3WW #38

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I’ll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week’s words are:
stroke
summer
leave

“What are you drinking?”

Skip was sitting on the steps in the shallow end of the pool. He finished his current sip before answering, “Doctor Thunder.”

“Where’d you get that?” Zach inquired from the opposite end of the pool, anchoring himself there with one arm holding onto the diving board.

“There’s a machine out there,” Skip said as he nodded towards the building which housed the restrooms and dressing rooms.

“Go get me one,” Zach responded.

It was Zach’s momentary stroke of genius that had led us here. We had been standing around his truck in the Wal-Mart parking lot, trying to think of something to do, someway to prolong the night. He suggested we could sneak into the city pool.

I’m not exactly sure at what point in the evening certain ideas stop sounding completely insane and begin to seem entirely reasonable and normal, but it does exist. And we had passed that point. So after a token objection by Brian, always the voice of timidity, here we were.

I cannot speak for anyone else present that evening, but it was my first and, to this point, only time skinny-dipping. Looking back now, it seems quite odd. But at the time, it was either swim in my faded maroon briefs or become one with the chlorinated water.

We all opted for the latter. It was dark. We were young. So we swam, talked about anything and mostly nothing at all, and just hung out.

As Skip climbed out of the water to go to the drink machine, the catcalls and the barbs flew.

“My eyes! Make it stop!”

“Cover yourself with something. Good heavens!”

“The water’s not that cold!”

Skip disappeared around the side of the building. Brian, who appeared to be taking full advantage of our illegal activity to work vigorously on his backstroke, called from across the pool, “Hey, J, do you think I should shave my legs for swim team?”

“Dude, I don’t know,” I replied. I was by the rope separating the shallow end from the deep end, my arms up on the side of the pool. Zach was in the deep end to my left. Brian had been swimming laps across from me. He stopped.

“Well, Coach Bishop says I should.”

“Then do it,” I encouraged, hoping to end the conversation.

“Would you shave yours?”

“Um, no.” No way, no how, not ever.

“Then why are you telling me to?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m really not comfortable talking about this right now.”

Brian opted for a second opinion and began swimming towards the diving board.

“Zach, do you think I should shave my legs?”

As Brian invaded his personal space, Zach leaned back trying to avoid any accidental contact and waved his hands as if shooing a fly.

“Dude, get back!” Zach chided.

“Swim away, tiny stroker, swim away!” I added.

Our antics were interrupted by a car slowing down and then turning into the parking lot.

“Get down!” I yelled.

The good thing about the city pool is that it’s located on a little traveled road, with no houses or apartments nearby. The bad thing about it is that it’s surrounded by only a chain link fence.

I saw Skip start around the corner of the building. He stopped and retreated when he saw the headlights. The rest of us hid against the side of the pool nearest the road, keeping our heads just above the water, but below the edge of the wall.

The headlights shone across the pool, reflecting brightly off the slide and the fence on the other side. All I could picture was the four of us being led single-file to a police car, covering ourselves with our hands.

There is some undefined amazing something about a summer night. Something intoxicating. Something that causes you to leave your inhibitions behind, and do something stupid.

“Hold me closer tiny dancer. Count the headlights on the highway…”

Winds of the past

Sunday was Decoration Day at the cemetery where most of my mother’s family are buried. It is located two dirt roads off the nearest paved road, set on the tiniest of hills amongst a grove of trees and encompassed entirely by a chain link fence. It is surrounded on all sides by open fields, with no houses or other structures within at least a quarter-mile.

When the birds are singing and the wind rustles thru the trees, it is one of the most peaceful places I know. It’s a haunting, chilling, yet calming wind, as if the past is speaking.

Three of my uncles, one aunt, two grandparents, and two great-grandparents lie there. Along with distant cousins, great aunts and uncles, and other relatives, many I don’t remember or never met.

Decoration is a day set aside each year for families and loved ones to come and place flowers and other memorials on the gravesites of the departed. It is most often held on a Saturday or Sunday in May or early June. The specifics vary from cemetery to cemetery.

Some cemeteries have a memorial service and a speaker on Decoration Day. Some even serve dinner afterward. Others have a more informal gathering of family and friends. Some churches also hold special Decoration services.

Many cemeteries hold a cleanup day a week or so before Decoration. Volunteers come to mow, rake, landscape, and clean the grounds, and often remove old flowers from the graves.

I remember one of my uncles going every year to mow the grass, weed the graves, and put mulch or rocks around them. Now, he lies there, too. And younger uncles have taken over that responsibility.

Everytime I vist, I can’t believe how long it has been since my grandmother passed. A little over fifteen years now. In my mind, I’m reaching out to grab it, but it just keeps getting further and further away.

