Almost a year...

As a kid, I remember being irritated by clichés. A large part of my life was spent with my Grandparents, so I was subjected to a litany of them. My least favorite was "time flies."

As a kid, time never flies. Ever.

Even after I got out of school, time seemed to crawl. I wandered aimlessly through my twenties, wondering if I would ever see evidence of time "flying." Working in the electronics department at Wal Mart, time most certainly does not fly. Moving from town to town in radio was hard, but still, a year seemed like two.

My thirties, however, were a different story. Weekends started to feel like one day instead of two. Time spent with my daughter was fleeting and before I knew it, I was forty.

In 2004, I started blogging and came to know a fella named Gene Maudlin, alias Old Horsetail Snake. At first our relationship consisted only of blog comments. Then one night, as I struggled through a divorce, he reached out with a phone call and we talked for a couple of very reassuring hours.

Gene was a good man. Unfortunately, he was also in his later years, and had been a smoker most of his life. For him, time definitely flew.

I went to his blog one day and found an announcement that he had passed away. He's been gone now for almost a year... yet I can still pull up his blog. I read several entries from it tonight. For those of us who only knew Gene via the online world, he will never die. In this realm, time stands still.

Weird thing, the Internet. Every modification of every website... every single click of a key... is a snapshot in time. A placekeeper to remind us what was happening in that tiny sliver of a moment.

Good night, Gene. Your blog buddy misses you. Thanks for making it possible, via your blog, for us to still visit now and then...

I must have caught the flu last night

Our friends Wendy and Chris threw a righteous '007' party last night, where each attendee dressed up as a character from a James Bond movie. As you might imagine, Pussy Galore was well represented and so were martinis.

Em was Dr. Christmas Jones, wearing scrubs and a santa hat, and I was an extra from one of the pool scenes, wearing swim trunks and a T-shirt. Yeah I took the easy way out - although halfway through the night I put on my second 'costume' by applying gold paint to my left middle finger.

Em came home early and I grabbed a ride home later. I must have gotten the flu at the party because two hours after I got home and passed out on the couch, I woke up and had to run to the restroom. I haven't puked in forever.

The flu sucks.

Text me a beer

Ah, drunk friends.

Last night we enjoyed a delicious barbecue at Mike & Paula's with another couple, Wendy & Chris. On the way home, we discussed how those barbecues have changed since we had the baby. Before, we probably would have remained on the patio, built a fire and made smores, consumed copius amounts of Shreks and lied to each other until about 2 am. Now when the baby yawns, we head home to put him to bed.

Apparently the party continued after we left, because at about 9:30 I got two text messages from Mike and Chris, advising me to check my lawn.

Oh boy, payback from the time we TP'd Mike's yard.

It turns out these bastards were too lazy to do an actual TP, and performed a virtual one... which involves little more than saying you did it.

I'll tell you what though... a virtual TP-ing is pretty effective. It made me look, and just for a moment, believe. That's all they needed.

Dr. Mike and Paula and Ella and now...

Anna is on the way today! Dr. Mike and Paula entered the hospital before 6 this morning and the baby will be here soon. You can follow along via Paula's blog.

Anna will share her birthday with my daughter Courtney.

Hey Dave, where's your briefcase??

Back in 1986 Norbert Hopfer used to ask me that question almost daily. "I can't imagine you'll accomplish a thing today without it."

When I first got into radio sales at KFMZ in Columbia MO, I used to carry this ridiculously huge briefcase which made me an easy target for ridicule. Norb was the station's general manager and one of the good ones - a very warm, personable guy that made you want to work hard for him... but he always gave me shit about the case. All in good fun, of course.

He retired soon after I started at KFMZ, but we worked together long enough for me to learn a lot. Over the past 22 years, he has crossed my mind frequently but honestly (and I feel major guilt for saying this) I thought that, considering average life expectancy, he had probably died.

Like, 10 years ago.

So it was a really cool surprise when I took a last minute detour through the McDonalds drive-thru this morning and saw him walking to his car. I thought I was seeing a ghost, so I rolled down the window and asked if it was him.

"Hey, Dave! Where's your briefcase??" That dude has a great memory.

It made me wish I had looked him up years ago. We stood there in the parking lot and caught up on each other's goings-on. He's 85 and hasn't changed a bit.

