The weather was a cool 68F. I had the window in my office open wide and Gracie was sleeping at my feet. With the music playing, I was just really entering a great groove. My taxes are done, I’ve got bills going out and I’m was just flush with the feeling that “Life Is Good!” So every time a new song comes up, I type it into my IM window to Mike. Here’s just a sample:

Soul Coughing – “Idiot Kings”
Lamb – “Gold (Hip Optimist Mix)”
The Beloved – “Let The Music Take You”
Lamb vs. Cosmos – “What Sound”
Mandalay – “Beautiful”
Paul Oakenfold – “Decent (Original Mix)”
Paul van Dyk – “The Politics Of Dancing”
DJ Rap – “Bad Girl”
The Crystal Method – “The Winner”
Hooverphonic – “Renaissance Affair”
Rinocerose – “Dead Flowers”
Tosca – “Worksong”
Patchwork – “Psychym”
Paul Van Dyk – “Out There”
The New Deal – “Receiver”

Ok, well, you get the idea. I’m feeling so good, that I don’t even realize how long I’ve been entering in song names. As I type this, I’m still doing it in fact. I mean it only takes a few seconds to do it and I type fast, so I’m not thinking anything of it. I’m just being me. Then Mike brings what I’m doing to my attention in the following conversation.

Mike: “you are a freak. “

Me: “How’s that?”

Mike: “typing in the songs… I figured you’d give up after 5. “

Mike: “I mean, it’s cool… you’re just over the top 150% man!”

I had to laugh, but I also took his comment as a compliment because I LIKE being thought of as the “over the top guy”. It also reminded me of a story, which I relayed to him and I’ll do the same here.

This had to be about 7 or 8 years ago. I was talking with my best friend Chris LaFleur about all the stuff I had going on. I was working for the Louisiana Home Builders Work Comp Fund and it was a very crazy time in my life, but that’s a whole other story. Anyway, I’m telling him what’s going on and Chris is being the usual good listener as I go on and on and on. Chris doesn’t say much, most people might consider him kind of quiet. Chris may not say a lot, but when he says something, it’s on the money. It’s either funny as hell, or it’s heartfelt, or just right on target. He just always knows the right thing to say.

Anyway, so I’ve been going on for awhile about what I’m up to and Chris finally is able to get a word in and responds by telling me something that I’ve never forgotten.

Chris: You know, I’ve heard of some people ‘burning the candle at both ends’.

Me: Yeah?

Chris: Dude, you’re just a flaming ball of wax.

I lost it then and I lose it now every time I’m reminded of it. It’s just the funniest thing I’ve ever heard of, but at the same time, I think of it as a fantastic compliment. LOL

After telling the story to Mike, it hit me that “Flaming Ball Of Wax” would make a GREAT name for my weblog. Late last year I wrote about how I wanted to change the name of the site. I ended up not liking my choice and reverted back to mashby.com, but the idea has been sitting there in the back of my mind ever since. I did a quick domain check (using one of the best utilities I’ve ever run across called WhoIs ULTRA) and sure enough, all my domain choices were free! I went ahead and registered flamingball.com, flamingball.net, flamingball.org, flamingballofwax.com, flamingballofwax.net, and flamingballofwax.org. Using 1&1 to register the domains it was pretty cheap to boot.

So am I going to change the weblog title to “Flaming Ball Of Wax”? I don’t know. I think I might, but I’m going to sleep on it and see if I like the idea in a few days. It is kind of similar to one of my favorite sites Daring Fireball, but I think I could make the distinction that my weblog is an animal of a different color. :s Regardless of what I do, I know I’ll keep mashby.com, I’ll just have all those other domains point to the same location. This way regardless of what URL you use, you’ll still reach the same place.

What do you think? Do you like the idea of changing “mashby.com” to “Flaming Ball Of Wax”? ???

It seems that there were some hibiscus plants on sale and she wanted to have them for the party the next night. “Don’t you think it would be pretty to have two hibiscus plants on the deck for when we have the party for Dan?” Translation = this is for Dan, not for us. Whatever twisted logic it was, it worked on me and I was sold on the idea. The added kicker was that if we bought other stuff too, then we wouldn’t have to pay for it until 2005.

There’s a ton of little projects that we’ve been wanting to do and we usually do them little by little as we save up the money. This is probably the best way to do things, but Home Depot was having a deal that if you spent $300 or more on your Home Depot card that you wouldn’t have any interest to pay until 2005. This meant that we could stock up on all the materials and tools that we needed for the rest of the Spring. Do I have time to get to all the projects that I have lined up right now? Hell no! But the idea that I could get everything I need right now far outweighed the logic of waiting until we had the time and money for the project. So we headed off to Home Depot.

We got there around 8pm and since they close at 9pm, we were running around like we’d won some kind of shopping spree where you grab as many items as possible in a limited amount of time. By ten minutes to 9pm, we had 3 shopping carts, a flatbed trolley and a lumber trolley full of junk. Holly had 3 hibiscus plants, 2 butterfly bushes, 2 large planters and several trays of flowers. I had a weed eater, 9 4×4 timers, 2 60ft landscape edging bundles, 12 bags of mulch and 4 bags of dirt, among other things. It wasn’t until we were outside the store that we realized that it wouldn’t all fit into the back of the Jeep Grand Cherokee. So I loaded up everything but the plants and left Holly in front of the store promising to return ASAP.