There are graves that seem to have been untouched, and I imagine unvisited, for many years. That always pulls at my heart. And I wonder about them. Did they not live just the same, were they not just as valuable as all these others?

I wonder if my loved ones will ever wind up like that. As generations pass on and on and on, are we all eventually forgotten?

Thousands of dollars are spent each year on Decoration Day, as many of the gravesites are renewed with beautiful flowers and colorful arrangements. But Decoration is not just about flowers to me. It’s about family. It’s about remembering those who have passed, and reminding myself where I came from.

I see people at Decoration I don’t see any other time of the year. Sunday, I saw my 82-year-old great uncle who I haven’t seen in probably three or four years. He was standing next to my mother. She’s about 5 feet tall, and he looked to be three or four inches shorter than her.

He was hobbling around with a walking stick. He has a bad hip and a bad this and a bad that. He’s very hard of hearing, and doesn’t recognize as many faces as he used to. But every year, he buys flowers and decorates the graves of his mother, his brother, and his sister’s three infant children.

That’s Decoration Day.

It’s part of my heritage and it’s part of me. A part I don’t want to let go of. Sometimes it feels like my generation–my sister and I, my first cousins, and their children–is letting go. Like we’re losing something valuable. Something that cannot be reclaimed.

As I was leaving Sunday, creeping down the dry, dusty road, I took one last look at the little cemetery on the hill. So colorful. So quiet and peaceful. The little grove of trees providing shade. The winds of the past continuing to blow, beckoning…

“Some days the sky’s so blue, I feel like I can talk to you. And I know it might sound crazy…”

How I Roll: All that’s gold doesn’t glitter

(This is part three in a series.)

After driving a 1984 Ford Escort with louvers, one might think that, vehicle-wise, there was nowhere to go but up.

One would be wrong.

Enter the gold 1985 Chevy Cavalier. Yes, I said gold.

To this day, why anyone would purchase a gold vehicle eludes me. The only possible reason I’ve ever been given is that gold cars don’t show dirt as much.

I’ve seen a lot of car commercials in my time. They talk about horsepower and miles per gallon, and safety ratings, and towing capacity. I don’t ever recall a single commercial including the line “it also comes in gold, which doesn’t show dirt.”

I mean, do we really want to start basing our buying decisions in this country on this principle? If that’s the case, why not have women wear rust-colored wedding dresses? But I digress.

So there I am, age seventeen, cruising around in a gold, four-door 1985 Cavalier. Oh yes, it was a four-door. Convenient when you’re starting a family. Not so much when you’re a senior in high school and trying to get girls to date you.

There are places in this world–Luxembourg, the highlands of Iceland, and some tribes in Malaysia, to name a few–where if you send your child to school driving a four-door gold-colored car, they will arrest you and take your children away. And that’s how it should be everywhere. No amount of therapy can ever erase those scars.

The Cavalier was my second and final hand-me-down. As a general rule, if anyone gives you a car, it’s probably not going to be a top of the line high-performance vehicle. That’s why in the classifieds, you’ll see ads for things like a 1976 Vega that doesn’t run for $200. People are still trying to get something for it.

Still, I had high hopes at first. The Cavalier had been my Mom’s car, so I figured it had to be better than what I’d been driving.

It was not loaded. As a matter of fact, I would say it was the opposite of loaded, whatever that would be called. Manual locks, manual windows, no cruise control, no cassette player, etc.

It was also a four-cylinder, or at least at some point during its existence had been. By the time I finished driving it, I think it was closer to two-and-a-half or three cylinders.

I got my first taste of the Cavalier’s power, or lack thereof, just a couple of weeks after I began driving it. After a party one night, two girls who had left about the same time as me, pulled up beside me as if they wanted to race. So I floored it.

We were even for a few seconds. Then the Cavalier topped out… at 78 miles per hour. There I was, pedal to the metal, watching two girls in my senior class leaving me behind. They slowed down and when we got to the next red light, they were laughing. I was not.

I continued to drive the Cavalier–but did not race it anymore–most of my freshman year in college, where I commuted about 50 minutes one way. One spring day on my way home from school, the car started smoking, and sputtering worse than normal. I stopped and called Dad from a payphone. He came and followed me home, slowly. And I did not drive the Cavalier much longer after that.

“I parked my car beside the highway and I didn’t lock the doors. Left a note there with the keys. If it cranks, well friend, she’s yours…”

3WW #37

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I’ll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week’s words are:
filthy
guess
convenience

Crystal laid on top of the covers still wearing her shoes, not wanting her feet to touch the filthy carpet. The room was surprisingly dark. She had not bothered to turn on a single light, nor had she opened the gawdy curtains. For a brief second, she had thought it would be nice to have such heavy curtains at home, as they served to block out nearly all the afternoon light.

