An Emotional Kind of Guy

Something Worth Writing

2010-04-25T15:20:00.004-04:00

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.

2010-03-05T19:49:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-25T22:34:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-17T23:03:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-16T23:36:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-14T20:06:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-14T19:55:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-09T22:30:00.005-05:00

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

2010-02-08T22:48:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-08T15:03:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-07T17:15:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-06T09:53:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-05T15:53:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-03T22:04:00.002-05:00

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

2010-02-02T22:02:00.002-05:00

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!

2010-02-01T22:21:00.002-05:00

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

2010-01-31T14:16:00.002-05:00

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

2010-01-30T15:07:00.003-05:00

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

2010-01-28T22:00:00.002-05:00

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

2010-01-27T21:45:00.003-05:00

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.

Top 5 Tuesday: Sandwiches

2010-01-26T22:09:00.006-05:00

Tonight we had what we like to call "Panera night" for dinner. Well, a modified version of Panera night. Typically, we get some fancy Publix bakery bread, sliced cheese, fresh spinach, red peppers, and saute some chicken fillets with roasted garlic and herb seasonings, throwing the compilation onto our George Foreman grill and press to completion. Along with the sandwiches, we had a nice, healthy, organic vegetable soup (which is better than you'd think). The "modified" part of tonight was that instead of the grill press, we just buttered the outside of the bread and browned it in a skillet like you would a grilled cheese, and instead of chicken fillets, we had sliced deli chicken. Overall, it was very deece.

During dinner time, I began to wonder just what I would write about for Top 5 Tuesday, and as I was biting into the deliciousness that is Panera night, it struck me: why not sandwiches? Everyone loves a sandwich, and I'm no exception. They're portable, easy to eat, and delicious. Plus, there's an endless array of possibilities. So here, without more ado, are my Top 5 Sandwiches.

5. Sausage and Cheddar Croissant: From the breakfast family of sandwiches, the Sausage and Cheddar Croissant is my usual order when hitting up a lovely little breakfast cafe. I like a bacon breakfast sandwich just fine, but there's not enough thickness there to justify a sandwich for me. I like meat. I like a decent sized sandwich. Oh, and to establish the most obvious connector between my favorite sandwiches: I love cheese. I could put cheese on just about anything and it would make it better. Couple a well-cooked sausage (undercooked absolutely ruins this one, and it makes you feel like crap for the next four hours) and cheddar with a flaky, fresh croissant? You have a recipe for deliciousness.

4. Subway's Chicken Pizzaiola: I'll admit right off that this is not what I usually get when I go to Subway. I usually stick with a grilled chicken breast with green peppers, lettuce, and Monterrey cheddar, but this isn't about what I usually get, it's about what I think is the best. Ever since high school, I have absolutely loved the chicken pizzaiola. It's grilled chicken, pepperoni, your choice of cheese (I still go with the Monterrey cheddar), and marinara sauce. I get mine on Italian Herbs and Cheese bread, and although my wife would complain that it has two meats and no veggies, I would say that it's a guilty pleasure, not the usual (at least not anymore).

3. "Panera Night" Pressed Chicken Panini: The homemade selection of this week's top 5 is the grilled/pressed version of our "Panera night" chicken paninis. The toasted and pressed bread makes a great entry point, the spinach gives me the nutrients I need, the red pepper is flavorful, colorful, and sweet, the cheddar is sharp, and the chicken is perfectly seasoned. I could have Panera night just about any night of the week and be happy. Even the time that Meghan and I made it with chicken thighs and were scared we didn't cook the meat all the way through was a great experience. The only reason that this doesn't get ranked higher is because the next two... are professional grade sandwiches. It's hard to compete.

2. T.G.I. Friday's Jack Daniels Grill: Every time that I order anything from the Jack Daniels menu at T.G.I. Friday's, I also ask for a side of the Jack Daniels sauce. It's not so much the quality of the grilled chicken or the hamburgers that I get from Friday's that really makes me crave them... it's that sauce. Whatever they put into it just hits the spot so directly, so effortlessly, that I usually end up eating the entire thing, even when I know those sandwiches are oversized and certainly not the correct portion. When it's that good, though, you just can't stop yourself.

1. Cafe Fresco's Grilled Chicken Sandwich: (not the actual sandwich on the right) Emily has already chastised me for not putting a sandwich from her place of work on this list, but I've only eaten there once, and I can't make a judgment on one experience. However, on one of the first times that Meghan and I ate at one of our favorite spots in Wesley Chapel, I saw this little beauty on the Sunday brunch menu and knew I had to try it. This takes the croissant from sandwich #5, the cheddar from the rest of the bunch, a thick grilled chicken breast that meets my thickness quotient, and adds BBQ sauce to really tie the whole thing together. It's about as close to perfect as you can get when it comes to the sandwich delicacies. Even though it's not on the menu anymore, I still order it, and they still make it, and it's fantastic. If you ever have a craving for a sandwich, and you can't go to Seasons because it's Sunday and they're closed... go here, get this, and thank me later.

Music Monday: The Kill

2010-01-25T15:15:00.002-05:00

I have a feeling that most Music Mondays are going to come down to whatever song I have stuck in my head on that given day. Well today, it's "The Kill" by 30 Seconds to Mars. I actually got to see them in concert several years ago when I went to see Incubus. Phantom Planet went on first, and the only song I remember from them was "California," which ended up being their one and only hit when it was used at the theme song for the teen soap "the OC," which, coincidentally, Meghan and I stumbled upon one fateful night in the first year that were dating and ended up watching it most of the way through until it was canceled. But between Phantom Planet and the headliners, 30 Seconds to Mars put on a pretty solid show for a band that no one had heard of yet. However, I'll never forget them playing this song, and just how soulful it was. Listening to 98 Rock today while I was working, I heard this play again and, since it's Monday, after all, I thought it would be good to do a little research and see just what it was all about. Here's the song itself before we get any farther:

And even though the lyrics are embedded in the video, here are the lyrics as well:

What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?

What if I fell to the floor
Couldn't take all this anymore
What would you do, do, do?

Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you

What if I wanted to fight
Beg for the rest of my life
What would you do?

You say you wanted more
What are you waiting for?
I'm not running from you

Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you

Look in my eyes
You're killing me, killing me
All I wanted was you

I tried to be someone else
But nothing seemed to change
I know now, this is who I really am inside

Finally found myself
Fighting for a chance
I know now, this is who I really am

Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you, you, you

Look in my eyes
You're killing me, killing me
All I wanted was you

Come, break me down
Break me down
Break me down

What if I wanted to break?
What if I, what if I, what if I
Bury me, bury me

In my research, I've found that the first site that typically comes up regarding the meaning of different songs is a webpage that allows anyone to sign in and post their thoughts, sometimes with the backing of knowledge about what the song actually means, and sometimes with nothing more than their own brain power. Keeping in mind that anyone can get on the internet, you can imagine the kind of random responses that these things get. Most people tend to relate lyrics and songs to love, which makes sense considering that's one of the most fundamental driving forces of the universe. When others look at "The Kill," they see a song about someone who did everything that they could for the person that they loved. I even found some lyrics sites that heard "Marry me, bury me" instead of the actual lyrics which don't say "marry me" at all.

In reality, frontman Jared Leto explained (along with the rest of the band) on the CD/DVD of A Beautiful Lie that "The Kill" is a song about a struggle with yourself. He said, "It's really about a relationship with yourself. It's about confronting your fear and confronting the truth about who you are." When you listen to the song after reading that, you begin to see it in an entirely different light. You realize that the singer isn't fighting with another person and telling them how hard he's tried to please them only to get nothing in return, he's battling himself, and realizing that no matter what he does, he's never going to be at peace unless he accepts himself for who he really is. It's a song about being true to who you are. When you listen with that concept, it makes you really start to think about where you are, personally, with yourself.

Sometimes I wonder if what I'm doing is really true to myself. I know that I could be happier with my job if I were doing something else, I'm sure of it. But at the same time, I know that being there for my family and providing for them is also true to who I am inside. We even talked about it this weekend: what I want more than happiness for myself is happiness for my family. There are personal sacrifices that you have to make when that's a part of who you are, but I think that those sacrifices are worth it. It's part of the way that I show love. That's not being untrue to myself, it's showing that there's more to me than just what I do for a living. My job may not be my ultimate passion, but it's a means to an end for my ultimate passion: my wife and extended family, and deep down, those are the people who make me who I am. That, is who I really am inside.

Story Sunday: Mini-cation

2010-01-24T22:22:00.010-05:00

Well, I was half right on Sports Saturday, and I knew at least ONE of those games was going to overtime... I just picked the wrong one. Anyway, Sports Saturday is long behind us, and it's time for the hinted at Story Sunday.

At some point on Friday (I can't exactly recall when), Meghan mentioned that she'd love to just go somewhere this weekend. No specifics, no other mentions of it, but it stuck out in my mind. So when she asked me Saturday morning what I was going to do that day (she was heading out to go to Hyde Park with Emily while she was getting her hair cut), and I replied with the usual: "video games." Of course, in the back of my mind, I knew what I was REALLY going to do... apart from playing games. By the time she got home, I had already pulled up several different options for a hotel across the bay that she could choose from for a one night only "mini-cation" or "stay-cation" as some are calling them. It's a new trend of saving money by staying close to home and enjoying what your region already has to offer. For example, we've been to the beach one time (count 'em: one) since we moved to Tampa in the summer of 2008. We eventually settled on a little place in Treasure Island (part of St. Pete) that was extraordinarily low in price that said we would have a beach view. It looked modern and pretty upscale, so we went for it.

Upon nearing our destination, I told Megs to keep an eye out for the hotel. I said that from the Google maps I looked at, it would probably be on the right, but that that didn't really make sense considering we were supposed to have a beach view. When we spotted the hotel not much longer, lo and behold, it was on the right. Once we checked in, I learned the difference between "beach view" and "beach front." Still, we could see the beach from our fifth-story window beyond the two-story hotel across the street that was actually on the beach. All things considered, what we paid was well worth what we got. It was a two-bedroom suite where everything smelled like a new house, a balcony that did have a beach view, and big screen plasmas in both bedrooms and the living room.

We took a walk (across the street) on the beach for a while to start. It was a little cooler and breezier than we realized, and there were quite a few seagulls enjoying the surf as it lapped the shore. Regardless, it was a beautiful sunset and a nice walk, a great way to start our night. Soon, though, it got a little too cool for comfort, I began to worry that the birds would resent us invading their privacy, and we didn't want to get shivved by a vagrant if we walked back to the hotel in the dark.

After an hour or so of Meghan watching an unsavory show on Bravo that shall remain nameless, and me searching for a nice place for us to go to dinner, she decided to get ready and I decided that we were going to the restaurant with the piano bar. Little did I know... So we got nice and dressed up, found a nice parking spot, walked through the front door of the restaurant, and immediately realized that we were going to be the youngest people in the place. Couple this with the fact that the "piano bar" was actually a "keyboard/synthesizer bar," suffice to say I was a little... disappointed. We were surrounded by dozens of people all at least thirty years our senior, and all with a serious case of sultry-smoker-voice. This is the kind of crowd where the waitress calls everybody "hun," and at least 1-in-2 men wears a floral print shirt. Needless to say, we stuck out like a sore thumb. But then, a funny thing happened. In my profuse apologies to my wife for taking her to what I considered a sub-par selection for our mini-cation dining rendezvous, she told me that it didn't matter where we went, she would always have fun so long as I was with her. And for whatever reason, that one comment and the absurdity of the situation that we were in led to a genuine conversation about how much we love each other. For as long as we've been together (this May will be two years of marriage, this July 4th will be seven years of being together), the level of love between us has never waned. It's grown consistently stronger. I'm not about to go into gushing detail about everything that we talked about that night, I'll just tell you that there is no one else on this earth that can make me as happy as she does, and my only wish in life is that I can make her as happy as she makes me for as long as we live.

Sappiness aside, our evening did move out of the Bobo Fish Barn and Piano Bar (names have been changed to protect the innocent), namely to a place called the Shake Shop (the actual name, because it was actually awesome). The Shake Shop got a 93% positive rating on Urban Spoon, and if you ever find yourself on Treasure Island in St. Pete and you have a hankering for some kind of ice cream? GO TO THE SHAKE SHOP. DON'T THINK. GO. We walked up the steps to the window, saw the pictures of what they had to offer, asked what was in the Vienetta, and made our decision immediately. This is vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, pieces of waffle cone with chocolate coating, and all of it is layered together. We took that sucker back to the hotel, watched a very poorly acted but heavily anticipated movie on an unidentified network, and spent the rest of the night nursing a sugar coma.

After passing out, we showered up and hit the road in the morning, hitting a breakfast place called Beverly's la something (not actually "something," but I can't remember the last bit), which also had a 90%+ rating on Urban Spoon, and after eating the Croissant French Toast, I have to agree with the reviews. Couple that with Meghan's home fries that were about as perfectly crispy and seasoned as could be, and it really tied together a fantastic mini-cation. The whole drive back, all we could talk about is how I need to man up, sell some jobs, and bide our time until we can retire to a beach house and go to the Shake Shop whenever we want. Until then... I guess we'll just settle for the occasional get away. So long as it's with my love? I'll take it.

Sports Saturday: Goin' to the 'ship

2010-01-24T14:48:00.005-05:00

To clarify off the bat, "goin' to the 'ship" is short for, "We are going to the championship." It's a phrase that players use when they've won a game that gets them into a championship game. This weekend, four NFL teams are going to play in two conference 'ships for a chance to get into the big 'ship itself: the Super Bowl. Although, because Sports Saturday is a day late, it's also going to be a dollar short. Don't worry, I'll explain later in Story Sunday. It's a twofer!

I'm not a huge fan of predicting games, well, more specifically, predicting scores, because it's next to impossible. Quite frankly, I don't know how Vegas does it, but they nail the over-under and the spread 90% of the time. It's incredible. That being said... I'm going to give my run down of the championships today (and yes, I'm aware that one of them has already started).

New York Jets vs. Indianapolis Colts

Oh my, oh my, this is poetic justice at it's finest, ladies and gentlemen. Part of the reason that the Jets are in the playoffs in the first place was mentioned in that week's Sports Saturday in my rundown of the Colts. When the Colts were a perfect 14-0, they had everything regarding the playoffs sewn up: the number one seed and homefield advantage throughout. So, halfway through the Week 16 game against the Jets, they laid down. They laid down like a sacrificial lamb and had to endure the insatiable boos of the homefield crowd, and justly so. They were going for perfection. They were going for history, and they threw it all away for a chance to keep their starters healthy for the playoffs. I've never necessarily agreed with resting starters since they tend to get out of rhythm when they finally get back on the field, but the Colts brass decided long before they reached 14-0 that, if the time came where they had nothing left to play for but pride, they were going to sit the big guns. So, Manning, Wayne, Clark, Brackett, Addai, and the rest of the gang had a seat and watched as the "JV" squad let the Jets run all over them en route to a pretty ugly loss in the end. That victory propelled the Jets to the game against the Bengals who also decided to lay down and, in the process, let the Jets into the playoffs. You know what happened the next week? Those same Bengals played their entire starting roster, and got beat. The week after that, the Jets handled the San Diego Chargers in a fashion that nobody thought was possible, and wouldn't you know it... Now they're facing the team that gave them life, hope, and a chance to go to the 'ship.

