Scrumptious Bunch of Bite Sized Bears

Chocolate Chai Latte's taste like Teddy Grahams. I made this discovery last night at a coffee shop 45 minutes from where I live. And I was there on a date.

We had been talking for a couple weeks through e-mail, and finally decided to meet up. We might have sooner if not for the holidays. We had decided to meet at the coffee shop at 6:00. As we were discussing where to meet through the e-mails, I pointed out to her that while I hate coffee it seems like coffee dates are the most traditional first dates and so we should do it anyway. She, Monica, also doesn't like coffee but suggested it because it does seem like the most comfortable way to meet someone new. So we decided to both go to a place that specializes in drinks that neither of us like. And they do have other drinks, such as the Chai Latte, which was suprisingly good, because I have never been a terribly huge fan of Teddy Grahams and didn't think my tastes would change with them in liquid form.

When we arrived we found the coffee shop closes at 7, but we decided to get some drinks anyway and I decided to eat. She already had dinner, and while I felt a little uncomfortable eating in front of a relative stranger I also had no idea when I might get another chance to eat, and on Tuesday's the coffee shop had a BBQ sandwich special which I was unable to pass up. The sandwich was very good. I suppose her company was very good too, but that sandwich really was rather good.

When we sat down, she immediately took over the conversation which made me feel a bit uncomfortable. First off, she was asking me questions at a mile a minute, most of which required lengthy responses. Trying to work on proper table manners, this meant I was unallowed to eat and talk with my mouth full as usual. So I had to let my food sit a bit while I chatted away about myself. And I really wanted to eat that sandwich. The other problem was that I don't like talking about myself for long periods of time, even if I'm asked questions about myself because I don't want to sound like I'm very self-centered. Yes I'm sensational, but we musn't brag. But eventually I was able to start asking her some questions and then things became more back and forth. And it was nice that she was talkative and wanted to ask a ton of questions right away.

At 7 we decided to go either to Steak and Shake or Buffalo Wild Wings. I chose BW3s because it seemed like an easier atmosphere for talking. It is a little louder so we would be less likely to be overheard, which is good from my standpoint, and the many TV screens give us something to look at during any potential periods of silence as we think about what to talk about next. We made some small orders and continued to chat for four hours before I felt I should get on the road.

During the night we talked about pretty much anything you could think of. From the existence of objective morality to whether or not current pop music is good for dancing. She thinks it is, and I think she is nuts. She has two friends who are also teachers that are around her age, and when she told them about me when we still e-mailing they just had to see my Profile and Facebook page. Well apparently they got jealous of her and signed up too. In fact, being a small world, I am one of theirs third highest match. However, like my friend, neither of them have pictures posted, so I haven't seen them. Anyway, while my friend gets e-mails fairly frequently for someone with no pictures, they haven't received any, and their other top matches are guys that are rather underwhelming from what I hear. I found this all rather complementing because I'm not used to causing jealously.

So in the end we spent 5 hours talking away, and I found it all to be a pleasant time. At no point did I feel like any red flags were being waved about, and she and I both want to meet up again sometime. Although I have no idea when, where, or for what.

If I have any problem it is a very small one. She reminds me both in looks and mannerisms of another girl I know. Now when I first met this girl we hit it off quickly, we became good friends, and I had wanted to try going on a few dates with her. But overtime I realized that we would not make a good couple at all. With this new girl I am trying to differentiate the two, saying she is a completely different person. Or maybe she really is very similar but the extra years have made a difference. In other words, despite some similarities I'm keeping an open mind. I suppose this could almost sound like I'm already looking for an out, but I don't think so. Say we have a great friend from our past, and this new person acts just like our friend. Then our first impression would be that this person could potentially also be a great friend. Well the same is true here, but just opposite. Now I really don't think she is so similar to this other friend of mine that it's a game killer, it's just a few of the similarities are something I've noted in the back of my head.

So there you have it. A successful first date with more to come.

Grinning Dogs

The Wii is a lot of fun. However, before the Wii there was the Nintendo Entertainment System. And this Christmas it did exactly that, it entertained. Dad was in the mood to play 'Duck Hunt'. So I went downstairs and set it up for him. Our NES may be over twenty years old but it still works great. Long ago I took it apart and "fixed it". Now you do not even have to push the cartridges down to get them to play. Blowing is a thing of the past. We keep it hooked up to an old TV through my parents old Betamax VHS player. This is beneficial because apparently new TVs cannot even play Duck Hunt, because Duck Hunt relied on the technology of old TVs to work with the Zapper. I set it up, and gave Dad the Zapper. He did very well, making it to stage 10. Then Brittany gave it whirl. She didn't do very well. She kept losing, maybe getting a few ducks at random. Then I tried and made it to stage 4. This was very aggrevating.

Then Brittany decided to try again. And this time, with Dad's guidance, something clicked. Getting several perfects, she made it all the way to level 20 before she missed one duck and lost. At that point the game requires you to hit them all. She did so good that I ran up stairs to call Mom, who also came down to see her perform.

After that, and being very competitive, no one was really in the mood to play Duck Hunt anymore. So we pulled out the Track and Meet. To get back some self-esteem, I quickly played through and won the tournament mode against the computer. Then we did two player modes. That was fun.

After that I played Super Mario Brothers, and Brittany and Dad played jacks. I beat the game real quick, and kept yelling out various check points to them but they were completely absorbed. When I made it to Bowser, to my surprise I did something I had only seen on video with small Mario. Being big Mario with fire power, I ran towards him at full speed. He shot a flame at me which I slid under. Then he started with the hammers, which, while still running full speed, I jumped up and through a small gap in between them and landed right on the axe. I screamed out loud, and that finally got their attention. Dad simply said, "You beat it already?" Brittany said, "Yeah, but I saw you warp". And I threw my hands up in frustration and tried to join them in jacks, which I apparently cannot play very well. But if you'd like to see what I did, the end of this video is exactly what happened, except I was big with fire power.



After a while we were flipping through TV stations and decided to watch some American Ninja Warrior. Brittany became motivated. This is what ensued.

Coffee beans and little white sticks

According to most of you, the way to meet people at a store is to come up with some way of incorporating whatever the interesting person is looking at into a conversation. Yesterday I had some practice at this. I was at a beauty store looking for some perfume for my sister for Christmas. A while back I got a catalog in the mail that had an envelop full of perfume samples. I was curious and decided to smell them and found two that I liked. I kept them handy because I thought they might make for a fun gift for my sister.

While I was at the store, I was again surprised about how expensive beauty products are. In this case, the small bottle of what I wanted to get was over $90. It was hard for me to understand because there were other similarly sized bottles of the same brand, just a different smell I guess, for much cheaper. Maybe what I was looking at used rarer ingredients, I don't know, but I wasn't feeling to happy about spending 90 dollars on a bottle of perfume, for my sister of all people, when I don't know if she is even going to like it. But then I found a small sample pack of four scents all of the same brand that included the one I wanted to get, and for much cheaper. Plus, I thought getting the sample pack would be more fun for my sister to experiment with, in case she didn't like what I wanted for her.

My only trouble was there was a girl standing right next to me who was sniffing away. And everytime she tried something she'd put it right back down and say something like, "Lord have mercy, that is nasty. Who'd want to wear something like that. emmhmmm that's gross." And so on. This worried me because I started thinking that maybe what I had chosen wasn't any good after all. I looked at her until she looked at me, and thrust my perfume of choice at her and said, "Alright, try this one and tell me what you think." "Mmmmh, I like that." "Please, be as honest with this as you were with all these others, this is supposed to be a Christmas present." "Oh no, I like this, I'd wear this. You can get this." So hopefully my sister will agree with the sniffer. And no, I did not pursue any further conversation with this very interesting lady.