Crystal realized she had barely noticed the familiar musty stench that permeated the air. A combination of tobacco and mildew if she had to guess. And who knows what else. She thought it a bit sad that the smell which once nearly sickened her now had no effect at all.

She hated this place and had complained about it more than once. But Greg always argued that it was near his office. A matter of convenience, he had said. And since he paid for the room, and paid for her car, she couldn’t argue much.

But lately Crystal had felt like she was only a matter of convenience. She showed up at his beck and call, wore what he wanted her to wear, and even doused herself with the awful cheap perfume he liked. He only managed to see her now once a week. And it had been months since there had been any mention of their future.

It had not always been that way. Or maybe it had, but not in her mind. He showered her with gifts, and paid for her car. He was her prince charming. Except she never recalled prince charming being married. But Lori was horrible to him, unbearable, constantly nagging, and never in the mood. Or so he said.

Crystal had never been married, but Greg promised her someday. And she had held on to someday for nearly two years. There was always an excuse. Then Lori became pregnant, which complicated things. And then Lori miscarried, which complicated them more. Greg couldn’t possibly leave then.

Her phone rang. It was him, probably calling to say he was going to be late, again. Crystal considered not answering, then did.

“Hello.”

“Lori’s leaving me.”

“What?”

“She filed for divorce today.”

“What? Why?” Crystal had waited for this day for a long time. Now that it was finally here, she wasn’t sure how to feel, much less what to say.

“I’ll explain everything when I get there. I just really need to see you,” his voice was cracking. “I’m ten minutes away.”

“OK.”

Ten minutes later, Greg inserted his key card into the slot and pushed down on the cold handle. He opened the door to an empty room, but for the scent of cheap perfume.

“I’ll hate myself for coming here again. Where the streets are paved with misery, and lives are built on lies. A place they call the broken promise land…”

24 Recap: 5/21/07

Whoever found my blog searching for Ricky Shroder shirtless, well, I’m sending a CTU field team after you.

Recapping the two-hour season finale, also known as Day Six: 4:00 AM – 6:00 PM…

Ricky takes Josh by chopper to a nice spot on the beach, as directed by Jack’s father. Ricky assures Josh he won’t let anything happen to him. Then appears to staple a tracking device into Josh’s arm. Don’t worry, we do this to every person we’re about to trade to some sociopath for a piece of circuitry.

Meanwhile, Jack is in custody, being transported back to CTU. He gets on the phone and warns Karen that Jack’s father has no intention of giving up the sub-circuit board (SCB) for Josh, and that she must stop the exchange. Karen tells Tom about the call, saying of Jack, “He’s been more right than we have today.” Now that you mention it! Tom says he will “look the other way” if Karen decides to do something. She calls Bill.

“What do you want me to do?” Bill asks.
“Whatever it takes,” Karen replies. This dialogue was written by Mrs. Cooper’s second grade class at Beverly Hills Elementary School. They won a contest. Actually, scratch that. I don’t want to insult the second graders.

At la Casa Blanca, Daniels calls the Russian President to apologize. Hey, Yuri, you know that little we-already-destroyed-the-sub-circuit-board hoax we tried to pull over on you? April Fools! So whattya say we just let cold wars be bygones? Suvarov says he will continue towards military action unless the SCB is destroyed.

At CTU, Chloe continually looks like she’s about to pass out. Nadia gets a call from Karen telling her she needs to be able to track the vehicle carrying Jack. A short while later, an oncoming car forces the SUV carrying Jack off the road. It’s Bill! Jack and Bill subdue the two CTU agents and take off for the beach in Bill’s truck.

At the beach, two men approach in a speedboat. One of them is Walid! Oh wait. Nevermind. It was hard to tell in the wetsuit. They come ashore. Ricky asks to see the SCB. When he opens the box, it explodes, knocking him down and bloodying his face. Jack and Bill arrive as the men take Josh onto the boat.

At some point, a man wanders into CTU. It turns out to be Milo’s brother, Stuart, come to get Milo’s body. Stuart tells Nadia that Milo talked about her a lot, then asks how he died. Nadia tells him Milo died a hero, saving her life. Then Stuart disappears, never to be heard from again. And THIS is a perfect microcosm of the entire season.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program of saving the world Josh from terrorists Jack’s father.

Back at la Casa Blanca, Karen gets an “access denied” message on her computer. She knows she’s been caught and calls Bill to thank him for his help. Then two men come to take her away.

Jack calls CTU to get help for Ricky. He tells Nadia he wants the location of every oil rig within a ten mile radius. Meanwhile, Chloe finally passes out, right in front of Morris’ workstation.