Once at home, I unloaded everything out of the truck. There was a lot to unload, but I did it as quickly as I could because I didn’t want to leave Holly all alone any more than I had to. I was sweating buckshot, but I finally got everything unloaded from the rear, including the 9 4×4 timbers stacked neatly 3 timbers high. Since we were going to eat at Steak and Shake and it was after 9pm, I decided to unload the front seat too so that we could go eat right after picking Holly up and not have to unload again before we ate. All that was in the passenger seat was my bicycle handlebar bag and a 12-pack of Diet Coke. Using both hands, I grabbed both items and walked behind the truck to set them on the ground. However, I forgot the 4×4 timbers that were stacked directly behind the truck. :O

As I rounded the back of the truck, I was walking at a fast pace. Both my hands were full and it was rather dark and I never saw the wood lying in wait for me. My shins impacted the stacked timbers and in a nano second my face met the concrete with extreme prejudice. I didn’t even have time to react with my hands, so the brunt of the fall was taken by the right side of my chin. I’ve heard the saying, but I never thought it was true until I “saw” it with my own eyes – I saw stars. I’d like to say that this was the worst part, but it wasn’t. The worst part of the fall was the sound. As the stars flashed before my closed eyes, the most gut wrenching crunch filled my ears as my neck was was wrenched back and the rest of my body folded onto itself.

I quickly rolled onto my back and my hands instantly went to my face to check for blood and broken bones. I looked at my hands and there wasn’t any blood. My teeth were all in my head and my jaw was still intact. I ran inside the house for a second opinion and according to the mirror things didn’t look so bad. The only noticeable evidence that I had gone down like a sack of potatoes was a red raspberry on the bottom right part of my chin. I had some nicks and cuts on my shins and hands, but otherwise I appeared to be OK. Later, once all the adrenaline had been flushed from my system, I found that there were some muscles that had been strained or ripped in my chest, and for the next couple of days my entire body ached and my face felt weird when I smiled for awhile. All in all, I wasn’t much worse for the wear considering how hard I hit the pavement. *Whew*

I went back and picked up Holly and the rest of the Home Depot purchase and told her what happened. It was dark, so it was hard to see and I figured Holly would gush over me at Steak and Shake. Once we arrived and chose our booth, I went to the bathroom to wash up. I took a closer inspection of my face and all I saw was the same little raspberry and believe it or not, I was disappointed. That fall hurt and I wanted some testimony of it damnit! LOL When I went back out to the booth and sat down, Holly said, “Well, you can hardly tell that anything happened.” as if that was a good thing. Of course in her mind it IS a good thing. No one wants their loved ones to be damaged in any way. In my mind though, I wanted some physical evidence and I had been jacked.

As I thought about what was going through my head, I tried thinking of WHY I was so intent on having a scar, or a really bad bruise in which to show off. Was it for attention? No, I don’t think it’s cool to be black and blue and if anyone asked how it happened, I’d have to relay this silly story. I mean it’s not like I got in a fight defending Holly’s honor or anything. I fell because I forgot what I had put on the ground and my hands were full of Diet Coke so I couldn’t catch myself. Not the most macho of pictures.

Then I thought that maybe it was for the sympathy. Most men are babies when they are sick and I’m no exception. We may not be babies when we’re hurt necessarily, but we definitely eek out as much attention as we can, so it’s not far off. I did have to admit that I wanted Holly’s attention and nurturing care for my “boo boos”, but that wasn’t why I wanted physical proof. Sure, I wanted Holly to dote on me, but I could just limp, groan, or whine enough and she’d rally to my side. So if it’s not for sympathy, or for show and tell, then what the heck could it be?

As we finished our hamburgers and drank our cherry diet cokes, I posed the question to Holly, “Why is it that I’m disappointed that there isn’t more pronounced evidence of my fall?” Without batting an eye, Holly responded in a matter-of-fact quick reply, “Because you like scars.” As usual, she hit the nail on the head. It’s true. I like scars. I like being able to look at physical signs that I’ve survived what life has thrown at me. Granted, I don’t want to be horribly disfigured, but a scar here and there is quite all right in my book. I have my fair share of scars already that I’m quite proud of and although none of them occurred though very “cool” means, I still like them.

If you really think about it, all of my scars serve as highlight reels of my stupidity. None of them occurred fending off a bear, or shark attack. I didn’t get gored in a knife fight, or get injured playing football. No my scars have all come from very silly and often stupid things. I broke my knees falling from a rope swing and landing on the edge of a driveway. Nasty for sure, but not cool. The scar on my left side is from falling off my bicycle while standing still and landing on the skewer of the person next to me in Bike NY last year (Pictures at 11). All the other scars are just the same, I did something stupid and got hurt.