Skiing Pinguins

Around midnight I made it to my room. Us guys were all given our own rooms that had a bed, closet, and sink. One of the people on the retreat gave me directions on how to find it. Still I had no idea of what to expect on this retreat or where to go. I had not been given a schedule of events, and because I was so late in arriving I didn't know anyone or the layout of the land. I just knew morning prayer started around 6. It was optional but I didn't know when else or where else anything was occurring so I figured I should show up to prayer and then I would be hustled to where I supposed to be after that. Before I went to bed I noticed that while my room was very warm, there were no vents on the floor or ceiling. So I figured the heat must be coming from the hallway, which meant when I closed my door slowly but surely the room was going to get significantly colder.

I went to bed at midnight exhausted, and after rolling around for awhile I looked at the clock and saw it was 2:40. I was freezing and still hadn't slept. When I first went to bed my mind was still going a mile a minute replaying the very unsual day's odd events. But as it slowed down and I started getting sleepier so too did the temperature, and at twenty to three I got out of bed and started adding whatever sheets I could find. I had brought a big blanket and didn't want to be a burden and use the extra bedding that was provided, also I'm a little germaphobe and don't like the idea of snuggling with sheets from an unknown source with an unknown last washed date handled by an unknown person, but knew I needed sleep if I was going to function later that day. Finally I fell and stayed asleep until my alarm went off at 5:45. When I woke up that first morning and got out of bed I immediately fell down because my right leg had fallen asleep after being pressed against the hard mattress. I found the "beds" were comprised of a thin mattress put on top of a wood board. The second night though I was so physically exhausted and numb with cold from being outside for a couple hours, still with my arms full, that even with the door shut my room was still 30 or so degrees warmer than it was outside, and despite that hard mattress I slept like a rock.

On that first full morning, I went into the Church for morning prayer, again with full arms, and found only a very few others had decided to attend the optional morning prayer. I guess my fellow retreatants needed their sleep too; finals had just ended for most of them and they were probably exhausted. Being morning I finally got to start figuring out how things worked. The retreat was on the grounds of a religious community called the Brothers of Saint John. I'm not sure if you'd call it a monastery but essentially they have several buildings spread out over a few acres of land. The community is comprised of both brothers and sisters. When I say brothers think of the friar from the Robin Hood cartoon. And while I say brother, a few of them are priests, so maybe monk is the better term. I think for the most part the sisters are cloistered meaning they do get very involved with the outside world. I saw them and they always gave very big cheerful hellos, but they kept to themselves and their work. After watching them from the distance, I decided they were as industrious as the best of us, but went about their work the way a child of 5 goes about his play. And like a child playing in the snow, they seemed much too delighted about whatever it was they were doing to be bothered by the cold.

The grounds were expansive enough that walking from building to building can take some time, but small enough that driving seems a bit overkill. And since everything was covered in snow, riding a bike was out of the question. So instead the brothers and sisters would often cross-country ski from building to building. That was pretty cool to see.

So I'm in silent morning prayer, with a few of my fellows in the pews and all of the brothers kneeling on the floor in the front, when I hear a snore. One of the brothers had fallen asleep and was snoring! It was impossible for me to tell which one it was because they were all kneeling with straight postures but sure enough one of them had fallen asleep. That was very amusing.

From then on the rest of the retreat was like any standard retreat. I was able to figure out the schedule and got to meet many people. There were talks, prayer and social activities. The food was plentiful and good. My arms remained full the entire retreat, but I grew accustomed to my odd new addition. When I was saying my goodbyes on Sunday, the head priest came over, thanked me for my help, and asked if I had enjoyed what I could of the retreat. Then one of the team members said, "Father, he was one of the participants!"

But while the activities were like any other retreat it was different. These brothers who lead the retreat were amazing. To me they were like living saints. They all had a serene quality about them. When they smiled they seemed to smile with their entire body. They simply lit up whatever room they entered. They were all exceptionally bright, spoke multiple languages, hold multiple degrees, and were up to date on all the latest cultural happenings. They are Christians who live like Christ and it is catching. Paradoxically they appeared to be very rich but were materially very poor. Some of them didn't wear socks with their sandals and would have to walk through the snow that way. What little they had was functional but rarely comfortable. They didn't even have kneelers in their pews, instead they had this wooden contraption that you put behind your legs and "sit" on. You're still on your knees on the granite floor but it keeps your feet from falling asleep. But they seemed rich. I think maybe it is because in our world whenever we see people that joyful we tend to think they have it made or live cushy stress free lives. These brothers had few material possessions, and likely have a good deal of stress wondering how to make ends meet, but they are completely trusting that God will provide for them somehow and as a result, despite all their rules and harsh ways of life, they seem more free and alive than most anyone I likely will ever meet.

Building Strength

Lately I have been doing more exercise than usual. Nothing much, but I could hardly do less than what I was. I've been doing 60 pushups and around 100 crunches. Not consecutively but still in one go around. Physically I like myself the way I am, but I want to be in shape and have some strength. I've been doing the pushups for awhile now, and the crunches a new addition. I also tend to walk for about an hour a day, in the form of pacing back and forth in my apartment either on the phone talking or lost in thought.

This weekend I was very grateful for the increased frequency of my workouts because I found myself unexpectedly with my arms full. Earlier in the month I had been invited to go on a retreat, and it was this past weekend. Right up until essentially the moment I left, I had been planning on simply attending the retreat, hopefully coming to peace with my various troubles, and getting to meet new people. But rather than show up empty handed only being able to take, God decided to bless me with arms so full that about the only thing I would be able to do was give.

The first curve ball came before I even left. Due to some odd circumstances I wasn't able to leave home until almost after the retreat had already started and I was 2 hours away. By the time I got there, it was dark, and I had no idea where to go. I decided since this was a retreat the best place to look for people would be in the Church. On the way in I ran into a guy who apparently works the grounds. He was extremely nice and agreed that I should wait in the Church for people to come in. I went in and found it to be dark with one lone guy sitting in the back strumming a guitar. Arms still full I decided to wait in the back of the Church for people to start coming in. And they did. Although no one stopped to talk to me about what I was supposed to do to sign in or put my stuff. Rather I sort of became an unofficial greeter. Everyone was quick to say hello, but I still couldn't figure out what to do logistically, and I hadn't seen the person who invited me and was helping work the retreat. Other than her I didn't know who else to look for because there was no way to tell the difference between participants and team members. In the end I decided to join everyone else in the Church.

At this point I was able to rest my arms for a second and take a break. I was very tired, and crabby. Being tired was my own fault for a week's worth of little sleep. I had a problem turning off Pacman at appropriate hours. But I was crabby and losing patience because no one was helping me with the exception of that nice older guy who did all he could, I had not liked showing up 2 hours late, my arms were full, and after greeting all those people I hadn't seen anyone that was making my heart beat any quicker. I realize now I shouldn't have been crabby. It wasn't their fault I was two hours late, and with the retreat fully underway, expecting someone to just drop everything was rather selfish. The reason we had all gathered in the Church was for adoration. If you are not Catholic, adoration is a time when the Eucharist is exposed and those gathered get an opportunity to sit in the presence of our Lord. Depending on your level of faith on the true presence this experience will range somewhere between completely batty to an ectasy capable of causing levitation. I would fall somewhere in between these extremes, tilting more to the right, and so it was very nice getting to simply sit quitely with Jesus and regain some semblance of calm.

So I'm in there praying when all of a sudden that lone guy in the back starts singing "Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel" while playing his guitar. This is not my favorite song. We sing it every advent and by the time the fourth week comes along I really mean the words "Oh Come Emmnauel" just so we can be through singing this terrible song. It's boring, doesn't have a great chorus, and very little rhythm. And yet when this guy sang it, it was probably one of the greatest things I had ever heard. It sounded like how I would imagine one of the saints from old would sing. Like his entire being was caught up in singing to his Love. St. Augustine said, "when you sing you pray twice." In the context of that song I realized I have never sung. And then all too soon my arms were full again and I needed to hustle out of there, leaving everyone behind.

Three Tenses

How the mind reacts to before, present, and after certain situations is an interesting phenomenon. Before any given situation, in our mind we may have an idea about how we would act. And this idea may be very strong. Then when we find ourselves in that situation we may find ourselves completely unable to act in the manner we had thought we would. And finally after the situation we may immediately go back to our prior way of thinking and wonder why it was impossible for us to act in the way we thought we’d be able to.