Most people are saying that the Colts will handle the Jets in much the same fashion that they handled the Baltimore Ravens. They look at the Ravens and see a very similar team to the Jets: stifling defense, powerful running game. I look at the Ravens and a see an aging squad with a decent bevy of running backs that throttled an undermanned Patriots team that's likely on the decline. I look at the Jets and a I see the number one defense in football that shut down Rivers, Jackson, Gates, Tomlinson, and Sproules. I don't think the Colts are going to easy handle the Jets, but I also don't think the Jets are going to completely shut down the Colts. We have to look at whether or not the Jets will be able to score enough to match what the Colts will, sooner or later, be able to put on the board. This will be close... but I think that the Colts are going to play tight, pressured football. They have to make up for what many considered just straight criminal in throwing away a chance at history. I don't think they will.

Jets 24, Colts 21. (OT)

Minnesota Vikings vs. New Orleans Saints

This will be an awesome game to watch. I firmly believe that whoever wins this game has the inside edge to win the Super Bowl. After seeing what the Vikings did to the Cowboys and what the Saints did to the Cardinals, you have to imagine that this game will be as tight as any could be. We had three snoozers and an upset last week in the playoffs, and this week promises to have two excellent match-ups in the conference championships. When it comes to the Vikings and Saints, you have two fantastic defenses and two offenses that could push 35+ points across the board against nearly anybody. When those two facets collide, you have to wonder what's going to win out. Typically, it's defense. The old adage rings true most every time: defense wins championships. So you have to ask, when two of the best quarterbacks in the NFL come against each other, what's going to give? On one hand, you have Brett Favre, who has seen just about everything. On the other, you have Drew Brees, who has about the best accuracy you could ever ask for out of a QB. Honestly, I'm just thrilled to see this game. I have no idea what's going to happen. Jared Allen could break through the Saints line and give Brees hell all day. On the flip side, the Saints could run play action, screen passes, and mix up the Vikings with every different crazy formation that they've got in their arsenal.

All of that doesn't even take into account the fact that Brett Favre had the best game of his career last week. That's ludicrous in and of itself. The man has been playing about 20 years, and he's just now having the best game ever? That's scary. That, combined with Adrian Peterson, makes you wonder just how the Saints are going to stop the Vikings at all. As much as I love defense, I'm kind of hoping for an absolute barn burner in this one. That'll be my prediction. That, and the fact that the Vikings aren't going to roll into the Superdome and take what promises to be the most emotional game in New Orleans' history.

Saints 42, Vikings 35

Of course, all this will probably be way off base. But hey, I don't work for Vegas, so you can't put much faith in what I've got to say on the matter in the first place.

Fun Fact Friday: Pups!

2010-01-22T22:55:00.008-05:00

I've spent much of this evening paying attention to the beautiful, man-dog Golden Retriever that we all like to call the Chief (that's him on the left, which some may mistake for a stand-in, "model" dog), but whose full name is Chief Atticus Berry. He's very temperamental, but sweet, and requires a great deal of the aforementioned attention each and every day. When Meghan I first decided to research getting a puppy, we more or less did a quick once-over of the essentials that you'd need for a dog before heading out to look at him and his sister. Chief was the only boy among the bunch. In fact, the adorable looking Golden in the picture that was online was actually his sister... the one with the clubbed foot. When we finally got to see what would soon be "our boy," Meghan was already a little worried about his temperament after seeing a protective, growling momma-dog, deciding that maybe we'd look elsewhere for a new pup. However, that lasted all of about thirty seconds once she held that cuddly ball of warm fur and floppy ears. Once he was in our arms, we never let him go.

Of course, had we not done the cursory research to know what we were getting into, this whole happy tale might not have ended so pleasantly. There are plenty of people who see a dog out in public and decide that they have to have one, and then end up either not being able to take care of it or grow weary of the responsibilities involved, leaving the dog in a pretty bad spot. Therefore, since I've got my boy on the mind, I bring you... fun puppy (and dog) facts!

- Puppies are born blind, deaf and toothless

- During its first week 90% of a puppy's time is spent sleeping and 10% eating

- By the age of three weeks a puppy will develop their sense of smell, sight and hearing

- Puppies sleep for about fourteen hours every day

- Puppies grow while they sleep

- Puppies are weaned between the ages of 3 and 7 weeks

- Between 4 and 5 weeks interact with other puppies in the litter

- Puppies are usually found new homes between the age of 7 and 12 weeks and will start house training

- A puppy is considered and adult at the age of one year

- More than 5 million puppies are born every year in America

- Whereas humans can lose body heat by sweating, dogs can't. Panting is a way to regulate a dog's temperature.

- Some experts believe that dogs can smell one hundred times better than humans. Other experts believe they can smell up to one million times better.

- If never spayed or neutered, a female dog, her mate, and their puppies could product over 66,000 dogs in 6 years!

- The average city dog lives 3 years longer than a country dog.

- An estimated 1,000,000 dogs in the U.S. have been named as the primary beneficiaries in their owner's will

- The world's smartest dogs are thought to be (1) the border collie, (2) the poodle, and (3) the golden retriever

- Chocolate contains a substance known as theobromine (similar to caffeine) which can kill dogs or at the very least make them violently ill

- All dogs are identical in anatomy - 321 bones and 42 permanent teeth.

Enjoy!

Thankful Thursday: Comedy

2010-01-21T22:02:00.003-05:00

There are few things I enjoy more in life than laughing and seeing other people laugh (unless, of course, this is done at me and not with me). Those who know me in even the smallest amount know that I love to make people laugh, and if I felt I was good enough at it to do it for a living, I would be. Comedy is one of those careers that everyone thinks they can do, but either never give it a try or go for it and realize that they're in way over their head. It falls in the same category of the rest of my fantasy careers: writing, acting, directing, producing, talk shot host, radio host, etc. Unless you go full board, balls to the wall, and know the right people? You're toast before you even get off the ground.

So since I don't feel I'm at the place in my life both talentwise or financially to chase that dream, I have to stick what what I've got. I have to be thankful for the comedy that does fill my life. Every day, there's something that gets me. Right off the top of my head, I can think of a few things:

- Emily dancing at Chief in the kitchen while she made dinner and pup responding with a confused face

- Chief making a rather halfhearted growl at our neighbor's dog, Jake, when I opened the living room windows and he realized that Jake was out on the yard

- The "that's what she said" montage from tonight's Office

- Reading about Jerry Lee Lewis conducting personal interviews with his gun on the table, between he and the interviewer

These aren't all necessarily comedy by nature, but comedic in their own, unique ways. Emily dancing at Chief makes me laugh because of the sheer ridiculousness of it and the fact that it doesn't make sense to him. I can't imagine what he thinks she's doing. Chief's growling is funny because it's just so darn cute, even thought he means for it to be intimidating. The Office is meant to be that way. Jerry Lee Lewis leaving the Intimidator on the coffee table is one of those things that you can see a man like that doing in your head, and you can't help but laugh at the audacity of it. Still, if I had the choice between laughing myself and making someone else laugh? I'd take the latter every time.

I can't tell you how many times a day I use the phrase "comedy gold." I can see the humor in just about everything. It's part of what makes me good at what I do. As a salesperson, some of my job involves damage control or at the very least putting people at ease. When you can make a joke out of nearly anything in the room, that task gets quite a bit easier. At the same time, I know I cross the line alot. There are plenty of instances where I know that making a joke or pointing out something I find funny isn't necessarily the most appropriate thing to do. Yet still, I do it, and people laugh. Now, in my mind, I realize that that may lose me an ounce of respect here or there in a professional standpoint, and that bothers me to a degree. It's in those situations that I know I need to scale back and have a measure of decorum. The trouble is, it's in my nature. I can't shut it off. I can hold back the floodgates occasionally, but there will always be a few drops of liquid comedy gold that drip out no matter how hard I try.

That's why, when I realize that I've crossed a line or I've made myself look stupid somehow, I'll just shut down. I know that it's better for me to just not say anything than to open my mouth again and run the risk of offending someone else by trying to get a laugh. It's a pretty difficult task. The laughter and smiles of others reassures me that I'm doing something right. I'm getting the reaction that I'm looking for. And when it doesn't pan out? If I don't get a laugh or a chuckle or even the courtesy smile? It's painful. I want to be the funny man. When people are asked about me, I want one of the first things they mention to be how much I make them laugh. I have a sneaking suspicion that my love of all things comedy and the fact that I'm constantly striving to get a laugh helped land me the greatest woman in the world to be my wife. On the flip side, she makes me laugh more than anyone I know. For the first six months that we were dating, I had no idea that she had a side of her that was just waiting to come out. But then? She did the duck face. Ever since that moment, she's put a smile on my face every day.

When I say that I'm thankful for comedy, I mean that I'm thankful for everything that gets me through the day, everything that makes me laugh when I'm alone, everything that inspires me to bring that joy to others. So thanks, Comedy... thanks for everything.

Whatever Wednesday: Haiti

2010-01-20T21:50:00.003-05:00

After suffering what has already been documented as unfathomable decimation, the half-island nation of Haiti suffering a second earthquake this morning, checking in at a 6.0 rating on the Richter Scale. It's one of that instances where it seems like adding insult to injury. Just when relief and aid are starting to flow, we're offered a reminder that anything can happen. It feels like nearly everyone has offered their opinion and their sympathies on the events that are transpiring in Haiti, but thoughout all the news coverage and the facebook posts and the e-mails that I've seen over the past week or so, I hadn't heard anything like what I heard yesterday morning.

From what I've seen, Tampa is a pretty decent market for radio morning shows. We have several nationally syndicated personalities, and one in particular that's received a great deal of attention recently, both on and off the air. A few weeks ago (as some of you may have seen or heard about), Hulk Hogan came back to wrestling what what feels like the seventeenth time. I guess alimony costs more than dignity these days, who knows. But when Hogan returned to the ring with Total Nonstop Action (TNA) Wrestling, he didn't come alone. No, somehow or another, he managed to bring his good buddy in real life and on the airwaves with him as a backstage interviewer: Bubba the Love Sponge. Joining you in your car every morning locally on 102.5FM, The Bone, Bubba can be heard spouting an opinion on just about anything, most of the time at a volume reserved for informercials and monster truck rallies... at 6AM in the morning.

Now, for clarification purposes, I'll sometimes catch myself listening to Bubba for a good while if I'm in the car for any extended period of time by myself. I do this for the same reason that I listen to people like Rush Limbaugh or Jim Rome or even NPR: they're all entertaining in their own way. Rome has his own style that, if you listen long enough, you can appreciate. NPR has great information and sometimes some pretty eye (ear?) opening documentaries. The people who call into Rush Limbaugh are often so misguided and ignorant-sounding that it gives me a good laugh. And with Bubba (I refuse to repeat the rest of his "title"), you just listen long enough to hear someone call in (like Mick Foley did the other day) and make him sound like the misguided and ignorant idiot.

For years, Bubba has been known as one of Hulk Hogan's real life buddies. He goes so far as to call him Terry whenever he talks about him, as if to reinforce the thought that he's earned the right to address him by his real name (Terry Bollea; you can see why he went with Hulk). It's because of this, I'm sure, that he was given the position with TNA. It's also because of this, I'm relatively sure, that he feels he can get away with saying just about anything he wants. Well, that and the fact that he's trying to drive up ratings by being controversial. That's part of why he chose the moniker that he did as well.

Anyway, back on track. Yesterday morning (and apparently on the TNA broadcast this week), Bubba decided to spout his own personal views on the Haiti crisis: they don't deserve our aid. He offered what I consider the wrong answer for the right reasons: we shouldn't be helping Haiti and pouring millions of dollars' worth of donations into a country that isn't our own when we have enough problems here that could use those same funds to better ourselves. He talked about our homeless population, our starving children, our problems that need to be fixed and addressed in one united front. I don't necessarily disagree with him there. We're in a severe national debt crisis, we have been for quite some time, and many people are giving more than they can really afford to help the less fortunate in Haiti. Bubba said that celebrities and news stations and others are talking about Haiti, donating to the cause, and making on-site appearances not for the sake of the cause, but to boost their own popularity. I don't necessarily disagree with this either. I've seen plenty of news broadcasts and celebrities talking about Haiti without showing them actually doing anything, but that doesn't mean that they haven't. However, I don't think some kid whose thatch hut has just been crumbled into dust and ash gives a damn what Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie think about "the tragedy." He just wants help.

And that's what brings me to the point of this week's Whatever Wednesday. Whether you want to help here or abroad, whether you're moved by sudden, tragic world events or you feel your own home's suffering every day, whether you're a philanthropic billionaire or you simply donate a little time here and there when people need a helping hand, nothing changes the fact that we all need to be a little more giving, we all need to pitch in just a little more, and we all need to help those less fortunate than us. Everyone who is reading this is likely to have something to be thankful for, and when you think about that one thing, I want you to think about somebody that doesn't have that. You love the house you live in? Think about the guy standing at the intersection you pass every day who doesn't have anywhere to rest at night apart from an underpass. You love your family? Think about those who have lost theirs and how alone they must feel. You love your freedom? Think about the countries where people are struggling just to keep what they work night and day to achieve. There are always going to be people in the world that need help, here or abroad, but the bottom line is that if you can help? You should. It's like my favorite verse says: "Freely you have received, freely give."

So, give... however you see fit.

Top 5 Tuesday: Emily Berry

2010-01-19T21:02:00.003-05:00

Yes, I've decided to change the theme for Tuesdays from "TV Tuesday" to "Top 5 Tuesday." Why? First and foremost: people love lists. They're compact, definitive, and lots of fun to debate. Second: TV Tuesday lacked the longevity and potential that Top 5 Tuesday does. In asking my wife, sister, and golden retriever what they thought I should write about, I got "ice cream," "greatest characteristics of my sister, Emily," and "arrrrrnolllld palmerrr." Since I'm about as stuffed as I can get right now with a fantastic hamburger made by my sweet love, I'm not exactly eager to weigh and judge another food group. Maybe I'll do ice cream next week.

So, without further ado, the Top 5 Greatest Characteristics of My Sister, Emily Berry.

5. Her dance moves. The girl can move it. Whether it was at my wedding or just around the living room intimidating the Cheif, she's the kind of person who just loves to have a good time. Music runs in our family's blood. My Mom actually went college for it. It's half the reason that I have Music Monday: I constantly have songs running through my head, and I'm willing to bet decent money that the rest of my family is the same way. I like to think that, even when she's not dancing out loud, my sister is dancing in her head.

4. Her determination. I remember a moment about half way through Emily's second year at college when many of her friends had moved back home or decided to go to other schools, and she was really started to feel the pressure of college. I told her to stick with it, to finish strong, and she took a deep breath and nodded. Another year later, we had a similar conversation, and I told her the same thing. Through encouragement, support, and her own constant determination to make a better life for herself, she did finish strong. And after that, when Meghan and I invited Emily to stay with us for a while as she looked for a job and tried to find her own place, she bit the bullet and did everything she could to find work. Within a week and a half, she did. That's determination.

