Stinky!

I hope everyone is having a blessed holiday season!

Sorry for not posting regularly lately. I've been busy at work and haven't had time to compose posts during the day. We had a couple people roll off the project, and the evenings were spent driving to either Boston or Manchester to celebrate. It was more like commiserating, since they will be sorely missed.

I'm at SkyPrincess's this holiday, and it's been great. We are still trying to get use to each other's sleep patterns, and in this respect, it's not all that great. I only sleep 4 to 5 hours a night and am very restless. My internal clock is set for 5:30am, never fails. This is something we'll need to work on. She's not especially happy to be waking up that early every morning.

The weather in Boston predicted snow flurries for Friday. We both were concerned I might be stuck for the weekend. Luckily, no delays in the flights. I'm one of the lucky people. I usually have no problems with flights. Sure, I get delayed, but I always get where I am going. I have large amounts of patience when it comes to traveling. Very little will get me upset.

This trip, I had a bad go in the beginning. I prefer sitting in the aisle seat when possible. This trip, I picked the seat on the port side, where there are only 2 seats for the row. Walking to your seat, you always are a bit apprehensive who your traveling neighbor will be. Will it be a small child who will be jumping around all the time? Someone who is just dripping with flu germs? Someone who wants to talk the entire flight?

My usual game plan is to bring a book and shove my laptop under the seat. Few people will bother you if you are reading a book. Laptops are good for last minute business work, which also detracts from an unwanted conversation. The worse that can happen is if you board the plan unarmed. The only thing you can do this is attempt to take a nap. Otherwise, you will more than likely have to carry on a conversation with someone you really don't care to know.

So Friday, I boarded the plane and started looking for my seat. I found it and notice I had a kid around the age of 22 in he seat next to me. I placed my laptop in my chair and started stowing my jacket. He was taking off his jacket and sweater, so I offered to put his in the overhead. He agreed and handed them to me. That's when it hit me. This kid hasn't showered in well over a year. The stench from his sweater almost knocked me down the aisle. I quickly stowed it and slammed the overhead compartment down. I had to sit quickly to allow the other passengers board, and tried to hold my breath as long as I could. I reached up to turn on the air vents, praying the plane would start taxiing. The vents usually will not blow when they are at the gate.

I spent most of the flight with the air blowing directly on my face. Everytime he raised his arm to adjust his vent or grab something, the stench pervaded the air. I'm sure I'm not the only person gagging during this trip.

Luckily, he fell asleep. The odor tended to stay in place, as long as he wasn't too active.

I will have to say, this was the most uncomfortable 4 hour plane flight I've had to take.

Mizike

Up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

D'plane! D'plane!

Yes, I am working my way to airline status! I'm flying about 3400 miles a week and should be able to fulfill the AA platinum challenge requirements in 6 weeks. Hopefully the auditors won't look too closely, since AA and Continental are the most expensive flight choices. I would hate to be stuck flying AirTran every week. *bleah*

Mizike

Ding dong, the witch is dead!

Okay, this post has nothing to do with the title. I caught a bit of the Wizard of Oz this past weekend and now have that song in my head.

Of all the scenes from the Wizard of Oz, I always loved the Munchkin scene the most. All the little people marching in unison, singing.....

(Munchkins)
Ding-dong the witch is dead
Which old witch? The wicked witch
Ding-dong the wicked witch is dead
Wake up you sleepyhead
Rub your eyes, get out of bed
Wake up the wicked witch is dead
She's gone where the goblins go
Below - below - below
Yo-ho, let's open up and sing and ring the bells out
Ding Dong' the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low
Let them know the Wicked Witch is dead

(Mayor)
As mayor of the Munchkin City
In the county of the land of Oz
I welcome you most regally

(Judge)
But we've got to verify it legally
To see...

(Mayor)
To see...

(Judge)
If she...

(Mayor)
If she...

(Judge)
Is morally, ethically

(Munchkin 1)
Spiritually, physically

(Munchkin 2)
Positively, absolutely

(Munchkin Men)
Undeniably and reliably dead

(Coroner)
As Coroner , I thoroughly examined her
And she's not only merely dead
She's really most sincerely dead

(Mayor)
Then this is a day of independence for all the munchkins
And their descendants
Yes, let the joyous news be spread
The wicked old witch at last is dead

(Munchkins)
Ding-dong the witch is dead
Which old witch? The wicked witch
Ding-dong the wicked witch is dead
Wake up you sleepyhead
Rub your eyes, get out of bed
Wake up the wicked witch is dead
She's gone where the goblins go
Below - below - below
Yo-ho, let's open up and sing and ring the bells out
Ding Dong' the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low
Let them know the Wicked Witch is dead





Hahaha.. what fun that was! The Coroner's last line is my favorite part. But I digress.

I have good news! SkyPrincess and I have decided to forgo the single life and get hitched. Yes, that's right! Come September there will be a Mr. and Mrs. Mizike!

Now to figure out a way to break it to our families. They have no clue we actually date. Probably think we surf the internet all day long downloading porn. Or at least mine do! =P (just kidding hon *smirk*)

Mizike

Just when you thought it was safe to get into the water

The project was resuscitated late yesterday afternoon. Phase 1 requirements were redefined with a projected deployment in QA of Jan 13th. I'm required to come to Boston next week, ruining my 2 weeks with SkyPrincess in Dallas.

Then I get another email this morning from the project owner putting his official stamp of "Postponed" to the project. I'm not sure what that really means for me. My consulting manager is suppose to find out if that means to stop work, or continue. I've been told to ignore the email until he finds out what that means. I'm hoping it means I won't have to come back next week. (far too many uses of the word "mean"... bleah... )

I'm suppose to do a phone interview with the Big Shoe today, but will not be able to sufficiently prep in time. I'm trying to push it off until Monday, since Friday is all for SkyPrincess.

I have a long flight this evening, and will do my best to compose a couple blog posts for the weekend. Otherwise, have a great weekend and see you guys Monday!

Mizike

Can't I just take the Blue Pill?

I’ve been freaking out the past two weeks at the Pill Makers’ job. I have a project deadline of January 15th for phase 1. Unfortunately, I require resources from three different groups before I can continue.