So I should feel good that I don’t have a scar on my chin right? When I have a child, he won’t ask “Daddy, how did you get that scar on your chin?” and I won’t have to answer, “I tripped while carrying large amounts of diet coke.” I’ll have other stupid stories to share, but this won’t be one of them. Without a scar, there’s no story to tell… hmm… but I just shared this story with you. Sooooo I’m telling a story about something stupid I did, but I don’t have scar, so I’m just illustrating my stupidity without anything cool to show for it?

Damn! I wish I had a scar.

I was familiar with Downey’s work in Weird Science and Less Than Zero, but it wasn’t until he was in The Pickup Artist that his name started popping up everywhere. That’s also about the time that I started hearing about all the comparisons to him, but I really didn’t see the resemblance. It’s not that I thought I was better looking, or anything, just that I didn’t think we looked all that much alike. Other people thought we did though.

One day Holly and I were shopping for music at a Blockbuster (which used to sell music) and she and I were on different ends of the store. All of sudden Holly hears two nearby girls say “Oh my god!” and then a whole bunch of whispering, giggling and pointing. It seems that the two young girls thought that Robert Downey, Jr. was in the store and they were having a bit of an “Elvis moment.” I was oblivious to all this because my head was down looking at CDs and because I’m a guy and we’re not all that well tuned to our surroundings . I learned about this later from Holly when we were driving away from the store. I thought she was kidding, but she claimed she wasn’t. As for me, I still couldn’t see the resemblance.

All that changed on Thanksgiving many years ago. I was over at Holly’s parent’s house and her dad, James, had this odd habit of setting up his camcorder and leaving it running all day. James would put the camcorder on a tripod and connect it to the television so he could see what was being filmed. From time to time he would pick it up and walk around the room, but it mostly stayed on the tripod. I was bringing in some firewood and when I walked in the room, I saw the TV was on and it appeared to be a movie with Robert Downey, Jr. in it. With all the talk of Downey in the recent days, I pointed to the TV and said, “Hey that’s Robert Do…” It was at that moment that I realized that I was pointing at myself. James’ camcorder was on, not HBO and I had mistaken myself for Robert Downey, Jr. It was a very weird feeling, but from that moment on I had to admit that we share a common resemblance.

So I got used to people comparing me to Mr. Downey and even got to the point where I took it for granted. When people would say, “You know who you remind me of?” I’d reply with a knowing look, “Robert Downey, Jr.”, as if to say, “Yes, I know and I’ve heard it 100 times.” However I came to regret my smug attitude when people stopped making the comparison. At first I thought it was because Downey wasn’t as popular as he used to be, or because he became so gaunt during his court appearances, but eventually the reality set in that I didn’t look like Downey anymore because I was too fat. While he had been losing extreme amounts of weight due to drug addiction, I had been going in the opposite direction, packing on the weight.

Sure, maybe I’d look like Downey if he were playing Marlon Brando, or doing a remake of Raging Bull and had to put on 40+ pounds, but until then, I no longer bore any resemblance. Too much fast food and poor eating habits took that little compliment away. I didn’t realize how much I liked it until it was gone and boy oh boy did I miss it. There was something about that little nugget of validation that would give me such a good feeling. People liked Robert Downey, Jr. and thought that he was talented and handsome. So when people said that I looked like Downey, I had those same traits by proxy. It’s not that I belived that people thought I was a good actor or anything, just that some of those traits rubbed off on me.

It’s been a good 5 – 8 years since I’ve been compared to Robert Downey Jr. People stopped saying it and I had almost forgotten about the comparison. Although I’ve been doing the South Beach Diet, I’ve begun thinking that the weight loss is all in my head. Friends haven’t said that I look any different, the scale won’t budge a pound and other than my clothes being much looser, I haven’t had any validation that I’m losing weight and looking better. Then, the other day, I was leaving the server closet, having just fixed an error on my client’s server when one of the employees said to me, “You know who you remind me of?”

Oh happy day!

Not all of the ideas are web related and surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, those ideas have definite, sustainable revenue models behind them. For example, I’d like to open a small cafe that specializes in Louisiana food. We’d serve Jambalaya, Gumbo, Etouffee and maybe fresh po-boys. The menu would be basic, but everything would be excellent. The best recipes of each genre. On top of all that, we’d have a method of packaging everything to go in large containers, so if you need some food for a tailgate party, we’ve got you covered. I can just picture, a long line of people picking up their to go orders on the way to a Titans game.

I don’t know anything about the restaurant business, nor do I have any capital that could even start the business, so for the time being it’s sitting in the back of my mind. It’s an itch that I can’t scratch and if it were just one, that would be one thing, but in actuality it’s just one of many that are itching away. I also want to open a bicycle shop, a French cafe, a technology learning center, a coffee shop, a PC gaming center, a cigar store. Couple that with all the web sites that I want to launch and you have a seriously scratchy brain.

So what’s holding me back from going forward on any of these ideas? Why don’t I just take the bull by the horns and take a stab at a few of them. Especially the web based ones since they don’t have the overhead that a brick and mortar based business would. Well, all I can say in my defense is I’m a little older and a little wiser. A few years ago, I had a few “wild hairs” and I was unprepared for the work and level of activity that came out of it. Since then, I’ve been a little gun shy I guess.

