False accusations at The Fireside Inn.

I had breakfast this morning at The Fireside Inn with my boss and a handful of coworkers. The Fireside Inn is a quaint, local "mom and pop" style restaurant that has a small intimate feel, while seating a surprisingly large number of people. The food is okay; nothing spectacular, but pleasing enough if you're in the mood for a simple meal in a "local" setting. I'm not sure why we all met there. I think we might have been celebrating something, but I'm not sure what. I felt like if I questioned the purpose of our gathering I might look ungrateful or put out to be there and neither was the case. A free breakfast with coworkers I enjoy in a pleasant local setting; I'm in.

We were seated in a comfortable room that felt like it might have been a greenhouse at one time. This gave it a light, airy, and open feel. At one point during the meal I noticed a projector on the ceiling pointing at a pull down screen on the wall behind me. There was a modest stage light with a purple filter that was also pointing at the screen. The best sense I could make of it was a possible karaoke stage although it seemed like an awfully strange venue for such a thing. When I finally asked about it the waitress accused me of being a karaoke junkie and some of my table mates playfully jumped right in. She went on to explain that they don't do karaoke, but they use to host small, local events there. She began to share her passion of karaoke with me under the pretense that I shared her obsession. At one point later in the meal she even brought another waitress to the table to inform her that I was a karaoke junkie. Those who know me well, know that this couldn't be further from the truth. Sure, I've done some in Japan, but it's nearly impossible to escape on that island, and during the experiences I was completely out of my element. Also, in Japan, you're in a little room with just your close friends as opposed to the American style where you're on a stage in front of every stranger in the bar. You couldn't get me drunk enough to do karaoke in America. The waitress had stamped me with a false label that couldn't be further from the truth.

This isn't the first time something like that has happened. One time in college I was on a date with my girlfriend and I chose to bring one of the little throw away coasters home with me because I thought it had a cool picture on it. This isn't something you'd want to do on a first or second date, but we were in a serious relationship of a couple years that allowed for such idiosyncrasies. It was a one time deal with that specific coaster. Well sometime not long after in a random conversation she informed my guy friends that I had a coaster collection. I don't know what in God's name possessed her to do that, but nothing could have been lamer or funnier to my friends than the idea that my girlfriend had just outed me as a closet coaster collector. For the next couple years every time one of them went to a restaurant or bar they brought home at least one coaster and gave it to me no matter how bland or ordinary it might be. They just couldn't get enough of helping me build my nonexistent coaster collection. Although I threw many of them away, so many friends were constantly bringing me more coasters (including repeats of places they'd already brought them from before) that I ended up unintentionally having a damn coaster collection.

Well, I don't collect coasters, and I'm not a karaoke junkie, but unfortunately sometimes a label sticks whether it's accurate or not. So the next time we're at a bar or restaurant don't volunteer me to go on stage and sing, and if you take one the coasters you damn sure better keep it for yourself.

Eat that beard, boy.

"They cut my beard; and forced me to eat it."

This story took place in Kentucky, but it could have just as well been Hendo. That's why I love it. These people are my neighbors, and I have a whole new appreciation for news like this.





It's one thing to whip out knives and guns at a lawnmower sale, but cutting a man's beard off...and forcing him to eat it. Shameful gentlemen...shameful.

A visit from Cashflow.

Tuesday night, my boy Cashflow rode in from the nearby WNC town where he currently resides. We hit up Margaritagrille, downtown, for dinner and a couple beers. It was a Guinness draft night. The bar/grill was fairly empty and the atmosphere was extremely low key. Nothing is set in stone yet, as I still need to try out Hannah Flannagan's (sp?), but M-grille is starting to feel like the go to place; much like The All Star Grill of Winter Haven. We ended up being the last two people there since it was a weeknight and not only did they not run us off, but they offered us another round. Something I can't say for The All Star Grill. Since I'm working on moving up to higher weight class I treated Cash to some milkshakes on the way home. Nothing like burgers, chicken wings, Guinness, and milkshakes. We watched some sitcoms into the evening which still takes me back to "early L.A." days. I ended up crashing though because I'd been awake since 3:50am that morning.

Wednesday we ended up sleeping in a little (much needed). After a low-key morning of discussing future travel plans and possibilities over coffee we headed out to hit up a Chik-fil-a for lunch and more milkshakes. (I'm at the heaviest I've ever been in my life...I might move up several weight classes. I haven't quite decided yet.) The local hop was way too busy so we went to the Biltmore Square mall which has a modest food court of which Chick-fil-a is one of the vendors. It was also on our way to the Arboretum.

Cash had never been to the Arboretum before so I was disappointed to find that most of the plants were no longer blooming, the fountains had been turned off, and some topiary displays had been completely removed. We were able to walk through the bonsai exhibit though which elicited much reminiscing over Japan. We also did some trail walking during which we tried some trails I had never done before. I really enjoyed the new trails, especially one that is several miles long and does a large loop around the property. It would be a great place to go running (assuming you have the year round pass) or to simply hike again. It was nearing closing time when we started the trail and we hiked the last quarter mile or so with just barely enough light to see. It was dark and the moon was shining through the trees.

Today I got up at 3:50am again and went back to work, and Cashflow headed back to his digs. It was a quick visit, but we packed a lot in and it was a lot of fun. I'm off now for dinner and a milkshake. I think it will be Chick-fil-a......oreo.

Wasps, robins and a new focus.

I've become quite comfortable around wasps since moving to the mountains of Western North Carolina. Upon first moving here I was uncomfortable to be within any proximity of them. Now, I still kill them more often than not, but they really don't phase me beyond a normal, healthy respect. Today, I went up to the trailer to get a few things and while sitting on the couch realized that I was surrounded by them. (Okay, it was only five, but the last thing you want when you're relaxing inside is five wasps in your immediate vicinity.) In the early days of NC living I would freak out to find that I had one wasp inside with me, let alone five right next to me, but today I found myself hardly reacting and simply methodically killing them one by one. It's little things like this that make me pause and realize how much I've changed and adapted since first moving here.

As I looked out one of the windows some movement in the grass outside caught my eye. I noticed a little robin hoping about and pecking in the yard. I then noticed two more nearby. Three. Four. Suddenly, I realized the yard was full of them. There were about thirty and more were joining them from the trees. I walked to the other side of the trailer to check the back yard and there were at least thirty there as well. I usually consider myself fortunate to see a single robin or two on rare occasion, and here I was with sixty of them all around me. I had never before seen that many robins in one place together. It was quite enchanting. It's the newest on a growing list of magical moments of nature that I've been blessed with since beginning my journey of mountaintop solitude.

After observing them for awhile from inside I went outside as a mighty chorus of fluttering wings erupted all around me. They almost all flew into nearby trees although a few of the brave (or stupid) continued as though I weren't there. Slowly they began to return one at a time to their feeding in the yard upon seeing that I wasn't an immediate threat, and I was surrounded once again. It was a really neat experience for which I'm quite grateful.

Despite these great mountain moments and being so content here, I'm really starting to feel an itch for world travel again; specifically something with a mission or creative focus. I plan to renew my lease in March for another year, so it will be awhile before embarking on anything major, but it's never too soon to start preparing and planning. I already have a few ideas and a traveling buddy set up, but that's all I'll share at the moment. The interesting thing is, the more I dive into planning and preparing for some major travel, the more I find myself appreciating the area around me as one might who was forced to plan, prepare, and travel a great distance in order to experience it. I'm grateful for this renewed perspective. Through it I will get that much more out of my day to day experiences here over the next year and a half or so. I'll do my best to blog about it as though I were sharing the experiences of a grand, romantic overseas trip because after all, we're constantly surrounded by the exciting and romantic in our day to day lives even if we've been deceived to perceive it as simply the everyday and mundane.

Essentially, although it will probably be more than a year before I embark on "the next big adventure", as far as I'm concerned the journey starts now and I'll begin to live it and share it as thus. On that note, I'll stop here for now so I can enjoy a freshly baked chicken pot pie and some local Cabernet Sauvignon (yes, I know it's better paired with red meat), and then continue my research on a possible destination of travel/project.

You were just a bump on another road to nowhere.