End hour one…

Out at Decommissioned Oil Rig 417-B, Josh arrives. Cheng tells Jack’s father a submarine will be there in thirty minutes to take them to China.

At CTU, Chloe is in Medical undergoing tests. Nadia finds a decommissioned oil platform owned by Jack’s father’s company six miles off the coast of Los Angeles.

When la Casa Blanca learns of the new information, one of Daniels’ advisers recommends an air strike on the oil rig. Daniels orders in the F-18’s. They will hit the rig in 30 mintues.

On the beach, Ricky is loaded into an ambulance. Jack tells Nadia the trauma team said Ricky will be blind in one eye, if not both. Nadia informs Jack of the air strike and orders him and Bill to return to CTU.

Jack eyes the chopper. Bill tells him to not even think about it.

Bill: “Look I realize he’s your nephew-“
Jack: “I’m not gonna do something because he’s my nephew. I’m gonna do something because he’s an innocent kid who’s been written off as some sort of acceptable loss. It’s wrong.”
Bill: “I’ll fly.” Apparently, being able to fly a helicopter is a prerequisite for working at CTU.

From the chopper, Jack calls CTU to ask for their satellite uplink. Nadia is hesitant, but Bill massages her verbally with, “This is the right thing to do.”

At Rig 417-B, Cheng tells Jack’s father a helicopter is approaching. De plane! De plane! Jack’s father takes Josh and heads for the boat.

While the chopper hovers, Jack takes out of a couple of men on the rig, allowing Bill to land. Jack is also blowing up barrels left and right. Cheng gets knocked down by one of the exploding barrels. Bill apprehends Cheng and leads him to the chopper. Jack goes to look for Josh.

Down below, as Jack’s father is untying the boat from the… thingy, Josh hits him over the head with an over-sized wrench, then grabs his gun and points it at him. Jack’s father tells Josh to give him the gun. Josh explains, “As long as you’re alive, me and my Mom will never be safe.” Then, Josh shoots him!

Jack’s father is wounded but not dead yet. Jack appears at the top of the stairs and orders Josh to lower his weapon, offering this nugget of wisdom: “You do not want to live with the pain of taking another person’s life.” Umm, Jack? Eh, nevermind.

With four minutes to go until the F-18’s arrive, Jack orders Josh to go to the chopper. Jack holds a gun on his father, telling him he’s going to pay for everything he’s done today. Jack’s father says Jack doesn’t have time to carry
him to the chopper before the F-18’s arrive.

With only two minutes until the airstrike, Jack heads upstairs, leaving his father to die on the rig. Even though there’s a boat like five feet away. Bill takes off without Jack, with Josh yelling, “You can’t leave my uncle!”

Bill swings by and Jack jumps from the rig, grabbing onto the rope hanging from the chopper just as the F-18’s strike, sending the oil rig up in flames. It’s only 5:36? The “Josh, I am your father” line has GOT to be coming!

As they fly towards shore, Jack lets go of the rope and drops in to the ocean below!

The end.

Relax, I’m only kidding. Although actually, that would have been a more suspenseful ending than what we had.

The last half hour is spent tying up a few of the many loose ends. When word comes in that the SCB was destroyed, Suvarov orders the immediate withdrawal of Russian troops. Tom convinces Daniels to let Karen go and resign with her reputation intact. He then gives Daniels the blackmail recording he was holding of Daniels and Lisa. I wondered what was going to happen with that. Oh right, nothing!

At CTU, Chloe tells Morris she’s pregnant. Maybe they should rename the show A Baby Story and switch to TLC. Bill and Josh arrive with Cheng, who says, “My people will not abandon me like you abandoned Jack Bauer.” Josh is reunited with his mother. Nadia asks about Jack. Bill tells her to let him go.

Cut to the Heller beach house. William Devane is just getting off the phone when Jack walks in. Jack says he wants his life back, including Audrey. Heller says Audrey will always be in danger if she’s with Jack.

Jack demands to see Audrey. Heller leads him to her room. Audrey is lying in bed, apparently asleep. Jack tells her the best way for him to protect her is to let her go. Audrey never opens her eyes or says a word. Jack kisses her forehead then leaves.

The episode ends with Jack standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down at the swirling waters far below.

The good:
Jack and Bill teaming up and raiding the oil rig. It was nice to have them in the chopper. A little old school 24, if only for a few moments.

Josh shooting his grandfather. That was pretty cool.

The bad:
The anti-climatic last half hour. Snooze. It was almost as if the writers weren’t sure if this were a season-finale or a series-finale, so they tied up a bunch of things quickly and clumsily, just in case.

