Woody Cavenaugh

After last night sitting in a parking lot removing my left front tire, again, to put the belt back on, again, I decided that today would be the day I took the car in to be fixed. I never like taking the car in when I don't know exactly what's wrong, because I like to know the difficulty level and ball park cost before putting it in. However, I'm sick and darned tired of the belt popping off because one of the pulleys occasionally freezing up just long enough to put tension on the belt, tug the tensioner, and free up suddenly causing a a pop and off with the belt.

So today is the day! Transfer some of the tools etc over to the truck. Now we'll take the truck to the gas station to get the in bad need of being replaced tires filled with air. The truck doesn't start....damn. Acts like the battery, pop the hood, oh look, corrosion on the battery. Brush off the terminals and jump start. OK, we should be good now. Off to get air.

We leave the truck running, turn the car off, put air in the truck tires. Go to restart car. Guess what jumps off. My blood pressure can now be measured in PSI. Screw this noise, call AAA. We have an hour wait, so we turn the truck off. On a whim we check the truck again. Yup. Didn't start. So now we are at a convenience store with two non-working vehicles. I go inside and buy Murphy a 40.

I am pretty sure the battery is good but the terminals could use some cleaning. Cleaning the terminals I am shocked to find that the stock terminal clamps are pretty crappy and in this case completely worn out. On the negative post, it is even broken. I go back into the convenience store and buy a package of hose clamps. Once the post and wires were clean of corrosion, I used the hose clamps to tighten the wires on the battery terminals. Worked like a charm. Who's the man? McGuiver for teaching me to think outside of the box.

AAA shows up, and tows the car in a large spiral to the AAA service center. They can get to the Saturn today, cool. Now to go get the terminals fixed, and buy a set of tires, and check to see if the wheels are safe and sound. (They are rusted enough that I think the previous owner drove it on the beach.) The man at the AAA desk says, "Hey, you know we do that too."

So I'm sitting in the waiting room right now of the AAA service center in the most comfortable waiting room chairs ever created. I have wireless access, I'm walking distance from a Starbucks. This ain't a bad way to spend a really crappy morning.

Course.....I haven't paid the bill yet...

Mental note, the Fairlane now has a greatly boosted priority level. Sure it gets 16 stylish miles to the gallon, but two working vehicles are clearly not enough for the two of us when both end up in the shop at once. Hey, it will cost less than a replacement vehicle, and way more styling than an econo-box.

Posted by at 11:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today was a day marked by one of man's lesser know noble pursuits "improvisation". The plan was to fix the water break and continue on with the list. Before breakfast this morning the plan went swimmingly. I put on a pot of beef ribs for my dinner. Then I put on a pair of work gloves and I commenced to shoveling. I now have a partial mote around the front of the house in front of yesterday's water break. The dirt I dug from the mote I added to the wall of yesterday's toils. I also have blisters on my right hand the likes of which I hadn't seen since puberty. You can take that however you like.

Breakfast, three hot biscuits covered in strawberries topped with whipped topping, was had. It was as yummy as it sounds. So here I was ten AM, my hands near bleeding. Shoveling is out of the question for the rest of the day. Fine, I can get out the mower and do some mulching. By the time I got to the mower shed, I realized that it was too wet still for mulching. Before I realized it, I was, shovel in hand planting a dozen black walnuts. Should society collapse, my children will have a source of black die, and some highly nutritious nut meat. If society doesn't collapse my children will have black hands from getting the nut meat out, and some of the tastiest baked goods to be had.

From there I fell in on digging up an old Primestar dish. the company might not have survived the 90's and I have no idea what their service was like, but I will say this for them. They put the dishes in for the long haul. I dug until I hit concrete, I dug around the concrete. I broke a two by four in three places trying to use it to break the thing lose. This would be a job for a 4X4 and a chain but it was wet out, and the tires on the truck are getting a little thin. I had no desire to do all that work getting the truck into place with the chain only to slide across the surface of the ground frictionlessly. So I dug some more and finally decided to quit. My right hand was hurting and I needed some water.

While drinking my water and nursing my weaknesses, I noticed that the bumble bees were hard at work trying to tear my porch down. So I waged war against the bees with a tub of grease. I think I packed enough grease in every hole. I'll know tomorrow.

Today would be a perfect day being all wet and all to move those cedars, however for the moment I should avoid any more shovel work. Maybe I'll take a nap. Yeah, you know that actually sounds like a swell idea. Be back later.

Later: After my nap, I sent the beef ribs through the BBQ sauce and across the flames. Then I played a little Unreal Tournament while I waited for the sauce to caramelize. Oh joy! Oh Rapture! I could not eat more than seven at a standing. That leaves one lonely rib taunting me. victory will be mine. I just need to rest up first. Once the beef broth cools I'll skim off the tallow and make my soup. This I will freeze. I am not feeling soup right now. Heck I can't even polish off the last rib right now.

I'm feeling the urge to mark something off my list. I suppose I should put my pants back on, waddle outdoors and give it another go. No shovel this time. I'm serious.

Annoyingly useless Primestar dish, you now face The Tick. I had been thwarted earlier, but I am not the kind of guy to stay thwarted long. Clever monkeys took a lesson from the Egyptians. Creating a false door, or in this case a false concrete slab. Mortal men would have gotten the first foot thick slab out of the way and finding it was for nothing would give up. I am not mortal men. I came at it from the west side, and it mocked me. No one mocks me from the west like that. I went to the north side and it mocked me no more. I took a victory lap around the back yard dragging my prize, eighteen inches of forbidden concrete wrapped around the base pole of an annoyingly useless Primestar dish. I thought briefly of taking the receiver module as a trophy, but I am not a man to take trophies. They just end up cluttering up the place and need constant dusting. But I was left with a hole. What to do...what to do. I could use this hole to place a time capsule so when future space men opened up the hole to see the surprise left from the past they would find me. It was a good plan. So I filled the hole with the shattered pieces of the dish itself and covered that with shattered concrete and less shattered dirt. I'll show those future spacemen who was boss.

Now I'm all tired and sweaty again. Good thing I've been wearing the same cloths since Friday. Can you imagine the laundry load this would have created otherwise? Think I'll break out an ice cold cider and savor my victory. But only one, The conquering heroine returns tonight and I have to pick her up in the boro at Midnight tonight.

Its 5pm and the thunderstorms from the west are right on schedule. I guess I'll upload now. If you are keeping score at home, I completed nine of seventeen tasks on my list. Also, if by chance on Sunday evening right around 6pm you think you may have heard, right at the edge of hearing, a wail of heartfelt angst and despair...that was me. It means the water break is still broken.

Posted by at 5:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was dreaming that the corgi and the three cats were performing a cover of Motley Crew's "Cum on Feel the Noiz". It was really awful. They had no harmony whatsoever, and the dog didn't even know the lyrics. Finally I woke up. Unfortunately the cacophony didn't end there. The four animals were camped outside the bedroom door demanding that my lazy butt get up and put food in their waiting bellys. It was 10am and I was really worried about what moving was going to be like. I started slowly being careful not to make any sudden movements. No soreness. Cool. Who knew bananas and cider were such magical foods.

Satisfied I wouldn't find myself in excruciating pain, I shut the animals up with their breakfast. I then put on a pot of coffee and a pot of country style pork ribs. Breakfast for me doesn't begin until after the coffee is finished. Or at the very least I'm halfway through my last cup.

