Something Worth Writing

It's been an awfully long time since I've written, I know. I also realize that I promised I wouldn't take this long between posts, I know. Much of it is due to a lack of motivation, most of it due to the fact that I'd rather play Xbox than have to actually use my brain power to think of something to write. However, now I've got something that's truly worth writing about.

This past Thursday, I helped bury one of the best men that I'll ever know: my granddaddy, Raymond Coppage. His eight grandsons, including me, were his pallbearers. His passing was long anticipated, both in the fact that we knew it was coming since a procedure he had in January, many of us expecting that day to come at any time, and the fact that we knew it was coming since his first heart attack back in the early nineties. Even when I first started dating Meghan back in 2003, we had a pseudo-memorial/recognition event in his honor so that he could see how much he had affected people and how much they loved him, thinking that he wouldn't be with us much longer. Being the stubborn, hard-working man that he is, my granddaddy outlasted every prognosis he was ever given. He lived to be 80 years old, passing away over a month after his last birthday.

I'll start by saying that I never knew granddaddy as well as I should have. Honestly, I don't know much of my extended family as well as I should have. I've always been so much of a self-sufficient person that I haven't made a good, honest effort to get to know those in my life as intimately as I should. Being around all of my family this past week made me regret that. Hearing about granddaddy from letters that he wrote home in college, from stories through his children (my aunts and uncles and mom), and from eulogies by men who called speaking at his funeral their "greatest honor," it was humbling. This was a man that I had 25 years to get to know, and it took his passing to really see how great of a man he was. It made me sad that I'd never get to talk to him again. It made me feel that sense of longing to know my father's father as well. The fact that I was never even able to meet him pains me. I see how much my dad loves him and his memory, and it makes me know that I would have loved him too.

I usually don't cry at these moments. I have a way of compartmentalizing my emotions that I'm sure isn't healthy, but it's effective. It wasn't until we were at the visitation, family only, that I shed my first tears. It was in seeing all of the pictures of granddaddy and grannie together over the years that moved me. There were only a handful of pictures from their younger years since cameras weren't as prevalent back then, but what I saw was a man who loved his wife, who loved his work, and who loved his life. He and my grannie, Velma Coppage, were married when they were 20 years old, and were together for 59 years. As I thought about what must be going through her mind, about what it must be like to have to let go of the man that you had followed, fed, sacrificed for, and loved for nearly 60 years, it broke me. It broke me because I know how much I love my wife, the woman who turns my world, and I know how absolutely devastated I'd be without her now, nevermind 60 years from now. In nearly every single picture that was shown at the viewing and the funeral the next day, grannie and granddaddy were together, smiling, hugging, loving each other every step of the way.

I listened at the funeral as the pastor at granddaddy's last church spoke. I listened as my Uncle Ray talked about his dad in a way that I had never heard him speak, seeing emotion in him for one of the first times I can remember. I listened as a man I had never even heard of before spoke about how granddaddy helped found a seminary in India by fronting the first portion of funds, and how that seminary is now graduating 15+ young ministers a year. That same man, I'd guess about 80 years old himself, said that my granddaddy was one of his dearest friends, and the best man that he'd ever know. He said, "I've received alot of honors in my time... but this, speaking here about Raymond, this is the greatest honor I have ever had." I listened as my mom spoke about her daddy, thinking how amazingly strong she was throughout the whole thing, telling stories that he would have wanted to tell, that he did tell probably a hundred times to his kids and grandchildren and great grandchildren. I stood with the rest of our family as we sang "The Old Rugged Cross" and every one of us struggled to hold back tears as we thought of granddaddy looking on from heaven, finally receiving the reward for his eight decades of faithful service to Jesus.

Granddaddy was a gardener, a farmer, a fisherman, and a pastor in every sense of the word. I heard more about him this past week than I had for most of the rest of my life. All of it just reminded me of what I already knew: he was one of the best men that I'll ever know. While I know that Jesus' sacrifice should be enough reminder daily that we should live to the standard that he's set, Granddaddy's passing has put that back in focus for me. His example, his life has reminded me that living righteously is possible. Knowing that he's up in heaven, looking down on us, makes me want to be a better man. Seeing the hundreds of people at his funeral made me want to make that kind of impact with my life. Witnessing the passion and outpouring of emotion for his life inspires me every day to simply be better. I know that Granddaddy has more important things to do with Jesus than to look in on me, but it's that thought that has me already thinking clearer.

I love you, Granddaddy. Thank you for everything... and tell Jesus I said "hi."

Exhausting.

This week marked the first time in a long time that I have gone absolutely all out for my job. It was exhausting. There were at least a couple nights working past midnight and I made probably ten trips to Office Depot and FedEx Office collectively. They know me there. I'm kind of a big deal.

Meghan had a busy week too. It was hard emotionally, mentally, and physically with everything that she had to endure with her job, and it was hard for me to see her go through all of that, especially when I was as swamped as I was with work. She's entering the second hour of a pretty well-earned nap at the moment...

Once I finished everything that I had to finish today, though, I pretty much just crashed on the couch and haven't had much reason to move since. While Meghan and I were watching last night's Office, we both said the same thing at the same time:

"I'm so glad this week's over."

And we are. I almost don't even want to write at the moment, but it's been too long since I've updated, so I feel a little responsible to at least put something up. Maybe I'll stop here... maybe I won't. I won't.

This week was pretty big for Emily too. She's been debating over whether or not to take a job in Georgia, and when push came to shove yesterday, she decided to go for it. Before, she was nervous about the hours, the long commute, and the fact that she would be leaving Florida, but right after she accepted, her new boss went ahead and changed the hours to make it fit what she was looking for... without her even telling him what that would be.

It's going to be sad to see her go. We've loved having her here. It wasn't a sacrifice in any way. She's been nothing but a huge help to us around the house, with Chief, with dinners, and with company. She and Meghan both finally got to have a sister for the first time in their lives. Chief made a new best friend. Emily got to find her center and get a better idea of who she wants to be in this life. We'll miss her. She'll miss us. She wants to take Chief. She's not getting him. That's my boy.

Meghan has also decided that she wants a Great Pyrenees pup. We went to some kind of "Dog-A-Palooza" this past Sunday where tons of the local shelters brought dogs that were eligible for adoption to the Sun Dome (where USF plays their basketball games). Even though we knew we don't really have room for another dog, we went anyway and tested our resolve. After nearly walking around the entire arena, we came to the back corner where one of the "big dog" shelters was stationed: the Great Pyrenees. They're massive, white, fluffy, gentle giants that are just about the sweetest dogs you'll ever see. Chief used to have a girlfriend pup that was a Great Pyrenees named Lily who lived in our old neighborhood here in Tampa. He loved that pup. Megs did too. We stayed at the Great Pyrenees rescue corner for a good fifteen minutes while Megs petted and stroked the one named "Panda," yes, like the bear, and went ahead and got her heart set on getting one. Here's an idea of what they look like.


So, basically, it's a giant, white, fluffy version of a Golden Retriever. I kinda want one now too.

That's about all I've got in me. I'll update again soon!

Jimi and the ATL

Earlier this week I traveled out to Nashville to help one of our salespeople with a presentation she was giving to a county out in Northwest Georgia. Since I used to sell in that market and I'm familiar with those folks, management thought it would be a good idea for me to tag along. Overall, the trip was great. I always love to spend time with other salespeople and to share my knowledge and experiences with them, and it's great to get an idea of how other people approach the job too.

Both my flights into and out of Nashville went through connecting cities before I could get back to Tampa. On the way out there Monday afternoon, I had to go through Charlotte on U.S. Airways. The Charlotte airport has white, Cracker Barrel-style, wicker rocking chairs all the way through the terminal, just on the outside of the moving sidewalks. It's something that I've yet to see at any other airport, and it's a clear sign that you're in the South. The relaxed, comfortable atmosphere, the free internet, and the open space that a relatively uncrowded airport like Charlotte provides is something that I should have appreciated a little more considering what I had ahead. When I came back from the home of country music, I had to fly Delta. And that meant that, yes, I would have to go through Hartsfield-Jackson, Atlanta's International Airport, also known as the "busiest" airport in the world.

When I used to live in Tallahassee, I would have to go through Atlanta for nearly every single flight that I took. Therefore, I've missed at least two or three flights because I couldn't get from one gate to the other in time to make a connection. There are so many people, so many roller bags, and so many ignorant, wandering sheep in that place that I'm surprised there aren't more incidents that I'm sure there already are. The entire place is a mess of escalators, rude food staff, motorized carts, people standing in aisles, and terminal-transport trains. In a nutshell, it's a madhouse.

