Kinlock Falls

I had two hours sleep last night, so as Prince might say, forgive me if this goes astray.

Matt, Michael, Danielle, and I ventured down to Kinlock Falls this afternoon. It is located out in the Bankhead National Forest. Here are a few pics.

A picture of the falls. Sliding down is fun!

At the top of the falls, looking over the edge. The rock in the top center is the highest one I will jump off of :-)

A little farther back upstream, still looking towards the falls:

Looking upstream at the creek which feeds the falls:

It was a million miles of fun. When we got there, we were the only ones there. By the time we left, there were probably at least 30 people, along with a couple of dogs. There seemed to be an abnormally large amount of fishes down there, and that made me think about Pablo :-) I got to talk with a guy who lives on the Cherokee reservation, which I didn’t know was just a few miles away. That was neat. One of his kids was jumping off the very highest ledges. After one such jump, he turned to me and said, “Every kid I raise is dumber than the last one.” Oh man, it was hilarious. Anyway, it was nice. The water was so cool and clear. There is some place I have always wanted to go called the blue hole. It is supposedly not far from Kinlock. But I have never been given exact directions.

The rest of the weekend…
Kyle and I headed up to Nashville Friday after work. We first stopped off at Shane’s to pick up some video gear. Well, Shane recently contracted viral meningitis. He must have gotten it when he and Angelina went to Africa to try and adopt a child. No, wait, that was Brad Pitt. Anyhow, I had it in my head that I would just stay in the car to avoid any virality. But when we pulled in the drive, there was a strange vehicle there. Kyle thought it might be Tammy. But I saw the Maryland sticker and knew exactly who it was. So there it was… meningitis versus hottie. Guess which one I chose.

After that, we met up with Cassie and hung out downtown for a few hours. Had dinner at Big River Brewery and shot pool at Buffalo Billiards. BB’s has these big front windows which they leave open most of the time in the summer. They open out onto busy 2nd avenue, so you can see all the people walking by. We always try to get one of the front two tables, which we were able to do on this night. This is when the most exciting event of the night occurred. While I was shooting, I hear this loud crash and thud behind me. I turn around and see this 300 pound guy clamboring to his feet. He has either jumped or been pushed thru the window. There’s a couch right next to the window, so he tumbled over that and onto the floor. What the freak!? He gets up and clambers back out the window. Shortly thereafter, someone comes and closes all the windows. Got home about 2:30.

Saturday, I worked until 2:00. Hung out with some friends Saturday night. Shot pool, watched TV, ate, and played NCAA Football 2006. Got home a little after 5 AM. What the freak?! I have no business being out that late. But it’s nice to know I can still do it once in awhile… I guess. Sorry this hasn’t been too creative, but I’m really exhausted. I think I’m seeing purple spots. Not sure if it’s the meningitis or the sleep deprivation. Either way, now I must sleep. Hope you all had a good weekend.

“City girls just seem to find out early, how to open doors with just a smile…”

Sorry, July…

… but I’m afraid you can’t go just yet. What the freak is going on? Weren’t we just at the fireworks like last week? This seems like it has been the (fastest/shortest) month of my life. Why is everything moving so fast? Where does the time go?

Memory Burn
Certain moments in life stand out, I guess, for as long as you live. I can remember things, specific events, where I was, who was there, and sometimes even how I felt, from twenty or twenty-five years ago. And those moments are just as clear as if they had happened yesterday. That’s memory burn (according to an episode of Seinfeld), things that are seared into your mind. And yet, there’s all the other moments, hours, days, weeks, months, that are just a blur, and I can’t remember much of anything about them. What makes certain moments stand out, even when at the time they happened, they may not have been as significant than other moments that have long since been forgotten?

One of my favorite “memory burn” moments is when she and I were at the beach, I guess about seven years ago. We were sitting by the pool on the second floor, facing the beach, with our legs thru the railing hanging off the deck. I was singing “The Coast Is Clear” of all songs. It was almost sunset. The ocean breeze was cool. Why did she put up with my singing? Why do any of them? I don’t remember what we did that night. We surely went to eat somewhere, but I don’t remember. I don’t even remember getting up and going back to the room. It’s just that one moment that stands out. I can just almost feel that breeze. That is a moment I never will forget.

