Apparently

Apparently I cannot post photos. I believe it is because our server at work has some sort of setting to make the internet connection slower so as to discourage people from doing non-work related things like posting photos and streaming porn.

I'll have to post my Batmobile photo from home later.

It's Funny

Back in the old days, my thing used to be the "Commute Song" of the day. My work commute was about 4-5 minutes so it was long enough to hear one song. Now I drive 45 minutes so it is no longer something worth doing. I usually listen to podcasts in the car now anyway.

I know one of Steve's things is the "Commuter of the Day." I don't want to step on that idea, but I think I am going to start posting pictures of messed up cars I see around here. The diversity of the people in this area certainly leads to interesting choices. Last week, I saw a "Superman" car parked in front of someone's house. Somewhere I saw a "Batman" car. I have already discussed the Oscar the Grouch and Hawaiian Punch cars. These are never commuting anywhere when I see them though. They are always just parked. Going forward, I am going to try to start capturing some of the "unique" cars in the Shreveport area.

Idea

Ok, I saw where BRazil is thinking about giving homeless people mobile phones. I think this is a great idea if we then turn them into crimefighters. For every mugging, theft, or robbery they thwart using the phone, they get a free meal. For every murder they thwart they even get dessert.

Flashforward

There is a new show on ABC called "Flashforward."

Here is my problem with it... the title, although it makes sense on the surface, really makes no sense.

"Flashforward" is supposed to be the opposite of "flashback." These people see a "flash" of something to happen in the future. That's where the "flash" part comes in.

So, then the opposite of "back" is "front", right? Shouldn't it be "Flashfront?" In this context, no.

Let's look at it from another angle. The opposite of "forward" is "backward." So, the title of the show is correct, but the long accepted term "flashback" is not. It should be "flashbackward" and should have been all these years, I guess. Either that or the show should be called "Flashfor."

It seems to me that the best way to resolve this would be if the show just changes it's name to "Flashahead." If they do that, then and only then will I be able to follow along with it's ridiculous storyline.

Some Quick Hits

1. I should be working
2. I care less about the Red Sox than usual. I think I will watch if they make it to the World Series... but beyond that, I make no promises. It is hard to follow a team from far away.
3. I am looking forward to the Celtics season. They added some good players and they started out 29-2 last year. Garnett may or may not be healthy, but for now I will be optimistic.
4. I really should be working.
5. I am proud to say that I have never watched an episode of "Dancing With the Stars" from start to finish.
6. I am ashamed to say that I watch four consecutive episodes of "Sex Decoy Love Stings" the other night and liked it.
7. I never update my facebook status because I always figure nobody cares what I am thinking or doing.
8. Sweatfest survived the loss of Matt17 as its organizer but could not overcome the loss of JS... unless it was conducted somewhere else without my knowledge.
9. I really really should be working.

Make Those Rims Shine, Ms. New Booty

The other day I drove by a place called "Get it Rite, Get it Tite Detail'n."

I have not written much lately and sometimes I feel like I am lacking in creativity or ambition or some other thing I haven't the energy to think of.

Sometimes I think that the stuff I see in the world is just so much more funny than anything I could hope to write.

There are lots of things I see around here which need to be documented with photos but when I weigh that need against my need to not get my ass kicked if I am seen taking said photo, I usually refrain.

September 9

September has always been my favorite month, at least ever since I can remember being old enough not to strictly judge a month based on how many presents people were obligated to give me during that month.

September 9, 1997 was a great day for me. I had passed the bar exam the previous year and had been working at a law firm for several months. Me and several coaches that I had worked with before had left the local YMCA to coach our own swim team. We were finally going to be able to coach the kids without the politics of the YMCA getting in the way. We had tryouts the previous weekend and the turnout had been good.

I don't remember much about September 9, 1997 specifically. I might have had to go to court that day. I might have been at the Federal Building meeting with a Bankruptcy Trustee. I don't remember what I did or who I did it with, but my life would change dramatically that day even if I didn't know it yet.

On September 9, 1997, over 1500 miles away from the three bedroom apartment I shared with my brother and my friend, my son was born.