Out of interest, tonight I googled Norb Hopfer. Nothing. By the time the internets became popular, he had retired.

It does my heart good to know that now when someone searches Norb, they will see this story. Norb is a good man and deserves to be googleable.

I think we should take an hour or two every month and look up an old friend. Do it now and drop them an email. You might be surprised at how many are still alive! (wink wink - sorry Norb)

Impressive

The backyard has now been transformed into a usable space, with the addition of a patio and deck stairs.

Honestly, I am not that easily impressed... but my friends Gary (who built the stairs) and Bill (who poured the patio) are incredibly talented individuals, and I cannot show them enough respect. I wish I had that kind of talent. Absolutely incredible work.

Truly guys... thanks very much.

Some aging white guy in some office somewhere

It's posts like this from Steve Mays that got me interested in blogging:

"I have this fantasy of some guy serving a life sentence. In his cell 23 hours a day. No TV, no radio, no books or magazines... just a computer that can only do one thing. Show the images from my webcam.

What sort of story would he construct from these images. Year after year, some aging white guy in some office somewhere. People walking past the open doorway, sometimes coming in to talk. About something he'll never know. Would he wonder about my moods from my facial expressions? Would he feel as though he knows me after years of watching me, hour after hour?"

Many of us, the brotherhood of the blog, choose to leave the curtain of our window pulled aside a little in the event someone wants a peek. There is worth and interest in all of our lives, whether your view is from the top of the Sears Tower or a basement window overlooking a pond.

A pirate looks at forty

Ron, Gary and I went to see Jimmy Buffett at Verizon Wireless Amphitheater Thursday night, a celebration of my birthday and my first experience with 18-thousand parrotheads.

It was a good time, although as usual, the Riverport sound sucked. Buffett talks frequently between songs and it was almost impossible to understand him.

A Buffett show is sort of like the Grateful Dead, minus halucinogens and micro-buses, plus mini vans and margaritas. The tailgating was absolutely incredible... every vehicle in the parking lot had its own party, with Buffett music drifting above it all like a steel drum fog.

Buffett is an interesting dichotomy. As Ron said, for him it's party music. In my estimation, it's quite the contrary - I listen to Buffett when I'm feeling mellow. If you strip away the veneer his lyrics are quite provocative.

The struggle to find happiness:

There's an island in the ocean
Where the people stay in motion.
Somewhere on the old gulf stream
Do they live or did I dream?
They are changing channels
Waitin' for their sails to fill.
They'll be changing channels
Always will.

Regret of time and money wasted:

Yes I am a pirate
Two hundred years too late.
The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder
I'm an over-forty victim of fate
Arriving too late...
I've done a bit of smugglin'
And I've run my share of grass
I made enough money to buy Miami
But I pissed it away so fast.
Never meant to last...

And the song that describes my feelings about another birthday:

No, you never see it coming
Always wind up wondering where it went.
Only time will tell if it was time well spent.
It's another revelation
Celebrating what I should have done
With these souvenirs of my trip around the sun.
Yes, I'll make a resolution
That I'll never make another one...
Just enjoy this ride on my trip around the sun.
Just enjoy this ride
...Until it's done.

Back in the day

"Woem 2 you old friend... Greetings from Kermit."

The subject line of the email left no doubt in my mind who was writing. An old buddy from high school was Googling his own name (haven't we all) and it pulled up a blog entry I wrote a few years ago, so he emailed to catch up a little. We haven't talked in twenty years. The internet (and specifically the free access that blogging provides) is so freaking cool!

Ironically, I had Googled this buddy a few times through the years and came up with nothing. That he found me in reverse fashion is nothing short of miraculous, I'd say.

A nickname I developed in high school was Woem. It's meow backwards, a reference to my last name, Morris - which was the famous Nine Lives cat. We must have done a million 'ludes to get to Woem.

Quick "Kermit" story. Clintoris, Kermit and I went camping one weekend at somebody's cabin out in the woods. Most of the night and morning were spent imbibing various illicit substances and by the time we had packed up to go home, we had developed a fairly profound case of insobriety.

At the time, I was driving a pretty sweet 1965 Dodge Coronet with a .318 8-cyclinder. On the twenty mile trip back, buzzing like a saw from the Coors, Kermit decided to reach over and shove the shifter into park. Trouble was, I was driving 40 at the time.

