Curry's revenge

I was in the gym when the curry chicken struck.

One minute I'm going ninety miles per hour, then next my stomach is bellowing like an angry T-rex.

I had to cut the workout short and make a break for the house. Made it, barely.

In Line For Tickets

Meg has a ballet recital in a few weeks. We, as parents, have to buy tickets to the event. And it is reserved seating. So when it comes time to buy tickets, it is an epic adventure. Usually I luck out and Cindy goes. Today she was working. I had to take the kids and wait in line. For, oh... just two hours. Two hours of being the only male in a cluster of angry, frustrated, constantly-complaining Soccer Moms.

"It gets worse every year."

"They never do it right."

"This is ridiculous!"

I'm with you, ladies. But complain is only wasting your time and burning my brain cells.

So, I suffered in silence. The outcome would not have changed anything.

In the meanwhile, my Grandmother is feeling under the weather. She doesn't want to go to the doctor. She refuses when my Mother or my Aunt Susan offer to take her. She says Sears is coming to install some new counter tops in the kitchen, and she wants to be ready for them.

Then, Liam finished Tom Sawyer today. A first grader reading Mark Twain? What will he be up to in 10 years?

MOVIE: Superman Returns

On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd give this one a rating of: SUCK!

After catching a really good flick this afternoon, I was hoping for a repeat performance. Several folks had told me that I need to rent this one. That it made up for other failed Superman movies.

Unfortunately, I could barely stomach it. It was painfully slow. The effects, though impressive, couldn't save me from fast forwarding as often as possible. Lex Luther was completely disappointing. The plot embarrassingly trite. Amazingly predictable.

If I had paid $8 to see this on the big screen, I may have walked out and asked for a refund. I don't think it is even worth renting.

Total, utter turd of a movie.

MOVIE: TMNT

I more or less grew up with comic books. TMNT came out in the mid-80s and was high up on my list of favorites. In the 90s, there were a couple of live-action movies that did justice to the turtles.

Here we are, almost 15yrs later, and I'm taking my son to see the same green shelled-ninjas that I followed when I was a kid. He loved it. I really enjoyed it. The CGI was fantastic. Extremely well done. And it only took a couple of seconds to forget you were looking at something generated inside a computer. Sure, it dragged once or twice, but my expectations were set on a comic level, and I wasn't disappointed.

Liam knew all the characters already and we had a great time talking about the martial moves and the weapons. He was out of his seat half the time. Throwing punches at the screen. Offering words of advice on battle tactics and close quarters combat.

Popcorn, soda, and a great movie. Perfect way to spend an afternoon.

Fight night

Rolled to the gym this morning. One of the best workouts in a while. Shoulders and legs. I think whatever bug had nestled in my depths has fled. Not really pushing myself. Just happy to be able get through a set without forcing myself to bang out each rep.

Feeling much better, today.

Cindy let me out of the house for a couple of hours tonight. I went to "Blood And Sand" at the Coliseum. A mixed martial arts even for local fighters. Had guys from Slidell and Hattiesburg, and of course the local gym. Seemed like the place was packed. The ring looked small in real life. Everyone drinking beer and yelling, "Choke him out!" The first few matches flew. But the fights were GREAT! Mostly tapouts. Mostly armbars. (See above.) A couple of rear-naked-chokes. I'm sure there is much I could say about modern man needing such primitive stimulus. Twenty first century and my favorite form of entertainment is watching two greasy, muscled-up gladiators square up against one another in a steel cage. Lights up the ancient, reptilian remnants of my forebrain like a disco ball.

Nothing satiates the need for violence like watching a good old fashioned ass kicking. Even better when it is several hours of it. Not sure how many matches there were, but we didn't roll out until just after eleven.

I'll sleep well, tonight.

Outdated

Work brought about another bombshell outage. Nearly half my day spent on a conference call. Listening to people fix the symptoms of a problem rather than actually finding and resolving the cause of the problem.

For those not in the know, the nuclear option for resolving complex enterprise outages is to shutdown all the servers and bring them up again. We did that. Twice. It did resolve the problem, but nobody knows exactly what we fixed by rebooting everything. Business as usual, it seems.

Afterwards, Cindy and I spent some quiet time together. Just the two of us. Ended up at High Cotton Grill, down the street. Me sipping Grey Goose & Cranberry, gnawing on spicy chicken wings. Cindy picking through a salad and some angry shrimp.

One of those, "rekindle the romance" things that old couples do a few times a year. An attempt to relive the days of yore when we would go out and laugh and drink and talk for hours about ourselves and the future and flirt and try to prolong the wait until we could go home and do what new couples do. But we don't drink much any more. We mostly complain about the smoke and the noise and Cindy recognizes people she knew 25yrs ago. We certainly don't flirt. We do laugh. And we do talk about the future, for our children. But anything remotely resembling romance is out the door.

I've come to discover that we should stick with raising children. Romance is outdated.

Slain by the dragon

Lethargy - noun - the quality or state of being lazy, sluggish, or indifferent

Still fighting off some sapping plague. Still weak. Barely able to do much in the gym. Continually yelling at myself behind my eyes.

Fight it. Fight it! FIGHT IT!

Seems like weeks since I slept. Months since I relaxed. When was the last time I was happy for more than a few hours?

And in the middle a utterly fruitless workout, my cell phone rings. I won't put it down for nearly five hours as an enterprise-scale disaster envelopes the corporation.

Some days, you slay the dragon. Some days, the dragon tears the ass out of you.

Today, I'm slain.

Anti-venom

Logan, Cindy's young cousin, was bit by a Cotton Mouth Viper. Just a baby. But the venom did its job, blackening almost his entire thumb within an hour. They're pumping him full of anti-venom and painkillers. They tried Demerol. It didn't touch the agony he was experiencing. And now he's on "DCH" or something like that. Pretty much morphine.

He was walking down the country road with his mouth when he saw the baby snake along the edge. He went to move it, so it wouldn't get hit by a car. It coiled back and bit him.

We pray he keeps the hand.

