Posted 3:03 PM
School Daze

How many little things can go wrong in your life before you realize it's actually all added up to one BIG thing? It's been a bone of contention among people I've asked lately. While soliciting numerous opinions, I think I finally decided that it is still just small stuff.

And to think, I actually had to think yesterday...I think. As the result of a cranky judge getting upset at one of our photographers during a court case last month, the entire news department was required to strap on the thinking cap and attend class last night. For 45 minutes, our legal guy stood up at the front of the old studio while some 60 of us sat in neatly arranged rows of folding chairs. Rule 605 is the reason why South Carolina courts will, under most cases, allow TV cameras in courtrooms. It applies while court is in session, in the courtroom, and to areas adjacent to the courtroom like hallways. It means don't wear insignias or logos, and dress nicely. Don't use distracting lights. If your equipment breaks, don't try to fix it right then and there....wait until the judge takes a break. Basically, don't be an ass.

As if the lecture wasn't enough, we had to take a test. A real written test, with true/false and short answer questions. I hadn't taken a written test of any kind in 2 years. That somewhat nervous feeling came back...and there's always that one question that you're not quite sure if you answered it right. The guy in back of me (who shall remain unnamed) started heckling people (people, being me). Is that allowed during a test? Out Loud? Bueller?

This morning I found that somewhat nervous feeling of "did I pass?" sticks with me. I tried to wash it away with a big breakfast of eggs and english muffins but it still sticks with me. If I don't pass, I can't go into courtrooms to cover trials. In reality, that's a good thing. And it's a small thing. But somehow, when something small is associated with a test...it seems bigger.

And to think I once thought I was done with all those number two pencils. I'll be using them for decades.

Posted 7:31 PM
The Good Humor Man

What a lousy day.

I spent an entire day trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. We do it often in news. "Feeding The Beast", my Evil Twin calls it. But today was pure hell. I had nothin', Jerry...nothin'. No nuggets. No surprises. No tidbits. Nothin'. Calgon, take me away.

At the end of the day though, I made something work. Weaving together bits and fragments of information, I presented something in 3 different newscasts that made me look like I knew what I was talking about...and gave the illusion that it mattered to you if you were watching.

Upon return to the station, the quiet, unassuming webmaster...said this:

"I thought your story did a wonderful job of masquerading as information!"

I'm still laughing. Until the next masquerade...I'm going to get a beer.

Getting A Complex

I got a piece of mail today at work. Coupons to one of my favorite restaurants, Stax Omega...the Greek Diner that has 350 items on the menu...and every single one of them is delicious.

The mail was addressed to Godd Gladfelter.

I'm not sure I'm living up to my name as a higher power. But praise be to me, hallelujah, anyway.

Posted 11:38 PM
Shoulda Bought The Deluxe Version...

I dream in color. Vivid color. Lucid, vivid, "that has to be real" color. I'm beginning to wonder if a deranged family member or family friend slipped a little acid into the ol' baby formula. Or if Mom & Dad really only let me roll of the changing table twice.

A buddy bought me "10,000 Dreams Interpreted" one year for Christmas. You look up the objects or occurences in your dreams and find the corresponding message. There wasn't an entry for Katie Reily.

It would take me an hour to type out the details of last night's dream, so here's a quick summary. I was at work, but in a much more futuristic environment (think track lighting and sliding doors). I was hammering away on a computer working on a script for a 5pm liveshot. Looking at the clock, it was 3pm. I turned to my right, and my Mom suddenly appeared. "Surprise!", she said. I looked away, and looked back again...and she was a transparent ghost. I looked again and she was back to normal. I headed out into an airport concourse of some kind and talked to my brother, nothing out of the ordinary. The next two things though, bizzare...looked across the concourse and saw the McKay sisters -- two girls I knew in high school. One was in a wheelchair and looked like she'd been beat up. Even more bizzare: a girl named Katie Reily (whom I also went to high school with, but wasn't friends with) saw me. She waved but continued to talk on a cell phone. I approached her and she told me she was registering for classes. I told her to call me if she ever needed ANYTHING. Suddenly, I was on a plane...and it was taxiing for takeoff. I was freakin' out because I realized it was 5pm and I hadn't even written my liveshot script. The dream ended here, but when I woke up, I felt the need to call people I knew to cancel nonexistent plans because my Mom was in town.