3. Her giving spirit. This Christmas, while most everyone was struggling to find a way to make ends meet, my sister was no different. So instead of just shrugging and telling everyone that she couldn't do anything about it, she thought outside the box and did what she could. Little presents and hand-written notes let everyone know that she cared without having to break the bank. She's always there and waiting with a helping hand if anybody needs anything, which is part of why I've always been willing to help her out just the same. The fact remains that this is one of her deepest personal attributes.

2. Her catchphrases. Growing up, Emily was always going through phases where she had some kind of goofy catchphrase that made everyone laugh, not because it was clever or ingenious, but usually because it was so off the wall that you couldn't help but smile. From adding "tioz" to the end of everything "Daddytioz," "Mommatioz," "Jasontioz," or even "puppytioz!" ... to "DIRTEE!" ... to, well, just about anything, these have always made me crack up laughing. Which brings us to number one...

1. Her laugh. Anyone who has ever met Emily has more than likely heard her laugh at some point in time. It's one of the most heart-warming, smile-inducing, infectious experiences you will ever have. I believe that part of why I've become as funny (and humble, might I add) as I am today is so that I can continue to make her laugh. When she giggles, you want to giggle. When she laughs hard, you want to make her laugh harder. When she enters "silent laugh" mode, you know you've hit the jackpot. That's when she'll start laughing so hard that she can't make any noise for fear that she won't be able to breathe. However, she'll take a sharp breath, then continue to silent laugh for a few more seconds, then slowly but surely work her way backwards through the cycle of laughs. Silent laugh leads to loud laugh, loud laugh leads to mid-level laugh, mid-level laugh leads to quiet laugh, quiet laugh leads to exhausted, but smiling, sigh. It's my favorite.

So there you have it. My Top 5 Greatest Characteristics of My Sister, Emily Berry. Now she can't suggest herself for at least another eight weeks or so... Unless she laughs her way into getting another suggestion through the filter... which is entirely possible.

Music Monday: The Fray - Syndicate

2010-01-18T10:18:00.004-05:00

For whatever reason, I've had this song stuck in my head all last night and this morning, so it gets inaugural honors for Music Monday. It comes from the Fray's latest, self-titled album. Have a listen. (since you can't embed the actual video/song, I had to find a live version; the music starts about 34 seconds in)

Lyrics:

Half way around the world lies the one thing that you want
Buried in the ground, hundreds of miles down
The first thing that arises in your mind when you awake
Is bending you 'til you break, let me hold you now

Baby close your eyes, don't open 'til the morning light
Baby don't forget, we haven't lost it all yet

Don't know what you're made of 'til the one thing that you want
Is coming with the dawn and suddenly changes
The Monday syndicate meets everyone the same
All we've lost to the flame, listen to me now

Baby close your eyes, don't open 'til the morning light
Don't ever forget, we haven't lost it all yet
All we know for sure is all that we are fighting for
Baby, don't forget we haven't lost it all yet

Someday when this is over
We may still have no answer
For now it's when I hold her
We are closer, we are closer

Baby, close your eyes, don't open 'til the morning light
Don't ever forget, we haven't lost it all yet
All we know for sure is all that we are fighting for
Baby, don't forget we haven't lost it all yet

We haven't lost it all yet
We are closer, we are closer.

When this album came out, Meghan was immediately in love with it, and for good reason: it's a great collection of songs. Pretty soon (after she listened to it all the way through for about the 17th time), she decided that she really really really really really wanted to go see them in concert. Being the loving, adoring, giving husband that I am, I made sure that it happened. She ended up going to the concert not long before she left for New York last summer to help with training for her company. Since most of the album is written in regards to losing something or being away from someone or the struggle of life, and this was all around the same time that she was going to be gone for five weeks, I came to associate nearly every one of the songs to her. Of course, I've find that I associate most every song with her one way or another, but these were different. When I hear "Syndicate," it makes me think about us being apart, waiting for her to finally be home. That opening line, "Halfway round the world lies the one thing that you want," gets me every time. My mind immediately goes back to that summer.

In my research on what the actual meaning of the song may be (I didn't get to digging too deep), I found several theories, mostly by fans. Some associated the lyrics with faith, one with the Holocaust, some with long-distance relationships, and quite a few with the war in Iraq. These folks point particularly to the lyrics, "Halfway round the world lies the one thing that you want, buried in the ground, hundreds of miles down." What's halfway around the world and buried hundreds of miles beneath the sand? Oil. I thought this theory was tremendously interesting and spot on if the lyrics were taken at face value. As far as the faith aspect goes, that's a different approach. I grew up going to Christian schools and listening to Christian music on the radio. Much of my life is touched by this worldview. I've found that, in the Christian community, if there's anything in a song that can be tied to being about faith? It will be. I'm not saying that many of the songs that are used in this way aren't meant for that specific purpose, I know that some of them are. What I am saying is that not everything is intended that way.

That's the thing about music, though: you can interpret it however you want to. Everything is going to mean something different to everybody. When I hear "Syndicate," it makes me think of my wife and the time that we've had to spend apart in the past. It makes me remember longing for her and how I couldn't wait to hold her in my arms again: "For now, it's when I hold her. We are closer, we are closer." But to someone else, it reminds them of their faith, or a long lost friend, or something completely different. It's all a matter of inspiration and timing. Where were you when you first heard it? What were you going through? These are the things that shape our perspective. To each their own.

Story Sunday: Touched by an Angel

2010-01-17T23:20:00.004-05:00

Earlier this week, I was at dinner with Meghan, Emily, and her friend Sam. We were celebrating Emily getting a job, and somehow or another we ended up on a discussion of the paranormal: things that can't necessarily be explained. While we talked about ghosts and aliens and I think I even brought up dinosaurs (I was two mojitos in at that point), we eventually settled on angels, and I mentioned that they were something I had some first hand experience with. Since I shared that story then, it feels like a fitting opener for Story Sunday.

I must have been five or six years old when we went on a vacation trip with the whole family. I'm not sure which mall we ended up in (when you're that young, you don't particularly pay attention to where you are; this plays a rather heavy theme in the story, actually), but I am sure that I absolutely fell in love with riding the carousel that they had at the entrance to the mall. The details are fuzzy since this is likely one of my earliest memories, but from what I can recall I must have ridden the plastic horses at least two or three times when Mom and Dad finally said it was time to move on and have lunch. My Nana and Aunt Susie were there with us as well, and with John (back then we called him Nathan), Emily, and my Mom and Dad, there was a whole slew of folks to keep track of. This is when we had a bit of a Home Alone moment. I decided that I could hop back on the carousel real quick and have a ride around before they could get too far away. They thought that I was already with them, and headed off for Morrison's without a second thought. Since I was such a well behaved child, rarely disobeying my parents' word, I'm sure they just assumed I was right behind them. I wasn't.

Getting off the carousel, I fully believed that the extra ride was worth it, scratching the itch that I never knew I had before coming across the delightful circus music and slow, steady roundabout that those insufferable plastic ponies trotted through. I was giddy. However, when I started looking around and realized that I didn't recognize any of the people around me, and when I started shouting for my Mom and Dad and realized that no one was answering... I wasn't so giddy anymore. I started crying. Taking a seat on a bench, I thought this was it for me, that I was doomed to walk the mall forever as some sort of lost boy. So I sat on that bench, legs swinging underneath me with tears on my soft, chubby cheeks, and I heard a voice beside me.

"Are you all alone?"

I turned to see a beautiful lady in a blue dress sitting at the other end of the bench, smiling down at me. She had brown eyes and relatively short hair, but her smile dried my tears in an instant. I just nodded back, unsure of what to say to a stranger, especially when I just lost everything that I knew in an instant. She just tilted her head and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Did you lose your family?"

I nodded again. She just smiled and tilted her head again, speaking in a soft voice and sliding a little closer to me.

"It's OK... I'm sure they'll find you. Why don't I just stay here until they come back?"

Suddenly things weren't so bad. I nodded and smiled, wiping my tears away. I felt a sense of peace as this woman sat and talked with me, likely never getting more than two words out of me at a time. As a child, I was as shy as could be around new people. Today, I can walk up to complete strangers and have a conversation, but that took years of practice. So, I sat and let the lady in the blue dress talk with me and keep me company until, next thing I know, I see my family coming around the corner in a sprint, out of breath and wide-eyed. They spotted me and grabbed me up, my Dad holding me tight and telling me how sorry they were. I'm sure I apologized too for disobeying and getting back on the carousel, but told them that it was fine, the nice lady had kept me company and it didn't seem like it was long at all. Realizing that this woman had likely kept me from being kidnapped or wandering off or worse, my Dad turned to thank her profusely.

She was gone. Not "gone" as in, "Oh, there she is, walking away modestly and giving us this moment." No... "gone" as in, "Wasn't there a woman just here? Right here?!" It wasn't more than a moment that we were all facing away from that bench, and the next second, the woman in the blue dress was nowhere to be seen. Colors like that don't blend into a crowd, even if there was a crowd there. Besides, there wasn't enough time for anyone to make a getaway, even if they left in a rush. There had to be something more to that encounter, and to this day, I believe it was an angel sitting next to me on that bench, keeping me safe, keeping me smiling, and protecting me until my family could return. It would only be the first of many times that God's hand would reach directly into my life and save it.

Sports Saturday: I'm a Fan

2010-01-16T23:13:00.004-05:00

Tonight marked the beginning of the "divisional" round of the NFL playoffs. I'm not entirely sure why they call it the divisional round since I think it would be more appropriate to be the "quarterfinal round" or something along those lines, but I believe "divisional" applies to the fact that each of the teams hosting this weekend's games are divisional winners. Regardless, we've already seen two teams advance to their respective conferences championships, and both games turned out to be a bit one-sided when it came down to it.

In approaching this weekend's NFL playoff matchups, I considered who I would like to see moving on to the next round. Since the Bucs were more or less eliminated from contention when the season started, I'm left with a pretty wide-open field. But in thinking about who I'd rather pull for, I realized that it didn't really matter who moved on, I could find a good story with anyone. In breaking it all down, here's why I'd like to see any of the remaining teams moving forward (bearing in mind that two of them are eliminated already):

Indianapolis Colts: After watching them tank the last two games of the season on purpose after starting 14-0 with the very real chance on going undefeated (they were leading after halftime vs. the New York Jets before pulling their starters, and the final week they faced a pretty dreadful Buffalo Bills team), I almost wanted to see the Colts get bounced immediately for essentially spitting in the face of NFL history. Then I remembered that this is a team that Tony Dungy built. The same Tony Dungy that more or less built the Tampa Bay Bucs team that won Super Bowl XXXVII under John Gruden. The man is one of the greatest coaches in the history of football, and an even greater man. I'd like to see the Colts win one more just to solidify his legacy, but also for Peyton Manning. Peyton is engaging, hard-working, dedicated, versatile, and one of the greatest quarterbacks in history. By the end of his career, he's likely to hold nearly every record that a quarterback can hold, and he's broken several of them already. Still, he's routinely criticized for being a choker despite already winning a Super Bowl 3 years ago. Winning one more would silence the critics for good, and take him one step closer to edging Tom Brady out of the "best QB in the NFL" conversation once and for all.

Baltimore Ravens: Defensive, hard-nosed football is a style that not too many people can appreciate anymore in the high-flying, offense-heavy days of the NFL, but I certainly enjoy watching it. The display that the Ravens put on last week against New England was fantastic to watch. They ran the ball down their throat, completely shut them down defensively, and reminded the rest of the league and the general public just what a team with a strong identity can do when they stick to their guns. (sadly, the Ravens were eliminated by the Colts tonight, 20-3)

New Orleans Saints: Being a Bucs fan, I've never really been crazy about the Saints. In fact, back when Michael Vick's cousin was their quarterback, I couldn't stand them. Deuce McAllister was the death of us nearly every year, and we could never do anything against their defense. However, in the days of fantasy football, I've learned to like them more and more given that their players have helped me to win after win (particularly Drew Brees, Marques Colston, and Pierre Thomas; Reggie Bush is a perennial disappointment). And in the aftermath of Katrina? The Saints were about the only thing that I could find redeeming about the State of Louisiana. Those who have known me since I had to drive to Dallas for training a few years back understand my distaste for anything Louisiana related... but that's a story for another time. The Saints and Brees have been a great story this year, and if anyone from the NFC South can take the title home, I'd like to see it. At least we could say we beat the champs... right?

Arizona Cardinals: I have always liked Kurt Warner. The man came out of absolutely nowhere to become a future hall-of-famer. Before he took the St. Louis Rams to one of the most thrilling Super Bowl victories that I've ever seen (vs. the Tennessee Titans), the man was bagging groceries. Since then, he's been to three Super Bowls, winning the aforementioned title along the way, and pulled the perennially awful Arizona Cardinals out of a historically bad playoff drought, taking them to the first Super Bowl ever. This is likely his last season due to injuries (namely concussions) and his advanced age, and I'd love to see him finish strong. (again, sadly, the Cardinals were soundly defeated by the Saints this evening, 45-14)

Dallas Cowboys: "America's Team" has been bad in December and January since the '90s came to an end. Their routinely lambasted in the media for their annual swoon, but this year? They did the unexpected and closed on a winning streak, beating the Philadelphia Eagles twice in consecutive weeks, handing the New Orleans Saints their first loss all season, and winning the NFC East. For whatever reason, I've always liked Tony Romo. He seems like a genuine guy, and someone who's really happy to have the position that he has. Besides, sports are always better when someone popular is at the top, someone strong to root against, as it were. I'd love to see the Cowboys and the Saints in the NFC Championship.

Minnesota Vikings: First off, I love the purple. Growing up, purple was my favorite color before I settled on cerulean, a much more grown-up shade of blue that speaks to my soul. Second, the only other reason I'd want the Vikings to win it all is simple: Brett Favre. To justify coming back out of retirement (AGAIN) and holding the news cycle hostage all summer during baseball season, he damn well better win it or else I'm going to be angrier about his second annual unretirement than I already am.

San Diego (super) Chargers: Their theme song is catchy, they play in a city that has some of the best weather in the world, and the powder blue unis are second to none. LaDainian Tomlinson deserves to play in a Super Bowl, especially since his career is likely winding down since he's hitting the post-30 years old running back decline. Philip Rivers is brash and outspoken, something that I've always enjoyed watching, especially when a player can back it up, and especially when he's not playing against my teams (I hated him when he was at N.C. State carving up the Noles defense on homecoming weekend). San Diego enters the playoffs as the hottest team in the league, and the showtime nature of their approach may be the opposite of what the Ravens and our next team display, but it's just as much fun to watch.

