Dressing Down At Work...

One of the potential rewards for a contest we are having at work is the chance to "dress down" at work for a weekend, meaning wear jeans, etc. to work.

When did we as a society become so lazy and such slobs that showing up to work looking like a bum became a reward?  I mean, when you're at work, have some pride, some professionalism, and dress accordingly.  When you're at home, you may dress like the fat, lazy slobs that you are.

That option was thrown out at a meeting at work as a reward and I quickly nipped it in the bud.  No staff of mine will ever show up in anything less than their required uniforms, which I feel are way too casual anyway.

This whole trend is just another glaring example of how far this society has fallen.  Its scary to think of just how bad we are getting.

I don't have time right now to get into one of my favorite rants (obese=lazy and stupid), but I will jump into that one soon...

To My Dead Friend...

Walker
It was appropriate that I got the call at the restaurant. It was there that I had spent almost every day for the past four years, developing and nurturing my addiction while working 12 to 14 hour shifts. The restaurant was my life and my addiction had become my life. It only made sense that the call that would change my life would happen there.
Mom called in the middle of a busy summer lunch shift to tell me that Walker had died. She didn’t need to tell me how. I knew. I knew because it was the same thing that was going to kill me any day. I was wrestling with the same demon that had now taken Walker’s life.
The shrink I talked to the next day immediately said I needed to go to rehab. He said that my friends would be hearing the same news about me very soon. This was not the counseling I was wanting to hear and I wondered how I would tell my parents. I was wondering how my life would end up, having done a four month stint in rehab. I was wondering how the restaurant would survive losing its leader in the middle of the summer season. I was wondering if I could really quit.
Telling my father was not as bad as I thought it would be. He truly is my hero, this example just one of the many. He asked what the shrink had said, thinking it would be bi-polar disorder or depression. “It’s drugs and alcohol, dad,” I said, my heart breaking. “Well, let’s get you some help,” is all he said.
The funeral was the worst experience I could ever hope to imagine. Walker’s parents, Dana and Nancy- my second parents; my dear, dear friends- were destroyed. My best friend Jud had just lost his younger brother. In a very strange, personal way I had just lost mine too.
We went to the church on Sunday. I saw old friends I hadn’t seen in many years. We talked about what we were doing and how we should get together sometime soon. No one meant it. No one cared. We were all so shocked and numb from what had happened. We listened to “Taps” being played at the end of the service. My father cried. He had heard that same tune at his father’s funeral. I didn’t cry. I was numb. I thought of Dana burying his son on Father’s Day.
I returned to the restaurant hollow. I went through the motions, only now I was “clean.” I wanted to make the call for my drugs with every passing minute. I wanted to score so that I could feel that sweet rush, taste the cocaine and wipe my nose. I wanted to drink as much tequila as I could possibly stand, losing the pain for just a little while. Instead, I worked. Instead, I hated everyone I saw. Everyone with a drink was my enemy. Everyone with a smile I wanted to destroy.
Meetings were powerful and miserable. The longing and the grief that I felt from the other anonymous people was overwhelming. My feelings of doubt were my strongest emotions. I held on to the belief that I was only a drug addict, not an alcoholic. I spoke and I shared, but I held back. I held back that I didn’t believe. I held back that I shouldn’t be there.
Addiction never leaves and addiction is never quiet. It waits for the bad nights. It waits for the weak times and then it yells and screams. It justifies itself and makes things good, until the next day. The next day, addiction is not there to answer for itself. The only thing left is regret and remorse and an incredible self-loathing.
Walker is dead. He died on my sister’s 30th birthday. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. And not a day goes by that I wish that I wasn’t better than the day I learned of his death. I have slipped and I have been weak. I have regretted and I have hurt. Each day, though, I try to honor him and his memory by being better than I was. I tell him that I am trying and that one day I will make him proud. Proud that I kept living after he died.

Go To Hell DOOK!!!