I can accept bizzare dreams, but what's Katie Reily doing there? I haven't seen her in 8 years, and really never talked to her. What's this mean? Anyone? Bueller?

Note to self: Buy 20,000 Dreams Interpreted next go-around. Oh and Mom, don't freak about the ghost thing. It's just a dream...right?

Posted 11:28 PM
Detour Ahead

OneStepLeft is about to be one step better.

Thanks to an HTML For Dummies book and a little "blog envy" (admittedly, my blog is the...uh...simplest of everyone I know), I came up with a vision and the code to turn that vision into a neat lookin' website. I've made some new graphics and am working on laying them out so it all looks right. For some reason, I just can't sit at this machine for 6+ hours and work into the wee hours of the night on it. Reminds me too much of college term papers, I guess.

Anyway, I expect this to be done sometime in the next week. I'll try to keep blogging during construction. In the meantime, expect lane closures and the removal of way too many trees.

Posted 12:52 AM
Fresh & Full Of Life

Apocolypse, Schmockolypse.

For days we've been talking about being sideways. Bad Ju-Ju. Karma issues. It seemed to grip everyone in a mass-hysteria sort of thing. Groupthink is always powerful.

And although the rain continues to fall biblically, there's no need to go running for the ark.

Sleep is treasured. Sleep is valued. Ask Mom and she'll tell you I slept an extra month inside her before weasling my way out into the world. The first night home from the hospital, I terrified my parents by sleeping through the night. For years and years, I cringed as Dad came thundering into my room on Sunday mornings about 11:30, demanding that I quit wasting away in my bed and get outside and mow the lawn. Alarm clocks cringe when I buy them, knowing they will receive countless abuse right on the "Snooze" at my hands. My college buddies always knew to call me about 4 in the afternoon on weekends to invite me along to the Kettle or the IHOP, a place where they could get dinner and I could get breakfast.

But as of late, in the last year or so, I just can't do it. My body won't allow me to sleep more than 9 hours or so. I wake up with this feeling that I've forgotten to do something, or something needs to be done urgently, or that I'm just being too damned lazy and should get on with my morning, live life, and seize the day. Apparantly you don't need as much sleep when you start to age. REM: "Sleep delays my life".

Rain drowned out the alarm today. I went to bed late last night, around 3...expecting to be up, bright eyed and bushy tailed (without the capo) and ready to face the world about 11am.

So it was a big surprise when I rolled over and the ol' LED display showed me 3:00pm. 12 hours of uninterrupted, sawin' logs slumber.

Flippin' on the TV, wading through bad soap operas and watching Shirley attempt to save Laverne from the edge of a 12 story building, another reason to believe that everything really is right in the world caught my eye...and ear. I've always had a penchance for funny commercials. Long before the Long John Silver's spokeshrimp (or spokesshrimp, or however you spell it), there was that soothingly familiar "Doo-doo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-wah". Mentos -- the Freshmaker! Those crazy kids were always getting into a zany mess. I mean seriously, a limo blocking the street! What horror! No fear though, pop a Mentos or two in your mouth, and it's smooth sailing, right through the back of that limo. Don't forget to show em how you did it to put everyone at ease, smiling---Mentos--the Freshmaker!

Sadly though, Mentos felt the need to update its image. That soothing, schlocky music was replaced with some high tech y2k jingle. It was like switching to Coke II. No good reason, and nothing good comes from it.

But sometime after Shirley pulled Laverne off the flagpole and they ended up in "Fabian"'s hotel room, Mentos corporate-Madison Avenue-types showed me they realize the value of original success and returning to their roots. There's a new Mentos commercial...and the old music is back!!!!!

12 hours of sleep AND Mentos has gone retro. Now that's fresh. Apocolpyse, Schmockolypse.

"It doesn't matter what comes,
Fresh goes better with life
With Mentos fresh and full of life
Nothing gets to you
Staying fresh, staying cool
With Mentos fresh and full of life
Fresh goes better, Mentos freshness...
Fresh goes better with Mentos fresh and full of life!

Mentos...the Freshmaker!