By the time I was ready to go out and begin working it was noon. Noon you say? I've wasted half the day away! Well, yes and no. I am in what I will optimistically call "amazingly poor physical condition". I know that it will take only a few hours of toil to completely destroy me. Would I rather lay panting in the shade of the front porch in broad daylight with hours of good daylight to go, or would I rather find myself laying panting in the shade of the front porch at dusk? I vote dusk. That way it at least feels like I've put in a full day of work.

Some see the glass half full, others half empty, I prefer to see free refills.

This is what I started with.

First thing I figured I ought to do is get the leaves out. Time to get the mower and the bagger. The mower had a dead battery so instead I got a battery charger and drop cord...then I got a rake. It turned up all the things I thought it would. Big black lizards with yellow racing stripes, little gray frogs, and tiny brown snakes. Those who know me know that snakes and I do not get along. As a child the sight alone of a snake would awaken my mutant powers of speed and teleportation. It also sent me into a blind panic. As I have grown I have slowly gone from always giving the snake right of way to what is now, the opinion that I'm here and you have to move on. I have shoulders. I win. If the snake disagrees, I'll still let him have his way of course. But I don't kill them. I'm soft hearted I guess. I'm sure if I was given a reason to kill a snake I would. Like if I were bitten. I would kill it before my heart exploded. The poison wouldn't stand a chance. My final thoughts would be of exploding and killing every snake in a quarter mile radius.

It was a good day. The lizards went away, the frogs went away, the snakes went away, and the leaves went away. Well, the leaves went away from the immediate area I was working in. Step two required a shovel. I still hadn't quite worked out which side of the water break the planters would go. I sort of wished my dad was there to lend me his advice. Probably his advice would be to get some dynamite and put in a real garden and not mess around with stupid flower boxes. Quickly I realize though, after digging up shovel full after shovel full of worms, if my dad had been there we would have filled a gallon pail with worms and made fast to the river where he would wage war against the river monsters great and small. On second thought, probably better he wasn't here.

I quickly realized that this project would require four more window planters, which will wait until pay day so I can figure out what to put in them. I opened up my giant bag of organic dirt to notice that it warned against using it in planters. Crap. I also noticed where it said not to touch the soil and to wear garden gloves. Crap. Literally. It is organic after all. Don't worry, I didn't get any on me!

I realized that I needed a break. I also needed a couple of things so I headed for the store to get the stuff I needed. On the way there I drank a bottle of water, on the way back I drank a bottle of hydrating sports drink. Once back I did the finishing touches on the last of the work I intended to do today. It was 4pm, 85 degrees in the shade, 83 degrees indoors. I sat down on the porch with a cider and I surveyed my hard work. I got out my list of seventeen items to accomplish this weekend and I marked off numbers six and seven. Mayhaps this is a multi-weekend task list.

Here's what I ended up with. Looks like crap don't it.

It really needs a truck full of pine bark mulch I can't afford. I will instead use the leaf mulch I will make with the lawn mower tomorrow. Yes, I know, bad idea, but cut me some slack I'm making lemon aid here.

The thunderstorm rolled in at 5pm. I sent a second cider down to see what happened to the first cider and I came inside to write this and get it published. Once done, I'll go back to the porch and watch the storm a while and cool off. My blisters have blisters. Worse yet, most of them are on my right hand. I do all my favorite things with my right hand. The computer mouse you pervs! I'm far too and hot tired to do anything else. I may have to call on a third cider to make sure the first and second are safe and well.

At any rate, during the hour and ten minutes it has taken me to upload these photos, I have had a first hand opportunity to see how my new water break faired. To sum up: I think I made it worse. So here's a plant stand with a gnome sleeping in it.

Posted by at 4:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

With Sara off conquering Florida, I found I would have a few days to myself to do whatever. My first thought of course was to do nothing. My second thought was that I do that every day. Sara's gone for three days and I should do something I haven't done in a long time. Something that won't get me arrested, won't get me divorced, and maybe get me out of the house a little.

So today, being Friday, I played hooky from work. Yeah, it wasn't all that spontaneous. I announced my intention to play hooky on Tuesday during a staff meeting. That night I bought a family pack of country style pork ribs for my weekend. First thing this morning when I woke up, eight in the morning, I think. I made up a pot of coffee and I sat outside on the porch and I surveyed all that was before me and I let a plan form. Then I went shopping.

You can't make an omelet if you don't break a few eggs. If eggs were dollars I broke a whole bunch of them. However, being my father's son, I shopped twice, purchased once, and had a good lunch. I said I was going to do stuff that I couldn't otherwise do with Sara home. So, not only did I shop in stores without buying anything, I had a lunch buffet. Oh I am such the rebel.

My starting plan was to do some square foot gardening in boxes to the left and right of the front porch. The best boxes I could find for the job were nearly $40.00 each. So to stay in budget the best I could do was maybe buy two boxes so at least it would remain symmetrical. I suppose every month I could add two more, and then by winter I could have my whole garden finally in the ground. But there is also this pesky problem I'm having with drainage. OK, new task, I need to do something about my drainage problem. Water from the driveway shouldn't be able to wash down the driveway, up the ramp and deposit red clay on my doormat. It shouldn't but it does, and I need to fix that too.

New plan. Lets see if we can fix the drainage problem with a garden. Dad always said that if man made it, man could fix it. I'm not sure if man was totally responsible for my drainage problem, but they had enough of a hand in it that I felt like I had a fair shot at fixing it, or at the very least, not making it worse.

When I got home from a really relaxing day of shopping, eating, and planning, I still had two hours before I had to be at fencing. That gave me time to install a couple of shelves in the man cave, organize that, and what do you know, I still have time to do one other small task.

I chose the task "pave the end of the walk". The ramp to the house ends and the original builders put in some round flat concrete stones to bridge the gap between the end of the planking and the drive way proper. Due to the fact that the slats on the ramp ran diagonally I had a polygon shape to fill with something. I found some really cool oddly shaped concrete blocks roughly sixteen inches on its longest side. On the display they fit together like natural looking puzzle pieces. The display made them look really awesome, they were four dollars each. I only needed four so what the heck. I realized that this would mean there would be blank spots around. In the display they had neatly cut the pieces to fit in their display. I had nothing to cut concrete with besides an old splitting ax with a busted handle. Not a masonry saw, but way way cheaper than a masonry saw.

First I would need to dig out some of that dirt that has washed into the space so I can get a good flush fit. The entire place I live was carved by glacial movement. I know this because you can't put a shovel in the ground without hitting rocks. Sure, four paving stones, multiplied by all those lose rocks turned an easy job into a much more difficult one. Plus three of the four blocks had to be cut to fit. As you can imagine, with the tools I had that didn't go as well as one would hope. By the time I was finished I was borderline overheated, and exhausted. I sat under the porch nursing a bottle of water and surveying my accomplishment. I was tired. Real tired. Then Mario messages me.

He can't make fencing tonight, I will need to solo his class. Why oh why did I pick up that shovel? I left early for fencing. I had some small projects there to deal with too. On the way I picked up a big Gateraid, and a big bottle of water. I was going to need to hydrate if I planned to teach saber that night.