New York Jets: Like the Chargers, the Jets feature an outspoken, brash member of their team that gets headlines every week, but instead of getting in the huddles he's on the sidelines with the headset. The Jets' coach, Rex Ryan, makes some outlandish statement every week about how his team is the one to beat despite backing into the playoffs and having the last two teams they played essentially lay down against them with nothing left to play for. Still, watching their defense go from middle-of-the-road last year to dominant this year has been a sight. And even with FSU alum, Leon Washington, out with an injury, he would still get a ring should they make it to Miami and leave with the Lombardi Trophy. And hey, we could always use another Nole with a title in his back pocket.

When it comes down to it, I can find a reason to root for or against anyone if I have to. That's how I am with most sports, though. Regardless of who's playing who and what sport it may be, I'm a fan.

Themes!

2010-01-16T13:27:00.003-05:00

All my life I've done my best work when I have limits. All through school, I'd make the greatest effort to understand my teachers and what they wanted out of their students, and then subsequently deliver pieces of work that would come as close to their target as possible. That's partially why I excelled in English and History and more or less any kind of class that required you to write a paper at some point in time. I knew what they liked to read, what style they preferred, and just did it their way. Now? I more or less do things my way, but I still abide by one of the 7 habits of highly successful people: seek first to understand, then to be understood. Without knowing it, I was already a practicing, successful individual before I realized what it was.

It was in considering what I wanted to write yesterday that I came up with an idea to help myself tremendously as I move forward in this endeavor to write every day: guidelines. Since I've always worked best within some sort of structure, why not create structure for myself? Therefore, I came up with "theme days." Every day of the week, I'm going to have a different, set theme. That way, I'll know in advance what kind of topic I'll be writing on that day, and I be a little more prepared, even save up topics throughout the week. Through some personal contemplation and then conversation with Meghan, this is what I've settled on. If you have any additional suggestions or ideas, feel free to let me know!

Music Monday: I'll pick a song to write about, post the lyrics, say what made me think of it, where I first heard it, any kind of ties I may have to it, or maybe even just what I think it means. I may even do a little more research and give some background on it... if you're lucky!

TV Tuesday: I'm still not completely set on this one, but since I watch plenty of different shows and there's always something interesting happened on the TV, I figure there's something that I can write about here. It may even be an idea for something NEW on TV... you'll just have to wait and see.

Whatever Wednesday: This is freestyle day. For anything that doesn't fit into the other categories, I'll save it up and talk about it here.

Thankful Thursday: To keep things on a positive note, Thursdays will be used to talk about something, someone, or somewhere that I'm thankful for.

Fun Fact Friday: Since I'm always sharing sometimes useful but most useless facts, why not dedicate a day to sharing them with my adoring fans?

Sports Saturday: The name says it all. I've also deemed this "day least likely for my wife to be reading my blog."

Story Sunday: I have a long, sordid history to tell about my life, and Sundays are where you'll get to hear about it.

That's what I've got. Again, any differing opinions or ideas can be shared at your leisure. In the meantime, look forward to a post later for SPORTS SATURDAY!

Painting

2010-01-14T22:52:00.002-05:00

For starters, I hate painting. Well, I hate painting walls. Back during the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I worked for a handyman. And since it was Florida and many of our jobs involved either being on a roof or being in a house without the A/C on, I had to be at my boss's house to leave by about 6AM every morning. During summer. We're off on the wrong foot already.

One of the aforementioned "no A/C" jobs was the first time that I was ever tasked to paint anything besides a model car or some kind of target. There were three or four rooms of a family's home that we had to finish over the course of two days, and since they were on vacation, they had opted to make sure the air was completely off. My boss wasn't about to acquiesce to my "cushy" lifestyle and fire it back up, so we got to work in a sealed house with the temperature baking us inside at a cozy 99 degrees and up. This was the first part I wasn't too crazy about.

The second detail requires a bit of background on my personal life. To put it simply: I'm a bit OCD. I'm not crazy or anything, I don't have to open and shut my car door seven times before I can get in. I just like things a certain way... One of those "ways" is keeping myself clean. When you're painting a big bare wall with white paint and you're using an old, busted roller to do it? Things aren't going to stay clean. "Things" are going to get covered in flecks of white paint. This is when I learned to not wear my glasses on the job, and either go with contacts or safety goggles over my spectacles. This is also where I learned not to wear anything that I wanted to wear in public again. Couple the paint all over me with the fact that I was sweltering and standing all day? Let's just say I wasn't happy, and you can see why the experience has stuck with me.

With that background, I'll get to the point. Since my sister started staying with us, she realized that she didn't have a dresser to put her clothes in. This being the case, she shopped around until she found a nice little fixer-upper at a thrift store, and I helped her haul it back to the house and place in our living room until we could figure out exactly what needed to be fixer-upped. Her first and more or less only desire? To paint it. So today we went to Home Depot and sorted out exactly what kind of paint she wanted to recolor it with, grabbed some painting accessories, chucked it all in the car, and headed back to the house. She asked if I wanted to help her paint it. Um... yeah...

But, naturally, I caved. I went out there and grabbed a brush and realized that when it's not blistering hot and you have proper ventilation and you're using new equipment and you're not just aimlessly rolling a glorified mop-head against a wall? Painting isn't all that bad. In fact, it can take something that looked rather downtrodden and left-for-dead, and make it nice again. Paint for furniture is like a makeover for people: there was always something beautiful there, you just needed to give it a little extra attention to bring that inner beauty out. So, sitting in my garage is a lovely little oregano colored dresser just waiting to have new handles and a new lease on life. And even though I wore my soccer shirt from 7th grade that's covered in all the bad memories of a great white wall, I overcome my fear and my angst, manned up, and found that sometimes you just need to give certain things another chance.

Efficient.

2010-01-13T22:56:00.002-05:00

So it's nearly the next day already, and I'm still mulling over in my head what exactly I should do.

My plan up to this point has been to drive up to North Florida, to both Jasper and Madison to call on some clients that I haven't been to in a while. Of course, the thing about seeing clients that you haven't been to in a while is that you have to first remember why you haven't been there for so long, and then try to determine how you can rectify that without it being a mildly awkward situation.

This is my dilemma. Today, in our meeting with a nearby community college, we were able to utilize some very effective handouts in order to nail down a message that we were trying to send to the client. It worked very well. For the places that I've been planning to go tomorrow, I also have handouts and reports that might be effective if I'm able to actually sit down with someone. The trouble is that I don't have them organized and ready to go like I should at this point. They're mostly conceptual, and they're completely in my head.

All of this is coupled with the fact that the drive with take me, in total, over seven hours to get all the way out there and back again. That's a haul. I could drive to Atlanta in that amount of time. I could drive to Pensacola by then. I could watch an entire season of a sitcom on DVD. This is all with the very distinct possibility that, when I get out there, I'll be unable to get a meeting with any of the people that I'll be dropping in on, and I'll have done all of that driving and smiling for nothing. It's the classic case against cold calling.

Now, on the other hand, I could still attempt to set appointments with the targets that I'm aiming at by simply giving them a call. However, as experience has taught me, it's much harder for someone to turn you down in person than it is over the phone. A phone call is less personal, easier to distance yourself from the other end, easier to terminate with nothing more than the push of a button. They don't have to stand there awkwardly and tell me that they're not interested, looking in my sad blue eyes for any hint of understanding. All they have to do is say it coldly and callously, hoping that I'll never make that seven-hour round trip to darken their doorstep. At the same time, it may be as simple as saying, "Hi, so-and-so, I know we haven't spoken for a while, but I'm planning to be around your area next week, and I was wondering if we could set a time for us to catch up on what's going on with you," and getting an appointment.

I'd like to say that my prime and only concern is efficiency, and to a point, it is. I don't want to waste an entire day sitting in the car only to get doors shut in my face once I get to where I'm going, only to have to turn around and drive all the way back. It's not efficient whatsoever. But that's only half of it. The other half is rejection. If I'm going to get turned down for a meeting, my thinking is that I'm going to be turned down either way: if I'm standing there or if I'm on the other end of the phone. Most superintendents or finance directors or anyone important enough to meet with have a secretary. And when those people don't want to meet with you? All they have to do is let the secretary be the bad guy and tell you that they're busy, or they're in a meeting, or they're on a call that won't be done for a long, long time. Probably through lunch, which they bring their own, so they won't let you take them out anywhere. After that, they have a full day of more meetings and conference calls, so it's probably best if you just come back in January. Yes, next January. Thanks!

So for the sake of efficiency, I think I'm going to avoid the whole song and dance with the gatekeeper and do things a different way. Besides, if I want to drive somewhere to hear "no," there are plenty of places around here that can get the job done!

Mark McGwire

2010-01-12T17:39:00.003-05:00

I'll never forget where I was when Mark McGwire hit his 62nd home run of the 1998 season of Major League Baseball. I was doing homework at the time and at Covenant Christian School, we were required to construct and apply book covers to our textbooks since they were passed on from year-to-year to the following grade until the book was replaced by a newer, updated version. I covered all my books with brown paper, the kind they use for paper bags at grocery stores. So on that fateful night in September, I was sitting in front of the TV with my book, staring at the TV instead of whatever I was supposed to be studying, and I watched as McGwire hit a line drive shot that was probably going to be a long, loud single. He must have been thinking the same thing, because he came sprinting out of the batter's box like he was going to try and stretch it into a double. But as fate would have it, the ball kept rising just long enough to barely get it over the short porch in left field and into the Cardinals' bullpen. Big Mac was so shocked that he had to turn around and make sure that he touched first base, giving the first base coach and awkward high-five/hug/handshake all at once before turning and finishing his lap around the diamond. I'll never forget that moment as long as I live. It was history.

Unfortunately, as many of us realize today, much of the history written back in 1998 and the ten years before and after it turned out to be pretty tainted. Even when the home run race between McGwire and Sammy Sosa was going on, people had to realize that something was amiss. They had to notice how baseball players were suddenly breaking records, hisoric, long-standing records at an amazing, unfathomable pace. They were getting bigger and stronger and better by the barrel full. But still, baseball was coming off a very ugly strike from a few years before, and the home run race brought the national eye and curiosity back to the game, so almost everyone turned a blind eye to the seemingly underhanded tactics taken to bring the national pastime back to life. From what I remember, the only part of McGwire's approach to the game that was ever questioned was his use of the popular supplement "andro," which has a much longer scientific name that I'm not going to waste the 21 seconds looking up in a separate tab. A reporter spotted McGwire's andro supply in his locker after one of the Cardinals' games, and he questioned Mark about it, but the fact remained that the supplement wasn't illegal at the time. In a year or two, it would be, but not at the time. So... that was that. McGwire broke Roger Maris's single-season home run record on that night that I sat in front of the TV watching baseball instead of working on history or math or science... all of which was playing out before me anyway.

I didn't really know the first thing about steroids back then. Nobody really did. It wasn't a part of the public eye until much later down the road... Really, until Barry Bonds started to come into the limelight. McGwire was one of baseball's heroes, and very nearly one of my heroes. I can't say that he was someone I looked up to, because I only have one spot reserved for each sport for a real, actual hero, and that spot was and most likely will be permanently taken by Dennis "El Presidente" Martinez. That's a story for another time. The point is that people looked up to the guy. He smashed home runs and he had his son, Matt, as the batboy that he'd hug every time he crushed another ball out of the park, he looked like the brawny paper towel man, the idealistic lumberjack with the heart of a lion. He laughed and smiled and cried at all the right times. He showed class toward the Maris family that attended all of his games as he neared and passed their patriarch. In short, he was a great guy.

Toward the end of his career, the spotlight started to be shone on what's come to be known as the "Steroid Era." McGwire was an obvious suspect and culprit along with Sosa, Bonds, and others. His retirement hardly made a ripple as many just wanted to see him away from the game in order to preserve his respectability in baseball lore. And to a point, that's what happened. All of a sudden, as quickly as he burst into the national picture, he was gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Years went by and people would suddenly say, "Whatever happened to Mark McGwire?" and no one really knew. Eventually, Congress came calling, and for the first time in a long time, McGwire spoke in public, and all he had to say was, "I'm not here to talk about the past." He wasn't about to perjure himself in front of a congressional committee. As he revealed this week, his attorneys tried to secure immunity for him in order to allow him to admit to his steroid use, but since the act itself is still illegal without a prescription, he would likely have been charged had he expressed anything resembling an admission of guilt. After that witch hunt put on by the legislature, McGwire was villainized. All the good will he had built over his career was gone. And just like that... he vanished again.

Sometime over this baseball offseason, I heard that McGwire was coming back as the hitting coach for the St. Louis Cardinals, working under his old coach Tony LaRussa, the man who watched McGwire go from tall, powerful kid in Oakland to the muscled, brick-house machine he become in St. Louis. Knowing that soon enough reporters and questions and microphones would be in his face after every single game, detracting from the team and rehashing the harsh memories of what he suffered on Capitol Hill, McGwire went preemptive this week, admitting in a one-hour interview that he did, indeed, use steroids off and on for ten years of his career, including the year in which he broke the single-season home run record.

Other players have admitted to steroid use in the past using various words and schemes to do so. Jason Giambi simply said he was "sorry" without elaborating on what it was that he was sorry for, exactly. Andy Pettite said that he did use performance enhancing drugs, but that he only did it once or twice in the same year, and it was only to come back from an injury. Alex Rodriguez... well... let's just say that his revelation was a disaster, and was only brought on after a book was about to be released detailing how and when he went about using the drugs. From what I've seen from McGwire's interview, he seems genuine and appears to have given full-disclosure. He didn't say he only used it a couple times, he admits to using it for years. He didn't shy away from saying that he used it when he broke the record. He explained how he got into it. He explained how he wished it all never happened. And while some have been cynical about his explanations and his confessions, I kind of feel for the guy. He was a bonafide hero, someone that the whole country was in love with at one point, and he lost it all. He's been exiled and in hiding for the better part of a decade, and now that he's come to the surface, he's trying to come clean. He's trying to be a better man. And really... that's something to be respected and applauded, not criticized and picked apart. He may not have said everything that he needed to say, he may still have problems admitting that the drugs led directly to his superior performance, but he's stepping in the right direction. He's getting out in front of the media firestorm that he knew was coming.

He's looking for redemption. In the time where most of our top sports stories are about coaches hitting players and getting fired, golfers cheating on their wives with a dozen plus women, and players getting suspended and kicked off basketball teams for carrying guns into the locker room? We deserve a story about someone getting a measure of themselves back. We deserve a story about forgiveness. Let this be it.

Spinach and White Bean Soup

2010-01-11T22:11:00.002-05:00

If you would have told me five, maybe even two years ago that I would try something with the following ingredients, I would have told you that you're crazy:

white beans, red peppers, onions, and spinach

...but tonight, I did. And as one of my favorite comedians, Mitch Hedberg, said of the recipe for Sprite ("they say the recipe for Sprite is lemon and lime, but I tried to make it at home"): there's more to it than that.

Since we got married and especially since Meghan got her job with HealthCorps, she's done the majority of the cooking in our household, creating increasingly healthy and delicious meals. In the previous five years of our relationship, I was the culinary master, preparing such delicacies as "Rice-a-Roni" and "Spaghetti," real exotic stuff. Now, my piddly excuses for food are relegated to the nights when she's too tired to think of anything and I'm feeling especially helpful in the kitchen. Sure, it's still good, but I'd much rather have whatever she would feel like making... which after my long history of battling healthy food as a child, should come as quite the surprise.