And now, official Bad Ju-Ju stopper of the year 2002.

Posted 10:27 AM
My Karma Ran Over Your Dogma

My Evil Twin said he felt it coming. Bad Ju-Ju...whatever Ju-Ju is...got here yesterday.

Like a Ford Expeditition with a sticky gas pedal, Bad Karma raced through the workplace at speeds of up to 100mph. No one was safe. Not even me.

No one would call me back. My story was a fish floundering about on the pier, gills moving slower and slower, to a slow death.

As always, you make do with whatever you get. The recovery process begins today. As a show of "Let's Forget Yesterday" goodwill, I'm passing out 13 year old pencils that say "Celebrate with Todd" on them. They are souvenirs from my Bar-Mitzvah. I figure this is as good a use as any for them.

If you see that Expedition coming, run...fast.

Posted 11:09 AM
Is It Lupus, Jerry? Lupus?????

Maybe age is contagious.

I got back from Florida yesterday morning feeling pretty good. Relaxed even. Able to forget about work for an entire six days.

But after working last night...and now back at work just 9 hours later...I'm a walking zombie. In the dead zone. Unable to keep a single thought in my head. My body aches from tossing around my cousin's 8 year old and 4 year old for two hours. I didn't realize there was an imminent danger from simple piggyback rides.

My mom tells me I sound like a crochety old man on here sometimes. Mom: 1, Me: Zero.

Those who know me best will understand me when I say this: I could use my shawl right about now.

Posted 1:31 AM
All Hail Brother Beaker

One Step Left is banner free, courtesy of a guy I've met only once. But he is my Evil Twin's brother, so I guess that makes him my Evil Brother. Or he could be good. Who knows. Whatever the case, I tip my hat and offer a thank-you. I just hope Brother Beaker doesn't like umbrella drinks. I hate buying those.

Posted 1:24 AM
The B-block Of The "B" Side

9 pieces of breaded pork tenderloin, one long snowy football game, 8 bucks more in my pocket, and several hours later...here's "The rest...of the story".

Anyhow, Lynne -- or simply "FA" (favorite aunt), is more like a sister to me. You know what it's like -- the kind of person who thinks just like you -- the kind of person you can speak your mind to without fear of stepping on anyone's toes. And we can bond as easy over dinner or a trip in the car as we can over a smoke. Because she IS a smoker, despite what Grandpa thinks.

Grandpa, a widower 2 years prior, lives here with Lynne and Dan. He's very independent -- has his own little section of the house -- and is a full contributor, from paying the rent to washing the dishes. Awhile back, Dan (a Carolina countryboy we can all appreciate) had some kind of health issue where he had to give up his 2 pack a day Merit habit. Cold turkey, no problem. I am jealous of these cold turkey quitters. Where the hell is MY will power? Anyway, I digress. Lynne had some health issues too. After her hospitilaztion, she decided it was time to kick her 2 pack a day habit too. "You've got Merit" became "You've got cleaner lungs". A non-smoker. Free from the chains of tar, nicotine, and other addiciting additives.

Grandpa, the proud father that he is, bragged. "My daughter finally quit smoking". He told all his friends. He told all the family. While he was telling however...he wasn't foretelling. 5 weeks after "quit day", Lynne weakened. I know the feeling. That craving kicks in. It paralyzes your mind. You look at a pencil and wonder if you can light the end, suck on the eraser, and get a buzz. The thought of chewing another piece of Wrigley's Spearmint is nauseating. A trip in the car takes you by that convenience store...where convenience gets the best of you. Phillip Morris 1, You zero.

What I'm getting to in all of this: Grandpa is still bragging. Lynne is still smoking. Both are occuring under one roof. Like a European spy slipping through the streets of Prague, Lynne slithers off to the bedroom, shamelessly but not-so-shamelessly, to light up a Marlboro Light and uncover that wonderful feeling of a long draw while continuing to cover up the smoke-free sham. She knows it though: as 89 as Grandpa is, he's no dummy. He knows. She knows he knows. But why do we play charades at parties? It's a game, and games are amusing.

