Friday, April 29, 2005

Arbor Day

Today is Arbor Day, kids. Go hug a tree, you filthy unwashed hippies.

Oh, who am I kidding - I'm a bit of an environmental nut myself. Hell, I did spend a year in AmeriCorps cleaning up the horrbly dirty rivers in Massachusetts. On one river clean-up we pulled out more than 90 tires and another 20 or so shopping carts from one patch along a river.

So, go hug that tree, or maybe plant a buddy for it.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Reggie, pt. 2

Damn blogger, randomly erasing posts. Okay, anyway, here is part two of 'Reggie.' I struggled while writing this part, and I don't think it's as well-written as the first part. But hey, it is a rough draft. And I just wanted to write and post something to both keep it fresh and not keep you guys and gals waiting too long.

Also, thanks for the nice comments about part 1. If you haven't read part one, scroll down a few posts and catch up.

And now for your reading and critiquing pleasure, part two of Reggie:

-------------------------
Reggie laughed, softening a little. Trina was a tad irritating, but he had to smile because she was persistent. She seemed genuinely interested in his story.

He sighed loudly and decided to tell her just what happened.

“I make suitcases. That’s my real job. It’s what my father did, and it’s what I’ve done ever since I was old enough to operate the machines. A couple years ago, I started seeing this woman around – a beautiful woman. Her name was Rebecca. I did everything I could to get her attention but it never worked. She didn’t seem to have an interest in the suitcase-making world. Then one afternoon I met someone who knew her and told me that she had a thing for guys who did HVAC installations – you know, heating ventilation and air conditioning.”

Trina nodded. Reggie noticed that she looked very intrigued by his story. His eyes drifted back toward the pond.

“Anyway, I had to know her, I had to know more about her. So I did it. One day I pulled out this old work shirt I’d taken from my old roommate Al – who was a mechanic – and put it on. I actually got up that morning and said, ‘today I start a new life, I am also Al, the HVAC guy.”

“Did you actually know anything about HVAC?” asked Trina, who had by now leaned in more due to her interest in the story. She was absently twirling her long, dark hair with one finger.

“No, no way,” laughed Reggie, looking at Trina again. “The closest I’d ever come to HVAC stuff was the one time at the suitcase factory when I got stuck in a vent while trying to retrieve a suitcase roller wheel that had deflected in there when a machine jammed.”

Trina laughed and clapped her hands together. “Oh my god, I’ve totally gotten stuck in a vent before, too, -- Except I was trying to find a fake nail that had flipped in there when I slapped my sister during a fight.”

Reggie laughed, too, “Oh, when you two were kids, that’s funny.”

“No, this was actually last week. But please, go on.”

He stopped laughing and looked at her. She smiled him again, her eyes blank for a moment. After a moment Reggie shook his head and looked back at the pond. The parents of the swan invasion family were now in a heated argument.

“Okay,” Reggie began again. “Um, yes. I wore my shirt out that day and stopped by the coffee shop where I always saw Rebecca. It was right across from my job. I remember walking in there confidently with my ‘Al’ shirt and some dirty jeans and boots. She was standing by the front desk – god, she looked so beautiful that day. I remember exactly what she was wearing: a green skirt and a shirt with little flowers on it.” Reggie paused and smiled for a moment.

“I walked up to the counter,” he continued, “and said to no one in particular, ‘boy, today will be a tough day in the HVAC business, I have so many appointments that will keep me busy for hours.’”

“That’s hot,” Trina said. Reggie looked at her again. She was smiling, and he couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.

“Right, so,” he paused to get back on track. Reggie’s eyes grew nostalgic. “As soon as I said that, she looked up from her triple mocha latte half-caff and our eyes met – it was pretty awesome. There was a spark. And we struck up a conversation, and hit it off from there.”

Reggie smiled, watching a pair of ducks swim together. Trina watched the ducks for a moment as well, but wanted to know more.

“Did you have to read books on HVAC to really know how to do it, you know, to be convincing when she asked you about it?” she asked, looking back at Reggie.

“I read a few.”

“And what exactly wowed her about HVAC guys?”

“The fact that our complex job could be turned into a simple acronym,” Reggie replied, turning to face Trina once again. She stifled a giggle.