My God. Look at these tattered wings. Broken, bruised, and dirty. It's no wonder I so rarely spread them anymore. I hardly show them to anyone these days. You were a strange exception. I remember when you let your hair down and I first took them out. Hair falls so easily doesn't it?

Hidden under my leather jacket I walk the icy streets, the vibrations of broken flight all around me. Wandering headlights pierce the frigid darkness. Kneeling by a patch of melted ice I see my reflection in the stagnant pool. I can't help but smile as I walk away from another road to nowhere.

I put more distance between myself and the courtly feast that stays behind. Eating, dancing and revelry while thirst the fools who do not join them. Young and lustful it all taste so fresh and novel. The empty cups of worthless charms. The falls into transparent arms. They crucify the sparrow's name and ride the storm to feel the rain. Burn the journal. Tear the page. Consume the lies. Truth is rage.

I leave only my shell behind. Folded hands over quiet chest. Lay the jester down to rest. Save my words if you will. Quote them at the feast, for the young are blind and the old are meek. Leave the ashes and smash the urn. The jackals spit, so take your turn. Run along and party well. Save my words and leave the shell.

Oh, feast of fools. So fun to wallow in the mire and feed from the trough. The dog returns to its vomit. Like glowsticks at a rave, the false light dances as the senses feast in the darkness, grabbing for something real when all is merely designed to tantalize in temporary illusion. But that's what they all came for.

I cross the empty parking lot to a lone car under a flickering streetlamp. Opening the door, I take off my leather jacket, stretch my wings and get in. Radio on, GPS set, I pull out onto the open road that lies ahead.

Preserving the principles of the Constitution.

If you've followed my blog from its inception, or if you've read far enough back through older posts, then you know that while the vast majority of my entries are meant to be humorous and entertaining I occasionally like to shift gears and post a poem, a serious reflection, or a topic I see as important and relevant to the times or my present line of thought, focus, and study. This is one of those posts. I wanted to share a quote by Daniel Webster concerning standing up for and protecting the Constitution of the United States and the principles that it stands for as established by our Founding Fathers.

"...I am committed against every thing which, in my judgment, may weaken, endanger, or destroy [the Constitution]...and especially against all extension of Executive power; and I am committed against any attempt to rule the free people of this country by the power and the patronage of the Government itself..."
-Daniel Webster

Are we just as passionate today about protecting and preserving the principles of the Constitution as our founding fathers and the early patriots were or do we sit back and trust that the Constitution and its principles will preserve themselves or be preserved by those who are in charge? It's a dangerous game to let men of power run about unhindered and unchecked by the people they are said to represent; just ask Nazi Germany.

Let us stay awake, passionate, and vigilant lest we loose these freedoms and this great nation bestowed upon us by the Hand of Providence to the power hungry and corrupt who in turn will gladly offer it as one of ten branches in a one world government that their power might be even more all-encompassing.

Our protection against this is the Constitution. It is as powerful, or as powerless, as we the people allow it to be. God forgive us and have mercy on us should we not steward the gift we've been given.

Not every at bat can be a hit.

Many moons ago, I sat in a classroom in Tallahassee, Florida on the path to becoming certified as an armed security officer in the State of Florida and listened to a retired police officer talk about the importance of first impressions. It was a concept I had completely ignored throughout my recent college career, but for some reason, that night it really spoke to me. I went home and immediately took the earring out of my horribly infected earlobe that had never quite healed after my girlfriend pierced it with a thumbtack on a night of heavy drinking. I was ready to start making a good first impression...something you only get one chance to do.

Fast forward many years to the mountains of western North Carolina to what seems like a lifetime away from that classroom in Tallahassee. Still aware of the power of first impressions I don't always find myself rising to the occasion as I would hope to, but sometimes end up like one of the bumbling protagonists that often find there way onto the pages of one of my screenplays.

Here are a few examples of less than perfect first impressions one can make when meeting an attractive female somewhere in your small town: [Inspired by actual events]

1. "Do I make you nervous? I'm assuming your dog sensed that you were tense and that's why it's barking at me. All the dogs in Japan hated me too because I scared their owners. White guys in Japan make older Japanese women nervous the way that black guys in America make older white women nervous. I got use to dogs hating me so maybe he's actually picking up my tension. Do you think it's you or me who's setting him off?

2. Working cash register: "William...that's a pretty name."
Attractive female customer: (unamused) "It's my dad's card."

3. Attractive female working cash register: "Anything else I can get for you?"
Me: "A phone number would be nice."
Attractive female: "You know I'm in high school, right?"
Me: "...Yes...um...I tutor Spanish, aaand I'm trying to build my clientele. You take Spanish don't you?"

4. As I work out alone in a small apartment complex gym, a lone female enters.
Me: "Hey, how's it goin'?"
No response.
Me: "Feel free to change the channel if you like. I'm not really watching this."
No response.
Me: "I'll probably be leaving in like 10 minutes anyway."
No response.
Me: "I promise I'm really working out and this isn't some Ted Bundy ruse."
No response.
I leave.

I've been blessed with some really good first impressions too, but as an anxious, neurotic, over-analyzing writer, it's the not so great ones that tend to stick with me. "Screenplay moments" I like to call them.

One of these days I might finally introduce myself to the cute neighbor who lives upstairs. Here's hoping it's a good first impression and not something that will find its way into my work.

You cut 'em, you buy 'em.

For about a year now, I've been working at a major clothing retailer that I'll call "C.J. Nickelbocker". The idea is that it pays the bills and keeps me fed while I pursue writing and independent film making. Despite the cast of characters that I work with and the even zanier characters that come in shopping, the job is fairly mundane and uninspiring. Occasionally, however, it provides a little nugget to break up the daily monotony. One of these occurred a few days ago.

I was in the "Kids" section working on some pricing issues when I overheard a mother talking to my coworker, who I'll call "Norma", at the cash register.

"This is really embarrassing, and it's never happened to me before, but my son is stuck in these jeans and I cannot get them off. I've been in the dressing room for 30 minutes now and I'm not making any progress."

"Well now, sweetheart, I'm sure if you got 'em on we can get 'em off too."

"I don't know how this happened. He gained ten pounds over the summer, but I've never had a pair of jeans get stuck like this. I'd hate to have to cut them off and pay for a pair of pants he never even wore."

"Oh no, honey, we'll get 'em off. Don't worry."

"I don't know. Look at these things. They're just stuck. They won't go anywhere. Do you guys have a pair of scissors or something?"

"Oh no, honey. We don't want to stick a sharp object in there. That could cut him or hurt him somehow. We'll get those pants off, won't we young man?"

To this the husky young boy of about 7 years old answered, "Mommy said she's not sure if they'll ever come off."

For the next 25 minutes I worked on pricing nearby while I listened to the mother's ongoing struggle to de-pants her child in front of Norma and any passing customers, accompanied by a continual dialogue of embarrassed apologies and statements of disbelief. I wanted to go see firsthand myself just how skin tight the jeans were that this mother sucked her child into, but I figured it's probably better not to involve oneself in the public undressing of a young boy. Besides, I felt bad for the kid. This was a classic case of "How to turn your child into a self-conscious, neurotic adult with chronic self-deprecating tendencies and mild social anxiety disorder".

And another thing. What did the mother think the father would think when he saw his plump little son in skin tight jeans that looked like they were painted on, apple bottom cheeks bobbing up and down with each step? "No son of mine, g. d. it!" That's what he'd think. And he'd immediately enroll him in football, take most his toys away, and never allow him to cry again. "Thanks mom. I just lost my childhood and a healthy, nurturing father son relationship."

Finally, after about 55 minutes of struggle between the dressing room and the sales floor the mother somehow got the pants back off without having to cut them. Norma asked her if she wanted to try a larger pair, but the mother said, "No, I think we'll just go home now." Apparently, skinning a child is a much more exact science than skinning a cat. I wonder if the young boy will someday remember the time he was psychologically traumatized at C.J. Nickelbocker or if he'll simply bare the damage with no idea how it got there. Either way I'm certain when he starts buying pants for himself he'll be wearing "Loose Fit" and wondering why he cringes at the sight of our "Skinny Jeans" tables.

Did I say breast milk?

