Woody Cavenaugh

Disclaimer: I am not a sports reporter. I have never really read any sports journalism. I am attempting to write about a sporting event I know amazingly little about. Be kind.
Over the weekend our very own Carolina Phoenix drove down 16 hours to Shreveport Louisiana to face off against the Shreveport Aftershock. The game was played at Independence Stadium, home of the Independence Bowl. Yes, that stadium, yes, that Bowl game. The Mayor of Shreveport, came out welcoming everyone to the IWFL season opener. Two IWFL executive council members were on hand, and even Carl "The Mailman" Malone was there enjoying the action.
The Phoenix is what is called an "X Team", a designation given to newer teams that don't yet have the player base, fan base, or sponsorship of other more established teams. In order to help prove themselves and earn street cred with the league, the teams, and the fans, the Phoenix has accepted several long range away games, of these Shreveport is one of the first. The team left Greensboro 8pm Friday night, drove through the night and were ready to play by 7pm Saturday night.
The Aftershock, being a more established team had a roster of twenty-six, a great stadium and four well dressed coaches. They were terrific hosts and the thirteen members and two coaches of the Phoenix would be happy to go back and play any time.
At the kickoff the Phoenix started with eleven on the field and two in reserve. They kept the ball deep in Aftershock territory even after two injuries on the line weakened the tight Phoenix defense. The Phoenix would spend most of the rest of the game with only 10 defenders on the field. The Phoenix defense errors always seem to come in threes and at the end of the first quarter the Aftershock slipped past and put six on the board. Their attempt at a two point conversion was stopped cold at the line of scrimmage, by the short handed Phoenix defense.
Late in the second quarter was a repeat of the first, three defensive errors by the Phoenix coupled with a strong offensive push put the Aftershock up 12 - 0. Again they went for the two point conversion, and again they were stopped cold just before halftime by an understaffed Phoenix defense.
Coming back from Halftime the Aftershock returned the kickoff for a touchdown bringing the score to 18 - 0, but the Phoenix didn't seem to notice. Their spirit could not be broken, even when another of their players went down. With six minutes left in the third the Aftershock score again, and again Carolina stops the extra point attempt. The score 24 - 0. Most teams at this point would likely have had morale problems, but the Phoenix were not phased. Even with half the roster of the Aftershock, they were playing twice as well as their previous season, and you could see their smiles from the stands.
In the forth quarter the Phoenix completes a great pass and runs 40 yards for a stand clearing touchdown, only to have it brought back for unclear reasons. Too late however, the Phoenix had tasted a touchdown and they would not be denied, scoring in the very next play. The final score, 24 - 6 Aftershock, and the promise of great things to come from the Carolina Phoenix.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 7:49 PM | Permalink

I awoke at 8am this morning a light rain falling on the roof of the house. I could hear birds chirping, and a certain corgie with a full bladder.

Something was different. I got up and my feet barely touched the floor. Normally the floor goans under my weight. I padded lightly out the front door and the corgie and I relieved our bladders. Ah...country life.

Lets see, no work today, no work Monday. No fencing tonight, no fencing tomorrow, no fencing Monday. No past deadlines, no weight of enormous responsibilities at work, no weight of enormous responsibilities at fencing, no since of failure at a job that is suddenly a stranger to me, no country-western music, no rap, no opera. No one really has any idea how much weight they are carrying until that moment they wake to discover it is gone.

What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen Woody?
I'll tell you later.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 5:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My fingers set the cruise with barely a notice. The small muscles of my fingers performed their task cued by the hum of the engine and the feeling of the tires on the highway. The air through the window just the right temperature, its scent of green wood, moist soil, and a promise of salty seas in the distance, a time for magic, and so I let it be so and I ran.

My four feet rode over the warm asphalt, my heart a mere shadow of what it once was, my eyes rose above the roofline below me plastic and aluminium, poor substitutes for cold iron and steel but I could remember, and as the road fell away below me my eyes kept level to the next hill and as the road rose to meet me I was not afraid for we were one even in my weakened state.