It started in 1998 when I bought my first Palm OS device, the Pilot 1000. After playing with it for a few months, I began looking for resources online and when I stumbled on a thread on Usenet about someone looking to create a user group in Kansas City (I was living in Topeka, KS at the time), I chimed in saying that I’d like to attend one as well. Getting the first meeting organized was a big ball of chaos, so I guess I took control and organized the first meeting. My thinking was that this was a one time thing. I proposed that we elect someone to head the group, someone other than me, but the consensus was that I was the leader. All of a sudden, I had to figure out just what a PUG did and how to run a volunteer organization.

I found that you could spend a great deal of time on a volunteer group. There was no end to what a humble little PUG could do. I created a web site, added forums, scheduled chats, brought in guest speakers, arranged for door prizes each month, found location space in a city I didn’t live in and of course answer hundreds of tech support e-mails. It was a lot of work, but I enjoyed the work as well. Even though I didn’t get paid for it, it was very rewarding.

After about 6 months after the start of the KCPUG, Holly and I moved to Nashville. I held off for about 6 months, but I could finally hold back no longer and I created the Nashville Palm Users Group on October 6, 1999. Over the past 4 years, NPUG has grown to about 800 members and explored all sorts of avenues. It’s been a real learning experience in finding out just how far a volunteer group can go. A little while later, I also created InterPUG, a resource for PUG Leaders that provides free hosting, forums, chat, etc.

Although I do enjoy the work that I do with these two groups, it can be a bit overwhelming at times. There’s a lot of work that goes into these two organizations and neither of which generate revenue to speak of, so all the work is done in my spare time. I still run my own consulting firm and that takes a great deal of time as well. So at the end of the day, there’s not a lot of “spare” time left lying around to explore every brain fart that I have. :s

I guess, when you boil it all down, what I’m really afraid of is being left holding the bag. Everyone may think that an idea is great, like NPUG, but that doesn’t mean that everyone is going to pitch in to get it off the ground, or keep it running. So I’ve been trying to change the way I think about these ideas. Instead of just throwing myself into the fray and wrestling this new idea to the ground all by myself, I’m going to create a team around it and “do it right.” Wether it will generate revenue or not, my goal is to create it as a business and have a structure that can be easily maintained by a handful of people. This way I’m not left with doing all the work and getting bogged down on low, or no-revenue work

That sounds good and all, but it takes longer to realize your goals this way and I’m not a patient person. So I’m having to hold a tight reign on my ideas and let my brain itch like poison ivy on your personal candy, because if I let loose of the reigns, the ideas will take a life of their own and make me its slave. I suppose this is a good problem to have. I guess I’d rather have too many ideas than not having any, but my brain can be a cruel mistress. Oh how I’d love to just let loose and just go hog wild!

I don’t know how to define just what this passion is that I have. Is it a passion to build communities, to build businesses, is it both? I don’t know, but it appears to be one of my creative outlets. Some people paint, others write poetry, I guess mine is this, whatever this is. If that is indeed the case, then I suppose I need to find a way to explore it. Maybe I should set aside a designated time to let loose these creative energies and see just where it takes me. Instead of holding them back and then inevitably letting go and getting sucked into a world of work, I could let it out bit-by-bit in a safe environment until the idea is fully formed and “hatched.”

Oh oh, I just had another idea didn’t I? LOL

One of my favorite hang outs has been Perk Central. I stumbled upon this place after fighting to find a good HotSpot and Perk Central kind of became my little oasis. It was my home away from home if you will, or is it my office away from office? They have the best coffee in town and I now stock my Fresh-O-Lator with their beans so that I can enjoy it at home. Since I would occasionally spend long hours there, I got to know the owners fairly well. Sometimes they would offer me a taste of a new dessert they were trying, or a bite of a new soup to get my opinion. Everything I tasted tasted great and I would end up ordering it when they’d begin stocking it. All-in-all, I really like hanging out at Perk Central and I’d even go there for a quick lunch, or a morning coffee when my schedule wouldn’t allow for a long visit.

One day I scheduled an NPUG Leadership Council Meeting at Perk Central. The group needed Internet access and it seemed like the perfect place for us to meet. Once everyone was there and we were all settled down and ready to start, I went to plug in my laptop for us to use. As I leaned down to insert the plug into the wall, I was met with a 3×5 card taped to the top of the outlet cover which read, “Use of electricity is $1.00 per hour”. The meeting was getting started and I had a lot on my mind, so I just lifted the card and plugged in my laptop. I thought it was strange, but I had to deal with it later and focus on the task at hand. When the meeting was over, I went up to the counter to pay and I told them that I had plugged in my laptop for 2 hours. Sure enough, they charged me for the time and I paid my bill and left.