“I’m serious. She was fascinated and enchanted by abbreviations. Before me, she had dated an FBI guy, a SWAT guy, a PR guy, and a former GI.”

“The doctor?”

“No, the type of soldier – but apparently she broke up with him because she got him confused one time with this new crush she had on a GI doctor.”

“BS!”

“Nope, doctors get an MD.”

The conversation paused for another moment. The swan-attacked child, now unattended to by his arguing parents, wandered back toward the pond.

“So,” Trina continued, still intrigued, “how long did you keep the HVAC front going?”
“It was two years of me constantly inventing new HVAC-related acronyms to keep her interested. I loved her so much, but she was so easily distracted. So my obsession with all things fake-HVAC eventually wore on my real job. I was distracted at work, and very tired. My performance suffered.”

To be continued...

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Not just yet

Sorry, folks, but I have not yet finished "Reggie." That's because I did my meteorology homework last night and got sucked into a Red Sox game. Forgive me. I do think that I'll be able to wrap the story up tomorrow evening, if you can wait that long without hunting me down and forcing me to divulge just who Al is and what Reggie did.

To be honest - I don't know yet. I wrote this story by just starting to type and rediscovered how much I love creative writing. Actually, it's a lot like the improv comedy I do. I just started writing without really thinking about where the story would go. I had a very rough idea in my head, but it's slowly changing. Anyway, the loving wife told me I should make this into a serial novel - like Dickens used to do, and then I could just finish it by leaving lots of ends untied to frustrate my readers. I don't think I'll do that, but possibly having someone describe my work as Dickensian is almost cool. Mostly because it's fun to say the word "Dickensian." Go ahead, try it.

I appreciate all the nice comments about the story thus far. It does need some editing and some rewrite work, but I'm glad everyone seems to be drawn in right now.

And to help get you through another day of no Reggie updates, here are the long-awaited photos of "80's Televangelist Amy" and "Flock of Seagulls Me" at the 80's Prom:

Click here.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Reggie, pt. 1

Okay, I actually wrote something this weekend - but it's not finished yet. Yet I didn't want to not post anything, so here's the first part of this story, and you guys can tell me what you think so far. You can leave suggestions, and maybe I can turn it into a choose your own adventure story if someone offers an interesting enough way for this story to go. So, critique away. And be gentle, like that nice cushy two-ply toilet paper you'd really like to buy, but maybe isn't exactly cost-effective for you. Wait, that makes me sound like I'm the ass in this situation, and I don't like that. My brain hurts.

Just be pleasantly constructive, folks.

And now, part 1 of the temporarily-named "Reggie."
----------------------------------------------------------------

Reggie stood in front of the bakery, a wrapped baguette in one hand and the handle to a suitcase in the other. Inside the window display were rows of pastries and rich desserts along with an assortment of fresh-baked breads.

There he stood on a busy sidewalk, busy pedestrians brushing and bumping past him as he gazed through the window. As usual, he was in the way.

He hung his head for a moment, reflecting on some passing notion as the bakery window reflected the world behind him. When he looked up again, he saw a tired-looking man in the window and it took him a moment to realize it was his own reflection. His short dark hair was messy and his face was unshaven. His dark blue work shirt was stained and dirty, but it was just clean enough to make out the “Al” name patch above his left chest-pocket.

He sniffed quickly at the reflection and shifted his gaze elsewhere, turning to face the street.

Reggie took in the scene first-hand now. The day was beautifully bright and clear, with not a cloud in the sky. The street was full of cars, their drivers not advancing them far in late-morning rush. Everyone was going somewhere, and he thought he might want to do that now as well.

Stepping lightly and slowly, Reggie made his way down the street toward Bunker Park. Perhaps there he could find some quiet and some time to think.

In Bunker Park he found a bench near the pond, where he sat down with a heavy sigh. He hoped he could match the peaceful water scene before him. Several pairs of mallard ducks lazily swam about, taking moments to bob up and down near the sagging branches of a weeping willow that grew on the shore. Two large swans glided gracefully around.

This is peace, he thought. The previous few days were a blur for Reggie. Here it was Friday, and only four days ago he still had a girlfriend, a job, and a home. He unwrapped the baguette and ripped off a hunk to munch on. Mere seconds passed before the ducks gathered before him, looking for a hand-out.

