Posted 10:45 PM
May old infections be forgot...

Ouch. Here's a great end to 2001. Friday morning I woke up with something on my body that wasn't supposed to be there. I'll spare the gory details, but long story short...I ended up going to the doctor today, who promptly inspected me and shipped me off to another room so he could shoot me in the ass with some drug I've never heard of, shoot me at the base of this infection with another drug I've never hurt it (that hurt!), and then lance me open. I stared at the ceiling and gripped a roll of ankle-wrap while shouting an obscenity every 5 seconds. I tried to block out my mind that the dressing he gave me for this somewhat personal area of my body (just below the waistline) was sleeping on the job and giving the nurse a sneak peak at the goods, if she so desired. I like to think of myself as a somewhat fearless person, but this hurt. And not just hurt hurt, but bulldog-firmly-clamped-to-your-ass hurt. Ouch.

After I listened to the Doc give me his rundown on what not to do for the next 48 hours, I took inventory of the last 8,760 hours (that's 12 months for you math-deficient kids out there). All in all, not bad. The quick rundown: January: mundane (work, work, work). February: God-awful (car wreck and upside-down job situation). March: Scattered. (New job, new city, new state, new everything). April: Settling (happy with new job). May, June, July: Hot (But oh, those Southern nights, they can make a Midwestern man forget where he came from). August: Mundane (Where'd summer go?) September: Quick (can't remember much...rapid fire at work). October: Revitalizing (Fall arrives & LEAF!). November: Grounding (a trip back home for Thanksgiving). December: Perfection (Friends).

Except, of course, for December 31st. I'm willing to forgive this day though and call it a good year. I'm going to finish the 11 o'clock news, go toss back a few cold ones with my buddies here, and ring in 2002 in Greenville, South Carolina without a single regret for 2001.

Here's to a happy, ouch-less, lance-free 2002 for us all.

Posted 1:43 PM
Senators & Seafood

I like to think I amount to something in the real world. In the blog world, though, not so much. Let's face it, I still have a blaring advertisement banner at the top (I haven't paid the however many bucks it costs to get rid of it). My graphics haven't been altered any from the template. I don't have pictures of faraway friends, frolf scores, or future concert dates I'd like to attend. Trying to get links to other blogs on there took me damned near forever. Still, I make a somewhat half-hearted attempt to keep up with Joneses.

Thank's to my Evil Twin's help, I have managed to stick a webcounter on there to see who passes through the little burgh of One Step Left. He had lots more counts than me, though...and I had a little "blog envy", so to speak. He explained that Google was the key. A search engine bigger than Mars. He pops up in God-knows-how many searches a day submitted by procrastinating accountants, bored housewives, and porn-hungry 14 year olds.

With a little figuring, I submitted my somewhat pathetic website to the folks at Google, to judge whether or not my ranting and blah-blah-blahing was significant enough to be included in their exceedingly large vault of other useful pages and useless drivel.

Lo and behold, I'm insignificant enough. I've been Googled.

Turns out, my first two hits on my page are from someone looking up the loveable, furry "Spokeshrimp" critter form Long John Silver's ads. The third, someone looking up South Carolina's geriatric senator Strom Thurmond's tendency toward being a racist (well, previously anyway). I doubt I provided these searchers with any useful information. But I like to think I gave them a pleasant distraction while they researched their topics which could be term papers in the future...or, more likely, water cooler fodder.

Hmm...a website with shrimp theme...this could be something.

Posted 12:46 PM
Back

I took a blog-vacation, since I'm a working stiff and don't get a real vacation to anyplace tropical like Bermuda or or Hawaii or Indianapolis. I worked Christmas morning, then gathered 'round the Sprint PCS phone (you'd think they're paying me or something) and opened some gifts with my parents and my brother. We made Mom cry (in the good way), which is surprisingly harder than you think, by giving her some pictures we had taken over Thanksgiving. One was an artistic, abstract black and white one and the other was a traditional Sears-portrait-studio pose. Both came out great...Darin's photographer friend is quite talented.

I got a blanket I'd been wanting for my bed (not to be confused with a shawl), some shirts, some ties, and some books...most notably "HTML For Dummies", given to me by Evil Twin. Apparantly he's trying to tell me something about my blog, my life, or just saying Merry Christmas. I'll go with a combination of the three.

I'm back, and someday...I'll be better than ever (well, at least this site might get a couple cool new features or something). I promise not to link you to any porn sites. Well, at least not ones that cost money. Vacation is over...back to work.