Over the sound of my heart and the voice of the wind, a song from my past of love and longing took me to a time and a place of my youth. A time when we felt our looks and our actions defined us, but truth told it was only a thin paper shell that held the raw and burning emotion that was what we truly were. The emotion of what was joined with the emotions of what are and the wind carried them away to a place where memories live. A place of monuments, mementos, and things left burried.

Through all that was right, all that was true and real and here and magic, it was but a shadow of what was, what should be, and what will be soon, and like all journeys, this one too ended. It was almost like old times. Almost like old times, not mocking, but a gentle but firm reminder of what was lost and what will be once again.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:24 PM | Permalink

Some of you may have noticed that I seem to be having a rather craptastic week. That would be true. I would give you the play by play from my horoscope who this week seems to mock me with its "I told you so attitude". However I can't because it only keeps a day of history. Its attitude seems to be "Put your behind in your past." I do not need attitude from a horoscope.

So suffice it to say that Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday were pretty much like Yesterday. Blah blah emotion. Blah blah feelings. Blah blah why don't you shut the blah up already!!!

It's time to move into unfamiliar waters of emotional intensity, even if you are frightened by what you don't understand. Just because you don't think you are capable of enjoying this irrational journey, don't shut out the possibility of having an incredible experience. Get out of the noise inside your head and sink into the feelings of your heart. As long as you are willing to communicate, the complexity will simplify in the days ahead.

What I know is I had to take a couple of mile walk at a brisk pace on Wednesday and ended the day with a 15 piece box of fried chicken, 15 jalapeño poppers, a pound of fried okra, and a xenecal. I know I did I fencing demo where at least my body was on task and professional. My mind and my emotions were running north and south I only hope I didn't make an ass of myself in front of my friends...again. I got home and my body, being the one on task hurt all over. It was a good pain. It was the kind that focuses you on what's important. I slept well and dreamed of a place that doesn't exist anymore. I am willing to forgive my whimsy for that on account of this is a new day.

Today's Friday, my legs feel like I went for a walk in a swamp with a house on my shoulders. Come to think of it, my shoulder's have felt like that all week. Pain is weakness leaving the body and a bitter man is a strong man. I carefully groomed my look today to say to everyone watching, I fear NOTHING, not even your pitiful ridicule.

My horoscope says today:

One of the problems you may be facing is how to maintain your freedom of movement while simultaneously stabilizing your security. You may not want to give up either your independence or your emotional attachments. Just remember that others cannot solve your irresolvable conflicts. No drastic action is required by you or anyone else now as long as you stay in touch with your feelings.

Even your most positive thoughts are anchored in reality now as you can see the importance of working within the structures. Trust these cautious feelings, for this may not be the best time to upset the apple cart. Find a way to express your rebellious streak without actually rebelling. Remember, towing the party line today won't necessarily prevent you from turning everything inside-out on another day.

And I say it can go to hell, I'm making a new day for myself and that goes for tomorrow too.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 8:56 AM | Permalink

Which do you choose?

You need something:

1. You have a lesser version of it that could be upgraded to give you everything you want. It will take time and money though because you have to order and install the upgrades.

2. You can just go out and get a new one that does it all, it might cost a little more in the end but you have it right away instead of having to wait.

Which do you choose?

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 4:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

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So I'm going to get a bucket of chicken and a bottle of anything. See if I don't!

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 3:54 PM | Permalink

In light of recent events at Virgina Tech, gun crazies from all sides of the issue are all screaming "SEE I TOLD YOU SO" like hungry baby birds. They should all be hung from the yardarm by their feet, each and every one. They should be hung by alternating views so finally they will realize once and for all that they actually have something very important in common.

The Second Amendment to the US Constitution states that: "A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed." Wikipedia to the rescue.