Jubilant

Cindy makes it home. Her potassium levels are approaching normal but Cindy will have to keep taking supplements for a while. The children are jubilant. She's smiling. I'm smiling. An enormous weight lifted from our shoulders.

I head to the gym and try to work out. Try. I think I'm coming down with a bug of my own, though. I can barely make it through the workout. I have to silently scream at myself to stay focused. It doesn't really work. I fight my way through a half-assed hour and head home. Hopefully I'll sleep. Now that Cindy's home.

Well again

Cindy stayed at the hospital over night. She is going to stay again. They are pumping her full of intravenous potassium and oral supplements. Her MRI and EKG read normal. So the current theory is that she caught a stomach virus from Meg (who was sick last week) and the lack of food combined with frequent bathroom visits caused her potassium levels to drop.

When I say drop, it is something of an understatement. Her level was so low that it almost reached a point where her heart could stop beating.

Several years ago, the media fixated on the Terri Schiavo case, where a husband was allowed to turn off life support for his catatonic wife, even though her parents wanted to keep her alive and wanted to care for her. I mention it because Terri Schiavo had bulimia which produced a potassium imbalance which in turn caused a cardiac arrest. The lack of oxygenated blood caused brain damage, pushing her into a catatonic state, and ultimately resulted in the Right To Life case that engulfed the nation. If her potassium had gone lower, Cindy could have followed in Terri's wake.

We hope it is under control, now. We're tired. We want to be past this. It is sad to when you pray for health. I don't know what the next phone call will bring. But I tell the kids to be strong. That Mommy is coming home soon. And she will be well again. I hope I'm not lying.

Unhappy Easter

I'm fairly certain the Eastern Bunny hates me. He brought me only anguish and torment this year.

I drove ten hours to bring Cindy home early. The kids take it lightly. Cindy's stomach didn't take it lightly. Not that I liked it. But after thirty some years I've discovered that many times in life like or dislike is irrelevant. So I clenched my jaw and floored it. Cindy moaning half the time. The kids crying for freedom the other half.

I unpacked and collapsed on the bed. My back a twisted wreck.

Cindy packed a new bag and headed to the Emergency Room. Whatever has nested in her stomach is going to get its eviction papers.

At least the kids got candy.

Bounce While You Can

We had breakfast at Bob Evan's. A turkey and spinach omelet that left me hungry for more. Great service, fantastic food, low price. The American dream! Sadly, Cindy could barely eat. Something unfriendly has crept into her belly and taken up residence. Had to happen when we're half a day from home?

Next to the restaurant was a smallish mall dedicated to All Things Christmas. (Helped that we were bundled in our coats and still giddy from our snowball siege.) A miniature steam engine chugging along the crown moulding. Tons of holiday ornaments. An army of miniatures. Mile upon mile of lights. Even a guitar playing Santa Claus that sang to the kids and posed for pictures. I'm not a big fan of the holidays, but I enjoyed the sights and had a good time with the kids as they explored and experiment with all the different gadgets.

In the late morning, we trek to Ripley's Believe It Or Not Aquarium. The cold is now compounded by rain. And while I'm able to drop My Bride and The Kids off at the front door, I have to park then walk two blocks down the way. I couldn't feel my nose after one block. And it is APRIL! But the frostbite was worth the price of admission. The kids played with a remote-controlled Mars Rover. I snuck us into a private class about sharks (where MEG tried to run the show!) We played with live horseshoe crabs. There would spacesuits. The power went out. And we nearly caught our own sting ray!

Cindy's stomach continued to act up and we cancelled our dinner plans, but opted for a light meal at Burger King. The cashier was a young man on clutches. He didn't seem too adept with them. "I hope your leg gets better," I nearly said as he handed me my change. Then I noticed his left pant leg. He didn't actually have a leg. And there were horrible scars on the inside of his left arm. At first I assumed it was a car wreck. But the more thought I gave it, the more I came to believe he had returned from a tour in Iraq. And the best we could do for him was a job charging for Happy Meals. No tickertape parade. Maybe just a purple heart, a pat on the back, and an application for Burger King.

Then Meg breaks my trance. In her own very unique, very special way.

"Daddy, look at that girl," she tries to whisper. Of course whisper means the girl can clearly hear her and so can the people on the other side of the room.

I look up and meet her eyes.

"She's from Little People, Big World," Meg says in the exact instant I realize I'm looking at a Little Person.

The woman smiles. She's not a girl. And nods to me. I'm pretty much frozen in fear that she's going to pull out a gun and shoot me in the face. A deer in the headlights. Embarrassed and scared and looking for a quick escape route.

Instead, she nods and smiles to Meg, "Hi, darling," then continues to enjoy her meal. Diffuses the bomb like a trained professional. Silently acknowledging that she knows Meg was trying to be sweet about it.

Of course My Bride had to have "a talk" with My Daughter once we got into the car. But she's five. It is like having "a talk" with a pogo stick. She's just going to keep bouncing around the room no matter what you tell her.

I say: Keep bouncing, Meg. Bounce while you can, baby. Bounce while you can!

A Flash Of White

The morning is crisp and quiet. I wake to the smell of fresh coffee and the high pitched cheers of two small children. Followed by far too much commotion for too early an hour.

They're all smiles and claps and a tangle of limbs as I find them throwing on the clothes and jackets and mittens.

I pull back the curtains to find everything drown in a pale haze. Snow! Real, honest snow, dusting the world as far as my poor old eyes could see.

This is April. It isn't supposed to be snowing! I'm not supposed to be huddled under a blanket. I'm supposed to be in shorts and drinking tasty beverages!

But the kids are loving it.

They sprint down the steps and begin to furiously scrape giant hand fulls of snow off the car. They don't remember how to make snowballs. Don't know to compact them down to improve their kinetic impact. For as long as the snow lasts, it is like one long cotton fight between two laughing, red nosed drunks. They slip and laugh and try to freeze each others heads.