“Aren’t we all, guys? Aren’t we all?” Reggie said with a soft chuckle to his new friends. He threw some crumbs to the ground and watched the ducks waddle and fight over the pieces.

Leaning back to look at nothing in particular, Reggie squinted into the sun.

“Beautiful day, huh?” came a voice from the beyond the blinding sunlight.

Reggie looked forward to see who was talking. A very tall, very plain woman stood before him. Once his eyes had readjusted, she was still very tall and very plain.

“Um, yes. Sure it is,” he answered, holding up one hand to block the sunlight. “I guess.”

She smiled. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m not.”

Reggie looked at the woman. She was wearing a red sweater that was unbuttoned. Beneath the sweater was a screen-print t-shirt with the word “France” written in the shape of the Eiffel Tower.

Her skirt was a red and white checkered pattern he’d seen on picnic blankets. Her smile was toothy. She was neither attractive nor unattractive, but rather someone you’d walk past on the street and think about momentarily before going back to whatever it was you were thinking about before seeing her.

She spoke again. “Did you know feeding the ducks is actually really bad for them? It upsets their migratory patterns. I mean, these ducks probably don’t fly south like they should each winter. Plus, our food is totally not made for them. It’s so processed and full of gross chemicals that they’re not used to. To me, that tips the scales enough to out-balance how cool it is to have such a close interaction with one of Mother Earth’s most buoyant creatures.”

Reggie cracked an odd smile. “I’ll make note of that.”

The woman crinkled her nose and snorted. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry – I don’t even know you and here I am lecturing you on the finer points of bird diets. Forgive me – I’m Trina.”

She extended her hand and Reggie shook it. Over by the pond, a swan attacked a small child.

“I’m Reggie,” he said.

The two stared at each other blankly for a moment before Reggie offered her a seat next to him on the bench.

“Anyway – those ducks and me feeding them – it wouldn’t be the first life I’ve ruined this week,” Reggie continued once Trina had plopped down next to him.

“Oh my god!” she gasped and turned to look at him, “You killed someone named ‘Al’ this week?!?”

Reggie started a bit and looked at her. “What?!”

“You’re wearing a shirt with ‘Al’ on it, but your name is Reggie,” Trina said slowly, pointing at his shirt. “Am I now consorting with a known felon and/or fugitive?”

“Oh, no no no no,” said Reggie with a laugh.

“ – ‘Cause if I was, that’d be totally cool. I mean – it’d suck to be Al, but otherwise it’d be cool.”

Reggie stopped and stared at her again. She smiled as if she knew something.

“No! I didn’t kill anyone named ‘Al’ this week! I had to leave my house quickly a few days ago, and this is the only shirt I could grab on my way out,” he explained. “I know a guy named ‘Al’ and this was his shirt.”

Trina’s smile diminished a little. “Oh, okay,” she said with a sigh of disappointment.

Reggie’s look of incredulity grew. “Who are you?”

“I’m Trina, silly,” she said. She poked him in the arm and said, “Got that, Al?” Trina laughed at her joke and snorted.

Just behind the bench, a loud construction crew arrived in a large truck.

“No,” Reggie answered, “I mean who are you? You show up here, tell me I’m ruining the migratory patterns of ducks and then ask if I’ve recently killed someone? Who does that?”

He had turned to fully face her, setting down the baguette and putting his left arm on the back of the bench.

“You’re totally right – who am I to do that stuff?” Trina said, looking down and smoothing her skirt with her hands. Reggie looked back toward the pond.

The two were silent again for a few moments, Reggie lost in his thoughts of who this woman was next to him and Trina staring at her skirt. Both waited for the awkwardness to disappear.

Several minutes had passed before Trina again spoke.

“Do you know you’re toting around a suitcase handle?”

“Yes,” Reggie replied, still looking straight ahead. He was absently chewing on the baguette.

Trina turned to look at him, and then at the handle resting on the bench between them.

She brought her look back up to him again. “I mean it’s just a suitcase handle – there is no longer a suitcase attached to it,” she pushed.