I had just put the finishing touches on my fencing cabinet work when my students arrived. The lesson was absolutely awesome and I managed to leave fencing more energized than I had arrived. Now to Bojangles, I wanted chicken, I really wanted the biscuits to go with strawberries for my breakfast Saturday morning. It was eight PM and I had managed to find the one Bojangles in all of creation who was out of chicken. How does one even do that? You're a frik'n chicken place for heaven's sake!

My back up plan was to go to food lion and pick up a box of chicken and two cans of refrigerated biscuits. As fate would have it, they had no chicken either, so I picked up three bananas for dinner, a six of hard cider for those hot evenings of surveying my hard work, and two cans of refrigerated biscuits. Apparently Sara prayed that I wouldn't do anything stupid this weekend while she was gone. I guess that chicken counts as stupid. Damn.

At home, I ate my bananas, drank a cider and played a game before hobbling sorely to bed. Saturday was going to be a hard day.

Posted by at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It is Sunday. Sunday means that the coffee taste better and I call my parents. The coffee tastes better on Sundays because that is the one day a week I can actually sit down and enjoy it. Monday through Friday coffee is my drive to work ritual. Saturday is a day where anything can happen. Sunday is, 90% of the time, the day where I can get up put on a pot of coffee and sit down with my first mug, where at 8am on the dot I call home just like I've done every Sunday since 1992 when I left my homeland to seek my fortune in the Piedmont.

Once off the phone I start up my other Sunday morning ritual of Celtic or bluegrass listening. That ritual began some years back when there was a bluegrass radio show on one of the local stations. The show went off the air but by then the ritual was established and I'm not going to let a thing like Buddy Michaels' show going away to change a good thing into a bad thing. Sunday is the day of the fiddle, and some day, sooner rather than latter I'll be practicing on the fiddle during this time as well.

Alright, we've established my Sunday, lets crack open the old anxiety closet and see what's on tap for today. Sunday is the only day of the week where I can, without guilt, explore my various and sundry emotional boogums. I've got a job to do the other six days and need to be on the clock as best as I can possibly be. Lately I haven't been very successful at that. So, lets do something light today shall we?

My mother mentioned that an aunt and uncle of mine came for a visit the day before. I hate that I miss those visits, as he's the one uncle I can relax around. He's not judgmental. Opinionated yes, judgmental no. It is always a relaxing visit with him. Plus he loves to eat as much as I do. The difference is, he's incapable of gaining weight, where on the other hand I gain weight for him and others just by being in the vicinity.

While we were talking about what they ate and how good it was, mom mentioned that my cousin...my professional writer cousin, had stumbled upon the humble blog of yours truly. Her voice was strained, but it didn't really sink in until after I had uttered the words, "Oh good!" For those following at home, mom is a nine on the Eneigram chart. Called "The Peacemaker", nines work extremely hard to avoid all conflicts. They don't vocalize opinions, and if they do have an opinion they will only verbalize it if the feel the group already agrees.

She taught...OK...tried to teach me that one should keep their opinions to themselves. The lesson, (obviously) didn't stick with me. My opinion on the matter is that if you keep your mouth shut all the time you allow yourself to be a victim. History teaches that "going with the flow" is one of the greatest sins of man. On this, clearly, mom and I would disagree completely, if we could actually have this conversation. So mom isn't what we would call a regular reader. Occasionally she stumbles upon something, but she won't read much because she doesn't want to feel humiliated by what I say.

So after saying the words "Oh good!" I had to immediately add, "I hope it was nothing that would be too embarrassing for you." Her response was as tactful as she knew how to make it. "I think she found one of your opinions." Translated into English, that statement means, "I can't believe that you say those things in public, and worse yet, on the internet where everyone can see it. Now your successful cousin with the three children has told your aunt and uncle and sooner or later the whole family is going to know my secret shame". OK, in all fairness I may have embellished the part about the secret shame a little. If you are reading this, it is no secret, but don't tell mom.

How do I feel about that? That's what my shrink is going to ask me next week. I hate that question. I was never really good with non concrete questions. It puts me on the spot. I have to find words to articulate intuition and words are poor tools to describe the feeling I get from seeing how everything works together and feeling strongly about something that I can't prove. All I can do is make my prediction of the outcome, and let time prove or disprove it.

How do I feel about my mom being humiliated by my publishing my thoughts, feelings and opinions for the world to see? I feel hungry. I feel ambivalent. My eyes burn. I want to fight. I want to flee. How do I feel about my mom being humiliated by my publishing my thoughts, feelings, and opinions for the world to see?

Same as I feel about everything else.

I know why I do it, I know why it is the right thing to do, I know why it hurts her, I know that where it may close some doors, it also opens others. I know that when the dust settles, I will have gained more than I have lost. I know all this because that is what my gut tells me. Only I can't prove it, I can't articulate it, and it frustrates me that I can't communicate it.

And that is why I started doing it to begin with.

Every person who agrees with me, every person who calls me an idiot, every person who finds a warm spot in their heart for me, every person who wishes I'd just shut up and go to hell, formed that opinion based on information I was able to articulate to them.

And that is what the past nine hundred and fifteen blog entries have been about. In exchange for being the black sheep of my clan, I will one day learn to understand the question "How do you feel" while being able to articulate an answer. So say I left my homeland to seek my fortune, say I banished myself, say I left to avoid being banished. It is little more than a label on a door. There are always other doors.

Posted by at 10:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

They say that trouble comes in threes. If that's true perhaps I should go ahead and crawl under my desk now and wait for the inevitable.

1. You may already know about the car.

2. Dad's cancer which they thought they might have knocked out apparently evolved instead. Now they don't know if they should do more chemo, remove everything in his throat entirely or offer it voting rights in time for the May primary. (My guess is it will vote Republican.)

Dudes, its only Thursday as I write this. That means I have one more day of work and Saturday to get through wondering what is going to happen now. I'll bet you are wondering what the date has to do with it. I don't know...its arbitrary. I have proclaimed that the third event has until the end of the week to occur or it loses its right to occur entirely.

What else am I supposed to do? I suppose I could ignore it and treat every day as a new and precious thing with no connection to the night on either side. Then when the shoe falls I could just put my fingers in my ears, call it a random chance and go on day by day taking all the other random chances square in the nose.

That sounds way too much like walking blindfolded through a field of rakes.

So stop me, stop me, from giving up
stop me, stop me
from taking the world, oh for what it is
a state of peaceful shit

-Stop Me by The Booze Brothers (One of my very favorite Celtic rock bands.)

"Mildly depressed" can easily manifest as "kind of pissy" in the six. So I can smile a little when the spell checker suggest that "pissy" might be "prissy" or "sissy" misspelled. Smug git spell checker is spoiling for a rumble. The only people that get to question my manhood to my face are me, and maybe my urologist.

Posted by at 8:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

For the second time since being married to Sara we opted to have Arby's for dinner. For the second time since being married the car broke down in the parking lot of an Arby's For those of you who believe in coincidence you are probably thinking "Wow, what are the chances?" For those of us who don't believe in coincidence we are thinking, "Huh, I wonder why that happened." To make matters more interesting in both cases events occurred to cause the car's belt to come off. In the first case the tensioner broke and took the belt with it, thus making putting the belt back on impossible. This time the belt came off whole. The tensioner seemed fine, so perhaps one of the other pulleys are having intermittent issues.