I try to lend a hand, but it isn't long before my fingers are numb. Then the minivan is wiped clean of ammunition. And the fragile dusting on the ground melts in the new morning light.

But for a while, it was a winter wonderland. And we Southerns have our fun in the brief flash of white.

Dolly, Dolly, Dolly, get your Dollywood here

Today would have been completely and utterly impossible if it were not for Cindy. She's the only one with brains enough to check the weather forecast BEFORE we trek up to the mountains of TN. And if she hadn't, we have been trapped inside all day, wearing shorts, throwing logs onto the fire, and cursing the cold snap which fell upon us.

As it was, we were still freezing. There was no winter last year and we barely have any cold weather gear. What we brought barely kept out the chill as we navigated through Pigeon Forge and into the open, windy embrace of Dollywood.

Here's a pic of the kids and Flat Stanley, waiting for me to buy our tickets. Notice the hats? Notice the mittens? Notice IT IS APRIL???

Anyway, this place was wonderful and extremely kid-friendly. The grounds were well kept and the staff was friendly and extremely helpful. I don't think anyone younger than fifty is allowed to work at Dollywood, though. (Not that it is a hip and trendy abode where all the 20-somethings are clamoring sign up for summer work. )

We found this "rain maker" gadget around a corner. I think we were the only ones that checked it out. Lots of steampunk dials and levers and analog panels just ripe for my macbre tinkering. Cindy, if you can imagine this, wouldn't let me fiddle with it, though. Something about lawsuit and getting arrested by the Department Of Homeland Security. And Dolly doesn't take lightly to random geeks messing with her contraptions. So no rain was made by Jon.



Our first ride was a "lumberjack elevator," which translates into: Daddy gets to hoist his weight and the weight of the children about nineteen times because when he stops the children will start screaming for more and you're trapped with them on this spinning column of amusement for a looooong time, so get pulling you fat bastard, you should have worked out instead of playing video games last week!

Fortunately, Liam helped and we won the race to the top. At least his Daddy ain't the fattest one on the ride!


Having witnessed the full glory of Daddy being put to work by a 7-year-old and listening to Mommy's laughter the whole time, Meg immediately drafted me for a second ride.

She only weighs like three pounds less than The Boy, but she's twice as strong and screams three times as loud on the way down. The theory is to hoist your way to the top, let go, and glide down to the bottom. Then start again. And again. And again. Until your limbs fall off, or the ride operator gets tired of laughing at you. Either way, the kids love it.

Cindy took time out from behind the camera to pose in front of Ol' Number Seven Zero, the local coal burning train engine. Flat Stanley got a piece of the action, too. Notice Cindy's wearing gloves? (See any gloves on Daddy in the other pictures???) And Meg is starting to run out of fuel. Won't be long before we're having to carry her. Well, I'll be the one doing the carrying.

Kids. And sheep. And Liam's wearing his "prospectors medal" for panning gold nuggets out of a sandy stream. (The stream was heated, the nuggets were planted. I paid $5 each for them to feign the digging so they could get the medals. And Meg, quickly figured out that she could reach into the sand and pull out the nuggets quicker than trying to pan them out of a lump of sand with a bowl.)

The sheep are as fake as the medal. You think Cindy would let the kids near REAL bloodthirsty sheep?

After escaping the clutches of the evil faux sheep, we swung by the local water mill. I showed the kids how they used the power of flowing water to move the wheel and grind corn and wheat into cornmeal or flour, to make burittos. The kids were most unimpressed and asked if I had to talk every time we passed the boring things. Then we agreed Daddy would shut up if they slept in their own beds tonight. A deal made in heaven!

Finally, me and The Boy relaxing in front of a soothing waterfall.

There were plenty of other adventures that went un-photographed. A glass blower making an oil lamp. Two women making lye soap from ashes (the fumes from which burned our eyes!) Our "Olde Tyme Pictures." Half a dozen rescued eagles gnawing on still-flopping fish. And a giant treehouse with foam-launching cannons and squirt guns that didn't come in too handy in the near freezing conditions.

Meg's wore out. Liam's missing the computer. Mommy is starting to feel sick. And Daddy's wondering how much this will cost him in the long run.

The modern life! Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

Country roads

A long, zombifying day of driving through MS, and AL, and TN, and god-knows how many other states, until we reach the quiet, faintly-lit hills of Pigeon Forge and my father-in-law's cabin. It is a welcomed retreat. We are supposed to be relaxing. Supposed to be getting away from the Coast for a while. Spend time "as a family." Breath some clean air.

Our first pit-stop was in Brooklyn, MS. There you can buy 100 live crickets for $4 and a scoop of boiled peanuts (either spicy or Cajun!) for $1. And when I say scoop, I mean you scoop them out and bag them yourself. And when I say boiled, I mean you are scooping fresh peanuts out water that has been simmering in a black kettle since Jimmy Carter was in office.

Eventually we made it to Chattanooga and I had my first taste of traffic since leaving Atlanta. Which reminded me of why we left Atlanta in the first place! Everyone was in a hurry to quickly go nowhere. Nobody bothers using turn signals. And our brisk voyage turned into a sea of brake lights for the better part of an hour.

Then we slipped into the mountains. And as the sun dropped between the trees we soon realized our directions didn't contain any details, such as street names or landmarks. And even if we knew what we were looking for, if it wasn't directly in front us, in the glare of our headlights, we wouldn't see it. There were no streetlights. There were almost no traffic signals. And for several miles, we were the only vehicle on the road. Of course the kids helped us out, by asking, "How much further?" and the very constructive, "Can you find us some place to play?" Useful stuff, that was.

Eventually, slowly, and very low on sanity, we found the cabin. The kids dropped into their jammies, whipped out the toys, and proceeded to keep us awake several more hours. Enclosed is a sample for posterity. Note Meg's bright eyes and Liam's explosive knot of hair. All at once they are watching television, playing checkers, writing dialogue between Baby Meg & Flat Stanley, and tormenting their bleary-eyed parents.



Good night, and good luck.

Winter approaches

Cold. Cold! COLD!