“I am fully aware that it is only a handle,” he answered again with little emotion, and he then took another bite of the bread.

Another minute passed. Trina’s face went through a series of expressions before trying again.

“Why?”

“Because I really loved that suitcase.”

“And this is all that’s left of it?” she pushed again.

“Yes.”

More time passed, and Trina’s face again was a list of emotions as she held an internal forum on all the possible reasons Reggie was carrying a handle and what had actually happened to the suitcase. Back near the pond, the parents of the swan-attacked child dragged the screaming and crying boy back to their picnic blanket.

Trina started to push again with a “Well then--” but Reggie cut her off.

“The suitcase was a beautiful brown leather case into which I had shoved what belongings I could before being thrown out of my house this week by my girlfriend – who had just discovered that my name was not ‘Al’ but rather Reggie.”

Trina’s eyes had grown wider by the second as Reggie quickly spewed out the terse explanation. Reggie was still looking straight ahead.

“Are you one of those guys that has multiple wives and families in multiple cities? I saw a tv show one time that talked about that, and there was this one guy who traveled a lot for his job and had a wife and kids in three different cities and she was totally pissed….”

Trina trailed off when Reggie turned and looked at her. The construction crew several ten’s of feet behind the bench had rolled out a backhoe and jackhammer and were loudly digging a trench in the sidewalk.

Reggie looked back toward the pond and continued. “No. I only had one job. I never traveled. But I did pretend to be someone I was not, and it burned me in the end.”

“And the end was this week?” Trina asked.


“Yes.”


“Who did you pretend to be? A nightclub singer? A tattoo artist? I could think up a million things I’d like to pretend to be,” Trina giggled.


Reggie laughed, softening a little.

To be continued.....

Friday, April 22, 2005

Misc.

Thanks to everyone for the writing suggestions. I plan spending some time writing up various stories this weekend. The requests include a Grim Reaper sequel; something involving a duck, a backhoe, and the Eiffel Tower; and something about Penguins. I have another idea cooking in my head right now, so we'll see how that turns out.

In other news, my new addiction is Ebay. I spend too much time on their looking for Cincinnati Bengals stuff, but fortunately I haven't gone out of my head bidding on useless crap. I've only gone after two shirts. But, exploring Ebay really proves that people will sell -- and buy -- anything.

My most recent laugh came when I saw this Boomer Esiason light-switch plate. To me, it seems like the actual light-switch is in a most awkward place for ol' Boomer while he's trying to complete that pass.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

A Challenge

I need some inspiration, folks. Obviously I really enjoy writing, but I think I write much better about non-fiction (my life) than I do when I just come up with fiction topics.

My parents were in town this weekend, and my mom and Amy both mentioned that they think I should be writing more fiction. I'd like to, but I can't ever think of what to write about. As a child, I used to write endlessly about very strange things, and my parents always seemed to enjoy my vivid imagination. They hung a story I wrote about havoc-wreaking giant gerbils on the fridge for weeks because I got an A on it. I liked it because my teacher wrote something like, "Weird, but very entertaining!" on it. This was in high school.

For some reason, I can't come up with as much now and perhaps it's because I'm not in any classes getting writing assignments.

So here comes your assignment, blog readers: give me topics to write about. I find that I do well when given a suggestion. Your paltry reward for giving me inspiration is that I'll post the results here, and you can say "yea" or "nay" to my stories. Love them and/or rip them.

Now, on with it. Give me something!

Monday, April 18, 2005

Double-click

Two Saturdays ago I started teaching a very basic computer course to senior citizens at a community center in Baltimore. The class is made up of 11 elderly women, and they are awesome.

This is my first time ever teaching an actual course, let alone teaching senior citizens. I've taught one-time classes to elementary school students. And that wasn't about computers -- it was about the water cycle and clouds while I was spending a year in AmeriCorps. So, learning how to prepare some curriculum and lesson plans is interesting.

But, I am having a great time, and the ladies are very nice to me. I made sure to tell them in our first class that if I ever talk to fast, to just speak up and tell me to slow down. I have a tendency to use 1 million words/minute when I'm nervous.