When dealing with any problem dad always taught me to explore the simplest answers first. OK. So why would someone lay a curse on me that caused my car to break down every time I went to an Arby's. That's just crazy talk! I have eaten at Arby's alone before and had no car trouble at all.

So why would someone lay a curse on me that caused my car to break down every time I went to Arby's with family. That includes all of the constants. Saturn, Sara, Arby's, and Me. I can't imagine why someone would lay such a specific curse upon me. I have always been kind to the folks behind the counter. They have the power to spit in my food if I cross them. I also have no preference for the ethnic group that prepares my food (unlike some I've blogged about recently).

Other clues? On the other side of the parking lot someone else was having car trouble. I should have found out what they were having problems with. That could have been an important clue. Since someone else was having car trouble at the same time in the parking lot of an Arby's perhaps I am not the target of the curse. I wonder if the Arby's symbol, seen recently hovering over the heads of customers in their commercials is also some ancient and pissed off symbol? It seems likely that someone would have noticed that by now. Ancient tombs or ancient tablets inscribed with a roast beef chain's logo would have made the news somewhere. This is probably not it.

It could be an Arby's competitor. Some company who wants to make people feel negative about eating at Arby's. It would have been easier and more powerful to make the people who eat at Arby's sick. This means that the ones responsible are ethical. That rules out most of the fast food world. I'm left with Subway, Chiplote, and Chick-fil-A off the top of my mind.

Arby's and Chiplote are not competitive, they don't serve the same foods or target the same demographic. That leaves Subway and Chick-fil-A. Subway is owned by Doctor's inc. Doctors wouldn't want to hurt people. But they are also a group that doesn't do "belief" they do their provable facts with questionable chemicals that fix symptoms with side effects that are generally mild and probably not worse then the symptom they are trying to suppress.

Chick-fil-A is a Christian run organization. They wouldn't hurt people as a first choice. They choose belief over fact. Hoodoo is a Christian form of magic that could work exactly like I have experienced. The company and Arby's both target the same demographic. Arby's sells salads and chicken sandwiches. They also sell yummy roast beef sandwiches as their primary product. Chick-fil-A's motto is "Eat more Chicken" and is illustrated by terrorist bovines. I think we have a winner here.

The spell is clever. It doesn't cause EVERY car to break down that goes to Arby's. First the car must have the entire family in it. Then the spell targets the weakest part of the car, nudging it towards failure. If the part is already in bad enough shape the spell is enough to cause it to fail completely. If the weakest link is strong enough nothing happens. This means that for most people there wouldn't appear to be a curse at work. This is the work of a very clever root doctor.

I love roast beef sandwiches as much as the next guy, but I just can't afford the car repairs right now.

Posted by at 7:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I have had two non-western practitioner's in a row tell me that I need to slow down my through processes, take some time to switch off, or at the very least enter stand-by mode. Thus I am going to start going for a walk every day. I know they said "meditate", but I'm a long away from two semesters of "how to breathe". Both agreed that walking would work, and both agreed that a change of pace like fiddle lessons would probably help too.

Today was the first walk. No phone. No predetermined route. I went where my feet took me. One of the things I like to do when I drive (that's MY meditation time) is to put on some music. Lately my taste has been exclusively Celtic and Celtic rock, some of the bands I listen to call themselves Celtic Punk, but I would disagree. (A conversation for another entry).

My MP3 player has a random function. Most do, but mine is different. Most assume you mean "Play at random each song from the play list once. If set to repeat, at the end of the play list, start the list over". My MP3 player plays a little more randomly than that. It keeps no memory of what it just played. It can and has played the same song more than once. I like this feature. I have always looked for signs in portents in those things thought of as "random". I have little belief in this superstition known as "coincidence".

Today I heard; "Tennessee Stud", "Silk Road", "Long Journey Home", "The Whiskey Never Lies" (Twice in a row), "Dear", "Redemption Song", "Shindig", and "Follow the Lady".

By some coincidence three of the songs were covers with guest star performers from the same CD. The first three songs were about traveling. Then a song about the honesty that alcohol can cause twice in a row. This was followed by a lullaby about love and longing, a song about freedom, an instrumental named for a party, and a song about chasing your dreams.

Interesting...

When I returned, Kimi came by to ask a question and noted with some concern that I had dark circles under my eyes. It must have been all that sunlight, green grass, and fresh air- three things I am not all that accustomed to. Especially 41 minutes worth continuously while walking.

The western practitioner's, by the way, all seem to think if I take one of several pills and spend an hour in the gym every day I won't get any worse and may even see some improvement.

Posted by at 2:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

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Posted by at 9:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am putting it here to make it real. When dad got sick I was already under a lot of pressure and he was the final straw. However, with his miraculous recovery, and the falling into place of so many other things I can put my own health back up on the list of things to stay awake at night worrying about.

For that I need goals. Oh look! There's one now. The North Carolina State Games are in Greensboro this year, and Fencing is on the agenda. I can do that. Especially if my only goal is to show up and fence. Just to make sure there is no added pressure I will fence the fun one epee and not my serious one foil.

If I don't leave in an ambulance, I win! That means I've got from now until June 17th to get myself into some semblance of fitting into my gear form. Fighting form is just too much effort and it makes me tired thinking about it. If I can show up and fence and my gear fits, and I don't leave in an ambulance, life is good.

Crap, that means I have to move doesn't it?

Posted by at 12:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Dad called me last night. That in and of its self is something of a miracle, in that he can now speak well enough to be understood on the telephone. Typically we limit our phone calls to Sunday morning at 8am, but he called me last night excited.

When they left the oncologist office they stopped by wally world to pick up a few things. One of the things they picked up was a box of ice cream sandwiches. It was hardly fair since he hasn't had solid food since December. Best he's been able to do was a donut and only then on a Monday morning when he's been off of radiation for a couple of days. His food comes from a can and is dumped into a tube which is installed in his stomach. Those of you who do the Slimfast/metafast/ensure thing know that if you drink that nutritional crap long enough you start to smell like it and it never smells like a good thing.

On the way home he just had to try to eat an ice cream sandwich. It went down. So he had another, which also went down. He couldn't taste it, but what the heck he could eat!!! That night he had a dinner of hog fish, stewed potatoes, and washed it down with a coke. It was his first meal since December and he felt like celebrating, so he called me.

As you can imagine it has taken a certain weight off of me. I can only worry about a certain finite number of things at once. When dad hit the top of the list my own personal health fell off of the bottom. Honestly, I think I have been eating on his behalf. Now my own health is back on the chart and what the hell did I do to my self....

I look like I ate a cow, I feel like an abandoned car, and I sorely need a haircut. But, what the heck, dad's good so I'm good.

Posted by at 10:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I finally figured out something that had been nagging mildly at me each and every time I went home to the coast. I had always just assumed that I preferred it there because it was home, and that was that. But it kept nagging at me anyway. The feeling was either I had the wrong answer or an incomplete answer.

