Posted 5:59 PM
The mean man took my money

My arch enemy (you know, the competitive one from the Scrabble games) informs me its poker night. "We're dealing em up, Randy's, 9." I like poker night, but that should go without saying. I mean, when you mix the possiblity at winning money with a supply of spicy beef jerky, rotelle and chips, and 80s music, what could go wrong? The answer: everything.

First off, I've been playing poker for about a dozen years. Games in my family were always big. We had a nice supply of board games. My dad, who I'm convinced could have been a General on the frontlines of a war, taught me strategy games like Backgammon, Chess, and Stratego. Mom taught me Scrabble. And there were the mindless filler games in there too (LIFE and Sorry! come to mind). When I got to high school though, everything took a back seat to poker and its associated games.

Life on the swim team can be compared with Boot Camp: regimented, with long hours and early bedtimes. Even though we had Sundays off, we still stuck together on Saturday nights to hang out together. As a freshman, I can remember watching the seniors all sit around and play poker. Nickel ante, quarter bet max. Easier games made sense..."7 card stud" and "5 card draw". Harder games didn't...but were eqaually as intriguing..."7-27" and "Guts".

Three years later, we weren't watching...we were playing...for three years running. It was addictive. It was entertaining. It was fun. We spent a lot of time sucking down Sunkist Sparkling Lemonades and eating Snyders Pretzel Rods, all the while tossing our silver at one another. Years later (OK, months, but who's counting) we graduated to beers and the kind of money that folds rather than jingles. A few years after that, Hollywood came to Aurora...the Hollywood Casino, that is. As if throwing money at one another wasn't good enough, we now had two floating gambling meccas and a slew of new games...blackjack, craps, roulette. We had a lot of fun times on those boats. A lot of losses too. The wins peppered in there, though, were enough to keep us coming back. We still do.

I like to think I've learned a lot about gambling, and while I'm no Amarillo Slim...I have a decent pokerface and most times, know when to say when. It was enough to win me almost a grand in Las Vegas a year ago. But since then, I haven't done so well. The last 3 times I've played, I've got my clock cleaned.

I'm hoping for better luck tonight. I'm hoping my Arch Enemy won't spring Aces-over-kings against my handful of spades. I'm hoping my Evil Twin doesn't pass me a 2, 3, and a 5 when I'm needing high cards in Anaconda. And should the kind of money that folds decide to flee my wallet for someone elses, I hope the spicy beef jerky can comfort me like mom's soup does when you're sick.

Wish me luck...mean men are hard to deal with.

Posted 8:52 PM
Bah, Humbug

Pass the parka, please. I'll take a heaping side of gloves and scarves, and please...don't skimp on the boots. And throw in a lot of icy, bone-chilling cold for dessert. Sounds like a meal that'd make you wish you'd have taken a Pepcid before, right?

I'm infatuated with a woman. Her name is Winter. It's probably my Detroit/Chicago upbringing that seems to boil to the surface this time of year. The problem is, the thing that's boiling it...its Warmth.

Warmth is the woman Winter hates. Warmth is that popular girl that everybody around here can't seem to get enough of. She makes her presence known, and nearly everyone pays attention. The run up to embrace her. They invite her to join them in pickup games of basketball in Cleveland Park. They beg her to come sit awhile on their deck at dusk, while they unwind from their days and talk about Warmth's crazy cousin, Summer. "Remember that time Summer came, and we all got wasted sitting around the glass-topped table? That was GREAT!"

Warmth blew in to town sometime around Tuesday, angering both me and Winter. Winter couldn't handle losing a popularity contest, so she ran away, hiding her head in shame. This, of course, is the stuff Warmth lives for. She embraced, she joined in baskebtall games, and she sat on my friends' decks. I hate her so much, I did a story on her today. Ron Cooley and Aubrey Camp's Christmas tree farm didn't invite her, but they did share their distaste for Warmth too. Misery loves company, they say. We were sweaty and miserable.

I put up some Christmas decorations my mom sent me last night. Winter loves them, but she ran away before she could see them. Warmth guffawed at them, mocked them, and made me feel bad for even THINKING I could put them up without her telling lettting me know just how ridiculous they look on a November afternoon in South Carolina.

November 28th. 8:45pm. 65 degrees and partly cloudy. I miss Winter. I hope she doesn't break our date for Christmas.