Posted 6:03 PM
A lion in winter

It's the Winter Soltice...the shortest day of the year...and one of my favorites.

5:30pm, and almost completely dark out. The air mimics my icebox..chilly, you can see your breath...it will be a cold one tonight. Crank heater, smile smugly. The sun felt good...but it's time to retreat. Hibernate a little. Admire the night and the season where everything is frozen in time, no matter the temperature.

Solstice...is solace.

Posted 5:50 PM
Sugar rush

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day." A mantra drilled into our heads by moms and dads as children, it's one that shouldn't be forgotten.

Today, like a pilot in a mad rush to beat a storm before getting diverted to an alternate airport, I scrambled to find a different story rather than the one assigned to me in a small town at least an hour from here (not that I don't mind going out of town, but I didn't want to miss the newsroom Christmas party). During this scramble...I forgot to eat breakfast. I slugged coffee instead. Finally, at 11:30am...I figured out that alternative. Armed with arguably the slowest photographer in our newsroom, I arrived at our shoot location with a goal of being out of there in 45 minutes, back in time to feast on all the goodies lovingly prepared (or purchased at the Bi-Lo) by my co-workers.

My ammo blew up in my face. So-slow photographer took almost an hour and a half to complete his shooting. I milled around outside the roadside coffee stand that was my story, grinding my teeth and muttering obscentities as my blood sugar level plummeted like the Dow in September. Crankiness prevailed. In my mind, those goodies were being gobbled up by co-workers, talking and laughing and having lots of fun without me. Bastards.

Arriving back at the station at 1:20, people were still munching. I hadn't missed the group picture. So I grabbed a plate and piled it high with all kinds of stuff I couldn't possibly finish off. 15 minutes later, I stared blankly at a festive red plate with only a shred of coconut and a lone chocolate chip left on it. I zoned out for about 5 minutes as my body tried to reverse the effects of a pathetic morning in the world of news. Then my pancreas forgave my stomach, and all was right in the world again.

Well, almost all. I left out the part about hateful feelings toward a fellow co-worker who at this point has blown any chance of earning my respect...and the fact that a lack of motivation on my Friday is putting up a writing blockade higher than pile of laundry at the foot of my bed.

I need a beer and a plate of coconut-chocolate-chip-cookies. Knowing me, I'll probably just wait until breakfast...or lunch.

Posted 10:24 PM
Sleeping with the enemy

Being a bachelor has its advantages. You don't really have anyone to worry about but yourself. Sometimes, that's enough of a challenge. Lately I've been wrestling with the idea of getting a dog. I want a big dog, one that says "Yeah, that Todd's great...but check out his dog". Not that little dogs don't say that. I'm just not one for the yapiness.

My Evil Twin and his wife Woo-doo are in Springfield, Missouri right now, enjoying some family time for the holidays. For him, the sad part is he has to leave a part of his family behind...the beloved wonder-dog Scoop. I'm not sure what breed of dog Scoop is...but she's the kind of dog that's really loyal to her owner. And wouldn't ya know it...she shows that same loyalty to the dog-sitter...me, the bachelor who doesn't have anyone else to worry about. I watch Scoop when they go away not only for the oh-so-delicious Chicken Tetrazzini he fixes for me...but because it's easy and something nice I can do for a friend.

The only time I ever question Scoop's said loyalty is at night. Sure, most of us like to snuggle with someone under the covers. But Scoop likes this a little too much. Before I can even finish yawning at the end of the day...Scoop's already bounded up the stairs as fast as her little dainty dog-legs can take her. She sits on the bed and waits for me to jump in. And at that very moment when I'm slipping under the covers, she does too. She plasters herself to my body right down by my legs and refuses to move for the remainder of the night, no matter how many times I "accidentally" give her a cross between a shove and a kick.

Last night I let Scoop get away with this. The dainty-legged dog who once tore a chunk out of my while I tried to wrestle someone else's grilled chicken out of her mouth got to sleep right alongside me, under the covers, right where she wanted to be. She's lucky I was so tired from the suicide shift. I don't think she woke me up even once. If she did...I was too tired to care, or even question her loyalty.

Maybe the dainty-legged dog is growing on me. Note to self: Go pick out a big dog tomorrow. And fast.