The emphasis on this statement has been skewed in my opinion. These days people seem to read it like this:"A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed."

What I think we need to do is step back and restore balance by focusing on this emphasis for a while: "A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed."

What I'm saying is that gun control is not the issue. (And I'm sick to death of both sides saying it is.) Lack of service in the militia is. You want to carry, then you have to have served in the militia. If you have served in the militia you are highly trained. Not so much as a combat soldier, but way more than your typical gun safety class. Think of it as a cross between the national guard and the sheriff's office, with a dollop of community watch on top. No, this would NOT be the military. The military couldn't be involved really. It would be conflict of interest. The military serves the government and the whim of the commander and chief. The militia serves the people.

During your stint you would be available to be called upon by the police or the national guard to serve during local disasters. I wouldn't even mind it being required, knowledge is power.

For those pointing fingers of blame at the tools, I say the real issue is the lack of knowledge of their uses. You can be sure that in situations like work place shootings if there were militia trained people around the end result would be less damage not more. Even if no militia person in the room was actually carrying a weapon, they would be more trained to respond correctly a violent attacker.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 2:16 PM | Permalink

If you can't walk, you crawl. If you've crawled your last your friends will be there to carry you the rest of the way home.

I have very good friends.

Divisional Qualifiers for Div II/III nationals was this weekend and every one of our fencers fenced above and beyond the call. We even had two injured fencers out there excelling in spite of their pain. Every single fencer we fielded fenced above my every expectation, except maybe one and he's excused on the grounds that he is perfect. Long story.

One of my fencers even gave me a t-shirt. I can't wear it, but it wasn't ever her intention to give me something to wear. Her goal was to give me something that I had to work towards wearing. Well played nurse!

After I left, Sara bought a lawn mower. It was supposed to be delivered today at 4pm. Instead I had to drive home from work at 9am to receive it. So if I don't have to drive Sara home from work today, I will have driven 88 miles. If I do, 132 miles. But at least we have a lawn mower. It has a beer holder. I can't wait to mow the grass. Forget the grass, I can't wait to drink the beer. And when you can't walk you crawl, and when your done crawling, you mow the lawn.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 10:37 AM | Permalink

If you read the last entry, I was just saying how completely burned out I was and how much I was dreading going to divisionals until the late hours of the night to cast my vote and turn in my proxies.

Well, I got there. Nothing left to do but pick up the scoring box and reels out of the trunk and go inside. Maybe I'll call home and see how Sara's doing first.

Sara was dizzy but fine. I hang up and the phone immediately rings. Its Cameron. Damn. They must be inside wondering why I didn't come strait over after class. Class ended at 4 and it was 5, but I had to go to the office and get the proxies. Here's how the conversation went.

Cameron: Where are you?
Woody: I'm in the parking lot.
Cameron: It's over.
Woody: You are finished fencing?
Cameron: No, its all over. The meeting and everything.
Woody: PAUSE...... [EXPLECTIVE DELETED]
Cameron: What?

Well, lets just say that the next few sentences were made up entirely of four letter words.

Done? Oh yeah, totally [EXPLECTIVE DELETED] done. Poof. I'm going home. I'm going to bed. Don't expect to see me before next weekend.

I get out of the car and carry the box and reels inside. I honestly felt lower than a dinner sized snake. No question. And suddenly there I was surrounded by friends again. Ash, extenguish, fly again.
My day ended in good company at a Mongolian Barbecue place. Its been a good day.

Now to rest, foil is Monday ya know.

*sniff* *sniff* Does anyone else smell smoke?

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:20 PM | Permalink

I started this week tired emotionally. There was a lot of fencing in it, and a lot of failures at work in it. I had wanted to fence foil and epee in divisionals today however, I knew foil was going to be impossible because I had a class to teach. No problem, I dropped out of foil.