The threat of a Russian military strike against a US base in Central Asia never

Very little classic Chloe, both tonight and all season. Helping Jack techno-geek Chloe: good. Pregant fainting Chloe: bad.

No cliffhangers for next year. (Yes, I’m aware I griped about the cliffhanger last season.) But really, what are we supposed to be looking forward to? Will Ricky be blind? Is Morris Chloe’s baby daddy? Will Jack decide to plunge to his death, never knowing Josh was his son?

Worst quote:
“The component was fake. It blew.” Oh, it blew alright. Wait, was he talking about the component, this episode, or the entire season?

Did you know…
April Fools Day was originally observed on March 31st.

In summary…
Overall, this season was a disappointment, even for the most avid 24 fans. There was far less action, less suspense, and fewer shockers than previous years. It’s almost like they blew their wad in the first four hours.

There were too many broken storylines. And the practice of bringing back old characters for an episode or two for seemingly no reason whatsoever just added to the mediocrity of this season.

So we leave season six with President Palmer and Lisa unconscious, Ricky possibly blind, and having not heard in weeks from Sandra Palmer, Walid, Aaron Pierce, Martha Logan, Charles Logan, and on and on.

24 became one of the best on television by keeping viewers on the edge of their seats for sixty minutes each and every week. And while this season had its moments, it fell far short of that standard that had been set by the previous five.

“I can see a new horizon underneath the blazing sky. I’ll be where the eagle’s flying higher and higher…”

52:45

I survived my second-ever 10K race Saturday. The weather was perfect. Cool temperatures, a little inspiration, and a high-carb pasta dinner the night before all added up to a perfect storm, if you will, allowing me to shave more than seven minutes off my time from last year.

I’ve spent the past two days ingesting Tylenol and apologizing to my quads. My new low-impact, low-to-the-ground running style is tough on the thighs. Still, I was nowhere near as sore as I was after last year’s race. It’s amazing what a little training will do.

Now for you numerologists out there. (You know who you are.) My time of 52:45 was 7 minutes and 14 seconds faster than last year’s. What time did I post my blog entry Friday in which I mentioned the race? 7:14. Coincidence? There are no coincidences. Only a carefully planned string of days and events leading to our eventual demise.

Anyway, back to the less important stuff. I finished 104th out of 192 participants this year. And much like last year when I came in 152nd, there are no awards for 104th place, either. No “Most Improved From Last Year” trophy. No “34-Year-Old With The Best Taut Pre-Teen Swedish Boy Body” statuette. No “Top Finishing Bloggers” category. (Although I really think there should be one for that. Maybe I’ll mention it.)

As I mentioned Friday, I had loosely set a goal of running a 9 minute mile pace. When I reached the one mile mark Saturday, the timecheck guy called out 9:05. I thought to myself, I’ve got to pick it up a bit. I also thought, people actually run that in four minutes?!?! Geesh!

Almost to the two-mile mark, I came up on a fellow bandana-wearing runner. I surpassed him while thinking, So long Navy Bandana Guy. White Bandana rules! I reached the two-mile timecheck in 17:53. I had picked up the pace! (And by pace, I don’t mean salsa.)

As a race goes on, I begin to look for other runners who seem to be close to my pace. It’s sort of like if you’re on a long trip, you find a car that seems to be traveling at a good speed to follow on the interstate. Or maybe it’s not like that at all.

Nevertheless, between miles two and three, I spotted Green Shirt Hottie. Her ponytail swished back and forth with each stride she took. It was a bit hypnotic. She was probably thirty yards ahead of me, which meant she was running under a 9 minute pace. And she seemed to be passing several people, so I decided to speed up a bit and keep up with her.

I reached the three-mile mark in 26-something and the four-mile mark in 35-something. Still on a sub-nine minute pace. My side started acting like it wanted to cramp, but I pressed on, and it went away.

Shortly after the four-mile mark, I blew by some man who looked to be at least seventy-five. You’ve had your day, old timer. Harry Truman can’t save you now. White Bandana rules! Let’s not even get into the fact that he was ahead of me up until this point.

With about half a mile to go, I felt good, all things considered. So I began to pick up my pace and passed several people, including Green Shirt Hottie. Farewell, fair maiden. And shall our paths never cross again, vaya con dios.

The race finishes on an oval track. When I got my first glimpse of the clock, it was at 51-something. I was pleasantly surprised. My time averaged out to an 8:30 pace.

I ran into a friend after the race. This conversation ensued:
“I didn’t get here in time to see you finish, but my Dad said he saw you.”
“Oh really.”
“Yeah, he said Bone’s got a handkerchief on his head.”

See? I told ya. White Bandana rules!

The two-hour 24 season finale is tonight, which I know makes many of you happy, albeit perhaps for different reasons.