Brandon's mother and father were in West Monroe, Louisiana. It was a town of which I had never heard. I certainly knew nothing of this new baby until almost 9 years later.

Brandon is a great kid. He is smart. He is funny. He is challenging... and never boring. He tries my patience, but has proven to me time and time again that I am capable of seemingly infinite patience and understanding at times.

As a 26 year old attorney filing divorces and bankruptcies, I was a pretty bitter and cynical guy in 1997. I was cynical when I didn't even yet know about what to be cynical. Some time after that, I learned to have a better attitude. I learned to be more tolerant. These traits are necessary for any good parent to possess.

Every day, I am so thankful that Brandon is in my life now. I hope that he has a very happy 12th birthday today (even though we still have to talk about that note he lied about giving his teacher... .)

Rodneysdad, continued

Sorry about the letdown here. I know I said I would write about Heather and Rodneysdad but I kind of got bored with the story.

He told her that she had been mean to him every since she thought he put an ironing board in our driveway 2 years ago.

“How do you know I thought YOU put it there, Joe?” she asked.
“Because it was thrown in my yard,” he answered. “I didn’t put it there, but I know who did.”
“Who put it there?” She asked.
“Oh, I am not going to tell you that now. You have been mean to me. I have never had any problems with people complaining about the fence line until now. I have always gotten along with all the neighbors.”
“Joe we asked you to cut it last year, and earlier this year. The old woman in the wheelchair who lived here before us said she asked you to cut it 10 years ago and you told her that you grew it so you wouldn’t have to look at her ugly shed.”
“Yeah, I did say that. Bill on the other side never complained.”

I stepped in and said, “No, Joe, instead he built an 8 foot high wood fence on that one side of his yard.”
“Oh, you don’t know anything. You have not been here very long,” he told me.
“Joe, I can see the fence and that they only built it on one side of their back yard.”

Heather resumed, “They built it because you have the ugliest house and yard on the goddamned block.”

It went on from there, but you get the idea. It was good times. Let’s just say that it pretty much ended with Heather telling him he was a liar and a crazy old man with mental problems.

Fence

For years and years, the fence line in the back yard has been a problem here. You see our neighbor Joe, Rodney's Dad, is an asshole. He lets the bushes and weeds grow up so high through and over the fence that it is virtually impossible to keep under control.

The picture above is the "before" picture.

We have asked him a few times to clean it up so that the weeds aren't encroaching 5-6 feet over our fence. He did clean it up one time about a year ago but generally he does nothing with it. To make matters worse, he is only there about one weekend a month as he lives with his lady friend in Arkansas. We can't ask him to clean it even if we wanted to.

About a month ago, Heather got sick of asking him and seeing nothing done so she called the city. The city has all kinds of ordinances about how tall your grass can be and stuff like that so they said they would come out to look at it. With them being the City of Shreveport, we figured that meant they would do nothing and wait until we called again.

We did not see them show up at first, but we found out they did when Rodney's Dad showed up and he was pissed off at us. He had received a certified letter basically telling him he had 2 weeks to get it cleaned up or face a fine and the cost of the city to clean it up for him. Because his mail is forwarded, he got the letter 2 days before the deadline and had to drive down from Arkansas and spend two solid days in 100 degree heat cleaning up his yard. He could have paid a yard guy a couple hundred bucks to do it but he is too cheap.

By the time he was done working on it, he was good and mad when he decided to confront Heather. That was not a good idea.

To be continued...

I can't believe he is gone

We lost a true pioneer this week. It's hard to believe after all he has done, he is gone forever. It's hard to believe that we won't see his face on tv anymore or hear his voice on the radio. That's the way it is though. Life and Death.

Rest in peace, Billy Mays. You will be missed.

a long time

I know it has been a long time since I posted anything.

You see, several weeks ago, my employers basically said that anyone caught accessing non-work-related sites would be fired on the spot with no questions asked. I asked no questions and just kind of stopped going to blogger. I have been on a little from home but have not written until now.

Not a lot has happened since then.

I heard a guy at the hair place ask the girl to give him a caesar. That was pretty funny.

Also, we got into a fight with our neighbor (Rodneysdad from JS if any of you remember him.) I will write about it soon.

