I did about not being able to catch the ball regardless of where I was standing. I never got to complete this thought, however. There was a loud "PING" that disrupted my thoughts. I looked up and the batter had hit the pitch that was coming in and the ball was screeching towards right field. Time seemed to stop for a second. The din of the crowd was now silent. The seconds took minutes to go bye. My eyes widened to the size of melons and my mouth dropped open. The ball was coming right to me. I didn't have enough time to over think the matter. I took 2-3 steps in and stuck my glove up and heard the sound of the ball slamming into the rawhide. A puff of smoke flew up into the air out of my glove and the pain seared down my hand and arm like someone had just lit a match on my hand. I looked into my glove and the ball was in there, like someone had put some glue on my glove and the ball and they just stuck together. I did it! I saved the game! My teammates were jumping up and down running toward me and then off the field. For some reason, I didn't realize the magnitude of this event, probably because I was asleep for most of the game. I threw the ball into the infield and calmly jogged off the field.
In what was probably one of the proudest moments of my childhood, Coach got us all into a circle behind the dugout after the game and he praised all of our efforts. Then, in what was a complete surprise to me, Coach told the team that one person saved the game for us and without this person's efforts we would not have won. "...and that person is Jeff," coach called out to the group. He had a huge smile on his face as he walked over and handed me the baseball, explaining that the game ball was going to me today. I felt like I was a winner for one of the few times in my baseball career. I didn't have to go home and talk about how I need to work on my swing, or take some ground balls, or get hit in the head because I couldn't catch pop flies correctly. For this one day, I was a winner, period.
After the game, Father Dimitri came over and said, "I told you, Jeffrey! I told you!" I asked Father Dimitri how he knew where to position me. I don't recall his answer but I'm pretty sure God was involved. He brought this wonderful human being into my life and had him watch over me during a time when I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. Sadly, Father Dimitri would pass away a short time after this. I really miss him and wish that he was still a part of my life. I know that he is watching down on me from heaven, but I wish that I could listen to him tell me a story. Whenever we went to Mass, he would always tell a story during the homily that would be meaningful. I remember my parents always bragging to their friends about what a good priest he was. I only wish there were more people in this world like Father Dimitri. He believed in me when no one else did. I can't thank him enough. I just hope God is taking care of him as well as Father Dimitri took care of me that one day on the ball field when I was #1 for a night.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Nausea from the National Writing Project
When I think about being different, there are many things that come to mind. Curiously, many of these seem to have occurred when I participated in the National Writing Project at UNC-Charlotte back in 2003.
The morning of our first class, I recall trudging down the hallway wondering if there was anyone in class yet. Upon entering the room, I noticed that not only was everyone already in class, but they had also begun their activities for the day. There was a single chair open on the opposite side of the room, which happened to be one of the many that were organized into a circle. This was the "Sharing Circle" formation where no one can hide or shirk away from participation. I stumbled across the room with my Fila's clomping loudly with every step I took, which was no easy task since the desks were practically touching each other. The backpack that I brought was swooshing against my body and I could feel everyone's eyes scanning me up and down like groceries being rung up at the register.
There's an uneasy feeling about being the last person in the room where the crowd has been established. I have no idea, even to this day, if there was an introduction period, icebreakers, or anything else that involved talking to each other. I recall as I was sitting down being very uncomfortable with the circumstances. I could sense that everyone was forcing themselves back into their writing to purposely ignore the disruption that I had just caused. Disruption is really not the word most appropriate for this scenario though. I think Tsunami would be more representative, but only if you were to imagine the before picture being a placid lake and then Leardini - Category 5 comes ripping through everything looking like a disheveled mess.
While everyone is trying their best to ignore me, I've decided this is a perfect opportunity to size up the room. Looking around, I like the odds of the situation. There is one other guy and everyone else is female.
Days and weeks would go by and this would be a group that I'd be very familiar with. It's the type of group that you wish would go on forever, but realize it can't because at some point you'd start to argue like a family, or even worse, realize that you have real obligations outside of this classroom. I seemed to be the comedic humor for everyone. Let's just say that unspoken rule #1 was that you DID NOT want to be glue sticking your papers into your daybook past the glue-sticking time allotment.