If one flight gets delayed at ATL, you can bet your bottom dollar that all the flights are going to be delayed. When I arrived in Nashville about an hour before my 5:05PM flight was scheduled to take off, I saw that my flight and the two before it (also to Atlanta) were delayed because of weather or wind or clouds or other assorted Acts of God in the metro-area. This was fine with me as I had already planned for precisely this scenario. I booked my flight from Nashville to Atlanta so that I'd get there around 6:30PM, then my flight to Tampa didn't leave until 10:50PM. I gave myself a little room to work with. However, as the flight just before mine was boarding, they called all those in the waiting area who were on the next flight (mine), to come to the ticket counter, offering seats on this earlier flight. By this point it was around 5:40PM. I asked the lady at the counter if I could also get an earlier flight to Tampa. She took a look and booked me safely on the 7:00PM flight out of Atlanta, which at first glance seems like a mistake. But no, no, my friend, she knew just as well as I did that one delay means a thousand delays, and that flight didn't end up taking off until 9:35PM.

When I got off the plane in Atlanta, I walked out the terminal to see what I'd expect Mumbai looks like if it were inhabited by the South. People. Every. Where. Immediately, I slipped my iPhone out of my pocket, inserted my head phones, and found the one thing that I knew would get me through the duration of this 1-2 hour madhouse: Jimi Hendrix.

Several years ago, when I was really starting to fill out my music selection. I randomly bought the Greatest Hits CD for Jimi Hendrix. I wasn't too enthralled with the blues or other genres like the blues just yet, but after I listened to that album once, I was. I had heard Jimi songs in the past, and I knew some of his work a little more than others, but this was an education. This was soul, and listening to it all made me sad about the fact that he'll never make music again. For the next two hours, though, he was going to be right there by my side, seeing me through, making sure that the rest of that crazy world I was surrounded by was drowned out by the electric guitars and deep rhythms that carried a generation. It calmed me, made me lose myself in the music, and helped me make it through without so much as a burst of anger.

Therefore, I'm leaving you with the first Jimi Hendrix song that I can remember listening to. It's "Red House," and if you haven't heard it before, then you haven't lived. Enjoy.

Dreams

First off, I've posted more Mitch Hedberg for you all to enjoy. This is from a very early set he did in Canada somewhere. It's hilarious. I've already forced Emily to watch it. I'll explain my reasoning in a second.



The reason I thought of Mitch in the first place was because one of his jokes popped into my head earlier today.

"You know, I'm sick of following my dreams, man. I'm just going to ask where they're going and hook up with 'em later."

I was walking with the Chief and I was thinking about my current job status, where I'm going with my life, the usual. My sister's been going through so much with graduation and trying to figure out what to do with just life in general, and that's rubbed off on me a bit. I haven't been all that satisfied with my job for a long time now, and it's not something that I've shied away from talking about with my bosses. Obviously my line of work isn't what people grow up wanting to do, or even graduate college wanting to do, but it's a great job. The pay is fantastic, the benefits are stellar, the perks are great, and there's really no limit to the kind of success you can reach. All that being said, though? I know it's not what I want to do the rest of my life. I feel it in my bones and in my soul that this is not where I'm supposed to be spending the best years of my life.

But, of course, that begs the question: if not this, then what? And until I find the answer to that question, I'm going to do the absolute best with what God has provided for me. I honestly don't know that I'll ever find the answer to that question. All my life, things have simply fallen into my path and I've gone along with them. I haven't had to actively seek out what my purpose is, where I should be, who I should be, what I should be... I've just accepted myself in the moment. Somewhere along the way, though, I've come to realize that being in the moment isn't cutting it anymore. I've lost that sense of self, that sense of who I really am inside, and it eats away at me, little by little, every day.

I'm not saying that I don't know who I am anymore. I'm just saying that I don't feel like myself. While it may not be the job that's affecting that as heavily as I believe it is, it has to have something to do with it. The fact that I spend at least nine hours a day with responsibilities tied to that facet of my life lead me to believe that it's the culprit for how I feel. I don't know if it's the job itself, the fact that I work at home instead of in an office with other people, the fact that I'm in sales, or what, but I know that there's something missing here that's important to me, that I'm not connecting with, and I know that I'm way too young to be as jaded about it all as I feel.

The great thing about the company that I work for is that they recognize when there's a need with their employees, and they address it. I've been given countless avenues to help resolve the way that I feel about this whole thing, and little by little, it's helped me gain more and more understanding about myself and my role here. I have full faith that is there is anything that my company can do to help find me a position that fits my needs and personality, they will. But if they don't, what's my big plan? What are my dreams then?

I've never had a "dream job." Well, at least not a realistic one, or a consistent one for that matter. When I was young I wanted to be a paleontologist because I loved dinosaurs. When I was in high school I thought about marine biology. When I was a college freshman I wanted to be a radio manager. When transferred to FSU I wanted to try entrepreneurship. Sooner or later, though, I had to settle or a degree, and I ended up in marketing. It was a good fit.

All my life, I've never been great at creating... but I've always been fantastic at making what's already there, better. This is why I operate so well within a given set of rules, because I know how to maximize their potential. This is why I naturally gravitate toward positions of leadership, because I know how to get the best out of people and maximize their talents. This is why I thought marketing and sales was such a great fit, because you're essentially taking something that already exists, and you're making it sound better. That's perfect, right?

But I know this isn't where I'm supposed to be. I'm missing a crucial portion of what I need to make me the person that I am, and until that's fixed... my dreams are just going to have to be out there, somewhere, waiting for me to hook up with 'em later.

Reconsideration

It's obvious that I've been a bit behind in my writing lately. I can't say that it's because I haven't remembered, because I have. It's just this severe lack of motivation recently that's caused me to reconsider my strategy for the blog.

This whole New Year's Resolution deal has really worked well. It's gotten me to focus on writing for the first time in a long time, and has helped give me a bit of direction at a time when I could really use some. Up until recently, I've been diligent about keeping this updated every day. I created the theme scheme to help myself have something to write about every day, even if I was forcing it. And honestly, that's what it's become recently: more force and less passion, less ease. When I write, I want it to mean something, to come from somewhere other than just my trying to think of something to pound out every night.

That's why I think I'm going to do away with the themes... but not entirely. I'm also going to do away with writing every day, simply because I don't have it in me every day. There are times when I have the time and the dedication to write, and there are times when I'd rather just unwind and not have to think any more for the day. So maybe it'll be every other day... maybe once every couple days. Either way, I'm not going to go eight months between posts like I did last time. I'll keep this regularly updated, just not to the extent that I have been. And if I feel like I'm struggling with it or I need some kind of boost, I'll reach into the weekly topics and bust one out every once and while.

I think all that sounds fair enough. I know there are a handful of people that actually read this, so I'll do my best to keep you fair few appeased. When I'll all said and done, I'll greet you like Maximus in Gladiator:

"ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"

Sports Saturday: Tom Glavine

During the week, one of the first baseball players that I ever knew about and one of the greatest pitchers of all time retired: Tom Glavine. He spent the vast majority of his career with the center of my childhood fandom: the Atlanta Braves. That was back in the day when the Braves were one of the most dominant and consistent teams in the league, winning fourteen straight division titles. Back when they had pitchers like Greg Maddux, Glavine, John Smoltz, Steve Avery, Mark Wohlers, and the like. Glavine was a pillar of those 1990s teams, and won two Cy Youngs in that time (1991, 1998), as well as 10 All Star selections throughout his career. In the Braves' lone World Series Championship in 1995, he was the MVP. He's likely one of the last pitches who will ever reach 300 wins (he's got 305), and will surely be a first ballot Hall of Famer when the time comes.

Back in 2003, Tom broke many Braves' fans hearts when his contract wasn't renewed, and instead of taking a pay cut to stay with the team after they felt his production was slipping, Glavine signed with someone else... the hated New York Mets. The Mets were the team that initially put dents in the Braves' dominance in the National League East division, becoming the first team to win it since the Braves' incredible run when they finally took the crown in 2006. That was a sad time for most Braves fan, especially since it was the end of an era. Maddux was long gone by that point, and Glavine too. John Smoltz was about the last one standing from those original teams, him and Chipper Jones. With that era over and done, many fans moved on. It's been hard for me to be a die hard Braves fan since when you combine all that with the fact that we've moved to Tampa and become fans of our own local team. But I still follow the Braves, I still cheer for them, I still try to keep up with what's going on.