By Thursday I was so burned out that I dropped out of Sunday's epee competition. I could use a day off. By Friday I didn't even want to go to divisionals on Saturday after teaching class. Then I got volunteered to do some good will community fencing demonstration.

By Friday night at fencing, hiding behind a balance beam, I made the decision to stop fencing on Fridays. Most Fridays there is enough coverage they could do without me. You can teach a class with as few as one coaches, it is very difficult but I do it every week so I know it is possible.

When I woke up on Saturday morning I had to take Sara into Greensboro and back home again. She couldn't drive due to her ear infection, but she had to be at practice long enough to fulfill some of her obligations. I can respect that. Woody knows obligations. While sitting in the car waiting for her I spent some quality time thinking about dropping out of Monday's foil class. It is pretty smooth, and I would always be available to cover for Mario should he be out sick.

Then we did our community thing. I'm tired, but I have two classes to teach, then I have to go to Divisionals, as our clubs representative. I was dreading it. The first class wasn't so bad. They are a bunch of young children 9-12 and all you had to do is keep repeating the same thing over and over again while they did just exactly the opposite. Good times. At the end of class the parents all came up to me and complimented me on my amazing patience. They half joked about me double dosing on Xanex before class so I could do it. I told them that I was drug free, I just spend my time in class daydreaming about killing them all on the end of a sharp sword. It was a lie, but it was funnier than the truth. Truth be told was entirely too beat down to even care anymore. Go ahead set the room on fire, who cares.

Then the second class started. There are ,as you must know, moments where something happens and no matter what your spiritual slant you comment to yourself, "Wow, there must be a god." I am pretty sure god loves me, and made that class far better, more fun, and more relaxing than any class could possible be without either divine help or chemical adjustment. Heaven or Rum, the end result was the same. They brought me back from the brink and I am very thankful. More than any of them will ever realize. I think there may have even been a tear.

Yeah, I still sort of dread divisionals, however I think that class gave me the strength to make it through the election tonight.

It was important enough that I came here and blogged about it rather than go strait there. OK, it might also be stalling, but I think it is true from the heart gratitude and I'm sticking to that story.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 4:22 PM | Permalink

Just wanted you all to know that the Carolina Phoenix are training hard for their first game April 28th in Shreveport Louisiana. They now have a website where you can keep up with the teams goings ons.

As always, if you or someone you know is a woman over the age of 18 and interested in playing football, the team needs members. Send them on over!

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 3:01 PM | Permalink

I happened to catch this article from The Sun. The Sun is a tabloid paper from the UK, so I was prepared to take what I saw with a grain of salt. The gist of the article is that the furry subculture is getting traction in Britten. The pictures in the article were supposed to be proof, but I tend to have my doubts that these are the costumes that are lighting up the bedrooms of British households.

Furry, is just one more of those subcultures I don't understand like Scientology, Filipinos, Evangelical Christian Republicans, or The JCs. I figure I can't be alone here so I went out and educated myself and I'm willing to share my new found knowledge with you.

Wikipedia to the rescue! So what I learned was that these people enjoy dressing up in plush animal costumes looking for all the world like cartoon characters. That doesn't seem so bad. I have been looking at the pictures from the conventions and it is clear that the costumes are elaborate, expensive, time consuming to make and possible uncomfortable to wear. But they are plush, and they come in many colors. They are also organized enough to have their own Wiki, which they call WikiFur. These costumes are inspired by cartoons, comics, and the fertile imaginations of people who have looked at an animal and seen a piece of themselves. It boils down to having an animal themed costume party.

But there is something weird going on. I have to admit, I was really intrigued by all the pictures of the costumes that I have seen. That takes talent folks. These are not costumes picked up from the costume shop. These are cool. So being a follower of the interwebs, I did what anyone else would do if I wanted to see more pictures of people in their furry costumes. I did a Google image search for furry. DO NOT DO THIS.