As part of being in the class, we all had to sign up to bring breakfast. Everyone was bringing the same things - muffins, bagels, fruit, etc. I thought to myself that these were pretty crappy breakfasts. I started each morning on a normal basis with a bowl of cereal, so I decided that this would be a perfect way for the group to start their day. Seriously, what is better than being able to eat in rapid succession without even having to look down at your food. It's the perfect meal to read the newspaper with or some other brainless activity. So for my turn, I went out and bought one of those variety packs of cereal and a gallon of milk. Everyone loved it and were equally amused. That was pretty much the only morning that people in the group commented about breakfast.
One of the more memorable activities in the group was a Cubing activity that Pat taught. For this, we were told the previous day to bring in a book that we enjoyed to discuss in class. That day, the only other guy in the class, Bill, was my partner. Truth be told, I really wish I could have partnered with Bill more often. He had a sense of humor that seemed to make everything out of my mouth seem like Amateur Night at the Comedy Club. One of my favorite stories that I sometimes recount with Bill is on this day when everyone in the circle is bringing in the classics, The Wind in the Willows, Wuthering Heights, etc. My book was The Final Season, which was written by Bill Parcells to chronicle his last season coaching the NY Jets. The best part is when we had to volunteer responses, I chose to answer one and I responded, "Well, in The Final Season..." The room, which was previously partially asleep, looked up as if to say, "What did he just the name of his book was?" As the realization that I chose a sports book set in, there was an eruption of laughter. To take things to the next level, for the compare and contrast activity, I chose the book You Cannot Be Serious, by John McEnroe. For some reason, I elected to punt when the topic of sharing my response for that section came up.
Truly, the most difficult part about the class is that it began at 8 in the morning. Campus was about 45 minutes from my house, so you can do the math on when I needed to wake up in order to make it on time. This, in combination with the fact that I had so much trouble falling asleep at a decent hour, made for some interesting mornings. I have vivid recollections of coming in and discussing the TV show, ElimiDate, which typically aired around the midnight or 1 a.m. hour. There was another girl in the class who watched and we would come in the next day and talk about the most ridiculous aspects of the dates. Over time, I used this time at the beginning of class to ease into the day. I would look around with awe and take notice of everything, like a newborn baby that was just being brought into the world. It was the type of notice that you'd probably tell people in New York City or Atlanta not to look like because then you're a prime target as a tourist. Of the more curious things that interested me was the fact that several people in the class wore sandals or flip-flops, compared with those who wore shoes or sneakers that were closed toe. Back in Niagara Falls, everyone I knew wore sneakers - See the Blog about how I had to wear Buddies - and the one time that I did wear flip-flops at Jellystone Campground, I tripped and fell because the flip-flops fell apart right on a rock path. One of the rocks, which was about the size of a jagged golf ball, went right into my forehead. That was the end of my love affair with flip-flops or sandals.
So, back to my class scenario. Each day when I was free writing I decided to remark on the ratio of closed toe to open toe. The funniest thing is that word spread around the class that I was writing about this, so the last day of class, almost everyone showed up with closed toe shoes just to see if I'd notice. That day, we all had to write a final free write that we would read to the class. I read mine and the last sentence read "By the way, today's ratio was 15-3, closed to open." Everyone started laughing hysterically. The kind of hysterical laugh that fades away until you can't hear it anymore. Sometimes I can still hear the laughter...
The morning of our first class, I recall trudging down the hallway wondering if there was anyone in class yet. Upon entering the room, I noticed that not only was everyone already in class, but they had also begun their activities for the day. There was a single chair open on the opposite side of the room, which happened to be one of the many that were organized into a circle. This was the "Sharing Circle" formation where no one can hide or shirk away from participation. I stumbled across the room with my Fila's clomping loudly with every step I took, which was no easy task since the desks were practically touching each other. The backpack that I brought was swooshing against my body and I could feel everyone's eyes scanning me up and down like groceries being rung up at the register.
There's an uneasy feeling about being the last person in the room where the crowd has been established. I have no idea, even to this day, if there was an introduction period, icebreakers, or anything else that involved talking to each other. I recall as I was sitting down being very uncomfortable with the circumstances. I could sense that everyone was forcing themselves back into their writing to purposely ignore the disruption that I had just caused. Disruption is really not the word most appropriate for this scenario though. I think Tsunami would be more representative, but only if you were to imagine the before picture being a placid lake and then Leardini - Category 5 comes ripping through everything looking like a disheveled mess.