As a UNC Tarheel fan, I have been hating Mike Krzyzewski all my life. As I was learning to read and write, I was also learning to hate Duke. At first this hatred was isolated to just North Carolinians. Now that Duke is a household name, though, the love and hate of this man has spread throughout the country. It would be hard to find someone who had not at least heard the name “Coach K.” This fact draws a definite line in the sand. Those that love him think that he is flat out the best college basketball coach of all time. They don’t just think this- they know this. Fans will spout stats and figures, honors and accolades, all backing up the central claim that Coach K is the absolute best. Critics of this man (and I’m happy to say this group is growing) have uncovered of wealth of data that shines a disparaging light on some of Coach K’s many accomplishments. These areas include graduation rates, coaching style, player development and overall personality. Fans and critics alike will not doubt the success of this man. Quite simply, he is an incredible coach. Opponents of Coach K, however, are quick to point out that he is not the almighty, best-ever, savior-to-the-game coach that so many Duke fans shout at the rest from atop their high horse.

This was written about a year ago...

Addiction is a bitch! That’s the long of it, the short of it, the cliche, the joke and the cop-out. Addiction doesn’t come up, politely introduce itself and ask if you want to be friends. No, it just shows up unannounced and moves right in. It makes itself at home and starts running the show. Forget how you want things to be. Addiction has its own set of house rules, its own list of chores. And its damn hard to kick it out. Once its comfortable, addiction feels like its here to stay.
I always thought I was better and smarter than to get hooked on anything. Lesser people than me were doing it all the time, but I had a complete handle on it. Sure I was using almost every day, but that is because I wanted to, not because I needed to. What a joke! These little lies only work for so long. Denying the truth only sustains for a little while.
Walker died on my little sister’s 30th birthday. He too had just turned 30. He died of the very same drug that was soon going to kill me. I knew it. But he died first and he saved my life because of it. This is a fact that haunts me and inspires me every single day. It is like the end of Spielberg’s “Saving Private Ryan,” when Tom Hanks tells Private Ryan to live his life to the fullest as he [Tom Hanks] dies. What a powerful scene! What a huge thing to live with.
My best friend Jud was cleaning out his little brother Walker’s room after the funeral. It was surreal to see the whole family going through Walker’s things. Just yesterday- Father’s Day- we had buried him. Jud came across Walker’s old Grateful
Dead album, American Beauty and gave it to me. He didn’t really think about it. He just wanted me to have something of Walker’s.
Music has always been a huge part of my life. It has, at certain points, defined who I am. Stickers on my car, drugs in my pocket, hair down my back: I am hippy! Many of my decisions, be they right or wrong, have been music-induced. I can chart my past based on a very distinct and diverse soundtrack. And the songs that make up this soundtrack conjure up, to this very day, the most vivid and intense memories. I hear a song and its like I’m thrown back in time- back to when things were simple and easy. Prince’s “Purple Rain” throws me back into the 4th grade, with my Ghostbusters t-shirt and my parachute pants. Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin” puts me kissing Alice Burruss, my first true love, for the first time. And to this day there are still a select few albums that I cherish like the first day I heard them. If I was stranded on a desert island and could only have one album, it would definitely be American Beauty.
Jud and I went to our first Dead Show together. His mom got us great tickets- 10th-row center. It was in Raleigh at Carter-Finley Stadium. Walker was there with us. Jud and I ate acid for the very first time. Wow, what a night! The Dead opened with “Jack Straw.” That was just one of my many memories of Dead shows, most of them with Jud at my side. And as my friendship with the Dead grew and strengthened, so did my love for American Beauty.
My Aunt Nan introduced me to the Grateful Dead at a young age. While my friends were bopping along to Duran Duran, I was grooving to American Beauty. It always amazed me how soft and mellow the album was. Side one starting with “Box of Rain” and ending with “Candyman.” Side 2 starting with “Ripple” and ending with “Trucking.” Jud and I wore that vinyl out. It was even something I could play in the car as I drove on my learner’s permit with my mom sitting shotgun and my friends in the back seat. Mom always said she loved the song “Ripple.”