Meanwhile, we had gotten the engine really wet and one of the cylinders had stopped firing... so by the time I dropped the guys off, I had only 2 forward gears and 7 cyclinders to get me home.

The next Monday I bought my '73 Gran Torino. That helped me get over being pissed at Kermit.

He and I also used to share a flask of Southern Comfort during band class occasionally. We never got caught, and I have no idea how.

Sometimes I miss being a kid and living in the country. Things were simple - no worries at all. That's only an illusion, of course... but still.

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We've settled on a name for our son. I'll let you know what it is as soon as he's born. We're only a few days away...

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I had to replace my good camera (it died for some reason) this week, and ended up with a really sweet Canon SLR. It's the EOS 40D, and I'm loving it.

We'll save a fortune on photographers for Sparky alone. All I need is a backdrop, some lights and ... um, what else was it again? Oh yeah, photography skills.

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We're getting ready to pour a patio behind the villa and build some stairs down to it from the deck. We want to open up the backyard for Sparky to play in and for entertaining. I have my eye on the sweetest freaking grill you've ever seen. If you're a guy, get a drool rag because I'm posting a picture. They've run me out of Home Depot three times for loitering nearby:


There are freaking spotlights on that hood that shine down on your sizzling steaks. Sweet-ass sweet!

So my point to Em is, Father's Day is coming up, right? My birthday too. You can combine the two and I won't even be pissed.

Here's to... (a toast of a post)

Here's to guilt. I haven't had time to post like I used to - or maybe I just haven't had much to say for the past couple of months.

Eh, who am I kidding. I've had plenty to say, it's just that most of it pertains to a new baby, and GOD knows you don't want to read a constant stream of infant-oriented blather.

Sometimes, though, I DO have an occasional thought that doesn't deal directly with a baby - or the fact that I'm 43 and will be 60 when he graduates - or that barring medical miracles, I will spend my retirement money on tuition and die at my desk.

A few of those thoughts are listed here, now.

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Here's to birthdays. My good friend, and "guy-who-turned-me-on-to-blogging-even-though-he-didn't-know-it-at-the-time," Steve Mays' odometer rolled over this weekend. He turned 60 and doesn't have a child graduating this year.

By the way, bookmark Steve's blog. I've never gone there and been disappointed... unless he skipped writing something for a day or two.

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Here's to you. My blog's odometer rolled over too - registering its 200,000th hit this week. Thanks for continuing to visit, despite the irregular posting. I am about to address that issue with a series of travel stories from my frequent-flyer period of the 90's.

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Here's to crazy midnight alcohol-induced ideas. My friend Mike and I are developing a podcast concept. I'll keep you informed about its progress. Oddly, we only discuss it when we're six or seven beers into a twelve-pack, and it always seems like a great idea at the time. Thinking about it now, with only coffee to drink - eh, not so much.

The concept is basically to record some of the conversations and stories Mike and I tell when we're sitting around the kitchen table. It would be easy to pull off, since that's what we do best. The only drawback that I can think of is that nobody would want to listen. Minor detail...

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Here's to being alike. Last night Em and I stayed home, ate leftovers and watched television. As I was walking down the stairs with a bowl of the best damned chili I've ever made, I told her that the greatest part of our relationship is... if we'd never met, I'd be doing the exact same thing as I'm doing now. We're pretty perfect for each other.

Then we turned on the History Channel and watched a documentary, pausing it every 30 seconds to critique or dispute the tiniest detail. Yep, that's how we roll.

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PS - So um, there are new maternity photos of Em on the baby's site, if anyone is interested. (click the photo link at the top) They are really great. Less than 4 weeks until Sparky...

OK, enough of the baby blather.

The Baby!

He's only about five weeks away, and we're down to the "brass tacks" of preparation.

Em's friends Paula and Carrie, her mother and sister threw a supremely awesome baby shower last weekend, during which my water broke.

I guess I should explain. (not the part about me being at the baby shower in the first place, but about my water breaking) Each person was given a drink with an ice cube that contained a small plastic baby. Whoever's baby thawed out of its cube first had to shout "my water broke!" I won some moisturizer and lip balm. I promptly donated it back to the cause... which was really stupid because my lips are chapped like a beyotch.