Apparently, there are two sides to everything. There are the really cool costumes and the conventions on one side and on the other is an infinite amount of cartoon animal human hybrids having sex. Its weird... The costumes in the photo's are all plush and kid friendly and stuff. The art is all tight fitting and... anatomically correct...it is like there are two different sides of the Furry Force out there, one side sews and the other side draws, the only thing they have in common is a love of animals and a talent with their hands.

Based on what I have learned today I have no desire to go find stuff out for a while. Who knows what horribly scaring thing I might learn about evangelical Christian republicans. I don't think I can go there right now. Curiosity has made this cat crawl under a table and rock.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:02 AM | Permalink

I am not afraid of being laughed at. My name is Woody and I hit 200 pounds in the fifth grade. Ridicule is like huffing up a set of stairs for me. I survive it every day. Thus I am willing to share with the five or six people who actually read me this funny story.

It starts with underwear.

About once a year I have to go out and replace that underwear which has given its all in the previous year in the name of containment, and come out the worse for it. I typically wear boxer briefs. Boxers bind, there is too much cloth in the legs and I can't walk in them. Briefs are just that, besides fear of fallout, there are issues of chafing which happens when you have thighs of my size. Boxer briefs are snug enough not to bind and low enough to protect.

Typically I choose black. They don't show stains like white, and they look enough like bike shorts I can strip down in a parking lot and put on other pants without people realizing I'm in my undies in public. Its a handy thing. This year I fell in love with a pair of green and gray striped that just said "Pirate Underpants" to me. Plus they'll be totally obnoxious under my white knickers.

I was looking for more of the same when something glinted in the light at the edge of my vision. I turned to face a rack of shiny spandex underwear of a type I had never seen before. They were in terrific colors and I knew I had to get me some of that action! They were called trunks. I had never heard of this style but they were certainly stylish and did what I needed them to do. Protect me from fallout, and chafing, without binding or making me look like a dork. Mission accomplished.

Last night in Foil I was wearing a pair of green ones. It was great. Like wearing nothing at all. I fenced all evening thinking how good my choice was. Trust the superhero's, they know their underwear.

In the locker room, I stripped down to my undies and my t-shirt still thinking how awesome it was to find these most excellent underwear. Although...come to think of it, they seem to be a might drafty. I glanced down and there was my junk looking back up at me, like "dude, turn the heat on". Wait a minute?! I was sure I put on trunks this morning. I pulled my t-shirt up some more.

Oh...so that's why the superhero's always wear their tights under their trunks.

Still, they beat the immortal stuffing out of boxer's or briefs. And they are way dead sexier than boxer briefs. Life is about compromise. I'm thinking about going back for some more.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Same as it ever was... The future of America, rest in the hands of bunch of kids who can't read. Either that or choose not to obey in the hopes they will be hit so they can sue, and live the lower class American dream.

This is us in the car herding idiot children. Where are we?

Just past this sign.

Every freakin' morning. Same thing.
We even have a theme song
Rawhide!

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 10:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Sometimes life is stranger than fiction. As a holiday rolls around celebrating the resurrection of a Christian prophet, children, who have been up since before sunrise, frolic around in fancy new cloths (covered this year by very warm coats), looking for highly decorated eggs and gifts from the Easter Bunny. You've got to admit, you take a step back and look at for what it is its pretty weird. Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan. I grew up in that world and it is sacred to me. I miss decorating the eggs, I miss the chocolate, and I miss standing outdoors surrounded by people all wearing new cloths. No, as a matter of fact, I don't miss it enough to go back. The religious holidays as a whole have been ruined for me by the people who celebrate them.

For instance I submit stuff like this. You have a Mormon church where a group of peaceful Christian non-Mormon types try to have intelligent discourse with a group of people whose religion is exactly the same except for the extra profit. This situation gets crashed by a bunch of wandering profits who are not so much preaching fire and brimstone as bragging "Nah Nah, I'm going to heaven and you aren't!" The wandering preachers are not interested in discourse, they are not interested in brotherhood, they are out and about passing judgment willy nilly. They don't like the Mormons, and they don't like the peaceful Christian discourser's. Their message is "You go to hell, you go to hell and you die, and I'm not. Ha ha! Praise King James." Needless to say this didn't end peacefully.