I have thought about that album a lot through the years, in its context of life intertwined with music. The album ends with a song that says, “What a long strange trip it’s been.” Looking at the vinyl that used to be Walker’s, I think about where I’ve come from- my own long, strange trip. There was a day when it would make me “smile, smile, smile.[4]” Now I hold the album with a heavy heart. Now I hold the album with regret. It stands for too much now. It’s not just old memories and Dead Shows with my friends. It’s my dead friend’s album. It’s my life in shambles.
The day I heard Walker had died, I went to my iPod which was playing music for the restaurant and I played Velvet Underground’s “Ride into the Sun” back to back for almost half-an-hour. It burned like the shots of tequila I was pouring, one after the other. We had discovered that song together- Jud and I. I wondered how destroyed he must be at that very moment and I hoped that the good memories of that song would somehow find him and carry him to a better place, a better memory, as they were doing for me.
Waves of emotions pounded me that day like a violent hurricane hitting the coast. I thought about everything we’d been through- all the trouble, all the fun, all our lives. I remembered surf trips to Jud and Walker’s beach house at Holden Beach. I thought about smoking cigarette’s and drinking in their basement. I remembered the glorious night I lost my virginity to Alice Burruss in Walker’s bedroom. But mostly I thought about the last time I had seen Walker: at a “welcome home from Iraq” party for Jud four years ago (coincidentally, I had past out blind drunk at that party). I felt guilty. I felt lost and empty. I felt addicted.
I knew I had to change my life drastically or suffer the same fate. But could I? My journal was filled with empty promises. I could read countless entries where I was yelling from rock bottom. No matter how much I wanted to, I always ended up in the same place. I had to quit, and Walker had to help me.
All I had from him was his Grateful Dead album- that small, vinyl disc carrying the weight of my world. Could the album mean something good again? Could I live a good life, one that Tom Hanks would be proud of? I thought of Walker every day, not because I wanted to so much as I couldn’t not think of him. He had caused me to want to change and each day as I made my way on scared, wobbly legs, I told him I would do it. The look in his father’s eyes on the day of the funeral haunted me every time I thought of scoring drugs.
I poured myself into work. I picked up all the shifts I could. Fourteen-hour days became the norm. I figured if I was so busy and so tired then all I would want to do was go to bed. I pulled myself completely away from everyone. If I didn’t see you at work, I
didn’t see you at all. And the change was noticeable. Those that were close to me could tell I was pulling away. They could tell that I was cutting all ties to everything.
Pulling away was not the only change, though. I also became angry and hostile. I hated everyone who smiled. I hated everyone who laughed and had fun. If I couldn’t do it then to hell with everyone who could. No one was my friend. Everyone was my enemy. My tongue began to lash out at everyone I saw. Friendly was not an option. If
you crossed me, you paid. And if you reached out to me, you paid even more dearly. This was obviously not the right way to go, but it took many painful months to realize it.
Slowly the need to feed my addiction began to subside, as did my temper. Hatred faded into a deep and somber melancholy. The life that I had was dead, like my dear friend. The life I had now was filled with nothing. Work and books. And nothing to look forward to. It was then that music began to pull me back. I found American Beauty again, only this time it sounded familiar. This time it sounded like spring, like colors and beauty and warm sunshine on my face. I began to hear all that was beautiful again.
I still think about Walker every day. And I still think about my four years of serious addiction- my four years in hell. I think about my dear friend who saved my life. I am not better. I am not whole. I still feel the tug of addiction from time to time. I still drink. I try to do it responsibly, but I find that I fail almost every time. It hurts me and depresses me and makes me want to go back to the place where I hate everyone. But I don’t go there. I look ahead and smile at what might be. I think of my music and the
words that for so long have guided my way: “Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile.”
Walker is my light. He did not mean to be, nor did I want him to be. I could just as easily have chalked him up as a terrible thing that happened, but instead I saw him for
what he was. I will forever fight for us both. He knows it as well as me. I will falter and I will fall behind. I know this. I am not as strong as I wish I was. But I will do it for
him. I owe him that much. He saved my life. And his brother Jud, my best friend, did as well when he gave me American Beauty. So like the first time I heard them and they inspired me to think and to feel and to live and to love, I look to the Grateful Dead’s words as a saving grace for both me and my dear friend Walker: “Once in awhile you get shown the light, in the strangest of places, if you look at it right.”