At 1 am, I'd curse myself for being up this late on a work night. But vacation continues. I finally feel rested and relaxed, for the first time in months. But come Monday morning, after a lazy Sunday in the Florida sunshine, I'll be ready to head back to South Carolina. I came down here to visit family. I will return to a different family on Monday. Greenville, I miss you guys...and Uncle Ted's comin' home soon.

Posted 6:16 PM
The "B" Side...aka Blogging From Tampa

One good coast deserves another. So yesterday around 9am, I gave my Zadi a hug, schlepped my stuff out to the car, and headed up I-95...destination: Brandon, Florida (suburban Tampa). First off, there's really nothing better than the solitude of travelling alone. In 1998, I spent 30-some odd days travelling through Europe with a big-ass backpack slung over my shoulders and my best friend Aaron. By the end of the trip, I could have done without the backpack...and I was ready to cut Aaron into little pieces and ship him back to the states (OK, so it wasn't that psychotic...but if he missed the train I was on I wouldn't have cared one iota). Travelling alone is thought-clearing and thought-provoking, especially when it's in a car. Alamo Rental Car (a nice plug here) provided me with an affordable compact...a Mitsubishi something-or-other. It had a tankfull of gas and a CD player, and I had a foot to press the accelerator and some great mix-CDs from friends. A perfect match. Anyway, the drive over was fine. I didn't stop once, except when traffic held me up on Route 60 just outside of Yeehaw Junction.

Sidebar: Would anyone else mind living in a town called Yeehaw Junction? If Atlanta or Boston or Indianapolis was called Yeehaw Junction, would they still have million-plus populations? Giddyup!

Return from sidebar: Brandon is where my Uncle Dan & Aunt Lynne share their many-bedroom house with 'Grandfather B'. He is simply called Grandpa, though his name is Carl (a family name which I will likely pass along to one of my kids someday). Dan & Lynne are, simply put, good people. They have hearts of gold and started out with very little. Dan is what many would refer to as a character, and Lynne is a great balance of sweetness & feist.

Here's your 6pm tease: It's dinnertime and I have to leave this. We'll see you back here at 6...thanks for watching. (cue: schlocky music)...

Posted 12:56 AM
Bye-bye Banner

Brother Beaker, the man who I have to watch with a weary eye because he boycotts my girlfriend (a.k.a. Winter), has offered a deal. I buy his first drink in Vegas, he gets rid of my banner ad. Whether he's serious or not, the banner will be gone soon. I'm sick of it too. And as part of project betterblog, it's coming down. By the way Beaker -- glad you're making it for He-Con. Look out, Sin City...

Posted 12:42 AM
Blogging Is Free (a.k.a. Blogging from Florida)

Greetings from the Treasure Coast...Boca Raton, Florida...where the geriatric stench of arthritis cream and Metamucil hans thick in the sultry nighttime air. Truth be told, as much as I dislike Florida...it's not bad to stop in here for a few days...especially to see family I haven't seen in some 2 or 3 years.

I've spent 2 days now with 'Grandfather A', my Zadi (the Yiddish word for grandfather...Mom will not have to correct me on this one). Zadi is a great man...the ultimate storyteller. He was a print journalist for newspapers in Detroit and Lansing, Michigan. And in all that time, he interviewed a lot of neat people. His big claim to fame is being called in by rioting prisoners in Jackson, Michigan to be the only one they would talk to...a negotiator of sorts. To put it adolescently, "that's cool".

In between Zadistories, we've managed to eat at some great places (including a real Jewish breakfast, complete with lox), a Chinese restaurant WITHOUT a buffet table in it, and a place that had stuff like bisques and souffles on the menu (my definition of a 'fancy' restaurant). I enjoyed the grilled pork chop, the little apple-potato-pancake thing, and the spicy garlic chicken. Here's the thing: all through these wonderful meals, I'm thinking how expensive they are. And while I'm thinking about it...Zadi is verbally expressing it. The man should have been an accountant. His penchance for remembering exactly what he paid for everything is duly noted in the books up in his noggin'. And prices always seem to work their way into the storytelling too. I know now what it cost for him to do everything from visit his psychiatrist to what he paid for his pilgrimage to Israel in 1968. But the more I think about it, maybe there's a lesson here from a Zadi I love very much. After all, at 86 years old...the man may talk about money a lot, but he lives quite comfortably after raising 3 kids. I don't talk about money all that much...and I just started balancing my checkbook again on a regular basis a few months ago. Go figure.