Posted 12:14 AM
How to win friends and influence people

4 times a semester, I get to go down to Clemson and help my buddy teach his Speech class. It's like Journalism 101. Considering I've been in this business for roughly two years, I'd say I'm about the equivalent of Journalism 201. But these college kids look at me like I'm some kind of expert. Truthfully, I'd be an expert when it comes to sitting around in a bar with them and making beer disappear. But they somehow see me as strangely qualified to dole out comments, critiques, and criticism on their writing and reporting skills. They actually listen, and some of them even use my suggestions. That makes me feel good. Tonight, we graded their third project -- liveshot reporting.

Today, Journalism 201 gave me the opportunity to shake hands with probably the richest man I've ever met to date. Mr. Tate, an entrepreneur-turned-philanthropist, decided the 2 million smackers he had sittin' around...didn't need to be sittin' around anymore. He gave it to our Technical College. It's chump-change to him, but to the suits in this place, he gave them the world. I'm glad he gave it to schools. I would have liked just 100 bucks of it. I settled for a free lunch from the suits at their "Thank You For Making Our Ass Kissing Pay Off So We Can Keep Our Jobs" luncheon. The chicken was marinated, the rice was spicy, and the vegetables were steamed. Yum.

I gave 16 Journalism 101 students Bs tonight. I gave 5 Journalism 101 students As. And I gave this Journalism 201 student a B. I feel above-average. It could be the fact that, occasionally, people listen to me and I can moisten up bone-dry stories.

Then again, it could just be the marinated chicken.

Posted 1:24 AM
Dead Weight

I'm a slug. A sofa fixture. A champion of the couch. I haven't moved tonight except to order a pizza, and to pay for the pizza, and to get a plate from the kitchen on which to eat the pizza. Oh, and I played 2 games of scrabble with my arch enemy. We split, but he's still up 4-3 in the series. I watched football. I couched some more. Surrending yourself to the warm embrace of sofa cushions is a good thing.

It looks like my shows will get better. The producer (a major player in those shows) is now gone. Fired. Kaputsky. Adios, sayonara, buh-bye. I hate to see that happen to anyone. I felt a tinge of guilt when the formal announcement was made by our boss. Hushed whispers and quiet phone calls were made, alerting the rest of the people who weren't at work to witness it. The "confirmation calls", so to speak. Some smiles. Some private "hoorahs". Celebrating in someone's demise probably isn't right. But even Mister Honesty had a smirk on his face...so I guess it's OK.

Getting rid of dead weight is a good thing for an organization. My olive green, firm yet oh-so-comfortable couch is probably thinking the same thing right now. Unfortunately, I'm not going anywhere.

Posted 9:19 PM
Drive!

My brain has officially short circuited, I'm thinking. Not for any particular reason. My show this morning was better for me, but that's relative...for the most part, it was like that broken, crumbly, just-over-stale chocolate chip cookie you find at the bottom of the jar. It's not what you wanted, but it'll do.

I played frolf this afternoon and watched my fantasy football team have its worst week since the 2nd week of the season. That made my mind wander even more. For some reason, I started thinking about a nice, long, put-on-some-good-tunes-and-clear-your-head kind of drive. In no particular order, these are my favorites:

St. Louis to Springfield: Westbound on I-44, you roll down from St. Louis into the wide open spaces of southwest Missouri. The terrain continues to roll. It's not congested and there's some exhilirating carving through river valleys and granite sections.

Knoxville to Asheville: You wind through the heart of the Blue Ridge mountains, twisting and turning down a Lombard-Street-like I-40. Tunnels make you feel like a kid on Space Mountain.

Glenwood Canyon, Colorado: I-70 feels more like "The Beast" rollercoaster at Cincinnati's Kings Island, particularly westbound. The Rockies tower tall above you on either side, making you feel small and significant. Tunnels envelop you periodically, giving you that youthful, on-the-edge-of-your-seat feeling with just a few halogen yellows guiding you.

Those are just a few that me and my truck, Tripper, love. Wouldn't it be perfect to take one of those drives right now. Unfortunately, I have no drive. It seems my fantasy league players don't have any either. And my running backs didn't drive at all today.

Perhaps I need to check my steering wheel. My rack & pinion is probably out of whack.

Posted 8:57 AM
Showers and blunderstorms

Is there anything better than rain? It hadn't rained here in 28 days. Last night, a bumpy descent into GSP International Airport prefaced a mad dash from the American Eagle regional-jet's door to the terminal, in what could only be described as a total washout. People were grabbing umbrellas and scowling. I was grabbing my carryon and drinking it in. Literally. For a minute I looked Andy DuPhrane from The Shawshank Redemption, where he stands in the middle of the river after escaping and lets cascading torrents wash him clean. Then, I came to my senses and went inside after realizing it was somewhat cold out there. Still, the sound of my "windshield wipers slappin' out a tempo" on the way home was better than anything I could have found on the radio dial.