“Oh how I hope that you’re happy. I hear you’re somewhere in the sand. And how I wish I was an ocean. Maybe then, I’d get to see you again…”

Nashville now and then

My mom, my sister, and I journeyed up to Nashville last weekend for Mother’s Day. It was my idea to take Mom to Centennial Park and ride these little paddle boats around the lake there. We did that one time when I was probably eleven or twelve, and I thought it would make for a nice surprise.

There was but one small problem. They don’t have the paddle boats anymore. So instead we walked around the trail, which was peppered with duck droppings. Apparently, the ducks often make it a special point to get out of the water to defecate. Although now that I think about it, I guess it could have been from the pigeons. I’m not really qualified to differentiate between the two.

Mom and I did get a sno-cone. I got blue raspberry, mainly because I knew it would turn my teeth, lips, and tongue blue, which would slightly annoy my sister. Yes, I’m thirty-four. Mom got cherry (and you wonder where I get it from). She seemed to genuinely enjoy herself and be pleasantly surprised by the trip to the park, even though they didn’t have the boats.

As we sat by the lake for a bit, I was hit with some sort of time-warpish realization, thinking how twenty years or so of my life had disappeared since the last time I was at this very place. Those are always fun moments. If I were on prescription medication, I would have popped a couple of pills right about then.

When we were driving around earlier looking for the park, I received a text message, from my sister in the backseat. It read, “Mom cannot drive.” Mom used to drive dangerously fast. But not so much anymore. So when we left the park, I volunteered to drive the rest of the way.

We had dinner at Cock of the Walk, where we ate our fill of delicious fried catfish fillets and chicken tenders, hush puppies, cornbread, river fries, turnip greens, white beans, cole slaw, and onions. Washed down with some of the best sweet tea I’ve ever tasted. And I’ve sampled my fair share of sweet tea.

Nashville truly is one of my favorite cities. So many of the streets are familiar–Broadway, West End Avenue, Demonbreun, Thompson Lane. And of course, I always become nostalgiac thinking about or driving past the former location of Opryland. I’ve often thought of moving there. To Nashville, not Opryland. Although if that were possible…

It was a good day. My sister texting and calling me from the backseat. Mom freaking out each time I deftly and quickly maneuvered across four lanes of traffic. The times when just the three of us get to take a trip like that are rare anymore. I try and cherish them. It’s always good to visit Nashville every now and then.

——————–

Tomorrow, I’m running a 10K. I ran six miles Monday sort of as a simulation for the race. At least, according to the website, it’s six miles. But I did it in about 48 minutes, which makes me think it’s not quite that far.

I ran eight laps. The website says the track is three-quarters of a mile. But, I think it might actually be closer to two-thirds, because one time I took my pedo out there and that’s what it registered. If that’s the case, I still ran 5 1/3 miles.

I feel much more prepared than I did last year, when I had barely trained at all. I’m not sure where to set my goal for this year’s race. I’d like to run a 55:00, which would be around a nine-minute mile and about five minutes faster than last year. Mainly I just want to finish without tearing, pulling, spraining, or breaking anything.

“They paved paradise and put up a parking lot, with a pink hotel, a boutique, and a swinging hot spot…”

3 Word Wednesday XXXVI

Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I’ll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.

This week’s words are:
gain
oblivious
jewelry

To gain some perspective about and an appreciation for Samantha Henry, one needs to know a couple of things. She could hit a baseball farther than any girl or boy in the ninth grade at Overton High. A couple of guys may have surpassed her by tenth grade, but no one was sure. You probably could have gotten even money either way.

She played baseball on boys teams all thru little league and only switched to fast-pitch softball so she would have a chance of getting a scholarship. All the boys called her Sam and she never minded much.

I had been in exactly three what I would consider to be real fights in school. Two were basically draws, the most memorable of those being when Jerry Terry slapped me in the face like a girl. The other I lost, to Samantha Henry, in fourth grade.

I still remember the momentary inability to breathe as my stomach smacked against the playground dirt. A few of the kids laughed about it the following day until Sam threatened to beat up the next person she heard making fun of me.

Kids change a lot those early and middle teenage years, boys not nearly so drastically as girls. Sam seemed to struggle with these changes more than most. As other girls began to wear makeup and jewelry, more girly clothes and do more girly things, Sam–the proverbial tomboy–continued to wear jeans and t-shirts, little if any makeup and never any jewelry.

While her friends began going on dates and having real boyfriends, guys seemed oblivious to Sam. She was, in their minds, just one of the guys. The longer this went on, the more it began to bother Sam. She wouldn’t go to school dances, and skipped the homecoming game that year.

