One Turkey Sandwich, Please, But Hold the Glove

Accidents and mishaps just happen to me. It's not through any fault of my own, though. I'm not clumsy and I certainly don't go looking for trouble, though I did when I was much younger. Trouble is like a long, lost puppy dog that follows me around and appears when I least expect it.

Not too long ago, I ordered a Sierra Turkey at a popular sandwich franchise. I got more than I bargained for -- a Sierra Turkey & Preparation Glove Sandwich. The employees were super nice and got me a new sandwich, sans glove. At a biscuit franchise drive through, my wife and I got sweet teas. The only difference between them was that mine had a soft drink nozzle and soap in it. And then there was the killer food processor. Nine stitches and one reattached finger later, I still use kitchen knives for all my cooking needs.

Nothing, however, compared with the half of the modular home being transported that hit me. It was not long after I got married and just got a new job when it happened.

I sang The Clash songs as I blissfully drove myself to work in my truck. I was on that section of Hwy 220 in Greensboro with all the concrete bridges that stretch over the highway. To this day, I've put off the philosophical question of whether the house half that hit me was too tall, or the bridge it was being driven under was too short. Whichever it was, the two collided.

While I didn't see the actual collision, I did happen to see the effects it caused. I was right beside the house half and witnessed about 10 feet of the main beam land on my windshield. In slow motion, it bounced off my windshield and snapped the sideview mirror off the truck. I glanced in the rearview mirror to track its continual slow motion bouncing along the highway. I really freaked out when it started snowing. It seemed to take my brain hours to register that it was August and that the "snow" was insulation pouring out of the walls of the house half.

Now I'm taking these law classes at Guilford College. The classes are very informative and I'm learning a lot. Mostly, I'm learning that had I been smarter in the past, I could be a very rich person by now.

My Serious Side Emerges, But Only Momentarily

Contrary to popular belief, I do have a serious side. It comes out from time to time. Sometimes it even comes out in my writing. In fact, about this time 16 years ago, I wrote a poem for my best friend and girlfriend, who, not coincidentally, was also my fiancee. It was supposed to have been a Valentine's Day gift, but it took longer than I expected to iron the kinks out, so to speak.

It was a Shakespearean-style sonnet, adhering tightly to the rhyme scheme and theme of Shakespeare's impressive collection of love sonnets. I ended up giving it to her closer to our wedding date, which, luckily enough, was early enough for my wife-to-be to request it be put on the back of our wedding program.

God has a sense of humor. Sometimes you have to look for it and sometimes it's obvious. It was obvious to me when, at some point during the day of my wedding, one of my cousins sought me out.
"Phillip," he said, holding the program, "where did you get this poem?"
"Me," was my only answer.
"No," he continued. "I mean, what poet wrote it? Where did you get it?"
"Me," I said again. "I wrote it."
I got no further comments from him. He just looked at me a moment and then turned and walked off. I still smile when I think about it since I don't think he believed me. But I am flattered that he thought some great poet wrote it. Me.

I meant to post it for my wife for Valentine's Day (yesterday!!). However, life got in the way and kept me busy. Luckily, I haven't forgotten, so here it is. I love you honey. Happy Valentine's Day.

In Autumn days the wind grows strong
And the earth gets hard and cold,
The springtime warmth will thaw the throngs
Of flowers so bright and bold;
What chance does that which lives
Against such changing weather
Its life it ultimately gives
For nothing will go on forever.
But if your warmth and your love
Were to crush beneath such a pressure
My life would surely go on, but above
And beyond any earthly pleasure.
Your personal changes will always affect me,
But your love is my sole stability.