Posted 2:01 AM
Otodda bin Workin'

In the news world, there are 3 shifts...dayside, nightside, and suicide. The 3rd one is no fun. It involves sleeping only in brief naplike periods of time and being on the air a LOT. I drew suicide this weekend. So for my fans (all 5 of you or so), fear not...I will not be in a cave in Afghanistan this weekend...I'll be at work. Posting may suffer as a result.

Overtime is great...but 6 shows over 2 days has to be equivalent to some kind of terrorism.

Posted 2:12 PM
Osamalettes?

I'm the only one in my family who can't really cook. But I do have one specialty: omelettes. 3 eggs, a splash of milk, all whisked together with a fork and poured onto a searing-hot nonstick pan coated with just a little real butter (margerine is for communists). Wait until it all starts to bubble up...then work around the edge counterclockwise with a fork, lifting the cooked part, tilting the pan slightly, and letting the un-cooked part fill in. At the same time...throw in some ham....some cheese....maybe some peppers. Wait till it's pretty much non-runny...then slide it right out on to the plate, with a little flip of the pan giving that satisfying symmetrical fold. Top with dill and some ketchup. I'd kill for one right now.

Unfortunately, my refrigerator could serve as another cave in Tora-Bora for the Al-Qaeda network. It's so empty. As previously mentioned...I hate shopping. I'll go every now and again. I attempt to stock up, but by the time I get to aisle 2A in the Bi-Lo...right as I'm cruising by the Honey Nut Cheerios...I lose steam, I get tired of navigating a metal sculpture with squeaky wheels past housewives with screaming kids and geriatric women stocking up on Ensure, and I bolt. I scan my 4 items on the U-Scan (which by this point means I've got carrots, lunchmeat, and some bread) and head home for a sandwich.

I want an omelette, now. And I want Osama out of my fridge, please.

Posted 1:15 AM
"C'mon it's lovely weather..."

50-some odd degrees...one of those skies where the clouds are so thick, it looks like dusk even at midnight because the downtown lights from the mini-skyscrapers (more like skybrushers, if you will) are reflected back toward the earth...a light mist falling. Riding down the hill on Main Street tonight coming into downtown for a few beers at Connolly's Pub with Elder-Statesman and Champagne, the fine mist dancing among the holiday lights on the trees made me think for about 2 seconds, I was happy with the illusion that it was snowing.

Less than 2 weeks from Christmas, I'm finally in the spirit. Ready, to shop and ship with wreckless abandon and extra care, respectively. My Dad, after spending 6 months out of work as a victim of the Grinchy economy, has a new job he just started (at 63 years young, a bold step). Touched, by the story of a family of 6 who lost all their meager low-income possessions in an apartment fire. Hankering, for just one of my Dad's sugary-sweet wreath cookies, iced individually with white icing and a stripe of green, with precisely 3 red-hots that burn your tongue for just a fleeting moment.

There really is a lot to be thankful for this Christmas. At the risk of sounding like an ABC after-school special, friends and family seem just a little more important this year. I will miss my folks on the 25th. Maybe instead of gathering around the tree like I've done the last 25 years...Mom, Dad, and my brother can gather round the phone to open a present or two courtesy of Sprint PCS. I'll share Christmas with both the station (hey someone's gotta work) and with friends. It'll likely be somewhere in the 60s on Christmas day. But I'm pretty sure...it will be snowing.

Post over....must....resume....cynicism!

Posted 2:14 AM
The Bored Gordons

In this profession, I am often at the mercy of other people. I can pitch a story I want to do on a given day, but I ultimately have to surrender to the producers and management if they want something different covered. I then proceed immediately to my desk to make 6 or 7 phone calls, then wait as if Publishers Clearing House was going to show up at my desk (complete with baloons) and announce I was the grand prize winner (complete with the oversized check which I'm certain you can't cash). When someone finally does call me back, I head to the assignment desk where a photographer is assigned to me. Then, the real trip begins...putting your life (so to speak) in the hands of someone else.

Have you ever thought about how vulnerable you are riding in the passenger seat of a car (or how weird it feels, especially when you ride in your OWN passenger seat?) Here's someone I know at the very least in a working capacity...maybe a little better if I'm lucky...chauffering me around town. And I'm totally in that person's hands...there is no drivers-ed type brake thing if he's not paying attention. That can be a little scary sometimes...I've had a few near-sideswipes and have found myself doing the mom thing where you put your arm across the driver's chest when they stop too quickly(as if your arm is going to save someone in the event of a crash!)