The night the lights went out… at the tennis courts
Four little Mexican kids were running wild around the tennis courts Tuesday night while we were playing. All of a sudden, the lights went out. Well, once you turn the lights out, it’s at least 15 or 20 minutes before they will come back on. Anyhow, I looked over and the kids, who all looked to be under 8 years old, were standing by the light box. So I walked over there and told them to go away. One of the boys pointed at this friend and said, “He did it.” The accused looked at his friend and in this really evil little voice said slowly, “You.. betrayed.. me.” I am really beginning to understand why people move to affluent, gated communities.

These pretzels are making me thirsty!
Two great Seinfeld eps were on last night, “The Implant” and “The Alternate Side.” Some quotes:

“You don’t touch the nose! You don’t aspire to reach the nose. You don’t unhook anything to get to a nose, and no man has ever tried to look up a woman’s nostril.”

Jerry: There’s Sidra.
Kramer: There’s Salman.
Jerry: Where?
Kramer: Talkin’ to that woman.
Jerry: Talkin’ to Sidra?
Kramer: If that’s Sidra, she’s talkin’ to Salman.
Jerry: I don’t think that’s Salman.
Kramer: Well, I don’t think they’re real.
Jerry: If that’s Rushdie, they’re real.
Kramer: If they’re real, that’s Rushdie.
Jerry: Well, I gotta know. I’m talkin’ to Sidra.
Kramer: I gotta know, I’m talkin’ to Salman.

“What was wrong with that? I had a different interpretation! Do you know anything about this pretzel guy?! Maybe he’s been in the bar a really long time and he’s really depressed because he has no job, and no woman, and he’s parking cars for a living! Alright! Alright! Shut up! Shut up! I hear you! I’m coming down! These pretzels are making me thirsty!”

Jerry: Shouldn’t you do something with the extremities?
Elaine: What extremities?
Kramer: What’s an extremity?
Jerry: You raise the feet, get blood to the head.
Kramer: You raise the head, you get blood to the feet.
Elaine: OK, what about a cold compress? They always do that.
Jerry: I don’t have a washcloth.
Elaine: We’ll use a paper towel.
Jerry: You can’t put a paper towel on his head.
Kramer: What about a big sponge?
Jerry: How you gonna hold it on there?
Kramer (taking off his belt): We’ll use a belt!
Elaine: No, no. It’ll drip all over him.
Jerry: Should we walk him around?
Kramer: Yeah, I’ve seen them do that.
Jerry: No, no, that’s for a drug overdose.
Kramer: Well, maybe that’s what he’s got.
Elaine: No, Kramer, I just had lunch with him, he didn’t leave the table.
Kramer: Well he could have dropped acid when you weren’t looking.
Elaine: He is not a drug addict!
Jerry: Hey, you know what? Maybe he’s a diabetic, he might just need a cookie or something.
Kramer:Can you give him a cookie?
Elaine: How’s he gonna chew it?
Jerry: We’ll move his teeth. It happened to my uncle. The sugar revived him.
Elaine: Careful, you’re getting crumbs all over him.
Kramer: I got him chewing, but I don’t think he’s gonna swallow.

I hope you all have a great weekend. I think I am heading up to Nashville tonight. Would like to get down to Kinlock Falls at some point, if I have time. There’s a swimming hole, some rocks to jump off of, and of course, the falls. I’ll try to take some pictures if I do make it down there. Here is one pic I found online.

“You’re not the best thing that I knew. Never was. Never cared too much for all this hanging around. It’s just the same thing all the time. Never get what I want. Never get too close to the end of the line…”

The first girl I ever called

Here’s another fine literary offering from the mind of Manuel Labor. Names changed to protect the weak.