I once famously refused a plate of peas (or carrots, depending on which version of the story you choose to believe, or, as some do, you may believe that they are two separate, yet very similar stories) all the way until bedtime. My Mom told me that I had to at least try them, that I would have to sit at the table until I did just that. I agreed. I would sit there as long as she wanted, but there was no way that I was going to subject myself to a sickeningly pale green vegetable (or orange, again, depending on your version of the story) when all I had to do was literally sit there until the clock struck "bedtime." I'm not sure which part of my heritage is more stubborn and determined: the Cherokee or the Coppage, but my ancestors' combined willpower allowed me to suffer through the night of staring disgustedly at the plate of eventually cold vegetables right until Mom finally came back and said in that classic Jennie Berry huff:

"Fine. Go get ready for bed."

Sweet victory. Several years later, we would face off yet again in another classic battle of wills, this time over the capitalistic tycoon board game, Monopoly, the two of us wearing each other down, hoping against all odds that we could grind the other's will into dust before the Microtel front desk called to tell us one more time to "keep it down for the sake of the rooms around you." On that night, the Force was stronger with her, and I succumbed to her powerful line of houses and hotels, sending me straight to the poorhouse.

My point is that, as a child, I really didn't want to try anything. And oftentimes? I didn't. I had a stubborn and determined nature when it came to food, and if I didn't want it, I wasn't going to eat it. But something happens when you get married, I believe, and that something, is that a new woman in your life, a woman that you love more than anything in this world, can change you. She can alter your reality and your perception to the point where you would do absolute anything for her.

Jump of a bridge? ... how high?

Money for shopping? ...as much as you want!

Try this Southwestern Egg Roll? ... um... uh... listen...

I'll admit that it didn't come easy at first. When Meghan first proposed some new things, she was a little ballsy. The Southwestern Egg Roll was like a slap in the face to the child within me still sitting at that dinner table in front of the plate of peas (or carrots). The way she suggested that I try it was so sweet and innocent, asking me as if I was a child: "Do you want to try this? No? OK... you don't have to if you don't want to, but it's really good... I think you'd like it... What don't you like about it?" She slowly picked apart my defenses and wore me down, smiling sweetly at me in this unnerving stare that made me almost certain that she was plotting something. She kept reassuring me that I didn't have to try it until the reverse psychology wore me so far down that I just snapped and said, "Fine! I'll try it!" I tentatively took a tiny, minuscule bite that could hardly be construed as a bite as far as those things go. Still, I tasted it. It was spicier than I expected... but not terrible. This made me angry. I wanted to hate it so bad, but I didn't. Little did I know that in that one, singular moment, she had unlocked the key to get me to try nearly anything, and she would use that advantage early and often in the war to make our lives healthier.

Soon enough I learned that not everything that's good for me tastes bad too. The two concepts are not counter-intuitive after all. Still, despite the fact that I now love red peppers and want them on nearly everything after not eating one for twenty-five years of my life, despite the fact that I said no more than two weeks ago that spinach, spinach really isn't bad at all and it doesn't taste too terribly different than lettuce apart from the crispiness; apart from all those things? She still tries to protect my food ego... She didn't tell me that there were onions in the soup tonight. She thought it might dissuade me from trying it. But deep down, she knew... She knew that all she had to do was ask in that syrupy sweet voice that hooked me like a siren, and I would try it without a second thought. And in the end? It's good for me. Mom was right all along.

Playoffs?

2010-01-10T22:28:00.003-05:00

For much on my life, I didn't care too terribly much about football, and the NFL in particular. I only sparingly remember watching football growing up, and of what I remember, almost all of it was NCAA competition. The first NFL game I really remember was the Superbowl between the Packers and the Steelers, and I remember thinking that Neil O'Donnell must have been throwing the game by the way he was throwing interceptions all over the field. My mom agreed. That's how she is about sports. Whatever my father or I say when watching a game, she'll simply agree wholeheartedly, sincerely, if a bit condescendingly.

Dad: "Oh, come on! He's hitting everybody on the field except the guys on his own team!"

Mom: "That's right, honey... You tell 'em."

Meghan's a bit different. If I'm watching sports, she'll generously feign interest in what I have to say, and often times she'll genuinely try to understand it and respond. She loves me. She knows that I don't really have anyone else to share this excitement with when I'm experiencing it in the moment. But really? There are other, more interesting things to her than the fact that the Patriots and the Eagles are both out of the playoffs in the first round. Still, she's there for me, and I love her for that.

It wasn't until the last couple years of high school that I really started following NFL football. Our household was decidedly pro-Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I tuned in just as they were shifting away from the white and creamsicle-orange uniforms. Back when Warren Sapp, Warrick Dunn, Derrick Brooks, and all the other players with consecutive "r's" in their names still played for the team. I really got into the NFL when I went off to college and realized what a large part football played in the college experience, even when Toccoa Falls College didn't have a team. This was especially convenient since it was the same year, 2002-2003, that the Bucs won Superbowl XLVII. I'll never forget being the lone celebratory fan in Forrest Hall that night.

While you can watch most all college games on TV these days due to the various conferences having television broadcasting contracts with various TV outlets, the NFL still remains a largely regional endeavor. I live in Tampa, Florida, but I can still watch Southern California, Boise State, Rutgers, Minnesota, Ohio State, Mississippi, South Carolina, Boston College, Hawaii, and my personal favorite, Florida State most any Saturday if I look hard enough. But if I didn't live in Tampa? I'd have to purchase some NFL season package in order to make sure I could watch the Buccaneers every week. Unless they're on Monday or Sunday night football, there's no guarantee that you'll get to see the game at all apart from the local broadcast. My Dad was able to see two Bucs games this year: the two times they played his local Falcons.

In addition, the majority of NCAA games broadcast on Saturdays, but they'll have Thursday night games, Friday night games, Sunday night games, and occasionally games on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. The point is, there's plenty of them. Between August and December, odds are, you'll be able to find an NCAA game somewhere on more than half the days in the week. The NFL features two slates of games on Sunday: 1PM and 4PM, and a single, national broadcast Sunday night at 8PM. There's another national broadcast on Monday night at 8:30PM, which occasionally will shift to Thursday night at the same time, but is only seen on the NFL Network, which you need a special cable package to be able to see. It's limited visibility, and unless your team is among the elite, odds are you're only going to see them on your local broadcast.

My point is this: the NFL is king for a reason. It's basic supply and demand: the NFL is one of the most demanded quantities in sports because football is one of the most intriguing and versatile sports in the world, but the league itself limits the supply significantly. Not only can you only get your team on the local broadcast or cross your fingers that they manage to secure a Sunday or Monday night appearance, but if your hometown stadium doesn't sell out by the day before the game? Then you won't even get to see them on TV: it'll be blacked out. It's one more way that the league can mitigate supply. You don't want to pay the price of a ticket? Then you're not going to see it on TV either. It's a business. This is how they keep it on top. It's the golden rule: he who has the gold, makes the rules. The NFL keeps people sucked in throughout all 17 weeks of the regular season, and when the dust has settled and the playoffs finally roll around? You want to see how it all plays out even if you're team isn't in it. (which, when your team ends up with a 3-13 record, you learn to find other parts of the league to draw your interest)

All that being said, the playoffs are here. Wild Card weekend has just wrapped up with the two teams that I can't stand the most being bounced right out of the gate in decidedly embarrassing fashion. I don't care that the Bucs were one of the worst teams all year any more. Now it's all about just sitting back, relaxing, and enjoying the rest of the show...

Please Feed the Fish

2010-01-09T14:21:00.003-05:00

I'll start by pointing out one of the more basic facets of my life:

I like simple things.

Simple words, simple colors, simple patterns, uncomplicated, basic things. When I pick clothes, I immediately veer away from overpriced t-shirts emblazoned with "BEACH PARTY 1992" which was clearly fashioned some time this century and others titled "CRABBY DICKS LOBSTER HOUSE" which I'm almost certainly doesn't actually exist. I like t-shirts with maybe just a logo on them, or long-sleeve baseball "tees" that are just two colors. Simple. Uncomplicated. I would never wear a "Cosby sweater" or have some crazy hair style. Clean. Smooth. Simple. It's the reason that I keep the dishes out of the sink or clothes off the floor. It's the reason that my car that I practically live in while cold calling and driving all of the state and up to Atlanta is always pretty tidy and devoid of random chotchkies. It's also one of the key principles of sales, "KISS": Keep It Simple, Stupid.

Now that you have a bit of a background, let me get to the point. When I embarked on my perilous mission to write in this every day, I went to my "dashboard" to see what kind of "bling" I could "pimp" my page with. Among the hundreds of little doodads and whoseewhatsits that were available, most were news tickers or stock tickers or sports tickers or potstickers or tick stoppers or placekickers. Basically, none of them were interesting in any way to me or those that might read my blog. But after countless hours (minutes) of in-depth research and analysis (browsing) of hundreds (tens) of possibilities, I finally found a handful (one) that I thought was particularly poignant and applicable to my page.

A fish feeder.

As you'll no doubt notice, at the top of my page are five adorable, colorful fish milling about in their html banner home. You may say, "But wait! I only see four!" Ah, but this is only an illusion my friend. There are five fish, but I'll leave it to you to figure out where the fifth one actually is. You see, fish are very uncomplicated, simple creatures. They basically just want to eat and to swim around aimlessly. When have you seen a fish do anything halfway productive? Build anything? You haven't, because they don't. When you think about all the magnificent creatures of the oceans and rivers of God's great world, all of them are designed to be able to eat or reproduce effectively. The fish that looks like a rock? Helps him get closer to food without them spotting him. The fish the little glow-stick hanging in front of his face? Attracts other smaller, stupider fish like a stupid-fish magnet. Sharks? Dozens of rows of teeth so that when they lose them when they get stuck in their food, they don't have to wait for their new, "adult" shark teeth to grow in. Simple. Uncomplicated.

The first pet that I ever really had on my own was my first year of college when Brandon and I found what we deemed either a popcorn machine or a fish tank in the break room of Forrest Hall. Since we determined that a popcorn machine would have come complete with working parts, a butter dispenser, and at least a moderate stock of kernels, a fish tank was the only other viable alternative. Henceforth, we set about purchasing fish from the local fishery (Wal-Mart). When those quickly died, we took them back within the 72-hour return policy period and got another batch. When those were wiped out within about 18-hours, we took them back and got another fresh round. When those gave up hope before the sun went down, we took them back and heard about the fish-disease epidemic that had apparently swept through the Wal-Mart fish tank system in the past week, and we were given five to six brand sparkling new aquatic critters to thrive and survive in our popcorn machine shaped world we had created for them. This round stuck. We had the Japanese Seaman, Jeff Gordon, DooDoo Eater, and others. Later down the road, Brandon's friend John let us know that he had another doodoo eater that was available, and when we went to pick it up, we realized that this was going to easily be the largest fish in our relatively small pond, so we named him Yao.

When college was over, we left the fish tank there and Brandon took the surviving members of the popcorn machine experiment back home to the suburbs of Atlanta, and I left empty handed.

Within the first few months of living with Earnhardt at Plaza Apartments in Tallahassee, I found someone on a message board that I was a part of called "noleweb" that was selling a fish tank with all the equipment included. Meghan and I went to investigate, and from what I remember, I think I was able to score a few N64 games out of the $15 dollar transaction as well. Even though it was a normal 10-gallon tank with no resemblance to anything you might see in a movie-going expedition, I still loved it. I managed to keep several rounds of fish thriving over the years, but none more infamous than the still legendary "Gary Survivor."

After a year of living with Earnhardt, I decided that I wanted to try living on my own, and I subsequently moved into Carolina Square. It was just across the street from my College of Business at FSU, and within walking distance of several fast food establishments that I was sure to acquire diarrhea from in the coming years. Along with my fresh living arrangement, I started with a fresh round of liquid-oxygen breathing life forms. Meghan begrudgingly went along with me on yet another trip to the highest quality purveyor of fish and fish-related needs, Wal-Mart, and looked on in a mix of disappointment and exasperation as I purchased six goldfish of varying shapes and breeds and one doodoo eater. On the way home, as we deliberated on what to name our new high-maintenance squad of water-beasts, I decided that I wanted to name them all the same thing in varying forms.

"Michael? We could do Mike, Mikey, Michael, Michelle..."

"No... what about Bob? Robert, Robbie, Bob, Bobby, Bobbert; there's no shortage of Bobs!"

"Eh... Bob's so... normal..."

We came close to going back to Bob since we could easily rename replacement fish (and trust me, you always end up getting at least one replacement fish within the first couple weeks) with more options than we could any other name-set that we proposed. However, in the end, the winning suggestion was, as everyone now knows: Gary. It was, in no order of importance:

Regular Gary, Gary with two e's (Gerry), Gary with two r's (Garry), Big Gary, Little Gary, and our French companion, Garí.

The whole point of Gary Survivor was to see which of the fish would live the longest. Goldfish typically don't live beyond 6-8 years in a normal tank or bowl, so we didn't have high hopes. The early favorites were naturally Big Gary and Garí since larger fish tend to have an upper hand in fish-life and the French are notorious for being unable to get rid of for good. As time went by, we lost Garry and Regular Gary first. Honestly, it was what we expected. "Garry" makes no sense as a name, and Regular Gary, well, he didn't really have much personality. He was just... Gary. In the end, Big Gary grew to a rather terrifying size, and I believe it started to go to his head. Toward the final days, he started doing constant barrel rolls in the tank, acting like he was Shamu, and really hamming it up for visitors. One day, however, he just stopped rolling, and that turned out to be a much sadder day than I anticipated. It turns out I had grown a pretty strong connection with Big Gary, probably because he was the showboat that I had always secretly hoped to be. We gave him a proper funeral procession and buried him in the bank of the pond behind Meghan's apartment building... It's what he would have wanted.

In the end, it was just DooDoo Eater Cuatro (the fourth installation of doodoo eaters for this particularly batch of fish), Gerry, and, of course, Garí. Gerry was starting to turn a rather concerning shade of orange, and our French friend had a bit of an exposed fish brain, but both seemed like they had sunk in for the final battle. In the end, though, that little French bastard was too much to overcome, and Gerry just narrowly lost out in the game of life, and Garí walked (swam) away the victor. With his title sewn up for good, Garí followed the path of his flushed brothers a couple weeks later, nothing left to play for but pride, and, as we know, the French have very little. DooDoo Eater Cuatro and the tank later went to live with Meghan's brother, Eric, when I moved out to Dallas. In the end, it was for the best.

I haven't had fish since. It turns out that a Golden Retriever, while slightly more complicated and less simple, is a pretty good pet as well. But when I saw that I could have fish again, even though they're just virtual and do nothing but feed on the clicks of food that people drop for them? I knew that it was enough for me. So, in the honor of the Garys and those that came before them... please feed the fish. Thank you.

