Blog Archives
My Blog Is Back…
And you’re gonna be in trouble. Hey nah. Hey nah. My blog is back.
Let me start off by giving a few apologies. I’m sorry I took such a long hiatus from blogging. Hell, from writing in general. Life took some strange and unusual twists and when things get hectic a lot of times I put items on the back burner. Blogging for me was easy to step away from. No one rides me to make sure I’m writing each day. Plus I’m not all that interesting. But here I am ready to rejoin the rank and file of the blogosphere. My typing fingers are stretched and neatly manicured.
Also let me apologize for the blog itself. Obviously it needs a little TLC and I am working on that diligently. For those of you who actually read what I write (all three of you) and have kept up, you will notice I’m no longer at my former fancy domain. I’ve temporarily moved back to a WordPress hosted blog. That’s fine and dandy for the time being. And I promise if I get a fourth reader I will convert back to self hosting.
For you non geeky types ignore everything I just said. It’s fairly obvious if you look back through my old updates that there are a boat load of missing posts. That’s on me. I suppose I should have backed up all those moving, award-winning posts I made on the old site so I could have them here. But in a drunken stupor (that lasted about two years) I failed to do so. So now you are missing a big chunk of my life… That is if you are so inclined to stalk me. If it’s that big a concern just call. I have nothing, or at least very little, to hide.
So in summation – here I am…again. Prepare yourselves for a veritable onslaught of HiTech Redneckery. Hide yo kids and hide yo wife, because Im blogging about erebody out here.
Riding The Rails
No sir, I absolutely did not just flip you off.
It’s a piece of true American nostalgia, riding the railroad all across America –seeing the other sides of towns. 70 miles per hour of blurring trees, countryside – a whiz of the blues, greens, browns, oranges and reds that make an Alabama fall. It’s breathtaking. But then again, so are some of people on this train. Not to mention it’s a balmy 85 degrees or so on in here.
One of the beauties of riding public transportation is getting to ride with your fellow citizens. Meeting the people that make up this unique and diverse country – and a diverse group of folks they are. Italians, Mexicans, Asians – there might be more diversity in this one train car than there is in the whole of the state of Alabama.
It makes me feel so homogenized. I long for the days when I traveled the world – meeting new people, experiencing things for the first time. Finding the differences and unique similarities between all of us – like the fact foreign food gives everyone the runs. In case you have ever considered it here is some advice: never give a Moroccan a bowl of your best recipe chili – something in it doesn’t agree with them.
This just makes me think of a simpler time in the World. A time my grandparents lived in – a time when people talked, showed each other respect – a world that was slower, safer and slightly more moral. A time when people knew their neighbors – where children built forts in the woods,played pickup games of baseball and rode their bikes around together without having to worry about being snatched up. The world today – it can be so mind-blowing. So many of the things we read about are just incomprehensible – the crimes, the wars, the corruption, the economy. It’s enough to make you want to douse yourself in some overpriced Diesel and send yourself up in flames.
But here I am – living and riding just like my long-gone relatives did. My grandfather rode a train from Fairbanks, Alaska to Akron, Alabama just to get off and propose to my grandmother. She said yes and he hopped right back on the train to Alaska. I guess the Army didn’t allow much furlough for proposals. I always found that to in be an amazing story. He knew what he wanted and did whatever it took to get it. If it wasn’t for the train, I guess I wouldn’t be here.
Traveling the scenic routes of Alabama and Georgia – with a little country music playing and a pretty cool traveling companion next to me – is fantastic. Darius Rucker’s new album is the perfect soundtrack for my trip. It’s got my mind right where it needs to be – focusing on the beauty of life and love and friendships. I have been a little juvenile at moments. My new friend and I have been watching the annoyed people at railroad crossings and flipping them off because, after all, they can never catch up with us. Take that air travel. Plus its cheaper than a tank of gas.
If I accidentally flip you off, accept my apologies. It’s all in good fun. Seriously, this is something you should try if you’ve never done it before. I can’t speak for the food – but I’m pretty sure Paula Dean’s not back there. Now if we could just get some air conditioning and some deoderizer this would be the perfect experience.
Fix You
Dear God, If I make it out with my anal virginity I will never do it again!
I have had the unique pleasure over the last few weeks of attending a Level 2 Substance Recovery Class courtesy of the fine state of Alabama. Every Sunday morning I get to go and sit with a strange and eclectic group of pot smokers, beer drinkers and a guy who got a public intoxication charge at a hot-air balloon festival.(He is at the bottom of our class hierarchy) I’m going to be honest – I dreaded attending this thing more than a 18 year-old girl does gaining the “Freshman 15.”