When I heard the news that Glavine was retiring, it came as a bit of a surprise. I knew that he was probably toward the end of his career, especially after last year being nothing short of disappointing for him. I guess I was just too preoccupied with the fact that pitchers and catchers will be reporting soon, signaling the beginning of the season all over again. But there I was, sitting in Lee Roy Selmon's, looking up at the MLB network with the picture of a man that I grew up watching, saying that he was done. It certainly took me back to those days when I was a kid, going to my first live Major League Baseball game in Atlanta, watching TBS every other night in the middle of the playoff races or the playoffs themselves, my eyes wide when I'd see the men themselves at spring training... I even had a baseball signed by the entire 1994 squad. I think that ball ended up somewhere in my parents house... especially after I tried to play with it outside not long after getting it signed. I learned my lesson.

So while Tom Glavine steps away from playing and into the Braves' front office, I'll cherish the memories. Thanks for everything, Tom... and good luck.

WTF: Catching Up

As you may have noticed, I haven't posted in a few days. There's a reason for that. But first, I'll start by restating someone's status I saw on Facebook a few days back:

"After Monday and Tuesday, have you noticed the rest of the of the week reads 'W T F' on the calendar?"

I just thought that was funny. There's really not that much more to it. That being said, I'll sum up this week's themes quickly.

Whatever Wednesday: Wednesday night, eight of Meghan's coworkers came into town for a team meeting. Six of them stayed with us. This is reason number one for a lapse in posts. I was playing host with my beautiful wife and trying to keep up with that instead of my writing.

Thankful Thursday: About the time Thursday afternoon rolled around, I was really thankful for peace and quiet... Although, to be fair, the girls (yes, all six of our visitors were ladies) were very good guests, and more or less kept to themselves when they were around. I'm thankful we had such nice people staying with us, and not stuck-up folk that would have made our jobs much, much harder.

Fun Fact Friday: Here's a fun fact for you: four hair dryers operating on one circuit breaker will not work. Also, when someone goes to label a circuit breaker box, they should realize that the "master bathroom" is the one that's the biggest. That way, I wouldn't have flipped off the lights over and over on the poor girl who was taking a shower in the guest bathroom. Lesson learned.

That catches us up on WTF, I'll be posting for Sports Saturday and Story Sunday shortly. Sorry for the delay!

Top 5 Tuesday: Comedians

I love me some stand-up comedy, always have. I used to spend entire weekends watching Comedy Central Presents, and I could still remember bits and pieces from every one of those comics if I were to see them again. I'd watch the "Presents" specials, Premium Blend, Comic Remix, anything that I thought might make me laugh. Of course, in that bunch you'd have plenty of duds. Premium Blend was reserved for those comedians still trying to really break into the business, and some of them, quite frankly, just didn't have what it takes. Some of them make it though, and you see them over and over later as they start to become popular.

I also caught the first season of Last Comic Standing back in the day. Well, the first and seconds seasons, but that's about as far as it goes. After that, I started to recognize several of the men and women that were auditioning from their previous Comedy Central specials, and I thought it was a little bush league to be trying to get another Comedy Central special via that route since they'd already technically broken into the business. The first and second seasons though produced some pretty good names, and we ended up seeing a few of them at FSU down the line.

However, when it comes to stand up, you're always going to have your favorite. I could list dozens of comedians that I've seen both in person and on TV that absolutely leave me rolling, but when it comes to my book, these are the Top 5 Comedians.

5. Dave Chappelle:

4. Patton Oswalt:

3. Zach Galifianakis:

2. Jim Gaffigan:

1. Mitch Hedberg:

*UPDATE: In the late hour of the night that I wrote this post, I regretfully omitted one of my favorite comedians: Daniel Tosh. Meghan and I usually watch Tosh.0, have watched both of his stand up specials on Comedy Central, and even went to go see him at UCF's homecoming. I'm not sure where he'd fall on this list now that I've already arranged them all, so I'll just give you a clip to enjoy. So, enjoy!

Music Monday: Flashback

While Emily and I were driving somewhere tonight, Matchbox 20's "Push" come on the radio. She immediately went to change it, scrolled through several channels, and then realized that it was easily the best thing on at the moment. I'm not exactly sure why she isn't a fan, but I remember "Push" as one of the very first "secular" songs that I ever heard. Growing up, we went to a Christian elementary school and a Christian middle school, and most all the music that we listened to was on Christian radio stations, especially when the second school we were at was based at a church with a radio station in it. All that said, I didn't really hear much outside of that realm apart from "new" Amy Grant (Baby, baby! I'm taken with the notion...) which was arguably her best work.

But I remember a time right about when we moved into our first house outside the parsonage in Winter Beach that we started catching the VH1 Top 20 countdown every Sunday morning. While the women-folk were running around getting ready, my brother and I would sit back and see what the most popular music videos were. This was in the mid- to late-90s, and I remember many of those videos vividly. A few of them helped shaped my decision when I bought my first batch of CDs through a clearing house type scenario, a "buy 12, get 12 free sometime in the next 30 years" deal.

I can still recall the songs on the top 20 countdown: Matchbox 20's "Push," Fiona Apple's "Criminal," anything by the Spice Girls, the Verve Pipe's "Freshmen," The Wallflowers, Will Smith, Paula Cole's "Where Have all the Cowboys Gone," Weezer's "Buddy Holly," Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise," 2 Pac's "California Love," pretty much anything by Mariah Carey (she owned the 90s), Toni Braxton's "Unbreak my Heart," Alanis Morissette, Jewel, the Goo Goo Dolls... they were all there.

Eventually, after listening to all the CDs that my brother had every night as we fell asleep, I decided that I wanted some "cool" music for my own. My very first collection included Bringing Down the Horse by the Wallflowers, Big Willie Style by Will Smith, the Godzilla soundtrack (featuring the Wallflowers, Puff Daddy (before he was Diddy), Jamiroquai, Ben Folds Five, the Foo Fighters, and my first exposure to Rage Against the Machine), the 1998 Grammy Nominees, Yourself or Someone Like You by Matchbox 20, What's the Story (Morning Glory) by Oasis, and I'm sure a handful of others, I can't remember them all.

When I heard "Push" tonight, and I realized that I knew just about every single word of it, I was taken back to that time, back to before I knew anything about what I was listening to, before I knew anything about what I would come to like when it comes to music. While my tastes have changed significantly since then (can we all agree that Will Smith should stick to acting?), I still have the vast majority of those CDs, and I would still listen to them today. Of course, I'll skip "MmmBop" and the Rolling Stones on the 1998 Grammy Nominees CD, and I'm still trying to find my Matchbox 20 album, but the fact remains that the 90s are classic to me, they're my first exposure, my first musical love. In ten years or less, 90s music is going to be what gets played in clubs as "retro." They'll have "90s" night and dress up like Friends or Seinfeld characters. That blows my mind. It makes me feel old.

Whatever. I'm still singing along.

Story Sunday: Signs

I'm not quite sure what made me think of this today, but I was struggling to think of a story all day yesterday, and I don't like being a day behind three days in a row. So for some reason, in heavily wondering about what it is I could possible write about, a memory from about nine years ago popped into my head, and it made me think of how we get to where we are today. Wait! I remember now how I got to this thought. I'll explain.

Those who know me understand that my mind works very, very quickly. I can go from one thought to something completely different in a matter of moments, all through a rapid stream of consciousness that connects those thoughts together. Today, when Emily was telling me about her job and her frustrations with it, I thought back to the fact that she was so excited when she was hired, that it just seemed like the greatest opportunity. All of the things that she was telling Meghan and I about: what the job entailed, what the people were like, where they wanted to be in the near future; it all fit what she was looking for. It was almost as if she was meant to be there.

In thinking back on this, it made me remember that I am a firm believer in fate, or destiny, or Divine Providence, whatever your fancy is. In short: everything happens for a reason. Nothing is an accident. Nothing is wasted. Emily getting that job, as much as it may wear on her, happened for a reason. Whether that's to learn what she doesn't want, to meet someone, to get a little extra money here and now to afford something, or whatever, there's a reason that she was hired there. In realizing that this was my committed approach, I began to wonder why. Why do I believe this? Why do I think that everything happens for a reason?

My mind immediately went to my wife, Meghan. The way that we met, the timing of it, the circumstances that led to it, they were all incredibly providential. This Story Sunday, in short, will be the reverse order of events that led to Meghan just dating. The whole "me going to Texas for training" story is an entirely additional chapter that requires it's own separate Story Sunday to document.

I'm born to Randy and Jennie Berry. Meghan is born to W. Chester and Kate Bell.