I was sitting on the back deck gazing up at the night sky with a cup of coffee in my hand and my wife on my head set. The constellations were laid out before me clear from horizon to horizon. I did like it better on the coast. Yes, it was the salt air, yes it was the sandy gray soil, yes it was the fact that I was born and raised there, but it was much more. It occurred to me that the places I was most at home were those places with long horizons. The only place I felt near as relaxed, was out west on the great plains. My soul craves open sky. Though it had never occurred to me before, the 'boro is just a little claustrophobic. The views I like best are those with the most visibility and the most visible sky. I am happy to visit the mountains but I do not truly live until I see the great wide open on all sides. I know to that if I moved to the plains eventually I would feel the nagging again. The sky would be right, but the air and the soil would be wrong.

It was verified driving north along the coast from Newport to Elizabeth city along highway 17. I hadn't felt so natural and whole in a long time. The only thing missing was the Fairlane, and the unobstructed views afforded by the lack of a B piller.

It makes no difference though, the money is here, my friends are here, my life and my wife are all here. I'm not going anywhere, but at least I know what that odd pull is now. Now matter where you go, there you are. Best to make peace with it.

Posted by at 3:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I Am A: True Neutral Human Sorcerer (5th Level)


Ability Scores:

Strength-13

Dexterity-11

Constitution-14

Intelligence-11

Wisdom-14

Charisma-11


Alignment:
True Neutral A true neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. He doesn't feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. Most true neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. Such a character thinks of good as better than evil after all, he would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones. Still, he's not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way. Some true neutral characters, on the other hand, commit themselves philosophically to neutrality. They see good, evil, law, and chaos as prejudices and dangerous extremes. They advocate the middle way of neutrality as the best, most balanced road in the long run. True neutral is the best alignment you can be because it means you act naturally, without prejudice or compulsion. However, true neutral can be a dangerous alignment because it represents apathy, indifference, and a lack of conviction.


Race:
Humans are the most adaptable of the common races. Short generations and a penchant for migration and conquest have made them physically diverse as well. Humans are often unorthodox in their dress, sporting unusual hairstyles, fanciful clothes, tattoos, and the like.


Class:
Sorcerers are arcane spellcasters who manipulate magic energy with imagination and talent rather than studious discipline. They have no books, no mentors, no theories just raw power that they direct at will. Sorcerers know fewer spells than wizards do and acquire them more slowly, but they can cast individual spells more often and have no need to prepare their incantations ahead of time. Also unlike wizards, sorcerers cannot specialize in a school of magic. Since sorcerers gain their powers without undergoing the years of rigorous study that wizards go through, they have more time to learn fighting skills and are proficient with simple weapons. Charisma is very important for sorcerers; the higher their value in this ability, the higher the spell level they can cast.


Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of Easydamus (e-mail)

Detailed Results:

Alignment:
Lawful Good ----- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (21)
Neutral Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (23)
Chaotic Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (16)
Lawful Neutral -- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (21)
True Neutral ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (23)
Chaotic Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (16)
Lawful Evil ----- XXXXXXXXX (9)
Neutral Evil ---- XXXXXXXXXXX (11)
Chaotic Evil ---- XXXX (4)

Law & Chaos:
Law ----- XXXXXXXXX (9)
Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXX (11)
Chaos --- XXXX (4)

Good & Evil:
Good ---- XXXXXXXXXXXX (12)
Neutral - XXXXXXXXXXXX (12)
Evil ---- (0)

Race:
Human ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (14)
Dwarf ---- XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (14)
Elf ------ XXXX (4)
Gnome ---- XXXXXXXXXX (10)
Halfling - XXXXXX (6)
Half-Elf - XXXXXX (6)
Half-Orc - XXXX (4)

Class:
Barbarian - (-6)
Bard ------ (0)
Cleric ---- (0)
Druid ----- (-8)
Fighter --- XXXX (4)
Monk ------ (-19)
Paladin --- (-17)
Ranger ---- (0)
Rogue ----- (-4)
Sorcerer -- XXXXXX (6)
Wizard ---- XX (2)

I think I found the ties most interesting.

Posted by at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In the event this is my last entry, I just want to say, its been OK I guess.

It all began with a simple request, try to get rid of some clutter before I go to the coast to spend some time with my ailing father.

Carpentry, we meet again. To get rid of the clutter is a multi step process that begins with putting up a shelf such that I can move some stuff, so I can move some stuff, so I can move some stuff so I can get the clutter out of the living room. Currently I live in a pile. Everything I could possibly need is within my fingertips. The downside of this is of course, I can't move. I'm trapped by my own convenience. It is time to organize so things that I don't need this minute can be put out of the way.

I used some empty coffee cans from work to sort the nails, wood screws, sheet metal screws, bolts, nuts washers, and other various bits these I put into the shed, an organization project for another day. Then I went to the local home improvement shop to buy the shelf and hardware I need to put it up. I chose my shelf, and bought a kit which was expensive but, looked like it had everything I would need to do an excellent shelf hanging job to stand the test of time. It takes an hour round trip to drive there.

I got home and discovered that my kit didn't have screws. I walked to the shed to get screws, and walked back. I sure could use a level. I walked to the shed and walked back. Where is my measuring tape? I walked to the shed and I walked back. There I have what I need. Quickly the shelf was installed and I put a few things on it to begin the cleaning process. Not heavy things, not books or sewing machines, or tool boxes, but boxes of pens and pencils and little dividers with papers in it, manuscripts, and odd school bits that Sara and I have collected over the years. A box of sewing supplies. thread, needles, scissors, etc. A plastic box filled with crayons and colored pencils.

Then there was this strange noise, I had just enough time to look up before I found a plastic box of sewing supplies had hit me full in the face. I staggered to the side and stumbled into a plastic box of colored pencils. Plastic shards went everywhere. Good thing I still had on my shoes from all that walking back and forth from the shed.

The shelf was lolling to the side. Some of those parts the kit ought to have but didn't were absolutely necessary and the proof was smashed at my feet. The shock and impact of the sewing box hitting me in the face really pissed me off. I don't piss off easily but when I do, it requires some deep breathing. I stood there breathing for some time while one by one each box slid off the shelf into the floor. Each falling item added to the amount of time I needed to breathe.

Eventually I was to the point I felt safe to drive so I got back into the car and went back to the local home improvement store to buy more things to put the shelf up with. I got them and had the same clueless cashier who I had earlier in the morning. I guess she didn't recognize me because this time I wasn't smiling and friendly. I was frowning and I had no more small talk to offer.

Only one thing to do in a situation like this. Bojangles, Killian's, and a pizza for Sara so I could have enough Bojangles. This looks like at least an eight piece problem. I won't be able to have a Killian's until she comes back. I'm weird like that. I don't want to have a drink when I think I might be needed, so I never drink when she isn't around. When she comes around, oh yes, there will be drink.

I got home and tried to ignore the new mess and began again to hang a shelf. There was an odd tingling feeling in my lips that I tried to ignore. Likely I was biting them trying not to scream and couldn't be bothered to check. I measured 12 inches from the ceiling on one side and 12 inches from the ceiling on the other and With a level I went marking and drilling holes in the drywall from one side to the other. Each hole was level with the two holes previous. By the time I got to the other end, the 1/4 inch holes were now 10 inches from the ceiling and not 12.

The tingling which by this time had moved down my arms, was moving into my legs.

There is a term for situations when you discover that though the world is level, symmetry is not within your grasp. It is "Ha ha ha you stupid fat slobby idiot."

There is a strange roaring sound in my ears and I have this incredible desire to go have a lie down.