Just a word of advice here from ol' Mattie Boom Boom. Before you ask your doctor why you're no longer allowed to drink breast milk, double check your prescription info to make sure it doesn't say your medicine is excreted in breast milk and user should not breast-feed while taking.

If you've already slipped and asked the question I would advise you not to go into a rambling monologue discussing the semantics of "breast feed" and its ability to ambiguously denote both the "feeder" and the "feedie". Don't chastise the people who write the prescription info or the pharmaceutical companies who are "ruining your life". Don't try to recover by asking whether you should be concerned if the medicine causes you to start lactating since it can be excreted in breast milk and you have a niece on the way who could fall asleep on your chest one day while you're babysitting. All these things will make the situation worse and more uncomfortable than it already is.

If you do slip and ask the question just pause for a second, chuckle at your faux pas, then continue, "Did I say breast milk? I meant alcohol." Sure, it will still be embarrassing, but you'll be able to leave with your head much higher than in the previous scenarios, not to mention your doctor won't add two new medications to your existing regimen and he'll probably continue to see you.

Spot the tourist.

Well...it's happened. I've now been in Hendersonville long enough and have become enough of a local that I can spot the tourists in and around town or on rarer occasion somewhere in the mountains. Now it's a little more difficult than it might sound as Hendersonville does have a diverse collections of citizens for a small mountain community. It's no Los Angeles, where one also develops an ability with time to spot the tourist even when they're not holding a map or taking pictures, but it's no Mayberry either. It's more difficult than just picking out the people who aren't wearing camouflage...or assuming that all groomed and "put together" folks are out-of-towners. You can't immediately assume that a metrosexual is from elsewhere...or that a hot, heroin-chic female in skin tight jeans with a sex for sale haircut is just visiting. There's something more to it. I can't yet say exactly what it is other than that they do have a "tell" that you pick up after you've become a Hendonite yourself. Maybe with more time I'll be able to put this "tell" into words.

This new ability to spot the tourist makes me wonder how I am perceived by others here. At first I was no doubt an out-of-towner. I looked, dressed, and carried myself like an Angeleno. I couldn't hide it if I wanted to. Now I feel like I straddle a fine line. I'm sure that most tourists perceive me as a local while I imagine many locals might place me as a tourist. I think my beard and camouflage hat, with a certain lack of attention towards a personal style appears "local" to the tourist. On top of that, I've slowly lost a lot of the Angeleno carriage and swagger while adopting more of a "mountain life" manner, carriage and way of communicating. At the same time, twenty five plus years of non-mountain/big city living is hard to completely erase and I think the locals can pick up on the those traits that I still have. For example, I use an umbrella when it rains, occasionally I wear dress shoes with jeans and sometimes a sports coat, I stay in my lane when I drive and use my blinker, and I admit to liking and will talk about certain elements of culture that would be taboo for a mountain man; Glee, musicals, fashion, hair products, poetry, etc.

No matter how long I stay here I think I will continue to straddle this line. I have an ability to, with time, adapt into any culture and "localize" myself quicker than most. I thank God for this gift as it suits itself well to world travel and mission work. At the same time I don't have such a need to "completely fit in" that I will give up and lose different parts of myself that I've gained through my travels and previous experiences. I suppose this chameleon-like ability is something that I can turn on and off at random depending on what the situation calls for and how much I want to "blend in".

As far as now being able to spot the tourists in and around town, I hope to gain more insight as to what these "tells" are rather than simply spotting them and knowing without quite being able to explain how it is that I know. In addition, maybe the next step will be the ability to pick out the other "chameleons" who are not tourists, but in a previous time were anything but local.

Let us reflect, sweet Brittany.

I've now been in my new apartment for four months; about the same amount of time that I lived in Japan before moving to North Carolina. The difference, however, in the way that time has passed in the two places has been almost staggering. It feels like I've been in the apartment a matter of weeks, while the same amount of time in Japan felt like a lifetime (in a good way).

I can see why time in the apartment has gone by so quickly. First there's the hospital and doctor visits with their ensuing bills and health insurance trouble; not to mention a major lifestyle change that resulted. Then there's the pressure of new bills that I didn't have on top of the mountain. There's work, which while I love my co-workers and don't mind the job, always makes life pass by a little quicker than when one makes his own schedule and lives by his own demands. I took a wonderful trip to Miami for my brother's graduation which kept things moving quickly even while serving as a vacation. All these things kept one day steadily rolling into the next as time jumped from one obligation or scheduled activity to another.

There are two other major contributors that I think have played a bigger role than the aforementioned. The first is not having a washer and dryer in my living space. I still do all my laundry at the trailer on top of the mountain. As a result, I let it pile up a little more than I otherwise would, and constantly feel like I'm behind on laundry. The second is the fact that I still have the responsibility of maintaining the nearly wild piece of land the trailer sits on and I constantly feel like I'm two steps behind on that as well. For a better man these things might not be problematic, but they leave me feeling like I'm in a constant state of procrastination...not a good feeling. Nothing makes time fly like the heavy burden of unfulfilled responsibilities.

I'm not trying to paint a "woe is me" picture or gain any undeserved sympathy, as I feel incredibly blessed and have had a wonderful four months in my new place. This is simply how I make sense of how time has recently seemed to pass so quickly in one place compared to another. The interesting paradox is the fact that life itself is so much slower in Hendersonville than in Tokyo, Japan. I guess that's why I sit back now and marvel on its relativity. As I was preparing to leave Japan, a friend of mine, Wayne, told me that when I got back to the States that Japan would feel like a dream. I suppose he was right in the sense that in a dream there's a certain detachment from time and the way it passes.

Now that I've spent some time away from the trailer it's taking on a new feel. It's taken about four months of living elsewhere to get to this place. It no longer has the lingering feeling of a bitter Winter survival that was all about "getting through the season alive". When I go there now it takes me back to my first days there after returning from Japan. The feeling of a new adventure. One in which writing and mountain living would be the driving forces. It's now a wonderful nostalgia; a drug I never tire of and am more than willing to get lost in.

Although it's gone by quickly it's been a great four months. Thank you Brittany for being by my side and laying the foundation for this next chapter. You've given me fresh eyes which in turn provide a clearer view into the past. I look forward with great anticipation and a light spirit into what lies ahead.

You can take the man out of the red jacket...

...but you can't take the red jacket out of the man.

Today, as I casually flipped through the six channels that I get on my digital converter box I saw that The Price Is Right was starting and decided to settle there, as I sometimes do, to watch a show that I was so intimately involved with while working as a Page at CBS. It's a nice way to reflect and bring back memories, and it's always neat to see old friends and familiar faces on TV while recalling all the unseen faces that make the show happen as well.

I pay extra close attention at the very beginning of the show when they're calling out the first contestants because that's the best time to see my fellow Pages as the camera wildly swings through and pans the audience and their surroundings; not to mention that's when you usually get a really good shot of the Inside Head Page standing by the contestant stairs. As I casually looked for my Page friends today I suddenly noticed two men in the audience wearing large sombreros. A shot of adrenaline surged through me and I took two steps towards the television.

"WTF?!? Get those hats off! We're live!"

My mind was alive with activity.

"How'd they sneak those in there? Who do they think they are? They must have pulled them from under their chairs and put them on right when things went live. We've gotta get those hats off."

It was then that I noticed two girls in another section with crazy hats of their own.

"Oh my God, there's more. College punks! Probably a bunch of UF students there to see Rich Fields. How many of them are in on this? The Pages have gone soft. You can't let crazy hats and costumes in the studio."

I was aflush with the "us versus them" mentality, which kicks in when an audience member or an audience in general isn't cooperating with what we ask and what's being looked for on TV. I then noticed more costumes. Many of them. One of the contestants that was called down was dressed as a damn banana.

"Wait a minute. What's going on here? Since when are we Let's Make A Deal?"

As I tried to grasp this alternate reality I had fallen into, Drew himself came out dressed in costume. It was then that I realized I was seeing a rerun of a Halloween special. I quickly came back to my senses, at which time I had the first realization that I had fallen out of them at all. I was surprised to see how passionate I still was about a show that I haven't been involved with for over a year. For a few seconds there I was a Page again and nothing else mattered but the show itself because we were live.