A Woman's Glory

2010-01-08T16:45:00.002-05:00

Right now, my wife is out and about getting her hair did in downtown Tampa, the area of town that's called Hyde Park. It's a pretty fancy section of town that has all sorts of lovely little shops selling chocolate, high-end clothing, paraphernalia for your dogs, and several kitschy restaurants. Jekyll Park? That place is a nightmare.

They say that a woman's hair is her glory. I've never quite understood what that's supposed to mean, but I know they care about their hair a hell of a whole lot. I remember growing up that mom and sister were always concerned about theirs, and in 6+ years of being with Meghan, I know that it's pretty important to her too. I mean, let's be honest, it's important to me as well. It was that glorious red-headed mane that first caught my attention way back on June 5, 2003. Since then, it's continued to rank consistently in the top 5.

Back at the FSU orientation, Megs had long hair. By the time that I saw her again for our fateful July 4th rendezvous, it was a short, pixie-ish look that greeted me at the door. She called it her "Oprah" haircut for some reason. I never really got that one. Over the next few years she would grow it out again, keeping it that way all the way up to our wedding where those long, luscious locks made for some pretty spectacular bridal and wedding pictures. It looked awesome. Shortly after we got married, she decided it was time for a change and went short again. Something about how it doesn't take as long to fix up and all that. It's stayed that way since.

I've liked virtually every style that she's chosen over the years. Honestly, I love her, and it really doesn't matter how her hair looks to me, it's always going to look good. Besides, I'm an advocate of novelty wherever it's available, so changes and mixing things up is always a plus in my book. She and Emily looked over a hair book last night to make a decision on what the new "do" would be, and while I saw a few options, I told her to keep the final verdict secret; I want to be surprised.

As for me? My hair takes a thimble-full of hair wax/paste and about 17 seconds of effort to get it to look fantastic. It actually takes longer to rinse the residue from my fingers that it does to run them through my hair itself. But hey, a man's glory is his woman, so I'm all set.

"Don't be an idiot."

2010-01-06T22:56:00.003-05:00

In my line of work, as you'd imagine, there's plenty of competition. We provide energy-efficiency projects, and even before the whole "green movement" started, there were dozens of companies that provide services and solutions very similar to ours. Now? There's probably hundreds. That being said, there are a limited number of potential customers out there. Many times, I'll get into research a prospect only to find somewhere along the line that they've already done a project or they're already well ahead of the game. In those instances, there's rarely much that we can do to help, and even more rarely will they even allow us to in the door.

It's for these moments and other frustrating instances like them that I created the motivational board. Back when I first started this job, I bought a giant white board to keep track of what I had going on. The glorified day planner turned into a giant NCAA basketball tournament bracket, and then back into a day planner, and then back into a bracket, and then into a mini-art studio, and finally into the motivational quotes board. Over the past few months, both myself and anyone who feels inspired will write on the board something that sends a positive message. I have facets like "We are all selling, "You are the magic," and "Finish strong." Important. Impassioned. Ingenious.

So when I get frustrated or feel like I'm not really getting anywhere, I look at the board and try to find something, anything that will put me back on the right track, help me realize that there's always a brighter future just ahead, and allow me to stay strong. I'll give you what I have so far, and if you have anything brilliant to add, feel free to leave it in the comments and I'll take it under consideration. Some portions of the board have been omitted to protect the innocent.

"Aim beyond what you are capable of."

"Nothing is impossible."

"Don't seek praise; seek criticism."

"Make the best with what you have."

"Don't promise what you can't deliver."

"You're own your own! Fly or die."

"Success is going from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm." - Winston Churchill

"Don't take no for an answer!"

"You have to be whole to be someone else's half." - Meghan Berry

"Don't give a speech, put on a show!"

"Present creativity first."

"There are no shortcuts to any place worth going." - Beverly Sills

"You've got one dial on your machine, and it's winning!" - Motocross Track Announcer

"Don't knock the competition: it publicizes them, not you."

"You must not confuse being good with being liked."

"Don't forget where you came from." - Randy Berry

"Love is a verb."

"The person who doesn't make mistakes is unlikely to make anything."

"To become a champion, fight one more round." - James Corbitt

"Don't be an idiot." - Michael Scott

WIIFM

2010-01-05T21:39:00.005-05:00

I work for a company that shall remain nameless...

Back when I was hired, we were required to go through a six-month, intensive training program in our Dallas office. The six months were actually five months, and the Dallas office was actually in Carrollton. Intensive was about the best way to describe it. Every six (or five) months, a new batch of sales trainees rolls in, and every six (or five) months, at least one of those trainees is unlikely to make it all the way through to "graduation," the company's version of setting you free into the world to accomplish your dreams. Except instead of accomplishing your dreams they want you to accomplish their dreams, and try not to waste too much of their money. The training program, while intensive, is an extremely beneficial base of knowledge for any Sales Representative to have, and I can't imagine how any of our competitors' salespeople get along without something similar.

Part of this six (or five) month training program entails learning how to understand your customers (or "clients," as we were instructed to call them; I've found that the people you work with don't particularly care what you call them so long as you can deliver on what you promise; somewhere along the way I just accepted the fact that "client" instead of "customer" and "account executive" instead of "salesman" were just fancy ways of veiling what we really do). We learned techniques like reflecting (repeating back to the customer what they say to you in a different way to show that you're striving to understand their statements or questions), objection handling (how you can get around those pesky reasons for not wanting what you're selling), and how to ask the right questions (as opposed to the wrong questions which, believe it or not, really do exist). One of the most important portions of the training centered around understanding that, from beginning to end of your sales cycle, customers are always going to have one thought somewhere in their minds:

What's in it for me?

I have the acronym, "WIIFM," scrawled at the top of nearly every planning sheet that I did for the mock meetings in the mock projects that we were mock selling during the training program. Every time that I was going to be in front of someone that I had to convince to like my company, my solution, and more particularly, myself, I wanted to know exactly what I had to offer them apart from my charming personality and devastatingly handsome looks, complete with powerful eyebrows. Considering WIIFM should be one of the first things that any successful salesperson considers before approaching a customer. If you don't have something to offer, why should they even bother sitting down with you? Talking with you? Breathing the same air? People naturally have a negative perception of salespeople, despite the fact that everything they have at some point, somewhere, was sold by one of us. It's that negative perception that makes walking into a superintendent's office on a cold call a potentially nerve-racking experience. But that's a topic for another time.

The WIIFM principle has become something that's crossed over from the customer-salesperson world into the realm that we've come to know as "the general public." It all depends on perception, sure, but from what I can tell, much of the world now isn't interested in anything unless it delivers something for them. There's no such thing as a free lunch, right? People don't just give to give anymore, they want something in return. Personally? I prefer favors to money. It's like that episode of the Office where Dwight Schrute tries to be overly kind to everyone in order to collect enough favors to get Jim fired. People rarely just do kind deeds anymore to do them, there's always strings attached.

This all came to my mind tonight for some reason when my sister came to stay with Meghan and I for a while. She graduated from Southeastern University in Lakeland a few weeks ago, spent the holiday break up with my parents in Dahlonega, and just came down to stay with us in Tampa today. We live in a three bedroom house, one of which is my home office, so when we knew she was graduating and wouldn't really have an abundance of opportunities in North Georgia, we offered to let her stay here until she could find a solid job and a place of her own. So tonight, while just hanging around, I got to wondering why exactly we did it. I remember sitting at our favorite breakfast/brunch spot, Cafe Fresco (A+++, would buy again!), bringing up the subject with Megs and talking it over. We brought it up because we know that we can provide a positive environment for her and that the area has more opportunity and more of her friends around than Georgia would. But really? WIIFM?

When I thought about it, the only thing that comes to mind is that we're getting the satisfaction of knowing that we're helping. We didn't offer up a room because we want to get some rent money or because we want to be owed something. We love our sister, and we want her to be happy. Thinking about all this started to turn my position on the whole subject; it made me realize that if we're doing it, maybe there are people out there doing something for nothing, or at least performing acts of service out of nothing more than love. Those are the kind of thoughts that give you hope, that make you believe you can really make a difference. And who knows? Maybe we will. All we can do is try... and let God take care of the details.

Part 2: A Two-Part Series

2010-01-04T22:09:00.002-05:00

So... is it satisfying?

OF COURSE IT IS. I'm not going to sit here and be all "high and mighty" about it and say that it doesn't make me feel good about myself or meet some of my needs. Playing games is fun, there's nothing wrong with that. That feeling that you get when you achieve a high score or take out one of your good buddies with a sniper rifle, you just can't measure that level of satisfaction.

At the same time, it's not everything. Deep down, I know that part of why I play games so much is just to pass the time. Growing up, I always had an overactive imagination. I started a superheroes club with several of my friends, none of whom were anywhere close to being as interested in it as I was. I hid in trees and imagined that everyone I knew was a robot or an alien, and how this would inevitably affect my life. I drew a book of superhero and supervillain characters complete with fictional names and profile pictures. I created my own written language. I invented the "Poppin" and convinced my Spanish teacher that it was real. Along with Ryan Earnhardt, I inspired Super Scooter, dreamed up stunts for our own version of "Jackass," and directed/acted in our senior class spoof of "Survivor." This wasn't just childhood fancies. This was all the way through high school. I did all of this because I was always thinking. I can't explain why, but my mind is always working, always scheming or dreaming or imagining. Sure, it's slowed a bit these days with the responsibilities of an adult life, but that part of me will never go away.

It pops up on most days whenever I have a long commute for cold calling or a trip up to Dahlonega to see my family or even over to Port Orange to see Meghan's. Part of why Megs suggested that I start writing every day was, I'm sure, to keep my brain active and my thoughts flowing. It certainly helps. In the few days that I thought about getting this whole roll started, I thought of dozens of ideas for blog entries, plenty of concepts that people would be interested in or that I would be passionate about. Obviously there are going to be days or nights where this will slip my mind and I'll have to play catch up, but that's part of the game. This isn't just a resolution for me anymore: it's a challenge. Each day I get the chance to level up, to chalk up an achievement each time I hit "publish post," to compete against the clock to get it all done in time. And in the meantime? Maybe my readers (both of them) will learn something. Maybe this will make somebody laugh. Maybe they'll actually be entertained. I'll admit that I'm striving for it sometimes, but this is mostly about just sharing what's on my mind. I don't want to force it. I don't want to feel like I'm struggling to put fingers to keyboard (today's version of pen to paper). I want it to be natural... smooth... effortless. That's when you know you've gotten good enough at the game to dominate. And that, my friends, will come soon enough.

Part 1: A Two-Part Series

2010-01-04T17:22:00.004-05:00

Well, that took all of three days into the year to miss my first "daily deadline." But you know what, that's OK. I decided after I realized that I'd missed it that I would just have to write twice today to catch up, so this here is my first of a two part series called, "A Two-Part Series."

I love games. I'm not sure if I've talked about this yet and I'm not about to scan down the page and read through what I've already written to check, but I'll say it again: I love games. Any game. You could make one up right now and, odds are, I'll want to play it.

I've often tried to figure out exactly what it is that makes me so addicted, and I've narrowed it down to three things: entertainment, competition, and achievement. This is why I particular enjoy games online where I can compete with others, particularly my friends, and games where I can play for an extended period of time without having to restart or reload or beat it too quickly. Facebook, kongregate.com, the XBOX 360, they're all constant distractions and attractors haunting my world and calling my name. Whenever someone beats me? I have to play again... immediately... and do everything that I can to prove that I'm the best.

Entertainment is where my true passion lies. It's why I do the vast majority of what I do: I like to both entertain myself, but more importantly, entertain others. And when they're happy? I'm happy. I've always got my mind running with schemes and games to try on others to see what works.

As far as competition goes... I'm not sure what it is that drives me to want to beat other people. I think part of it is just wanting to be a part of something, to know that I'm at the very least involved, and at the very best, superior at something. Growing up I always felt that I was good at several different things; I've always prided myself on being diverse and competent at most anything I apply myself at. However, I never fully believed that I was the best at anything. I remember participating in an art competition where we basically had to draw whatever we want to on a certain size piece of paper, an 11"x17" if I remember correctly. I drew a picture of our school cafeteria. That's probably because that was the only free time I had in the 3 grade to draw without getting into some kind of trouble. On the back of the picture, I implored whomever would be judging the competition to keep in mind that I had "never won anything before," so that, if they were on the fence about whether or not my finely crafted Crayola creation was championship material or not? They would have a little extra justification to make their decision.

That probably also ties into my desire for achievement. One of my favorite aspects of playing Call of Duty online is "leveling up" every once and a while or competing challenges as you play against friends and strangers alike. It shows that I'm getting better. It gives me new weapons and "perks" to work with to further accelerate my achievements. It's addictive to say the least. You can probably guess where I was last night when I was supposed to be writing... Welcome to my world!

All of this explains why I played most every sport available in high school, why I hold the high score in nearly every facebook game that I'm privy to, why I spend at least a little time every night (if possible) hunting down strangers in the back alleys of a Kerbleckistan drug house or a smoking missile silo, my undying love for laser tag, and why I make up random games to play in my head as the day goes along.

But does it satisfy me? That, my friends... might be part two. I haven't decided yet. Stay tuned.

Class

2010-01-02T23:05:00.002-05:00

I half-promised that I'd elaborate more on my experience at the Gator Bowl yesterday, so I guess I have to half-deliver. Already this writing every day thing has become a challenge, but that's how many commitments are at the beginning, they're hard to remember that you've even made them. Regardless, I did have the inspiration for a topic yesterday, but not the energy. Today, I have a measure less of inspiration, but the energy level is high enough to take a run at it.

I often find myself imagining what it would be like in someone else's shoes. I think that's part of what makes me a "people person," the fact that I try to envision how others think, how they see the world, try to anticipate what they'll do or say. That's how all the men of my family are, and it's likely what draws us to careers like sales. It's all about relating to people and understanding them.

So when my dad, Eric, Brandon and I were standing against the rail yesterday with the wind and rain at our back, and we could feel the gangrene slowly setting in at our feet, and when we were running out of things to say and didn't want to talk for fear of the cold seeping deeper into our bodies through our open mouths, I got to thinking. I thought about the symbolic nature of the weather, about how it was fitting for the event itself. This was the end of a man's career that had lasted over 40 years. He was forced out of his career, out of the only thing that he's even known, and God's response was to send bitter cold, blistering wind, and rain that fell like snow. He made it clear how he felt about it all.

With the feeling slowly trickling away from my body, my thoughts wondered to exactly what was going through Coach Bowden's head at that moment. It was about 10:25AM, just a few minutes before he was scheduled to walk into the stadium, and I tried to imagine just what he would be thinking. Was he angry? Pensive? Overwhelmed? Overjoyed? Reminiscing? All this ran through my head as scores of his former players walked in front of us on their way to meet Coach as he got off the bus. I wondered what he would think when he saw the dozens of men who he had led over the years coming to honor him. I wondered what I would feel. I wondered if anyone would ever know what it would be like to walk in his shoes. I doubt it. That's the thing about Bobby Bowden: there will never be another one like him. He's one of a kind, and, quite frankly, they just don't make men like him any more.