While everyone is trying their best to ignore me, I've decided this is a perfect opportunity to size up the room. Looking around, I like the odds of the situation. There is one other guy and everyone else is female.
Days and weeks would go by and this would be a group that I'd be very familiar with. It's the type of group that you wish would go on forever, but realize it can't because at some point you'd start to argue like a family, or even worse, realize that you have real obligations outside of this classroom. I seemed to be the comedic humor for everyone. Let's just say that unspoken rule #1 was that you DID NOT want to be glue sticking your papers into your daybook past the glue-sticking time allotment.
As part of being in the class, we all had to sign up to bring breakfast. Everyone was bringing the same things - muffins, bagels, fruit, etc. I thought to myself that these were pretty crappy breakfasts. I started each morning on a normal basis with a bowl of cereal, so I decided that this would be a perfect way for the group to start their day. Seriously, what is better than being able to eat in rapid succession without even having to look down at your food. It's the perfect meal to read the newspaper with or some other brainless activity. So for my turn, I went out and bought one of those variety packs of cereal and a gallon of milk. Everyone loved it and were equally amused. That was pretty much the only morning that people in the group commented about breakfast.
One of the more memorable activities in the group was a Cubing activity that Pat taught. For this, we were told the previous day to bring in a book that we enjoyed to discuss in class. That day, the only other guy in the class, Bill, was my partner. Truth be told, I really wish I could have partnered with Bill more often. He had a sense of humor that seemed to make everything out of my mouth seem like Amateur Night at the Comedy Club. One of my favorite stories that I sometimes recount with Bill is on this day when everyone in the circle is bringing in the classics, The Wind in the Willows, Wuthering Heights, etc. My book was The Final Season, which was written by Bill Parcells to chronicle his last season coaching the NY Jets. The best part is when we had to volunteer responses, I chose to answer one and I responded, "Well, in The Final Season..." The room, which was previously partially asleep, looked up as if to say, "What did he just the name of his book was?" As the realization that I chose a sports book set in, there was an eruption of laughter. To take things to the next level, for the compare and contrast activity, I chose the book You Cannot Be Serious, by John McEnroe. For some reason, I elected to punt when the topic of sharing my response for that section came up.
Truly, the most difficult part about the class is that it began at 8 in the morning. Campus was about 45 minutes from my house, so you can do the math on when I needed to wake up in order to make it on time. This, in combination with the fact that I had so much trouble falling asleep at a decent hour, made for some interesting mornings. I have vivid recollections of coming in and discussing the TV show, ElimiDate, which typically aired around the midnight or 1 a.m. hour. There was another girl in the class who watched and we would come in the next day and talk about the most ridiculous aspects of the dates. Over time, I used this time at the beginning of class to ease into the day. I would look around with awe and take notice of everything, like a newborn baby that was just being brought into the world. It was the type of notice that you'd probably tell people in New York City or Atlanta not to look like because then you're a prime target as a tourist. Of the more curious things that interested me was the fact that several people in the class wore sandals or flip-flops, compared with those who wore shoes or sneakers that were closed toe. Back in Niagara Falls, everyone I knew wore sneakers - See the Blog about how I had to wear Buddies - and the one time that I did wear flip-flops at Jellystone Campground, I tripped and fell because the flip-flops fell apart right on a rock path. One of the rocks, which was about the size of a jagged golf ball, went right into my forehead. That was the end of my love affair with flip-flops or sandals.
So, back to my class scenario. Each day when I was free writing I decided to remark on the ratio of closed toe to open toe. The funniest thing is that word spread around the class that I was writing about this, so the last day of class, almost everyone showed up with closed toe shoes just to see if I'd notice. That day, we all had to write a final free write that we would read to the class. I read mine and the last sentence read "By the way, today's ratio was 15-3, closed to open." Everyone started laughing hysterically. The kind of hysterical laugh that fades away until you can't hear it anymore. Sometimes I can still hear the laughter...
Monday, February 14, 2011
FIELD TRIP ~ HOLLA!!!!!!
Over the past couple of years I've been fortunate to visit a number of places on vacation. Here's my list of the BEST OF THE BEST!