Did I mention how could it was this morning? I could barely get out from under work in time to catch the limo to the airport. The conversion finished something like 18 hours late. I was SUPPOSED to leave last night. I didn't. I stayed and tried to tie up some of the many loose ends.

Just before lunch, Keith and I grabbed a couple of burgers, checked out our luggage, and dashed for the limo. We both drew air through our closed teeth when we hit the bitter air outside the hotel. BAM! Like a wall of invisible ice against my face. Isn't it APRIL? Aren't we thundering toward summer? Shouldn't I be safe from frostbite?

Fortunately the limo was warm. Our plane was on time. And we had first class seats.

Unfortunately, once I get home and hug the kids and kiss the wife, I have to pack pack pack and pack. No rest for the weary. Especially as winter approaches!

The Whirlwind

As I was riding to the property yesterday, I saw a whirlwind. A thin, wispy thing wobbling across field of cotton. Dust devil some would call it. Whirlwind, I call it.

And my day was just like that: Brunched with Candy from Las Vegas. Putting faces to names and talking about our adventures on different sides of the screen. Had to re-evaluate the property's hardware. Found some servers the likes of which belong in a Dell museum, not a production network. Suffered through setback after setback with the conversion, almost always the result of a miscalculation by DBAs two thousand miles away. And MY GOD the thunderstorms that swept through and rocked the building. Bison for dinner. I fine fine dinery, but we were wearing our work close and having too many drinks.

All of it leaving my head spinning.

A whirlwind.

The Land Of Delta Blues

In the wake of returning the heavy lifting gear, I find myself once again on a plane, bound for Memphis. Talking to Don Kessler, who moved from Hollywood to Hattiesburg. Then it's a short flight. Small airports on each end. It gives me time to decompress. I'm not in charge of anything. I'm just along for the ride. And that's just fine with me.

Until my limo vanishes! I'm walking around the humid shadows of the airport, trying to find the guy holding a sign with my name. But he's nowhere to be found. Fortunately I have two things at my disposal: a blackberry and a very (VERY!) good cup of coffee. And before I finish the later, the former is used to summon my ride.

And after I arrive, I wash it down with a phenomenal medium-rare ribeye steak.

The rest of the day is just work. Describing it would only result in premature sterility.

But the night ended with a first class, executive-level bang. I got to hang out with all the upper level folks (CFO, CEO, all the chiefs!) watching the NCAA finals. In the rainman suite. With buckets of beer and all kinds of greasy fratboy food (pizza and wings and fries) and a dozen men screaming and cheering about basketball. Quite a party. A rare treat. A brief glimpse into their lifestyle. And I lived to tell about it.

We all float down here.

Return To Thunderdome

Two things that will be hard to believe, but 1) I fired up the backhoe with a front loader, 2) I started early. Like 8AM early. I've provided photographic evidence for doubters!

Each scoop was probably the equivalent of an entire wheelbarrow load of sand. And I moved nearly a hundred of them. It may have cost a couple of hundred to rent the hardware, but it would have cost a lot more to repair my spine after moving all those loads manually. At any rate, I couldn't do too much before the rain came. And then more rain. And even more. Of course during the ONLY weekend I rent a monster truck, there's a flash flood. Before it was over, we had 4 inches of standing water. And that was on TOP of the sand. Would have been worse before the spreading.

I wrapped up and we all had dinner with Paw Paw Raybourn & Granny Pam. We tried O Charlies, but there was no staff and a forty five minute wait. Instead we settled for TGIFriday's. Unfortunately that was an expensive turd and I doubt we'll ever go back. The service was fair, but the food was cold and the floor was so dirty and greasy I nearly did a face plant when I took Liam to wash up. I know it isn't exactly easy to run a dinner, but it isn't rocket science and you'd think "Hot Food" wouldn't be asking too much.

The day was salvaged by Meg's jokes. She took every opportunity to prank Cindy with things like, "Lookout, Mommy, snake!" And Cindy would feign a scream. Followed, every time, by Meg laughing and yelling, "April Fool!"

My little joker.

God help me.

Bow down

When we start making legal rulings against SOFTWARE, it is time to to planning a brand new Faraday cage for the house!

First we let them practice law without a license, then we let them pilot our aircraft, and the next thing you know, we're in the middle of The Singularity! Then it gets Old Testament, Mr. Mayor, real wrath-of-God type stuff. Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies. Rivers and seas boiling. Forty years of darkness. Earthquakes, volcanoes... The dead rising from the grave. Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together - mass hysteria!

In the meanwhile, here's what I'm talking about:

"The 9th Circuit Court of Appeals upheld the ruling.

The software did, indeed, go far beyond providing clerical services. It determined where (particularly, in which schedule) to place information provided by the debtor, selected exemptions for the debtor and supplied relevant legal citations. Providing such personalized guidance has been held to constitute the practice of law.

(...)

(The) system touted its offering of legal advice and projected an aura of expertise concerning bankruptcy petitions; and, in that context, it offered personalized -- albeit automated -- counsel. ... We find that because this was the conduct of a non-attorney, it constituted the unauthorized practice of law."

I, for one, look forward to bowing down before our new computerized masters!

Godspeed Mr. Baudrillard

Jean Baudrillard died today at the age of 77, in France. I read his book "Simulacra and Simulation"after grad school (1995?) and it continues to haunt me to this day. One of his arguments (back then) was that our financially motivated mass media and our ultra modern consumerist society has created such a chaotic and confusing structure of symbols and artificial experiences that it is impossible for us to see our reality as it actually exists.

The book must have had a huge impact on the Wachowski brothers as Baudrillard's philosophy is all over their trilogy, The Matrix. If you look closely at the book where Neo hides his data disc, it is none other than "Simulacra and Simulation." (See attached picture if you don't have a DVD of The Matrix available.)