The main goal of the project is to port the BW queries from 3.1 to 3.5. Easy peasy, done in a flash. Next goal was to implement a security structure, based on a complex hierarchy. Okay, not so easy peasy to do. It requires rights to actually build the authorization objects. Since the Netherland’s team controls all security work, I would either need a resource from their team or build ability granted. They cannot agree to either choice.

So now I can’t build my authorization objects. Then I need to build the hierarchy tables, which again, easy. But my business contact has not given me the data to load. So I will have empty hierarchy tables, which drive the authorization objects. Eeep! Whatever shall I do?

Okay, so I’m screwed on two fronts. You would think that was enough, eh? Nope… I need to create a custom exit routine with a very complicated algorithm to calculate billable hours. Reading the algorithm documentation gives me a headache, it’s so convoluted. But that’s how they want to bill. So I need an ABAPer to help with the custom exit routine. No ABAP resource is currently available.

So every morning I come in and take the blue pill. Life continues and this project will actually succeed by January 15th, even without the support I require. I continued to take the blue pill until yesterday when my silver serving tray had only one choice, the red pill.

The resources needed to finish the project will not be assigned. The budget for the project has been pulled, and I am to finish out the week and then go back on the bench. I’ll be talking the Big Shoe tonight for a possible placement on that project. It’s a much better gig than the Pill Maker, but it’s a full day of flight time just getting there. If they require me to be there Mon-Fri, I’ll never get back home. I am beginning to hate consulting life.

Mizike

Rings of Life

Last night was my first real opportunity to shop for Christmas. Or rather, the first night I decided to pull the trigger and actually buy presents. This seems to be a recurring theme for my life. Discover a need or desire to purchase an item, and then spend days/weeks/months mulling over the decision to actually buy it.

Take for example my third car purchase. My Mitsubishi Eclipse was on its last leg, needing replacement very badly. Seeking to be an informed consumer out to make an intelligent purchase, impulse buying was to be avoided at all costs. Consumer magazines were browsed, internet message boards were referenced for customer reviews, friends and acquaintances were interviewed for their experiences with certain models of cars. And of course, the desire to find an aesthetically pleasing car was very important.

Not wanting to be one of the common Dick & Jane crowd, a car with a bit of character was very important. Something practical, yet with an edge. Perhaps a bit sporty, but not a “sports” car, since insurance rates for south Louisiana were brutal.

After visiting all the dealerships, the final three came down to the Chrysler Sebring, a Saturn, and a Pontiac Grand Am sedan. The Sebring was very attractive, though a bit pricey for my wallet at that time. The Saturn fit the bill, but wasn’t very pleasing to my eye. The Pontiac dealership didn’t have the exact model I was looking for. The Grand Am GT’s in stock were not 4 door or have a stick.

Mulling over this decision for well over a month, the Eclipse finally made the decision for me. As I was driving to the Pontiac dealership, the transmission failed and I coasted the last two blocks into the dealership. I drove out with the Grand Am.

I picked out SkyPrincess’s main present weeks ago. It’s a lovely item I’ll share after the holidays. Each time we visited the mall in NH, we’d pass by it and I’d stop my coworkers... point, with a gleam in my eye and smile on my face, and say “That’s the one! Isn’t it just the keenest thing ever?” Looking back and forth to each other, with a slight roll of the eyes, they’d respond, “Yes, it’s the best present ever. You are such a good boyfriend.” Smug with satisfaction, I continued to follow them as we browsed the store. Safe with the knowledge that soon it will be mine to purchase and wrap for SkyPrincess.

Last night was the purchase night. We rolled up to the mall and I made an immediate dash for the store. There it was! After a brief discussion with the clerk, after which she agreed that it was indeed a very keen present for a good boyfriend to buy, the item was paid for and deposited safely into my shopping bag. Quickly moving to the next counter the second present was selected. Although not as groovy as the first present, I liked it. I’m not crazy about the designer and almost didn’t buy it just for that fact. But I accepted the terms and allowed a bit of my soul to be purchased. It really is a very groovy item.

The rest of the night was spent running from one store to another seeking the last of my presents. No one had my gift idea in stock. Every store left me with breadcrumbs to follow. “I think Sears might have it.” I’d dash to the other end of the mall and search Sears. After desperate minutes of searching, I'd finally ask a clerk where I can find the thingamabob. “Sorry, we sold out of those early this week. Have you tried Macy’s?” Off to Macy’s. “Sorry, I sold my last one about 3 o’clock. Have you tried Sears?”

And so my night went. After exhausting every store, I resigned myself that no one in the Mall had the thingamabob. With no other pressing needs, I found a nice spot near the stairs to do a bit of people watching while waiting on my teammates to finish with their shopping.

To my left was the typical New England couple. The wife with a thick herringbone coat. Gloves dangling from her wrists with attached bands. Husband in tow, completely bored with both hands filled with shopping bags from Filenes, Radio Shack, Sears, and Bath & Body. With eyes cutting left and right, peering into all the stores, his wife would spot something that peaked her interests and make a mad beeline for that store. Her husband would suddenly stop after noticing his wife was not directly in front of him, and then lower his head in resignation and slowly begin making his way across traffic into the store his wife was now.

On the shopping floor below me was this very cute Asian couple. Both were dressed in very trendy clothes. She had a very unique fur hat with matching gloves and jacket. He wore black slacks with a neon green shirt with a huge Hello Dolly print and a black leather jacket. His hair was short and spiky with just a bit too much hair product. But it matched his style. Walking arm-in-arm, they lazily strolled down the mall, never overtly looking into any particular store. Content with just being with each other.

Standing next to me was this very odd looking man. He stood about 5 foot 7 inches, with sandy blond hair. Light brown wool jacket, white dress shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He was leaning against the railing, supported by his elbows. His hands clasped together in front, with fingers interlaced. He kept fingering his wedding band, spinning it in place.

His face was a bit scraggly from not shaving that morning, and his collar had a bit of a lipstick stain. Probably from early in the day. A very bright ruby red lipstick that shined very vividly on his pressed white shirt.