Most are great to ride with though. One in particular my Evil Twin refers to as "Mr. Efficiency" is a hoot. Here is a man so regimented and routine, yet so happy with it. It's almost mechanized: load gear. leave station. drive to Dunkin' Donuts. Purchase coffee and crullers. Put in CD (either Sopranos or, lately, Christmas music medleys he got from the inside of a Rice Chex box). Eat while driving. Rinse, lather, repeat.

But for a man with such a mechanized schedule, his conversations are anything but. We talk about some of the weirdest things...which is very cool. Foreign countries...horses...inventions...his daughter...sandwiches...lots of things. We make fun of other people too (you know, cause we're both so perfect), and somehow...ended up talking about another anchor/reporter's habit of pretending to be interested in conversations (you know, when you do the obligatory mmmm-hmmmmms when you really could give a rat's ass). Thus, he was deemed "Bored Gordon"...which we decided, pluralized, would be a great name for a band. We had come up with a whole CD-full of titles for the debut album. It's amazing the things you'll do on an otherwise ordinary day for self-amusement...but we'd all go insane without The Bored Gordons and other made-up creations.

Tomorrow I'll be at the mercy of others once again....but for now, I'm only at the mercy of my imagination. Did I just hear Publishers Clearing House knock?

Posted 11:47 PM
I am Norman Fader

If you're a Saturday Night Live fan like I am, and I'm talkin' about the classic stuff before it got all sucky in the mid 90s, you know Roseanne Rosannadana (my mom does a killer impersonation). One of my favorite skits it's when she's reading letters from her mailbag. One goes something like this:

Dear Roseanne Rosannadana,
Recently I quit smoking. Since then, my feet hurt, my face is broken out, I've got gas, cramps, I'm nauseous, I'm cranky, etc....
Signed, Norman Fader

Her reply:
Dear Mister Fader...you sound like a REAL attractive individual.

I got in another bitchin' session today...a lack of sleep tends to do that to me. I'm not feeling creative or motivated. I spent hours today in Spartanburg...which is very Spartan but hardly qualifies as a burg. One highlight: I got to meet some of the surviving family members of World Trade Center victims. Not what many people would call a highlight, but I hadn't really been able to put a tangible emotional spin in my mind on that stuff until today. They had been flown down from NYC by Spartanburg County to be given money the county's 9-11 fund raised...close to $250,000 smackers. They seemed at peace even though they shed a few tears. Our gang-bang interview of them was a huge discourtesy but a necessity in this business (gangbang: a news term for many cameras and microphones in a single person's face, done in the interest of saving time). I left the Spartan non-burg late, but the day didn't seem like a total waste. I guess I'm kind of a softy somtimes.

On another nice note, I was feelin' my first touch of holiday blue the other day. Friends and our holiday party for work quickly washed out the blue into a periwinkle of some kind. Friends are better than any tree I could throw up in my living room. Besides, friends don't need nearly as much water.

I can't keep my eyes open anymore. It's either a sign I'm going through some kind of evolution process, or I just need to get in bed and try to make it through the next 3 days of my workweek. If you call, and my answering machine says "You've reached Norman Fader", don't worry. I'm usually only grouchy long enough to write a quick letter or blog.

Maybe it's time to change "One Step Left" into "Dear Roseanne Rosannadana".

Posted 9:39 AM
I've got a what on my where?

If you haven't already gathered from previous ramblings...both friends and music are a big part of my life. When I can put those two things together, it's even better. Last night we ventured out to Barley's so Scrappy Hamilton could put a little boogy-woogy in our veins. I'd describe it as a rockin'-jivin'-wailin' kind of thing. Deep-crust pizza and some kind of red beer mixed through the melodies. Looking around at the table, I felt good...like we were something out of a scene from St. Elmo's Fire. (ooga ooga ooga...ah ha ha! OK, so I like the 80s...shoot me)

My sophomore year in college was the first time I ever picked up a guitar. It was in the hallowed halls of Beta Theta Pi where a true countryboy by the name of John Whiteside decided he was going to teach me how to play. This guy was amazing...he could play anything by ear and knew exactly how to make it sound just like the real thing. I tried my best to turn envy into effort. I'd go down to his room every afternoon after I got out of class (or bed, depending on whether Keystone Light ruled the previous night) and learn a new chord or two. He was very patient and by the end of the year I'd learned the 6 basic chords and some variations on them. Couple that with what some might describe as a semi-quick wit, and I found I was able to whip up songs about people with just a little effort (and a little alcohol). Needless to say, it was entertaining for us during a night of drinking...the main act being, not Dylan or Hendrix, but something of a male version of Phoebe from 'Friends'.