The first girl I ever called was Connie Cooper. She was tall. As long as I can remember, she was one of the tallest girls in class. Tall for a girl when she is 12 means something entirely different than when she is 25. Connie and I were big love note buddies. You know, I-like-you-do-you-like-me-yes-no-maybe kind of notes. She would always say yes. Then along came my friend James. He was interested in Connie, too. So during second grade (I think), we began an all out battle, vying for Connie’s heart. Some days, we would see who could write more love notes to Connie. At some point, I guess she got tired of this. One day she sent my note back with a check in the “maybe” box. How dare she not say yes? (Let me note here that James was my note envoy to Connie, so he probably checked the box himself. At least I have always been highly suspicious.) So, I wrote her a note back, saying “I hate you” and sent it via James. The teacher was in a reading group at the time and stopped him on his way to his destination and asked what he was carrying. He gave the note to her. That traitor! Everyone knows you destory the note, eat it or something. He could have never been a double-naught spy. The teacher read my note out loud to the class, which as you can probably imagine, was not embarrassing at all. It was the only time I can ever remember telling anyone I hated them while I wasn’t heavily medicated. Well, except for Dad. (Boy, that was a fun phase, wasn’t it, Dad?) Of course I didn’t mean it.

Anyhow, back to the phone call. I remember going into a room by myself, closing the door, and (What story was I telling again? Oh yeah…) psyching myself into it. I was incredibly nervous and obviously had no experience, so it never crossed my mind to think about what I might say to her if she answered. I called. A man which I assume was her dad answered. I asked to speak to her and he told me to hold. It was at this point that I distinctly remember picturing in my young mind Connie being upstairs in her room, and coming down a long, winding staircase to take my call. She came to the phone. I do not remember what I said. I just remember that the entire conversation seemed awkward to me. We got off the phone and I never told anyone what I had done. And I never called her again.

A couple of years later, a group of us at school were talking one day about who we liked and such. Connie was in the group and said something to the effect of, “This guy I really liked called me on the phone one time. I thought it was so sweet.” And she looked right at me. For the first time, I realized that she liked me. She had liked me for a couple of years. For whatever reason, I never pursued things any further. I guess my priorities at that time were on other things. Girls were somewhere below Atari, baseball cards, and probably a couple of other things. There would be plenty of time for girls later. Back then, it seems like you were just friends with whoever was in your class, then the next year, you made new friends. No big deal.

Connie’s dad was killed in a car wreck at some point while we were still young. It was just one of those things that you heard your parents say, and you knew it was bad, but you were too young to really understand. Seems like it happened over the summer, and by the time we got back to school, no one remembered it, or at least no one talked about it. Not long after that, Connie’s mom moved her and her brother to another town. And if I ever saw Connie again, it was not more than once.

James and his family had moved to Florida for a couple of years. They were moving back about this time, and as fate would have it, they moved into Connie’s old house. He and I got to be good friends. I went over to his house a few times. There was no winding staircase. It was just a normal, three-bedroom, one-story house. Funny how a young boy’s mind can conceive such images.

I really enjoyed school, especially high school. I wasn’t the most popular person, but I was somewhat popular. I was just kind of someone that everyone knew and made people laugh, and I came to really enjoy and relish that role, whatever it was. At the time, I am sure I was probably wishing the days away, in a hurry for it to be over. But now, I would love to go back for just one day and walk those halls one more time. But, time doesn’t work that way. I occasionally have dreams where I am still in school, being late for class, not being able to remember my locker combination, or some other minor crisis. Sometimes I can close my eyes and almost hear the bell ringing and lockers slamming.

So where are they now? Well, James and I have remained good friends to this day. He got married a few years ago, and I went to his wedding. I still get a phone call from him every now and then. The first girl I ever called, well, she is married to a golfer on the PGA Tour. I won’t say which one. No, it’s not Tiger Woods. But he has finished in the top ten on the money list a couple of times. I guess she did OK for herself. And me… well, you know all about me.

I think I hear the bell ringing, so I guess that is all for now.

Don’t want to be late for class.