The Battle of Yorktown, Revisited

My son and I sometimes have interesting bouts of "what ifs." Most of the time they are funny and they are always interesting. This one, in particular, is one of my favorites. What if they had cell phones right at the end of the Revolutionary War? While I added a bit, this is the text conversation we came up with:
The date is 1781...
LCCORN: OMG! We lost!
KGIII: wat's omg. wht havew e lost.? Whhois ths?
LCCORN: Lord Charles Cornwallis. The commander of your forces, King George.
KGIII: Ths isnot a fnny jok e.
LCCORN: No joke, sire. Please give the phone to that 15yo errand boy, my king.
KGIII: Where are you exactly?
LCCORN: That's better. Yorktown, Virgina, my king.
KGIII: Where?! And where's that rescue fleet? Should be there any moment.
LCCORN: The colonies, sire. The French drove them off.
KGIII: The French? Against the English Navy? We will address your humor upon your return, lccorn!
KGIII: Sit tight. The French. Hah. My navy will be right there.
LCCORN: We're surrounded, sire. We're trapped. It is over.
KGIII: Pishposh! Let me talk to General Howe.
LCCORN: Quit. 3 years ago. Remember?
KGIII: How about General Clinton?!
LCCORN: He's in New York, my king.
KGIII: Where?!
LCCORN: Up north, far away from me, sire.
KGIII: Sit tight, you wimp. Trapped by a ragtag army! Hah!
KGIII: Getting text from navy now. Stay in touch.
RYLNAVY: My king. We're back in New York. The French. I can explain...

Super Bowl Turns Out to be a Battle of Sorts

Another Super Bowl has come and gone. Given these confusing times, it might be necessary to give an honest recap of the entire fracas. Otherwise, there may be many people who don't understand what really happened on the evening of Sunday, February 6.

Two rivaling factions came together on a really large grassy field located in Dallas, Texas. It's unknown what the two factions were fighting over, exactly. However, they attempted to settle it by throwing balls and by slamming into each other repeatedly. Ironically, the whole soiree started out peacefully enough with a gentleman in a striped prison outfit throwing coins. Only the most civil members of each group were allowed to attend this. Due to the television volume, or the lack thereof, the coin toss determined that there would be a battle of sorts.

The thieves of Pittsburgh... Correction -- the steelworkers of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, initially kicked the ball at the packagers of Green Bay, Wisconsin. After the steelworkers kicked the ball, two relatively small groups of each faction ran at each other toward the middle of the large field. During the first half of the fracas, several of the packagers were maimed or injured, or maimed and injured, gave up and simply left thegame. The packagers also caught balls aimed at the steelworkers during the first half. When that happened, confusion reigned on the field and members of both factions would reverse directions and seemed unsure of what to do.

At the conclusion of the first half, a light show ensued. Again, due to the lack of volume, it appeared a group called the Black Eyed Peas was singing up a storm. They certainly blinked up a storm, creating the effect of stunning the packagers from Green Bay, Wisconsin. This was evidenced by the slightly lackluster performance of beating up on the steelworkers from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

In the end, the packagers showed what a close-knit group they were by all coming together for a massive group hug. Even some of the injured ones hobbled into the hug. Meanwhile, there was an organized effort to fill the air with millions of little pieces of paper whose purpose was simple; to provide ample cover so the striped prisoners could make their escape. The point to all this? Well, it doesn't seem there was any point to it. But it looked like a good time was had by all.

NC Father Mourns the Loss of his Dudeness

"The Dudeness." Just what is the dudeness? Where does it come from? How do you define it? How do you determine one's dudeness level and, more importantly, determine if you still have it or not?

It's this writer's understanding that, being born male, I acquired it at birth. My source, otherwise known as my 13 year old son, says all guys are born with it. Then he likened the dudeness to a receding hairline. Some lose it quickly and some lose it in little bits. I glowed proudly, certain that I was brimming with the dudeness from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

"But you, Dad," he said with grave solemness, "just laid down and gave it up. Kinda sad, Dad. But it's okay. You're still a good dad."