Part of the noteworthiness of these experiences is the afterness. Practically instantaneously after we just got through a situation we found nearly impossible to act any other way, we go back to thinking in the same scenario we would act in some other way. We just completely failed to live up to how we thought we would act, and automatically think next time is going to be better. And when next time arrives, we find ourselves once again doing exactly what we did last time and not being any closer to acting how we originally thought we would. How we manage to trick ourselves into this line of thought is fascinating.

A good example is sin. Presently I am happy with my sister and love her very much. Because of that if a situation arose where she was aggravating me, I say that my love for her would easily keep me from lashing out and calling her names. So then she all too easily starts getting on my nerves, and all of a sudden it’s so bad I start feeling suffocated by her to the point where my body starts feeling physically in harm’s way, and out of a primal instinct for self-preservation I lash out and call her “fatty McCow butt”. Let’s say that was enough to get her to be quiet and the situation is over. Now immediately I will feel sorry for calling her “fatty McCow butt”, will apologize, and think to myself that in the future I will be more patient with her just I like did prior to calling her the name. This is insanity. If I were to be put in the same situation 5 minutes later, I’d assuredly call her names again. And while I was doing it, it would again be in my mind that behaving any other way, like with patient love, would be borderline impossible.

I didn’t really call her “fatty McCow butt”, that was an example to set up what did happen. I was at the grocery store buying some happiness in the way of new untried snacks. I find it a lot of fun trying out new products at the grocery store. And while I was doing this I saw three girls, one of which was particularly attractive. Attractive enough where I felt I should introduce myself. Now before this situation, I had in my head that of course this is how I would behave. It’s perfectly simple to go up to someone extend your hand and say “hello”. And in fact I have done this on many occasions, so there is even precedence to this line of thought.

But then I found myself in the situation. I knew in my head only a few simple phrases were needed. “Hello, I see you are having ladies night tonight, but would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me sometime.” I knew I was dressed up because of a Christmas party at work earlier today and likely was looking as good as I ever will be. I knew my basket was full, for once, of somewhat adult foods even if they were snacks. I knew that I typically run into girls I find attractive once or twice a year and this may very well be the last time for several months. I knew from several past experiences that the worst she’s likely to do is simply say no thanks and in less than 10 seconds the ordeal would be over and I would be in the same position I was 10 seconds before so I had nothing to lose. And yet, I simply could not bring myself to go up and talk to her. I kept making excuses on top of dealing with the nerves which were kicking in. And so I found myself walking up and down the store trying to build confidence and then I simply ran out of time. So I was a coward, didn’t ask her out, and here I am typing away. And as soon as the situation became apparent that I would not ask her out, I immediately went back to thinking that if I find myself in a similar situation that of course I would ask her out. And not only that, I would build on my lessons from this time around and do it to not be a coward, and for all those various reasons I just said above. That I would keep all these things in mind and not only do it, but do it with calm ease. And here’s the thing. Asking one girl out from a bunch is probably the best way to get a yes because even if she wanted to say no, if she is single her girl friends would probably force her to say yes.

Just watch, in a year from now I’ll be linking back to this post as a reference.

A Response

This morning I decided to send a message to a girl on OKC. She has no pictures posted and her profile is 7 sentences. The only reason I found her was because she favorited me.

Clicking on the profile of someone who has favorited me but has no picture of her own is a little stressful for me. To me it's like a minature blind date. You have no idea what to expect going in, and if this person just isn't for you, you may have to deal with telling them as much because who knows if they are going to be just head-over-heels for you. Okay that's a bit much for just viewing someone's post, but if they happen to be online and they catch you looking and then they try to talking through the built in IM, it's just no fun. So I held my breath and took a peek.

Fortunately those 7 sentences weren't bad. Actually not one of them sent off any flags. I was also pleased that she had atheletic put down as her body type, and Catholic as her religion. Actually I was a little concerned about the Catholic part. On this site you can put, sort of Catholic, Catholic, or very Catholic. Well she only had 'Catholic' and I didn't want a cafeteria Catholic. But I wasn't about to let this potential problem keep me from investigating further.

So this morning I sent her an e-mail. Based on those 7 sentences and little quick factoid section, I asked her a bunch of questions. This was challenging because I still don't know exactly how to start talking to someone. I basically told her, "I have no idea how to start talking to you, but I hear the way is to ask questions. So here a bunch of questions." And later this afternoon she responded.

This time she wrote much more than 7 sentences. She was pleasant too. The only problem was she didn't attach any pictures. I didn't ask her to in my first message. And I didn't ask her to in my reponse to her response either. Hopefully she will without me asking her. I suppose whether or not she does, the whole mystery is sort fun.

Own More Giraffes

There is a foggy dream of a memory I have one when I just a wee lad, probably around 2 or 3. My Mom was pulling out of the driveway and I was sitting in the back seat. As we pulled out I noticed a rather large man standing on the sidewalk, and said, "That's a fat man." My Mom then said I shouldn't call him fat because it wasn't nice. And I remember being very confused. After all he was fat and I didn't understand how saying what he was could be not nice. I guess at that point in my life I didn't know yet that sometimes the truth can hurt, even if it is said in the most innocent setting possible. At that time I just filed it away as something I was supposed to do, and only later came to realize why.

The other day I received an e-mail from work with a bunch of company news articles. One of the articles, about web technology, had the expression 'OMG' in the title. I am not a fan of this phrase, because of what it represents. Now some people will say it can mean 'oh my gosh' but that was not the original intent of the abbreviation, and I do not think this alternative meaning has become so prevalent that 'OMG' can now be equated with it. In general it is a pet peeve of mine when I hear anyone who thinks highly of the 10 commandments using this expression. In addition to being offensive to God, I find it shows a strong lack of self-control and a simple minded attitude that the person saying it couldn't think of something more creative or humourous (I know that first 'u' doesn't belong but I like it). For example, if I must have a loud outburst of frustration, I am very fond of 'shucks' and 'rats'.

I wasn't offended by the abbreviation because I am sure the author simply did not realize what he was doing, but after some thought I decided to send him an e-mail. I do not like the phrase, and strongly oppose websites that use it to link to current popular events like celebrity news. We live in a desensitized enough world as it is.
My e-mail basically said, that while I understood the context of the abbreviation and it's current use in popular culture, many Christians and people from other religious affiliations could find it offensive. Much like my Mom essentially I said, don't say that because it could be rather offensive. Shortly later I received an e-mail back from the author thanking me for the e-mail. He understood my point, and promptly removed the abbreviation from the title of the article. This was all before 8:00 that morning. And that was that. By the time my supervisor came in the entire e-mail and story had been changed and he never even knew about it until I told him what I had done.

Today we got another e-mail from the company with news articles. At the bottom of the e-mail there was a statement saying that several employees were offended by the abbreviation and found it was inappropriate for a business environment. The editors of the newsletter agreed, apologized for not realizing this sooner, and said it wouldn't happen again. I find it interesting that even though the e-mail was changed very early in the day several people had already seen the original and posted complaints. So I guess I wasn't alone.

Tommy

News coming from the Wikileaks has certainly made for some interesting viewing. Also interesting is one of the government's responses to it. The government has said that the information on the WikiLeaks web site is potentially classified, and many federal agencies, including the White House and the Department of Defense, have directed military, federal employees and contractor personnel not to access the WikiLeaks web site.

In addition, sanctions can be placed against contractor employees who hold a government security clearance who visit WikiLeaks. One of the government memorandums regarding WikiLeaks, said accessing the site could "provide justification for local security officials to immediately remove, suspend 'for cause' all security clearances and accesses." The government takes the position that classified material is not declassified by unauthorized release.