“I’m real sorry ’bout the shape I’m in. I just like my fun every now and then…”

Who doesn’t want to wear the ribbon?!

Wal-Mart Halts Singles Shopping

(excerpt) …One dissatisfied customer was Leslie Winton, 27, who found out on her way into the store that Singles Shopping is no more. “This is very disappointing,” she said. “I drove up from Franklin County to be here. I’ve been thinking about it all week.” (end excerpt)

Well, we just can’t have that. Email me ;-)

I guess now it’s back to meet-an-inmate.com and RussianBrides.com. Oh, I’m kidding. Those aren’t real sites. Oh, they are? Well, I’ve never visited them…. (No offense, Svetlana.) Well, OK, they aren’t in my favorites though.

Nocturnal Phantasm 705B
I’ve been on an incredible streak of remembering dreams lately. Last night, I dreamed I was either a coach or a teacher in high school. I was sitting at the front of a classroom, next to my high school health teacher, who was also the girls varsity basketball coach for a couple of years. It was a regular class, with probably about fifty students in it. But once we started to teach, it was like he was suddenly a football coach, and I was an assistant, even though the students remained the same. He brought in a newspaper which had all the scores from the previous Friday night’s games, and my assignment was to read the articles or recaps of three games, and then give a summary of each.

Random thoughts
I fed Pablo a couple of pieces of a Fruity Pebble yesterday. He seems to be doing OK, although I think he might have had a sugar high. He was darting all over his tank.

My fantasy baseball team is up to 3rd place, which is the highest I’ve been all year. Click on the link over to the right if you’d like to see. But hurry, I probably won’t be there for long.

When you get behind a car that is emitting lots of unpleasant, toxic exhaust, do you stick your nose in your shirt and take a breath? I do. I guess I prefer the combination of human perspiration, Tag body spray, and Mitchum, to whatever is coming from the car in front of me. I do that in the bathroom too, if someone has defiled it. But it only works well for like the first breath or two.

Yesterday, I killed one of these giant hopping bugs in the kitchen. I smothered it with some Raid. Then once it was dead, I caught myself doing a victory dance, taunting the deceased with sort of a pro wrestling/NFL end zone celebration combination. Why do I do that? Perhaps I have some pent up energy. Too bad there was no video camera.

If I ever become a porn star, I think my name will be Manuel Labor. I will typically be a construction worker or something, glistening with sweat.

“Her hat is hanging by the door, the one she bought in Mexico. It blocked the wind, it stopped the rain. She’d never leave that one. So she can’t be really gone…”

That girl is like a sunburn

Amy invited us down to her house on Saturday. She lives on Smith Lake. Jonathan and I headed out around 9:30. Need I say it was hot? Rode the jet ski, the pontoon, and swam lots. It was a lot of fun, and quite exhausting. I love the water! Took some pictures, and figured I’d share a few…

This handsome feller walked over from the neighbor’s yard while I was lying in the hammock. I love dalmatians:

Here is the view from Amy’s deck:

A couple of lake houses:

I got a sunburned a little, so I have spent the better part of last night and today lathering myself with aloe… which isn’t a lot unlike other weekends.

Other highlights… I went running Friday. I was sweatin’ like Dan Quayle at a spelling bee. (Oh, that was bad. I’ll probably get an outdated analogy citation for that one.) Had dinner at Los Charros (Mexican) with my sister and her husband. Picked up a Bobby Brown greatest hits CD at Wal-Mart. (Yes, these are my weekend highlights. You know you wish you were listening to it right now.) It was only $9.72, so I couldn’t pass it up. Today, the apartment kids created a new game. It’s a really fun one where they ring my doorbell, then are gone when I get to the door. Fortunately, I was lying in bed in my underwear when they first played it, so I had to get up, put some shorts on and go to the door. Is it any wonder I love living here? Oh, and two cop cars were at the house across the street again Saturday night. Hope you all had a good weekend!