Ah, those red jackets. They change a man. Once a red jacket dude, always a red jacket dude. Sharky Showbiz lives. Maybe this afternoon I'll watch the Tyra Banks Show and remember when she use to tape in Los Angeles at CBS. I'll get personally flustered if I see an empty seat when they come back from commercial, if someone yells something out at the wrong time, or if someone is standing when they're all suppose to be seated...Or maybe I'll just go up to the trailer and do some laundry on top of the mountain in another world far from that of the lights and sounds of Los Angeles and leave those memories behind like a dream.

Dueling license plates.

I didn't get very far from my car today in the K-Mart parking lot before I noticed I didn't have my wallet. This came to my attention during the mandatory OCD pat-down that I give myself any time I exit my vehicle, my house, or a room; a quick tap of every pocket, three to four times to make sure that all is in place. The first quick, subtle tap of my right butt cheek revealed the wallet to be missing. I returned to my car, commenced my routine for "entering car as driver" and headed right back home, thankful that I don't live very far from K-Mart.

On the drive back home I got stopped by a traffic light on a stretch of road that has two lanes going South on one side of the median and two lanes going North on the other. There were two cars in front of me, sitting next to each other in the lanes going South. One had a North Carolina license plate that said "First in Flight" and the other had an Ohio license plate that said "Birthplace of Aviation". The drivers seemed oblivious to each other despite the contradicting claims that their cars made. Before I could exit my vehicle and try to get to the bottom of the situation the light turned green and we were off again, the two fathers of flight soon headed in different directions. I continued South with my California license plate; father of procrastination.

Anyway, I wondered if anyone could help me get to the bottom of this. To whom do the accolades go? NC or OH? Or is it some sort of paradox in which North Carolina was the first in flight while still allowing Ohio to become the birthplace of aviation? As a Christian I love a good paradox, but what do I know about all this flight stuff. I'm just a Florida boy from the sunshine state.

Tony Awards 2010

Well, my 2010 Tony Awards party was a real bust. Nothing like the huge bashes I use to throw back in L.A.; a pile of Louis Vuitton shoes and handbags by the front door, large enough to bury a Smart Car. I don't know if it's my new Western North Carolina location or if I was too demanding in my dress code. (Dress as your favorite character from Wicked. No glitter because it gets on the furniture and never disappears, which totally doesn't work for Gossip Girl night.) Whichever it was I only had one attendee who I hardly knew.

From the moment he walked in the door he was giving me a hard time about my costume saying that "Kristen Chenoweth" doesn't count as a character from Wicked unless I'm actually dressed as Glinda the Good Witch. Well let me tell you, it took everything in me not to give him a little bit of the Wicked Witch of the West seeing as he completely ignored the theme and was dressed as Rue McClanahan. Trying to be a gracious host though I let it go. We settled onto the couch for night of big surprises.

Tony Awards 2010 Surprises:

1. I was really surprised to see how many Broadway actors have second careers as lawyers/attorneys. It seemed like almost every single one of them thanked their partners...Who knew.

2. I think my one guest might have been gay. Not that I'm judging, but he ate all my Junior Mints.

3. No audience shots of Liza Minnelli. She's still alive right? Totally messed up the drinking game I had planned. We had to do our shots to Will Smith and Angela Lansbury.

4. After lots of shots a good musical number from American Idiot can lead to heavy drinking straight out of the bottle.

5. The huge tickle fight between Kristen Chenoweth and Rue McClanahan.

6. Now that the party is over and everyone's gone I'm missing two large scented candles.

Overall, a good night despite the low turnout and candle theft. See you all again next year.

A suggestion for "intellectual" non-believers.

If thy 'head' [your intellect] offend thee, cut it off; for it is better, not merely to enter the Kingdom of Heaven as a child, but to enter it as an imbecile, rather than with your whole intellect to be cast into hell.

-G. K. Chesterton


How sad when one is blinded by their own "intellect" or the supposed "intellect" of others. I would argue that the proud and arrogant are more susceptible to this potential side effect, but I've seen it fall upon the humble thinker as well. The human mind is Fallen and flawed yet many trust in a broken tool in their feeble attempt to build a finite set of beliefs in which to contain all the mysteries of the Infinite. When this proves to be impossible they deduce that there can't be an Infinite God, revealed in the Word and made flesh in Jesus Christ for they themselves and no other man can fully capture and contain this Infinite Triune God within the confines of imperfect human intellect.

Where faith is needed to properly fill the gaps in man's limited intellect and pool of knowledge many an "intellect" instead turns to science to fill these holes. While science is an effective tool in itself it is no more appropriate to stand in the place of faith than a perfect baseball is appropriate to plug the basketball sized hole in a sinking ship. Yet the blinded intellect unwittingly says, "I have found that baseball to be perfect in its design so if it cannot plug the hole we're clearly meant to sink." Or worse yet some point to the truths of the baseball to try and prove that the ship clearly doesn't exist. In both cases the man who puts science or man's intelligence on the throne of God is doomed to sink whereas the man who drags his ship to God's throne and in so doing asks the builder of both the ship and the baseball to fix the hole will inevitably make his proper destination with God's help.

Enraptured By You

Lying alone in a field with one foot in the cool river, you can watch the sky for hours and know what perfect peace is.
Lie on the edge of a fountain in a busy courtyard with one foot in the water and spend hours watching the same sky.
One man says, "he's a dreamer", or worse yet, "he's crazy", as men of the world do their best to steal the peace.
I guess one man's living water is another man's foolish wishing well.
Call me a fool, I wait for your return.

I wonder when you'll come back for me.
If we disappeared tonight, would they remember what I said?
Have I spoken enough of our love that they would know where I've gone?
Have I spoken enough of your love that they would know who took me?
Will we disappear at all and leave the world behind?
I read your letters over and over again.

Maybe you'll leave me here until the very end. Riding up at the last moment on your white stallion for all to see.
I think I hear the pounding of the hooves now, but they tell me it's just thunder.
"He's a dreamer." "He's a fool."
I show them your letters to quiet their jeers.
Some refuse to read. Some skim and scoff. Some study and find fault.
Only a few see them for the love letters that they are.
They ask for copies that they might know what true love is and find it for themselves.
So many others have found it before us.

What if we all disappeared together?
Would they remember what we said? Know where we've gone?
Would they want to read the letters then?
What if we don't disappear and we all stay waiting until the very end?
"See, they are dreamers and fools!" "The world is falling to pieces yet they wait."

Given enough time the whole world will turn against us.
Above the chaos and the jeers, the lies followed by cheers, I hear the hooves and I know it's not just thunder.
Whether we disappear and leave this world behind or remain until the end, one thing stays the same.
When, and however, you come and take me away, you'll find me here waiting.
I am enraptured by you.

A.W. Tozer's, "The Pursuit of God"

I recently finished reading The Pursuit of God by A.W. Tozer. It served as a good follow-up to E.G. White's, The Great Controversy which I recently finished as well. In contrast to The Great Controversy, A.W. Tozer's The Pursuit of God is a fairly quick and easy read at just 90 pages. As the title would suggest it focuses on an individual's pursuit of God, and it stages this pursuit within a christian/biblical framework.

While I found that each of the ten chapters offered good insights and advice concerning different aspects of one's personal relationship with God, it was the provided prayer at the end of each chapter that I valued the most. I felt that each chapter was preparing me to pray in earnest the prayer at its close; deep and meaningful prayers that I wouldn't have stumbled into on my own; at least not in such a concise and focused manner. Each prayer peeled back another layer of my inner-self and consecrated another portion of my self-life to God allowing for a deeper and more pure relationship with Him. The process revealed to me that a major part of pursuing God is getting more and more of myself out of the way while simultaneously offering deeper and deeper parts of the inner self to God. The Pursuit of God takes your hand, puts it in God's and leads you through this journey.

I would say that this book is most suited for established Christians who are already walking daily with God, but hunger for a deeper intimacy and more meaningful exchange. That's not to exclude it though, from new Christians, lukewarm and cold Christians, or those Christians who have spent a better part of recent years ignoring God and His Word altogether. This book could very well inspire the hunger that is presently lacking while leading one to the nourishment so desperately needed. On that note I would address the non-Christian who feels even the slightest stirring deep within his soul concerning an Almighty God who is greater than he. This book provides a pathway that anyone can follow to get a better look at that God. He is there with open arms for anyone who would seek Him. Even those who have cursed His name. That stirring in your soul is God calling you in Love even as your actions, words, and heart nail Him to the cross.