Baudrillard once wrote: "Information can tell us everything. It has all the answers. But they are answers to questions we have not asked, and which doubtless don't even arise. "

And on America, he wrote, "Deep down, the US, with its space, its technological refinement, its bluff good conscience, even in those spaces which it opens up for simulation, is the only remaining primitive society. "

And, even back in the mid-90s, he knew enough to say, "Television knows no night. It is perpetual day. TV embodies our fear of the dark, of night, of the other side of things. "

Good night, Mr Baudillard, and good luck.

A boy's first novel

Liam wrote his first book, today. 6 pages of literary might:

The Karate Master, by Liam

There once was a karate master who could
do anything. But the cool thing is, he was only 7!! Isn't that amazing?!

He started when he was only 3 1/2! But each week he would get
another belt. And even when he was sick, he would go to karate!

But when he got his black belt he dissipearded! His family was
SHOCKED!

No one new where he went. Neather did he. But he had
traveled 100 years into the PAST!!

There he felt something in his
pocket. But it was just a stone. A magic stone. Then he said "I wish I was back
home."

Then he woke up. He was back home.

The
End

I think the next book should depict the young hero fighting wolverines in Canada.

The yard

We get an early start. There is plenty left to do. And my best girl is joining me, today! I’m back behind the controls of the stump grinder and Cindy is on clean up detail, hauling limbs and trimming up overgrown areas so I can find the hidden stumps.

At some point, I decide to hack down a smallish oak between our carport and the fence. It blocks the path to our backyard. And I’m tired of navigating around it with the trashcan at night. So OFF WIF ‘IS ‘EAD!

I get to chopping, eliminating the limbs and pruning it down to just the trunk. Little do I realize how much an eight foot length of 1’ trunk weighs. I should have known when I heard the dull thud of it striking the ground. But, I’m stupid on multiple levels. And before I think it through, I muscle up one end, creep under the middle of it, and hoist it up. Suddenly aware of the full weight of the thing slowly pressing me into the cold, soft earth.

There I was, squatting in the mud and sawdust and debris with at least two hundred pounds of freshly felled oak across my shoulders, harboring a mental dialogue something along the lines of:
Smart Jon: This is really REALLY stupid, you know.
Stupid Jon: No tree gets the better of me!
Smart Jon: Um, you are a computer jockey. You don’t work with trees.
Stupid Jon: I can do this!
Smart Jon: It isn’t worth blowing a disk in your back.
Stupid Jon: I go to the gym! I have muscles (somewhere!)
Smart Jon: You should cut this massive thing in half.
Stupid Jon: HULK SMASH!

But, of course, I clenched my jaw and stood up. Forced my legs to bear the weight. And step by step carried that tree trunk into the back yard. Onto the pile of limbs we’re hording for disposal next week. I actually slammed it down. Panting and sweating and savoring the moment. It didn’t wreck my back. It didn’t pull any muscles. It felt good. It felt like I was alive. And I could do anything: Grind a stump. Cut down trees. The Larch. The Sequoia. The Giant Redwood! The Mighty Oak! I could conquer them all. I could be a lumber jack!

And Cindy catches me with her eye. Plants her feet and points to the grinder, “Hey, quit playing! Get back to work, on the yard!”

Yes, honey.

Daily grind

Meg & Gigi set sail for One Eyed Willy’s, to raid a birthday party. With Cindy at work, that leaves me and Liam free to have our own adventures.

Unfortunately, the boy doesn’t care for my plan. I want to wreak some destruction on the remains of trees in our yard. He wants to buy a Webkinz and design a room for it. I want to be productive and get some projects marked off my list. He wants to be a boy and enjoy the good life.

We end up doing both. After a trip to Barnes & Noble for a café mocha with an extra shot of espresso for me and a couple of comic books for him, I haul a rented stump grinder to the house and Liam picks up a plush pug bulldog from Hallmark. He helps me unload the machine and I help him setup his room on WebKinz.com and win a couple of extra bucks for decorations. Then we have a split lunch, Sonic for Boy Wonder, and Taco Bell for Jon Daddy. By late afternoon, we’re happy and there’s no sign of the girls.

I spend the rest of the day grinding stumps of all sizes and shapes. (See the bliss etched on my face?) The destruction feels good. Reminds me of the days (and weeks) after the storm, clearing away the debris and the unwanted remains of our former lives. It might only be a couple of hours of clearing off our property, but it is like therapy. By the end of it, I’m whistling and smiling and looking forward to more work tomorrow.

In the meanwhile, Liam has been playing games on the computer and earning money for his new pet, Gollum, the plush pug bulldog. He already has a trampoline, a bed, and some chairs. Next he’s going build an out-door room and load it up with more exercise equipment.

I’m destroying. Liam’s building. Father and son. We each have our own daily grind.

Clear skies

The delluge has passed. We escaped untouched.

It feels good to be back in the gym after fight off a cold last week. I didn't get SICK, but I was lethargic and had too much on my mind. Grandama was is the hospital. Jason's wife was in the hospital. Nothing was clicking right.

But I've been back and I ran 4 miles last night. First time I ran in a month. New ipod earbuds helped. Started with pilates. Worked out my back and biceps. And conclued with thirty minues on the treadmill. Drenched in sweat and happy to have it pouring.

Today, I bought a new wallet. Bought a new rachet set. Brought home supplies to experiment with a new powershake recommended by Pat Robertson. And ended the night watching Liam and his friend Steven play Star Wars: Battlefield II on the Playstation.

Oh, to be young again....

Deity Needed, Inquire Within

If you want to know why I no longer watch CNN or Fox or MSNBC or anything that claims to be a new channel, let's look at what the media is spoon feeding us:

• Brittany is bald. And she can't decide if she wants to stay in rehab. We should stay tuned for her next failure as a mother and a human.
• Anna Nicole "family" is not only fighting over rights to her corpse, but also custody of her infant daughter (who still doesn't know the identity of her biological father.) We should keep watching because somebody is going to end up collecting the millions she stole from a wizened mummy she "married," a decade ago.
• Beyonce is safe from Hepatitis A. We need to keep buying BootyLicious ringtones in honor of her brave struggle!