See ya!

High school photo

This photo was taken when I was on the Freshman basketball team. We were not a very good team which is evidenced by the fact that I was the only one with a face.



I think our record was about 6-12. That was because I hardly ever played, of course. I scored 2 points that season.

The following year, when about 6 of us were junior varsity we were much better. I think we finished 12-6 that season but finished 7-1 in our last 8 games. I lit up the scoreboard for 5 points during that season including a three point play in front of the home crowd. I don't have a picture of that, unfortunately.

I should mention that this photo was posted in response to snowangel and Simon posting their earlier photos. Go check theirs out too.

Greg

I used to coach swimming to kids. I started when I was 18 and continued doing it until I was thirty-four. When I was a law student at age twenty-three or so, I realized something that bothered me. I knew that if I continued to coach and interact with between 80-150 kids every single year, it was only a matter of time before we lost one of them at far too young an age.

A few months later, I got a call from my parents back home telling me about one of my swimmers who had died in an automobile accident. My realization had become a reality. A seventeen year old girl was dead at far too young an age.

This post is not about her, though. This is about Greg, the subject of the second such phone call I received. This call was last week.

Greg was the oldest of four boys. My fourth year coaching, I met Greg as an eight-year-old. He was very tall and thin. He did not start out being an exceptional swimmer, but then again most people don't. They get better from practicing. As the years went by, Greg improved. His brothers joined the team as they got old enough to do so and their family was one constant we could rely on. Greg was a backstroker and during the last year I coached him, I believe was the backstroker on a state champion medley relay. He was a smart kid. He always liked to read more than play with the other kids. Even his younger brothers were much more social than he was.

Last week I got a call from a friend who still lives back home. He left me a voicemail message telling me that Greg had passed away. He knew none of the details, but had just seen the obituary in the paper and thought I would want to know. I knew it must have been a suicide considering the lack of details. There was no accompanying story about an automobile accident or no phrase about a "lengthy illness."

I had not seen or spoken to Greg in several years. The odds are that had he lived I never would have seen him again. I'll still miss him though. He was a good guy and I just think it is very sad that he decided to shoot himself the day before his twenty-fifth birthday. I think it is sad that he spent his last day feeling so hopeless.

Here is a picture from a better day. Greg is the one on the right.

14

14 more wins until title number 18 hangs from the rafters. The Celtics have won 2 games in the playoffs this year.

To win a NBA championship, a team must win 4 best-of-seven series in the playoffs. That is only 16 games total. So, a team can go 16-12 and be the champions. It really sounds much easier than it is. I know this because only one out of sixteen playoff teams ever get that 16th win.

A team could go 15-4 and not be the champs. It's that 16th win that gets it. When you start examining the details and saying they will probably have to beat a team with LeBron James AND a team with Kobe Bryant without having the benefit of the homecourt advantage and without their best player, getting there it seems impossible. But it's not.

Sunday they play the Chicago Bulls and they can win that game. That is all they can do Sunday and if they do, the number will be down to 13.

Beast

I was reading comments from fans on ESPN.com and came across this one:

"I know Bull fans and Celtic haters are thinking that the Celtics will lose in Chicago, but you gotta remember that Paul Pierce hasn't had a good game yet. So you never know what factors can round into a game. You're not always gonna get beast games from Rose or Gordon to bail you out. I'm a Laker fan and I hate the Celtics as much as the next guy, but I'm just saying that the Bulls can't relax just because they are at home now. "

I added the emphasis on "beast."

Brandon walks around talking about how beast things are and how beast he is and how beast everything is... unless it is epic. Sometimes things are both beast and epic.

I guess my reaction is similar to what my father's reaction was when I started calling things "massive" and "awesome" back in the early 1980's. The difference is that "massive" and "awesome" where always adjectives. I'm not sure when "beast" changed its part of speech.

I have never really used the word "beast" all that much except for a couple of years in college when people referred to what they were drinking as "The Beast." The Beast was the nickname for Milwaukee's Best Beer which is far from beast by today's standards. It was cheap though. Of course, sometimes it was hard to get ahold of beer in those days so just having some of the Beast was beast enough for the night.