Then there was the morning Sam came to school, barely recognizable, in black pants and a frilly blouse. She wore earrings and a necklace, more makeup than normal, and had her chestnut hair curled. I’d never seen it anything but straight. She didn’t look bad, at all, just different.

It took everyone a moment to recognize her. As she walked down the sophomore hall looking straight ahead, students seemed to part like the waters of the Red Sea. I’ll never get that image out of my mind. The farther she walked, the louder the buzz grew. A few snickers could be heard. Then Billy Applewhite spoke up.

“Sam? What happened to you?” he asked as if he still weren’t sure it was really her.

In that instant, everything and everybody seemed to come to a standstill. The hall was deathly quiet. Sam stopped on a dime and turned in the direction the voice came from. Locating Billy, she glared at him.

“Don’t call me that. My name is Samantha,” she spoke in a measured, slightly threatening tone. I’m not sure if she was gritting her teeth or if I just imagined she was. That should have been enough. But Billy in all his infinite wisdom wouldn’t let it go.

“What did you do to your hair? It looks… stupid!” he spoke as if he were talking to his little brother.

Clearly Billy was lacking in manners, not to mention good sense. That was not the sort of thing you say to any girl, but especially not to Samantha Henry. To make a short story shorter, Samantha beat the living daylights out of Billy. They both got sent home from school early that day.

I never saw Samantha wear any jewelry or curl her hair again until our senior prom. I was honored to be her date, and very careful not to call her Sam.

“I was the quarterback in the back of classes. She was the whiz kid in horn rimmed glasses…”

24 Recap: 5/14/07

OK, next week is the two-hour season finale! Which means this week is, uh, the pre-finale?

Recapping Day Six: 3:00 AM – 4:00 AM…

With CTU still under siege, a couple of the Chinese take Josh away. B3 (Billy Bob Brosnan) backhands Nadia as she tries to intervene. Was I the only one to yell “Booyah!” or other comparable expression of delight here?

As all CTU employees are being led to a holding cell, Jack plans an impromptu attack. He breaks out of line and takes out a guard, then shoots a couple of others. Even Morris gets in on the action, putting a sleeper hold on one guy. Who knew Morris had a background in the WWF! Seriously, Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake would be proud.

Finally Jack chokes B3 then breaks his neck for good measure. Ricky arrives on the scene just in time to take out one guy who is about to shoot Nadia. To recap, Nadia is the reason Milo is dead. Jack, Ricky, and a field team take off down the tunnel after Josh.

Josh is brought to Cheng’s Perpetually Moving Headquarters (CPMHQ). Jack’s father calls and talks to Josh:

“I’m taking you away from this ungrateful country. Some place we can both start over.”
“Where?” Tahiti? Bora Bora? I hear Kazakhstan’s nice this time of year.
“China.” Oooh, close! China: Land of Confucius, human rights, and Yao Ming.

As Cheng and his men are leaving to deliver Josh to Jack’s father, Jack pops out of the tunnel and begins firing. He shatters the window of one of the cars, causing it to swerve and hit a pole. A chase on foot ensues.

Cheng leads Josh up some stairs to the rooftop. Josh breaks away from Cheng and runs onto a catwalk. To clarify, we’re not talking Right Said Fred here. We’re talking a narrow, elevated passageway between two buildings.

Jack catches up to Cheng, who has run out of bullets. Josh, who is hanging on for his life beneath the catwalk, yells for help. Jack rescues Josh, but Cheng escapes. Josh informs Jack that he talked to his grandfather.

Cheng calls Jack’s father to tell him he lost Josh. Jack’s father says no deal on the component. Oh, I get it. So Cheng is the banker. Jack’s father is the contestant. Who is Howie Mandel? Morris? And where are the twenty-five hotties?

Outside the Family Inn, Tom is watching in agony as Lisa and Bishop fornicate. When they’re done, Lisa goes to freshen up. Although personally, I think that’s a lost cause. Bishop picks up her PDA, then gets a suspcious look on his face. He confronts Lisa. She breaks open a bottle of wine, literally, over his head. Bishop backhands her. Tom orders the federal agents to move in. They apprehend Bishop as he is choking Lisa.

At CTU, a man identifying himself as Ben Kram from Division tells Nadia he’s been sent over to investigate what went wrong during the security breach. Well, Nadia was in charge, for starters.

Tom calls to tell Daniels that he got Bishop to send the fake information to his Russian contact saying that the U.S. had destroyed the sub-circuit board. He also informs Daniels that Lisa was injured and is unconscious. Daniels is upset. You don’t hold hands with someone and then get over them just like that. I don’t care how they treat you.