While I wasn't slathered in cocoa butter, I did walk the beach today a little bit...just for kicks. Briny sea breezes are Zen-ful...always make me feel good. Then again...could be just the fact that it's stronger than arthritis cream.

Covering The Carolinas Tonight...

In other news...another day, another blog. Check out Up For Anything, my Arch Enemy's website. The pre-open makes a lot of promises. We'll see how the A-block goes.

Posted 4:29 PM
My So-Called Life Continues

Rush, rush, rush. Monday flew by in a blur. The nature of the beast we feed each day called "news" is one of uncertainty. Yesterday I put my boots and hat on, hopped on the Newsbeast, and proceeded to get thrown about wildly while chasing friends of a three-time delinquent from Williamston who just happens to be good at football. Lou Holtz kicked him off the team. To quote his basketball coach from high school, "He's a good kid". Obviously, he's not. Wrecking a friend's car while going 100 mph, hitting a girl, and getting caught packing a blunt in a nightclub parking lot does not fall under the definition of a good kid. Mind you, this "kid" is 20 years old. What happened to being an adult at 18? We'll all shake our heads, say "what a shame", and watch him enter the NFL draft where they give bad people good salaries. Life isn't unfair. But something about that seems backwards.

Speaking of blurs...I began this blog at 10:30am...it's now 4:30pm. I'm off to blur through a liveshot and blur down to Atlanta to head to Florida to see some family I haven't seen in a few months. It's unlikely I'll spend time slathering myself in cocoa butter and lying on the beach. It's likely...that I won't have to rush.

Posted 7:00 PM
Brand Spankin' Wrong

Brother Beaker informed me I had done something even worse than regifting...I mis-linked. So now go check out Dead Life Dead and know that you'll actually get there. Enjoy.

Posted 10:32 AM
Brand Spankin' New

Another day, another friend begins blogging. Check out Dead Life Dead. Be warned: It's introspective and he's down on himself lately. But his kids are cute.

Posted 1:12 AM
Losing My Religion

When my Evil Twin lamented his seemingly multiplying patch of grey hair a few months back, I tried to see the bright side.

"At least you're not losing it."

I wouldn't be surprised if I started losing my hair over the next few weeks. It seems I can't hold onto anything these days. It reminds me of being younger when Mom or Dad would say, "You'd lose your head if it wasn't attached to your shoulders! Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk." It's not the significant things, like wallets or checkbooks or cash. It's the little things that drive me crazy. In the past few weeks:

-3 frolf discs (inadvertenly and carelessly left on the back bumper of my car, which I subsequently drove home, sans discs).
-Elder-Statesman's mailbox keys. (I also forgot to get his mail while he was gone. Good thing he doesn't have a dog.)
-My bat.(A treasured toy of mine. How it got up and walked away is beyond me)
-Several CDs (assumed to be in my car...but I have't searched it thoroughly yet)
-My e-ticket receipt for Florida (but I did find a book of matches from 4 years ago in a coat from one of my favorite places in Oklahoma. Unfortunately, that won't get me on plane to Fort Lauderdale on Wednesday)

Apparantly, the stealing gnomes are at it again. I'm going to have to have a little talk with them, when I finally catch the little bastards. Which brings me to my next point...the small price you pay for fame. The place i go to 5 or 6 days a week in return for a paycheck is a popular place. So popular, tens of thousands of people at one time tune in to watch on any given afternoon. Needless to say, people love Your Friend Four. And seemingly, they love (or at least know) Your Friend Todd. I've grown accustomed to people saying hello in line waiting to pay at a restaurant. I've grown accustomed to people saying hello when I go to pick up my dry-cleaning or return a book at the library. But at Saturday's Grrrrowl game, the proverbial line...was proverbially crossed.