Differences

A while back I wrote an entry about the differences between living in New England and living in Louisiana. It was on Journalspace so you won't find it in this journal.

I encountered another difference today.

I was in a rural town trying to get an older man to answer some questions for me about a particular piece of property. He answered my questions and then had some for me. The first question he asked me was to what church I belong.

Where I come from nobody cares what church to which you belong or even if you go to church at all.

Fortunately I had an answer for him. I am not sure how helpful he would have been otherwise.

Healing the Red Heeler

A couple of weeks ago, Heather, Brandon, and I went to dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant. The restaurant is about a 10 minute drive from our house with about 5 minutes of it being through a less than desirable part of the city.

On our way home from dinner, we had to drive past the “Triple J” gas station that I like to refer to as the “Nine J” because the sign for it actually says “Triple JJJ.” That’s nine J’s total. The station is in that less desirable five minutes part of the drive.

It was pouring rain and I noticed a Red Heeler standing outside the convenience store. The dog was wet and had a frayed piece of rope tied around her neck. The rope was not tied to anything else.

I asked Heather if she had seen the apparently stray dog. She said she had but was trying to ignore it. She has a very soft spot for animals in need and was hoping to just drive past. My bringing attention to it caused us to both decide to turn around just to see if the dog needed food.

We pulled into the parking lot by the gas pumps and I got out of the car and looked at the dog. She seemed friendly enough but had a really bad rash and lots of hair missing on her back and neck. It appeared to be mange. I wanted to help, but did not want to step on someone else’s toes if she belonged to someone who was inside so I walked into the store to ask if she belonged to anyone in there. A dirty older man standing near the door said she was his.

“Do you want to adopt her?” he asked.
“No. I just wanted to know if she needed some food,” I answered.
“She can always use food,” he replied. “She’s probably tired of leftover Domino’s pizza crust.”

I went in and bought a $4.50 bag of dog food that costs $1.00 at most stores. I opened the bag and poured some out for the Red Heeler. I handed the rest to her homeless owner, JJ. (That’s 11 J’s all together if you are counting.) I hoped he would be able to carry the rest of the dog food and the six-pack of beer he had purchased back to wherever he and the dog were headed.

Heather and I told JJ that we wanted to help get the dog treated for her condition and gave him our phone number. Heather told him she would call a few places and try to find out where we could take her and how much it would cost and that we would handle it. All he had to do was call us back 3 days later and we would let him know what to do.

Heather called an emergency vet for their input that night when we got home. The next morning she called our veterinarian and called to Humane Society about trying to find a place to house her while she was being treated. We were going to get her mange treated, get her spayed, and get her vaccinated and de-wormed. We could not take her into our home because of the contagious nature of mange.

Heather asked what I thought she should tell JJ about how we would transport the dog and where she would stay.

“He’s probably not ever going to call us,” I told her. I hoped he would but I told her not to worry because she had done everything she could to possibly help that dog. It was going to be on JJ, who did not look like a picture of reliability.

JJ never called. It’s probably better for us personally, but I feel sorry for that poor dog. This morning on my way to work, I saw JJ on the side of the road. The Red Heeler was not with him.

Gram

My sister recently re-sent me an email that our grandmother had sent to her about a year before she died from ALS. My grandmother had a rare form of ALS which impacted her ability to speak and swallow long before it impacted her ability to walk and otherwise function normally. She could still go to the store, work in the garden, and play solitaire.

She was reluctant to embrace new technology but as it became impossible for her to speak and use the telephone, she did start to use email to communicate, albeit sparingly. We got her a new computer specifically for this purpose but every time I went over there the only thing I ever saw her use the computer for was to play solitaire on the computer instead of using a deck of playing cards.

She tried using email, but just never got totally comfortable with it. Here is the email my sister forwarded to me:

"Dear Em Are you still planning on coming next week? You are always welcome. I hope the cold weather stops soon. What are you doing for excitement? I went up to Penny,s yesterday and bought a pair of slacks and a jersey. I took them back this morning. Love Gram"

Bacon Double Cheeseburger with Onion Rings

“Bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings?” she asked, jolting me out of a daydream. I looked down at my chicken strip basket with fries as if to confirm to myself that I had not ordered the bacon double cheeseburger with rings. It sure sounded better than what I had been eating.