And also, when I say a "basic" computer course, I mean it. Well, this isn't the basic basic class that the community center offers, but it's the next level up. I'm teaching them about how to navigate through Windows, use the start menu, use Windows explorer, create folders, use Word, and use email and the internet.

It is challenging to take these lessons to their most basic. I mean, I've been using computers since I was a kid, so I'm very used to it all. Most of these ladies either have never used a computer before (except in the first four-course class). So, some are able to grasp how to double-click on something, and others aren't. Some are able to easily move the mouse around and open files as I guide them. Others have a more challenging time. I've learned a lot about being able to pace a class that has many varied levels of computer experience in it.

The ladies are so great. They stop me if they don't understand something, and the're making me big-headed with all their nice compliments. Think of spending almost two hours every Saturday in a room with 11 grandma's, and you've got my class. I do my best to make the class fun, and I crack jokes here and there to keep it lively. When I make them type up a document, I'll tell them they can write about anything -- from how much they can't stand the Yankees, to how much hot air I fill the classroom up with. They love learning, so I try to throw in some interesting facts as I go along as well. They seemed fascinated that computer experts can still go into your computer and find something even if you delete it, so I jokingly warned them that if they ever make something on their computer that they don't want anyone else to see, they'd better delete it good.

And two weeks in a row now, as I've been explaining something, this one row of ladies will be whispering, "Oh, she is so patient, and smart!" Except it's old-lady whispering. Which isn't whispering, but more like yelling. Plus, the classroom is really small, so I'm only standing about two feet from them while they're "whispering,"

So that makes me smile -- as they could be "whispering" much worse about me. Their weekly evaluations forms are just as kind, with them saying things like "I love her!" and "The teacher is very patient! I am learning a lot!"

I'm sure more good stories will come from this course as the weeks pass.

In other news, last week was the busiest week I've had in some time. I had my meteorology course, my Mom and Dad were in town, I spoke at a United Church of Christ conference dinner, I taught my computer class, had an improv comedy show on Saturday night, and then spent all day yesterday as a volunteering renovating a home in Baltimore. Phew! I'm looking forward to taking a break tonight.....with my meteorology homework.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Travelin' Gal

A last minute work trip has me in eastern Pennsylvania this week, but only til this afternoon. While the trip surprised me at first, I am happy to be on-assignment again because it always reminds me just how much I love my job. I don't mind sitting behind a desk to do my job, but being able to be on site and see things and interview people makes it so much better.

And because I'm in beautiful and scenic eastern Pa., I also got to finally meet another fellow blogger in person: Shannon.

What a great person! Everyone needs to come to the Philly area now and meet her, too. She tried to help navigate me to an Applebee's where we could meet - but I got lost for about 45 minutes. It was just another reminder of how much Mapquest sucks. But, after triangulating my position and shooting off a flare, I finally located this elusive Applebee's and we had a nice dinner/snack. It was a real nice time, and I hope we can hang out more once I convince her to move to Baltimore so she can help Amy start up a young adult ministry.

Also, just as a teaser, Amy and I went to an 80s-themed prom this weekend. I don't have the digitals photos yet, but once I do - I will post them so everyone can see how good a member of "Flock of Seagulls" I make and how good a 80s televangelist Amy makes. She looked like a cross between Tammy Fae Baker and a chaperone trying to be cool at her kid's prom. Very funny. Also, my hair has decided that after achieving the Flock of Seagulls hair look for this party - that's how it would like to stay for the rest of my life. I don't agree with that choice, so I'm in negotiations with my hair to try to find some happy medium. I refuse to let my hair get its choice after it made me have a mullet for several years.

So, the point of that - embarrassing photos of Amy and me to come.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Alive

I am alive and well. Just waiting for some time to post the full report, so check back later.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Countdown

Tomorrow is the big day: endoscopy. Tomorrow a doctor will give me drugs to make me "comfortable," and then shove a camera down my throat for some exciting urban exploration of me.

Just to make it interesting for him, tonight I will swallow some road signs and roadside attractions that will allow for some fun side trips. Maybe I'll swallow South of the Border and 400 billboards so he can get excited by the signs and then be let down when he finally sees what South of the Border really is. Wait, that sounded really gross. Don't take it that way.

Anyway, before I doze off from the drugs, I'll say something like, "Hey, if you find my pen, you'll get a prize!"