I am off to do that now, but first I'd better take a handful of aspirin. I heard somewhere that aspirin helps.

Did I mention that I seem to be cursed at carpentry?

yeah.

Posted by at 4:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Poem 61 by Steven Crane

A man feared that he might find an assassin;
Another that he might find a victim.
One was more wise than the other.

My Riso-Hudson Enneagram Type Indicator scores are as follow.
Type 1, The Reformer: 10
Type 2, The Helper: 15
Type 3, The Achiever: 15
Type 4, The Individualist: 18
Type 5, The Investigator: 19
Type 6, The Loyalist: 24
Type 7, The Enthusiast: 13
Type 8, The Challenger: 8
Type 9, The Peacemaker: 22

That makes me a six "The Loyalist" with a wing of five "The Investigator". Note also my next highest score of type nine "The Peacemaker" as well as my exceptionally low score on type 8 "The Challenger" (at least I won't explode on throttle up.)

My IVQ ( Instinctual Variant Questionnaire Results) are
Self Preservation 62 Social 46 Sexual 42

Posted by at 1:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Tonight we went to Captain George's all you can eat seafood buffet. Though it was the first time I've ever been here, it was a rematch situation for yours truly. The last time I faced an all you can eat seafood buffet I was suffering from severe heat related illness and I don't even remember how I did. In fact all I have to really mark the occasion is a large pilsner glass. I am told it had beer in it. I am also told I drank it.

Now don't get me wrong, since celebrating a birthday on the first of the month I've felt a new maturity about me. I mean for instance I can't even remember the last time I threw a chicken bone over my shoulder. OK, it was last Thursday, but still...

I started strong, a fried chicken thigh in honor of 200 years of southern evolution. A piece of prime rib because beef is what's for dinner. I skipped on the BBQ pork ribs. What! This is Virginia, they may claim the whole of American History, but they can't have pork. I rounded the plate out with fried shrimp, fried scallops, fried clam strips, deviled crab, crab cake, and a stuffed mushroom.

Plate two was more choosy, shrimp, fish, scallop, clam, crab, and macaroni and cheese. The plan was to go to plate three all king crab all the time, but it never happened. It was an act of extreme willpower that got plate two safe and sound down my gullet.

Meanwhile, Sara took her dear sweet time on her second plate. She went with all of the activity foods on her second plate. She mocked me. She mocked me plain and simple and there wasn't a thing I could do about it- up to and including dessert. I was defeated. The goal wasn't to eat more than Sara. The goal was to simply eat the $30.00 that the meal cost per person. I couldn't have possibly eaten more than $25 to $28 worth tops.

All I can do now, is to wallow in the hot tub in my shame, drinking wine and planning for next year. Maybe I should train or something, I'm not as young as I used to be.

Posted by at 8:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We called security at 2:30 in the morning because we couldn't sleep for the noise. It had been constant since we arrive at 10pm. The security person got the noise down to a dull roar which allowed us to sleep until about 6:30am when it all began again. We tried to be good neighbors while still not killing each other or them. It worked until about 10:30am when we had simply had more than any person could possibly take. The chandelier was swinging, and my coffee on the deck had been ruined by bread crumbs and crackers the heathens were throwing to the ducks and geese from the floor above. Signs everywhere read "do not feed the birds".

I was beyond words, so Sara called and begged for relief. They sent security again who was stunned to find out just how many of them there were on the floor above. He wrote it up and told us the management would be VERY unhappy with the numbers in each space above. I gathered this went beyond management preference and deep into fire code violation.
By 2:30 we were on the third floor of an entirely different building. At this point we were loopy from lack of sleep and lack of food. We were too tired for restaurants so we went to the grocery store and bought cooked food to eat in our room. Since then the only other noises I have heard are those damned kids, and then only when I go outside. I can live very happily with that.

Let the vacation begin...again.

Posted by at 7:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We were fortunate enough to be offered some time in a coastal Virginia condo as a second anniversary present. We've been married eight years now, and we needed a vacation. On the way we stopped by Henry and David to spend a gift card and pick up some treats for our stay. We brought all of our non-refrigerated goods from home so as to save money. We figure, if it is a historic tourist destination there might be a markup on the necessities of life.

The road was good to us and we traveled well across it. The car's odometer hit 200,000 miles, and yes, there was cake. We stopped at a Western Sizzling steak house. Sara's don't do Golden Coral or buffets in general, I would do them exclusively if I could. Woody's love wondrous variety.

I have a rule of restaurants that states that if you want decent simple food at a good price, just follow the old people and eat where they eat. We were among the youngest customers in the place and it was amazing. Sara ordered from the menu and I had the buffet.

After I got my plate I discovered I was trapped between a culinary Cilla and Charybdis. On my left stacked two and a half feet high in a warming pan was a ziggurat of fried chicken. On my right an equally sized and shaped pile of barbecued ribs. What to do... What to do? It is at times like this I think on the advice given by Mae West; "When choosing between two evils, choose the one you've never tried before." So I filled my plate with both and headed back to my table. The rest of the meal was something of a blur. I have heard on TV people describe what it is to be high on drugs. This was just like that, only legal, socially acceptable, and less expensive. Plus I could drive legally afterwards.

We arrived at our destination an hour and a half later, and I was still full. Good times.

Upon check in we were scheduled to a voluntary free breakfast where we would be offered a "no high pressure" presentation on why we should be an owner and not a guest at their fine chain of resort destinations. Not sure I'll make that, loath though I am to miss a free meal. Any possibility of giving into temptation is gone, and below you'll find out why.

Once we found our room/suite/apartment we wandered around noticing that this place has more square footage than our own humble hovel in the woods. However, we couldn't dwell on it, as we had to get to the grocery store for that all important half and half. I won't drink my coffee black if there is anyway around it, I don't care how good the coffee is. In this case it is a bag of Mahogany from Caribou Coffee. On the way there and back, we talked about what we saw we liked and wondered how we were going to recreate it on our salaries.

We were back in the apartment at about 10pm. (It is over 1100 sq ft, what would YOU call it) We got in, put the groceries away and became aware that there was a stampede going on on the floor above us. There were children. There were a LOT of children. They were running the sidewalk above us back and forth, they were in the room above us, jumping up and down. There was yelling and other happy "army of screaming kid" noises. By about midnight the screaming died down to a dull roar and the troops were brought into the room where they all fifty or so of them began jumping up and down. It sounded like a morter barrage and we tolerated up until we could no longer stand it. We had to sleep sometime and they were simply not going to allow this to happen. It was 1:30 in the morning. We called security and asked them to quiet the horde. I pondered offering to duct tape the offenders to the ceiling or something, but I dismissed the idea because I didn't have enough duct tape for all of them.

Security arrived in less than five minutes. We invited him inside and over the din we asked if he could maybe help us with our problem. He was up there for five minutes and when he returned, the noise was cut by half. He said there were way more people (children and adults) than we could imagine and he was going to write a report, that may lead to their being asked to go. So here it is 2:14am as I type these words and the barrage has become nothing more than sporadic bombardments. I could sleep through that I suppose.

I just have to click "publish" and try.

Oh yeah, the street name? "Rochambeau"

Posted by at 1:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sure, it was a storm that killed 48, and I don't want to make light of that fact, but the weather brought me a good feeling. The air was warm and full of energy. It reminded me that it is time to put garden peas in the ground and maybe plant a black walnut or six.