Cats and Dogs...

I was raised a dog person.   The family dog when I was growing up was a Golden Retriever... Manfred.  Freddy.  A great dog.  Then we switched to Shar Pei's.  We've had many.  They die easily.  And when I got to college, I started getting my own dogs.  My first college dog, Sleep Ray Floyd, the world's best Bassett Hound, died spring '07.  My next two dogs, Barley, an 11-year-old Chocolate Lab, and Sammy, an 11-year-old Golden Retriever, are still alive and living with my parents in the country outside of Chapel Hill.

I now have cats.  Two cats.  A brother and sister I rescued from PetsMart.  Dweezil and Moon.  They are without a doubt the two coolest little animals on the planet.  And they are teaching me so much about life with cats.  And I'm starting to realize that I am very much a cat person.

For one, they are small.  They are clean.  They don't smell.  They are quiet.  They are smart.  They are very affectionate.  They are not needy.  They have their little routines just like me.  They are great roommates.  They have their own little personalities.  Quite simply, they are cool little animals.

Now if I had more room (and more money), I'd get two dogs to complete the family.  I'd like to eventually get a brother and sister Chocolate Lab pair and name them Scully and Mulder.  But dogs are very much more hands on animals for the first several years.  You always have to think about what you're going to do with the dogs, etc. etc.  Not to say that you can just up and leave a cat.  But you don't have to "cat proof" the house before you go out for awhile like you do before you leave puppies.

So for the time being, I am quite happy being a cat person.  We nap together.  When I read, they nap.  And when I nap, they nap.  And when we curl up in bed, they occasionally let me have another room to roll around a bit.

Yes, cats are great little animals.........

This an email that was forwarded to me. I really like it...

For those who spent time in the military; for those that believe in our military; and, for those that support the men and women of our military, read on.............

John Glenn (DEMOCRAT) said this ----- It should make you think a little:



There were 39 combat related killings in Iraq in January. In the fair city of Detroit there were 35 murders in the month of January. That's just one American city, about as deadly as the entire war-torn country of Iraq.

When some claim that President Bush shouldn't have started this war, state the following:



FDR (DEMOCRAT) led us into World War II.

Germany never attacked us; Japan did. From 1941-1945, 450,000 lives were lost ... an average of 112,500 per year.



Truman (DEMOCRAT) finished that war and started one in Korea. North Korea never attacked us.
From 1950-1953, 55,000 lives were lost ... an average of 18,334 per year.

John F. Kennedy (DEMOCRAT) started the Vietnam conflict in 1962. Vietnam never attacked us.



Johnson (DEMOCRAT) turned Vietnam into a quagmire. From 1965-1975, 58,000 lives were lost ..
an average of 5,800 per year.

Clinton (DEMOCRAT) went to war in Bosnia without UN or French consent. Bosnia never attacked us.
He was offered Osama bin Laden's head on a platter three times by Sudan and did nothing. Osama has attacked us on multiple occasions.

In the years since terrorists attacked us, President Bush has liberated two countries, crushed the Taliban, crippled al-Qaida, put nuclear inspectors in Libya, Iran, and, North Korea without firing a shot, and captured a terrorist who slaughtered 300,000 of his own people. And the Democrats are complaining about how long the war is taking.

But Wait, There's Janet Reno.


It took less time to take Iraq than it took Janet Reno (DEMOCRAT) to take the Branch Davidian compound. That was a 51-day operation..



We've been looking for evidence for chemical weapons in Iraq for less time than it took Hillary Clinton (DEMOCRAT) to find the Rose Law Firm billing records.