Daniels and Karen go into the Telepresence Suite and raise Russian President Suvarov on the horn. Daniels tells Suvarov that the sub-circuit board has been destroyed. But Suvarov calls his bluff, saying he had surveillance set up on Bishop, so he knows exactly what went down.

Suvarov says if the U.S. hasn’t recovered the sub-circuit board within two hours, the Russians will take military action. Daniels remarks to Karen, “We’re about to go to war over a piece of circuitry.” Exactly! Now do you see why it’s so hard for us to get excited over this season? Whatever happened to suitcase nukes, nerve gas, and Chloe? Ah, the good ol’ days.

On his way back to the White House, Tom gets a call from Jack’s father. You know, because Tom’s in his five. He asks to speak to the Vice President. Jack’s father tells Daniels he wants his grandson and clear passage to the country of his choice in exchange for the sub-circuit board.

Again, deal or no deal? Karen says no deal, calling Jack’s father a sociopath who can’t be trusted. But Tom says it’s a risk worth taking.

Out at the location formerly known as Cheng’s Perpetually Moving Headquarters, Jack calls Marilyn and lets her talk to Josh. Then as he is leading Josh to a car which will take him to CTU, an agent tells Jack he has a call.

When Jack goes to take the call, Ricky grabs Josh and leads him to a waiting helicopter. Josh is yelling, “Uncle Jack!” Can you imagine if Jack Bauer was your uncle? Trouble with that bully at school? Just tell Uncle Jack. Suddenly, the bully just stops showing up for class. Calls are made to his house, but his parents don’t answer either. Jack tries to get to Josh, but is restrained by several CTU agents. Ricky and Josh board the helicopter.

The good:
Morris putting one of the Chinese in a sleeper hold.

Nadia and Lisa getting backhanded, at different times and by different men.

More action this week. Still, at the end, I pictured Jack running and latching on to the helicopter skids as it took off. That would have been slightly more exciting, don’t you think?

The bad:
The episode was too predictable. There were no surprises, except for maybe Jack’s father calling Tom and making the offer to the Vice President.

Virtually no Chloe, again.

Best quote:
“And… finally. We’re done.”

Said by Tom, as he watches Lisa and Bishop finish up their business. Based on the circumstances and the way he said it, I found this to be one of the funniest 24 lines ever.

Did you know…
In 1986, Brutus Beefcake and Greg “The Hammer” Valentine lost the WWF Tag Team Title to the British Bulldogs at Wrestlemania 2.

Predictions:
Despite saving the country at least four times today, Jack will have to break out of Holding and/or go against the oval office to save the day one more time.

In a touching season-ending scene, wearing a Darth Vader Mask/Voice Changer, Jack confesses to a frightened Josh, “Josh, I am your father.”

Questions:
Is Ben Kram legit? I mean, he got from Division, wherever that is, to CTU in like an hour from the time the breach occurred, at 3:30 in the morning. Not to mention the suspicion of bringing a new character in the next to last week of the season. Hmm…

Why in the world does Nadia have such a huge role this season, while Chloe has been virtually just part of the scenery in several episodes?

Why was Cheng so averse to having casualties at CTU?

“Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk. Yeah, I shake my little tush on the catwalk…”

Mine games

I was perusing my last several posts earlier today and realized I don’t really do a lot of posts about my current life anymore. Most everything seems to either be a 24 recap, a piece of 3WW fiction, or a story from the past. I figure I can remedy that with a random post that’s all over the proverbial map.

The problem with my car did turn out to be the catalytic converter. The guy at the exhaust place was nice enough to tell me the catalytic converter was covered under warranty up to 80,000 miles. My car has 70-something-thousand miles on it. So even though I vowed to never take my car to the dealership again, I made an exception in this case, since it was free.

At work, the walking carcinogen I so fondly refer to as Smokestack is still requiring me to use copious amounts of Lysol. I’ve also discovered that in addition to spreading lung disease, Smokestack is a notoriously poor speller. This is only compounded by his affinity for leaving post-it notes lying around.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed he’d left a note for Big Sweaty on which he had spelled dairy, d-e-r-r-y. A couple of days later the secretary came in and told me he had spelled Wednesday, w-e-n-s-d-a-y, on his time sheet.

But the capper had to be when I came across a note he’d left for himself. It read:

“Thursday 8:45 AM – Meeting of the mines”

So now anytime Smokestack is talking to anyone, the running joke around the office is that they must be having a “meeting of the mines.”

Do you ever feel like you’re living that careerbuilder.com monkey commercial?

On the bright side, I already know what I’m getting him for Christmas: Hooked on Spelling! That is, if I haven’t contracted emphysema by then.

“Smoking in the boys room. Teacher don’t you fill me up with your rules. Everybody knows that smoking ain’t allowed in school…”