As far as the rationale goes, this sounds reasonable. However, it also seems a bit impossible. Several major news outlets have gotten their hands on this information and are reporting it. So according to this policy are we now supposed to avert our eyes and cover our ears whenever we see or hear the leaks being presented? Or maybe if a contractor is amongst friends who are talking about it, is he supposed to say, “excuse me but could you please change the subject, I’m not allowed to participate in this conversation because the government could pull my contract if it finds out.”?

All of this has reminded me that today is tasteful Thursday. Many years ago the Who made a famous rock opera called Tommy. The opera is about the deaf, dumb and blind kid who became a famous "pinball wizard". At the beginning of the opera when Tommy is still just a small child can see, hear and talk, but during his childhood he witnesses a tragedy and loses those senses when his parents find out it.

As the lyrics go to "You Didn't Hear It"
You didn't hear it
You didn't see it.
You won't say nothing to no one
ever in your life.

Air time

AM talk radio can be entertaining. While driving out of Cincinnati the other day with my Dad, we were listening to a cooking themed show. The poor hostess kept telling people to call in with Thanksgiving leftover ideas and turkey sandwich recipes but instead all but one caller had a question to ask about how to prepare one dish or another.

This seemed as good as any opportunity to find out more about cheese and apple pie. So I gave her a call. I had never called a radio show before where I was going to be on the air. It was a bit odd. The producer answered the call and asked which show I wanted to be on. Then I was put on hold, but while on hold I could hear the program. Because of that I didn’t know if it was a two way street. I’m guessing they mute my line so that while I can hear the program I cannot contribute to it until they ask for me to speak up. But I wasn’t sure, so I had Dad be very quiet and had the radio turned down really low.

The hostess, Marilyn, called on me fairly quick. Dad thinks it was because I was the only guy we had heard call in, and they wanted a bit of diversity. Whatever the reason, I was glad to go so soon. I asked her in what way does cheese enhance the flavor of apple pie. Her answer was a little roundabout but this may have been for the other listeners’ benefit. First she said that cheese and apple pie is a North Eastern tradition. The way she knows of to make it is to first make the apple pie, and then, when it is ready to be served, add a thin slice of cheddar cheese on top, in place of ice-cream. Then warm it up for a little bit to get the cheese soft. She said she’s had it this way and that while it is good she prefers ice-cream on top. The cheese brings about a salty flavor and some people like the sweet and salty combination.

As I mentioned, not many people were talking about what she wanted to, but over the next hour or so there were two other people who called in wanting to comment on the cheese and apple pie combination. I created quite a dialog. The first lady said that her husband made her call to say that his grandmother always prepared it this way and that she used the saying, “An apple pie without the cheese is like a kiss without the squeeze.” Marilyn hadn’t heard that before and liked it. The next lady who called wanted to discuss her way of preparing it. Unfortunately, Dad and I were talking too loud at the time and only caught the tail end of it. But essentially the lady said that she bakes the apple pie with the cheese at the same time.

Between this blog and my radio appearance, I think a national movement may be started here.

Mr. Wiley's Winning Technique

The onset of colder weather and the looming Christmas holiday, could potentially make single girls a little less picky. During these times, single ladies may be looking for both a warm body, and somebody more special than usual to celebrate our Lord's birth. This is my theory, because I have had significantly more traffic than usual these past couple months on the two dating sites I'm signed up to. And on one of them, I basically have page that I plan on only changing if I find somebody I want to talk to first. With the exception of one, none of these girls have really been what I'm looking for, and the one was a bit too young. Actually I was surprised I hadn't seen her before, when I realized the reason being because I filter out girls that young.

I suppose this odd winter phenomenon could work both ways too. However, this is not the case with me because if it were then I would have responded to any of those numerous e-mails I received. Nevertheless, since I am certainly not attracting or winning any dates with my current approach, maybe it is time to try an alternative method.

Meet Bob Wiley. Like me, Bob can only muster a few words out from his vocabulary when he finds someone he would like to meet. This is a problem I have long sought a solution too. Observe the repetitious manner in which Bob uses only a few words. This is a simple technique and I think that with a little practice on some strangers at the grocery store I too can become quite deft with just a few words.

Momentary Lapse of Reason

How fitting that tomorrow is Tasteful Thursday. Being that tomorrow is Thanksgiving, today seemed as good a time as any for me to relate to you one personal story of thanks.

Yesterday, while walking into work, I had both hands filled. My left hand was holding my lunch and my right arm was holding my laptop which was in this satchel I have that has a belt that hangs from my shoulder. While walking, I noticed that the opening to the satchel was facing me. That's the bumpy side of it, and I prefer to have it facing out so that the flat side is up against me. But since my left hand was full, switching it around with one hand seemed to challenging to navigate. And then I had an idea. I could simply throw the satchel up into the air, and while it was up there I could grab the belt from behind and this would turn the satchel around.

Well I did this. It fell right to the concrete ground below, making what would otherwise be a very satisfying thud. Actually, I didn't even really throw it up so good. The computer is a little heavy and it's awkward trying to throw it up it into the air by the belt. From a distance I imagine it would have looked like I took it off my shoulder and threw it directly onto the ground with a little flourish.

When I got the computer into the office, it didn't boot up. Then with the help of a co-worker I realized that one of the two parts that connects the monitor to the computer looked funny. So I poked at it and found it had been dislodged and clipped back into place. And then my computer turned on. The problem now was that moving the monitor caused funny behavior. Some positions put it into hibernate mode, and other positions would turn the entire computer off or on.

I took it into the computer store and they said it would cost me at a minimum $85 and take 2 to 6 weeks. That was no good so I took it back home. It still worked, I just couldn't move the monitor. Well last night I got back on it, and found that it worked pretty good. I was able to adjust the monitor pretty well and it didn't once abruptly turn off on me for the couple hours it was on. So I'm thankful that God had mercy on this brainless wonder.

Digging For the Roots

My sister decided to go to the dentist the other day. When I went after so many years, I was told I had 6 cavities. Despite the impressiveness of my diagnosis, when she went after so long she was told she had several cavities and needed a root canal. The poor thing just cannot seem to find good health.

On Wednesday she had her appointment. Mom stayed the night on Tuesday at her place so she could be with Brittany for the "operation". "Operation" is the term Brittany used to describe the root canal to me. My Mom however was in the room when my sister said this to me, and disagreed that this was an "operation". She didn't have to say anything else, we all knew this meant, "let me tell you about some 'operations'." And she's right, what has been done to my Mom makes root canals seem about on the level of clipping your fingernails.

Brittany got all drugged up the night before, and I gave her a call pretty late because I wanted to talk to her while she was high as a kite. But this time the medication she took didn't have any hallucinatory effects. I think she's had her wisdom teeth out and for that she did have some rather strong meds. Apparently, after the surgery Mom found her in her living room having a two-way conversation with one of her plants.

Despite the fun attitude I was taking to this, I was a nice brother and wished her a very successful and pain free "operation". Unfortunately this was not to be. During the operation Mom, who was in the waiting room, started hearing some commotion. Then someone came out for her. One of Brittany's kidneys was flaring up. Even though it's been over a year, Brittany still has 3 kidney stones, and at the moment she thought one was about to pass. They did everything they could to make her comfortable but ultimately they just had to wait until the pain subsided. The entire "operation" took 5 hours. At one point someone came and offered my Mom juice and cookies. Brittany too was given some snacks.

The next day I gave Brittany a call and found her to be her regular self. She said that her face was rather swollen though, and said it looked like she gained two pounds. However, her natural chubby cheeks do to a marvelous job hiding the majority of the swelling.

Not Like Mom Makes

"An apple pie with the cheese, is like a kiss without the squeeze." This disturbing 19th century saying has been the subject of many discussions of late. A few weeks back I made an apple pie, and came across this frightful quote. Asking around I found a few people had heard of the notion but none that had actually tried it. Wanting to see if I could make a "traditional" pie I did not add the cheese. But still puzzled by the idea of adding cheese to apple pie, this Thursday past I decided to make another one. Turns out I had extra apples and crust so instead of potentially ruining a whole pie I decided to make a small apple fritter type dish and add the cheese. Also I made sure to cut the apples into smaller widths this time around. See, the last time I made my pie, while the crust came out absolutely amazing, I didn't know how to cut the apples into proper sizes. I thought they should be nice and varied in size and shape, and at least a good bite. So they were rather thick, and did not cook through very well. Fortunately, I have a good group of friends who promptly informed me of this terrible blunder and how I can make sure to not let this surprising lack of common sense mistake ever happen again.