We both stood looking out over the vista of the mall. Neither of us looking for anything in specific. About 10 minutes go by when a female joined him. They kissed each other welcome, and she seems to frown when spotting the lipstick stain. She had a rich dark brown lipstick on, which clearly did not match the stain on his collar. They joined hands and walked off, though you could tell she wasn’t particularly happy.

On the other side of the walkway I spotted a man sitting down on the benches. The benches were placed in a crook that allowed the viewer to look down upon the masses below, instead of back into the crowd behind him. What stood out the most about this man was the missing right leg. Crutches to his side, he sat down and started rubbing his stump. And though I probably shouldn’t have watched, I was fascinated at this man. How did he lose his leg? Car accident? Extreme sports injury? Perhaps even a war injury? He was fairly young, so I couldn’t discount it being service related.

The longer he sat there, the more I wondered what his stump looked like. Was it all knurly? Was it a clean amputation with smooth skin carefully stitched in place? Was it all thick and scarred? I’m not sure why I had this fascination. I wondered what would happen if you could see concentric rings that represented the years of his life? Much like a tree’s rings.

What would I see? Would I see a slow and steady growth pattern? Would there be some rings thicker than others? Perhaps different shades, representing different environments he lived in? Would his childhood years of massive growth spurts appear differently?

I began to think about the concentric rings of my life. Looking back to the years of 1990 to 1995 I can imagine a set of smoky black rings with the consistency of slate. The years of my life that have very little memory attached, my five years of darkness. Smoothed and polished, with a few flickers of brilliant white shale which are those remaining fleeting memories of those years. Or perhaps those rings are empty, much like my memories.

As I dig deeper into my childhood, I find thicker, richer rings. Memories of playing with my neighbor Kim. Times spent exploring the woodlands skirting our neighborhood. These rings are healthy, and rich with sap. But they are also very knotty. Great knots of sorrow that have scarred over as my psyche attempted to forget them. Times of my father losing control of himself, eyes wide with madness, striking out at his loved ones. Times of desperation as we sacrificed to pay the utilities, to keep the gas flowing during the cold winters. Times of sadness as I watched my grandmother slowly slip away as diabetes ate away at her.

Quickly I draw back from looking so deep and wonder about the current layers of my life. What have I added to the rings? And with shock I see anemic and sickly rings. Why are the rings of my adult life so small? With sadness I realize I am not living life. I have only been traveling through it, forgoing nourishing it’s growth.

So I resolve to begin anew. To live life. The next time I take a core sample of my soul, I will be proud of what I withdraw.


Mizike

Orange Blossom Special

I grew up with parents who adored country music. When my father would return home, he’d crank up the Victrola and play his favorite platters, or drag out the old Edison and play his pop’s old cylinders. It was good old timey country music, not any of that pop-infused fluff on the radio today. Lots of good old fashion, bible thumping, twangy hymnal based gospel music. “Sweet by and by”, “Go tell it on the mountain”, “Jesus loves me, this I know”, etc. My mom was a bit more progressive, listening to the likes of Mitch Miller, “Tennessee” Ernie Ford, The Penguins, and Carl Perkins.

Mixed in with my father’s gospel music, you’d find acts like The Oak Ridge Boys, Hand Williams Sr., Johnny Cash, and Loretta Lynn. I can still remember some of the song’s lyrics.

“When I was a little bitty baby, my momma use to rock me in that cradle. In that old… cotton field back home. When that cotton bole got rotten, you couldn’t pick very much cotton. In that old… cotton field back home!”

My father’s favorite song was “The Orange Blossom Special”. A true fiddle player’s song, if there ever was one. It would start out slow, immitating how a steam engine would start moving very slow. The steam pressure building, pushing the pistons of the axles slowly, gaining momentum. The conductor pulling the steam chain, releasing a steady stream into the metallic whistle… warning all passerbys to take heed! The mighty black horse is on the move!

The bow would stroke across the strings of the fiddle, imitating the sound of the whistle in the distance. Then the fiddle player would pluck the strings twice, and you’d have a vision of the train cross from one rail to the next. The metallic sound of the rails clicking into each other as the train’s wheels pressed down upon them. Click Click!

Then the song would increase in tempo as the train built up steam and speed. Slow at first, then quickening to a breath taking speed as the train would top the hill and begin it’s decent into the valley below.

My father’s eyes would glaze over as he’d listen to the song and find himself a thousand miles and a lifetime away. We never knew where his mind's eye took him. What the ghost eyes of his was seeing. We only knew it was a good place, and we left him be.

No one in family was musically adept. But like most parents, they couldn't see the truth of how musically enept their children were. We were enrolled in violin classes at a very young age. I started playing violin well kindergarten age. I played a very little violin, I think about ¼ size. To compare the size, think of placing a mandolin next to a full size acoustic guitar. That’s about the size of a ¼ size violin next to a full size one.

This was the time of the traditional Suzuki music program. I think almost all kids start playing the violin using Suzuki music. Years and years of playing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. My parents seem to never grow old of hearing the same song during each recital. Such patience. Wouldn't you hope your child would learn more than one song after years of practice? A childhood prodigy, I was not.

But they persisted in taking us to classes. They wanted at least one child to be able to play “The Orange Blossom Special”.

There was a nice little girl who also attended these lessons. She was always far ahead of me when it came to playing the violin. Her name was Peggy White, and she was the true violin prodigy.

I had a huge child crush on Peggy. Always blushing around her, following her everywhere. I remember doing all sorts of annoying things to get her attention. I pulled her pony tail, kicked dirt on her shoe, threw snow balls at her after practice, even called her a stinky head. She would scream, call me a mean nasty poo poo head, and end up runing away crying. I would momentarily feel bad, and then overjoyed that she had talked to me!

Now to think about it, I don’t think my courting style has changed much. I still like kicking dirt on my date’s shoes ^_^

I was completely terrified of going to elementary school for the first time, since I didn’t attend kindergarten. After my mom lead me to my first grade class, I looked across the room and there she was! Peggy White! I was so happy, I couldn't wait to go to school everyday. I never could understand why the teacher wouldn’t let me sit next to her. Who's alphabet, and why is he not letting me sit where I want?