Recurring dream
I keep having a dream where it’s Christmas or Christmas Eve or whatever, time to exchange presents, and I have forgotten to shop. Sometimes I don’t have any gifts for any of my family and sometimes I have only forgotten to buy for one or two people. It really distresses me. I love Christmas time and probably over-buy, if anything, for family. Interpretations?

Farewell Tour
Lance Armstrong wrote what will likely be the final chapter of his cycling career Sunday, winning a seventh straight Tour de France. I started following the tour back in the Greg LeMond/Miguel Indurain days. When Lance first came up, to me he seemed like a brash young punk who had not paid his dues. And although billed as America’s cycling future, I had my doubts. Once he came back from cancer to ride the tour, I was immediately converted into a Lance Armstrong fan. Still I never thought he would even finish, much less win it, and much less seven times. I imagine that any person who survives cancer is a source of hope and inspiration for others. What better gift could you give anyone.

You had to be there…
(In the lake…)
“This water is really warm.”
“Oh. Sorry about that.” (Ewwww!)

“So when did that show come on, the forties?”
“Um, I don’t know, maybe the fifties or early sixties. It might have been on in the late forties. When did TV even begin?”
“Well, in Back To The Future, they were just getting a TV in 1955.”

“No matter what your friends try to tell ya, we were made to fall in love. And we will be together, any kind of weather. It’s like that. It’s like that…”

I lost my purse!

Keeping things on the lighter side today…

Played tennis for a couple of hours last night. It was so humid, like a rainforest. A couple of times, I thought I saw a tse-tse fly. Too bad, I could’ve busted out my Steve-O thong and done an impromptu episode of the Wild Boyz. Anyway, when I got home, around 10:45, I couldn’t find my wallet. Turns out I had left it in Java’s car. Augh!! Why must there always be a problem? Anyway, big thanks to Java. We scheduled a late-night rendezvous (Note to self: Change previous phrase before publishing, as it doesn’t sound ultra hetero) and made the drop halfway between my bachelor pad and his fortress of privacy. I had to have my wallet. Why? I’ll let my friend George Costanza explain:

“Because important things go in a case. You got a skull for your brain, a plastic sleeve for your comb, and a wallet for your money. This is an organizer, a secretary, and a friend.”

J Walking Talking
Conversation I had this morning…

Her: He’s from Nigeria. What country is that?
Me: Uh, Nigeria is a country.
Her: Huh? Oh, maybe he said he’s from Africa. What country would that be?
Me: Africa’s a continent.
Her: I always get those mixed up. Well, what country do we live in?
Me: United States… of America. Man, I wish I was recording this conversation.
Her: Well, what is South America then?
Me: That’s a continent.
Her: So what country is Africa?
Me: Africa’s a continent. Nigeria is a country in Africa.
Her: Nigeria can’t be a country. Are you sure?
Me: Fairly.
Her: Well, what state is it then?
Me: I don’t think they have states.
Her: Man, I suck at geography. If I ever see Jay Leno coming, I’m walking the other way. Ask me some questions.
Me: Uhh, who is Vice President of the United States?
Her: Oh, I know that one, Dick Cheney.
Me: Who ran against George Bush in the last Presidential election?
Her: Al Gore.
Me: Nope.
Her: It was too Al Gore!
Me: John Kerry.
Her: Oh. Well that’s who I was picturing in my mind.
Me: OK, who just announced she is retiring from the Supreme Court?
Her: Condaleeza Rice.
Me: No. Sandra Day O’Connor.
Her: I thought that was a singer.
Me: That’s Sinead O’Connor.
Her: Ask me something that doesn’t have to do with court.
Me: OK, what is the capital of-
Her: (interrupting) I don’t know. No, go ahead.
Me: What is the capital of Texas?
Her: Dallas.
Me: No.
Her: Houston.
Me: No.
Her: San Antonio.
Me: No.
Her: Fort Worth.
Me: No.
Her: I don’t know.
Me: Austin.
Her: Aww, man. OK. Let me ask you some. What is the day that will live in in..famy? (laughing) I almost said infantry.