1. Stone Mountain - near Atlanta, Georgia - Not really for the faint at heart. This climb was both exhilarating and steep. Pretty sure that I have never climbed up a mountain that was as steep. The view at the top was breathtaking, as was the $15 for 2 gatorades and a snack in the food shop at the top. Hey, sometimes the lessons are easier to apply than others.
2. Las Vegas - The strip was easily the most exciting place we visited. We stayed at Bill's Gamblin Hall, which sounds sketchy, but it was pretty nice and the price/location can't be beat. Seriously, we are right across the street from Cesar's and if you look carefully in the scene from "What Happens In Vegas", with Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz where they are sitting down to eat/have a drink, you can see our place in the background right next to The Flamingo. It was a blast! We walked a lot. If it's people watching you're interested in, then the slice of life you'll find in Vegas will easily top even the busiest airport as far as the melting pot that you'll see. If you take a cab from the airport, be sure to tell them not to take the tunnel or you'll be taken for a ride *wallet emptying style*
3. Zaloos Canoes - Jefferson, NC - This trip we try to take once a year. When the temps soar in the Piedmont of NC, they are very reasonable in the mountains. We pack a cooler with food/drinks and plow into a canoe where we paddle out of sight and let the picnic begin. This is not Little House on the Prarie style. We literally lay and drift down the New River until we have the "Oh Crap" moment when we realize that we have to paddle our hearts out oDr we'll miss what inevitably becomes the last pick up of the day.
4. Spoleto Festival - Charleston, NC - WHAT A BLAST! There is so much to see and do here. This is an arts festival that begins with Memorial Day weekend each year and runs for a couple of weeks. The best part is that this usually falls before the humidity goes ApeCrap in Charleston so you can traverse the entire city without feeling too uncomfortable. One of my favorite places to eat is Bubba Gump's near the city market. Sure, it's a chain, but there's nothing like eating outside on the sidewalk while watching all of the action on Market Street.
5. Dallas, TX - You could literally have a great time just walking around the airport with all of the shops and bars. Here's a tip that I learned on my second visit, which was just a layover - ALL the airport shops close around 10-11, so if you get in any later than that, you're screwed. Otherwise, pull out your credit card and start walking because there is so much to see. Once into the city, the historical significance is all over the place. We drove along the path that Kennedy took when he was assassinated. No visit should be considered complete without a visit to see Cowboys Stadium at Arlington. The tour will set you back around $15 and is well worth it. During my visit, we actually got to go onto the field while the Cowboys were practicing. That was AWESOME!!! You don't have to be a Cowboys fan to appreciate this masterpiece of a stadium.
6. Myrtle Beach - Do yourself a favor and head to North Myrtle where you can avoid the puke/urination fests that plague the downtown area. All you have to do is walk around the downtown area and the smell of urine will be in the air. There will be plenty of souvenir shops with cheap, bright pieces of junk. There is one worth catching although the name is a little off. The Gay Dolphin is a souvenir shop and judging by the condition of the store, it appears that this place was around for a long enough time where no one thought the term "Gay" referred to sexuality. They've easily packed double the inventory that you would expect per square footage in this location. North Myrtle on the other hand is a lot of fun! There aren't people tripping over themselves in drunken stupors or the like. You'll have to head downtown if you're looking for that. We rented a condo across the street from the beach and literally hung out there. There is plenty to do as far as places to eat/shop/walk, etc. The beach makes the whole experience worthwhile though.
1. Stone Mountain - near Atlanta, Georgia - Not really for the faint at heart. This climb was both exhilarating and steep. Pretty sure that I have never climbed up a mountain that was as steep. The view at the top was breathtaking, as was the $15 for 2 gatorades and a snack in the food shop at the top. Hey, sometimes the lessons are easier to apply than others.