While I'm on a bit of a tangent, now might be a good time for another tangent. I asked a friend of mine who like to cook what her impressions are of adding cheese to apple pie. She said that the cheese has many similar properties to meat, and that adding it to the pie should make it more savory.

Savory:
1. Appetizing to the taste or smell: a savory stew.
2. Piquant, pungent, or salty to the taste; not sweet.
3. Morally respectable; inoffensive.

As for how the pie turned out, I don’t know. Since I had the apple fritter type dish I didn’t really need the pie so I gave it to a friend who was having his wife come in this past weekend on military leave. The apple fritter wasn’t something to present to others. This time around I used Granny Smiths and Pink Ladies. Unlike the Granny Smiths the Pink Ladies are very juicy. So juicy that I thought I could just pour some flour on top of them and it would get absorbed during the baking. This did not happen and instead I just got warmer flour out of the oven. I also added the sharp cheddar. I felt I added quite a bit of the cheddar but I couldn’t taste it when I tried the fritter. I added a lot more for one of my serving and it was too much. Or maybe it was the appropriate amount but I didn’t like it.

But because I didn’t really know what I was doing I felt my apple fritter could only be classified as inconclusive. In town there is a restaurant that makes a grilled cheese sandwich that has Granny Smith apples in it. So yesterday I decided to go there and get one to go.

While I was there I got to talking to the head clerk who happens to be French. After placing my order I asked him if he had ever heard of apple pie being served with cheese. He was so distraught by the notion that he almost seemed offended by the question. “Absolutely not! Never! No, there are many varieties of apple pie, I know, I’ve had them. No!” “Sir, (please spare my life), I have only heard of this recipe I’m not actually promoting it.” “If anyone tells you that apple pie has cheese then you bring him here and I will set them right.” “Well, the reason I’m here is because you serve grilled cheese with apples. So if you make grilled cheese with apples, doesn’t it make sense to make apple pie with cheese?” “No. Absolutely not. We make it that way because we think after many tries that it tastes the best. But you don’t put cheese in apple pie. There are many types of apple pie. . .” He then proceeded to tell me all about them. And I learned that the French stereotype about their attitudes on food is correct. He walked me out the door continuing to talk without taking a breath (much like this sentence) that you do not add cheese to apple pie, and that it must be a Great Britain invention, but their food is so awful that it doesn’t mean anything, and I should bring anyone who says otherwise to him. This Frenchmen was so passionate about this that I think he found adding cheese to apple pie to be the exact opposite of the 3rd definition.

I took the grilled cheese home, and was ready to eat but it was a big event. My parents, who happened to have called me while I ordering it, decided they wanted to hear my live impressions. And my impressions were that it was fantastic. It was delicious. My only problem was that it was a little sweet, which made it more like a tasty large snack to me rather than a meal. I think it’s because in addition to the apple slices they also add a fig spread which added a good bit of sugar. But yes, overall the grilled cheese was amazing, and I don't even like figs. And the apples only made it better. So maybe an apple pie with cheese could be very good, if only I knew how to make it better.

Finally, in case you are curious, here are the ingredients used to make the grilled cheese that I had: Danish Fontina and Fiscalini cheddar cheese, Granny Smith apples and fig jam on grilled Challah.

Mixing Generations

In town there is a place for salsa dancing that is meant for beginners. Despite their being a large showing and earlier hours I rarely go. This is because I am not a very smart person. I decided to go last night because I knew a few of the other students in the class I'm taking were going to be there too and it would make it really easy to ask someone to dance. I also went because there was one girl in the class I took an interest to, and I made sure to be very charming to her friends as a way to get closer to her.

So I went and sure enough the five of them were there. Right away I asked one of the girls, Annie, to dance and struck up a conversation with her. She lives in town and has a full time job as an English teacher as a second language to international students. This was rather interesting to me. First I wanted to know if she works primarily with one ethnicity or several. She said she works with students from all over the world. So then I asked if she speaks any other languages and she said German and a little sign language. That surprised me a little bit. I know from movies that when you take a foreign language at something like a community college usually they take the immersion approach where the teacher only speaks in that language, but it sounds so difficult to me. I realize this is how babies learn but I still think it sounds hard.

I also found out that her sister, who was also there, is best friends with the girl I was interested in. Hopefully you're catching the past tense in these references. Eventually I danced with Annie's friend Rachel. Now Rachel I believe is in public accounting. She mentioned she started dancing on and off since her first year of grad school in 2001. So Rachel is a few years older than me. She then said Annie's sister and her friend were still in school at a nearby smaller town and were 19. Come again? 19? Well that just won't do at all.

But at least the dancing part was fun. I got to practice all the moves we learned in class and had some nice people to do it with.

Cuban Cigars of Pop

Yesterday I found myself in a bit of a surreal situation. I was traveling to a little town out in the country that I had not been to before. This little town which essentially consists of one main street with some houses built around it, has a children's consignment store where people come and sell off the clothing their children either no longer fit in or no longer want. And in this consignment store there is a soda shop that sells glass bottles of soda. The town is only a short drive away so I decided to go and check it out.

On the way I passed by two interesting landmarks. The first was a sign that pointed towards a State Park. At this point something jogged my memories. I think maybe five or six years ago I had been at that State Park. I remember it for two reasons, the good company and the water snake I saw which I didn't like very much at all. Being in a situation where you think you've been somewhere but aren't exactly sure is always interesting. It takes on one of those odd qualities where it feels familiar but you aren't entirely sure why. Maybe a bit like the twist in 'The Shining'. Well I wasn't here to start wielding an axe, I was on a mission for fancy pops so I kept driving on.

As I approached the town I passed by what only could be described as a shack made out of metal rather than wood. The building was essentially a rectangle with a roof, with a gravel 5 car parking lot, with no driveway, right off the 55 MPH road. It had a sign that said 'Fine Quality Meats'. Driving by I noticed there was one car in the parking lot, and I figured despite the appearance of the building maybe it actually is open for business. Now don't get me wrong here, I like the old run down restaurants. The Mom and Pop restaurants that only care about how your food tastes. It's just that this place looked so run down that had there been no cars there I would have thought it was long out of business.

Driving on I found my pop shop. And sure enough, the clerk had pops covering an entire side of the shop. Many I recognized either from local grocery stores or Friar Tucks but there were several I had never seen before. For example, there was one called Mary Jane which is made from passionflower. I bought one but haven't tried it yet. So I spent a good bit of time walking up and down and looking around. I noticed I was the only one in the store, but it was also only 3:00 so I am hoping the business picks up at other hours.

I ended up with 6 bottles and asked the clerk if she ever got Pepsi products. She said she's tried but it's not easy. She thinks there are laws in effect that prevent it from being shipped from Mexico where it is glass bottled to here in the states. I'm not too sure about that though. I know, for example, that there is a gas station in North Carolina that sells Mountain Dew in glass bottles. She thinks the people selling it must have connections. It makes me laugh though, I had no idea a glass bottle of Pepsi could create such a fuss.

Leaving the little town I drove by that shack again. This time, ten minutes later, their little parking lot was nearly full with people walking in with empty coolers. So I had to do a U-ie and stop on in. The place is how you're probably imagining it. A few refrigerators, a big wooden table, and a guy wearing an apron that was white but now is red. I picked up 2 lbs of shredded BBQ pork and a pound of ground round. The BBQ pork was $7, and the beef was about $2.50. I was very happy with the prices. The butcher said all the meat comes from local farmers, and so I was doubly happy to be directly supporting them. When I got home I tried the BBQ pork. It was great.