Seventeen some-odd years later, for one of the very few times my Dad and I did anything alone together when I was younger, we went to "Promise Keepers" in Jacksonville, FL. The event itself was forgettable. What I'll never forget was somehow getting lost around downtown, and in the midst of us talking about where I'd want to go to school, seeing a giant "Liberty University" billboard standing alone like a beacon in the night. I said, "maybe there."

When considering college options, I asked our guidance counselor if we could arrange to see Liberty University. I also had several other brochures of colleges that I was interested in, and we ended up scheduling a whirlwind college tour with myself, Quentin, JOE, Levi, Anthony, and Jake as our driver. We went to six colleges in about ten days.

We visit Piedmont College. None of us ever considered going here. It was just fun that they put us up in a house where we ended up having fajitas and playing video games.

We visit Toccoa Falls College. Everyone loves the atmosphere, hates the rules. I'm secretly thinking about staying. I love it.

We visit Lee University. Everyone loves it. The tour guide and I wear the same shirt. I don't know whether I should be embarrassed that another grown man and I are wearing the same shirt, or feel cool because I'm wearing a shirt that they wear at college. I feel embarrassed.

We visit Gardner-Webb University. My host has a spider bite on his face. We do not consider Gardner-Webb University. We get lots of free stuff, including a t-shirt and a frisbee.

We visit Campbell University. We're gone within two hours.

We visit Liberty University. It's huge. It's got everything. We see two hockey games and want to see Jeff Smale smoking fools and slamming them into the glass as many times as possible. I decide that while Liberty was the spark for this trip, I don't want to go there. I want to go to Toccoa.

I go to Toccoa. I realize a couple months in that while I like most everyone who goes to the school, I'm not a fan of the rules. While in my first semester there, I visit my best friend from high school, Ryan Earnhardt, where he went to college: Florida State. It's an impulsive trip and I end up spending the weekend. I love it. I absolutely love it. Within weeks I'm planning a transfer once the year is through.

I transfer to Florida State. My orientation is scheduled for June 5-6, 2003.

I'm a part of the orientation group under "Be" for all those whose last names begin with "Be." I introduce myself as Carder, but tell everyone that they can call me the C-Man. A handful of people laugh. A particular cute and petite redhead, however, doesn't.

After the brief campus tour, I ask if anyone's parents hadn't already bought them lunch. No one responds. I ask again, and the cute, petite redhead says she'll go with me. Her name is Meghan. I find out later her parents had bought her lunch. We have a fantastic meal over Chik-Fil-A and she tells me the crazy story about her going to prom in the back of a U-Haul. She has my attention. We're both in love with watching Comedy Central Presents all day. Now I'm smitten.

I save Meghan a seat at the bad juggler/motivational speaker later in the night. Before the show, I'm looking all around for her, wondering where she is. I find out years later that she was taking a nap, and her parents made her get up and come to the speech. I buy three of the garnet and gold colored juggling balls and hand her one. She thinks I stole them. She puts the one I gave her back. I now have two juggling balls, and after explaining to her that I purchased them legally, she agrees to take one and keep it. She's kept it ever since.

I ask Meghan if I can use her phone to call my friend, Earnhardt, to come pick me up. We drive her back to her dorm, and I try to call her later that night from his phone since he had her number on the caller ID. I called about four times. She never answered. She didn't have voicemail yet either. It's probably best she didn't come over for poorly made smoothies.

I see Meghan the next day at lunch, eating in the Union. I sit on the ground so I can be near her. I can't tell if she wants me around or not, but I don't care. I walk her to the Thagard (or maybe she walks me, I can't remember) Health Center and we part ways. This is the first time she notices how cute I am.

We meet again later for an instructional session about how we're supposed to register online for classes. She sits behind me. I turn around in my chair and distract her the entire time. This is planned. I understand how online registration works, I'm a sophomore transfer. She doesn't. When it comes time to actually register, she now needs help. I've registered in record time and swoop in to the rescue. Plan: success.

I meet her parents and brother at the orientation "finale" send off. They had just commented on some other girl that she knew coming with a boy to the event. Meghan walks in with me. They pray that I'm Catholic. I'm not. When we all walk out, I don't get her number, I don't get her e-mail, I'm just concerned about whether I should shake her hand, hug her, or what. We high five. It's incredibly awkward. I doubt we'll ever see each other again.

I get home to Palm Bay, and within two hours, my Mom and Dad ask me if I want to go on a trip with them to Daytona Beach. I still, to this day, don't know why they wanted to go, but I do know that I just met a girl from there, and I would love the chance to see her again. I call Earnhardt. He gets her number for me off his called ID. Luckily he hasn't called too many people between now and when I left Tallahassee. I call Meghan and she has a hard time understanding who I am. Finally it registers, and we set a date for the next night to just hang out. We end up going mini-golfing. She wears khaki shorts and a light purple Volcom Stone shirt. This is one of the handful of times I can remember what she's wearing apart from our wedding day. It's one of the best dates I've ever been on. Ever.

We exchange "AIM" screen names and spend the next month talking on the phone and chatting online. She tells me later that she used to get caught smiling on the other end. My sister tries to intimidate her over the phone. It doesn't work. She falls in love with her too. I'm incredibly charming over text, despite some of my bad suggestions for future child names. She invites me to spend July 4th with her and her family.

That day is for us, and us alone.

Meghan and I agree to start dating. The rest is history.

Looking back, you can see how many random, seemingly insignificant things happened for us to simply meet and start dating. An incredible amount of pieces had to fall into place for all of that to transpire, and I have absolutely zero doubt that it was all just coincidental. If we both didn't have names that started with "Be," if I didn't see that Liberty sign and end up going on the college road trip, if I didn't spend a year wasting away in Toccoa, if she didn't agree to go to lunch with me, if I didn't distract her during "how to register" class, if my parents didn't go on that mini-cation, if I didn't use her phone to call Earnhardt... it would have all fallen apart. You can't deny that. It's incredible.

That... is why I believe in signs. Even the literal ones.

Sports Saturday: The Big Game

I've never quite understood why commercials can't use the words "Super Bowl." I mean, I understand the fact that the NFL doesn't want people benefiting from their hard work and terminology, but not letting people use those specific words? Really? Is that helping? Who wins in that scenario? I'm off topic already.

Today is the "big game" itself. The two teams that have routinely been the best all year, that collectively started 27-0, will finally face off to see who will be the NFL Champion. For some reason though, I'm much less excited about the game this year than I have in years past. Well, I think I am at least. I can't remember the last Super Bowl that was really excited about beyond the Bucs and Raiders back in 2003, for obvious reasons. Last year, Meghan and I watched a bit of game through a rather obstructed view at the Texas Roadhouse in Wesley Chapel. We could tell that it was an incredible game, but that was only because the Steeler fans surrounding the bar were hooping and hollering when Harrison ran that ball back all the way for the touchdown. I caught a little bit more once we got home and she was in bed, but it wasn't something I was particularly focused on.

Most years, we miss the game entirely since we spend Meghan's birthday weekend elsewhere and end up driving back right about the time that the game starts. For two years in a row, though, we'll actually be home the entire weekend, and we'll have the option of watching it when it finally comes around. Still, it's not like it's something that I've been biting my nails about to see. In fact, I don't know a whole lot of people that are jazzed about watching it, even though we're getting the two best teams from the regular season, you have a QB in Peyton Manning gunning for all-time greatness, a city in New Orleans that hangs on their football team's every move, and all other kinds of drama thrown into the mix. For whatever reason, it's just kind of... meh.

One sports talk show earlier this week mentioned that the reason might be because we as a nation aren't susceptible to hype anymore. With the constant barrage of the national media and all the different outlets that we have available to us (TV, radio, internet, newspapers, twitter, facebook, podcasts), we've reached a saturation point where it's hard to really get excited about anything at all, much less a football game. It's just another milestone, another passing moment that's supposed to be important. Most Super Bowls are rarely about the games themselves, and this one is no exception.

You have the commercial controversies: GoDaddy.com getting their ad pulled and Tim Tebow getting his endorsed. You have the NFL collective bargaining agreement threatening to stop the country's most popular professional sport. You have several Hall of Fame players getting arrested and having allegations brought their way the week of the game. You have yet another "I can't believe they still exist" band (The Who, following in the tradition of Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, U2, etc.) playing the halftime show since the league and the TV networks are still playing it as safe as humanly possible after the wardrobe malfunction of Super Bowl XXXVIII. It's almost laughable. You don't get this with the World Series, the NBA Finals, or the Stanley Cup. Only the Super Bowl... Only the "big game."