I was smashed when I received this sentence for a first-time DUI. Then again, I was also really smashed when I got arrested. This is probably why I am not nor ever will be a judge. But I have taken so much from this class – I have learned a great deal about myself by talking and listening – something that has never been my strong suit. I learned that it’s very, very easy to make one impressively bad decision and have that effect the rest of your life. But I have also learned that it is equally easy to make decisions to change yourself and get what you want out of life. Not to mention I have picked up random tidbits of knowledge from the wise musings of a few ex-cons who spent several years in prison.
1.There are many great, easy ways to make Meth – but doing so will most likely end up in you blowing yourself up or losing your teeth. Lesson Learned = Meth is bad for your future and your dental hygiene.
2. Making “Julip Juice” – aka Prison Wine – in the toilet of your cell will land you and everyone in your cell block 6 additional months if caught. Lesson learned = Do this and find yourself on the wrong end of a shank
3. Prison Food is not only unhealthy to eat but can be used as a weapon – if you turn your tray upside down the grits will not fall out. Lesson Learned = if the meanest SOB on your cell block steals your biscuit – grow eyes in the back of your head, he could kill you with it.
Of course, aside from this knowledge that I hope I, or any of you for that matter, never need to use in the Big House, I have actually learned some amazing things. I have tons of respect for my classmates and one in particular told me something yesterday that really got me thinking. Life is not something that happens to you, he told me. It is something that you make happen – just one tidbit of wisdom he spouted to me after 7 years of soul-searching in a federal prison.
And it is the most direct and accurate advice I have ever been given. He said it with such certainty and for good reason. He has changed his life, finished a degree and completely changed his world all despite being an ex-convict. I feel fortunate I don’t have to learn the same way he did. If there are things you want, goals you aim for, places and things you want to see and people you wish to find again – YOU have to do it. Sitting idly on the sidelines never helps win the game. If we wait for great things we will wake up one day and wonder what happened to life. Nothing in life is given to us – but it is all there for the taking.
I feel like a new person each and every day as I rebuild my life into what I want it to be. I wake up with such excitement and passion every morning. Each day is an adventure and a chance to get what I want. I didn’t think about this class in those terms. I could have gone and just sat through it and learned nothing – an opportunity lost. But instead, I grabbed life by the horns, embraced the course, and it has given me more lessons and tools in 2 months than I had learned over the last 29 years. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to dry out some Skoal so I can hand-roll some cigarettes out of it. Those trade 4 to 1 or so I’ve heard…
Donde Esta Tequilla?
Warning: This drink has been know to cause sore buttholes with no recollection of how it happened.
Today officially makes it so long since I drank that I can’t even remember when I quit. I think that’s a good thing – I sure as hell feel better, but sometimes I sure do miss my old friend. Yes, I feel about 10,000 times healthier and better – and yes, I have lost a ton of weight – and yes, I have managed not to go to jail or have any run ins with John Q. Law – so all in all, I would say this little experiment in sobriety is going quite well. Everyone once in a while though, when life really kicks me in the twins I just have the strongest desire for something….I think tequila.
Of course, my arch nemesis (Mr. Jose Cuervo) hasn’t really done much to help accomplish things in my life. If I was looking for liquor that has ever benefited me I guess it would be Peppermint Schnapps (don’t even ask) – but honestly, I don’t need holes punched in my man card for walking around a University of Alabama tailgate party sipping schnapps. That’ll get your ass kicked – at least in this part of the country. I couldn’t imagine sitting in jail with murderers and rapists and being asked what you are in for:
“Open container – peppermint schnapps. This is my second time”
I would either never, ever shower in prison or absolutely refuse to use any kind of soap product I could drop. That’s almost as bad as going for littering. In the prison hierarchy, certain crimes just don’t win you a lot of respect. More specifically anything that involves a liquor frequented by women, crimes involving animals and the case of the robber who tried to knock over a store and left his phone number with the clerk so he could give it to the manager and have him call him back to open the safe.
I actually don’t need – and will not – drink again. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta – a sober one anyway. But life has been trying to push me around a little bit lately and I always seem to want to fall back to that old pattern. I have taken to replacing alcohol with a new vice – Diet Mountain Dew. I can’t tell you I get as buck wild juvenile as I once did, but it seems to work quite well. It was suggested I could drink near-beer (that’s the non-alcoholic brew), but again, I like my man card clearly stating that I do in fact have an “Ankle Dangler.”
Life is testing me like it does everyone. But alas, every day comes and goes and I am still here, mountain dew in hand. They should sell this stuff by the keg. It’d help scratch that itch. Of course, the Splenda hangover would be awful. But I wouldn’t have to worry about losing my anal virginity in the big house or waking up next to a complete stranger with a sore crotch. Ah, the good ole’ days – now that I think back about some of them, they don’t really sound all that good at all. What the hell was I thinking? Beso mi culo, Jose Cuervo. Verta a la verga!
Just a Squirrel Trying To Get a Nut
A little help, please?
My brother was banging on my door yesterday morning. Loudly.