I want Perk Central to be a profitable business, because I like their coffee and I like the owners. I gave them a lot of word of mouth, because I’d tell anyone who wanted to listen about them. “You like coffee? Well, if you’re ever in Antioch, you’ve GOT to go by Perk Central. They have the best coffee in town.” I was a loyal and devoted customer. Even though I might be there all day on some occasions, I would make sure I spent enough to warrant my stay. I wouldn’t just buy the $2.50 bottomless cup and sip on it all day. I would buy lunch, soft drinks, snacks, you name it, because I didn’t want to outstay my welcome. But the 3×5 postcard was like a Dear John letter letting me know that it was time to go.

Is It The Money?
It’s only a dollar. That’s not a lot of money, even if you add up an all-day stay you’re only talking about $8 – $10 maximum. Unfortunately it’s not ABOUT the money, it’s about the principle. Is powering an occasional laptop causing such a drain on their cash flow that they have to compensate by deferring those charges to the customer? If a business feels the need to have to impose a fee like this, then you have to question how stable the business is. Did the owners sit around trying to think of new revenue streams and thought this was an untapped market? Surely this surcharge CAN’T be generating much in the way of revenue.

Is It The Lack Of Space?
It would be one thing if Perk Central was a small place and they needed the room. THAT I would understand and I would have been mindful of, but they have a large space and I’ve never seen it full. I’ve seen them have a large number of customers at one time, but there was always plenty of places to sit and relax. If space were tight, I would never have been an imposition and hogged space that could have otherwise gone to generate more sales, but space is not the issue.

Is It Me?
Maybe it’s not about the money at all, maybe it’s the fact that they don’t want people hanging out all day using their Internet access. When I asked the owner why they started Perk Central, he said that his brother owns a coffee shop in D.C. and he liked the community that the coffee shop created. He liked the idea of doing that here in Nashville, so he quit his job and started this business. Well the surcharge flies in the face of creating a community. The fact that they provide free Internet access implies that they are looking for customers to stay awhile doesn’t it? Yet to then charge for electricity seems a little peculiar. It’s as if you’ve been invited to a party only to be told you’re parking cars. So it’s free as long as my battery lasts, but once I need to power up there will be a surcharge? Odd, very odd.

I may not understand the motivation behind the charge, but I do understand the effect that it’s had on my business with Perk Central. When I visited there regularly, I was spending at least $50 a week, sometimes more. It was nothing for me to go buy a pound of coffee for a friend, or have small gatherings there with 6 or 7 people. I was given a gift card there for Christmas in the amount of $50 and I began using it in January, after the surcharge went into effect and I still have $10 on the card. I buy a pound of coffee once a month and an occasional cup of coffee to go and that’s it. I’m not comfortable hanging out there anymore, it’s as simple as that.

Will I ever bring up this subject with the owners? Probably not, it seems like such a paltry sum and I wouldn’t even know where to begin to broach the subject. I like envisioning myself as Tyler Durden and saying something cool like, “Charging for electricity, that’s clever. How’s that working out for you?”, but I doubt I’ll ever say anything at all. Because when you break it all down, coffee is a luxury item, it’s not a necessity and the fact that I indulged myself by hanging out in a coffee shop, when I could have just as easily worked in my office, is just that – an indulgence. Besides, there’s plenty of other coffee shops in town.

One of my favorites is on Music Row called Caffeine and they guys there seem genuinely interested in earning my business. On several occasions the staff have asked me my name in a gesture to get to know me. On one occasion, I stayed there the better part of a morning and I was always made to feel welcome. I felt like they were happy I was staying there to work and so I’ve been going there more and more. Little do they know that they earned my business over one dollar.

The main branch of the Nashville Public Library is really, really nice. Spending the day there is no cramp on my style what so ever. I like to go to the 3rd floor and sit next to the wall of windows overlooking the Church Street Park. They offer free hi-speed Internet access for free, as long as you have a network card (NIC) and an ethernet cable. Sitting at the large tables, with the comfortable wooden chairs in near total silence makes it quite easy to work. If I get sleepy, I’ll plug in some headphones and crank some music in iTunes. I get a ton of work done on days like these and it’s almost become a treat the few times I’ve spent the day working there.

Everything was looking just hunky dory until we got out of the house late. It took a little longer than normal due to having to give Tumini her antibiotics, she’s doing great by the way, and we only had 15 minutes to get Holly to work. She up for review any day, and I really didn’t like the idea of her being late, so as we sped along the Interstate, I made the decision that I’d walk from her office down to the Library. It’s a bit of a walk, but I could use the exercise. Besides, if she opted to drop me off as originally planned, she could be 20 – 30 minutes late due to traffic, etc. We got her to her office pretty much on time and I headed off down West End towards downtown.

So just how far did I have to walk? Well I couldn’t get an accurate mileage from Mapquest or Yahoo Maps because they don’t give the same path that I walked. For some reason they insist you take the Interstate instead of just going to Broadway. Anyway, based on the blocks alone, I walked approximately 40 blocks and it took about an hour. It was a long walk to say the least. The day was bright and sunny and it was around 70F so you’d think I would have had a nice stroll enjoying the gorgeous day, right? I did for about 2 blocks. That’s when my backpack strap broke. Oh did I fail to mention that I have about 100 pounds of computer equipment on my back?