We have the world's greatest family and friends, who gave us almost everything we had registered for at Babys'R'Us. (I told Em we should have registered in the Best Buy plasma HD flat-screen department) We are now busy trying to find a place to store it all.

So, at this point the nursery is pretty much finished and ready for Sparky's arrival:


We had our friend's mother paint some pictures on his walls of the animals in his wallpaper. The monkey and tree were done mostly freehand, and came out really well.


She also did some giraffes, which overlook the crib and will probably creep the little fella out.


Some stencil work around the windows and closet doors. If you want the artist's name and contact info, email me. She's really, really good.

The room looks great! The furniture came in cardboard crates that now need disposal. A few years ago, I would have taken them to my former apartment complex dumpster and drop them in at about 2 am. Too bad that's like 20 miles from here now. I thought about burning them in my driveway, but neighbors hate that kind of subdivision misconduct.

Apply directly to the forehead

If you're a consumer who has actually purchased the product Head On, you deserve a headache.

No offense, of course. It's not like you're stupid or anything, it's just... no wait. Yeah, it is like you're stupid.

Ironically the head-bone is the reason that using Head On is a bone-headed idea. If you apply it to your forehead, there is a huge barrier between the medicine and the pain... it's called the skull. Ironically, using Head On makes you a real numb-skull.

Ah, so much irony in such a stupid product.

The funniest line of the commercial (besides the annoying "apply directly to the forehead" crap) is "no prescription necessary."

No shit? Look, if your doctor tries to give you a prescription for this product, you should open your network provider booklet immediately.

End rant.

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I was listening to a song from Buffett's album "Barometer Soup" this morning. Is it just me, or do the words "barometer soup" give you wanderlust?

I love the fact that Em and I have a baby on the way. I can't wait. But it's bittersweet because I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm 43, and have lost the ability to do some of the things I've always wanted to do.

Such as selling all my stuff (except a few pieces of equipment I'd need to do my job) and hopping a plane to Mexico to live on the beach for a year or two. A sunset every night, low rent, a blender with a limitless supply of limes and tequila, a hammock strung between two palm trees. I'd stroll inside a few times a day to do voiceover sessions, then spend the rest of my time swimming in the ocean, making friends with the locals and relaxing with my best friend.

Another dream was to live in Manhattan for a year. I love the bustle of the city. I love the food, the atmosphere, the lifestyle. I could store my vehicles in a warehouse and rent an apartment on the lower west side. I'd go to the diner on the corner every morning for breakfast, (a la Seinfeld) catch some shows on Broadway, hit all the museums, walk in Central Park...

I always wanted to live in a cabin about 9,000 feet high in the Rocky Mountains. I love the idea of spending a couple of quiet years writing, with a snow-covered mountain view for inspiration. I'd keep a fire burning almost constantly, and drive my Hummer into town during a snowstorm for supplies.

I wanted to live in France for a year or two, in a chalet somewhere in the Champagne province, among the rolling hills. From there I would take weekend trips to Normandy, Paris and the Riviera. I'd drink fine French wines, sleep in every morning and maybe invest in a winery.

Among all of it, I wanted to travel to Australia to hike the Outback (the steakhouse is a poor substitute) and experience a concert at the Sydney Opera House. I wanted to see the pyramids in Egypt. I wanted to camp in Yellowstone.

Plans change. Life's strange that way. Some of these things Em and I can still do, but much of it is permanently "on hold."

And it's all worth it.

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I forgot to mention that our friend Mikey and I won a contest for funniest Halloween costume!

We dressed up like the guys from the "dick in a box" video. (click the link, if you've never seen it - it's hilarious)


The costumes involved quite a bit of preparation. We actually put fake "junk" in the boxes and equipped them with a hinge mechanism so people could open them and peek inside.

Purchasing our rubber "junk" was quite an experience. Let me give you some advice: if you ever go into a dildo shop with another dude looking to buy something, take along a female chaperone. Thanks again, Violet.

To save money, we purchased a huge double-dong and cut it in "half." My part was about 1.5 inches long, and Mikey took the rest. (about 12 inches) We attached them to the inside of the box with drywall screws and adhesive. It's funny how women enjoyed looking in HIS box more than MINE! I thought size didn't matter.