I have enlisted my lovely wife to escort me to this thrilling internally invasive process because I've been told I will not be allowed to drive myself home when it's over due to the sedative. My wife will be taking notes on just what weird things I say and/or do whilst sedated. It should be interesting afterwards to hear it from her point of view and then from mine. I think I'll trying saying the word "esophagogastroduodenoscopy" as fast as possible.

This sedation process reminds me of when I had my wisdom teeth removed years ago. They put an IV in my arm and also gave me some laughing gas. They told me to count backwards from 100 and then I'd be asleep for the whole process. I remember saying, "100, 99...." and that's about it. I woke up later to some guy shoving gauze in my mouth. Turns out he was the janitor and the dentists had clocked off hours ago to go get some happy hour drinks.

I'm kidding.

Anyway, the doctor asked me if I could sit up, to which I replied with a cheery (aka, slurred and slow), "Sure!" I sat up, and then promptly fell back into the chair. Once able to sit up, they told me I had to move to the recovery room. I assured them I could walk myself, but it took a doctor and my mom to escort me there after I ran into the doorway several times.

Later on during the walk out to the parking lot, I forgot which car was ours. I also vaguely remember getting a milkshake on the ride home and then feeling horrendously nauseated for about five minutes.

So, here's hoping for no recollection of the process, at least 450 successfully sedated sayings of "esophagogastroduodenoscopy," and a milkshake. Thoughts and prayers are also always welcome.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Of comedy dreams and buggy wonders

Alright, you jerks, you easily saw through my thinly-veiled April Fool's joke. I had to do something, it is one of my favorite holidays, behind only the Fourth of July and National "Talk Like a Pirate" Day.

So, my post was an obvious joke, but Amy's is totally true. She recently removed the engine from my car and stole some horses to staff the now Horse-Drawn Saturn. The process that started off incorrectly, like this, but them promptly moved in the right direction, like this. Boy, was I mad when I saw it!

Anyway, in the spirit of a delightul day full of jokes, puns, and pranks, I thought I'd share two spoof stories I wrote for my disaster responder friends. Enjoy!

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Neighbors reel after hurricanes named for them


Cobalt, Ken. (April 1, 2005) – Jeanne Tristain sat in her home Thursday morning, smoking a cigarette and flipping through old news clippings.


“I am still so embarrassed,” said the 65-year-old mother of four and grandmother of 12. “It took me at least three weeks to leave my house after I hit Florida.”


Tristain is talking about Hurricane Jeanne, a powerful storm that rocked Florida last fall. Despite not at all being related to strong meteorological events in the tropics, she still speaks in the first person about the storm.


“Ugh, just look at what I did to Deltona!” she exclaimed while pointing to a photo from a local newspaper.


Since the hurricane struck Florida, Tristain has been on an extra-hard good deed kick. Already a popular figure in this small eastern Kentucky town of 315, she has been out almost every day since October showering neighbors with brownies, quilts, homemade quiche, and canned fruit.


And oddly enough in such a small town – she’s not alone. Neighbor Frances Robertson knows what Tristain is going through.


“Oh I cannot believe what we did,” said a frowning Robertson, 56, that same Thursday morning. “And the fact that we did it only weeks after the other, I just – I’m still just flabbergasted.”


Robertson was also talking about her husband, Charley.


Charley, a retired 57-year-old mechanic, was in his woodshop that same morning. He felt the same remorse. “What? Oh, yes, I am filled with such guilt,” said Charley, demonstrating his crippling guilt with a dramatic eye-roll. He then returned to busily drilling holes into a newly crafted birdhouse.


“Yes, just what my wife says, I am sad. Exactly whatever she said, I feel like that,” he continued. “Could you hand me that wood glue?”


The Robertsons have united with Tristain to form a support group for those who are also convinced that sharing a name with a hurricane means they did the damage themselves. The group is called the Storm Name Active Recovery Team (SNART).


The three spend their time doing everything they can to redeem themselves in the small town. The townspeople, however, show a general feeling that they describe as being “weirded out” by SNART’s constant attention.


“At first the attention was nice,” noted Cobalt Mayor Buford Grawlings. “But really, those ladies are as sweet as pie – how could anyone ever hold them responsible for some storms with the same name?”