Blogathon 2005
Be sure to stop over and support Kerry at Webgrits during the upcoming blogathon for charity. Or you might want to sign up yourself at blogathon.org. Hope you all have a great weekend!

“Mister, can you take me into Little Rock? I’ll buy the coffee and I’ll fill your truck. I’ll listen all night if you wanna talk. Just don’t mention Memphis…”

My old man

Sorry if this is a bit too personal…

Today is Dad’s birthday. He is 55. You know, the old speed limit. Dad got a speeding ticket a few months ago, which is humorous in itself. Today, I thought I would share a few Dad memories.

When I was quite young, probably five or six, Huntsville was the nearest place that you could legally buy alcohol. Now, let me say here that as far as I know, Dad has never even had a sip of alcohol since I have been alive. Anyway, for some reason, Mom and Dad liked to drive around on Saturdays and Sundays. And more than one time, when we would cross the river going towards Huntsville, Dad would tell me he was going to get drunk. He was kidding, but I thought he was serious. I don’t know why that terrified me so, but I would cry and say, “No, Daddy!” Gee, I can’t wait to play that trick on my kids.

Some of my favorite memories are lying awake at night and asking Dad to tell me stories about when he was growing up. I could picture the stories in my mind as he was telling them. He was, and is, a simple man. Whenever we would get a newer vehicle, Mom would drive it, and Dad would always take the lesser one. He never seemed to care too much for material things. He thought the kind of person you are was more important than what you had, and that is what he tried to teach me. Of course, all the memories aren’t good. He had a short temper and yelled a lot when I was younger. He wasn’t perfect. Neither was I. But I guess when it comes to looking back on the past, I like to dwell on the good.

His father died before I turned two years old. He never spoke much of it, but I always wondered how he dealt with that. He did not have much family, just two half-brothers who were at least fifteen years his elder. His mother passed away in 1987 (I think). So Mom’s family, eleven brothers and sisters, became his family.

On the 4th of July weekend of 1998, I was working on an early Sunday morning when Mom called and said that she was at the hospital. Dad suffered from acid reflux, and he’d had an incident that night which triggered an asthma attack. He couldn’t get his breath and a lot of fluid had gotten in his lungs. The ER nurse had told Mom to “call the family in.” Those words hit you like a ton of bricks, stop you in your tracks. If you’ve never gotten that call, there is no way to explain it. I rushed up there to see him. Thankfully, some paramedics happened by, inserted a tube in his throat, and long story short, after a few days in the ICU, Dad was OK. But I remember so many of Mom’s brothers and sisters and cousins being at the hospital that day. Dad was never like an in-law to them.

Last night, I was trying to think of one memory, one story, that would sum up Dad. Well, this is the best I could come up with. When my engagement ended, in 1999, I was crushed. As I had spent basically all my free time with my girlfriend/fiancee over the past four years, suddenly I had nothing to do. Worse, I didn’t want to do anything. I couldn’t eat. It was as close to depression as I have ever been. I could tell Dad was concerned. One evening after work, he took me out to dinner, just me and him. We had never really just gone out to dinner just to be going. Soon, this became a Monday evening ritual. The first couple of times, we talked mostly about what I was going through. But after that, we would just talk about life in general, work, anything and everything. Our Monday night dinners would eventually come to an end, after several months, or a year, or more. I’m not sure. But that always meant a lot to me.

When I was little, anytime I would have to ask Mom and Dad for money or anything, I would always say, “I’m gonna pay you back someday.” And I had every intention of doing so. But after 32 years of accumulating debt, it has become clear that I will never be able to repay the balance in full. I decided a few years ago that really the only way to repay my parents is to try to do the same things for my kids, if I’m ever blessed to have kids.

So, anyhow, happy birthday, Dad. And thanks for not getting drunk.