7 years, 2 guitars, and many beers later...I still love sitting around, drinking beer, and writing songs. Last night in the general debauchery, an impromptu song had most of us to the point of crying. I really don't know how "My cat's got a capo on his tail" got started...but I'm glad it ended 30 minutes later. Otherwise, I might have been dead from forgetting to breathe during laughing.

Pizza, beer, friends, music. It's the kind of thing that balances out the fact that it's 9:37am and I've already been up for some 5 hours. If I had a tail...capo or not...it'd be wagging, guaranteed.

Posted 12:57 AM
Polio Arrow

Some of my friends, in particular my Evil Twin and his wife Woo-do, call me the "REM", or Remorseless Eating Machine. I've been fortunate to keep the furnace going inside my body, possibly carried over from the swimming days...or it could just be a parasite. In any event, I like to eat...and when I eat, I eat lots...yet somehow keep this svelte, girlish figure.

After a long day of final projects in Hendrix Hall, Elder-Statesman (see post below) and I got in his Cherokee to head back up Hwy 123 from Clemson back to Greenville. It was dark out, and I was noticeably hungry. E-S started the car and proceeded to hand me a folded, small rectangle of paper with a simple "here" as he threw the car into reverse. Much like with food, I can smell money from far away...sometimes without even seeing it. The folded rectangle was a check. I looked at E-S quizzically and he nonchantly muttered something about thanking me for my help this semester. As much as I would have pleased the computer space reserved for my money at the Bank of America, I quickly passed the still-folded rectangle back at him with a "Nonsense". It seemed ridiculous to take money for doing something I really enjoyed. Much like when I was a swim team coach, I will miss those college kids next semester. It was an enjoyable distraction from everyday life. But not something I could take money for. So I let E-S take me to dinner, seeing as he was as hungry as I was...and my stomach sounded like an angry Doberman.

The Greek community in Greenville has a fairly good sized presence. There's a big festival in April, with a ton of food in front of the huge Greek church downtown on some street that I can't remember the name of (I will blog about my Geographical Ineptude here at a later date). There is a restaurant called "Never On Sundays" on Coffee Street, one I hadn't been to and one that sounded as good as anything at this point. Never On Sundays is an old house, really. Inside, it's 2 very small, very dark, very narrow dining rooms. There are family pictures all over the place, and maps of Greece and the Acropolis on the tables. When we walked in around 8pm, we were shocked to find we were the only 2 people in the whole place. The grandmotherly Greek woman came out from behind the kitchen area to seat us and take our orders. She was very friendly in the grandmotherly way. She also recognized us as "those guys on TV" and peppered us with a few nice compliments.

She took care of us the same way I imagine she takes care of every one of her customers...like we're the only people in the place. Lemon chicken soup, Greek salad with feta, and a huge combination plate of everything from lamb stew to souvlaki to a bunch of other stuff I can't pronounce. I didn't want wine, but Grandma brought it out anyway. "Drink it, Drink it!" I didn't refuse.

Another glass of wine with the baklava Grandma brought out. We didn't order it. It was delicious. I toasted her, and asked her what the Greek word for "cheers" was, under the impression it was "igiya" or something to that effect. She told me it was "polyero", or something to that effect. It sounds like polio arrow, a medieval type device to ward off sickness. But she appreciated my effort to thank her in her own language.

At 9, we walked out of Never On Sunday, but not before we gave Grandma a hug. I came home and complimented my neighbor Christine on the Christmas lights she's put up on our duplex, making me look good. And I sat down in my easy chair, not to move again for the rest of the night. The Remorseless Eating Machine is stuffed. I doubt this girlish figure will last forever. But if I have the Greeks to blame, I'll probably still be a happy man, shouting "Polio Arrow" from the rooftops with a mouthful of Souvlaki.

Posted 12:04 AM
99 (luftbaloons?)

Tonight my station aired a special called "Strom Thurmond" at 99. It was an hour-long retrospect into one man's life...a stationwide effort that really showed our storytelling side. I wasn't thrilled about watching it...but in the end, I was very impressed with the information to entertainment ratio.