“No, that wasn’t me,” I replied, sending the Dairy Queen employee along her way to find the owner of the burger.

I sat alone at a table and ate my lunch. When I left for work that morning to do research in one of the most depressing little towns I have ever seen, I thought to myself that since there were only a Dairy Queen and a McDonald’s there, I might want to bring my lunch with me. I took the lazy route and instead left without packing one, knowing I could certainly eat at either of those places if I wanted to eat lunch that day.

“Bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings?” I heard the server asking another patron at a nearby table. Unlike me, this man had no food in front of him so it was certainly more likely to have been his than mine. The older gentleman with the reddish flannel shirt shook his head.

“No, that’s not mine,” he said.

I looked out at my car in the parking lot. I had several thousands of dollars worth of work product and work equipment in the car. It made me happy to know I could watch my car from the restaurant as I ate lunch, but made me somewhat uneasy that I had to leave it unattended while inside doing my courthouse research. I do not worry so much about my car being stolen, but I do worry about my computer and my work being stolen. I never know if I am better off bringing my stuff into the courthouse with me and taking my chances there or leaving it in the locked, but unattended, car.

“Bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings?” the woman shouted. No one in the restaurant was taking ownership of it and she was getting frustrated. She walked back towards the counter.

I wasn’t sure how I ended up here. As I drove to eat lunch, I noticed a Popeye’s Chicken and a Pizza Hut that I had forgotten about when considering my options that morning. I thought I had only two options and had settled on Dairy Queen. I ordered a chicken basket and wished I had ordered a bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings… or wished I had gone to Popeye’s to get chicken. I briefly considered taking responsibility for the orphaned burger order, but wasn’t hungry enough to do that.

I noticed the cashier motioning over to the older gentleman with the red flannel shirt as she directed the server as to where the burger belonged. The server went over to him again.

“Bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings?” She asked him again.

“No,” he replied in protest. “I ordered a bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings and a coke.”

I decided it was time to go back to work.

Take Two

I know you are all shocked by this title. "A Mexican cleaning woman?" What the hell kind of nonsense is he talking about? We had one though as this story is true.When I was in college, we had a team of housekeepers who were responsible for cleaning the common areas in our dormitory. When I first got there, we had one guy named Paul and he was good. The guys on our floor had a good relationship with Paul. He did a good job and didn't complain about cleaning up after college kids. For our part, we did not mention how this guy was like 50 years old and cleaned college dorms for a living. It all worked well.Our world was rocked one day when we were told that Paul had quit. He was being replaced with a Mexican cleaning woman. I did not know her name. I just knew her as the new Mexican cleaning woman. To show my naivety at the time, I did not realize that there were different types of Mexican cleaning woman like Guatemalans and Puerto Ricans, for example.

On my floor we had one bathroom which had 3 showers. This was shared by about 25 people so there were people taking showers frequently. This meant that the MCW would almost always have to clean the bathroom while someone was in there showering.

It was all ok though. There was a curtain on the shower stall and then there was a private drying off area and another curtain to get into that. She could come in and clean the toilets and sinks and not be directly exposed to naked college guys. If she heard someone taking a shower, she would avoid the shower area until they were gone.

The Mexican cleaning woman had a special trick that she used to like to pull. When a guy was in the drying off area, she would pull the curtain aside and then act surprised when she saw someone there.

At first we thought it was all perfectly innocent. A few of us discussed this and decided it was happening far too frequently to be so innocent. I would try coughing when I knew she was in there, just to alert her that there was someone behind the curtain. It didn’t matter though, she would still “accidently” open the curtain to clean the shower. (In retrospect, I don’t know why it never occurred to me to just yell to her that I was in there, but it didn’t.) By the time we would be in there sounding like tuberculosis patients and were still being walked in on, we realized it was not a mistake on her part.

After considering whether or not to turn her in, I decided to let it slide. I did not care that much and I figured if it gave the MCL some small thing (and I mean that figuratively) to look forward to when she came to work, it was the least I could do.