Meanwhile, let's look at how we react to actual events that effect real human beings that don't live in fifty gillion dollars houses and don't own ninety two cars with spinning rims:

• We don't blink when we see that parts of the country received as much as thirty inches of snow today.
• We don't stop to gape when we see footage of tornadoes killing nineteen people in two states, including five that died next door in Enterprise, AL, when a twister collapsed the roof of a high school and dropped tons of debris on our children.
• Nobody is bothered that in 2006 we spent $200,000/minute fighting in Iraq

Please, God. I'm begging you, Allah. Hear my pleas, Yahweh. Reach down, Buddha. Save us, Great Xemu! Somebody, PLEASE smite Hollywood. Drown them. Burn them. Locus-plague them. Turn them to trendy pillars of salt. Do anything you can to end our misery and return our vision so that we can go back to things like: helping our fellow man, improving the world for our children, and generally being rational human beings who care about one another!

Into the octagon

At karate tonight, I watched Liam spar for the first time. With the gloves and the helmet and the mouthpiece, he's a different boy. So focused and determined. I couldn't believe how charged the other kid and started throwing combinations. Mostly punches and a stray kick, but he chained them all together and didn't stop. The other kid, Chase, barely kept up. Liam must have thrown at least five punches for every one that his opponent threw. And when Liam started circling and attacking from odd angles, poor Chase could looked confused.

I was so proud of Liam. I was cheering and smiling the whole time. He'd been training with me for weeks, and finally his work paid off. After five minutes, Liam hadn't even broken a sweat. He wasn't winded. Chase had his hands down by his sides and I could see him breathing through his mouth.

But my boy, Liam, he was golden.

Liam's line

I'm driving Liam to spend the night with Gigi and he tells me:

I don't get Tag. I like being "it." But I have to immediately go tag somebody? I'd be "it" the whole time.

I could only laugh and lean my arm through to the back seat: Give me five, buddy. You're "it," Liam. You're "it."

Personal Milestone

Just came home from the gym. Another notch of my milestones. I was having a great workout during my shoulder routine and managed to get to 140lb shoulder press on the freeweight machine. While I was in Atlanta, I started with 40lbs and could feel the obvious weakness in my lowerback and I used to think I could feel the bones in my right shoulder close to popping out of socket.

Two years and one storm later, I've more than trippled that weight. For me, it is an accomplishment. A new height I never thought I could reach. Another inch I've raised my personal bar.

MOVIE: Elektra (aka Uberturd)

Short version: Crappiest piece of crap ever crapped into a crapper.

Long version: Some ganked up Hollywood icehead actually believed the comic-reading public would be fond of an "action movie" where the first hour actually contains NO ACTION. Next, the now-utterly-bored viewers we supposed to swallow a ninja-trained, halter-top wearing professional assassin spontaneously developing a soft spot in her heart and having mercy on one of her targets because he's a single father. Then the four comic-junkies left in the audience are treated the most profoundly pussified super-henchmen to ever crap on the Big Screen. And finally, the grand conclusion is a drawn out pansy fest where the villains are they're so easily defeated that Liberace rose from the grave just to laugh at them and offer them pink purses to go with their little pink dresses.

With the release of Elektra, an all new level of suckitude has been reached. And a small piece of the universe has died because this flick saw the light of day.

I would rather perform an un-sedated vasectomy on myself with a George Foreman grill than see this movie again. Though I think the act of watching the whole thing has already rendered me sterile.

Personal Milestone

A new record today. I was doing my chest routine in the gym and hit 210lbs on the free weight machine. After taking off last week, I decided to see how well rested I was and hit the flat bench. While I was in Atlanta, working out with Kimmer, I could barely do a couple of reps of 130lbs, mostly with his help and a lot of straining. Today, I krept under the bar and banged out three sets of 130lbs. Without anyone spotting me. Without bursting a blood vessel.

It's only 130lbs, but it was a celebration for me. Something I'd never been able to do. And today I did it, alone.

Clan McDougal expands

Jason called. He was excited and they had just finished a visit with the OB/GYN. As you can guess: IT'S A GIRL!

They're going to name her Morgan A-Something McDougal. I'm sorry, Jay, I can't remember the middle name. I keep thinking about the initials: M.A.M.

Death in luxury

Cruising to work this morning. Trying to figure what God has in store of us this year. Last night I'm wearing shorts. Today it is 39 degrees. God has jokes. That's what I like about him. And when I go to meet him, I want to ride in a Cadillac. A sweet sweet, quad exhaust, fuel injected death ride like the one I see smoothing in front of me this morning. Black and slick and fine as the hair on a newborn's head. I don't think I've ever wanted to be in a hearse so bad. Pimpus Ex Mortis. Even had some tricked out rims and a stereo I could feel three car-lengths away.

That's how I want to go. Blasting some Iron Maiden, rolling in the 2005 Cadillac Deathmobile. And yea though I walk through the valley of Katrina, I shall fear no evil. For it will be a sweet ride in the end.

MOVIE: A Scanner Darkly

Ever since Beetle Juice, I've been waiting to see Winona's... um... talents. Twenty years worth of patience gets me the cartoon version. Works for me! That alone was worth the price of the rental.

Aside from other loathsome creatures who have been praying for a glimpse of Winona's... um... talents, I fear the only folks who will enjoy this flick are Philip K. Dick fans and animation fans. (Which means it was custom made for me!)

It was true to the original story.

The graphics were better than promised.

The acting and the... um... talents lived up to the hype.

Keanu indeed knows kung fu.

Another Year

Robert (Cindy's Dad) and Granny Pam came over today, for dinner.

I ate at least five servings of Cindy collard greens that Cindy fixed. They were absolutely  the best ones she's ever made. We're talking restaraunt quality stuff here.

And a very merry Happy Birthday to my Grandfather. 87 today. Sill kicking like Bruce Lee. Should have shared some collards with him!

The Bone Doctor

After many years away, I've returned to a chiropractor. My neck and shoulder have been torturing me for weeks. I have trouble sleeping. I have trouble sitting in one position for too long. I have trouble at times in Pilate's. And recently I've been getting these searing hot flashes in my lower back.