I have always found it ironic that in a world where the major religions all share the same god, so much can be made over little things.
"Thank you for choosing God how may I take your order?"
"Hi, thanks I'd like to order a single god who created everything, a heaven and a hell."
"Would you like a side of prophet with that?"

Your choices are none, one, two, or three. Technically even if you pick none, you actually get a profit or two free of charge like ketchup on your burger, but the metaphor holds. So most of the world is going to the exact same fast food drive up. They are all getting the same main course and picking their side dishes as they choose. By the time you get back into traffic with your holy happy meal, you're ducking fire from the guy behind you who saw that you picked the onion rings instead of the small fries. Meanwhile there's a guy with a yogurt and diet coke whose about to drop a bomb on the whole damned intersection.

Since I have discovered ebooks, my reading has gone from one book a year with good behavior to reading every moment I can so long as the battery holds out. I read enough strange facts and persistent rumors at work, so for pleasure I read science fiction and fantasy. Its funny, in our world more people have died over the choice of which prophet to follow than anything else, yet in the fantasy novels you can have three people with three completely different religions with absolutely nothing in common and they always get along.

The book I am reading now, three friends, one's family god is a god of sheep herders, one's god was a soldier who died in battle and ascended to godhood because of his valor, the thirds god came from the first living thing. One of them gets hurt, the other two go out of their way help the victim pray to their god, for help. "Please hear my prayer, though I am not one of your followers, my friend is, they have been hurt bad and need you please watch over them."

Meanwhile in reality: "Mix an evangelical Baptist, a crotchety Mormon, Good Friday, and a motorized wheelchair. What do you get? An entry in the police blotter". Leave it to a FARK submitter to sum it up best.

My Easter message? Why can't we all just get along and celebrate our differences? Its because you're stupid isn't it?

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:32 AM | Permalink

I don't know why this suddenly bothers me. Its not like I am ever surrounded by pregnant women. But someone needs to take a stand. Its a tough row to hoe, but I am just the Joe to hoe it. Woody, defender of the pod people.

There are laws folks. If I grope someone, at best I get my face slapped, and a simple assault charge. At worst, its sexual assault, and lord help me if she's under age. These are good laws, and they aren't a surprise to anyone. One of the earliest things you are taught as a toddler is no hitting, no pinching, no biting, no bad touch. And tell an adult if someone touches you. If you see someone groping someone else against their will you help the victim get free of the attacker. Its chivalry. Its personal space. Its proper civilized behavior. Its not just a good idea, its the law.

So why oh why does society tell us it is OK for one and all to grope pregnant women? Is the baby bump some sort of sign that she's impure and therefore community property? Everywhere I've ever seen a woman with one in the oven I have seen people, friends, coworkers, and total strangers who suddenly feel entitled to rub the buda's belly without any warning, or permission. Do you think these woman suddenly want you stroking the fruit of their loins just because it grows ripe? Hell no! It wasn't OK before and it isn't OK now.

You have been warned. Don't make me go over there.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 7:27 AM | Permalink

Back in the day I was an instant fan of Men at Work and I still proudly own all their albums. That's right, vinyl. Old school. I was pretty broken up when the band broke up, but I happen to luck up one day and see that the lead singer Colin James Hay had released a solo album, "Looking For Jack". It was awesome.

Sadly I never heard of another release and he drifted into obscurity in my mind. Another great performer bites the dust. The problem, it turns out wasn't that he stopped making music. The problem was he was in Australia, and I was in Podunk USA buying my music from Roses.

Fans of the show Scrubs brought to my attention that there was this guy Colin Hay that was performing songs for the show and sometimes in the show. I caught a link from Youtube and it turned out it was the same guy, only better.