More importantly, I was thankful to have something to say during my show the next morning other than "Live Super Doppler not picking up any rain...". My friends, whom I met with for a few beers at the Handlebar last night, were actually happy for me.

Alas, when I got to work this morning, the harsh reality which I fled from on Tuesday greeted me. Working a morning show is difficult. It's an hour long. The format never seems to be the same. And thanks to a little "miscommunication" between some folks (we'll leave it at that), I had a less-than-perfect show where it seemed like everything was a hassle. Now I get to sit here and mull it over while watching 2 Buzz Lightyears perform triple axels at Rockafeller Center. Does it get any better than this?

Sometimes cliches are so fitting. When it rains, it pours.

Posted 2:03 PM
Beers with the boys (and girls)

Thanksgiving is all about tradition. Let's all get together, take a helpless bird, clean out its insides, put something different in as a substitute, serve it, and watch it seemingly last for a lifetime. Sure, call me a Scrooge or a Grinch...I'm just not a fan of the fare...or the fanfare...that goes along with the holidays.

Something I am a fan of, however, is good friends from way back...and seeing those friends after you haven't seen them in awhile. THIS is a Thanksgiving tradition I like. Every Wednesday before Thanksgiving, we all return "home", go out, and drink ourselves silly. We open up the books to our pasts and read a few of our favorite pages. The stories are always the same, but they're always great. And the beer always tastes a little better when you're drinking with people you've known for more than a decade.

Last night, tradition lived on...although it has aged a little. Suddenly, as 26 year olds, we decided not to go to our usual haunts of "Pockets" (it's since closed) and "Jimmy's Grill" (think college bar, in a not-so-college town). It was time to move on to a new venue..."Your Neighbors". It's a corner bar in a strip-mall of all places, next to the DMV on 75th Street. It's full of mostly 30 and 40 somethings, but no one seemed to mind our group. And it was a big group. One by one, tradition drifted in from the chilly November air to grab a glass and take a few draws off the pitchers sitting on the table. Handshakes and hugs, a lot of laughs. Success stories. A few minor bumps in the road. The death of a classmate. "My kid is cute, want to see some pictures?" "I'm moving to Indianapolis in January". "Can you tell your brother to shut up?" "Is Smyser coming?" "Shut up!" "2 more pitchers please". "Quit drunk-dialing people, Artis." "Wait, make that 4 pitchers please". "Let's hit the boats...ship, captain, crew!" I like those sounds. A lot.

One sound, though, made me feel a little uneasy. "The wedding is in August"...uttered by Christy. Christy was my first real girlfriend (other than the ones you kiss behind Bus #8 after track practice, or the ones you slow danced with in 8th grade with enough space between the two of you to park a Volkswagen). We dated for 5 years. I can honestly say, we were good together...good for each other. Most people thought the same, maybe even moreso than we did. After 5 years, I decided I didn't want to date Christy anymore. Restless? A little. "Greener pastures?" Perhaps. But when I think about it, now, it was one of the most Sophomoric decisions I've ever made in my life. The wise fool has no regrets...but looks at her, and still feels a little bit of the same thing he felt for 5 years.

She's moved on. Found a great guy, Ryan says. He seemed nice enough when I shook his hand, and he seemed nice enough when he asked me about the news business. She didn't have much to say to me...perhaps because she was as uneasy as I felt. After 10 minutes, she and her...Fiancee (it's even a little tough to type!)...left. I gave Fiancee a handshake. I gave her a hug. Ryan says I shouldn't have. I'm glad I did. She seems happy...and that makes me happy, too.

Strangely enough, it's part of the tradition, I suppose. Christy's cleaned out her insides (of me, anyway). She's put something else in as a substitute. And I hope he lasts a lifetime for her. For a few minutes last night, I felt like a turkey. In a few hours, I'll be eating one. Tradition is funny that way.

Posted 5:58 PM
Green means go

I'm not cut out for big city life. Greenville, fine. Minot, North Dakota...even better. It's not that I couldn't handle thugs on the streets attempting to take my wallet from me. Not as if I couldn't wedge my "I'm-better-than-you-because-my-windows-are-tinted-darker" SUV into a parking space the size my desk at work. It's the traffic.

