Automotive Schizophrenia

When we first moved to Arkansas, I drove a nice Yukon, comfortable, big, rode like a Caddy. In the spring following our arrival (04), I decided that with all the travel I was doing, the big Yuhoe was sitting at the airport 70% of the time feeling lonely and neglected. So I drove to Tulsa to trade it for a little Toyota Tacoma. That truck was great...there was no worrying about where it went and what it was doing...it was one tough little bullet for a regular cab 4 banger. It carried the Yamaha through some nasty terrain in the Ozark National Forest and never even batted an eye. Then how do I repay it? Well, I quit traveling so much and was spending more and more time with the little guy so I traded it for something bigger and more comfortable and not paid for. Thus begins the journey which I have now diagnosed as a classic case of Car Buying Schizophrenia...look it up, it's real. The silver Taco became the white 02 GMC, which was really nice, I have never had my own car that was loaded with leather and HEATED SEATS! However, something about that purchase always haunted me no matter how enticed by the leather I may have been. So I kicked it to the curb last July and decided that if I was going to have a truck payment, then I wanted a new one with warranty and my own scratches. Well, it is now March and a new year. And a new (old) 4Runner. I know, it is sick and twisted. But, it will soon be paid for and I will be back in the bliss of the old silver Taco.

Mont-y Memories

While my GF and two cherubs are spending a few days of spring break at CC and Pappa's house, I woke up thinking this morning of all the life lessons I learned at The Mont. The Mont, for those who don't know, is the quintessential patio of life. On a balmy Sunday evening in early June 1994, shortly before the much anticipated release of The Lion King, six friends began a legacy. Door Jamb, Marianne, Cherry, Coaster, Blue Star, and me Drummer Boy witnessed the genesis of the Sunday Drinking Club (Sigma Delta Chi). Ah the magic, the highly insightful philosophical discussions, the humanity. I am by nature a very nostalgic person which means I am a keeper of memories and somewhat ungrounded to reality. Because of this, I hold many treasures in boxes scattered around my house, garage, attic...you name it. At the prodding of my beautiful and practically minded wife, I have managed to whittle those memories into two densely packed containers. During this process I came across a book titled AN URBAN AFFAIR. This title and even its author have no bearing, but the book itself is sacred. It sits within the bookshelf of our family room as a silent reminder. You see, this book was used to keep meeting minutes each Sunday. The group would sing the high praise of Hakuna Matata and fill the pages with Sharpie ramblings, some illegible. I started thumbing through the book this morning and I was laughing so hard I had tears and stomach cramps. There was a fair amount of drama, like super sleuthing past the Sig Ep house late at night to see if Marianne's ex was out with a girl affectionately known as Claymation, or the 89ers baseball game night, or any Wednesday night at Incahoots...whew those were the days. Isn't it funny how the older we get, the harder we cling to those days? Maybe its just me. The ability for us to make memories is the reason we live. Each day we look forward to the next great memory until one day when we are old and gray looking at the book of life and hopefully saying, YEE-HAW that was good! Sunday will be here before we know it, perhaps a reunion is long overdue!

Lenten Addictions

It's the second year I have given up my addiction to Diet Dr. Pepper for Lent. So tonight I am sipping on the remains of my Sonic Raspberry Iced Tea and about to pop open a Diet Peach Snapple (I know, it's like giving up liquor to start smoking, but cut me some slack I'm being spiritual here). If you have never found yourself imbibing in a Snapple, then you have no idea of the excitement one can find when popping the top to reveal the "REAL FACT" hidden on the underside of the lid. Today, I learned that a hummingbird's heart beats 1400 times a minute. This is some really useful stuff. It is almost as exhilarating as Laffy Taffy jokes or Bazooka Joe cartoons. This brings me to my point: my desire to sacrifice one addiction has created a new equally addictive concoction which contradicts the purpose of the sacrificial addiction. But it sure is fun...for 40 days each year, I expand my collection of useless trivia. I bet you didn't know Manhattan is the only borough in NYC that does not have a Main Street. You would have, if you had read Real Fact #266.

The Obligatory Welcome

Bienvenue ! Les boissons sont de ce côté-ci. The drinks are here. Hmm, my high school French and the lackey 5 hours I had freshman year are FINALLY paying off. Thanks Mrs. Dobbs! This little corner of cyber land is dedicated to my random thoughts, insights, anecdotes...and general what-not. Enjoy my free therapy!