We had lots of toys to play with. Blocks with letters our teacher said made things called words. And a big abacus with little wooden balls. I loved moving the wooden balls back and forth on the abacus. Not really understanding I’m suppose to be counting something.

I missed most of my first year of school. I came down with something called the mumbles. Or at least that’s what I wanted to call it. I had these nasty sores in my mouth that made it very hard to talk. Mumps or something like that. Anyway, they didn’t think the other parents would like me playing with their kids so I had to stay at home for 3 months. No playing with Peggy.

When the school year ended, the summer seemed to take a long time to end. I was excited for the first day of second grade, and the chance to see Peggy again. I walked in, and she wasn’t there. I waited all day. Then another day. Then another. Soon it was a week. Then two. Then a month. Where was she?

She never rejoined my class that year. My first day of third grade was scary. My classroom was now down the big kid’s hallway. They were always picking on us little kids. I walked into my third grade class and there she was! Her family had moved the prior year and she fell into another elementary school’s domain. Third grade wasn’t as much fun as first grade. No as many toys and playtimes as first. And we had to learn to multiply. I was slow at memorizing my multiplication tables. Even to this day, I have problems remember what 7 times 8 is. Peggy, once again, picked it up with ease.

We’d still play together and this was the year of the Kissing Tree. So I was a very happy little boy. When fourth grade started, she had moved again and I didn’t see her until junior high. She went to a different junior high, but we still played in orchestra. We’d have combined concerts, and she was always first chair first violin. I would always become tongue tied with her and blush a terrible crimson red. I still don’t think she noticed me.

Our town only had one High School. By then, she had stopped playing in the orchestra. She still played the fiddle, and I had heard she played in a country-western band on the weekend. I never found out the name of the band, and I probably couldn’t talk my mom into taking me anyways. Besides, how uncool would that be?

We’d see each other occasionally walking down the hallways. My heart would always skip a beat as we’d pass. Most times she was with a group of girls, and I wouldn’t say anything. Sometimes she’d be alone and I’d try to talk to her, but she had a bad schedule and had very little time to cross campus to her next class. I’m not sure what I’d do if I saw her again? Would I still have those childhood butterflies?

I have always missed those butterflies. That quicken of the heart when you are around someone you have a huge crush on. When you want to do nothing more than talk to them and what comes out is a thousand words of garble in 10 seconds, because you are so desperate to let them know how very special they are to you, you have no patience with making sensible sentences.

Perhaps that’s why Peggy has always shared a special place in my heart. Not because she means anything to me today, but because she is the first person who gave me butterflies.

I’m not sure why Peggy has come to mind today. I guess it’s because I’m reliving that experience. The butterfly feeling of being intoxicated being around with someone you love. I’m reminded of simpler days, of days when I had no career concerns or bills to pay. When the world was just going to school, playing outside as much as possible, and watching cartoons on TV. No project timelines to keep, no office politics to navigate, no morning commutes in high traffic. Childhood days.

These innocent feelings of warmth, love, and happiness continue to flood into my world as I spend more and more time with SkyPrincess. The butterflies have returned, and I’m running around desperately trying to capture each one to store in mason jars, which I save on top of the cabinets in my kitchen. Each one I label quickly with a strip of masking tape, scribbling the time and date and what it represents. Even now, I have more jars that I ever would have imagined. The first day we met. The first time we kissed. The first time she cooked for me. The memories of this past Saturday when we shagged for the first time. The memories of later that evening when we shagged again. And then again. oh! And then one more time for good measure ^_^

I know the butterfly feeling will soon be replaced by something more tangible and richer. Until that happens, I’m storing as many mason jars away as I can. To save for my twilight years, when my memory begins to fade. I want to never forget this feeling I have right now.

Mizike

Cya you Monday!

Not sure if I'll have time to post this weekend. SkyPrincess is here and we are going to paint the town red!

Mizike

Go! Go! Gadget Record Player!

“Gold leader, this is Alpha leader. Enemy spotted at 4 o’clock. Commencing attack run.”

“Roger Alpha leader, will follow you down with supporting fire.”

Alpha leader leads his motley band of attack ships forward. Leading the pack is a metal toy Millennium Falcon with Matchbox jet planes and pieces of broken model airplane kits my brother never used.

The enemy fights back valiantly. X-wing fighters sweep across the 2 dimensional battle field with supporting defenders made from Lego’s.

Alpha wing is slowly picked apart until Gold wing sweeps in led by Buck Roger’s star fighter and toy battleships and destroyers pretending to be the Argo from Starblazers.

The battle is pitch as the attack on the main cruiser is made. The cruiser is a large scale version of the enemy ships from Buck Roger with over a 1 foot wingspan. A colonial fighter slips thru to fire his red torpedoes (yes, it’s the colonial fighter before they removed the firing option since kids kept swallowing the red torpedo). The torpedo missed and the colonial fighter is destroyed by a Tyrannosaurus Rex space monster.

Suddenly, the enemy cruiser explodes into little pieces as a Rubix Snake sneaks in and wraps itself around it, crushing the bridge. The remaining enemy ships are slowly picked off as Godzilla swallows each. The enemy is given no quarter!

I spent hours and hours spreading out my fleet of ships on our living room floor. With an active imagination, anything that looked even a little spacey became a ship. A broken P51 model engine, perfect. A couple pieces of 2x4 blocks with nails? Absolutely!

I loved playing with my toys. I was a bright child. Always the one to read board game instructions and teach my brothers how to play. The one to always win at chess (although I really did suck). The one to figure out how to dismantle a toy in the shortest amount of time. Although the concept of putting it back together never quite gelled. Oh! And the one who would read the warning instructions on toys and do the complete opposite.

Take for example one of the first remote control cars we owned. The remote, when clicked, makes a very loud, sharp, clicking sound. The warning on the remote said to not place it near the ear, or else hearing damage could occur. I walked around all day holding it next to my ear clicking away. Warning instructions be damned!

I miss the days of simple toys. Now I’m older, and the thoughts of playing with broken bits of plastic and wood seems too childish for someone of my age. How could I explain to SkyPrincess I’m reconstructing the great battle of the Beta Omega star cluster fought with dominoes with toothpicks glued to them? She’d run screaming!