I kept right on wondering as the band played the fight song. This was one of the last times that he'd hear it. I wondered as the fans at the entrance of the walkway began to cheer louder and louder, signaling his approach. I thought how incredible difficult this must be for him, but at the same time how this has to touch his heart. This man gave everything that he had to this team, to this university, to these men, to these fans, and all that we could do was cheer, chant his name, wave signs that said "Thanks Bobby," and for some of us? Hold back a tear or two. After the game, he said that those moments, where he was standing right in front of us in that unforgiving weather, those were the hardest moments of the day, the only times that he almost cried, that he almost lost that strong exterior... but he didn't. He held it together, as he always has, and displayed one more time that unmatched level of sheer class that Florida State University has benefited from and witnessed for the past 33 years. We'll never see it again.

I can't express how much it meant to be watching and thinking all of this with my dad standing right next to me. Since I am my father's son, I know that he was probably thinking of many of the same things. And while Bobby's private life was never public, I imagine he was much the same with Anne and his children and grandchildren as he was with Warrick Dunn and Derrick Brooks and Charlie Ward. A good man... a great man. And standing there watching this great man who so many have revered and cherished for so long? It made me want to be better. It made me want to have that moment some day. I'm almost certain I'll never have thousands showing up to chant my name as I say my goodbyes, and I know I sure as hell wouldn't be able to hold back those tears. As the title says, I'm an emotional kind of guy. But I want to know what he was thinking on that day. I want to know what it's like to inspire people, to lead people, to have them look up to you and one day wonder just how I managed to do it all with such poise and dedication, such class.

One day, maybe I'll have that moment. For now, I'll have to savor the fact that I was there for his, watching him take it all in with his wife at his side. The signs all said it for us, but I'll say it one more time.

Thanks, Bobby.

Scoreboard.

2010-01-01T23:14:00.002-05:00

So I'm lying on the couch at my in-laws house in Port Orange, and I'm about ready to pass out, but I have to keep my daily commitment! It is the first of the year after all... and that's when these things are technically supposed to begin. Being that I'm absolutely exhausted, I'm going to keep this short and most likely expand on this all tomorrow.

The Gator Bowl was fantastic. Despite the 15 mile per hour winds, the constant, drizzling rain, and the unnaturally bitter cold for a Jacksonville New Year's Day, it turned out to be a beautiful day. The boys and I got to stand on the front of the rail as Bobby Bowden made his last walk into the stadium, and I managed to get a picture of the back of his head. We sat at the absolute furthest point from the field at the top right corner of the stadium. We sat in what was deemed the West Virginia section. And for the first ten minutes of the game, we had to deal with Mountaineer fans mocking the Seminole faithful with our own War Chant. And when one of the drunk, obnoxious hillbillies in front of us decided to turn around after their second touchdown made it 14-3, WVU, and say with his squinty, drunken eyes, "It's gon' get ugly!" ...it incensed me. There's nothing like talking trash in the first quarter. I'll admit, I've done it before, and I'm sure I sounded just as ignorant.

But after 26 years of being a sports fan, there's always one comeback that people like that are always forced to recognize. And when the full 60 minutes of football had been played, the sun was shining, the rain had gone away, and the Florida State Seminoles sent Bobby Bowden off into the sunset with a win for the ages. That's when I looked down in front of us to deliver the crushing blow to Skeeter and the gang, but they had already fled. But if they hadn't decided to get out of dodge just yet? Then I'd have said it to their face.

Scoreboard.

33-21, FSU. Go Noles.

Short and Sweet

2009-12-31T16:38:00.002-05:00

OK, so I'm going to keep this short and sweet, and you'll find out why in a second.

Eric and I just got to the hotel in Jacksonville and got up to the room, which, first off, is NOT a suite, but a room with two double beds and little else. That'll be fun. Second off, we've already had a nice middle-aged gentleman asking if we're headed to the Landing and need a ride.

"Uh... no... we're going later." I was raised to not get into cars (or vans for that matter) with strangers, and this guy was STRANGE. Regardless, I'm off point.

When I bought the tickets for the Gator Bowl I bought them in a special four pack. The first "special" thing that I realized after committing my order was that the tickets would be in the Big East section, which means that we'll have a much higher ratio of West Virginia fans in our section than we would on the other side of the stadium. Still, I'm holding out for the very real possibility that Jacksonville Municipal Stadium will be overrun with Garnet and Gold, so it won't really matter. One of the other special inclusions in the four pack is a lanyard badge that gets you into the Budweiser Tailgate Party before the game for free. When I first got all the tickets and paraphernalia in the mail, this seemed like the coolest part. It talked about how you got a free drink at the party and a couple other special offers. I chalked it up as awesome and haven't looked at all my swag until today.

Today... I looked on the back of one of the badges and found out that there was a SECOND side to the paper on the back of the badge that I hadn't even peeked at yet. On this side... was an offer... for HALF OFF OF LASER TAG.

Ladies and gentlemen, my ship has come in.

To put it in perspective for you, whenever I'm hanging out with anyone and they can't think of anything that they'd like to do, my first suggestion is always laser tag, even if I know they'll hate it. My parents have pictures from my childhood of my brother, father and I playing a homemade version of laser tag. For my fifteenth birthday, me and a handful of friends spent a good hour at the skating rink playing laser tag with the Beastie Boys "Intergalactic" blasting through the speakers, even though we requested anything but that song. Even since then, I've been addicted to the live experience. Honestly, I should get a membership.

So, long story short, Eric is one of a handful of people that ALSO loves to play laser tag, and since he and I both have passes that entitle us to half off the regular price, we're going to be out the door shortly, mowing down unsuspecting seven-year-olds and sniping oafish teenagers.

As my wife would say: SUPER PUMPED.

So close...

2009-12-30T23:03:00.004-05:00

...yet so far. That's one of my favorite sayings from my childhood. I still say it all the time. It's 11:03PM at the time that I'm writing this, and I've almost missed my "daily deadline." So close... but I've made it. I still have 57 minutes. I could ramble and ramble for nearly an hour and I'd still make it. HA!

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and while it's not my most favorite of holidays, and it's loosely a holiday at that, this one promises to be better than most. I'll be away from my loving wife and golden retriever in Jacksonville. That's not the good part. That part sucks. I'll be hanging out with my brother-in-law, Eric, until my Dad and old college roommate and groomsman arrive most likely late into the night. We, my friends, will be going to the Gator Bowl.

I bought tickets to the Gator Bowl the day that they went on sale, December 1. On the rather surprising news that Bobby Bowden would be retiring after Florida State's bowl game, and the subsequent request he made to stay in Florida for his last game as well as to face his old team, the West Virginia Mountaineers, rumors swirled that the Seminoles would be headed for Jacksonville Municipal Stadium and the Gator Bowl. It was either that, or maybe the Champs Sports Bowl... or maybe the bowl selection committee would do what my alma mater did and treat a legend with a smaller measure of respect that he deserves, than he earned. I took a calculated risk and bought a prepacked four pack of tickets and crossed my fingers. It paid off.

I grew up a Florida State fan. Although both of my parents are from the fine state of Georgia, and even though I was born there in the fine city of Moultrie, GA, I've spent all but 3 months and two semesters of my life living in the Sunshine State. That being the case, my father understood that he'd need to choose between the Gators, Canes, and Noles at some point, and for whatever reasons, it was the Garnet and Gold that got his allegiance. He stays a die hard Georgia Bulldogs fan to this day, and an Alabama fan on the side, but in our house it was always Florida State that was on the TV on Saturdays. I watched Bobby Bowden lead his team to the promised land and the NCAA National Championship twice, more memorably against Michael Vick and the Virginia Tech Hokies in 1999. I remember Warrick Dunn and Chris Weinke. Unfortunately, I also remember Chris Rix, Jeff Bowden, and the slow, painful fall from grace that my Noles have suffered over the past 10 years.

At one of our homecoming games, I remember a group of students about 4 rows deep and 10 seats wide unfurling a "FIRE JEFF BOWDEN" banner. It had to be a harbinger of things to come. No more than 5 years later it was a similar sentiment from the boosters of the football program that wanted to see the same fate for Jeff's father and the second-winningest coach in NCAA football history. In fact, Bobby Bowden broke Bear Bryant's record before Joe Paterno passed him later down the line. Regardless, 14 straight years finishing in the top 5 and 2 National Championships apparently aren't enough to earn you the right to call your own curtain call. Bobby Bowden is essentially being forced out of his coaching role before he's ready to step down.

That's what makes this trip so important, so great. While I'm not crazy about being away from Meghan on New Year's, while I'm not crazy about the day or Eve itself, I can't wait to the go to the Gator Bowl. I can't wait to be there in person for a legend's ride into the sunset. I'm not sure how I'll react or what I'll be thinking when the final seconds tick off the clock, but I know that I'll be telling the story to my children, to my grandchildren, and to anyone that will hear me tell it. Whatever that story may be, I'll be eager to share it. And hopefully I'll be close enough to get a glimpse of the legend himself before it's all said and done. And if not? I'll just get to say it again.

So close... yet so far.

In all fairness...

2009-12-29T11:49:00.002-05:00

...like I said, I'm a starter, not a finisher. But damn it, I'm not going to quit now.

I'll start by saying that I could never have dreamed of a better wife. Meghan is beautiful, intelligent, caring, thoughtful, considerate, loving, funny, adorable, and strong. She's the kind of woman I hope to be some day.

On our way home from Christmas with my family up in the North Georgia mountains, she managed to stay awake for all of the drive but about 30 minutes just after downtown Atlanta. It has to be some kind of record. Usually, once that constant road vibration starts, it turns the car into the perfect place to nap. Not unlike waves gently lapping at the shore or the songs of crickets keeping you company on a starry, country night, the soothing sounds of I-75 make her as relaxed as can be. Next time I'll bring along a recording device for all those nights that she finds me in the office, saying she can't sleep. "Well have I got the perfect solution for you..."

But, as always, I'm getting off the point.

She suggested that this year, for my "New Year's Resolution," that I should dedicate myself to writing more. But not just more: every day. With her checking e-mails and facebook every night, I have the perfect accountabilibuddy to make sure that I'm keeping pace. I agreed. Writing more never killed anybody apart from a handful of our founding fathers and biblical heroes, right?

And then, on a related note, I heard that one of the best ways to make sure you keep your resolutions is not to set an alarm, tell all your friends, or set up punishments for yourself, but to start now. As in right now. The moment that you think of it. So, here I am, not in the moment but in the mindset, writing. I'm not giving up. I'm not standing idly by. I'm active. I'm thinking. I'm... resolute.

I know that I probably won't be able to write every single day. Odds are, somewhere along the way, I'll be away from a computer for a full 24 hours. In today's day and age, though, that's becoming a slimmer and slimmer possibility. A more likely scenario is that, in these first few days and weeks, I'll be reminded by my ever-loving wife that I still have something to do before bed in addition to brushing my teeth and tucking her in, and I'll spend the wee hours of the night trying to think of something interesting and insightful and ingenious. I work best under pressure. Hopefully all this will teach me to work best period. We'll see. Keep watching. I'll be here.

Riding the Wave

2009-03-30T22:54:00.006-04:00

As I've come to learn over this crazy ride called "life," there are going to be highs, and there are going to be lows. It's easy to remember both, and mostly difficult to remember what comes between them. I won't rehash my life history to give examples, I'll just move on to what's more recent.

Over the past few weeks, I've gone from hating my job and wanting to simply cash it all in to appreciating my job and wanting to be the best that I can be. It's amazing how that transformation can take place. You see, about three weeks ago I found out over the course of a few days that the three big projects that I'd been working for several months were all going to be put on hold, one of them permanently. Now, I didn't have any pipe dreams about winning all three, especially not the one that I firmly lost, but I certainly expected to get at least one of them. Of course, that's the problem with high expectations: sooner or later, you're going to fall short. This was one situation where everything seemed to just fall apart around me.

I felt defeated, alone, unworthy... all the things that go through your mind when you come out on the losing end of things, or least when you thought everything was going right only to find out that you were completely in the dark about the reality of the situation. Plenty of people will console you and try to find the right solution to cure your ills, but, really, there's no good answers. There's nothing that can really make you feel better at that point, and I was at that point.

But, as the opening paragraph asserts, there are going to be those lows. And, as hard as it is to believe in that moment, there are going to be some highs as well. After those three projects fell apart, I realized that I had nothing going on as far as my work was concerned. I was essentially starting from scratch with no leads on the horizon. But here we are, three weeks later, and I'm busier than I've been in months. All of sudden, I don't feel that sense of failure, I don't feel defeated, and I certainly don't think I'm unworthy. Quite simply, things just... turned around.

Isn't that amazing? Isn't it just preposterous how things can go from completely awful to wonderful in that short of a swing? We've all seen it happen before. My only recourse is to thank God for what he's given me... to thank him for the opportunities that others haven't received. I thank him every day for my family, especially for my wife and for the relationship that we have. Because throughout all these highs and lows, as we're riding the wave, there are constants in ours lives. In my life, it's God, Meghan, and my family. They will always be there for me in the greatest moments and in the worst, and they've proven that over time.

I'm not quite sure that there's a point to all this, and I don't think that I meant to have one in the end. I guess all I'm really trying to say is cherish what you have, whatever state it may be in, because you're there for a reason. If you're down, then thank God that he gave you a sense of humility, a sense of powerlessness, and a sense of humor, because that's the only way you'll stay focused on who's able to get you out. And if you're up, then thank God for your blessings, for all the things you have that others don't, and to look where you might be able to help pull someone else up to your level.

OK, I know I said I wouldn't give any examples, but I feel like this is a story that needs to be told.

Back before Christmas, Meghan and I went to the pet store to pick up food for Chief. As we got out of the car, we found a rather substantial sum of money (I won't say how much, but it certainly wasn't just a few bills). It was just sitting there, right in the middle of the parking lot. I immediately picked it up and flagged down the family that was leaving in their car, asking if it was theirs, but they said it wasn't. Not knowing quite what to do (if we give it to the store, how do we know someone won't just keep it for themselves?), we held onto it, not doing anything with it. On the way home, we discussed what we might do: give it to a church, buy things for a families for Christmas, etc., something charitable in general, but we never really settled on anything. I started calling it "the Jesus money," since it felt like God just dropped this in our lap to aid to some worthy cause. And for the longest time now, it's just been sitting there, on our kitchen counter, waiting to be delivered.

As I type this now, that stack of money is right here, on my desk, about to get sent out. Earlier this month, Meghan and I got a letter from one of my dearest and oldest friends, Hannah. This is a girl who has been through more than her fair share of lows in her life, from a murdered brother to the other one contracting brain cancer, from the church kicking her pastor father out to a painful addiction that almost took her life, and managed to survive it all. Back when we first met each other, she always talked about how God had called her to foreign missions. Somewhere along the way, that fell completely out of the question. But somehow, someway, God has brought her back to him, and has given her the opportunity to go do what she's been called to do. All she needs is prayer, love, and sponsorship.