So I made an appointment and visited Doctor Jeremy Goulet
Jeremy (the young man in the white shirt, I don't the smiling kid on the left!) is the son of Gary Goulet, who has been known my father since they were in college, and he's adjusted them a few times a year for nearly two decades. So I called Jeremy and told him I was looking for an old school chiropractor. One who likes to get in there and move some bones. One I don't want is somebody who is going to hook me up to a car battery and try to jolt my muscles into regaining their old physique.

After our initial consultation, he brought out the xrays and gave me not one, but two surprises. First, my lower spine, which used to have a severe curve in the lumber region (including a pinched nerve between L4 and L5) is in great shape. There's no sign I ever had any problems. He couldn't tell I spent the better part of three years getting a severe case of Scolliosis corrected. He didn't see any reason the doctors wanted to put titanium rods along my spine. It looked great. The second surprise wasn't as welcomed. My neck is definitely started to deform.

We should have seen a nice curve, like this: )

Instead, we saw a sharp angle, almost like this: >

And it is that ever collapsing angle that is impacting my neck and shoulder. My years of doing yoga in Atlanta, GA, likely corrected my lumbar region, and my workouts the past year have keep it in good shape.

So he gave me an adjustment and lit up my day. I immediately felt the difference as I was walking out of the office. My head felt lighter. The muscles in my right shoulder weren't pulling up to my ear. My right hip was coming forward. I also arced to my left, because my right side felt so much lighter and more relaxed.

I'll certainly be seeing more of the bone doctor!

Tricked and untreated

Yesterday started off with a twist. Most of it in my stomach! I'm not sure what hit me or why, but as I'm driving to work in the morning, god reached down and decided to put me and my car inside an invisible washing machine and kick up the spin cycle. Within the course of a mile, I was nauseous, dizzy, and damn near blind as I struggle to a) figure out what is going on, b) what I'm going to do, c) how can I stay on the road without killing myself or a bus load of nuns. Fortunately god took pity on me in between his obvious chuckles and guided me home safely. All the way, my hands were gripped to steering wheel to the point of my knuckles turning white and my palms slick with sweat, I kept ramming my tongue against the roof of my mouth to keep from passing out, and I was panting like an eighty year old hound dog in the middle of August.

Cindy had made it home from dropping off Meg and was opening the door to see what I'd forgotten. Then she saw my face, and the way I was struggling to stay on my feet, while simultaneously keeping my hand over my mouth to hold down the surprise visitor and using the other hand to frantically open my dress shirt. Something clued her into the fact that she needed to get out of the way and I quickly staggered to the bathroom for an intimate conversation with the commode. Between heaves, I stripped down to the bare essentials. Finally ended up on the top of our bed, nearly delirious and telling my beloved not to call 911, I'd be okay if she just left me alone for a minute.

Three hours and several almost unremembered trips to the bathroom later, I woke up on the comforter, drenched in sweat, and mumbling for Cindy to call work to let them know I was alive, but not by the scientific measure of the word. And then I left the realm of the waking for another hour.

That was yesterday. And Halloween was little more than me sitting by the front door with my head in my hands, shuffling to bring a plastic pumpkin full of treats to the nearly three dozen goblins and ghouls who somehow knew to knock as loudly as possible and to scream their demands for candy at the top of their lungs. How my brain managed not to rupture from the onslaught, I may never know.

A Painful First

I'm still exhausted but now I'm depressed, too. Cindy and I did something today we never wanted to do. We put the kids in Day Care.

We went seven years and purposely worked opposite shifts so that we did not have to let somebody else watch our kids in any environment outside of our house. But we don't have any choice with our current schedule. It is only for a couple of hours, but I don't like it. Not one bit.

I won't let this last long!

Crippled

Everything hurts. Every bone aches. Every joint numb. Every muscle cramped and screaming with each step or twist. Definitely over did it yesterday. I couldn't even get comfortable enough to sleep. I feel like I got in a fight with a bag of bricks. Like some gang of knobby robots broke into my room last night and gang probed me.

We still have hours of work in our future.

And I am damn near crippled.

Moving day

Moving is only slightly less painful than getting sodomized with a dry monkey wrench.

All day and late into the night. Mom, Dad, Cindy, Gigi, Robbie, and me. We muscled through it. Ate cheap pizza. Drank too many sodas. But just after night threatened to make any more work impossible, we finished. Said our goodbyes. And wandered off with odd limps and dangling arms, like drunk zombies in need of fresssh brainsss.

I'm never moving again!

We'll call it: home

We bought the house on 37th Street. Two blocks from the kid's school. A mile from Gigi's house. Only two blocks from the property we were supposed to buy last year, on September 9th. It would have been Jason's birthday that day. Instead, the would-be home drank 5ft of water and we were all digging out from under Katrina's long mushroom cloud.

Other properties in the area are going for 20% - 30% more than they would have priced before the storm. I refused to act out of desperation and buy into an overprice house where the value would quickly drop to pre-Katrina prices in the near future and possibly even lower once newer sub-divisions are put on the market by the glut of developers invading the market. So we watched the owners of this property drop the price week by week, until it came into our range. And I bought it.

Built in 1964. Three bedrooms. Two bathes (one green and yellow, the other pink and blue.) It isn't the house we want. It is the best house we could get for the best price. But the yard is huge and there is plenty of potential to upgrade the place. Close to prime shopping, close a mall, close to all our parents and one of the best elementary schools on The Gulf Coast.

And it beats the hell out of a FEMA trailor.

Now it is: Home.

Shadow of an eclipse

I was running on the treadmill when a flashback crossed the room. I think it was Kelly. The girl I dated before Cindy.

It has been nearly fifteen years since I saw her. The height was right. The build was right (if you factor in more than a decade of accretion.) Straight, jet black hair. Alabaster skin. Our eyes caught for a half second as she strolled to the locker room. I looked down. To avoid further contact. And noticed the shoes. Slick like a drop of oil. A hint of a strap edging toward her calf. If I sometimes have a thing for odd footwear, I owe it to Kelly. She had hundreds of shoes.