Time has a way of making male performers voices richer, and their lyrics better. This was true for Sting, Billy Joel, and others. It was also true for Colin Hay. Plus he is one of those rare performers who sounds exactly the same way live as he does in the studio.

One of the first tracks I have heard in my rediscovery has been "Beautiful World". I don't know if it is mostly the sound, mostly the lyrics, or the package as a whole. It pretty much is exactly the song I want to hear because it feels like the song which describes how I'm feeling. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the song as much as I do. Check it out below, in this live performance. You know, it really is a beautiful world.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

My dear old grandfather Matthews used to tell me, "What you get out of life is what you eat." He started complaining in his late 60's that food just didn't taste good anymore, he died at 74. I suspect by this time he had even forgotten what food tasted like.

As a baby my parents adopted a simple philosophy given to them by the family doctor. How much do you feed a baby? You feed them until they stop eating. The same advice held while I was a toddler and child too. I had to clean my plate, and once clean I could choose to refill it again with as much of whatever I wanted, I just had to eat it all.

As a child my grandfather often remarked that any boy who liked fried chicken that much was destined to be a preacher. In his day, when the preacher came to dinner, you served fried chicken and the preacher got to have all the best pieces and as much as he wanted. As a child I started with the legs, then the thighs, than the breasts, and finally the wings. I couldn't have the neck or back. That was my father's domain (the youngest son of six), and he would fight tooth and nail for his pieces.

These days I've got an eight piece addiction that just won't quit. I can go weeks without it, but then one day I get the shakes and nothing will cure it except good old southern fried chicken. These days I start with the thighs, then the breasts, than the wings. I try to leave the legs for Sara, but if she isn't around, they too fall to my insatiable hunger.

Cookies? Who needs them. Cake? Not interested? Donuts? I stopped eating Krispy Kremes cold turkey and haven't looked back. Sausage? Seldom. Spare Ribs? Sparingly. Fried Chicken? Eight piece box, no biscuits, no sides, and a large diet coke please.

Henri, who is the face you see when you look into the abyss, says she's going to throw Fried Chicken strait in. "OK." I told her. "I can practice my high dive going after it." How many pieces of chicken will I catch doing an infinite number of half gainers while falling through the abyss? I'm ready to find out. Though I suppose I ought to tie a napkin around my neck first. Actually make it a cape. I'm a messy eater.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 7:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

There is a new guy working in my office, and today I happened to mention that I was from the coast. To this he asked, "Where?" I replied, "Newport."

His eyes got wide and, I realized that perhaps he thought I was referring to some other larger Newport, so I asked him, "Which Newport do you think I'm talking about?"

He responded "Newport NC...My wife was from there?"

Wow. Newport is a small town with only about three thousand living in it. In reality Newport is little more than a town you pass through to get to the beach. Home of the Newport Pig Cooking Contest, and on the flight approach of Cherry Point Naval Air Station.
As such I know, knew really (it has been fifteen years since I called Newport my place of residence) everyone in the town at least name or face. So I asked him, "Whose your wife?"

His response; "Her last name was Hemingway."

Well there is only one family by that name in Newport and their youngest son was my best mate growing up riding motorcycles in the woods of the surrounding Crystal Coast countryside.

Yep. This guy had married one of my old friend's older sisters.

Found out he got married again. That makes me happy, he is a good guy and his last wife did him poorly. That is not to say that he was innocent. He is the one who picked his other best friend's little sister as a wife. Still, I can't be happier for him. I suppose I ought to look him up or something.

Small worlds indeed.

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 4:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Amazing what a little air in the tires can do for one's disposition. Basically, there is only about a half dozen little cleaning and maintenance things left to do. Once I have done things like vacuum out the trunk and wipe down the back seat, everything else will require a battery.

Soon my precious....

Posted by Woody Cavenaugh at 9:40 AM | Permalink