Now my choices of toys are very sophisticated. I’ve been an IT professional for years and years, and I’ve watched the gadgets get more and more complicated. I remember when having a pager that displayed the phone number made you something special. Now you have PDAs, blackberries, and phones with enough computing power they would give the NASA administrators during the Kennedy administration wet dreams.

For some reason, my gadget gene was never activated. I remain one of the most clueless people when it comes to small, compact toys that eat AA batteries like my family during an all-you-can-eat catfish dinner at the Hush Puppy.

I’m not sure how it happened. I have tried to slowly enter the digital era of toys. I finally broke down 6 months ago and bought a very nice digital camera. I’ve used it a handful of time and still have to break out the instruction book to just find out how to change the resolution. Right now it’s set at mega gonzo huge. Each picture is well over 1.5 megs in size and impossible to email. Luckily, I bought a ½ gig card for the camera, so I will never run out of space when taking them. But they do suck up the hard drive. Maybe I should buy a CD burner?

I think SkyPrincess is going to get me an Ipod for Christmas. I’m stepping up in the world! Now to figure out how to use the thing. I hear its very user friendly and customizable. I wonder if it has an attachment for my 8 track tapes?

- Mizike a.k.a Inspector Gadget

Uh....

Sometimes you can't do anything but stand with your mouth wide open.

Mizike

It's all Jimmy Carter's fault!

As a kid, I hated drinking water. To make me drink a glass of water at supper was viewed as punishment for some form of misdeed I had done earlier in the day. My mom would stand over me, shaking her finger saying, “You didn’t clean your room today, so no SunKist for you”.

SunKist was my favorite childhood beverage (before they changed the formula). My dad had started this backhoe business with a friend, and we used the business discount to buy cases and cases of soft drinks. I remember having the cases stacked outside higher than myself. We’d go out back and pick a bottle up, pop the top and pour it over a large glass of ice, and drink up. Having 8 to 10 bottles of SunKist a day really hurts the body after a while. Not only will your pee turn a rich dark orange color, but it also burns. Wasn’t much fun.

Over time, the soft drinks became an exception, rather than the rule. During the recession of the 70s, we had to cut back on a lot of expenses. Gas prices brought out the worse in the neighborhood kids. There was more than one occasion when we’d wake up the next morning with an empty tank of gas. Cash strapped teenagers siphoned it overnight. Soon we had to buy locking gas caps for all the family cars.

Our drink of choice then became iced tea. We’d take a large gallon pickle jar and fill it with a cup of sugar; several Lipton iced tea bags, and lots of water. Seal it with a lid and leave it in the backyard for the day. Results, sun tea!

I’ve been a sweet tea drinker for decades. It was never strong tea, almost colored water. I’d drink it for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner. I’d take glasses of it with me as I did yard work. Cutting the grass, picking up limbs, making huge piles of leaves and setting them ablaze with liberal doses of gasoline. Nothing was more exciting than soaking a pile of leaves with gas, throwing a match on top, and watching the gas explode… sending leaves flying everywhere. Kaboom! It would always bring the neighbors out of their houses to see what exploded. We’d then hear our phone start ringing as Mr. Grinch, next door, would call and complain about us heathen kids. We’d get chewed out for putting too much gasoline on the pile and to be more careful next time.

One thing they didn’t tell us kids then, is that tea stains your teeth. Coming from a family where dental visits were unknowns, the years have not been kind. It’s the one thing I am most sensitive about and equally embarrassed.

I have thought about dental whitening, and have consulted my last dentist on my options. He sold me on crest whitening strips that only affect the very front teeth. Completely worthless results. So I’m not sure which direction to go. I would rather a one-time procedure than a series of applications. Laser whitening? Will it damage the sparse enamel I have left? So many questions I’m afraid to ask.

I need to go ahead and just do it. I would feel so much better about myself after its done. Mizike, just stop thinking of it and make an appointment.

Mizike

Sing along with me!

Spit, not swallow

I use to be a medical show junkie. As a child, afternoons were filled with old episodes of Dr. Kildare (along with Lassie, Perry Mason, Flipper, Superman, Sid & Marty Krofft shows, and Bozo). Evenings had Emergency and Quincy, MD.

My heart raced as the frantic doctors and nurses exchanged words of “stat” and “IV push” and “he’s crashing doctor!” I’m not saying I’m into blood and gore. Far from it. I use to enjoy channel 21 and 23 on my Savannah cable system. The Discovery Channel and the History Channel. Right in-between them, was channel 22… the Discovery Health Channel.

Before TiVo, I was a normal channel clicker. I’d spend hours and hours surfing from one channel to another, looking for something to see. Lots of times, I’d switch between channel 21 and 23 all night. And I’d have to flip over channel 22. Invariably, they’d have a show with some guy’s chest open and they are playing with his heart or kidneys. Or showing childbirth with this ugly, bloody bulbous thing coming out of WHAT???!! Who ever says childbirth is a beautiful thing, needs to have their head examined. It’s gross. I just have one word for all of you who videotape the births of your children. Freaks!

Good god, do you really want to have a record of that? And you want to show it to guests along side your visit to the Grand Canyon? Freaks, I say!

So I love doctor shows, but they have to be completely gore free. Just show me the drama of the fight between life and death. And throw in a little hot doctor/nurse action, and I’m a very happy man.

What’s surprising is that I hate going to the doctor. I would rather sit in pain, with a huge goiter growing on the tip of my nose, than go to the doctor. As much as I hate going to the doctor, I’m a wonderful patient. The key to being a wonderful patient is to be patient. I have an incredible tolerance for people who waste my time. Standing in lines? Not a problem. Getting my license at the DMV, piece of cake. Waiting for my 5 minute face-to-face with the doctor, 3 hour wait… no sweat. I am at peace with the world. Sit back, close my eyes, have my inner voice repeat calming mantras… Zen baby!

My dentist in Savannah loved me. I’d never fidget in the chair. Scrape a little hard, catch the gum…. I suck it up and never move. No ouchies from me! Although the dental assistant did get cross with me when I swallowed the mouth wash instead of spitting it back out. I never use mouthwash, how was I supposed to know you spit it back into the cup? Not like there was a sink close by. If there was a sink, sure. Nothing like it for a spittoon. But keep me on my back with this tiny cup as a receptacle… not going to happen. Especially when you’ve deadened my gums and my lips are drooping more than Fat Albert’s lower lip.