It was a day for rolling down the windows and letting the warm breeze clear the cobwebs of stagnation and despair. It stirred up the dust and the emotions of the people around me. Just like lose paper on a desk in a breeze, I was surrounded by people who blew in the wind as I did. It was like flying.

Yes, the clouds were dark and ominous. Yes, the news carried death and destruction, but in the space of my arms it was a tiny paradise and I was glad for the distraction. It allowed me to see things about my self I had never noticed before. It made me think of the future and how I intend to shape it. It blew out some bad and hopefully some good. It also blew in contact from friends too far and too long out of contact.

It was a good day.

Posted by at 9:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Chasing, running, attacking, defending, fighting, hiding, these are my dreams. Every night is a new adventure and if I'm lucky I awake long enough to recognize that it has happened. Otherwise I awake with that odd sense that I ought to be chasing, running, attacking, defending, fighting, or hiding.

I would describe myself in my waking life as content. I have everything I need, and some of what I want, and that isn't a bad way to be. In most bad situations I can find a way to become content with it. It usually involves distraction, a book, a seat that faces the room without being an active part of the action in it, chicken, Cheerwine, a good cup of coffee, conversation with someone I both like and trust. Content is an easy state to attain, and its always enough.

My dreams last night were different and I awoke in time to realize it. In my dream I had everything I needed to the point that I didn't have to consider it. I had everything I wanted to the point that I couldn't think of anything I might want that I didn't have. (At the very least, I didn't think of anything I wanted that I didn't have.) I don't know how I came to be in this position, in my dream everything simply worked out that way. It was a natural series of events that lead me to be where I was. There was a feeling that went with it. I think it may have been pure joy. It was kinda cool. I've spent the morning wondering if anyone out there feels pure joy in real life. I hope so. I would like to think that such a thing was possible if events lined up just right for someone.

Weird thing is I still feel the urge to chase, run, attack, defend, fight or hide, only now the goal is to acquire joy.

Posted by at 9:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am an IT generalist. Geek of all trades. Ever since I was a young child it was impressed upon me the importance of being a generalist and never specializing. The argument is that though the specialist always makes more money, they become pigeon holed to the point that if their specialty dries up they are completely sunk, type casted into a job description they cannot escape from.

The world of Information Technology (or "working with computers" for all you non-geeks) as an ocean of work that is as vast as it is deep. I have sailed the surface of most of it. Arguably the only parts of the sea I haven't sailed fully are programing and networking, though I can snoop around code and I can set up a home network, I have never worked doing either.

I have taken classes in deeper topics but would never test because certifications lead to being defined by those very pieces of paper, and I don't want to be defined by a certificate in a filing cabinet.

I am proud of being nimble and capable of picking up new and different things quickly. My problem is that I am about to run into a whole mess of sargassum and my best chance is to either dive under it by specializing, or leaving the pond entirely and getting into a different industry entirely. Both have their merits, but I'm leaning towards specialization. The money is way better than starting something else, and if the work dries up, I can always find a new non-IT ocean to dive in somewhere else.

Its a paradigm shift for me, but one I'm not too scared of. Its not the deep water that scares me, its the fact that I will be farther from the sky.

Posted by at 4:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We've of late been kicking around the idea of moving into town and giving up the 5 acres on the river and the 40 hours a month commuting to and from it. We would be giving up the low tax rate of the non-Guilford counties, and would be picking up the additional high tax rate of Greensboro city.

As we weighed the pro's and con's the other night over coffee suddenly my darling Sara made a statement which really took the wind out of the sails of urban movement. She said: "I'm not entirely sure you're civilized enough to move into Greensboro."

Wow... Its a true and telling statement. There is a kind of freedom is hard to find, and far few will ever know its joy. Am I really ready to give up peeing outdoors in the buff?

This will take some pondering.

Posted by at 5:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Can't talk, up to my elbows in binary alligators.
Its upgrade time and the upgrade is downgrading me at every turn.
Letters, numbers, what does it all mean? http 500 is good right?
Loves me some command prompt, would you mind speaking a little slower please?
Coffee? Where's the coffee? I drank all the coffee? How can this be?
I dream in batch files. Woe is me!
Follow these instructions just like we wrote them. You did? Great!
Follow these instructions just like we wrote them. Except for page four.
Whoops. Our bad. Our fault. Got time for a conference call?
We're in a different time zone. Looks like I'm working late.
Ring! Ring! Gotta go again.

Posted by at 4:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My nights have a pattern that goes something like this. We go to bed, I fall asleep first. After this point any hopes or dreams of a night of uninterrupted sleep are over. Forget it. Not mine. On the other hand, should I ever be allowed to breed, I will have the feeding schedule nicely imprinted, and well practiced. The rest of the night goes as follows.

At some point in the night the dog will want to go out and will start making doggie noises. Eventually this wakes Sara enough that she groans, hits, or kicks me awake. I get up and let the dog out. I lay down on the couch to sleep. The dog barks at the door. I get up and open the door. The dog didn't want in though, the dog just wanted backup. The dog now having backup runs off into the darkness to face whatever it is he needed backup for. Unamused, I go back to sleep on the couch. The dog comes to the door and barks to be let back in. This time he comes in. Repeat entire process two to three times a night.

Last night however, something else happened. Something interesting, something science-y. I go to the couch and start to move the orange blanket out of the way so I can lay down. Unknown to me however our orange cat is sleeping there already. My hand brushes the cat. ZAPP! Lightning springs from my hands to the cat. The cat is not amused. I am amused. I saw sparks!

I begin to take a real interest in petting the cat. Sparks are leaping between my hand and the cats fur to the point that it is illuminating the cat in the darkness. Not just one spark but a symphony of sparks, a tiny thunderstorm in my hand. This is awesome! For the cat, not so much. Tired of being the source of my pleasure, he wanders off to find a place to sleep where he won't get electrocuted.

Fine. Be that way.

I go to sleep on the couch. Continue loop.

Posted by at 9:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm not one to make resolutions for the new years. I've probably done it but I knew the whole time I was only setting myself up for failure. I love resolutions, I love the way the squeal when I ignore them and do what ever I want. I'm not one to do something I don't want to do, therefore there isn't anything I would actually want to stop doing on purpose. I have done something on accident and chosen not to do it again. But I like fried chicken, therefore I'm going to keep on eating it, to hell with the consequences. If I suddenly decide that the pleasure isn't worth the pain, I'll stop doing it. All this said, today I'm talking about what I am going to do about fencing in 2008.

I hope that before July I manage to renew my membership in the USFA. I have no interest in competition, but I like the magazine. I am going to return to the salle two nights a week. If I have the opportunity to do three nights a week, I hope I don't. I'd like to do something else also. Fiddle lessons come to mind. I've always wanted to play an instrument.

I also hope to eat less real food, and more simulated food product. It doesn't require cooking, doesn't take much time to eat, and cleans up easily. Plus shopping becomes a breeze. No thinking about menus, variety, or expiration dates. There will always be chicken of course. I like chicken and I can get that on the drive home.

As for fencing...well, yeah. Two nights a week, and no competition, that about sums it up.

Posted by at 2:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Back to work with me! Time to take my place as a cog among the gears of outrageous technology. Time to catch up on world events, web comics, and the lives of those around me. The days of watching seasons of television one boxed set at a time are done (for now).