The question remains however, soda, pop, or soda pop, which is it? I like pop and grew up with pop. As kids there was one guy who said soda, and it really irked me. Everyone else was saying pop, and I kept thinking he was only saying soda in order to sound more like a grown up and thereby more like a leader in order to have some sway over the rest of us. Where I'm at now it's sort of a mixed bag but I think most people tend towards soda. I use soda pop when I'm feeling especially childish or purposely want to make myself sound less adult like. It has it's uses, but generally I stick with soda or pop.

Para bailar la bamba

'La Bamba' is not a song I generally listen to when it is on the radio. Maybe it's because I couldn't understand the words, or didn't care much for the beat, but it's never been one of my favorites. But today I find it stuck in my head. I like Cal Tjader's version, and you should go here on a separate tab and click play on one of the available titles and read on while it's playing.

Around 11:30 this Friday I went out salsa dancing. It's a disgusting time of night to be doing anything but unfortunately all I have to work with. But this time there was a girl from my current set of classes, and we danced for about and hour and a half. It was a mixed bag. She definitely wanted to dance and had no problem saying as much. The problem was I was having troubles, as always, remembering the moves from class. That and there was this really good guy, possibly an instructor, there who would ask her to dance occasionally. And she looked incredible, dance wise I mean, which made it difficult for me because here she goes with this pro and now she's got to come back down to my level again. Now, she is technically probably around my level, after all we are in the same class, but she can follow a lead and that made all the difference between dancing with me and dancing with the pro.

Close to 1 I started getting a vibe that she was either no longer having as good a time or possibly getting sleepy and was ready to quit. So I took that as my time to say goodnight. Here I had a bit of a dilemma. It was 1 and I didn't think her friends were there anymore. So I thought maybe I should see if she wanted me to walk her to her car, assuming she would be leaving too. But she stuck me as a bit of an independent who was already grumpy about something, and I didn't want to come off as trying to be more than a social aquaintance, so I decided against it. Now I wish I had anyway because it was simply the right thing to do. Well we have our last class this Wednesday so I'll see her then and get a new reading on her.

I noticed that around 12:30 the bar started filling up. The girl I was dancing with said the music had started at 9:30. I just do not understand why people have to start things so late in the day. 9:30 isn't too bad, but it only works if you have a partner because no one else is there then. I guess this or a wedding (traditionally the Bamba is a wedding dance between the new husband and wife) is what is needed "para bailar la bamba"

Every Vote Counts

Last week I won the Halloween Costume Contest where I work. There were 19 votes cast for 5 costumes and I received 13 of them. Yay!

This week we had a chili contest. I have never entered before, but I was sort of in the mood for chili and figured this was as good an excuse to make it as any, so I gave it a try. Making chili is a bit of an art. First off you have to decide which kind you want. For example, you could go real crazy and make an all white chili with chicken and white beans. But I wanted to go more traditional with just beef and red beans.

There are many kinds of beef at the grocery store. There's ground round, chuck, sirloin, and extra lean. I went with ground chuck. And as for the beans I made it with two types, light red kidney beans and red chili beans.

Making it wasn't too bad, as I had a recipe both written down and somethings I wanted to try in my head. It isn't too hard following a recipe all you have to do is simply what your told. Add a can of tomatoes, add a can of beans, add 3-4 teaspoons of salt, add an onion. Uh-oh. That was 3/4 a teaspoon of salt. I had accidentally misread the amount of salt. I realized my mistake right away and tried my best to scoop it all out, but the damage was done. After I cooked it all up and tried it, the salty taste was definitely present. Still it wasn't inedible and I rather liked the after taste, despite it not being like the way Mom makes it, so I decided to enter it in the competition anyway.

There were three other entries in the competition. Two of them I did not care for. Others may have but they weren't for me. But the fourth one was quite good. In fact it tasted like Mom's. And now I had a problem, because I didn't think it would be right to vote for mine if I preferred anothers. So I went back up and got another helping of each. But I couldn't make up my mind. I really did like mine, but I couldn't decide if I liked it more. Then I started doing small samples of each, like at an ice-cream deli. Hmmm, I've never heard of deli being used with ice-cream before but I like it. In the end I decided that mine was a bit too rich for me and that I would only want it in small quantities, whereas the competition was timeless. So I voted for it.

Then the votes were counted. Since I didn't vote for mine, I didn't think I was going to get very many. But then they called out a vote for it, then another, and another, and another. I got four votes in total. And those other two I didn't care for trailed me. So it was between me and the one I vote for. I could barely stand the anticipation of finding out. But soon enough the competition received it's fifth vote and finally it's sixth. I had lost. But then I did a little math. If I had voted for myself and not the winner then he would have only gotten 5 votes. And I would have gotten 5 votes. And we would have tied for first!

So let this be a lesson to us all. Every vote counts.

That's Brain Damage

When I made it home this weekend, my parents sat me down for lunch. After lunch Dad said get your grungies on we need to go to the river and get some rocks. So Dad, Mom, and I hopped in the van and drove down to the river. They wanted to use the river rocks to make a walkway for their house. I used to go down to this river with my buddies as teenagers. We would drive down and park on the side of the road. As we went today we found that all the old parking spots were inaccessible and signs were up all over the place saying 'No Tresspassing'. So we kept driving and finally we came across a patch that may not have been exactly legal but there were no signs saying as much.

Dad and I hauled in some massive rocks. He thinks they weighed 30 pounds but I think they were much heavier. I can dumbell 30 pounds, and I could barely lift these. But it could be that they were just very awkward to grip because they were so large.
After we got these rocks, Mom looked at the clock which said 3:00 and said we could still take these down to the house today. The house they are referring to is an hour and a half away.

We stopped at home base to get some drinks and magazines and then got back on the road. Finally around 7:30 we make it back into town, and they decide to stop at Menards for wood so Dad can make shelves. And at 8:30 we made it back home. So today was a bit of a long day if you keep in mind I made a 5 hour drive to get to them. During this time earlier today when we stopped at home for the drinks and magazines I looked at my hands. They were covered in mud. Making a pretend fuss about it I said, "Mom, I have 6 years of higher education. As a result, I have paid my dues and should not ever have hands like these." "Your zipper is down, Mr. 6 years."

Jest

In the first grade a lot of older kids noticed I had a winning smile and they started calling me "Joker". I think I knew who they were referring to back then, but I didn't like it, not one bit. They kept wanting me to smile for them, and I didn't like that attention. Afterall, having a bunch of people always looking at you and then calling you names based on your looks can be upsetting.

Eventually my friends picked up on it, and it sort of stuck. I thought that as I grew if my head got bigger then my smile would get smaller. Nope. Fortunately the name never really stuck and it would only be brought out on occasion. So for my senior year of high school I decided to go as Jack Nicholsons Joker. I remember the face paint. It was a pain because it tended to get on whatever it touched. In particular the color of my shirt. And I had wondered how the real character in the movie managed to keep it off his clothes. Well he didn't. If you look at pictures of him you'll see there actually is face paint on the collar of his shirts.

The other problem with the costume is the green hair. Back then I used a spray can that temporarily dyed hair green. The problem was that it got on my scalp, and I couldn't get it off very well. A short time after that I had to visit Ohio Northern as a possible college choice, and sure enough my green head came out all too clear under the bright sunny sky.

This year I decided to go as Heath Ledger's Joker, with those lessons in mind. I sprayed my hand and then smeared it through my hair to keep the dye off my scalp. And I used much less face paint. So without further ado here are the pictures.

Update, later today: After work I played some more. This should really be a Tasteful Thursday article. I've already given out two lessons on applying the makeup above and now I have more to say. I've decided the trick to the makeup is to keep it thin enough so the bare skin on your wrinkles can show through, and to be very generous with the black. Mixing the colors works best. Having three distinct colors looks too correct. But you want them to have their textures. If you smear them on then you'll get a smooth appearance and it will look too artificial and flat. The problem is trying to mix the colors and not get the smeared look. And by mixing them I don't mean white and black make gray. I mean mixing them such that you have white and black on top of each other without combining into a new shade much like spray paint art. I don't think I have the proper tools to pull that off, so I have to try different techniques with my fingers. Even with the new result I decided afterwards that my lips were still too solid red. They needed more black. But that's okay. Today was a trial run. This Sunday I am traveling to Columbus to celebrate little Stevie's wedding. Costumes are supposed to be worn at the reception. I'm hoping I've learned enough today to make a good appearance on Sunday.