“I’m sure instead of all that attention, all he’d of wanted was a few words mentioned. A simple man, simply laid to rest. As they drove him away in that big Cadillac, with a tear in my eye I had to laugh. Daddy never was the Cadillac kind…”

The Sparrow Incident

As I was lying in bed last night, watching Craig Ferguson interview Ludacris, which in itself was a little odd, it just hit me that tomorrow is my Dad’s birthday. And my sister’s first wedding anniversary is Sunday. You gah suh shopping to do, Lucy. Oh wait, there is no Lucy. I guess I have some shopping to do. What do you get for a first wedding anniversary? Paper? Or is that just what the couple gets each other? Ahh, I need a woman.

A seemingly endless supply of Foxworthy material
Spotted on a white, full-size ’98 Chevy pickup last week. In the upper left corner of the back window, an “8” sticker. In the upper right corner, a picture of a deer head. In the lower left corner, a “W” sticker. And on the vanity plate? GTERDUN.

That’s it, sparrows. We have NO DEAL!
This pseudo-tragedy occurred on my way home from work yesterday. The largest part of my commute is two-lane. During one particularly long, straight stretch (where I normally like to pass many cars, but that is neither here nor there), I spotted a little bird in the distance right in the middle of my lane. Now, let me insert here, that while I am not in PETA, I do consider myself somewhat of a conservationist. I enjoy nature… deer, mallards, etc. And I would never harm a little birdie.

So, back to my story. As I drew closer, I figured the bird would eventually fly away and out of danger. But no, as the gap between my vehicle and the ornithological creature closed, he/she did not seem to even be cognizant of me. What should I do? Should I swerve? Don’t they say never to do that? Don’t we have a deal with the sparrows? They move out of the way of our vehicles, we overlook the droppings on our cars. Maybe this is a deaf bird? You can’t hit a deaf bird, Bone. Maybe it’s just had a really bad day and it wants to be hit, ending it’s miserable fly-by-day life. There’s nothing coming. I could swerve into the other lane. All these thoughts were racing thru my head. And by that time, it was too late. I was going to hit it. I just knew the fragile creature would take flight just in time to get plastered across my grill. An afternoon of picking sparrow feathers out of my radiator was not what I had planned. And then, at the very last instant, I realized… what I had thought was a bird turned out to be a piece of a tire. Ahh. Silly Bone. I laughed at myself inside. Then I thought as I continued on my way, I will have to blog about this.

Nocturnal Phantasm 705A
I dreamed I got a phone call from an ex-girlfriend who I have not heard from in awhile, and who I still care deeply for. (Oh, don’t worry, I care about you all.) She started off asking what I would say if she wanted to get back together. Then, her voice began sounding troubled, bordering on panicky. I asked how things had been going. I said I heard she was engaged. She said she had been, but that he was fat and bald, and she ended it. I can’t remember much more of the conversation, but I could tell things were not right. I asked what was going on. As her voice broke, she said she had been listening to a fortune teller. In my mind, I equated this to a psychic. They were controlling her every move. She said she had to go, and told me to call her. Something was said which led me to believe someone was coming to take her away, like she was crazy or something. But I knew she wasn’t. We got off the phone, and I was very troubled myself. I knew I had to help her, but I didn’t have her number to call her. I laid there with a most awful feeling in my stomach, not knowing what to do.

“Come out Virginia, don’t let me wait. You Catholic girls start much too late…”

LaGrange pics

Here are some pics from the excursion Friday evening, to help illustrate my LaGrange story a few posts back.

This is the view from the main highway. You take the curve to the right and after a short while pass the school site, which has a couple of cabins on it, some picnic tables, and a few other things:

A monument at the school site:

Here is one of the cabins at the school site. I don’t know how old these are, but I do know you can rent one and spend the night there. Why you would want to, I’m not sure:

Immediately after you pass the school, the paved road ends, and things start looking like this. Keep in mind we walked out of here at like 11 PM:

After probably a quarter to a half mile, the gravel road turns sharply left and goes uphill to the cemetery. At that point, this muddy path is straight ahead. This is where we got stuck that night. They have since put up a gate. There is also a no trespassing/private property sign in the upper right hand corner. This past Friday as we were leaving the cemetery, there was an old truck coming out of this road. Yikes:

From that same point, this is the view looking uphill at the road which leads to the cemetery:

The cemetery is located at the end of the gravel road, probably close to a mile from the school site. It is surrounded by dense woods on all sides, except for the entrance where the road ends. It has really been cleaned up since that night eleven years ago. At the time of my story, all of this was overgrown and you could only see a very few graves:

This was a little freaky. The box on the right is what I assume to be an above-ground concrete coffin. Never seen that before. (“We bury our dead underground, so they can’t get out and get us.) This was pretty far back in the cemetery. Once I saw this, I started heading back towards the car:

Well, maybe those will help illustrate my story somewhat. I am fairly certain this was my first time back to LaGrange since that night. The whole place is undergoing a restoration actually, so it’s very pretty. “Now I know why people like golf. It’s just nice to be outdoors in a well-manicured area.” Still, with all the stories I have heard, and with what happened that night eleven years ago, I was expecting someone to come out of the woods at any moment.

I hope you enjoyed the pictures and my story.

“She got out of town, on a railway New York bound. Took all except my name. Another alien on Broadway…”

Folklore, fair maidens, & double faults

While talking to some girl I just met at Buffalo Billiards Saturday, I was reminded of this ever-so-true Seinfeld bit:

Women need to like the job of the guy they’re with. If they don’t like the job, they don’t like the guy. Men know this, which is why we make up the phony, bogus names for the jobs that we have. “Well, right now, I’m the regional management supervisor. I’m in development, research, consulting.” Men, on the other hand, if they are physically attracted to a woman are not that concerned with her job. Men don’t really care. Men’ll just go, “Really? Slaughterhouse? Is that where you work? That sounds interesting. So whatdya got a big cleaver there? You’re just lopping their heads off? That sounds great! Listen, why don’t you shower up, and we’ll get some burgers and catch a movie.”

Friday
It was quite a weekend. Friday evening, we ventured to LaGrange (before sunset) so that I could take some photos to help illustrate my story from a few posts back. They have really fixed the whole area up. They’ve done a little clearing, really cleaned up the cemetery, and put a lot more gravel on the road. Anyway, I uploaded the pics to my computer last night, so I hope to put those in a blog entry, maybe tonight. Thanks to Kyle for risking life and limb to go up there with me, since he had no real interest and there was little, if any, chance of encountering girls there. The oft-repeated phrase of the evening: “Now why are we doing this again?”

Saturday
Saturday was long. I worked until Noon. Soon afterward, we headed to Nashville. Stopped off at S&M’s Kennel, then ended up downtown around 6:00. Shot pool at Buffalo Billiards. At some point, we were playing doubles with these two chicks that Kyle had managed to coerce over to our table. Referring to her cue, my extremely attractive teammate said something like, “How do you hold it?” Well, as you might imagine, I was all over that like Jared on a foot-long sweet onion chicken teriyaki sandwich. I gave her a couple of um, tips, and amazingly she sank the shot, which was a fairly long one. Hmm, maybe I need to take my own advice. Had dinner at Amerigo’s Italian restaurant, which caused me to randomly blurt out “Amerigo Vespucci” the rest of the night. Did some labeling and packaging, about two and a half hours worth, then got home about 2:30.

Sunday
I did laundry. Went to eat dinner at Applebees. Played tennis last night.
Wow, it was humid as all get out. I was sweatin’ like Richard Simmons to the oldies. J-Mo managed to snap some photos of me in all my Wimbledon-ness: I’m glistening! You know if you didn’t know better, without actually seeing where the ball ends up, it actually almost looks like I know what I’m doing.

Hope you all had a great weekend. Don’t forget ESPN begins airing the World Series of Poker tomorrow night (7/19)! Phil Helmuth, Dan Harrington, Sam Farha, David Williams, Dutch Boyd, Doyle Brunson, Chris Ferguson, Howard Lederer, Jason Lester, Phil Ivey, Chris Moneymaker, Greg Raymer, and my favorite, Annie Duke. Love ya, baby!

“Oh, baby baby, it’s a wild world. I’ll always remember you, like a child, girl…”