One day I’ll get over my Doctor Phobia. I’ll admit when I’m ill and won’t wait until rigor is setting before I will go. I pay an obscene amount for health insurance. Why not use it?

Mizike

Invitation

Please feel free to take a seat, pour a nice hot cup of Joe, and share your comments. I would love to hear a bit about your life, so feel free to share!

Mizike

She's Dead, Wrapped in Plastic

“She’s dead, wrapped in plastic.” So began my love of the show Twin Peaks. The deadpan delivery of that line has stuck with me for well over a decade. Angelo Badalamenti’s score and the lilting voice of Julee Cruise haunt me to this day.

I’ve always dreamed of finding my own Twin Peaks. A town filled with Log Ladies and Audrey Hornes. A town with a diner that serves the world’s best cherry pie and damn fine cups of coffee. A town where everyone is more than they appear. Where you can spend a lifetime getting to know someone, where you look forward to each new day’s opportunity to learn one new thing about them.

At times I feel like Agent Dale Cooper. Wide-eyed amazement at the world around him. Yet accepting everything as if it’s completely normal. And the dead pan delivery. I have that down pat.

Last night Hippolyte and I talked about my weekend with SkyPrincess. Hippolyte has gotten use to how I describe personal things. For a stranger, it can be very clinical, very deadpan. But she knows, and she understands the shear joy that is filling my heart. It’s just you can’t tell listening to me.

So thank you SkyPrincess for inviting me into your Twin Peaks. I look forward to getting to know your Donna Haywards, Laura Palmers, Bobby Briggs, Log Ladies, dancing dwarves, and one-arm men. To each new day’s discoveries. *cheers!*

Mizike

Time of Muskrat Love

My sister is a child of the 70s. She’s the first born, and the only girl out of six children.

I only have a few memories of my sister as a teenager. I remember her listening hours and hours on a portable phonograph to the Carpenters and Cher. My stronger memories are of how poor a driver she was. She tended to bump into things a lot. She backed into a brick wall in our carport, and it was never rebuilt. She had a couple fender benders, luckily no one was injured.

Although it’s not spoken of much in our family, my sister embraced the sexual revolution.

Boys were a huge part of her life. She liked the bad boys. The ones always on the edge of trouble, but could be cleaned up for the introductions to my father. Not that my father was strict, he was pretty laid back.

One of the boys she was dating was called Charles. I never really got to know Charles that well. My sister became pregnant and married Charles. They started out with very little, making the best of it like most young couples. They had a beautiful daughter (Gigisparkle), who is by far my favorite niece and best friend. More on Gigi in later posts.

Unfortunately, my sister’s marriage was short lived. To this day, I am uncertain what caused its failure. She met a truck driver, named Philip, soon afterwards and married him. They stayed together for almost 10 years, until they split. The next decade, she had been married twice more. She’s currently single, and needs to stay that way.

I have always had a different viewpoint on marriage than my sister. She believes she needs to be married to be a successful person. It doesn’t matter if her partner is an abuser or drug user, he’s a man. Or rather, he’s a working penis. That’s what her latest relationships come down to; she needs to have someone to fuck.

After watching my sister flounder in one bad relationship after another, I’ve become very skeptical of marriage as a whole. My sister is desperate to find that special someone. Someone who can complete her life and bring her happiness. I know she’s looked very hard, never finding it. Every time she finds someone new, she tells us that “he’s the one”. That she felt the connection with him and it felt right from the start.

I believed her for the longest time. I knew that one day, that feeling would happen and I would know that I found the right person. A great epiphany would happen, and I would just know its right. With each failure observed from my sister, I began to believe this was a foolish way of viewing relationships. It’s a way for someone to try to convince themselves it’s the right person. In other words, the belief that you are going find someone and “just know” they are the “one” for you is such a bogus idea.

While lying next to SkyPrincess last night, she said that she always believed the same. She’s always heard people say when you meet the right person, you just know. That ability to fall in love with someone at first sight. She’s always heard this, and never believed it. Now it’s happened to her, and I realized I felt the same way.

It feels right.

Where we go from here, I’m not sure. We both want this to last. No rushing. Next weekend she’ll fly in and we are going to see Chronicles of Narnia, and perhaps a play. The following weekend I’ll fly to Dallas. I went into this weekend with uncertainty, all of which have evaporated.

Finally, a chance at happiness.

Mizike

Dear ValuJet... err, AirTran

Dear disinterested and rude AirTran boarding girl at gate D4 in Atlanta. I wish upon you a hairy ass and a stinky cooter. You suck, along with your ValueJet airline. I will never fly with you again!

Mizike

The Kissing Tree

I remember my first kiss. I can’t tell you to who it exactly was too, but I remember where it happened and what grade I was in.

When I was bean pole skinny in the 3rd grade, I started hanging around three girls. Lana, Catherine, and Laura. I really liked Lana and Laura, but I never fancied Catherine at all.

Our playground was divided into 2 different sections. The first grade to third grade played in the area to the far left. This is where the slides, jungle gym, and swings were. The fourth to sixth grade played in the far right. This had the basketball court and the football field.

In the far left corner, was this pine tree. During lunch the four of us would rush off to the pine tree and the three girls would start kissing me. I would giggle, blush, and just squirm like crazy. It was thrilling, but short lived. My next door neighbor ratted me out to my mom, and she put a stop to it. I never forgave him.

I will have to confess, I am not someone who finds the thought of being with multiple people at one time a huge turn-on. I know, most guys love the thought of being with 2 or more women at once. Even if it’s just watching. This isn’t something that is on the forefront of my desires. I get no satisfaction watching two women make out together.

One of the jobs I had during my “5 years of darkness”, was that of a clerk at a convenience store. Jeri was one of my regular customers. She was blond, about 5’2”, buxom, and very attractive. She had started doing part time swimsuit modeling, and was hoping to make that her full time career. In the mean time, she did small jobs such as tax returns and minor book keeping.