OK, it doesn’t weight 100 pounds, but it sure does feel like it. I have a laptop backpack full of stuff I “need” and after about the second block the left strap makes this “pop” sound and all the weight shifts to my right shoulder. Yeah, I was geeking out by “double strapping” my backpack and not looking cool by only using one strap. However, given the weight of the backpack and the distance I had to walk, I think you’d have done the same thing. Anyway, I stop for a second to remove the backpack and see what happened. It seems that Gracie thought that the buckle for the left strap was a chew toy and she had chewed it into a unrecognizable wad of plastic. Luckily I was able to figure out a way to “engineer” a way to make use of the left strap and was able to continue on my way.

I had the wind at my back and the majority of the walk was downhill, so I couldn’t have asked for better circumstances really. Unfortunately, with the weight of the backpack and the ambient temperature, my back started a nice sweat. Since Holly and I have a “thing” to go to after work, I’m wearing a nice shirt and as I make my way downtown, it’s getting wetter and wetter. By the time I reach the library my entire back is wet with sweat and there’s a wide dark line running down the back of the shirt. I just keep trying to look on the bright side and not let these things get to me. “Think of all the exercise you just got!”, I think to myself as I’m finally able to put down my 100lb backpack.

I’m an hour behind schedule, so I decide to forgo getting coffee for the moment. That’s right, I haven’t had my coffee yet, so you can imagine I’m a little cranky to begin with. The Main Library has a Provence Breads & Cafe located on the main floor, but they don’t have an open WiFi connection, so I opt to just go upstairs and get to work since I won’t be able to get anything done in the cafe and food and beverages aren’t allowed in the library. I have to admit, it’s a tough call when you’re weighing deadlines and productivity over your morning brew, but work won out this time.

I made my way upstairs and found an open table near the window where I like to sit. I quitely unpacked my laptop, power supply and paperwork. As the laptop started booting into Windows, I plugged in the NIC and opened the front zipper of my bag to pull out my ethernet cable. As I reached in the pocket, all I found was air. It seems I had not packed my ethernet cable. Translation = I was screwed. The library only offer a wired connection and without an ethernet cable I had no way of connecting to the Internet. My blood went from normal to boiling in a nanosecond. Here it was I had two WiFi cards and tons of other accessories, but no freakin’ ethernet cable. NO ETHERNET CABLE?!?! I felt like George Costanza silently screaming “Serenity Now! Serenity Now!“, doing everything I could to contain my frustration in the middle of a dead silent library.

With steam pouring out of my ears, my hair standing on end, and my eyes bugged out from all the internal pressure being contained my by sealed lips, I quietly, and calmly packed everything back into my backpack. I slowly stood up and with the grace of a gentleman heaved my backpack onto my shoulders and softly walked down the three flights of stairs to the street below. By the time I made it back to the street, I had regained some measure of mental proficiently for cognitive thought – instead of silent raging anger and profanity – and decided that I would have to go to a coffee shop for the day. The nearest one that I knew had WiFi was one of my new in-between hangouts Caffeine. The only problem was that it was about 15 blocks away. What’s another mile right?

Two hours after I left Holly at her office, I was finally planted somewhere where I could get some work done. I was enjoying my first cup of coffee as I sat dripping with sweat and red faced. I now have a blister on my right foot, my shoulders ache and my nice shirt isn’t so nice anymore. Clearly this was a cascade of small things that went wrong, but it just goes to show you how not having a car can impact you severely in today’s American Culture. So either I’m going to have to get a WiFi Backpack, or finally put my money where my mouth is and buy that Mini Cooper. If I’m lucky it’ll have Bluetooth built-in!

Right now the trees are still stripped bare of their leaves. The wind kicks up and the trees shake as if waving their fists demanding that their clothing of soft green leaves be returned immediately. “Where I my leaves?!”, they shout. To whom I don’t know, but they’re tired of being naked, that’s for sure. Behind the trees lies the pasture, which is one big hill that stretches up until it’s bathed in the blue of the sky. From my perspective, clouds can drift behind it like boats sailing behind a levee. For the first time in a long while the hill looks green. It’s been brown for so long, seeing the green is a bit of a surprise. Although it didn’t appear overnight, it seems like it has.

Seeing the green instantly reminds me of Ireland. I’ve never seen anything so green in all my life. I suppose it’s apropos that I should think of this with St. Patrick’s Day being tomorrow. The green of the grass seeps into my mind and paints my memories of Ireland and the early days of my bicycle tour of Europe. It was the start of the tour and everything was new and fresh. I was in the worst pain in my life, but I can’t remember much of that now. What I do recall is the green. Everywhere you looked things were green. I never knew there were so many shades of it!

As one of the new calves runs down the hill, I’m pulled back to the here and now. Several of the cows in the pasture have given birth recently and their newborns are as spry as ponies. They are so young and have not put on the girth that will be with them the rest of their lives, so the run like small horses up and down the hill. They aren’t running to anything, or away from anything, they’re just running for the sake of running. Some of the “teenager” cows try to keep up, as if they remember their youth and long to run like the kids do, but alas they cannot. So the small ones dash back an forth amongst themselves until finally, tuckered out, the sit down on the hill next to their mothers. Although attentive, the rest of the herd has never skipped a beat as they chew their way across the pasture.