Of course, I'll watch it. Meghan will placate me for a while and watch it too, but I'm sure she'll end up in another room catching something on Bravo that's in marathon mode to capture all the viewers who couldn't care less about sports. (Update: in between writing that sentence and helping her decorate the house a bit, she informed me that there is, indeed, a Jersey Shore marathon on tonight; mystery solved.) She's usually pretty nice about letting me watch things that I deem important, regardless of whether I have any vested interest in it or not. That's this situation to a "t." I couldn't care less about the Colts or the Saints. I really don't care that much about this year's Super Bowl. I just know that, when tomorrow comes and everyone's asking, "Did you see? Did you see?!" ...I want to have seen it. That's right, I'm watching the game because everyone else is. I'm swimming downstream. I'm playing into the corporate fat cats' hands. And you know what? I'm OK with it.

Fun Fact Friday: Food Poisoning

Today is my wife's birthday, so fore and foremost, to my sweetest of loves, happy birthday!

Last night, we went out for her birthday to one of our favorite restaurants which has always been oh-so-delicious. I pounded down a steak and potatoes and mixed vegetables with gusto, not wanting to miss out on a single bite. This was mistake number one. I can't necessarily tell you what mistake number two was, but about five hours later I was vomiting for the first time since I can remember. When we were talking about it this morning, Meghan said that I've never thrown up the entire time I've been with her (at least when she's around), and I'm pretty sure that's right. That means I've been vomit free since at least 2003. Not anymore I'm not.

I'm not sure that the reason I got sick was because of the food. It could have been any combination of things, to be honest. After doing a little research on food poisoning, it seems less and less likely that that's the case. All I know is that one moment I was playing Modern Warfare 2 with Eric, and the next moment I'm walking quickly to the bathroom before I really made a mess. So while the following facts may not necessarily be "fun," they are important if you ever think that you've got the food bug. Without further ado, facts about food poisoning!

1. Symptoms generally develop a few hours to a few days after you’ve eaten a contaminated food. And your symptoms depend on the organism or germ.

Some of the most common bacteria include salmonella, listeria, campylobacter, shigella (a bacteria from feces spread by dirty hands and flies), and E. coli.

“If it’s salmonella, you’ll likely experience abdominal pain, fever, or diarrhea,” says Marcus Zervos, MD, head of the infectious-diseases division at the Henry Ford Health System in Detroit. “If it’s Bacillus cereus or a staph toxin, you might experience more vomiting along with diarrhea.”

2. You should feel better after 48 to 72 hours. So be sure to visit the doctor if:

• You don’t notice any improvement after two days
• If your abdominal pain is severe
• If you’re experiencing diarrhea or vomiting more than five times a day
• If you have a fever of 101 degrees in combination with other symptoms
• If you fall under one of the categories listed below

In rare cases, untreated E. coli can cause severe kidney damage. If sal­monella is suspected, antibiotics given early may help.

3. Most healthy people can tolerate some bacteria and not end up getting deathly ill. But others may be more susceptible or get sicker. People in the following groups should seek medical attention as soon as possible:

• The very young and elderly
• Someone who has HIV
• Someone undergoing cancer treatment
• Pregnant women
• People who have diabetes
• Those who’ve recently had surgery

*credit to http://living.health.com/2009/05/19/facts-about-food-poisoning/ for the above information

Thankful Thursday: Easy Does It

For most of my life, I've been a pretty easy-going person. I get along with most everyone, and I really don't tend to hold grudges. When you work in sales, all of this combines to be a tremendous help out in the field.

Yesterday, I had a meeting at work with a client where we had some miscommunication toward the beginning of the project. The main contact that we were working with starting to become overwhelmed with the amount of attention that we were showing his way (along with the corresponding pressure to get certain things done on time), and actually ended up passing his responsibilities with the project onto a completely different team. This was a major shift in focus for us since we had been relying on this one person for most everything having to do with the project, and now he was essentially washing his hands of it.

Now, I'm not sure specifically what led to this ultimate decision. I'm not going to into any details about the incident because this really isn't the place to hash out those issues. It just struck me how that relationship changed so suddenly and thoroughly: one moment this person was our main guy and would do just about anything to help us out, and the next moment, he doesn't even want to answer a phone call. It's just mind-boggling how changes like that happen so fast sometimes.

Situations happen almost daily in this job and in this life that really push my buttons. There are incidents constantly that, for some people, would cause them to lash out and go running in the other direction. But for whatever reason, the way that I'm wired is different. It takes more than what the average person would consider maddening for me to get angry. It takes a long, sustained period of frustration for me to start to show signs of losing it. It's part of the reason that I'm able to be a calming influence in the lives of those around me. Because I'm so laid back and easy-going, I'm able to impart that spirit to others. Sure, every now and then I'll have a bad day and I'll let it get to me, but the vast majority of the time, I'll let it roll off, push it aside in my mind, and move on.

I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful for the ability to just let things go. So often in life we get wrapped up in what's happening and focus on details that, in the big picture, really won't matter. I'm glad that I can see beyond that most of the time and try to remember what's important, to be able to help Meghan relax after a stressful day, to make a joke when my sister comes home from work with the weight of her world on her shoulders. That easy-going nature is part of what makes this house a home, what makes me good at what I do, and what makes me who I am in general... So thanks to God for giving it to me.

Whatever Wednesday: Down with the Sickness

No, I'm not writing about Disturbed. For the past several days, beginning last Thursday night if I remember correctly, my sweet, wonderful, beautiful wife, Meghan, has been feeling under the weather. It started with a bit of a headache and that "sick feeling" in your throat (also, why do we not have a medical term for this yet? It's been around since the black plague, yet all we've got for it after a half-dozen centuries is "that sick feeling?" We can do better, Science! GET ON IT!). That quickly progressing to a nagging cough and an all around feeling of awfulness and exhaustion. The situation improved slightly leading into Monday, but the cough and throat issues have persisted. Yesterday, she came home and greeted me with a bass tone that I only get to hear when she's impersonating me, but she couldn't help it. Today, she called me on the phone and I could barely make out what she was saying because her voice was so shot from all the talking that she has to do at school.

She's heard everyone's home remedies to this point to fix the situation, including my father's mixture that made me dry heave the one and only time I allowed him to treat me with it when I was 16: lemon juice, honey, and Jack Daniels. I hadn't eaten all day. Apparently recipes for a sore throat cure are also recipes for disaster. My favorite remedy that's been pitched her way sounded like it would cause more sickness on top of it all: honey and vinegar. I'll stick with the no voice, thanks.

It's one of those situations where you just feel absolutely helpless. My grand solution is offering to make tea and suggesting that she get "plenty of liquids." Yes, that'll do the trick: liquids. And no, I don't narrow it down, she can have whatever liquids she feels will be most beneficial. All in all, though, there's really nothing I can do but be supportive, be there for whatever she needs, love on her whenever I get the chance, and pray. That's my approach to our marriage in a nutshell, actually.

I've worried off and on that I may catch whatever it is that she has. I mean, when you sleep in the same bed, contagiousness has a pretty high success rate. That being said, I rarely get sick. I mean, it's almost irritating to her how rarely it happens. I honestly couldn't even tell you the last time that I came down with anything. I think I may have had a bit of a cold one time since we've moved to Tampa, but that's about it. I'll get the occasional runny nose or allergy issue, but nothing that's sustained over several days, at least nothing that slows me down. I live my life at a leisurely, relaxed pace in the first place, so "taking it easy" when I'm not feeling well is kind of a moot point.

On the few times that I have been sick, I'll be honest, I'm a bit of a burden. Let me explain something first... Berry men tend to be very self-reliant. We love to help others, but we don't like to have other people doing things for us. Maybe it's a desire for control, maybe it's a way to avoid owing people, and maybe it's just a sense that we don't want to be a burden, who knows. But while we're as self-sufficient as they come, when we get sick? We're about the most pitiful bunch that you'll ever see. It's like a switch is flipped and anything that I'd never let Megs do for me before is suddenly OK. I stay in my PJs all day. I never get off the couch or out of the bed. I sprawl. I don't normally do these things, but when I'm sick, everything is in play. Especially since the whole ordeal is likely to last only a day, maybe two if it's really bad, I have to live it up while I've got it. Sooner or later, it will be back to work and back to normalcy.

So on this most glorious of Whatever Wednesdays, please pray for Meghan. I hate seeing her down with the sickness, and I hate being as helpless as I am with all this. She's the best person that I know, and if the voice of reason in this house can't talk, well... then we're all going to be miserable. P.S. - I'm not learning sign language.