2. Las Vegas - The strip was easily the most exciting place we visited. We stayed at Bill's Gamblin Hall, which sounds sketchy, but it was pretty nice and the price/location can't be beat. Seriously, we are right across the street from Cesar's and if you look carefully in the scene from "What Happens In Vegas", with Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz where they are sitting down to eat/have a drink, you can see our place in the background right next to The Flamingo. It was a blast! We walked a lot. If it's people watching you're interested in, then the slice of life you'll find in Vegas will easily top even the busiest airport as far as the melting pot that you'll see. If you take a cab from the airport, be sure to tell them not to take the tunnel or you'll be taken for a ride *wallet emptying style*
3. Zaloos Canoes - Jefferson, NC - This trip we try to take once a year. When the temps soar in the Piedmont of NC, they are very reasonable in the mountains. We pack a cooler with food/drinks and plow into a canoe where we paddle out of sight and let the picnic begin. This is not Little House on the Prarie style. We literally lay and drift down the New River until we have the "Oh Crap" moment when we realize that we have to paddle our hearts out oDr we'll miss what inevitably becomes the last pick up of the day.
4. Spoleto Festival - Charleston, NC - WHAT A BLAST! There is so much to see and do here. This is an arts festival that begins with Memorial Day weekend each year and runs for a couple of weeks. The best part is that this usually falls before the humidity goes ApeCrap in Charleston so you can traverse the entire city without feeling too uncomfortable. One of my favorite places to eat is Bubba Gump's near the city market. Sure, it's a chain, but there's nothing like eating outside on the sidewalk while watching all of the action on Market Street.
5. Dallas, TX - You could literally have a great time just walking around the airport with all of the shops and bars. Here's a tip that I learned on my second visit, which was just a layover - ALL the airport shops close around 10-11, so if you get in any later than that, you're screwed. Otherwise, pull out your credit card and start walking because there is so much to see. Once into the city, the historical significance is all over the place. We drove along the path that Kennedy took when he was assassinated. No visit should be considered complete without a visit to see Cowboys Stadium at Arlington. The tour will set you back around $15 and is well worth it. During my visit, we actually got to go onto the field while the Cowboys were practicing. That was AWESOME!!! You don't have to be a Cowboys fan to appreciate this masterpiece of a stadium.
6. Myrtle Beach - Do yourself a favor and head to North Myrtle where you can avoid the puke/urination fests that plague the downtown area. All you have to do is walk around the downtown area and the smell of urine will be in the air. There will be plenty of souvenir shops with cheap, bright pieces of junk. There is one worth catching although the name is a little off. The Gay Dolphin is a souvenir shop and judging by the condition of the store, it appears that this place was around for a long enough time where no one thought the term "Gay" referred to sexuality. They've easily packed double the inventory that you would expect per square footage in this location. North Myrtle on the other hand is a lot of fun! There aren't people tripping over themselves in drunken stupors or the like. You'll have to head downtown if you're looking for that. We rented a condo across the street from the beach and literally hung out there. There is plenty to do as far as places to eat/shop/walk, etc. The beach makes the whole experience worthwhile though.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Now Playing - Winter Storm 2011...Really?
All it takes in the south to be classified as a Winter Storm is snow of any kind. I am hearing all of the business about there isn't any equipment to remove snow, or people just don't know how to drive in the south.
You would think that it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out if it's snowing out to reduce speed, increase following distance and don't slam on the brakes, but apparently that isn't common knowledge. Also, I don't remember too many pickups in the north without the removable plow that was complete with purchase. Isn't there anyone with one of these bad boys in their garage? I'm pretty sure there aren't too many people that have one, but imagine if someone did. They could make a killing!
So, to clarify, Winter Storm 2011 will consist of an inch or so of snow. I'm pretty sure we can handle this one. No need to clean out the grocery stores of bread and milk. I wonder if the grocery stores have a deal with the meteorologists to dramatize a winter storm to the 10th degree when the sales of staple items go stagnant. Wouldn't that be hilarious?
You would think that it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out if it's snowing out to reduce speed, increase following distance and don't slam on the brakes, but apparently that isn't common knowledge. Also, I don't remember too many pickups in the north without the removable plow that was complete with purchase. Isn't there anyone with one of these bad boys in their garage? I'm pretty sure there aren't too many people that have one, but imagine if someone did. They could make a killing!
So, to clarify, Winter Storm 2011 will consist of an inch or so of snow. I'm pretty sure we can handle this one. No need to clean out the grocery stores of bread and milk. I wonder if the grocery stores have a deal with the meteorologists to dramatize a winter storm to the 10th degree when the sales of staple items go stagnant. Wouldn't that be hilarious?
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