One beauty of this is we are completely unaffected by the writer's strike. Instead of having to be in front of the boob tube at a given moment and discover it is a new episode or a rerun we sit in front of the boob tube and grind through episode after episode in order without commercial interruption. Be sure to hit pause if we go to the john, and please bring me a drink from the fridge on the way back. Hey? Isn't that why the writer's struck (striked?) in the first place? Not my problem, hate it for them. Truth be told it is obvious to me that the writers need to get a cut of the DVD sales. Duh. They wrote it. If they aren't striking for money for DVD sales then I hope its a good reason and not simply greed. My guess is it isn't greed, because studio's, distribution houses and groups like the RIAA have cornered the market on greed and there simply isn't enough greed to go around.

But I have not only digressed, I've derailed, in my devious desire to demean, those demons that demand dividends that belong to the artist.

...meanwhile back at the wheel... I've had some incubation time to think on what I'm going to do now. I'm not talking about what I'm going to do when I grow up. I still want to be a fencing coach who writes novels by day and fights crime as a caped and cowled crusader by night. Short term, you know, just to pay the bills until my duckies are lined up I thought I might spend a little time becoming educated enough to do the job I'm in. I'm not talking about being a specialist, I see no need to place my humble self into a career extinction scenario. I don't ever want to stop being a Jack of All Trades, but I think I might be a little more relaxed in the short term if I dug just a little deeper into skills of the moment.

Who can say, I may even have need of the skill boost when I start being a super hero. Its not like I'm quitting my day job right a way you know, just do it part time at first and on the weekends and work up to a full time writing, teaching, caped crusader role. Exploding ax heads and powered battle armor isn't cheep.

Posted by at 6:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dudes, I'm bushed. As the official designated driver at last night's hoo ha courtesy of Cam and Steve I had fun of a different sort. I might even be the only person to remember the details, so I am free to make stuff as I see fit. That's fun!

Also fun, (eventually) was karaoke games until the wee hours of the AM. I am not the star player, usually I fight for the position of not last. Playing karaoke games with the handicap of having to be sober bites. When you're drinking, you are more relaxed and you feel you are better than you actually are. That boost to your confidence actually makes you better than you actually would be sober.

I was bad, I was not an American Idol, I knew I was not an American Idol, and that made me worse. Because I was sober I knew it. The only plus side was that since everyone else was drunk they didn't really realize how bad I really was. Game after game I was dead last the the only one who cared was me. I suspect that has more to do with the fact that none of THEM held the position of sucks worst.

So, Sara and I get back to the leaking submarine we have to call home at 4:30am, and I started the black eyed peas in the crock pot. I love crock pots, I love the way I can sleep through the cooking part. Sara got me up at about 9:30 this morning, we have work tomorrow and we need to get back into a normal sleep rhythm.

Happy new year gang! Don't forget to eat your beans. Also remember this important entertainment tip from me. Being designated driver means that when someone's had too much to drink and gets free and easy with their clothing, you not only get to see it, you get to remember it too. :)

Posted by at 11:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This is not going to be a recap of 2007. The beauty of blogs is the fact that I don't have to. I already wrote it the first time and there is no reason to air reruns. But let me sum up: 2007 has been a year of stormy seas and gale force winds. It has sucked on ice and I'm glad to see the end of it. Unfortunately, this episode "2007" didn't end neat and tidy with a happy ending. 2007 is a special event to be continued in 2008.

So today is the teaser trailer of the year to come. Who lives, who dies, what secrets may come, who knows? Tune in and find out next on the exciting next episode "2008".

feh. I think this show jumped the shark a long time ago, but I've got a lifetime ironclad contract. Maybe they will include a blooper reel in the box set or something.

Posted by at 11:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Installing the port and the feeding tube was supposed to be a one hour simple procedure. Why is nothing ever easy? The cancer has grown quite a bit since dad first mentioned having a sore throat. Their intention was the put the feeding tube down his throat, it wouldn't fit. Not even the small ones would go down. They were forced to give up and install it through his navel.

Now keeping in mind that four days ago when I saw dad last he drove two hours to the family reunion and walked in under his own power the same way he always had, it seems odd that they would put the feeding tube through his mouth. He wouldn't be able to talk with it in there and it sort of lends itself to stuck in bed all the time. They oped not to do surgery on the cancer because of the chances of damaging his lyrnax. Yet these other guys were going to stuck something down his throat making talking more or less impossible. Don't believe me, stick a tube down your throat. Now talk. You can't talk with your mouth full.

At any rate, the surgery went from one hour routine to three hours of improv, and there weren't many laughs.

Mom calls me to give me the news. It took several attempts. She was under enough stress that it was difficult for her to keep on her poker face and still operate modern cellphone technology.

She told me as much as she could before she couldn't hold back the emotion anymore and had to end the call. My orders, call as usual on Sunday, maybe dad will be able to speak to me, maybe he'll only be able to listen. Maybe he'll be up and around, maybe he'll be too sore to get around. Who knows?

And here I am feeling a little like a mushroom, kept in the dark and fed bull. I'm going down for his birthday next week. I will go, I will see, I will make my own decisions.

Meanwhile, I will dream of better times surrounded by friends on the holidays.

Posted by at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Today is a day of celebration. Today is the day of our office party and I am on the organizing committee. Me an another really awesome person are in charge of running the game room. Yes there will be Scrabble, but we're IT, there will also be two Wii's, Two XBoxes, and of course a Playstation, all projected up on the walls for the pastime and pleasure of our 140ish officemates.

It is a day of festive clothing, Santa hats, good cheer, good food, and good friends. It is a day of joy and happiness. Display contest starts at 11am, food is served at noon, activities begin at one, clean up and be out between 3 and 4. We have our plan, it will go flawlessly, that is who we are.

Meanwhile, back in October, we buried my Uncle who died of esophageal cancer. OK, not exactly accurate. He didn't die of the cancer, he died of complete 100% all systems down, crash and burn, organ failure. Even his skin failed. They had to wrap the body in plastic so he wouldn't leak out the bottom of the casket.

Esophageal cancer has a 25% survival rate over a five year period. The fact that my Uncle made it ten years just means that he's a Cavenaugh and you can't force a Cavenaugh to do anything they don't want to. He died well past the point most would have thrown in the towel and a lot longer than I would have chosen. If the rest of my days are going to be spent having nutrition pumped into my stomach through a tube in my side, screw it, if I can't eat fried chicken there's nothing left to live for. In the words of my Grandfather, "What you get out of life is what you eat." I might have that put on my tombstone. My last piece of advice for the living.

But I digress. On the day of my uncle's funeral dad casually mentions to me that he has had a sore throat for a couple of weeks, and now that his brother is buried he is going to make an appointment to have it looked at. That was October, and true to his word he had it looked at.

He has Esophageal cancer. Today at 10am they will admit him to the hospital. At 12:15pm they will begin surgery to install his port and feeding tube. They expect the surgery to last an hour. They are not doing surgery on the cancer because it is too close to his lyrnax. Chemo, radiation, and having food paste pumped into his stomach through a tube installed in his side is his future.

I can't remember if I mentioned it during my family reunion entry but sitting there next to him I felt like I was witness to his last meal.

At some point today during th