Top 5 Tuesday: OCD

I've mentioned before (I'm sure several times) that I have a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder. I haven't been officially diagnosed, but I'm pretty sure it's there... I'm not crazy or anything. I don't have to lock and unlock the front door three times before locking it for good. I don't have a closet lined with identical clothing. I'm not most every character that Kevin Spacey plays in the movies. However, I do have several... quirks, I guess, that drive me crazy if they're not followed. It's been driving Meghan crazy for over six years, especially considering that she is completely not OCD, to have to put up with my irritatingly specific mannerisms and requirements. While she sees absolutely nothing wrong with starting "corners" in the house with her various sweaters, flip flops, folders, pens, earrings, Fiber One bars, bins, and boxes, it sticks out to me like a sore thumb. Over the years, though, we're grown to learn how to compromise with each other, and I'm proud to say that she's picked up on several of my rituals and agreed to abide by them, while I have also agreed to ignored the aforementioned corners. This, my friends, is what we call marriage. You learn to love these things about the other person, despite the vast difference between your preferences, and it becomes something you smile about instead of calling it a flaw.

Even with the balance that we've struck in our life together, I still find myself adhering to the vast majority of my OCD habits. It was today while walking the Chief that I thought about this particular topic. Every time that I walk him, I find myself abnormally conscious about where I'm stepping. In fact, almost everywhere that I walk outside, I make a concentrated effort to avoid one, specific action: stepping on cracks. In considering this aspect of my life, it led me to today's Top 5 Tuesday: my most important OCD rituals.

5. Wet Towels on Floor: I find that this is more of a general principle than it is a habit, but I can't stand when a wet towel is left on anything apart from a hook on a door or a towel rack or somewhere else where it's going to get dry. I'm not going to name names or anything, but one person in particular has come a long way in this area. I still find myself often laying out our hand towel flat on the counter, eager to get it dry as quickly as possible.

4. Open Drawers and Cabinets: When Meghan and I were first dating, I noticed that she used to constantly leave things open. Drawers, cabinets, consoles, it didn't really matter. It wasn't something that happened often, but just often enough to make me think that there was something wrong with my cabinets. I came to call this her "Sixth Sense" maneuver since it reminded me of the scene in The Sixth Sense where Haley Joel Osment is sitting in the kitchen having breakfast and his mom leaves the room for a moment, only to come back and find all the cabinet doors open, instinctively blaming the child, even though it was a mischievous spirit doing the deed. For a while, I thought I had a ghost, when all I really had was a girlfriend who didn't mind that a door was ajar. Now? This happens very, very rarely.

3. Not Stepping on Cracks: I've already mentioned this one, so it should come as no surprise that it's featured in this week's Top 5. I've avoided stepping on cracks ever since third grade. It was in third grade that Marcos Johnson told me, and I quote: "Step on a crack, break yo momma's back." Now, I wasn't about to go doubting Marcos Johnson's word, so ever since that day I've been rather self-conscious about where I plant my foot. I'm happy to report that thus far, no backs have been broken.

2. Dishwasher Placements: It was a tough decision between this and number 1, but I'm just a little less particular about this than I am that. When I say "dishwasher placements," I mean where dishes are placed within the dishwasher, how they're aligned, the order in which they're distributed, and particularly where the silverware is placed. I'll be honest... I can be a little over-demanding here. I've come quite close to offending people in the past with my rearrangements, and no doubt many a night I've hurt my wife's feelings with an ill-timed, "Misterrrrr!" when all she's tried to do is acquiesce to my irrepressibly persistent ticks and habits. However, I'm a big believe in packing things the right way. It's how I was raised, how my father was raised, and no doubt how his father before him was raised. So while I may not go on many vacations where the car is packed as tightly as possible, I do assume responsibility for a well-packed dishwasher... Whether in my own home or others'. I think that may be where I take it a bit too far... maybe.

1. Volume Level: I lied. It wasn't that tough of a decision between this and number 2. The volume level on a radio or television is singlehandedly the most particular of all my OCD mannerisms. Now, this doesn't apply if the device doesn't have a numerical system wherein the volume is displaying by a number instead of a sliding scale or no display at all. It only applies when I can see a number on that display when you change the volume. When this is the case, I have to, and I can't stress this enough, I have to have that number be an even number or a multiple of five. For example, when I'm listening to the radio in my car, I typically have the volume set at 15, 16, 18, or 20. Rarely do I have to go outside of that range, but if I do, it's within the system. The TV in the living room usually stays with the multiple of five rule: 20, 25, 30, and 40 being the most typical. However, at night when I'm playing Modern Warfare 2 and firing assault rifles and chucking grenades, the volume goes down to 12. NOT ELEVEN, NOT THIRTEEN: TWELVE. This is one that I just can't bend on, and won't hesitate to correct.

I can't tell you why I have many of the habits that I do. I know where a handful of them come from, but the rest? I honestly have no idea. I still, to this day, don't know why I'm as particular about the volume as I am, but I am. It's that simple. If I could not care, I would. I guess the problem is that I care too much... Story of my life!

Music Monday: BANHAMMER!

I absolutely love music, I really do. I just want that to be clear going into this post. I can appreciate most any kind of music when it comes down to it. But every now and then, a particular song or ban starts to grate on me... wearing me down to the point where, whenever I hear it, I want to gouge my eyes out or run, screaming, away from the sound. At some point early last year, I decided that enough was enough. From that point on, whenever a song or artist reached the boiling point of setting off my anger, they would receive what I have lovingly entitled "the banhammer." The banhammer essentially means that whenever the banned song or artist comes on the radio, TV, or other auditory dispensing device, the volume must be muted, the channel or station must be changed, or that device must be destroyed. It's that simple.

Naturally, the first artist to suffer the mighty banhammer was Nickleback. This happened within the first full minute of the instituted policy, and I think we can all figure out why.

For a brief amount of time, the Kings of Leon hit "Use Somebody" was banned, not because the song was terrible, but because it was played over... and over... and over without mercy. This situation is eeriely similar to the hit "Let Me Blow Your Mind" by Eve and Gwen Stefani back in the day. We all know a song like this, one that you really liked at first, and then it was ruined by the fat cats in their highrises deciding what you get to hear on the radio. Thanks, fat cats. Thanks alot. I am happy to say, however, that the banhammer has been lifted from "Use Somebody," and that it is now allowed in our home and cars once again.

The whole reason that the banhammer is on my mind is due to the Grammys last night. We were enjoying a nice, respectable show until I had to bring the banhammer down with a vengeance. It was... wait... let me back up.

I love my sister... but she has a hard time understanding the banhammer to its full extent. Whenever we're in the car and a banned artist or song comes on, and I shout the obligatory "BANHAMMER!", she responds with a, "Huh?" Maybe I didn't explain the rules clearly enough, or maybe she's just unfamiliar with the concept of choosing to avoid a certain section of music, but the fact remains that she's a little slow with the trigger when it comes to the hammer... Now, back to the story.

So we're watching the Grammys, and for whatever reason, Emily is in charge of the control. We've got enough of the show recorded to where we can fast forward through quite a bit of it, so when I saw one of the most overplayed artists in the world being announced, I immediately shouted "BANHAMMER!", to which Megs wholeheartedly agreed: "Yes, banhammer." Emily, of course, was ingrained in what was happening, and apparently didn't hear me. I shouted it again, "BANHAMMER!", but got nothing but a blank face. "Wait, what?" I hurriedly explained as Sheryl Crow began covering the first few lines of the song that this wasn't a Sheryl Crow song, this was a cover... OF GREEN DAY!

Yes, that's right, Green Day is banned. It hurts me to even type their name to be honest. Within a few moments, she realized what I was saying, but the fact that I heard more than a few lines of "21 Guns" means that I heard too much. Just when I was considering letting Green Day off the hook, even if I was only going to allow their earlier work off the banned list, hearing those few lines put them firmly back in banhammer position for the foreseeable future. I mean, I liked Green Day alright, sure, the Nimrod album was one of the best of the '90s. But like the Offspring (banhammered) and Sublime (banhammered), Green Day needs to realize that it's not the '90s anymore, and that all of their new "music," (glorified protest songs) is preachy, uppity, and about as annoying as music comes. So thanks, but no thanks... the banhammer is staying in place, Green Day. Maybe one day you'll be able to escape, but until you realize the error of your ways and stay off my TV and radio for an extended period of time? The hammer is down.

I'm stern... but fair.