Jeri was always coming in alone, paying with checks in just her name. No wedding band, and during all our talks and flirtations, there was never a mention of another person in her life.

One afternoon, she invited me over to her place after work. It was innocent enough. She left me directions and asked what time to expect me. I gave her when I got off and we left it at that. I arrived at her place after work and had a brief tour of her place. She owned a nice home and had a 240z she was refurbishing. She led me to the back of the house where she had a huge indoor hot tub. One of those that can fit 6 easily. She said she was a bit stiff and was going to soak for a while and if I could join her. I told her I didn’t have any swim trunks, which she said we didn’t need. So, of course I said yes!

She was heating it up when I heard the front door open and close. She shouts out “honey, I’m in the back with Mizike… come join us”. I froze. In walks Robert, another regular from work. Neither wore a wedding band, but both were married. To say I was a bit uncomfortable would be an understatement.

Robert says that he’s glad he’s not late to join us and before I knew it, both of them were starting to disrobe. My mouth is wide open now, and I quickly excuse myself and ran out the front door.

They both continued to come to the store for years, asking when I was going to come visit them again. Like if!

Mizike

As far as a watermelon seed can be spat

I don’t have many memories of my grandfather (my dad’s father). My other grandfather was long since past before I was born. What I do remember is a hard working country farmer. Leathered skin, with age spots. Tall and very lean. I’m told he wasn’t really all that tall, which would explain my father’s lack of stature, but as a child the world is filled with giants.

My grandparents lived in a farmhouse just south of El Dorado, Arkansas. Almost a watermelon seed spitting distance from Louisiana. Every so often, my parents would drive the 45 minutes to my grandparent’s house, and my siblings and I would then spend the rest of the day exploring the farmland, kicking dirt clods, knocking down old corn stalks, and poking sticks at the hogs. We left the chickens alone, they were mean. And the one milking cow was temperamental with a history of kicking.

My grandmother was hard working and had taken to operating several home grown businesses. One such endeavor is quilting. We’d always come and see the backroom filled with a large quilt she had received an order for. It would take weeks to complete. At first it was all hand stitched, until her arthritis began to take a toll. Then she started using the sewing machine, and the intricate patterns disappeared.

Her most successful endeavor was daycare. The quilting room was given up for a daycare. Area moms and dads would drop their kids off prior to heading off to work in the local petrochemical plants. Although it was a considerable drive, my parents supported her by dropping us off also. We didn’t mind the drive. Grandma always had the nursery books we always enjoyed. She even had Dr. Seuss, which my mom despised and refuse to purchase. No one ever read the books to me, but I enjoyed the illustrations.

Sometimes we would be left for a couple days. My grandma had a love for fat laden foods. And I didn’t care, it was delicious. And for anyone who knows me, this will come as a surprise. I loved her fried chocolate pies. Yes! The person, who really doesn’t care for chocolate, loved her pies. Eating one did far more damage than any super sized McDonald’s meal.

I remember waking up early one morning and looking out the window and seeing Bambi. I rushed to tell Grandpa, and he didn’t believe me. That’s the one thing I always hated about being a child. The giants never listened to you.

“No, no! Really, it’s Bambi!” I pleaded. I’m not sure I had convinced him, or he got tired of hearing me whine, but he finally got up from watching TV and came to the window. And yes! There in the corn field was Bambi having a morning snack.

The next thing I remember was my Grandpa heading to his room with me in tow. He opens his closet and pulls out a rifle I didn’t know he had. With trembling hands, he started loading the rifle when I noticed something wrong. The bullets seemed to keep getting jammed as he loaded them, which he kept trying to force in. Soon his fingers were bloody from loading the rifle. He got up from the bed and told everyone to be quiet. He slowly went out the front door and an eternity later, I heard the gun go off. I had been watching Bambi since my Grandpa had left, not knowing what to expect. When the gun went off, Bambi froze and lifted its head up to look around. Then before I knew it, Bambi was off running for the deep woods. The gun sounded again. Bambi was gone.

I didn’t understand why my Grandpa wanted to kill Bambi, later I understood that the deer was eating his crops. Bambi had leaped over the electrified fence put up to prevent the crop poachers. It didn’t work.

I’m not sure what I would do in his place today. Yes, I was brought up in a family of hunters. I remember weekends of running the dogs to tree squirrels. Of learning to shoot with a 410 shotgun. Of playing with a loaded 22 magnum pistol in my father’s trailer. Of the fact gun safety was non-existent.

For me, guns have no place in my life now. Do I believe in a person’s right to arms? It’s sorta a difficult answer. I could go into a discourse that the original intent was to be a check on the government. That the ability for a citizen to self-arm and join a militia to oppose a hostile government coincided with the era of the American Revolution. It would take too long to go into this, let’s just say I believe there should be restrictions.

In an age of flash anger and the dehumanizing of others, it’s far too easy for someone to strike out in anger using a handgun. When I was growing up, you settled your differences on the playground by a fist fight. The word would go out that so-and-so are going to fight after school at the football field. The whole school would congregate and the fight would start. Someone may come out with a bloody nose and loss of pride, but when it was over, everyone went home. Sometimes for a 3 day vacation or a morning of picking up trash.

Fist fights are almost unheard of now. Now arguments are settled at the end of a gun. Destroying both lives, the shooters and the victims.

I’m not sure what the answer is. Maybe everyone should walk around with the boxing game. You know, the one where you keep pressing the buttons as fast as you can in order to knock the other opponents head off? Anytime there’s a confrontation, you should be able to call a timeout and settle it with a good old game of “knock the head off the plastic man”. The loser buys the next round of beer.

Mizike

I voted for, then voted against

I’ve occasionally have a mild interest in how other governments handle their legislative requirements. Mostly, this interest is sparked by news commentators showing videos of Far East countries where fist fights break out among opposing political groups. My swiss cheese memory fails me at the moment in recalling the country, but I want to say it was a Malaysia.

The states have always prided itself as the bastion for democratic ideals. We have always claimed to be the blueprint for how true democracies should be set up. Over the years I’ve had pause to consider if this is true.