Either she didn't recognize me, or didn't want to acknowledge me. She and her shoes kept walking. Would have been too odd to strike up a conversation with such an old ghost. A flimsy shell of a relationship. Never would have held if brought it into the light of day. She was too married. Still clinging to the mental trappings of an alcoholic ex-stripper. Too much of a pathological liar. And didn't posses the wits to form even remotely believable lies.

Our tango ended when I left for college.

She suggested we try a long distance dance.

I suggested I had no trust for a woman whose every second with me constituted a violation of her vows to her husband.

And a week later, I met Cindy.

But nobody sees a ghost without skipping a heartbeat. A sudden flush of blood to the neck and ears. Like a first kiss. A first sip of champagne. Yet the moment you try to grasp that distant souvenir, it is gone. Slips into the folds of your past. Dropping you back into the cold clutch of reality where your brain reminds your loins that you can't, and shouldn't, go back.

I watch the slow shadow of a mental eclipse creep across my sun and disappear into the locker room.

My vision returns.

I look up again. And silently finish my run.

Let loose the bird!

The Turkish Health Ministry reported that country's first battle with the H5 mutation of Bird Flu. President Ahmet Necdet Sezer authorized a tactical strike by the Türk Silahlı Kuvvetleri (Turkish Armed Forces) on H5. Which resulted in the country's worst defeat in a decade.

Studies on the genetic sequence of the viruses from tissue samples taken from H5 indicated they were "very similar" to H5N1 viruses found in birds in China, the organization said.

H5, high off of its stellar victory, fled into the country side, leaving the Türk Silahlı Kuvvetleri to licks it wounds and plan for another day.

Godzilla and King Ghidorah were unavailable for comment.

Behold: Scamitics

Scam - noun - a fraudulent or deceptive act or operation.

Politics - noun - a: the art or science of government b: the art or science concerned with guiding or influencing governmental policy c: the art or science concerned with winning and holding control over a government

Scam + politics = Scamitics: noun - a: the art of deceptively guiding and influencing government

Need a good example? Look no further than fabricated "distance" between the Bush Administration and today's self-confessed taker of bribes, tax evader, fraudster, and general maker of corruption: Jack Abramoff.

This guy was the Patron Saint Of Fund Raising for the GOP. He bought a restaurant (Signatures in D.C.) where he could freely wine and dine public officials. He had not one, but FOUR skyboxes for sporting events (at a cost of $1M per year) where he could spend a few intimate hours watching games of skill with public officials. He raised somewhere in the neighborhood of a quater million dollars for the Bush-Cheney re-election campaign, “And I haven’t even started making phone calls,” he told the Times. Not to mention the golf trips to SCOTLAND and $90,000 "vacations" to RUSSIA. All of it involving the GOP.

And today he confessed his guilt to charges including: conspiracy, honest services fraud, mail fraud, conspiracy and tax evasion stemming from influence-peddling scandals in Washington. Abramoff is also cooperating in a bribery investigation involving lawmakers, their aides and members of the Bush administration.

This, of course, is only the START. By some count, his fall from grace could drag down at least twenty members of Congress. And with little stretch of the imagination, this could reach all the way up to the top. Yes, the top. Duyba, Cheney, and Dark Sith Lord Rove.

And somehow, SOMEHOW, Tony Snow gets up on podium today and tries to convince us that Abramoff was some kind of lone gun. He was off doing his own thing, without directly meddling in the affairs of the current administration. "Sure, he was doing all kinds of illegal things, but not with us," Tony tries to say.

Scamitics at its finest. The art of deceptively guiding and influencing government. You know how I can tell they are lying these days? Their lips are moving. Behold: Scamitics.

Monday, grrr!

• As if Katrina wasn't enough, we have this little Tropical Storm ZETA to deal with. It's JANUARY and it is still alive, swirling in the Atlantic. It started in 2005 and has lived to see 2006. Only the second tropical storm to ever do that. Yet, global warming is a "theory," they tell us. Not concrete evidence that humans are impacting the environment.
• Northern CA is taking a beating, too. Another winter storm slamming down on them, causing mudslides and flashfloods and havok, oh my.
• In West Virginia, there are thirteen coal miners trapped underground after some kind of accidental explosion. This one isn't going to be pretty, trust me.
• In the OTHER Virgina, police are reporting that they discovered four bodies (father, mother, two children) in their basement with their throats cut. The discovery was made AFTER firefighters got there to put out the fire which was burning their home. Oddest of all, it was the drummer for the band Cracker that discovered the fire!
• We got a rampaging internet bomb exploding via compromised web pages and unpatched Instant Messaging clients. It didn't strike any of our systems at work, but we've been on high alert and fielding questions all day.

Other than that, I got nothin'. Too much running around. Too many meetings. Too many plans being made with too few people to carry them out. Par for the course, on Monday.

Doe's Long Strange Trip

Albert Dorine Kranz, "Doe" to most of us, was born on Sunday, January 1st, 1920. Being so young, he did not remember the hour. But he told me it was two days before Babe Ruth was traded to the New York Yankees. And two weeks before the United States applied the Eighteenth Amendment, ratifying the Prohibition Of Alcohol. And by the time he turned ten, the world as he knew it would be in the throws of The Great Depression.

Several wars, several hurricanes, several grandchildren, and two great grandchildren later, here he is. Celebrating his 86h birthday. We talk about how the time flies by for him, and how he doesn't understand what happened to the world. Too much technology he tells me. We don't do anything with our own hands any more. We don't talk face to face any more. He didn't like the telephone. Imagine how he'd feel about instant messaging or texting on the cell?

Tom Brokaw came up with the title, "The Greatest Generation" for those folks from 1911 - 1924. And in the wake of The Big Deuce, he helped sire "The Baby Boomers." From Prohibition & World War, to Love & Peace, to the Internet & Marylin Manson, it has been a long strange trip.