“I’ve got a serious problem!”
I took him at his word as we haven’t been on much of speaking terms for the last few months. I figured, if he decided something warranted his speaking up, I should at least listen.
“What the hell, man?” I asked. “I’m talking with my lady friends.” Alright, maybe I wasn’t – but there’s never anything wrong with saving a little face in the light of unpleasant circumstances – i.e. a recent divorce. “This had better be good.”
“Just go out and look at my car,” he replied.
So, with a keen interest in how big a pain in my ass this “serious problem” was going to be I moseyed out the front door and this is what I saw.
Lodged helplessly in a small section the grill of his 1996 Geo Prism is a squirrel. A helpless little furry critter that, to my amazement, was not only alive but highly aggravated. While not Dr. Doolittle, I surmised this info by the rapid pumping of claws and angered squealing that was being directed at yours truly.
“What the &^*&!” I yelled. I approached with caution, as I have been told that an upset squirrel is only surpassed in danger and anger by an upset woman. As any blogger would do, I first photographed the situation – for evidence, accident reconstruction or posterity. Besides, it’s what cops do, so I figured I was following protocol at this point.
Apparently my brother had hit the little fur ball on a venture into the city. Thinking, as most people would, that he had put that little tree dweller down for a dirt nap he continued about his business. Lo and behold, much to his amazement, when he stopped for some liquid refreshment at the local 7-11, he found his passenger attached to the grill of his ride.
Being the animal lover he is – he decided at that point that in lieu of removing said creature from grill, he should come see the older brother about this problem. After all, what is family for if not times of need: like when there is a live friggin’ squirrel attached to the front of your car like a mechanical hood ornament.
As he told me – “It was a long ride. People kept honking and trying to get my attention. An old man on his front porch nearly fell over. So I just gave him a thumbs-up, thus indicating that yes, I realize there is a live animal on the front of my car as I drive 65 miles per hour down the highway.” I can only imagine what must have been going through that squirrels mind over those many miles. I would venture it was something along the lines of…
“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!, etc. etc.”
Ummmm...no way.
After much quiet contemplation and inner dialogue I asked myself the pertinent question. WWSID? What Would Steve Irwin Do? Then however, I thought better of that idea – mainly because Steve Irwin is currently managing the petting zoo at that big ole’ Animal Sanctuary in the sky.
So I did what any normal person would. I decided to remove this nuisance with the implements of destruction (gardening) that we all have around the house – namely, a shovel and a hoe. Well, Mr. Squirrel saw this coming and let out many shrieks of horror. As did I. And perhaps my brother. But in the end I freed him and I thought all would be well. So, imagine my shock and awe when upon a subsequent trip outside (Yes, I had gone back inside to tell my lady friends of the exploits of Russell Crowe, Animal Savior) I find that Mr. Squirrel hasn’t moved despite being quite alive. Perhaps it was the broken back that was limiting his mobility. There were to be few tree climbings or nut-hunting forays in his future.
Problem #2 – “What are you going to do?” asks brother who is now causing me more problems than I need before I have had at least 3 coffees. I am now faced with a moral dilemma. I am not a huge animal guy. If this was a pet, I would take it to a veterinarian. But a random squirrel? They are a dime a dozen. Hell. This was natural selection at its best. I knew what must be done. Shovel? Gun? Anti-Freeze?
I had to think fast as the neighborhood cats had taken notice of the Christopher Reeve of squirrels – and I figured anything was better than being mauled while defenseless by a miniature tiger. That’s not how I want to go. Although, neither is death by shovel.
So I did what had to be done. With a heavy heart, a belly full of yogurt and a cup of coffee in one hand I became The Grim Reaper’s Dirty Little Assistant. I just told myself that perhaps this was a terrorist squirrel and he was trying to figure out ways to disrupt traffic patterns and make everyone either:
1. Late for Work or
2. Force some kind of major traffic accident
While this only slightly eased my guilt, I managed to do my duty as a man and as a Alabamian. (I have learned that being from Alabama and driving a truck automatically makes you qualified for situations that involve life and death – animals, people, etc., you are expected to have something in your truck box to fix any situation) Before you ask, no I did not use the shovel. It was simply used for disposal. How did I do it? I’ll save that information for me alone. I’ll take that to my own grave.
As I finished my cigarette I pondered the meaning of life. But that made my head hurt. I went in, sat down, sipped my coffee and told my lady friends all about it – about how I saved the cute little critter from his agony and pain. Maybe I left out the part about going to heaven courtesy of my hands. That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing chicks dig. After all, I too am just a squirrel trying to get a nut.
Trapped in the CLAUSet
Wow, I stumbled across this on YouTube and just had to share it. A very, very cool new take on R. Kelly’s urban-opera, “Trapped in the Closet.” For the sake of brevity I’ll only post part one, but if you’re interested the story does continue in more parts! Just awesome!