Naperville has grown from 60,000 people in 1987 when my Dad first moved us here...to the current 120,000 people today. The problem, like in most towns, is that while population grew...roads did not. And on this day-before-Thanksgiving rush to get last minute, overlooked items at the grocery...I was reminded of this. As I drove across town, down 95th Street through former cornfields turned housing developments as if recruited by some ragamuffin gang, traffic was everywhere. A snake of blinking red taillights as far as I could see (which isn't far because it's so damned flat around here). Alas, I clamored my way across the blacktop to Naper Blvd. Oh, blessed, joyous green light! Deliver me to the Dominicks so I can buy my sugar for my mother attempting to spread Thanksgiving cheer with pumpkin pie! I reached out for the green with the front end of my car, tires rolling ever so slowly....and then....

I promptly got stuck in the middle of the intersection. Horns honked at me from either side, as if the cars were poking at me with jousting sticks. Traffic won again. The light was green. All I saw was red. In blinking taillights, and in my mind.

Which way is Minot, again?

Posted 1:37 AM
Home for the Holidays

It's a fact I have long since accepted. It's a fact my parents refuse to accept. And it's a fact I'm not really sure my brother cares one way or another about, because he's so bad with geography. I live far away from, what I have come to call home.

The definition of "home", in my mind, is where you make it. I live in Greenville, South Carolina. I have a semi-affordable 2 bedroom apartment, a semi-well paying job, and a semi-permanent group of friends who, by the way, are some of the best people around. But ask my mother the same question...and you get a completely different answer.

Me, last year at Christmas, to friend on phone: "I'm heading back home [to Amarillo] in 2 days."
Mom, scowling and raising voice slightly: "What do you mean you're going home? You ARE home! And don't slouch!"

OK, so I lied about the slouching part...but the rest is real.

Naperville, Illinois is where my parents live. It's also where they chose to raise me from 6th grade on. And it was a great place for them to do so. They provided a semi-affordable cedar and brick home with their semi-well paying jobs and watched their children grow up along with their semi-permanent group of friends.

Thanks to their guidance, they gave me the lift to spread my wings and leave the proverbial nest. First Oklahoma...then Texas...and now South Carolina. I sometimes wish I lived closer to them. But I'm very happy making my home in Greenville.

Anyhow, the time came about a month ago to go to my mother's definition of "home". This meant buying a plane ticket to Chicago. Thanks (or no thanks) to my job, I had to be back at work on a Saturday morning. So I was forced to buy an airline ticket with no Saturday stay. For you not-so-frequent fliers, this spells disaster in terms of price. 300 bucks, for what was to be a 72 hour stay. Just enough time to maybe say hi to an old friend or two, stuff myself senseless with juicy, tender turkey and savory stuffing, and turn around and go right back home. It seemed like such a waste. I bitched (notice a theme here) to friends. They seemed sympathetic enough. I whined. I rationalized. I still felt like it was just too much for such a short period of time.

With all this flying from one home to the other over the past 7 years, however, I've learned a little trick. Airlines oversell seats. Especially on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. And you can profit like a motherf*cker if you know how it's done. I know how it's done. And today, I exchanged 2 hours of my time for 500 dollars in airline vouchers. I can use these vouchers to go see friends...go to strange exotic places like Portland and Dayton, Ohio...and go to and from anyplace I might be calling home at the time.

Tonight though, after those vouchers were put away safely in my briefcase, I toured my parents' new condo (it's very chic). I ate 2 heaping bowls of Johnny Marzetti (if you want the recipe, ask). And I sat down and had a beer with my family...who I really hadn't seen for the better part of a year. We laughed a lot over the excruciating minutia of our pasts, and talked about the present and future. I haven't felt this centered in a long time. I'm happy. I'm content. And because of switching over to Central time, I'm tired.

Guess Mom's right. I'm home...and going home, I've figured out, can't be valued in airline vouchers. Going home is priceless.

Posted 12:42 AM
Tee-hee

I like TV. I like advertising. So it only makes sense that I like commercials. My favorite right now is for Long John Silvers. I wouldn't eat there if you paid me. But I would go there to meet the spokesshrimp. He's got a Frenchy accent and looks like a Muppet. He says a few lines throughout the commercial. But I can't help but laugh when he looks up plaintively at the end of the commercial and says, "I can start today", with an inflection upward at the end of today.