As God continues to answer the prayers that I have offered as a result of The Pursuit of God, I add the prayer that all those called to this book would be blessed by it, as it has blessed me.

Amen and amen.

HAPPY IS THE DAY...!!!

A recent conversation with a friend concerning misremembered lyrics immediately brought to mind an old summer camp song in which the lyrics weren't so much misremembered as never actually understood in the first place by either my brother or myself. We didn't realize this until years later when somehow the revelation of our error simply "clicked" and we realized we had both made the same mistake although we were always in separate groups during song time. I guess it's just that bond that brothers share.

There was a line in a song where everyone stopped singing and yelled, "Happy is the day when the counselors go away!!!" You can see how that would be a playfully fun line for all the young campers. Well my brother and I spent three summers yelling, "Happy is the day when the cow birds go away!!!" under the assumption that everyone else was yelling the same thing. We did have cow birds in the area afterall. We didn't know why their departing was cause for such joyous rapture, but we couldn't help but join the rallying cry against them. Heck, we weren't farmers. What did we know?

Well apparently our hatred wasn't actually shared by the masses as we believed. We were an army of two. Two young, passionate brothers in a solitary quest to rid central Florida of every last cowbird under the false impression that we stood part of a giant movement against them.

I feel bad now for all those innocent birds that we killed in our free time. It suddenly becomes clear why everyone else was "all talk" while only my brother and myself were willing to be moved to action. Thank God we didn't mistake the lyrics for, "Happy is the day when the cows all go away!!!" Somehow, I think if we were out butchering the livestock it wouldn't have flown under the radar as well as several dozen wild birds did.

Those are precious memories Evan and our youthful cluelessness still cracks me up to this day.

The Day I Met Evan Brinton

I met Mr. Brinton once at a Johnny Roscoe fillin' station in Bryson City, Missouri back in the swelterin' summer of '76. I was at the counter payin' for a Peach Nehi and a small bag of beef jerky when I come to realize I was 71 cents short. That's when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see Mr. Brinton; a vision of goodwill in a striped, light blue seersucker suit, hand extended with three quarters in it.

"Traveling in this heat without your Peach Nehi would simply be intolerable," he said, and I noticed he had one himself. I thanked him kindly, took the quarters, then continued on my way to Canton, Ohio.

You can imagine my surprise when 20-some years later our paths crossed again in Whistle Creek, North Carolina at the annual Hickory Nut Festival. As I stood at a vendor's cart in purchase of a bag of caramelized almonds I heard a thunder of voice proclaim from my rear, "I trust you have your full payment this time, Peach Nehi." I turned to behold the now, "Doctor Brinton" in that same seersucker suit accompanied by a devilish grin. After a further exchange of pleasantries we agreed to breakfast the next morning and parted ways.

We broke our fast together at the local Spit 'N Whistle by Aunt Mable's Inn. Doctor Brinton ordered for the both of us. When the plates arrived he commented in his gentile manner, "I trust you take your eggs with bourbon, Peach Nehi. Why anything else would just be intolerable!" and he pulled a flask from his breast pocket and gave us both a healthy pour.

That breakfast was the last I ever saw of Doctor Brinton, but to this day I think of him every morning as I take my eggs and bourbon. I've come to agree that anything else would just be intolerable.

Someone else's clothes

Sipping coffee in the darkness I drink in the silence.
A world apart the gypsy peddles flowers to a sea of broken strangers.
Her bare feet on the cobblestone street beneath a jeweled, ankle length skirt.
Under the same blanket of stars I'm in someone else's shirt.

Wilting carnations in desperate need of water. A fading fire in desperate need of wood.
Heads turned and eyes closed, they both go unattended.
Would she steal my wallet if given the chance?
I've made it easy. I unlock all the doors at twilight.
Fighting not to lose my mind I think I hear a weeping child.
We both need the safety of our blankets.
I'd light a candle, but the glow would reveal these aren't my clothes.

The gift of tongues and an angel comes. He tells me the name of the child.
He asks why I wear clothes that aren't my own.
"I was told they were better than the ones given me."
"You've forgotten how to fly," and he takes me to the gypsy.

I see she's in the clothes that she was given.
Under the stars she peddles flowers to the sea of broken strangers.
My host is gone and I'm in clothes that fit.
Her eyes meet mine and wading through the crowd I stand before her naked feet.
I buy a carnation that needs no water, from a fire that needs no wood.
I take my shoes off and feel the cobblestones beneath my feet.
She smiles.
This is holy ground.

Room to Doubt

"While God has given ample evidence for faith, He will never remove all excuses for unbelief. All who look for hooks to hang their doubts upon will find them. And those who refuse to accept and obey God's word until every objection has been removed, and there is no longer an opportunity for doubt, will never come to the light."

-E.G. White, The Great Controversy

A solemn warning.

"Watch ye therefore:...lest coming suddenly He find you sleeping."
-Mark 13:35,36


"Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting."
-Daniel 5:27

One More Night

Your lips on mine. Your eyes on mine. Your hands on mine.
Frozen in time, I thought I laid down to die tonight.
Our bodies warm and I'm glad I made the phone call.
Lost in the upper room you breathe your life into me as we share our secret one more night.

A mother cries, "My son is dead!" while a father continues working in a field.
She drives all night in a car that's never felt so empty.
Winding through the mountains she wonders when she'll see the sea.
Frozen in time she screams, "How could you?"
Her son laid down to die tonight.

You fall at my feet and wrap your hands around my ankle.
I can feel your fingers tremble.
They speak louder than anything you could ever say.
Shaking. Breaking.
Pausing. Pacing.
We'll share our secret one more night.

An old woman kisses the forehead of her sleeping husband.
She lies next to him on the cold kitchen tiles.
She wonders how he could go home without her.
The refrigerator hums.
Her husband laid down to die tonight.

Alone in the upper room, frozen in time, your body on mine.
We share our secret one more time.
Your lips on mine, your eyes on mine, your hands on mine.
You breathe your life into me and I'm glad I made the phone call.
I swore I laid down to die tonight.

An unexpected smile

What I would give just to feel something.
I remember your touch.
I should have let myself cry.
Touch me again and I'll cry this time.
I don't care who's looking.

How can I be so numb within your embrace?
Unresponsive to your whispers of I love you?
I know you're shouting, but I can't move.

We use to move mountains together, but today I hear the rocks cry out.
Even the longest journey ends in a circle.
Maybe that's why I always come back to fear.
It leaves so much unsaid.
So much undone.

As the clouds loom a smile strikes like lightning.
Strange how deeply cuts the stranger.
Something connects and there's a stir within this empty shell.
Something's missing.
It sticks with me and lingers.
You stick with me and linger.
She sticks with me and lingers.

I wonder if we'll meet again.
It gives me hope and makes me feel foolish, but those are feelings.
She made me feel again and that made the moment precious.
Maybe I'll dance again someday.
Maybe someday we won't be strangers.
Maybe we never were.
Maybe you'll touch me and I'll cry this time.
I don't care who's looking.

Of mice and man.

If you follow me on Twitter then you might be aware that I began having problems with mice late this past Fall. Not problems with mice as a concept or a species, but rather they began to invade my home which I saw as a problem. Invasive is the apropos word as they were never invited and they ran about the place like they owned it. I suppose, though, that this was a comfort they eased into. At first, I would only hear them scampering about in the air vents. No doubt a nuisance, but hey, you have your space and I'll have mine. Then they began to creep about the trailer while I slept leaving little signs of their presence for me to find when I woke up. This was a little more unsettling. Suddenly they're the Manson clan minus all the horrific killing; small pellets of defecation leaving their rally cry of Helter Skelter. Finally, they began to run about in the evening right in front of my face, almost taunting me. I think they even enjoyed my chasing them around with a broom. I can't tell you how much it resembled a true-to-life episode of Tom and Jerry. The only way it would have been better would be if I slammed my head and folded up like an accordion as I chased one into a hole in the wall. Now if any readers still have sympathy for the mice at this point I propose this question before we proceed. How would you like it if I crept into your house every evening after sun fall, ate small portions of your food, ran around like a madman over all your furniture and counter tops, and took a pantless crap every 30 seconds?