I immediately set out to right what I perceived was a wrong. I've tried to be cool to my son and his friends. I've taken on some hip new words the younger kids use. And I've caught up with my source on his comic book reading to the point where I can discuss the difference between Black, White and Green Lanterns, as well as when the resurrected Black Lanterns all turned White. I beamed with pride as I discussed this with my son, making a plan to buy the next DC Comics Brightest Day issue, just knowing that I had regained some of my dudeness.

"Dad, you can never regain the dudeness," he told me. "And the comics? That simply makes you a nerd. But I'm proud of you for embracing your inner nerd. You've done well."

Weight Loss Continues to Prove Challenging

After my new diet clashed with my new hobby, cooking, I knew I'd have to find a new avenue to lose weight and get into shape. Honestly, starvation simply sucks. So the obvious next solution is to exercise. I've been reviewing my options, but none have proven to be the right solution for me.

Originally, I considered hiring a personal trainer. Before I can do that, I have to clean up my house. You know what that means. The hardwoods have to be dusted and mopped, the surface tops dusted, all Lego's collected and binned and the kitchen... Well, let's not go there. By the time I've eradicated the fuzzy, black dog fur from the steps and folded half the clothes, I've gotten all the exercise I need. So the personal trainer is out.

The workout video route worked well for me once upon a time. Some years ago, as we prepared for the arrival our our son, my wife purchased a workout video for pregnant women. While it may have been geared towards women with baby bumps, I found it quite challenging. The video itself began to grate on my wife's pregnant nerves and it simply disappeared one day.

My wife keeps suggesting simple exercises such as sit ups, push ups and walking Ace and Lilly--the fuzzy, black dogs. But I have much grander ideas. I like exciting exercises. I like exercises such as biking, hiking, jump ropes and roller blading. The back surgeon told me biking was out, so I tried hiking. I donned my backpack with a little added weight, went for one walk and promptly threw my back out. My wife nixed the jump rope for fear I'll throw my back out again. My son put an end to the roller blading by telling his mother how I nearly killed myself, along with three of his friends, at an ice skating party.

Now I'm considering plugging my iPod into my ears and dancing my way to better shape. The only problem with dancing is that I'll have to notify my neighbors. That will be to prevent any 911 calls about "some guy" appearing to be having seizures within his home. Which, of course, leads me back to simple exercises like sit ups, push ups and walking the fuzzy, black dogs. I better get myself some good walking shoes.

Nothing Good Comes From the Side of the Road

My wife has mandated a new driving rule: there is to be absolutely no talk of any road side spectacles. Period. This seems to be a direct response to my habit of noticing animals, either dead or alive, on the sides of the road. A peculiar byproduct of that habit is my seeming inability to not mention what I've seen in exquisite detail to everyone who may have missed it. Either my wife is jealous that she didn't get to see it or she simply wishes to not see or know about it.

And I have seen it all, too. I've seen live coyote, deer, rabbits, hawks, opossum, skunks, raccoon, snakes, squirrel and various dogs and cats. And, sadly enough, I've seen all the above and more squished flat upon the many highways and byways of North Carolina. Even worse are the pieces and parts that remain behind in various states of decomposition. Frightening are those insane people who look hard enough to try to identify the animal from remains at the side of the road.

"Wow, honey! Judging from that back leg and tail, I would guess that that was a raccoon and it was hit by a cement truck driving south, just on top of the yellow line, at nearly 55 miles per hour! Notice how the intesti--OOWW!!"
"Nothing good comes from the side of the road," my wife would respond after a serious left jab to my right shoulder. "If you'd watch the road instead, your family wouldn't be so afraid to ride with you in the car."

Long car rides are really rough on my right shoulder. Regardless, a moratorium has been placed on any audio commentary from the vehicle operator concerning any spectacles from the side of the road. The only exception being signs pointing out food, restrooms or shopping areas. I've been informed that there will be consequences if this rule is broken. I fully intend to break that rule just to test those consequences, but I haven't yet worked up the nerve.