It took less time for the 3rd Infantry Division and the Marines to destroy the Medina Republican Guard
than it took Ted Kennedy to call the police after his Oldsmobile sank at Chappaquiddick.

It took less time to take Iraq than it took to count the votes in Florida!!!

Our Commander-In-Chief is doing a GREAT JOB! The Military morale is high!

The biased media hopes we are too ignorant to realize the facts

But Wait.

There's more!

JOHN GLENN (on the Senate floor - January 26, 2004)

Some people still don't understand why military personnel do what they do for a living. This exchange between Senators John Glenn and Senator Howard Metzenbaum is worth reading. Not only is it a pretty impressive impromptu speech, but it's also a good example of one man's explanation of why men and women in the armed services do what they do for a living.


This IS a typical, though sad, example of what some who have never served think of the military.

Senator Metzenbaum (speaking to Senator Glenn): 'How can you run for Senate when you've never held a real job?'

Senator Glenn (D-Ohio):
'I served 23 years in the United States Marine Corps. I served through two wars. I flew 149 missions.
My plane was hit by anti-aircraft fire on 12 different occasions. I was in the space program. It wasn't my
checkbook, Howard; it was my life on the line. It was not a nine-to-five job, where I took time off to take the daily cash receipts to the bank.'

'I ask you to go with me .. . as I went the other day... to a veteran's hospital and look those men ... with their mangled bodies in the eye, and tell THEM they didn't hold a job!


You go with me to the Space Program at NASA and go, as I have gone, to the widows and Orphans
of Ed White, Gus Grissom and Roger Chaffee... and you look those kids in the eye and tell them that their DAD'S didn't hold a job.



You go with me on Memorial Day and you stand in Arlington National Cemetery , where I have more friends buried than I'd like to remember, and you watch those waving flags. You stand there, and you think about this nation, and you have the gall to tell ME that those people didn't have a job?

What about Metzenbaum?'

For those who don't remember During W.W.II, Howard Metzenbaum was an attorney representing the Communist Party in the USA

Now he's a Senator!

If you can read this, thank a teacher.
If you are reading it in English thank a Veteran.

An email that was forwarded to me...

WOULDN'T IT BE GREAT TO TURN ON THE TV AND HEAR ANY U.S.PRESIDENT,
DEMOCRAT OR REPUBLICAN GIVE THE FOLLOWING SPEECH?



My Fellow Americans:
As you all know, the defeat of the Iraq regime has been completed.

Since congress does not want to spend any more money on this war, our mission in
Iraq is complete.

This morning I gave the order for a complete removal of all American forces from Iraq. This action will be complete within 30 days. It is now time to begin the reckoning.

Before me, I have two lists. One list contains the names of countries which have stood by our side during the Iraq conflict. This list is short. The United Kingdom , Spain , Bulgaria , Australia , and Poland are some of the countries listed there.

The other list contains everyone not on the first list. Most of the world's nations are on that list. My press secretary will be distributing copies of both lists later this evening.

Let me start by saying that effective immediately, foreign aid to those nations on List 2 ceases immediately and indefinitely. The money saved during the first year alone will pretty much pay for the costs of the Iraqi war. THEN EVERY YEAR THERE AFTER IT GO TO OUR SOCIAL SECURITY SYSTEM SO IT WONT GO BROKE IN 20 YEARS.
The American people are no longer going to pour money into third world Hellholes and watch those government leaders grow fat on corruption.

Need help with a famine? Wrestling with an epidemic? Call France .

In the future, together with Congress, I will work to redirect this money toward solving the vexing social problems we still have at home. On that note, a word to terrorist organizations. Screw with us and we will hunt you down and eliminate you and all your friends from the face of the earth.

Thirsting for a gutsy country to terrorize? Try France, or maybe China .

I am ordering the immediate severing of diplomatic relations with France, Germany, and Russia . Thanks for all your help, comrades. We are retiring from NATO as well. Bon chance, mess amiss.