The farmer that owns the land, has more property than I can see from my perch inside the house. For this reason the cows aren’t always there. There’s been weeks where they’ve been grazing in other fields and I haven’t seen hide, nor hair of them. The view is still nice, but I much prefer it when they are there. There’s something calmly reassuring when sound of my tapping keys is broken by a loud “Mooooo” coming off the pasture. It always makes me smile.

Who would have thought that something so benign as my kitchen table could be such a sanctuary for my writing? Heck, just over a year ago, I never would have thought of myself as a writer, so the whole thing is a surprise to me! LOL Yet most mornings you’ll find me sitting here typing away. My view out the bay window is much like the view out of a ship and I’m the pilot. Yet instead of navigating my way through the sea, or sky, I’m sailing thorough the thoughts in my mind. Instead of the North Star to act as my way point, I have baby calves and angry trees demanding their leaves. These way points ground me in where I am right now and help me to focus on where I want to be. Slowly I’m finding my way, but I don’t know that I’ll ever reach a port, nor do I wish to.

My first time travelling in France was back in 1990. I had just graduated from LSU and a buddy of mine and I decided to take our bikes and ride through Europe. We started in Ireland and made our way through Wales, England, Scotland and Belgium and after two months we were in Paris. Both of us were new to bicycle touring and extended travel and as a result we were together most of the time. Spend two months with someone 24 hours a day you really get to know them, wether you like it or not. So by the time we hit Paris, I had had about enough of my companion and I was ready to go solo. Well, I can’t say that I was ready to go solo, but I was ready to get away from my cycling partner to say the least.

The actual idea of traveling solo scared the hell out of me. For starters, I don’t speak any secondary languages and I was traveling in foreign counties. Add to that the fact that travelling by bicycle has it’s share of ups and downs. Things break and need repairing and it can be a life saver to have someone along that can help you through those times. Lastly, travelling alone is scary. There’s a sense of protection when you travel with someone else, so going it alone can be daunting. “What if someone tries to beat me up?” “What if someone steals my stuff?” “What if those guys from Easy Rider show up in their pickup truck?” All these thoughts and more raced through my mind as I made the decision to continue riding solo.

To help me through this “crisis”, I did what any self-respecting 23 year-old person would do – I called my mommy. In an all glass phone booth next to the river Seine, I called home and talked through all the issues surrounding this big decision I was trying to make. My Mom was a real help as she gave me all the support I needed even though it was 5:30am for her when I called.

As we weighed through all the options, a man approached the phone booth and tapped on the door. I looked back at the nicely dressed man, smiled, made the OK sign and turned back to the call to sign off. “Ok Mom, there’s a guy needing to use the phone, so I have to go, but do you think I’m making the right decision? I mean what if…” Tap Tap Tap The guy in the nice suit tapped at the glass again. This time I made the OK sign and in my best French accent said “Ok, International. Une moment (one moment)”, made the OK sign one more time and then attempted to get off the phone. “Ok Mom, I’ve really got to get off the phone. I love you and I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what…” Suddenly, the nicely dressed man opens the door to the phone booth, reaches in, pushes me aside, slaps down on the hook with two fingers and hangs up the call.

[ P A U S E ]

Before I go any further, I should explain that I’m not much of a fighter. For most of my life I was the small, weak little kid that all the other guys used to pick on. In fact, my travelling buddy was none other that the bully of my Elementary school. I had never been in a fist fight, or ever really been tested up until this point. I had reached one belt degree in Karate one year, played a lot of soccer and even wrestled for two years back in High School (albeit in the 98lb classification), but I had never truly been in a fight.

Why is this important? Well, at our most basic level there are three things that guys are expected to do. 1) Hunt, 2) Reproduce and 3) Defend your territory, property, loved ones, etc. I may be at the DNA level, but if you really think about it, it’s true. Most women and looking for a mate that can provide security by providing an income and a safe place to live. Granted, nowadays it’s not like we’re being invaded by Mongols every day, but the expectation is still there.

At this point in my life, I had never been in a fight and thus that part of me had never been tested. There was this unknown element sitting dormant in the back of my psyche. Was I Sampson, or a sycophant? Would I stand my ground, or would I beg for mercy with my tail between my legs? You like to think that you’d be as tough as the Terminator, but until you’re tested, you never really know.

Here I am being shoved around during a very stressful time in my life. I’m already in crisis before this guy shows up and totally shatters my image that the French are not rude. I’m at a fragile point in my life and clearly I’m being tested. How would I react? Would this question that has been tugging at my definition of being a man finally be answered?

Was I even thinking these thoughts at that moment? Of course not. This little pause is nothing more than dramatic license to pump up the story. Sure I had entertained these thoughts and what not, but my purpose in telling you all this is just to explain where I was emotionally and psychologically when this very physical act took place. In reality, I was thinking none of these thoughts at that moment. At that very moment a far more basic response had taken over – rage.