Wanda Hillingsley, member of Cobalt’s First United Methodist Church, has received many pies, crocheted hand-towels, and hand-made doilies from both women. She agrees that SNART’s generosity is now a tad overwhelming, but added that there are positives to it.


“At least we can always find someone to work in the kitchen during our potlucks, bring brownies in for the post-service social time, and serve on every last one of our committees,” she said with a jolly laugh.


She winked and added, “And I know who will be working all week at Vacation Bible School this summer.”


Yet Tristain and the Robertsons remain confounded over the lack of another neighbor’s willingness to join SNART.


“We have been working on Ivan Rogers for months now with no luck,” bemoaned Tristain while sitting in Frances Robertson’s kitchen later that Thursday.


“For some reason we can’t convince him to share our pain and take ownership of just what he did to those poor folks in Florida and Alabama this year.”


Frances agreed. “We’ve got Ivan’s wife Betty working on him, but he won’t budge. Even Charley can’t get to him, even though they’ve been hunting together every weekend since SNART formed. I just don’t know what else to do.”


In the meantime, both women agreed that SNART’s next move will be getting past hurricane name-sharers to join their cause.


“I’ll bet we can get Isabel Torloni on board,” said a thoughtful Tristain. “And I know that Hugo Montoya needs to step up, too. He’s always averting his eyes when I see him.”


Frances spoke up. “He’s been going hunting with Charley and Ivan recently – I’ll get those two to work on him as well.”


----------------------------------------------

States to swap places for the year


TALLAHASSEE, Fla. (April 1, 2005) – In a bold move that has shocked many, Florida and Alaska have agreed to swap places for a year starting June 1, 2005.


“Honestly, it was time for a change,” said Florida during a press conference earlier this week. “We were thrilled to find another state that was willing to trade locales with us.”


A beaming Alaska also spoke at the press conference, praising Florida for its generosity. “We were pumped when we got that phone call,” noted the state, donning sunglasses and Bermuda shorts. “I mean, how many times do you have Florida call you and say, ‘hey, why don’t you try out living in our place for a year?’ It’s awesome.”


The move will be tricky, as both states are taking their entire landmasses with them, but both remain confident that all involved will be happy. Florida pointed to numerous reasons for its temporary move decision.


“Well, um, we’re concerned about the high rate of skin cancer down here and…well, we haven’t seen snow in a long time – maybe never, so why not give all our native Florida kids a chance to see some of the white stuff, you know?” explained Florida.


“Yes, snow and skin cancer. That’s exactly why we want a change of scenery for a bit. That’s it. Exactly.”


“Oh man – you’ll get plenty of the white stuff up there, dude!” Alaska chimed in, after which both states exchanged a series of high-fives and chest bumps.


When asked if possible repeat hurricanes influenced its decision, Florida’s joy turned quickly to a controlled rage and the corresponding inquisitive reporter was swiftly escorted out of the room.


Alaska had a noticeable look of momentary confusion on its face during the brief melee, but the state was then promptly distracted by a bikini-clad supermodel with a Corona.


The press conference ended with the two smiling states posing for pictures as they signed the subleasing agreements. Between now and June 1, both states say they plan on gathering lots of boxes and possibly holding several big yard sales as well.


“I know we’re moving the whole state, but we have a lot of crap down here,” said Florida, pointing to several ugly lamps, a homemade ashtray made in 1972, and Disneyworld.


“It’d be nice to shove some of it off on Georgia or Alabama before we head north. I mean, they’ll buy anything.”

Announcement

I am moving. This is quick and sudden, I know, but it is what's happening. I've decided that I want to try out a career in stand-up comedy - and the only way to really try it out is to move to New York City to start it all off.

Because my dear wife Amy has decided to join another church, and that will take up much of her time -- I've decided it's time for me to strike out and do my own thing for a while.

We haven't really told anyone (except for a few folks) until right now, and that's because we've been really scared that people would think we're stupid by doing something this outlandish and unplanned.

But, you have to go for your dreams, and so we're trying. We are both moving late next week and have most everything in order for right now.

Phew! I feel better now having gotten that out.

Wish me luck!