Ahem...well anyway, come Winter the mice disappeared completely. I assume they were cryogenically frozen beneath the trailer with Walt Disney or something. Once again, I had the place to myself which was a beautiful thing since I was snowed in and couldn't go anywhere anyway. A couple weeks ago, however, the weather became a touch nicer and for the first time in 3 months I began to see signs of them again. I guess they unfroze, thawed out and came back to life. No signs of Disney yet.

Yesterday after work, I stopped by Lowe's and bought two old-fashioned mousetraps and two new age, reusable mousetraps. The old-fashioned traps were slightly smaller than I hoped for, but they were all out of the larger ones. Apparently I'm not the only one with this problem. I can only hope that no one in the area is holding a large group of Hebrews against the Lord's will. The new age, reusable mousetraps look completely different from the old-fashioned ones. I'm guessing they lure the mouse in with signs of the Zodiac and the false promise of humanism. However they work, the promise is death for the mouse that takes the bait. After dinner I set up all four traps in various places in my kitchen and carried on with my business.

Not thirty minutes later I hear "SNAP" under the kitchen sink as one of the traps goes off. I ran to the sink and opened the cabinet to see the bottom side of an old-fashioned mousetrap bouncing about with a long tail sticking out from it. The mouse underneath still had a lot of fight left in him as he struggled beneath the trap. I thought about grabbing the trap with my bare hands to see what I'd caught and dispose of it, but as I reached into the cabinet visions of the Bubonic Plague and cartloads of the dead being wheeled through the cobblestone streets of Europe began to flash through my head. I decided to first put on a work glove. As I was returning, I watched the trap hobble its way to a hole by the pipes and scurry underneath the cabinet and out of reach before I could grab it. My first thought was, "Crap. That mouse is going to die under there, out of reach, and the whole trailer is going to stink for a week." My second thought was, "Son a biscuit, that 46 cent trap was suppose to be reusable. Now I'm down to just three! (sigh)...another trip to Lowe's." In an attempt to retrieve the mouse and trap I took apart a 57 cent wire hanger, fashioned it to reach beneath the cabinet and fished around for the dying mouse for the next 30 minutes. I finally gave up and spent the next two hours listening to the mouse gnawing furiously at some wood. I don't know if he was eating into my cabinet as a final "F.U." or if he was trying to chew out of the trap. Either way he was out of my reach and it was out of my hands. I left the other three traps where they were and went to bed.

In the middle of the night I awoke to another, "SNAP!" I knew immediately that I had another mouse, but I didn't see the need to get out of bed as the other three traps were left in places of no escape no matter how much the mouse struggled around. I fell back asleep content with the idea of a kill that couldn't get away.

Hours later I awoke to find my kitchen a gruesome, horrific crime scene. I first noticed an old-fashioned mousetrap in the middle of the kitchen, far from the baseboard where I had staged it. I rubbed my eyes as I approached and squinted trying to determine if I was seeing things correctly. The trap was empty! That son of a gun had struggled all the way to the middle of the kitchen then managed to free himself...and all the peanut butter was gone! No wonder they were sold out of the big traps. These little ones don't finish the job. They just torture the mouse and give it a good scare. I quickly glanced over my shoulder and around the cabin thinking of an angry mouse, out for revenge. I appeared to be alone. I looked over to the place I had originally set the trap and saw blood everywhere. It was horrible.

On either side of where the trap had been there were large splatterings of blood where it had no doubt exploded out of the nostrils and rectum of the creature as the medal clamp slammed down on its body. These were surrounded by solid pools of blood all about that were the result of the ensuing struggle to get free. Thank God I hadn't set this trap up on the carpet. There was no sign of the mouse anywhere. No further trail of blood that I could follow. I can only assume that he freed himself and crawled back to the gathering place beneath the trailer, recanting to others the horrors that lie above, his bloodied and battered body speaking louder than the words themselves.

Will this deter future visitations from him and others? Will they come back stronger and wiser? Is it safe for me to sleep now? Should I get a cat? Seven cats? I guess only time will answer this question. I'm optimistic though. If there's one thing Cheney and the last administration taught me concerning dealing with terrorists it's this: sometimes a little torture is a good thing.

Round 2

Well...sometimes nostalgia can be rather short-lived. A day or two after my previous post we were hit with another foot of snow. It mirrored the first drop almost exactly and much of it still sits on my mountaintop to this day. Reflection quickly turned into more hiking, driving down the mountain in reverse, food rationing, and hitching rides to work.

The snow drop was followed by an ice storm that coated everything in sight and knocked out power to much of the area. I was blessed to maintain it as we received a few more days of snow. We then had a wind storm that brought gusts between 40 and 50 mph. Once again, many lost power and this time I was included. Fortunately it was restored after 24 hours which meant only one day of urinating outside in freezing temperatures (the trick is to get it on the first grab and not let go!) only to return to a trailer that was 52 degrees inside and dropping.

I do have to say that I was more spiritually, mentally and physically prepared for Round 2 than I was the first round which was a completely new experience at the time. Don't get wrong, there were still times that I felt like the lost, forgotten member of the Donner party. The day I lost power did strain my faith and left me feeling a little broken despite staying focused on God. I did find myself oft lamenting The Beginning of Sorrows...but overall I maintained my peace and joy, dealt with the given hand, and trusted God much better than the first time around.

We've had a warm couple of days now with no snow in the immediate forecast and much of the remaining snow is finally melting. The present challenge/difficulty is mud. Where snow and ice have set for two months on our dirt road we now have deep expanses of muddy sludge that at times prove completely impassable. I still have to abandon my car near the bottom of the mountain, gird my loins, and trek uphill on my daily pilgrimage through the Blue Ridge. With early mornings and late nights at work I've grown completely comfortable hiking alone through the woods in the pitch black. I find myself not even using my flashlight anymore. Even without the moon I traverse through the mountains like an old hound dog. I can still only bring a few groceries home at a time due to the hike, but the important thing is I can get to food and I'm not starving.

I have no idea how long mud is going to be an issue, but with the grace of God I'll continue to deal with the challenge and inconvenience of it. I can say this for sure. When the Japanese designed and built the Avalon I'm certain that in their wildest dreams they never imagined the scenarios I'm putting my car through. It wouldn't surprise Ford or Chevy, but this backwoods off-roading is a long way from the neat streets of Tokyo. Well at least the mud is good for one thing. It's doing wonders for my pores.

Up On Cripple Creek

Although today is a really nice day, the 5 day forecast says to expect snow tomorrow and Saturday. How much, I'm not sure. Yesterday, I stopped at the store after work and stocked up on groceries. Not insanely so, like a man preparing for the Apocalypse, but I made sure to get a full load of the things I was needing. After a full month, from mid-December to mid-January, of not being able to fully drive up and down my mountain, I've learned to respect the snow and prepare for the worst while hoping for the best.

For about a week now, I've been able to drive all the way up and down my mountain (forwards and not in reverse) without having to hike through the woods either to my car or to my cabin. Although there are a couple areas of extreme mud now that are threatening the continuation of this liberty, it seems that snow trekking through the woods is a memory that I can now reflect on nostalgically; at least my first spell of it...we'll see what tomorrow and Saturday bring. The following is a list of some of these experiences that I hope to remember:

1. "I see you got your pizza...Merry Christmas." (Still makes me laugh out loud. Only family knows what this means and can fully appreciate it.)

2. My first hike to the car after the Winter Storm. There was still over a foot of snow on the ground and it came to the top of the river wader boots that I was wearing. They don't protect well from the cold and I got some snow down the left one. By the time I got back to the cabin my feet were nearly frozen, especially the left.

3. My first pre-dawn hike in the pitch black. I recited aloud Psalms and prayers to try to steel my nerves. I couldn't stop thinking about bears and mountains lions being that I was yards away from the spot where I was once charged by a bear and I was in the exact area where I had seen a bear cub since. Also, I'm not use to trekking around alone in the middle of the woods in the pitch black.