Strom Thurmond, as many of you probably know, is the oldest senator in the history of the United States. But what you probably don't know is the man is a champion of fruits, vegetables, fish, and beef. He's responsible for those alcohol warning labels directed toward pregnant women on alcohol bottles. He used to help farm on his property and pick the vegetables to give to other people. He has sisters. He is from Edgefield, South Carolina (in the low-country), where 10 other governors have some sort of claim to fame (so says the Ten Governors Cafe). From what I can tell, he is reformed racist. And he is still alive today, although the debate rages on between Elder-statesman (my buddy Chris) and Champagne (a reporter friend from Champaign, IL, but Champagne just sounds like a good name for her) whether he actually lives in a hospital or a nursing home.

I'm in my nursing-home right now...on my couch...after a long week. I have been all over the Upstate, from Walhalla in Oconee County for a story on middle school PACT score disparities, to Greenville's beautiful performing arts venue, the Peace Center (including meeting a visual artist who made me want to pick up my colored pencils and draw more prize-winning parrots like I did in high school). I feel tired and maybe a bit on the old side (I've been crochety about how my neck feels out of whack).

I still don't mind getting old. But I don't think I want to be 99. And should I ever get there...please, remember me...but not through an hour-long special, no matter how good or bad it may be.

Posted 5:24 PM
...A not-so-bright loser, baby...

I got this e-mail from mom:

"Hi Honey - for the record...
Kvetching = Complaining
Shrying = Yelling"

Mom's always big on tryin' to fix me up with that pretty girl named Intelligence. Intelligence used to have a crush on me. Why won't she bother me for a date like Warmth does?

Posted 1:10 AM
I'm a loser baby...

...but don't kill me. I think I can hear my Zadi (that's yiddish for grandfather) kavetching (that's yiddish for yelling) at me from Boca Raton right now. Probably something along the lines of "You're an embarassment to the Kaufman family name". My Arch Enemy just beat me in what's become a tradition: the Monday Night Football/Pizza/Scrabble Doubleheader. Alas, that's fine. Today was stress free. I enjoyed my evening. The spokeshrimp is on in a new commercial...this time he's rapping. I'm turnin' in soon. Another good day...ends. I know better to say "the other shoe will drop tomorrow". So I'll turn in under the illusion that Tuesday will be just as good as Monday.

Sorry Zadi. I'll try harder next Monday. I blame the pizza. It was so good...it was distracting.

Posted 8:58 PM
Giving in

Accept the things you can't change, they say. That's something stubborn Capricorns like me have a hard time dealing with. But today, I reached a level of acceptance with Mother Nature. Instead of cursing her, telling her that she never should have sent that hussy Warmth down here to plague me with her taunting sunshine...I went out and gave Warmth a hug. The Frolf (frisbee-golf) was excellent...I didn't play well, but I forgot about the fact it was December 2nd and let the sun's rays warm me from the inside out.

After a day of sun and frolf and waking up too early for work, I'm pretty much dead to the world tonight. Even getting up and putting my shirts in the washer seems equal to the effort of buildling a Toll Road through protected wetlands in Illinois. I probably shouldn't have stayed out so late last night, but we were celebrating My Evil Twin's birthday over at Shecky's Dad's house. He snickered at my gag-gift of "Just For Men" gel...but I'm really hoping he's not as idle as I am this evening. Otherwise, I'm afraid we'll be greeted by a suddenly darker-haired Evil Twin at work tomorrow morning. See, he's not happy about aging. Even though he's only 28, it would seem grey temples are a worse fate than a noon live shot for him. I, on the other hand, welcome age. I don't know why, but numbers like 30 and 40 don't really scare me. 30-somethings I've shared this with give me the "big brother" routine..."Just wait till you get there." OK, I'm waiting. While I'm waiting, I'll just keep living my life like I've been doing. Stuff is getting done...and that stuff is interesting for the most part.

More years just means more stuff. Bring it on. The stubborn, happily-aging Capricorn is ready. And he'll never be looking for "Just For Goats" gel.

Posted 6:47 AM
"For the cost of just a cup of coffee [from Starbucks]..."

...you can feed a starving child in Africa. Or, you can play a night's worth of poker.

My Arch Enemy wasn't nice at first...he had 27 to my 26 and a half. My Evil Twin was of little consequence. In the end, the mean men only took 3 dollars from me. Not bad for 3 hours. I'm getting back on the horse. He's just not a Derby winner yet.

I'm going to eat my bagel and drink my orange juice and pretend it's not 6:42am on my Monday morning.