I have instructed the Mayor of New York City to begin towing the many UN diplomatic vehicles located in Manhattan with more than two unpaid parking tickets to sites where those vehicles will be stripped, shredded and crushed. I don't care about whatever treaty pertains to this. You creeps have tens of thousands of unpaid tickets. Pay those tickets tomorrow or watch your precious Benzes, Beamers and limos be turned over to some of the finest chop shops in the world. I love New York

A special note to our neighbors. Canada is on List 2. Since we are likely to be seeing a lot more of each other, you folks might want to try not pissing us off for a change.

Mexico is also on List 2. President Fox and his entire corrupt government really need an attitude adjustment. I will have a couple extra tank and infantry divisions sitting around. Guess where I am going to put 'em? Yep, border security.

Oh, by the way, the United States is abrogating the NAFTA treaty - starting now.

We are tired of the one-way highway. Immediately, we'll be drilling for oil in Alaska - which will take care of this country's oil needs for decades to come. If you're an environmentalist who opposes this decision, I refer you to List 2 above: pick a country and move there. They care.

It is time for America to focus on its own welfare and its own citizens. Some will accuse us of isolationism. I answer them by saying, "darn too-tin."

Nearly a century of trying to help folks live a decent life around the world has only earned us the undying enmity of just about everyone on the planet. It is time to eliminate hunger in America. It is time to eliminate homelessness in America. To the nations on List 1, a final thought. Thank you guys. We owe you and we won't forget.

To the nations on List 2, a final thought: You might want to learn to speak Arabic.

God bless America . Thank you and good night.

If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you are reading it in English, thank a soldier.

January 28th, 2008: Monday Nite

So I thought I'd enter some selected journal entries here on my blog.  One reason is so the blog itself will have some substance.  Another reason is that I'm thinking of making a shift from writing in the journal to writing on the blog site.  I'm pretty sure that no one will read either one, so it comes down to whether I want to write or type.  And while its not a traditionalist view, I kinda like typing better than writing.. at least sometimes.

So this is an entry from 1-28-08

Nature hates a void.  Nature hates a vacuum.  Yes, these are some sayings passed on to me on certain various occasions.  They were spoken to me in relation to my habits and vices.  Now that I no longer smoke or drink, what will take their place?  And does something have to take their place?  What if they were like junk boxes that I threw out?  Do I have to replace them with other junk boxes?

I feel like my life for last little while has been cluttered.  I have been living recklessly.  And I don't feel like dropping certain habits means that I necessarily need to pick up replacements.  Thoughts of exercise are well and good, but the truth is that I really just don't like any of it.  I can try to talk myself up but its pretty empty in the end.

I really would like to just read my books.  I don't have much else on my plate.  Nothing's really peaking my interest.  And that's pretty much the case with everything in my life.  Been there, done that.  I don't miss any of it.  I'm not looking to get back into any of it.  I know what it all pretty much looks like, smells like, tastes like, feels like.  I really don't need to experience it again.

So I'm just waiting for HGTV to give me my house in the Keys and I'll be just fine.  Turn on, tune in, drop out... 

Sunday evening cup of tea...

What is it about a cup of tea that seems so spiritual?  I always feel like I should sit still with quiet music and reflect when I drink tea.  Very therapeutic.

Thoughts all over the place.  Quiet naps with the Cowboy Junkies.  Rainy days.  Chilly Days.  Fall days.

That is one of the only things I miss about a girlfriend: naps.  There is something so peaceful about taking a nap with a girl.  On top of the covers, but under a blanket.  Fully clothed and snuggling.  Soft music.  Van Morrison's "Astral Weeks."  That CD will always be Alice Burruss's.

I heard "Sweet Thing" the other night and I thought to myself how I hadn't felt love that powerful in a long time (maybe ever).

And I think about how much I'd like to enjoy a cup of tea on the porch of my beach house as I watched the sun set over the water.  Jimmy Buffett playing.  That would be nice........