4. The pre-dawn hike in which an unknown animal followed me down the trail, just on the other side of the tree-line. When I stopped, it stopped. When I proceeded, it proceeded. The night before I had watched a program on TV about surviving in the snow that said to always remember the potential presence of mountain lions who continue to hunt in the snow and are present throughout the United States. I found one in my North Carolina wildlife guide. That morning I was convinced I was being stalked by one. More Psalms and prayers.

5. The pre-dawn hike when I startled a large animal just off the trail. Huge crash and commotion that almost stopped my heart, but then it just stayed there. I had to yell in its direction before it went barreling away through the foliage. Praise and Thanksgiving followed by Psalms and prayers. Couldn't find mountain gorilla in my North Carolina wildlife guide.

6. Shoveling snow in the dark and helping the Cruz family up the mountain. Company, homemade soup, and a break from Arctic isolation.

7. Hiking down the mountain in 25mph winds in zero degree temperature. Fairly comfortable. First realization of how much I was adapting to the cold.

8. Rushing up the mountain from its base with Armando and Evan carrying guns, clothes, sleds and groceries, trying to beat nightfall.

9. Hiking in 30 degree temperature with a windbreaker and realizing I wasn't cold. Pretty good for a Florida boy who migrated to Los Angeles, California. Maybe I'm becoming a mountain man after all.

10. Sledding with Evan. We only took a few rides each, but it was like we were kids again, playing outside and totally content to just enjoy play in each others company.

Avalons on Ice

My troubles didn't stop after The Great Reverse that I talked about in my last post. That very same day I ran into more upon returning home from work. They started again where they had left off; on my mountain.

The day had stayed quite cold and there was just as much ice and snow on our dirt road as there had been that morning. I was apprehensive, but spurred on by the fact that I would be driving forwards this time, although it would be uphill instead of down.

The drive up our mountain begins with an initial decline that levels out around a couple of turns before you begin your climb. The first incline is a moderate turn up around a corner, after which it levels out again for a ways before you truly start your climb. I wasn't anticipating any difficulties this early in the game so I was completely caught off guard when my car stalled, tires spinning to no avail, halfway around the turn. "Well, I almost made it up. I just need to hit it with a little more speed." I reversed several yards back onto the level trail and hit the turn with a little more speed, stalling at the exact same place. Despite the dangers of speeding on ice it was apparent I would have to hit this turn as fast as I possibly could. I reversed again, said a little prayer, then absolutely floored it. I made it past my original stall point only to stall out six feet from the next bit of level ground. As my tires spun wildly I threw my body forward and began yelling at the car and the mountain just in case it was the lack of verbal coaxing that kept me just shy of success. I tried this top speed approach four more times to the same result. I finally accepted that I would have to reverse to a pull-off on the initial decline and abandon my car.

Halfway to the pull-off my car stalled again. "You've got to be kidding me." I pulled forwards a ways then reversed up the hill a little faster. No luck. Once again, top speed would be absolutely necessary, only this time in reverse. I tried several times, falling just short every time. I decided to go try my luck again driving forwards on the other hill. Seven tries. Seven failures. This was bad. I couldn't just abandon my car where it was on this one lane road because I'd be blocking my handful of neighbors who have 4-wheel drive trucks...and low tolerance for silly, hopeless Californians that "mess" everything up. I had to get to that pull-off.

Flying up this icy hill in reverse was a very tense scenario. The mountain dropped off on my left side and if I slipped off the right side I'd get stuck in a ditch. The ditch was the better of two evils, but more than once I debated just driving off the edge of the mountain and being done with it all. Each attempt forced me to drive about 30 yards forward around a curve to find a flat stretch that I could build up some speed on as I flew in reverse around the turn and up the hill. It took me somewhere between 13 and 20 attempts before I finally made the pull-off. I abandoned my car and began the long hike through the ice and snow from the bottom of the mountain to the top; a hike that would see me climbing 2800 ft. A hike that from that day forward would become very commonplace; up and down, day and night, good weather and bad.

If I'd known then just how much snow trekking the future held for me, I probably would have invested in a sled team and some muck-lucks.

Back that Av up.

After the Winter Storm I spent the next week and a half patiently watching the snow level drop from over a foot to about four inches. I couldn't afford to miss any more work and unless I got some food in town I would soon be forced to shoot something myself. I had no choice but to attempt a trip off the mountain no matter how precarious it seemed.

My work calls for me to be in fairly early, so at 4:45am I began the quarter-mile hike through the snow to the point where I had ditched my car. It was pitch black save for the light from my flashlight. I found my car covered from front to back with a massive shell of icy snow that stuck to it as though it was part of the car itself. We're not talking about a layer of frost here. I spent several minutes clawing and punching the snow on the back windshield until I finally had it cleared. The front windshield proved to be more difficult, and I had to settle for a small cleared area just larger than a basketball on the driver's side. The hood, roof, and trunk would have to remain as they were. There was more snow than vehicle. I was driving into town in a rolling igloo with a window in the back.

Now my car was left facing uphill on a one-lane dirt road and the closest place where I could get turned around was at the top of the mountain. I quickly discovered that my car was just as stuck as the day I abandoned it. There was no way it would climb the mountain with four inches of snow still on the trail. I was, however, able to reverse down the mountain, using gravity in my favor as opposed to fighting against it. The thing was, I would have to reverse half way down the mountain, in the pitch black, on this drop off hugging, one lane, bumpy dirt road before I'd have the opportunity to get turned around. The fact that this road was covered in snow and ice made the task even more daunting than it otherwise would have been. To make matters worse, it was too dark to see out my back windshield, so I had to hang half my body out the driver's side window, contorting the upper half 180 degrees so that it was facing downhill, while the lower half of my body faced forward and drove the car. Try that on your next driver's test.

When I eventually made it to the point where I thought I could get turned around I found that there was so much unpacked snow that I risked getting stuck if I veered off the trail in the slightest. The realization set in that I would have to continue in reverse all the way to the main road, meaning I still had half a mountain to go. I reversed through the creek and continued on my way. This is also about the point that my neck really started to crick up.

I pushed on despite the growing discomfort and not long after is when it hit me. Suddenly, and out of nowhere, I was slammed with an overwhelming feeling of nausea and dehydration. I had drunk a large glass of water right before leaving the house. I'm not the kind of guy that gets tense and throws up. Sure this was an intense and difficult drive, but why was I suddenly severely cotton-mouthed and about to vomit? I'm not as young as I use to be, but my body wouldn't abandon me that quickly would it?

I debated stopping right there so that I could throw up and then lie down in the snow to die in relative peace, but I had covered so much ground and was so close to the main road. My body was already hanging out the window anyway if I did throw up. I pushed through the ever increasing nausea, covered more ground, gunned my car up a final, icy hill and shot out onto the main road, bracing in case I was slammed by any oncoming traffic.

I thought again about getting out and throwing up, but I was already late for work. If I did vomit all over myself at least it would be while facing forwards and driving forward. As I drove to work I had a revelation concerning the cause of my nausea and dehydration. Since I was hanging out my window facing backwards while driving in reverse at a slow speed in a car that was fighting to perform, it meant that I was breathing my exhaust the entire way. And this was a long, slow drive. "Oh, of course! I was poisoning myself. That's why I almost threw up and passed out."

It's these precious nuggets of wisdom I take with me. These precious nuggets that money can't buy and that make it all worthwhile. I now know that every 30 feet you stop, bring your body back in the vehicle and take a few deep breaths of fresh air before you contort back out the window and proceed.

Mateo Supertramp

I can't remember if it was one or two days after the great computer crash (maybe more), but I awoke at 3:50am to get ready for work and the TV was already warning of a "Winter Storm" that would hit us that day. I remember I was still fairly shell shocked about my recent loss and was struggling to start the day with optimism and positive thoughts. I hoped the reports would be wrong or that at least the snow wouldn't start until later in the afternoon so that I wouldn't have to drive home on snow and ice, or worse yet, get stuck in town all together.

By 7:00am it had already started snowing, and it was coming down hard, thick and steady. Almost immediately one of my coworkers was sent home early since he lives one city over on the Interstate. I guess the one thing worse than getting stuck in town during a snow storm is getting stuck in someone else's town. I didn't blame him for taking off so quickly, but the act of it made me more anxious about the driving conditions than I already was. The thought of all the hills and mountains I have to climb to get back to my cabin and the fact that I've never driven on snow or ice before, coupled with this image of the locals running for cover was anything, but comforting. I tried to push the thought out of my head though as I finished sorting hanging items on the trailer dock, watching the snow fall with increasing intensity.