The Mexican Cleaning Woman

I know you are all shocked by this title. "A Mexican cleaning woman?" What the hell kind of nonsense is he talking about? We had one though as this story is true.



When I was in college, we had a team of housekeepers who were responsible for cleaning the common areas in our dormitory. When I first got there, we had one guy named Paul and he was good. The guys on our floor had a good relationship with Paul. He did a good job and didn't complain about cleaning up after college kids. For our part, we did not mention how this guy was like 50 years old and cleaned college dorms for a living. It all worked well.



Our world was rocked one day when we were told that Paul had quit. He was being replaced with a Mexican cleaning woman. I did not know her name. I just knew her as the new Mexican cleaning woman. To show my naivity at the time, I did not realize that there were different types of Mexican cleaning woman like Guatemalans and Puerto Ricans, for example.


...I am so disappointed. The second half of this story was lost when I tried to publish it. I will try to finish it later.

New Entry

I don't have much to say but hate having not updated in a while so I will just say this for now.

WTF?

What's New

I have very busy at work. It's one of those projects where they say, "Be here by this time and if you aren't here by then, you can start looking for other work." I worked last Saturday but refused to go in this weekend for one very simple reason.

I am going away next weekend to visit my family in New England. I did not want to give up my weekend with Heather this weekend.

I am going to visit my family back in New England because my brother and his wife HAD A BABY this morning! I am very excited to go meet my brand new niece.

I appear to start a lot of paragraphs with the word "I."

I guess that must be a sign of self-centeredness.

I don't care today.

New Photo

I just added a photo to my profile. This is our dog Macey. She is almost 6 months old. She gets "fixed" next week. By "fixed" I mean she gets spayed but I wish it meant that they would stop her from acting crazy, going through the trash, and eating the other dogs' crap. Of course, I have less crap to clean up out of the yard, so that is a positive.

Speaking of photos, I have a question/issue with some people's photos. Why do people take pictures of themselves with their phone in their hand? I mean, why is the phone in the picture? I understand it is a camera phone and everything, but turn it around and take a picture. If you don't like it, erase it and take another. It's not that difficult to figure out.

Nerd

"He's a nerd," he told him. "He's a nerd, because he never played any sports."

Even though we had virtually nothing in common, I thought we could at least find common ground over the fact that we are both Ohio State University Football fans.

"Yeah he did," he responded in my defense. "He played basketball and he was a swimmer."

"Well, he's a pussy too. Those aren't contact sports. Basketball is a nigger sport and swimming is a faggot sport."

Trust me, I do not care what his loser uncle thinks about me, but I do care what he says to my step-son about me or anything else for that matter.

What is it that makes me a nerd? Is it the fact that I became an Ohio State football fan while attending law school in Ohio and not when I was serving time in jail?

What is it that makes me a pussy? Is it playing a "nigger" sport in a state where I did not have a black teammate and played against teams without any black players. I think one team we played had one black guy. That was it. Basketball is not traditionally considered a contact sport, but I wonder how he would feel if he actually played ball against me some time. I would be willing to bet that I hit more people on a basketball court, without pads and helmets, than he ever did on the football field.

Or was it being a swimmer that makes me a pussy? I practiced BEFORE school and did my homework and had a social life after school. If swimming is a faggot sport, then I was pretty fucking gay. I set state records and was one of the 200 fastest faggots in the United States. I also continued my faggery as a swimmer in college. I suppose I could have been more "straight" wasting time in jail. For someone who talks about being straight he certainly seems to like having "contact" with other men a lot.

Maybe it is paying my own bills that makes me a pussy. I do not live with my brother and his wife and two kids. I have held a job for extended periods of time and I treat my mother with respect. Maybe that is the stuff that makes me a pussy in his eyes.

As I said, I really do not care what the asshole thinks about me but I DO care what he says to my stepson. I go out of my way to not talk to B about what a douchebag his uncle is and it is difficult. For now, I'll continue to be the grown-up in all of this but I hope that B is able to identify who the "pussy" is as he gets older.

Hi

Ok, I don't know about all of this.