WSP '92

The kind of blue that you see just before night leaves the sky: a dark blue, a masculine blue, but not an impossible blue.  Rather, a safe feeling, again, as if the dark places are about to be bathed in warm light.  Traces of green that remind you of fall.  Feelings of crackling leaves and pumpkins and spooky, sinister things hiding around every corner.  The smells of the season's first chimney smoke.  Pumpkin pies and turkey and stuffing and pigskin on Saturdays.  Yellows and purples and oranges that were once vibrant, like the colors of youthful summers running and playing and swimming in the surf.  Days when life was grand and possible and exciting.  When everything was fun and funny and wonderful.  The colors swirl and dance, like girls in long skirts dancing to music.  Seductive and inviting.  Graceful and magical.  Familiar chords being strum, summoning us all to places in our memories.  Laughter with friends and nights that won't end.  All that is spiritual between kindred souls following a familiar path.  So much more than what it is.  Meaning that is almost too much for something so ordinary to possess.  But with this uncanny possession comes unbelievable attachment.  A treasure worth more than all the gold in the world.  Gold can't buy memories.  gold can't buy nostalgia that so encompasses identity as to become and project it.  Deep blues and oranges and greens and yellows.  The colors of the rainbow, the colors of my aura.  Can something so physical be something so spiritual?  Duality and simplicity.  Basic and profound.  Can one see the what if through the what is?  I say yes because it is mine.  It is there to remind me of everything good that once was.  To remind me that I was there and I breathed and I loved and I danced.  I say yes.  It is here to remind me that all things age and all things fade away.  And while we can't hold on forever, while we can't be whole forever, we will always be and the memories will always be.  Of the kind of blue you see just before night leaves the sky.  And of colors that dance and sing and make us live.  All good things in one priceless possession...

Life lessons learned

I'm sitting here with my two wonderful cats chewing on cold pizza and listening to some wonderful classical music.   It is shaping up to be a nice, lazy Sunday night.

I looked thru the want adds again today.  I always look forward to the Sunday edition of the classifieds, in hopes that maybe they'll have a job for me.  And the thought of new jobs always strays towards the dreams of what could have been...

I wonder what I'd be like if...

I hadn't met Tina?  Or Angie?  Or if I'd stayed at College of Charleston?  Or if I'd kept any of my previous jobs?  Or if I never moved from Beaufort?

So many what ifs.  And as I ponder my life, I am forced to accept the fact that I am a complete nobody.  That, friends and neighbors, is a tough lesson to learn.

For the longest time I held on to a belief that things would somehow work themselves out and I'd end up on top.  That's not to say that I'm down and out.  It is to say that this is not where I thought I'd be at the age of 35.  And the prospects are pretty dim that I'll be in much different a place anytime soon.

Again, it could be worse.  But at this point in time I just like to be left the hell alone.  And when I win the HGTV Dream Home and move to the Florida keys, my dream will come true.  I can drop out and live the quiet, boring life that I'm looking for...

Neighbor's Puppy

Sitting here enjoying a morning cup of coffee.  Or at least I was until the neighbor's puppy started howling.  Funny.  Appropriate.  The same stupid girls that leave a bag of trash outside their door for nearly two weeks before taking it to the dumpster.

Reading Susan Jacoby's "The Age of American Unreason."  I think this scenario would play into the book somehow.  I bet the girls would probably think that Europe was a country!

Anyways... the reason that I even thought about doing this blog thing was because Jacoby was listing blogs as an example of how we as Americans have stopped having conversations with each other.  Its true if you look around.  No one talks to each other anymore.  We talk AT each other a lot, but not TO each other.  I don't mind so much because I think people are stupid and speaking to them is a waste of my time.  But they are getting more and more stupid because they are not engaging in conversation.   And they are not reading.  I shudder to think the last time most people have read a book cover to cover.  I myself will be finishing book number two today.  That's two this week.  I'd like to get through three or four a week, but work really gets in the way.  If I can at least blaze through two, I don't feel like I'm falling behind.