At 8:15 my supervisor approached me and cleared me to go home early as well. I was next on the list since I live on top of a mountain. Lucky for me, Phase 2 of the snowstorm dismissal roster is hillbillies and mountain folk. I felt guilty leaving early with lots of work still to do, but I had failed to put a flask of whiskey in my glove box that morning and I wasn't prepared to spend the night in my vehicle if I ended up stuck in a ditch in the middle of the woods. I thanked my supervisor, gathered my belongings, and headed out into the storm.

When I got to my car I threw a few belongings in the backseat and then got in the front. As I prepared to start the vehicle I suddenly noticed that I had brought about three shovel fulls of snow in with me. I'm still not sure quite how I managed to do that, but there were these massive piles of snow that threatened to soak the entire interior of my vehicle when it melted. I leaned across the car and opened the back passenger door in an attempt to shovel one of these piles out with my hands, but so much snow started blowing inside that it proved to be a fruitless effort. I would be forced to do my first ice driving in a rolling snow cone.

I slowly made my way through the parking lot and onto the main road which was busy with people like myself who were scrambling to get back home while they could. I drove at about 10 mph below the speed limit, thankful that I still have a California license plate. Californians can't drive in the rain (make that a drizzle) let alone a massive snow storm so I figured people would keep their distance and not expect too much out of me. I was both extremely tense and overconfident all at the same time. (An insight I now have as I've gained more experience driving in snow and ice.) Less than 5 minutes from work I passed a car accident where one car had slid into the back of another. Both cars had North Carolina plates which made me feel better. "Hey, I'm doing better than the locals."

As I headed further out of town I became the only car on the road which initially relaxed me somewhat. There was less pressure to perform and I could go as slow as I needed to. I soon realized though that less cars also meant more ice and snow on the roads. I rounded one corner at a slow and cautious speed and even still almost slid into a cow pasture. "Sorry sir. It appears I've killed one of your livestock and looks as though I'll be needing a place to stay this evening...Yes sir, that is a California license plate...No sir, I'm not a homosexual."

I was forced to slow my speed even more, but eventually made it through the flatlands and into the hills. Each hill was a little harder to crest than the one before, but I managed to make it to the steep and winding hill that leads to my mountain. It was the steepest of them all and I just barely made it up to my dirt road. If I had left work 10-15 minutes later than I did I don't think I would have made it up the hill. Now that I was off the paved roads I no longer was worried about slick asphalt, but I was now climbing to 28oo ft. above the town I'd come from and the trail already had two to three inches of snow on it. As I fought to climb uphill my car weaved back and forth across the thin trail as I jerked the wheel back and forth like a chimpanzee to counter the movement. I got three quarters of the way up my mountain, before my car stopped climbing. I fought to continue forward, but my engine started to overheat. There was no way my car could continue. I had to ditch it where it was and hike the last quarter of a mile up the mountain in the snowstorm.

It continued to snow all day and through the night dropping well over a foot onto my mountain and the community below. My car was buried and wasn't going anywhere. The snow was almost knee deep. Fortunately, I had just gone to the grocery store so I had food to eat. I ended up being completely trapped on my mountain for about a week and a half; the last portion of which I began rationing food. To this day I'm still partially snowed in, but with effort I can get into town when I absolutely have to. Things are getting better, but this Winter has been all about survival. It's like I'm having a Chris McCandless experience 15 miles from a thriving community. Fortunately, I maintained electricity and had satellite TV, but without Internet, at times I felt as though I might as well have been living up here in a bus.

A crippling virus and a foot of snow.

Wow. I didn't expect to be derailed so thoroughly and so soon. From a marketing standpoint I'm not sure that it could have happened at a worse time. It's almost the perfect example of what not to do when trying to develop readership on a new blog: Advertise in advance all over your other websites (Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, LinkedIn, etc.) and create a buzz. Come out with a bang, guns blazin' and boldly tell the world there's a new sheriff in town. Write a long, detailed commitment promising your new readers to post regularly and without fail. Follow that up with a single post and then disappear for weeks without a word like a thief in the night, to never be heard from again. What have you stolen? Their trust, respect, attention, time and any chance they'll continue to follow you. Maybe I'll write a service piece called, "How to Kill a Blog Before It Learns to Walk."

My derailment was the result of a crippling computer virus that I contracted on Facebook, rendering my entire laptop completely useless. This was the H1N1 of computer viruses; devastating. On top of that, a day or so later, a major winter storm pummeled my area with a foot of snow and trapped me on top of my mountain completely preventing me from pursuing computer access elsewhere or seeking help for my critically ill laptop. I'm still partially snowed in to this day, but I'll talk about that and my recent snow adventures in a future post.

One thing, among many, that made contracting this virus so frustrating was that it was an honest and innocent mistake. When you catch a virus while surfing porn sites you're slightly more prepared when the bad news hits. Sure it still sucks, but you knew you were playing with fire. No one wants to get attacked by a 20 ft. crocodile while swimming in a river in Africa, but the reality of the attack is easier to accept than when it occurs while swimming in a lake in Indiana. It's the difference between being told you got AIDS from your one-night stand in college and being told you got it from your bowl of cheerios that morning. I feel bad for both recipients, but it sucks even more for the cereal guy.

Despite my "innocence", however, my carelessness and foolishness are partially to blame. I guess my guard was down. I use to get 7 -12 invites a day on MySpace from half-naked women asking me to come check out their websites. I would delete invitations without a second thought. My eye was so well trained that I could spot the impostor even if the picture was of a fully clothed girl next door simply seeking "friendship". I could smell a rat.

It's been months though, maybe a year, since I've gotten any friend requests period on MySpace and every friend request I'd ever gotten on Facebook had been legitimate. Things have been so good for so long that I just stopped locking my door. Sure I didn't know this girl and we had no friends in common, but she wasn't dressed that slutty. Maybe she was the distant, slightly slutty friend of a distant, slightly slutty friend. Stranger things have happened. I was skeptical, don't get me wrong, but Facebook had never let an impostor through to me. Maybe their was something to it. In my limited computer knowledge I thought that I was safe to examine her link (which didn't show any signs of porn in the URL) as long as I didn't click anything within that link if it turned out to be illegitimate. I didn't know that you could contract a virus through the link itself and I trusted my McAfee virus protection to guard me otherwise. With hesitation I clicked the link and sure enough a porn page popped up. "Well son of a gun", I thought as I quickly closed the page, feeling confident since I did so immediately without clicking any links. No sooner had I exited the page than my computer went completely nuts. The only way the ambush could have been any worse would have been if my laptop had burst into flames right then and there. I struggled fruitlessly for awhile to save my sinking ship, but this wasn't a boat with a hole in the bottom. This one had been blasted to smithereens by a torpedo. I was floundering in the water for pieces of wreckage to grab onto as opposed to bailing out water with a bucket while the orchestra played.

Although I know it's dramatic and shows that my perspective needed adjusting I actually put my head in my hands and casually stated to the empty room that my life was over. I had the same grief stricken, partially shell shocked response of someone who's just lost a limb. It seemed like so much of my life and communication was wrapped up in that laptop and the immediate, daily Internet access that it provided.

Over the next few weeks on the rare occasions that weather permitted me to barely escape my mountain or for a friend to barely get to me I sought the computer skills of friends and family. I owe it to this team of "doctors" that I'm writing this post on my laptop today. I can't say thank you enough to Steve, Evan, Big Chris, and Clint. They brought my computer back to life in stages, each time bringing it a little closer to full recovery and building on the restoration done by the person before them. I think my troubles are over, but I don't want to be too quick to promise as my computer is still doing something a little different at times when I try to shut down. On top of that, I'm still at the mercy of the winter weather here and things have been more about survival lately than anything else.

I'd like to kick the door open and confidently exclaim, "I'm back b****es!" but I've recently learned just how much that is ultimately out of my control. Maybe I'll leave it at, "I hope I'm back...we'll see."