Act I, Scene I
Setting: A men's bathroom at the Bi-Lo Center. Several men lined up side by side at urinals.
Todd unzips his pants to pee.
Man in adjacent urinal looks over casually. Todd does not notice.
Man: So, what's the weather going to be like tomorrow?
Todd, looking straight ahead at the wall: Not while I'm taking a piss, man.
Man: Oh. Sorry.
Close curtain

And women wonder why we can't aim. Being bothered in the middle of something I value as my time and nobody elses is always a little unnerving. Funny, though. I guess I'd rather have someone ask me the forecast while pissing next to me...then yell at me for being wrong or something like that.

The only thing I'm losing right now is sleep...it is time to call it a night. By the way, I also lost two more Scrabble games to my Arch Enemy tonight. It seems I am also losing my mind.

Quick hair check: Yup, it's still there. For now.

Posted 7:47 PM
Black, White, And Red All Over

My knuckles are cracking...my bones are creaking.

Hammering away on this keyboard is my first official physical activity of the day (at the tone the time will be...7:33pm). I don't get a normal "Sunday" to be lazy like everyone else. So today, my first day of my weekend, I kept my bed company for awhile. I let the haze of sleep envelop me twice again during the late morning hours...and once in the early afternoon. Shirking responsibility is a dangerous thing. But since I had none to shirk, I was content to enjoy simple things like a 60-some-odd-degree breeze winding its way through my bedroom, with as little care as I did for the passing hours of the day.

It's the first lazy "Sunday" of my 26th year. I watched another January 9th come and go. It was simplistic as far as birthdays go. Well-wishers passed by my desk throughout the day with a friendly greeting or two. Then around 4pm, TV came to life.

There's a commercial on repeatedly that you're probably familiar with...it's for the Six Dollar Burger from Hardee's...or Arby's...I can never remember which. Anyway, 5 TGIFriday-type waitstaff annoy the living hell out of people with a boisterous, overdramatic version of happy birthday.

At 4pm...the clapping in the next room started.

5 TGIFriday-type Creative Services people and Woo-Doo came in singing their boisterous, overdramatic version of Happy Birthday. I laughed...hard...from the gut kinda laughter. Then I felt it. My face got lukewarm. I started to sweat. Then I was hot. Very hot. Cherry-tomato-red-hot.

I was embarassed.

I don't know where I got this whole embarassment thing. Before college, I can't remember ever being embarassed. Embarassment was just not a part of the emotion.tod file.

In college, I did several embarassing things....unabashedly, I might add. I can't remember what I was doing that first time my freshman year, but I remember the same lukewarm, sweatbead, cherry-tomato-red-hot feeling coming on.

Since then, it happens from time to time. Not too often. But when it does prepare to laugh. I look pretty funny.

Maybe the sweating counts as exercise. Speaking of, I've had enough. I'm tired of hearing my 26-year-old-fingers creak.

Posted 12:55 PM
Speak!

Effort #1 in Project: Betterblog is up and running. You can now click on the comment link at the end of each post and ramble on. Just try not to ramble as much as I do. I have a short attention span.

Posted 11:19 AM
"Wrong, Try Again"

In a world of Palm Pilots and Laptops as small as my motivation level on a Monday morning, it's good to think back on technology of the past. Remember Speak'N'Spell? Bulky, yet portable enough for an 8 year old to lug around the house, bugging parents across America with a mechanized voice reminiscent of the big robot on "Lost In Space". I had the somewhat less trendy spinoff Speak'N'Math. Same mechanized voice..."What....is...64...divided by...8?" Strangely enough, voice technology hasn't come all that far. Call Delta Airlines' Flightline (1-800-221-1212) for proof. I would hate to go out that chick.

Me: What time should I pick you up?
Delta Flightline Girl: You should...PICK ME UP...at....8..0..7..P...M. There isn't any gate information.

Anyhow, Speak'n'math would reward you for good answers..."you are correct", and chastize you for an incorrect one..."Wrong, try again". A simple system. You either felt really smart or as dumb as I do on a Monday morning.

Sunday morning, it was supposed to be a slip-slidin' kinda day...an ice storm. Not uncommon in the South. Very hard to predict. I went with some ice. There really wasn't much. "Wrong, try again". It made perfect sense that my story at 6 and 11 as a reporter/meteorologist was slugged "Why It Didn't Ice". "You are correct".

Now it's time to shift to David Wilkins and the South Carolina House of Representatives going back into session tomorrow.