Am I easily amused or what? Now my "not-so-terrible, not-exactly-horrible, can't-call-it-no-good, un-very-bad day" doesn't seem so bad.

Laughter rules. Thanks a lot, spokesshrimp. See you in hell, too.

Posted 12:30 AM
Gravity

I haven't invented anything in my life of much consequence. I've had a few theories here and there, but they really never amount to much. So I have a great amount of respect for Issac Newton. The guy gets credit for the reason we don't float away into space just because an apple fell on his head. I'm sure there's more to it, but I'm in a rather simplistic state right now. I may respect the man, but he's not on my Christmas/Hanukkah list right now.

Yesterday, I soared. On top of the world for no particular reason at all. Today, I plummeted. Speeding toward the Earth faster than a 9 year old racing for the Good Humor truck on a July afternoon in Texas. I made up my mind around noon that I am a hopelessly moody bitch. Strangely enough, the 2 friends I declared this to didn't seem to disagree in the least. It was by no means anywhere close to the "Terribly horrible, no-good, very bad day" made famous in children's literature (remember book fairs in 3rd grade?), but my story turned out to be more blah than a January sky before the flurries start to fall. I'm getting sleepy, and I welcome sleep. It's a chance to put 8 hours between me and the day that was, in all honesty, of little consequence to anyone.

Gravity sucks. Thanks a lot, Newton. See you in hell.

Posted 11:36 PM
Soaring

I'm thoroughly convinced that we all have cycles. Men, women, dogs, squirrels, trees. Everyone's got em. I'm riding the crest of the highpoint in my cycle at present. It was like a bad cold I couldn't shake -- nothing could wipe that shit-eatin' grin off my face today. I didn't win anything. I didn't do anything especially noteworthy. My spirit's just kind of soaring for some reason.

This on a day where I had to experience deja vu all over again. September 11th, I walked into the Romper Room (it's like the table where they sit the kids at Thanksgiving...but it's the table that's always the most fun). I put down my keys. I picked up my coffee mug. And I walked into the newsroom to find reporters...photographers...producers...humans...seeking information about something horrible. Today: a carbon copy. This time, I was sent out immediately to the airport, hoping for the best and fearing the worst. As the day progressed, hope conquered fear. Airports opened. People got on planes, and those nice older ladies I interviewed at the airport will get to see their Broadway shows.

Everyone hits those high points in their cycles. And while not everyone is soaring tonight...I'm perfectly content to enjoy the view...from above.

Posted 10:33 PM
Friendship grows on a vine

Living in the South has been an adventure. Sure, I weathered the storm of studying storms...and stormed out west to Oklahoma and Texas to tackle the beginnings of what's been a sunny and pleasant career in the media. But when I moved from Texas to South Carolina last March, I encountered something this transplanted Yankee hadn't ever seen before.

It was a patch of trees on US-25, just south of the North Carolina-South Carolina border. These trees, once tall-standing oaks and terrific smelling pines, looked like they got mixed up in a bad crowd. A heavy weight made them shrink. Twisting lengths of unidentifiable foliage bottled up and corked their natural perfume. It's beautiful and innocent enough, but it's a killer.

Me: "What's that ivy lookin' stuff you see on trees around here?"
Native Southerner: "Are you kidding? That's Kudzu. Boy, you're not from around here are you?"
Me, shaking head and nodding at the same time: "No...I sure ain't."

(I had a similar experience with okra, but I won't go into that right now). Anyhow, I got to know the tight-knit vines called Kudzu very well. Today, I meandered up the mountain, right past the place where kudzu and I first locked eyes, and talked to a duo of men trying to eradicate kudzu in their town. It turned out to be a good story. And 8 months after our first encounter, kudzu and I worked alongside each other like old friends. And I masked the naive, transplanted Yankee in me well enough to pull off a few interesting conversations with two native southerners.

On another note, I've been pretty lucky to stumble into something wonderful here. I've been lucky in my life to always have real good buddies to horse around with, find mischief with, and share a lot of laughter and tears with. But the circle of friends that sucked me in like a top-of-the-line Hoover when I arrived here are really somethin' special. One of those friends is hurtin' tonight. He can't quite figure out why. I can't either. I'm no psychologist, but I do have big ears...and I put them to good use listening. After we talked tonight, I think he felt a little better...and knowing that, so did I. He'll get over it, and he'll be just fine. Back to his ol' delightfully-sarcastic self.

We're a tight knit group. We're kudzu. We're just nicer to trees.