Sports Satuday/Story Sunday: All-Star

Today's blog is going to be a two-fer. Since I didn't get a chance to write last night (i.e., fell asleep early), I'm going to combine the two topics that I had already planned on for yesterday and today.

Tonight, the NFL is going to hold their annual all-star game, the Pro Bowl, in Miami... a week before the Super Bowl. It's the first time that they've tried this, and already there has been a serious uproar from just about everyone involved. Many complain about the fact that the NFL is requiring the two teams who have reached the title game (the Saints and the Colts) to send their Pro Bowl players to Miami a week early, just to stand on the sideline and participate in the pre- and post-game activities. Naturally, this doesn't sit well with the coaches and owners of the teams since they want those players in practice and preparing for the big game itself, especially since you're talking about the very best players on their teams. Others are complaining about the fact that the whole point of staging the Pro Bowl a week before the big game was solely to get more viewers for a game that would normally be played two weeks later in Hawaii. Instead of all the focus being on the championship, it's being shared with an all-star game that, for whatever reason, no one really cares about in the first place. Every year, there are plenty of players who opt to stay home and rest, to relax with their family and friends and do whatever they want rather than take a trip to Hawaii to play a meaningless exhibition game. Some claim injury, some claim indifference, but all of them have a reason for getting out it. There are 87 players in all when you combine both the AFC and NFC rosters. Want to take a guess at how many of those players are replacements for those that couldn't/wouldn't come?

32.

That's over a third of the roster that will be players who didn't earn enough votes to be a part of the all-star teams. That means that you won't be seeing the best of the best out there on the field in Miami tonight; you'll be getting the second best of the best, in some cases the third best of the best. For whatever reason, so many of these players just don't care about being on the Pro Bowl anymore. Maybe it's a joke to them, a glorified popularity contest that they're content to win and then not participate in. Maybe they just genuinely don't care. I don't know. All I know is that the NFL gets most everything right: they get the highest ratings, sell the most tickets, and have the most captivating sport in America... but they consistently get their all-star game wrong. There are more people that would rather watch the NHL all-star game than the Pro Bowl. Baseball went out and made the winner of the game get home field advantage so that there was literally something to play for. Every other league puts their game in the middle of the season, but the NFL can't do that because they're afraid that guys will get hurt. Who's ever gotten hurt at an all-star game? Anybody? They're not even trying to play defense out there, it's all a show! They're mostly goofing off and trying to make razzle dazzle type plays; they're not trying to cut a guy's legs out from under him or deliver bone-crushing hits. It's ridiculous.

In thinking about how ungrateful some of these players are, it made me reflect back to when I was in Little League. My first year of Little League baseball, I played for a team sponsored by Sod Laid. We wore green shirts and hats too big for our heads and we were terrible. I think we may have won two or three games that year. I played mostly second base, but a little bit of everything else as well. At the end of the year, everyone got a trophy, but I got a special announcement from my coach: I had been selected for the all-star team! I was the only player from our otherwise awful squad that got the nod. As excited as I was, I was still a rather shy child, and so I was nervous about playing on another team where I didn't really know anyone. As it would turn out, however, I knew a couple people on the all-star team from my elementary school, so it wasn't all bad. For whatever reason, the two other kids that I knew also got to sit on the bench with me for most of the all-star season...

One of them was Danny Zuchowski (I never could spell his name right), who sat out because had a broken arm. As bad as Sod Laid was, his team was worse. Danny's dad was the coach for both his own, car dealership sponsored, one win (over OUR team) battalion as well as the all-star team, which, I'm sure, is how Danny made it despite a broken arm and a terrible team behind him. The other kid that I knew was named Cortez... I forget his first name, but I know for sure his last name was Cortez because I remember not knowing any other Hispanic children. I also remember because the coach shouted, "Cortez! Berry!" when we were summoned to enter our first game with maybe a couple innings to go. Of course, having never coached either of us before, Mr. Zuchowski decided that we would be best in the outfield, where we likely couldn't cause any damage to the team's struggles. Little did he know...

Since I wasn't used to playing the outfield, I just approached it how I normally would at the second base position. However, there's a sizable difference between right field and second base, and I learned this when a ball was hit down the right field line. I approached it how I would approach a ball that was just out of my reach when playing the infield, with a backhanded glove. Of course, while this works on dirt where the ball is likely to hop into your mitt, it doesn't work on grass where the ball is much more likely to roll right past you and keep rolling all the way to the outfield fence. I learned this lesson the hard way. The hard way, as in, everyone yelling for me to chase down the ball that just got past me and I managed to embarrass myself in the first and likely last play I would get to be a part of as an all-star. While I likely mocked Danny Zuchowski for being a glorified cheerleader for a team that he wasn't qualified to be a part of, he could now mock me for allowed two runs to score on a routine outfield ground ball. It was awesome.

Needless to say, the Sebastian River All-Stars didn't make it very far. We played three games total, and were eliminated in the third after our second loss in the double-elimination tournament. I at least got to play an infield position in that game (third base), even though the ball never came my way. I never got the chance for redemption... but I've kept the hat and the jersey from that all-star experience ever since. I don't want to forget that someday, somewhere, I was good enough to be considered among the best of the best, singled out in a sea of kids as someone who was good enough to represent the entire league. I didn't take that experience for granted. I didn't brush aside the vote of confidence given to me by my coach and others around the Sebastian River Little League. It was a feeling that I'll never forget.

Maybe the overpaid, over appreciated players in the NFL could take a lesson from that.

Fun Fact Friday: Recycling

For several years, Meghan and I would hit up a Blockbuster or Movie Gallery once every couple weeks. We loved movies, watching entire series of TV shows over the course of a couple nights; it was our way of vegging out and just relaxing for a night or so. Sooner or later, though, we realized how much money we were wasting by renting a couple movies or DVDs as often as we did, and we ended up getting Netflix once we were married and living in Tampa. We love our Netflix. It's especially great to have the XBox LIVE subscription that allows us to watch our Netflix queue directly through the XBox without having to wait for a new DVD to come in the mail.

Yesterday, I came across an article or a website or something that talked about Netflix origami. You can check it out at http://www.netflixorigami.com/. You see, when you get your Netflix movies in the mail, it comes in a red envelope with a flap that covers the front. You remove the flap to open the envelop, and then it's pretty much just tossed into the trash. However, every now and then, you'll get a movie that isn't necessarily the most interesting or captivating. It's for this purpose that Netflix origami exists. Bored? You can make something out of that useless flap that you'd typically throw away! If you have Netflix and you're looking for something to make out what's normally trash, definitely check it out.

In considering this new found fun, Meghan suggested that instead of just pitching Netflix origami, I should share fun facts about all types of recycling. So... here they are!

*If all U.S. households installed water-efficient appliances, the country would save more than 3 trillion gallons of water and more than $18 billion dollars per year!

*About 75 percent of the water we use in our homes is used in the bathroom.

*The average bathroom faucet flows at a rate of two gallons per minute. Turning off the tap while brushing your teeth in the morning and at bedtime can save up to 8 gallons of water per day, which equals 240 gallons a month.

*Lighting consumes up to 34 percent of electricity in the United States.

*Compact fluorescent light bulbs (CFLs) are an energy-saving alternative to incandescent bulbs — they produce the same amount of light, use one third of the electricity, and last up to ten times as long.

*If every household replaced its most often-used incandescent light bulbs with CFLs, electricity use for lighting could be cut in half.

*Many idle electronics — TVs, VCRs, DVD and CD players, cordless phones, microwaves — use energy even when switched off to keep display clocks lit and memory chips and remote controls working. Nationally, these energy “vampires” use 5 percent of our domestic energy and cost consumers more than $8 billion annually.

*Each of us uses approximately one 100-foot-tall Douglas fir tree in paper and wood products per year.

*More than 56 percent of the paper consumed in the U.S. during 2007 was recovered for recycling — an all-time high. This impressive figure equals nearly 360 pounds of paper for each man, woman, and child in America.

*Recycling 1 ton of paper saves 17 mature trees, 7,000 gallons of water, 3 cubic yards of landfill space, 2 barrels of oil, and 4,100 kilowatt-hours of electricity — enough energy to power the average American home for five months.

*Approximately 1.5 million tons of construction products are made each year from paper, including insulation, gypsum wallboard, roofing paper, flooring, padding and sound-absorbing materials.

*Recycled paper can also be made into paper towels, notebook paper, envelopes, copy paper and other paper products, as well as boxes, hydro-mulch, molded packaging, compost, and even kitty litter.