Violet was a pregnant trailer-trash chick with a missing tooth, a pack of Virginia Slims and a Milwaukee's Best Light "tall boy." And still, quite hot.


After our victorious result, we're already working on next year's costume. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

"Ffff-uuuuhh-cccck" says the caterpillar

I am a bad blogger.

Although, if you'd seen my office/recording studio recently, you'd recognize how much progress these photos show. In other words, I actually have an excuse for not blogging lately.

I've been filing papers, hooking up computers, installing software, upgrading machines, hanging pictures, decorating... and between it all, actually doing a full load of voice over work and watching Tivo'd episodes of Scrubs.

Maybe it doesn't LOOK organized. But it is. Trust me. Maybe I should find another place for the decorative "globe." And that joystick? That's for BUSINESS purposes. Sometimes in my job, I am required to fly an airplane, and this will keep me in practice.

Another view of that stupid globe. And the joystick. I might have the only desk with a 5.1 dolby surround speaker system and subwoofer. Maybe not - most cool people have them.

This is a peek into my recording booth. There are no joysticks or globes in there. Just a microphone, headphones, a copy stand and stool.

For two years (embarrassing) I've been in "temporary" mode in my office. All of that is changing now, as I try to get prepared for the new baby next spring.

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Something to try: Wipe your ass while smiling. It's not as easy as it sounds. You end up with sort of a grimace-smirk-smile.

You know you'll try it.

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Emily and I have been discussing our halloween costumes for this year's big bash. We both believe this will be the year she stops winning the "sexiest costume" award. I can't divulge anything more... except to say that if she doesn't win, it has nothing to do with her not being sexy.

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Our schedule is pretty crazy this weekend. We're headed out in a few minutes to the Clayton Art Fair, to check out some of the stuff they call "art." (although if you've ever been in my house, you've seen a sculpture I bought in a drunken haze one year and wondered "WTF?") I'm not taking my checkbook, so it's not likely we'll need to drive the Hummer for it's copious cargo space.

Tonight we're babysitting Ella, and will continue her accelerated education by teaching her combustion theory and chemical equilibrium, and we'll probably touch on quantum mechanics.

Plus, we'll play with her caterpillar toy that you can use to sound out dirty words. You should hear what Dr. Mike made it say last night. I am blushing as I type this, and Mike... you are an animal. Completely disgusting.

Tomorrow, we'll be attending a football party at Bill & Chris' garage. Emily will need to be the designated driver. Again.

That should be plenty for a weekend. I will write more this week and it won't be so boring.

Showering is for sissies

We just returned from the annual camp-out and float trip with about 30 friends, and you just don't realize how much of a panty waist you are until you live outside with only a 5x5 tent, jerky and a fishing pole to get you by.

Of course that wasn't our situation. Sure we had jerky, but also KFC chicken tenders, packs of delicious crab meat, wine and cheese, jello shots, a huge portable CD player with sub-woofer, pre-prepared foil packs of roasted chicken with veggies and a rechargeable tent ceiling fan. Shit, tents don't even have ceilings.

Yet despite all of those "not-a-real-camper" comforts, do you know the one thing that made me a real camper last weekend? I didn't shower. In FOUR DAYS. Not even once.

I was in the river a lot, we swam, floated and waded. But I never bathed in the traditional sense, which makes me a f*ckin'-A camper. I didn't even need mosquito repellant.

Here's a photo of my Hummer, packed with the camping supplies of two couples. If you had tried to pull the wrong piece out at the wrong time, there would have been a deadly explosion of camping supplies, vodka and tent material. You may also find pieces of a pink flamingo as well... hey, even on the road your yard needs to look kitchy. If you look closely in the upper left corner, there's a black bag... thank goodness we had space enough for our deluxe queen-size air mattress with 600 thread count sheets.* Camping just isn't the same without the necessities.

A picture of Violet and me. We may or may not have been in a state of insobriety. Notice the messages on the shirts... yeah, we're just that good.

So let me ask you... if you bring pre-cooked food and have access to showers and buffet food, is it really camping? That was the subject of the great debate around the campfire. (which we lit with a bag of lighter-fluid-soaked charcoal briquets) We are most definitely NOT camping purists. Are you?