Getting the makeup off was rather difficult. After my first attempt I looked in the mirror and thought my eyes looked a bit dark. So I rescrubbed them really hard. Finally I gave up when it just looked like I was wearing mascara. I'm going to try salsa dancing tonight, so hopefully the dark lighting will cover up the fact that I'm wearing makeup. Or maybe I'll look a bit more mysterious. Girls supposedly like dark and mysterious. I've also noticed that when I rub my forehead it feels like the makeup is still there. Maybe wearing all the foundation has improved my skin quality. Here's the new look.

Homeward Bound

That previous day was probably the climax of the trip. But there was still plenty of adventures ahead. The next day was our last full day in Kiawah and we made the most of it by staying at the ocean as long as possible, boogie boarding, kite-flying, tennis playing, and more Frisbee throwing. Towards the end of the day we went souvenir shopping at the stores near the island. These stores mostly cater to yuppies but there are a few of the strictly touristy places too. We went into a shoe store thinking they might have some flip flops on clearance because last year when I went they did. I went to the back of the store to look around and a few seconds later I hear Kelly shout all the way from the front of the store, “These flip flops are over one hundred dollars!” We quickly left that store, with her repeating herself just in case someone missed what she said the first time. Next we proceeded to the clothing store. Even before we in I knew this would cause problems for her, so I asked her to please refrain from commenting on the prices. We went in and immediately I remembered why I never get anything from there. While the clothes are very nice, they are all much too Southernly. They simply wouldn’t look right being worn in farm country. So I went looking for Kelly who I found over in the “sale” department. She said not too quietly, “I need to get out of here, now.” And as we were walking out she said, “If I see anyone leaving from here with a bag I’m hitting them in the face.” Well at least she didn’t directly mention the prices. I was very proud of her.

Kelly is a female of elegance, poise, and high fashion.

But we did pick up some souvenirs from the touristy store for our friends and family, which we added to the ones we picked up the day before when we took a brief stop in downtown Charleston. There we found a library that was throwing out old books. I grabbed a bunch because they had sophisticated sounding titles like, “The Gettysburg Review” and “Pembroke Magazine”. She grabbed some too because nothing is too good for her friends.

The trip home the next day was the first time we came to fighting. We had decided to drive up through the Smokey Mountains, and this time we were going to find a proper camping site. Well we drove right through them alright but never found a good place to camp. All the campsites were full. So we kept driving and driving. During this time we had our usual blast. We got to drive through Maggie’s Valley which was way up high in the mountains despite its valley name, fought over the music, and saw some amazing sites. Eventually we passed right through the Smokey Mountain National Park and came to Gatlinburg. Kelly, who likes all things shiny, immediately needed to pull over, and we wound up going to Ripley’s Aquarium. This was actually really well done, and I felt was in some ways even better than the Charleston Aquarium. One of the neat parts for me was seeing an Amish family walk around. They were very nice and talkative. I noticed the guy who was taking them around too. He was also very friendly but when he talked to me, I got the distinct impression he hadn’t gone beyond 8th grade. I talked to Kelly about this. That I had never met someone that old before be so simple minded. She said being a social worker it is an everyday occurrence for her. But for me, probably the majority of people I talk to have at least a Masters. So it was quite an experience, and we agreed that while he sounded like he had very little education he was probably an expert at farming or some other craft of which I have absolutely no understanding.

It was already dark when we found the aquarium and by the time we left it was dark and late. Kelly had been driving and she was clearly getting tired. We kept driving and found more campsites but they were ones that were meant for trailers. A few hours ago she didn’t want to even consider these, but now she did. I didn’t want to though because her reasons for not wanting to a few hours ago hadn’t changed now. We both didn’t like the idea of people looking in on us in the car as we tried to sleep. We had to sleep in the car because there were no tent sites and we didn’t have a trailer. So we kept driving, and things were getting quieter. No more talking and no more music. Finally she said I’m pulling over at the next rest area. I didn’t like this idea because to me the only difference from the other campsites was that we weren’t allowed to be there, but I could tell she wasn’t about to have a discussion on the matter. So I said that we could stay there, but that I was sleeping in the drivers seat in case some police officer decided to stop on by. Sadly there was to be no snuggling that night. But once I found a comfortable position, a few hours later, I managed to sleep better than the first night we spent in the car.

Nevertheless that sleep was not sufficient. The next day we headed back on the road, this time with me driving. Kelly kept sleeping in the back for about an hour. The drive was nice because I learned how the Smokey’s got their name. The pine trees admit a hydro-carbon that cause a profound smoky fog. Driving along it looked like the mountains were on fire from all the smoke. And in some cases it only covered their bases so some of them looked like islands in the sea. But this entertained me for only so long, and I started day-dreaming and drifting off to sleep. Finally Kelly needed to take the wheel. And from that point on she drove us all the way back.

On the way back we stopped by Mammoth Caves and Abraham Lincolns birthplace.

Finally we made it all the way to her Aunt and Uncle’s house where they took us on their boat over to the marina and treated us to dinner. We then spent an hour going through pictures, and finally I hit the bed and slept for many wakeless hours. And that was the end of our grand road trip.

That night, after our encounter with the pluff mud, we decided it was high time on our trip to go out for a real nice dinner, and I knew the perfect place. California Dreaming is a restaurant on the Charleston bay that has been converted from an old military fort. Being as such, it has a very interesting appearance inside and out. Inside you sit around the perimeter so that everyone has a nice view of the water. In times past, I have seen dolphins swimming around, but even without the wildlife getting to see the big yachts and deep sea fishing boats is pretty neat. Kelly would agree with this because we couldn’t even drive up to the restaurant without her wanting to get out and start taking pictures and talking to people. But I wanted to be sure we could get a table so with saintly patience she let me drive to the restaurant and see about a reservation. Turns out they don’t take reservations. It’s simply first come first serve. It was 6:30 and we wanted to walk around before the sun set so I asked if we could come back at 7. They said they would make an exception for us and make sure a table was available. And with that Kelly bolted out the door and down to the docks.





Right away we saw a guy on one of the fishing boats doing some work. This guy could not have been more of a stereotype. He had no shirt or shoes, a bronze tan, untrimmed hair under a ball cap, and was smoking a cigarette while drinking a beer. Kelly started talking to him and before we knew it we were on his boat being given a tour. Then he pulled out two fishing poles and some large frozen fish that were going to use as bait. He was distraught that Kelly had not been able to catch anything the night before, and he said, “we may not catch anything but I am going to try real hard.” Okay, the guy was a stereotype and that was the G-rated version, but you get the idea. Kelly and I fished for about a half an hour off the dock, but the best we were able to do was see a crab take Kelly’s bait and then run off.



About half way through, G.T., that’s his name, got frustrated and pulled out a fishing net used to catch bait. He felt that maybe the fish weren’t in the mood for the dead bait and that we might have better fortune if used something alive. After the first cast he caught two little minnows, which he promptly speared for us. It was a little sad seeing him do that. Even he apologized to them. And they sadly died in vain because they were of no help. G.T. kept casting that net, and Kelly and I kept fishing, but none of us caught anything. G.T. had a crab on the net at one point and a stick. So we left saying we caught 5 things. But it was fun and we learned a lot. G.T. was the one who told us we had found pluff mud. He also told us we were probably never in any real life threatening danger. This was a little disappointing because it was so much more fun to think we had escaped with our lives from some grave threat by our own athleticism and intellect but in the end we had just walked into a homogenous smelly mud puddle.