So as Meghan and I talked and considered how much we wanted to give, it hit me. This was our worthy cause. This is what we stumbled across the Jesus money for. Here, in one fell swoop, was a way to make sure that this money went back to his cause, and for his purposes. We're giving this directly to one of God's greatest miracles that I've had the privilege to witness, and we're helping to take someone who was once in one of the lowest of low places back to the highest of highs where God intended. I think I have the point now.

I'll wrap this up with one of my favorite verses, the one that essentially changed my life back when I was 15. It comes from Matthew, and it's actually rather prophetic here. I've put the part that I've always known in bold, but the rest is too good to leave out.

9 ³⁵Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. ³⁶When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. ³⁷Then he said to his disciples, "The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. ³⁸Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field."

10 ¹He called his twelve disciples to him and gave them authority to drive out evil spirits and to heal every disease and sickness.

²These are the names of the twelve apostles: first, Simon (who is called Peter) and his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee, and his brother John; ³Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus; ⁴Simon the Zealot and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed him.

⁵These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: "Do not go among the Gentiles or enter any town of the Samaritans. ⁶Go rather to the lost sheep of Israel. ⁷As you go, preach this message: 'The kingdom of heaven is near.' ⁸Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give."

Only a Dream?

2009-02-23T23:11:00.005-05:00

Ever since I can remember, I've felt like God speaks to me through dreams. I remember my first case of deja vu when I was in kindergarten: our class lesson on Moses seemed so familiar, down to the last details. I remember not long after that dreaming about middle-eastern men surrounding men with guns drawn in a great arena, waking up, and naturally scurrying to my parents' bed. I remember my sophomore year of high school, at our old house on Dateland Ave. in Palm Bay, I had several dreams on the week of Easter that were so vivid, so deep and realistic, that I remember them in great detail to this day. Last night was the latest.

Meghan is always concerned about safety, about making sure that every door is locked, that the garage is closed, and that windows are shut. I'm always aware of these things too, but it's not the first thing on my mind. However, last night I found myself in the middle of a very graphic dream that had to do with this very thing. I was standing in our living room talking with a random character from a game that I enjoy playing (I'm not sure if there's deeper meaning to this, but I was playing it just before bed) as I stood near the front door of our house. It was nighttime. Suddenly, in my mind's eye, I watched the lock start to slowly turn behind me. "Dream Me" took notice and whirled around, twisting it back into the locked position. However, the resistance on the other side didn't stop, and I found myself in a battle with this unseen force to keep my house safe and protected. They tried to turn the handle, to unlock the door, and to barge their way in, but I held on with everything that I had, and even had to get help from the random character to make sure it stayed shut.

I woke up and my heart was pounding. I immediately wondered if this was just a dream, or if it was God's way of waking me up to some very real terror. All I could think of was what I would do if it was real; what would I do if someone had invaded my house? How would I protect my home and my family? With all this racing through my mind, I tried to calm myself down and remember that it was only a dream. Suddenly, I could swear that I heard the front door open. I froze. It was the dead of the night, somewhere around five in the morning, and I was terrified. I didn't know if I was just imagining it, or if I had really heard it. I lied there in dead silence, waiting to hear something, anything, trying to sharpen my senses in the darkness, trying to quiet my heartbeat. Soon, though, the sleep overtook me again and Meghan's alarm went off for her to get up. As she was in the shower, I pressed my ear against the door, trying to hear anything that may be lurking in the rest of the house. Finally trying my luck, I cracked the bedroom door, looked through the house, and found it just the way we had left it the night before. It was all just a dream...

It was all so real. It was one of the scariest things that I've ever dreamt, and I've dreamt some pretty scary things. But the more that I thought about it through the day, and even in that moment, I knew that it all had a deeper meaning. I've come to realize that the home is my family, our marriage, our home together, Meghan and I. And the door: it's the gateway to that home, allowing various things in and out. The lock is the measures that we have in place to protect that family, that marriage, that home. The random character? Maybe that's Jesus... he seems the most likely candidate. And that force... that force on the other side of the door... that's all the things that try to invade our life, to invade our home and terrorize us, to strike fear at our hearts where we should feel safest. And there I am, holding onto the handle and the lock, struggling and fighting to keep that door shut and our home safe.

As I've thought about it all today, those feelings and those scary, silent moments haven't left me. I've kept reminding myself of them in order to make sure that I don't forget. I don't want to forget what it felt like to be helpless, to feel out of control, and to know that the only thing standing between our family's safety and our fear is God. Sometimes in life it takes the "crisis moments" to bring us closer to him and to force us to acknowledge his presence, but I don't think that God wants me to wait for that moment to see him. I think he wants me to know, now, that he's here, and that he's always going to be right there alongside me, keeping that door closed and keeping me and my family safe. But at the same time, he wants me to know that I have to fight too, that I have to fight every single day to make sure that those protection measures stay in place. I have to be the man that my family needs me to be in order to keep our marriage from invasion, to keep our home from fear, and to make sure that we stand close to God. Otherwise, that force creeps in, that fear returns, and we'll be left with our hearts pounding, wondering what we can possibly do to escape it all. I never want to know what that situation really feels like.

It had been a long time since my last "poignant" dream where I knew God was clearly trying to speak to me. I honestly couldn't even tell you what the last one was. But this lesson, this dream, is something that I won't ever forget. The feelings may fade, but the lesson has been learned. I hear you, God, loud and clear.

New York, New York!

2009-02-17T16:57:00.006-05:00

As a young boy growing up on the east coast of the most northern section of South Florida, I was still somehow brought up Southern. This naturally had to do with my parents, both of whom were raised as good Southerners themselves in turn by their good Southerner parents. A part of this upbringing is learning to hate all things that fall north of the Mason-Dixon line, which, of course, is a rather ambiguous line that I couldn't begin to tell you where it lies. I could tell you, though, that New York City and all things surrounding it (Boston, Connecticut, etc.), was "Yankee" territory, and as such wasn't even worth thinking about.

Of course, then I married a girl whose family raised her like a good Ohio family would, and she naturally grew to like most anywhere, so long as it has somewhere for one to take an inexplicably long walk. New York easily falls into that category.

She spent a little over a month in the city this past summer training for her job and living in a dorm in Harlem. I visited her up there towards the end of her tenure and had a great time exploring the city despite my upbringing. I came to realize that the yankee folk weren't all that bad, although I'm sure some deep-seeded part of me cringed here and there. Anyway, it was a good enough experience to know that we'd enjoy coming back there someday.

So, we put a plan together, saved some money, shopped around, and found the best deal possible for a New York vacation. Christmas was right out because of costs and our collective desire to spend it with our family, even though she really wanted to see the Rockefeller Christmas tree, and New Years quickly followed suit, simply because nobody likes to be around that many people at once, even "woo girls." (you know, the kind that shout out "woo!" whenever anything remotely exciting happens: their round of drinks arriving, spotting Mr. Handsome across the dance floor, piling into a cab like their playing sardines, etc.) We settled on Valentine's Day weekend, which just so happened to coincide with President's Day weekend, giving us an extra, free day off from work.

IT WAS GREAT. We stayed in a hotel that we could have never afforded without the shopping around and experimenting with different packages on different websites, and the rest of the rather uppity crowd staying there could tell. I think it had something to do with us strolling in carrying a "thank you!" bag from a random drug store/candy distributor wearing our GAP and Express clothes while they lounged around in the lobby sipping $18 martinis in their 9-piece suits and Rolex watches. Whatever, we have character. I was always taught that was more important than money any day of the week (expect maybe Saturdays... I can't remember).

We did the usual site-seeing and restaurant hopping. We looked out over the city from the Empire State Building's 86-floor observatory (where the wind was whipping at about 35 degrees), we spent a couple hours looking at things we couldn't understand in the Museum of Modern Art (including some rather provocative pieces that even I blushed at), I lit up like I was six years old again when walking through the massive halls of dinosaur bones at the Museum of Natural History (the highlight came when Meghan and I sat down to rest our legs, and I overheard the woman on her other side claiming that a certain bone collection was a stegosaurus when it was CLEARLY a brontosaurus; I begged Megs to scold her, but all I got was a look that told me to quit nerding out), and we spent a couple afternoons in a row walking around Columbus Circle and Central Park. We ate barbecue, Italian, pizza, hot dogs, cupcakes, muffins, chocolate chip pancakes, "carrot hash," a B.E.L.T. sandwich, and I discovered a new love for the "cafe au lait," a half-coffee, half-steam milk creation that's half as expensive as my traditional latte and gives me about the same kick. Overall, we probably did more eating than site-seeing, but it was all awesome.

The best part, though, was just getting away together. For the past week or two, I was sick and then she was sick. Her parents were here for her birthday, I had to take a trip to Tallahassee, I had to take a trip to Orlando, I had to stay up late working on presentations, she had to stay late at work to finish weighing people in, and on and on it went. Our lives just started to take over our time together, and we both needed to push the reset button and just take a step back to catch our breath. To have a few days that were unplanned and unscheduled, to unplug and unwind, to hold hands and take a walk together, to sit on a bench and simply watch God's nature flowing, it was what we needed. She said it best when she pointed out how nice it was that there was this big, beautiful park in the middle of this always-moving, always-busy metropolis for people to take a step back and breathe. It was almost a metaphor for the way the past couple weeks had been for us, and it really tied the whole trip together.

Of course, on the way back, I manned up and took the middle seat, only to have the sneezing/coughing/sniffling teenage boy with the overgrown hair and a severe lack of couth sitting next to me. That's how much I love my wife. Lucky for her, the connecting flight to Tampa didn't have a middle seat, or she'd have shown how much she loves me too, believe that.

But now we're back, and it's back to work. I don't dread that so much, I just dread the laundry that we'll have to do tonight. NO THANKS! Of course, if we were still in NYC, we'd have to drag it down to the corner coin laundry and wait for a spot behind all those loud-mouthed, opinionated, liberal city-folk. Damn yankees.

My One Love

2009-02-05T20:38:00.009-05:00

Tomorrow is my wife's birthday, the first that we'll celebrate as a married couple. She's out right now with some friends from the school that she works at, enjoying things like sushi and martinis, things that even she couldn't get me to eat. Sure, now I'll try sauteed spinach without questioning it and take a big bite of baked mahi-mahi without a second thought, but sushi? PASS.

This picture here is from our wedding day, the best, happiest day of my life, of our life. I cannot fathom a more perfect day than the one that we committed ourselves to each other on. The weather was great for mid-May in Florida, everything arrived on time as far as food and set-up, and no one got lost (that we know of). But most of all, she was beautiful. I knew all along that I was going to cry in front of all of our family and friends, but it didn't matter. Seeing her round the corner in the rose garden and smile down the aisle at me was too much positive emotion for me to register. All the excess emotion came streaming out... It's like the blog title says: I'm an emotional kind of guy, I'm not ashamed to admit it. And honestly, there's no one who brings me more joy than the woman that I vowed to forever hold as my one love.

Now this isn't meant to just be a sappy, "Oh look at how happy we are together," post, it's not. I just want the world to realize that there are still men out there who are completely in love with the woman that they've committed their lives to. I've told her since the day that I realized I love her that she has made me a better person, and that I could never see myself with anyone else any more. We've been together over five years now and it's been the best years of my life. And although there have been hard times and some difficult challenges that we've had to face, we've faced them together, worked through them together, and I firmly believe we've set a good example for all the couples and individuals out there who are looking for someone to emulate.

So anyway, without getting too far into it, I love her. I told her long ago that she's my "heroine," the woman who's simultaneously saved my life and become my addiction, and she still is. She's always supported me in everything that I've wanted to do, while at the same time, she's made sure that I understand the big picture in things. So often I'm impulsive and reactionary, wanting to just go-go-go and get into all kinds of crazy situations (I'm a "starter," remember?) like getting married before we'd been dating for a year. She's smarter than that. She's more grounded than that, and she's passed that strength onto me. Of course, I'm still a little impulsive, but we balance each other out that way.

She also just found out recently that I'm a closet nerd. I secretly harbor all sorts of nerdy habits and hobbies, and despite just now realizing that, she's going to tough it out and stick with me. It's one of what we call "secret single habits." I won't tell you what hers are (marital privilege), but she can if she wants. Suffice it to say, she loves me regardless of whether I like to... well... nevermind, I'm keeping mine secret too.

So here I am, waiting for her to get home so we can enjoy one of our favorite past times, Thursday night TV and ice cream, and all I can think about is her. So to my one love: happy birthday. I love you. Oh, and if you're not home soon, I'll be eating your share of the low-fat mint chocolate cookie.

Introduction

2009-02-04T15:42:00.005-05:00

Some people say that the beginning is the hardest part, but I disagree. I've discovered, over time, that I'm what they call a "starter." It means that I can easily kick things off and get them going, but it's finishing the job, seeing it all the way through that really bogs me down and drains my energy. For instance, I love games. All games. Anything. It doesn't matter if it's on something like a PS2, the internet, the playground, or the kitchen table (you know, board games), if it's a game, I want in. But for as much as I love games, I have a dozen of them sitting in my entertainment center right now that I've never had the pleasure of finishing. I have no idea what happens at the end, all I know is that at some point, somewhere, I lost interest and simply walked away. So, all that being said, I have no problem starting this thing, and I've easily wasted a paragraph simply talking about starting it. How's that for a start? Hooked yet?

I suppose at some point I'll have to write about something tangible, meaningful, something that will really touch your life and make you think, "Wow, that was really insightful," and, hey, you might have already done that, so kudos to me if that's the case. In the meantime, the rest of you are wondering when I'll stop rambling and you can start getting some substance out of this. Is it now? The paragraph after this? Maybe on the second page or so? Now you're wondering how the hell I'm going to drag this out over two pages, let alone more. That, of course, brings me to another one of my favorite past times: dragging things on.

I can't tell you how many conversations I've had with work friends across the country where they've been ready to get off the phone but I've decided to have a little fun, extending the call an extra ten, fifteen, twenty minutes or so. And for those of you who know me, that seems pretty contradictory to my phone stigma. I hate talking on the phone. If someone calls me for no reason, just to chat, they better keep it under 5-10 minutes or they'll just make me upset. That being said, if I'm in that playful mood and eager to have some fun with someone, I may do just that. Ask around, it's happened.

OK, now where was I? Oh, right, insightful.

I'm not going to pretend that I've started this thing to make some sort of sense out of life. I'm not trying to delve deep into the human soul and get some deeper understanding of what makes man tick. I just like to write. I enjoy hearing myself talk, and enjoy reading myself write even more. I've found that the written word has its uses. You can think before you type, and even go back and delete things if they turn out to be over the line. That right there is something that the spoken word has been betraying me on all my life. I can't tell you how many sideways glances and embarrassed looks my wife has given me over the five plus years that we've been together. But here? Here, I can slow myself down, make myself think about it, and just take... it... easy... And that's what I want to leave you all with. I can't let you go without something, so I'll leave you with that, my parting words in so many e-mails, notes, letters and conversations. It's a motto to live by, and something to think about when life just gets going way too fast for you. It's what I repeat in my head when things start to get me a little flustered and I find myself getting frustrated. It's simple.

Take it easy.