Our political system is truly divided between the 2 parties, Republicans and Democrats. Any other third party has virtually no chance to effect any sort of social or political change. Sure, grass root movements have been known to effect some change. But when you think about it, it wasn’t due to its political representation in our legislature. It was because the social conscience of the nation was changed enough that pressure was placed upon one or both of the two parties’ representatives to effect that change.

The basic tenant of our democracy was to allow a voice to the minority viewpoint and not allow the majority to step over the rights of the minority. Most of the world’s democracies do this much better than the states. A legislative body is voted in with a variety of political groups being represented. At that point, the political groups bind together to form a coalition of ideals and principles and elect a prime minister to represent them. The government, led by the prime minister, then has to represent all parties in his coalition or face a revolt and possible removal if the coalition falls apart.

This is a far superior system than the current US model, where the party in power may have polar opposite agendas than the minority party. Only one viewpoint’s agenda will be implemented, disenfranchising the minority.

During the last election, much was made of Kerry’s voting record of voting for something then voting against. The electorate likes very simple ideas when trying to characterize a candidate. This appeared to be someone who really couldn’t make up their mind on issues. And Kerry failed when it came to a sufficient response.

Many legislators are faced with this dilemma. The process of creating a law requires a bill to be passed in both the house and the senate. The language of the legislation is never word for word identical, which is a requirement. To iron out the differences in language, a conference committee of representatives from both houses meet to work out the differences in the bill and bring back the compromises to both houses for a vote. The idea is that there should be minor changes to the bill, and the original nature of the bill should remain very close to the original language voted on and approved by that branch of the legislature. Sounds perfectly logical, right? That’s not what is happening.

Pieces of legislation go through the proper process of being debated and amended on the floor of the house and senate, with all parties able to have their say. If alliances are required to pass a bill, the language of one party is softened in order to get approval of the other. Sounds lovely, right? This is how our political system should work. Unfortunately, it isn’t.

Currently, one political party controls the assignment of representatives to the conference committee that is responsible for adjusting the language of the bill between the two houses. What they are doing is actually completely rewriting the bill and ignoring the voice of the minority party. When the bill leaves committee, it may have virtually no similarity to the original bill. The bill is then brought back to the floor and no debate or amendments are possible. Legislators will only be able to do a straight up and down Yes or No vote. If this was an important bill that had received lots of attention, then voting No could be very difficult to explain to your constituents. How could you vote against a child safety bill named “The Child Predator” law when in fact it has suddenly morphed into a new energy policy and all language dealing with child safety has been removed?

It’s difficult to damn the Republicans for abusing the rules of the political process when the truth is the Democrats are angry they didn’t think of it first. Both parties have become so polarized, the average, moderate American is no longer being represented. We are living in an age that will be talked about in history books for generations. An age of abuse of policy and misrepresentation to the general populace. I shudder to think of the face of the United States after this administration. And I shudder at the chaos that will occur when the Democrats regain control and start stripping out all the changes that have been put in place.

I am embarrassed when our political system is touted as the blueprint for democracy. It isn’t, and never will be. But I understand why it is. It is because people are associating economic and military supremacy to the success of a democratic state. We are the world’s largest economy and have the largest standing army, that must mean our version of democracy is the best. But economic success and military power is not reliant upon democratic ideals. One has only to look at China.

Mizike

5 Years of Darkness

I don’t recall my early twenties. I know, that’s when most people make the memories that nurture their emotional growth for the rest of their lives. It’s when you are finally free from the constraints of your parents, and able to make the mistakes that will be your life lessons. When you gain your real world survival skills when it comes to work ethics, study skills (because we never stop learning), and relationship dynamics. For me, it’s one big blank spot.

When I was twenty, I relocated from south Arkansas to south Louisiana. A far larger town, but the social dynamics were still pretty much the same. It’s still the south. Just more Catholics and less southern Baptists. And no dry parishes, unlike the dry county I grew up in.

When I moved to Louisiana, university was not an option. No funding was available. The next 5 years I worked 2 full time jobs, in order to stick enough money aside to attend classes. I started working for a convenience store (Circle K) from 3:30pm – 11pm, and then make a half hour drive to Baton Rogue and work for a local television station from midnight to 7am. There were plenty of times when I drove home asleep. I would wake up in the opposite traffic lane and thank god I had not killed someone.

But I remember nothing from that time. All I did was work and work. No social life. Just eat, sleep, and work. I call it my “5 years of darkness”.

I survived it. Even though I escaped from that dark period of my life, I am aware many Americans are still stuck in that cycle of needing to work 2 to 3 jobs to just make by.

I have never had the core years to learn how to date successfully. Such common knowledge on when it’s okay to ask something from your partner, and when to not answer their questions honestly. Cutesy small talk is completely lost on me. You’ll never hear me call the person I’m seeing “their little love muffin”. Ewww!

One of the things I haven’t learned is when to give up. And before you begin to think I’m stalker material, you are mistaken. I tend to be attracted to someone who’s unobtainable, but who instantly wants to become “my friend” and tell me all about their relationship problems.

I met Hippolyte 5 years ago when I worked for Big Wood. She was a sophomore in college, and at first I could only talk work around her. Eventually, we became close friends.

About 2 years ago, I finally broke down and confessed my affections for her. It was a difficult thing to do, but I felt it was necessary. She gave an indication that she “could” consider us if things changed in her life, which I latched onto and held close to my heart. I got the opportunity to move to Memphis a year ago, and left.

We kept contact via IM during that time. With her encouragement, I reentered the dating realm again. I had a few hits and misses, filling her in with the details and asking her advice. One of the early dates quickly evolved into a sexual relationship, which I really wasn’t ready to start. Sex, for the sake of sex, isn’t something I enjoy. I need a bit of intimacy and closeness with that person. Otherwise it feels mechanical.

After my encounter I IM’d Hippolyte for advice on what to do. I felt this is going in the wrong direction and my date didn’t even want to go out any more. All they wanted was to sleep together. She finally asked me why I didn’t feel any connection with this person, and I admitted I was still stuck on her. That’s when she told me we could never have anything together. So I asked about a possibility of being intimate in the future, which she said it’s very possible.
This is what totally confuses me. How can someone think of being intimate with you but can’t see dating you? Maybe I’m not hip enough to understand friends with benefits.

Mizike