The quote of the week was courtesy of camper Bill. When told there was extra ice if he needed any for his cooler, his response was "is it still frozen?" Here's your sign.

Disclaimer: the mattress sucks and the sheet thread-count is only like 150... but that stuff doesn't sound funny at all.

And now, dudes jumping on trampolines!

Ever see The Man Show? It ended every week with "girls jumping on trampolines." I don't need to explain the virtues to you.

I jumped on a trampoline for the first time in 20 years today. More like 30 years. I was a kid in Los Angeles at the time, and the arcade next door to my mom's job had trampolines, and it cost 25 cents to jump for 15 minutes. I probably spent a dollar a day jumping.

Now that I think about it, I was 10 years old, so it's only been 23 years. ;)

And you know what? I wouldn't have gotten on the goddamn thing if I had remembered how much work it was.

We're in Youngstown, Ohio today with my friend Dave Steele. He's feeding us beef. I know that sounds dirty, but it's true... we bought an entire tenderloin at Sam's today and it's sizzling away on the grill right now. Lucky you, I have my camera.

You know you want some.


That's Dave, The Grillmaster. He's a prick and sometimes kind of feminine but he's OK.

Tomorrow, it's on to Dayton, Ohio to spend time with our friends Russ and Shelly. They have a pool. Emily has her bikini. You'll check back tomorrow, won't you?

Brush with greatness (and by greatness, I mean child molester)

A few months ago, and in a state of insobriety, Emily and Paula purchased 4 season tickets to the Muny outdoor theater at Forest Park. (note to self: do not relinquish credit cards to intoxicated women)

Last night we attended the Muny's production of Grease. Eh. It was okay. The lead actress (the part of Sandra Dumbrowski) was vocally a little weak. Otherwise, it was pretty decent.

While dining at Jimmy's on the Park prior to the play, I snapped this picture* of Paula.

Not that she's not picturesque, but I was actually taking the photo so I could share this inset with you.


Dude is totally Woody Allen. Minus the perversion and filmmaking genius. Subtract 25 years and add a foot onto his height, and he's a dead ringer.

I got to wondering if people actually TRY to look like celebrities, or if it's just the fact that there are only so many face types.

I've been told I look exactly like Brad Pitt.**



*Pictures taken with my new iPhone - great quality for a PDA, right?

**Maybe they said I looked like a friend of Brad Pitt. Either way.

In search of a firm stool

I don't generally discuss poop but I'll be honest - when they say "don't drink the water," believe it.

I'm freshly back from Mexico and I can honestly report that if you're planning to visit the Grand Palladium in Playa del Carmen... do plenty of research. We walked 3 to 6 miles a day just getting from our room to the buffet, beach, pools, watersports, restaurants and bars. They have a train-type shuttle running between the lobbies of the four different resorts, but they were usually full and ran only every 20 to 30 minutes. For us, it was way too big. My feet still feel like hamburger because flip-flops aren't meant for freakin' l-o-n-g hikes.

But we had a great time anyway. Smoked some Cubans, ate some local food, and popped Immodium like candy.

We traveled with seven other people ranging from a doctor to an English guy to a hawk-eared teacher. Some of the quotes from the trip:

"Yoouu carrrr-(burp)-rrry my f*#king shoooes." - Dr. Mike, in the midst of a mean-ass tequila drunk that it took seventeen hours to sleep off, to his wife who was trying to corral his ass and get him to bed. He missed dinner and maybe drank 3 more drinks the entire week.

"Aye, aye, aye..." - Head down on the table, Ada, the Brit Hooligan Englishman, on the evening of the same drunk as Dr. Mike. One of the three guys who got completely shit-faced, he was the only one to regurgitate vomit puke his guts up in the Asian restaurant powder room.

"Don't eat the fish." - Ada's advice to a guy who walked into said powder room during said puking. I'm pretty sure the guy left the restaurant immediately.

"Eep, opp, ork, ah ah" - The stupid Jetson's phrase that got stuck in our head at the adult pool one day. I guess all the nekkid boobies weren't enough to occupy us.

"I always cut the netting out of my slacks." - Dr. Mike... by "netting," he means the mesh found in the lining of swimming trunks, and by "slacks," he means "I'm drunk when I'm saying this."