At this point it was 7:30 and since the sun had set we gave G.T. our thanks and ran off to the restaurant. Inside Kelly told the host and a manager about our fishing adventure and that if she had caught a fish she was going to bring it in and have them cook it. The manager said that they do that and he didn’t blame us for missing our 7:00 table. Dinner itself was amazing. But we didn’t have dessert. That we saved for the condo, where Kelly had Moose Tracks and milk, and I had Moose Tracks, cake, and Mountain Dew.

Pluff Mud

We made it to Kiawah with no troubles. When we got there we had to check in to pick up the keys to the condo. Unfortunately, the condo was not ready for us so we had to explore for awhile. So I took her to the beach where she instantly jumped right into the ocean. And that act set the pace for what would be the next four days. If there was light Kelly was outside playing and exploring.

That first afternoon was spent showing Kelly around the island. Every time we stopped she pulled out her fishing rod. And you would have been wise to have bet she would catch something. Fish were jumping everywhere. We went to the lagoons where I had seen alligators in years past and to the marshes where the herons hunt. But you would also have lost your money because she never got even a bite.

The next day I wanted to go on a bike ride with her to the end of the island. Sand on beaches generally comes in two properties. If it is wet, then typically it is like concrete. And if it is dry, then it is like play sand. But at the end of the island, where the ocean divides the main land with the island, the sand takes on a third property. Here every step you take is like how I imagine walking on the moon would be. The sand sinks and depresses with your foot, but also doesn’t get blown around like play sand. So you leave behind big foot prints.

On the way we rode by the world famous Ocean Course. It has hosted and is scheduled to host many major golf tournaments. Every hole has a view of the Atlantic. Even the driving range is a sight to see. Which Kelly saw close up, because she hopped the fence and ran onto it looking for balls.

Finally we made it to the end of the island, at probably the peak of low tide. Other than a few rangers who were far off, we were the only people in sight. We wanted to get to the mainland and were hopping the ocean would be shallow enough that we could ride our bikes across. It wasn’t. We had to wade water up to our waste to get through. Also the sand beneath us was like quick sand constantly sucking us down, making that wade very difficult and very wet. This was particularly concerning to me, because I did not want to ride all the way back to the condo sitting on that bike seat with drying tightie whities.

But we made it across and started exploring. Kelly loved the sand and the views. We saw a large flock of pelicans sitting on the shore and nice sized sand dunes. But we also saw a group of small turns sitting off in the distance near some marsh grass. That was a curiosity to us and we wanted to see what had made them clump there. As we started towards them we noticed the sand was very odd. It was like walking on a trampoline. We would take a step, the sand would push down supporting our weight, and when we lifted our foot the sand came right back up with us. Immediately we felt the need to jump up and down on this wonderful surface. When I landed I pushed through the sands’ surface, went down to about my ankles, and noticed a disgusting smelling black icky substance was pouring out from the holes I had made. Right away I had difficulties regaining my balance and I noticed I was sinking. But when Kelly jumped she immediately went straight down to about her thigh. At this point she honestly felt she was going to die. She was sinking and could not get out. And told me to take her hand, and while subconsciously I knew that was stupid idea I took it anyway. And down I went to my thigh. We made it out by crawling out on our hands and knees.

Later we learned that we had jumped into a pit of pluff mud. Pluff mud is essentially decaying plant matter. I believe what had happened is similar to the skin of pudding. The sand from the ocean had blown across the pluff mud and had create a thin but somewhat strong surface that was able to support our weight. But when we jumped on it, that surface broke and down we went and up came the pluff mud.

So after the first full day on the island we nearly killed ourselves, and we still had another one and half days to spend.

Kelly and I doing a little grocery shopping. The grocery store is very forward thinking, just look at the weight watchers buggy.

Driving Through Appalacha

Leaving Ohio sometime the next morning, we traveled South heading through the Virginia's. I had seen some nice pictures of the Farmers Market in Roanoke, and wanted to stop by. Roanoke is a bit off of 77 South, so getting there was going to allow us to get creative. We could take the major highways or instead some of the smaller roads. We chose the smaller roads. In particular we went on 311. 311 gave us some very nice views and was an interesting road itself with many turns and hills. In fact the moment we turned on 311 we had to stop because we saw a flock of turkey vultures just sitting by the side of the road. But while on 311 I saw a road that went up a hill and told Kelly, who was driving at this time, to turn on it because the top of the hill might offer a great view. It didn't, and instead the little road turned into a one-lane gravel path. Not being able to pass this up we continued on this little road and saw some amazing sights.

The houses we passed had three characteristics. They looked as though a strong wind could blow them over, they could be placed on a truck and driven away, and they had either a rebel flag, a satellite dish that looked more expensive than the house, or both.

At one point we came to a general store. Shortly after we got on 311 we came into Virginia. Then a little while later we were back in West Virginia. About a half hour to an hour later we hit the general store, and asked the lady at the counter what state we were in and she said at the top of the hill we just came down we had entered Virginia again. She was very polite, helpful, and well put together. Her accent was adorable. But after we got back in the car Kelly immediately asked me if I had thought something seemed off about the lady. As Kelly put it, "she seemed like a demon was in her, and that fire would come from her eyes." And I completely agreed, there was something terribly off about that lady. After thinking about it for awhile I think I've got it figured out. Her voice was very nice, but her facial expressions did not correspond to her tone. It would be like saying, "Yes, I would love some ice-cream", while shaking my head left and right. I thought of her as sort of a live action version of Droopy.





Shortly after the general store we got terribly lost. But this is what GPSs are for. We had a laugh because the GPS wanted us to get on Highway 465. This "highway" was simply a one laned paved road. Which I suppose was better than the one lane gravel road we had been traveling on. But finally, with the GPS helping us, we made it to Roanoke.

Roanoke turned out to be much larger than I had expected. We never did find the Farmers Market. This was okay though because we had gotten there so late in the day, there was probably no market to be found. Instead we drove by a park that I noticed had frisbee golf, so we stopped and played a round. After one particularly pathetic hole for Kelly, I had clearly won the match but I only counted her 3 - 4 extra throws as 1 so in the end we tied. Then we went to a little diner for dinner. There was too much on the menu though for us to make a decision so when the hostess came to take our order I asked, "we are tired and hungry, what do we want?" And she told us, and we agreed and we had that. Kelly felt the menu warranted a photo. She liked the PBJ and was grossed by the fried Balogna. Speaking from experience fried Balogna is very tasty!




After dinner the sun was setting, and we didn't know where we were staying for the night. We started driving South again on 77, keeping our eyes peeled for a camping sign. Kelly worked the GPS and found a site. The GPS tried its best to get us there, but at one point the road we were on stopped and a sign was up ahead saying, "End of State Maintained Road". Up ahead the road turned into a sort of rocky tire path with grass inbetween. We decided this was technically a road and since we were driving an SUV we ought to treat it like one and continue on like the GPS mentioned. My poor car got scrapped left, right, up and down, by branches and brambles, and after a quarter mile or so we came to a locked gate that would not let us proceed further. So I had to a 50 point turn around and drive back out. Hitting the detour button the GPS took us on a much longer path but eventually we found the campsite.

We were the only people at the site. This was a little off putting to us, but the site was open so we found a parking spot and made camp. Since it was very dark, and we had no idea where tents could be set up, camp was the back of the Pilot. We moved all the luggage to the front seats and made a big space in the back where we could lie down. The tent actually served as my pillow. I cracked the sun roof to give the water vapor from our breath a route of escape and we proceeded to "sleep". That night was very cold, and while I know I slept at least 4 times because of my 4 very distinct dreams, 2 of which were winter themed, I noticed each time I woke up Kelly was a little closer. By the end of night we were huddled up next to each other. I was trying to be manly and stayed on my side of the Pilot, but whenever she moved I silently swore at her to get back where she was because I was very cold too.

The night was rather awful. We had little sleep, were very cold, and also sore from lying on the hard floor. As we were leaving I made a wrong turn and ended up passing a house with some dogs outside. And one of those dogs was a basset hound!!!!! He alone made the whole night worthwhile.