"Danger, Will Robinson!"

Posted 8:40 AM
Sheep's Got The Woo

Regional dialects are funny. I'm going on my 8th year living in the South, and have my "y'alls" and "fixin'-to"s down pat...most natives wouldn't know I was born in Detroit rather than Dallas. I only had to learn a few new ones when I moved to South Carolina -- my favorites, "mash the button" (instead of press) and "you might could" (the extraneous 'might', obviously for emphasis). Local dialects can be even funnier...especially the language of "friendspeak". I personally enjoy saying I'm "rowdy" to go do something (meaning I'm up for it), or I've got "the thooz" (short for enthusiasm). Pre-me, my pals here came up with a simple word to describe a feeling of rowdiness that might be unchanneled, perhaps anticipated rowdiness. It's called Woo.

Woo waxes and wanes, much like the moon, and varies from person to person. While I might be feeling a little Woo on a given evening, someone else may be feeling a lot of Woo...while that person's spouse may be feeling no Woo at all. Woo, however, appears to have some contagious properties...and can be spread amongst a group. Woo is also fickle...it can be with you one moment, and gone with the wind the next.

Last night was a "Bachelor Everybody" weekend. Spouses were either pregnant and sappy, tired and kid-watching, or sick and low-key. MEN (Marathon Euchre Night) began in earnest, with plans to go see Scrappy Hamilton at the Handlebar...but everyone (except me, really) seemed to have their nose out of joint about something. Underlying anger, as it were. Bottled up frustrations from a week that included a somewhat rare snowstorm for the Carolinas (which I was rowdy about) and a bunch of meetings about who's going to get a little wooden plaque justifying the skill level of their jobs (News people get emmy awards too). The anger eroded into some silly arguments, then into mockery, and then just debauchery. A picture frame got broken and my front door got peed on. Taunting and laughter abounded. Suddenly, it was decided...a trip to the CP was in order (favorite dark bar/pool hall)...for 5 of us, by chance, all had the Woo.

After Euchre, Jaegermeister, and Cold bottles of beer danced among us...the Woo departed on schedule. It will wax again, undoubtedly. Hopefully, my front door won't have to suffer the same abuse.

I just realized I did a poor job of constructing this post...I offer the reader a lot of buildup, but don't lead them to a reward or nugget. Alas, that's part of the post-Woo hangover. 8:38am doesn't lend itself to good blogging, I guess. I might could use some more sleep.

Posted 10:36 PM
Plowing through breakfast

The confetti has been vacuumed...leftover appetizers, washed down the sink like last year's news...the festivities, are over. Evil Twin and Woo-doo sent it out in style with fully stocked buffet of home-cooked edibles (made lovingly by E.T., who is a whiz in the kitchen) and a bar rivaling my father's liquor cabinet. Elder-Statesman got off work just in time to make it for the champagne toast at midnight, after which I proceeded to assault a bottle of Myers' Rum. Keep in mind I can't remember the last time I drank anything other than Coors Light. I was pleasantly elevated and was among the last to head to bed shortly after 5a.m.

My body didn't complain nearly as much today as I thought it would. If only I were as confident about my ability to repel a hangover as I was in my snowfall forecasting. Not only do I feel a cold one comin' on...a snowy one too. I'm shooting for 2 inches here in Greenville, with more down South...which means I'll inevitably be attempting to inform throngs of viewers in tomorrow evening's newscast about prepping for snowfall. If there's one thing I learned, I also need to prepare to clear the roads. Southerners do not handle snow well. And around here, they have some strange tradition of dropping everything before the weatherman can get the word 'snow' out of his mouth, running to the grocery store, and ridding the shelves of bread and milk like they're stocking up rations for the next World War. I've been told it's so they can make french toast. And while I believe in the power of a good breakfast, I can't see how a sticky-sweet breakfast confection will make 2-4" of snow seem any easier to deal with.

Then again, there is something that warms you inside out about a breakfast smothered in syrup. Maybe it can melt snow, too. As much as I love snow, forecasting snow is tough. I'm sure by tomorrow I'll be wishing it new year's confetti was the only thing falling from the sky.

I'm off to go the Bi-Lo for some bread. Might as well get some milk, too.