"If you're planning on doing only one excursion while you're in Mexico, you should take the trip to the Mayan ruins of Chichen Itza." - the Apple agent in the hotel lobby, helping us decide which activities we were planning to enjoy while on our trip.

"Why the hell should I take a trip to chicken pizza?" - Mike Cornett, right after the Apple guy did his schpiel.

"Hey, they put more pool in the water." - Diana Cornett, self explanatory.

"My cammmerra gott stollllllenn." - Uncle Mikey, who completed the trio of drunkards on the fateful day when he got back to his room minus his cammmerra. He forgot he had given it to Diana for safe keeping.

"Y'all are gonna have the shits." - Emily, through the window to people seated in the Brazilian restaurant 24 hours after our trip to same.

"Something back here smells like cheese." - Paula Williams, just seconds before somebody discovered that someone had shit on the floor in the aisle behind us on the bus. I kid you not. Apparently, that person had also been to the Brazilian restaurant.

"These freakin' Mexicans." - The bus driver talking to us immediately after cleaning up said shit. Funny part, he was totally a Mexican.

"What do you think, Emily?" - Everyone, when trying to decide what to do that day. My significant other became the point person of the trip, doing the bitching, breaking ties, and making decisions on behalf of the rest of the group. Her innate ability to control children in her classroom came in handy all week.

To those who went on the trip - if you can think of other quotes, please post them in the comment area.

We had a great time... but again, long story short - don't drink the water.

Or go to the Brazilian restaurant.

Autoreply: Out of the office

At this time, I'm sipping a drink with an umbrella in it. I'm sitting on sand. I'm seeing blue. I'm with friends. I'm with my baby.

There is this incredible feeling of peace that has come over me. I'm not worried about anything right now... except that Em's smiling, and if I brought enough shorts.

No shirt, no shoes, no problems. See you on the 28th.

Hanging

The Sopranos ended their reign last night and it was quite climactic.

Except for the part about having a climax.

Although there were a million indications of what Tony's final fate might be, (mysterious guy in the diner, AJ's strange final twists, Paulie's weirdness, the flirting with the FBI, the likelihood of an indictment ahead) ultimately the viewers were left to draw their own conclusions.

Honestly, I needed closure. In my opinion, the guy who had kept viewers on their heels for eight years needed to commit to an ending - a real "WTF?!?!?!"

And I suppose he did... but not in the way I anticipated. We were left to provide our own final puzzle piece. In the words of the Journey song that was playing in the final scene, "the movie never ends, it goes on and on and on and on..."

Pretty ingenius, I guess. He left us with one final wince.

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My high school reunion was mostly exactly as I thought it would be. Violet and I had a great time, we saw a lot of old friends, and discovered that a couple of them had moved to our area.

I got the chance to visit face to face with Blogarita for the first time in forever... it was great to catch up a little, although there was very little time for genuine reminiscing.

Actually, that's one thing I did very little of that night. I never once uttered the words "remember that time..." I figure the best memories have yet to be made.

As I sit here trying to think of more to write about the event, I realize I have nothing else to say. It was fun, as high school reunions go.

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I have an issue with zipping my pants. Well, actually REzipping.

For whatever reason, if I undo everything and retuck my shirt or whatever, I sometimes forget to cinch things back up. Why do I forget to reinterdigitate my fly?

And why do we call it a "fly?"

It's a good thing I don't do commando.

Anyway, if you see me with the "barn door" open, quietly tell me. Then I'll ask you to kindly stop staring at my crotch.

Bezball been beddy beddy good to me

We went to the Cardinals/Angels game last night, an affair which we lost 9-6, but before which we tailgated mightily... as shown below.

Diana & Mike (the Cornetts) and Emily are caught in a natural, non-pose moment. They had no idea I was snapping this picture.

In this picture, we're sitting on the sidewalk in front of the new stadium. Behind us, some of St. Louis' natural fauna - weeds that are actually growing out of the cracks in the sidewalk.

Ah, memories of tailgating in years past. I was watering a bush during the 2005 season when Dr. Mike caught me in a candid moment. Bastard.

And now, we're piling in the car to head to Warsaw for my 25th HS class reunion. I am looking forward to seeing old friends and catching up. I told Emily she can go with me to my reunion, but I won't be going to hers. I can hear it now: "Hey, who's the old guy?"

Have a great weekend!