*Recycling aluminum saves 95% of the energy needed to produce new aluminum from raw materials. Energy saved from recycling one ton of aluminum is equal to the amount of electricity the average home uses over 10 years.

*Recycling one aluminum can saves enough energy to run a 100-watt bulb for 20 hours, a computer for 3 hours, or a TV for 2 hours.

*Americans throw away enough aluminum every month to rebuild our entire commercial air fleet.

*Americans throw away enough glass bottles and jars every two weeks to fill the 1.350-foot towers of the former World Trade Center.

*Glass never wears out -- it can be recycled forever. We save over a ton of resources for every ton of glass recycled -- 1,330 pounds of sand, 433 pounds of soda ash, 433 pounds of limestone, and 151 pounds of feldspar.

*If only 100,000 people stopped their junk, mail, we could save up to 150,000 trees annually. If a million people did this, we could save up to a million and a half trees.

*The junk mail Americans receive in one day could produce enough energy to heat 250,000 homes.

*The average American still spends 8 full months of his/her life opening junk mail.

Enjoy!

Thankful Thursday: Unbreakable

Last week, my partner at work called me at 7:45AM. We're not supposed to be "at work" (we both have home offices in order to save on overhead for the company) until 8AM. Typically, if we haven't already arranged what we're both doing that day, we'll give each other a courtesy half hour or so and not call each other until at least 8:30AM. All that considered, it was a little odd that she was calling me so early. That afternoon, we had an initial meeting schedule with a community college a couple counties south of us. She was calling to let me know that we wouldn't be going to that meeting. She had broken her ankle the night before, rolling it after landing on a spotter's foot at, of all things, cheerleading practice, and ended up driving herself to the emergency room, staying there until 1:30AM. Needless to say, she wasn't exactly in the condition to sit in front of a customer, especially since the mass of black and blue at the end of her leg didn't even had a cast on it, just a glorified splint.

This is fresh on my mind because today was the first time that we've worked together since she broke her ankle. We had a walkthrough scheduled with a city government over on the East Coast, and when she showed up at our usual meeting spot to drive over together, she hopped out of her car on one foot, grabbed some crutches out of the back of her car, and limped over, plopping into my passenger's seat with all the epitome of grace and balance. I hope you can sense the sarcasm in that. Print media doesn't convey that terribly well. My first and only thought was, "Well, this should be a fun walkthrough." We stopped at one other place on the way over to cold call, and I got a preview of what we'd be going through later in the day. The speed and efficiency of our little operation ground to the slowest I've ever seen it. It was painful to watch. Thankfully, when we eventually got to our walkthroughs, we were able to minimize the actual walking and do most of our investigation beforehand by interviewing the client.

Through the whole experience, though, it definitely gave me an idea for Thankful Thursday. In my entire life, I've never sprained, strained, fractured, ruptured, torn, pulled, or broken anything on my body. I know this isn't a particularly unique experience; in thinking about it on the way home, I'm almost sure that both of the other people living at my house (my wife and sister) have never experienced any of those traumas either. But in seeing the way that my partner was limited today, in watching the pain that I've seen others go through when they have to deal with injuries, it made me extremely thankful that I've never had to experience anything like that.

Whenever I consider my fortunate history with injuries, it always makes me think of the M. Night Shyamalan movie Unbreakable. In the film, Bruce Willis is in a horrific passenger train accident that kills everyone aboard apart from him. He emerges from the wreckage without a scratch on him. (SPOILER ALERT) In the end, he realizes that he can't be harmed by anything apart from water (drowning). Now, I'm not so arrogant or misguided that I think I'm unbreakable by any means. Sure, I've wanted to be a superhero pretty much my entire life, but I'm not crazy or anything. Could I be? Maybe. Am I? Probably not. Still... for what I haven't had to experience, I'm eternally grateful. Let's just hope it lasts. If it doesn't... I'm sure as hell not gonna schedule any walkthroughs. That's crazy.

Whatever Wednesday: FSU vs. Duke

Growing up, I always liked playing basketball. Truthfully, it was mostly because my brother liked to play it. Whatever he was into, I wanted to be into. I know that it was grating on him at times, especially given that I was just too young in our formative years to do many things together, but just close enough to where we could still be interesting in most of the same things. For this reason, we always ended up "shooting hoops" together. And for the record, I hate that phrase... I'm not sure why, I just do. It's just basketball to me. Hoops make me think of earrings or hulas. I'm getting off my point.

At a certain point when I was younger, I came of the age where I wanted to get a hat. Sure, I already had my infamous Toronto Blue Jays hat when I was a little boy, but this was when I was about twelve or thirteen. This was serious. So one Saturday or Sunday, when we were all at the mall, John went with me to Champs Sports and we looked at the wall of hats for various college basketball teams. I was enamored with the colors... but I knew absolutely nothing about college basketball. The extent of my basketball knowledge extended to the fact that I needed to shoot the ball from way outside to have a chance at beating my brother, and pray that he missed a ton of shots in the meantime. Therefore, when I decided that I liked the light blue and dark blue colors of North Carolina the best, he just laughed and said that it was a good choice, that they were actually a good team. It was a Nike hat: Carolina blue cap with a dark navy blue bill and swoosh in the front, "North Carolina" underneath the bill. As we were checking out, he leaned against the counter with that smug look of his, you know the one, where he has something he's been waiting to say and can barely hide the hint of the smile that's getting away from him:

"You know that's Duke big rival, right?"

No, John, I didn't know that. I forgot to mention something. While most of my basketball knowledge extended to how I should play against my brother on the hard court outside our house, the rest of said knowledge extended to the fact that my brother liked one team and one team only: Duke. To this day, it's the only team that I can safely say he really likes. I couldn't tell you who he pulls for in football (college or NFL), NBA, MLB, anything. All I knew then and know now is that he likes Duke. For the next few years before he went off to Palm Beach Atlantic for college, we always had somewhat of an annual rivalry with Duke and UNC. This was in the late '90s, of course, so it meant that UNC was getting the best of Duke nearly every year, especially the year in which Antawn Jamison, Vince Carter, Shammond Williams, Brendon Haywood and Co. were crushing Duke 2-3 times a year. I say "and Co." because I don't want to give the disgrace that is Makhtar N'diaye the distinction of having any part in that '98 UNC squad that nearly won the national championship. And I say "nearly" because "and Co." was the one that "effed it up" in the Final Four. That's a story for a different day. I don't want to make myself upset.

I still follow UNC to this day. In the time that I've decided that I'm a fan, I've seen the Tarheels win two national championships, both in the past five years, and go to six Final Fours. Now, when I transferred to Florida State my sophomore year of college, this allegiance took on a slightly slanted view. I still liked UNC, I always had. But now... now I had a college team all my own, one that I could actually go see in person and wear the home colors, knowing that I was a part of it. I followed FSU basketball here and there my first year, but it wasn't until I noticed that UNC was coming to town that I decided to actually go in person. This game just so happened to coincide with John coming up to Tallahassee to help me move apartments the next day, so I got the two of us tickets along with Earnhardt and his friend Josh, the four of us sitting on the second row right behind one of the baskets.

By halftime, the Seminoles were down by 26 points. We were unranked, and UNC was the #2 team in the country, so it wasn't exactly a surprise. I felt a little torn on the inside, wanting my home team to do well, but at the same time, I wanted UNC to do their best as well. What was a surprise was the next twenty minutes after the half, because that's where the Noles stormed all the way back, tied the game in the last few moments, denied UNC the game-winning shot to send it into overtime, and then decisively rolled the Heels in the bonus period. The entire Donald T. Tucker Tallahassee-Leon County Civic Center (or DLTTLCCC for short) was rocking. We stormed the court, jumped on the players, and I still have the picture from the Tallahassee Democrat from the next day's front page, having circled myself, my brother, Earnhardt, and Josh in the sea of faces on the court. That signaled the rest inception of my fanhood for FSU basketball. From that point on, I've been hooked. We finally made it to the tournament last year for the first time since I've been following the team, and this year looks like even better odds to get into the field.

I already remember players like Al Thornton and Tim Pickett and Toney Douglas. Soon, I'll have Solomon Alibi and Chris Singleton filling my mind with memories. Tonight, the boys in garnet and gold have gone up to Durham to take on my brother's vaunted #7 Duke Blue Devils. At the time of this writing, my unranked Noles are still hanging around, hoping for a big upset on the road while Duke hasn't been beaten at home all year. For this Whatever Wednesday, that's what on my mind. A little story, a little sports, and a heaping helping of what's running through my head. Enjoy.