[ R E S U M E ]

For a brief moment, I was caught flat footed and completely off-guard. I was stunned that someone would be that rude and that physical over someone in a phone booth. Normally when you’re that flabbergasted you don’t know how to respond and it’s only later that it sinks in what happened and then you wish you’re reacted differently. Luckily I rebounded quickly.

Holding the dead receiver in one hand I turned to look at my assailant. He was yelling at me in French, but even if he were yelling in English, I wouldn’t have heard a word. He was half way inside the phone booth having pushed me to the far corner and reading me the riot act. With the invasion to my personal space and the overt act of hanging up my call, my shock instantly turned to anger.

With both hands I shoved my assailant out of the phone booth. I wasn’t thinking, I was reacting. The nicely dressed man went sailing out of the phone booth. He landed in the street and business cards went everywhere. He was flat on his back and with momentum causing him to skid to a stop, I know that I ruined his suit. He instantly scrambled to his feet and started rushing back towards me. Suddenly I realized that I was trapped in the phone booth, so as the nicely dressed man rushed me, I took a powerful step forward and reached my right arm back to throw a punch. I was coming out of the booth swinging.

I don’t know if I made any noise when I stepped out of the booth, or if I just had a certain look or what, but before I could make contact with this man’s face, he instantly cowered. Putting up both hands in the universal sign of “don’t hurt me” he mumbled something in French. For the second time in just a few seconds, I was caught off guard. This was a totally new experience for me and I was a little unsure as to how to react. I didn’t have the urge to hit the nicely dressed man anymore. I was now safely out of the coffin like phone booth, but I was still angry so as I collected my thoughts, I paced around him a few steps just to make sure the fight was truly over and then turned and walked away.

My bicycle was locked up to a poll across the way about 20 yards from the phone booth. I walked to my bike and unlocked it. The entire time I’m sifting through the pages in my mind of what just happened. This entire experience was totally new to me and I kept looking at the evidence over and over in my mind. I was checking to see if I had done anything overt to cause this to happen. I mean I told the guy “OK” several times. I wasn’t rude, so WTF?

With my bicycle unlocked, I walked back to the phone booth. I was still very angry and I thought I was letting the nicely dressed man off just a little too easy. As I reached the booth, I leaned my bicycle against a bench and took the last few steps. I flung open the doors and in a slow and deliberate manner I shoved the Frenchman in to far corner of the phone booth with my left hand and in another overly deliberate move, hung up the phone. The nicely dressed man didn’t offer up one iota of resistance or protest. Then with a “take that” type of look and gesture, I released the man and stepped back. Since I don’t speak French, I flipped him the bird and then used every International gesture I could think of to make sure he understood what “flipping the bird” meant.

I’m a little bit embarrassed by this story and I don’t tell it very often. It takes a very unique set of circumstances for this story to be appropriate and also funny to bring it up in a conversation. I’m not really known as a “tough guy” so a lot of the humor comes from just that fact. It’s the juxtaposition of seeing me actually try and be that tough that makes it funny. It’s my “I found the one rude guy in France” story and I usually tell other stories after that about how families took me in, or other acts of kindness that I found while traveling in France. Of course there’s a little bit of excitement and adventure mixed in, so it is kind of fun to tell. Well, at least it used to be.

Fast forward five to seven years. I had continued my bicycle tour for another 4 months, all solo, and had the time of my life. I’m back in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and I married my college sweetheart. I’m sharing a single malt scotch with my good friends Chris LaFleur, Ken Duffy and Ken Harelson. Harelson has just returned from Europe and is recounting his stories, much like I did when I returned from Europe. His stories are a little bit different because he was part of a tour group, but there just as good.

His group was comprised of other graduates from the accelerated MBA program at LSU. It’s quite expensive, but it’s condensed and tailored around someone who is already in the business world. One of the selling points is that after you graduate, your class goes to Europe on a business trip. Although there’s a lot of free time, he was able to see how some European businesses are run and it was a nice mix of business and pleasure.

The trip took them through several countries and the last country was France. As Ken recounts “what happened next”, his audience of close friends are kicked back sipping there Scotch and enjoying their cigars. Nothing quite like swapping stories amongst your buddies. Harelson is explaining about this incredible dinner they had and almost as a side note, he explains this funny little bit of trivia,

As everyone laughed at how the meanings of that gesture mean something completely different to another culture, I was instantly brought back to that phone booth next to the river Seine. It was as if I was watching a movie. The memory of that event quickly played back in my mind. The sound was muted but I saw everything that happened from a third person perspective. Then I rewound the memory again, but this time, I zoomed in on what I was doing in the booth. In slow motion I stood outside the booth and looked at myself and the gestures that I made to the nicely dressed man. Everyone was still giggling when in a completely deadpan tone I exclaimed, “Oh no.” :O

My drinking buddies turned to me and and wanted to know what was wrong. What was the cause for such alarm? Everyone had already heard my story, more than once I’m sure, yet I told it again but this time I was telling it as if I had just remembered the story and not all of the elements were clear. I was fishing for details as I looked from side-to-side, not really looking at anyone in particular.

That’s right, you guessed it! When I was in the phone booth I told the guy I was getting off the phone and gestured “OK” to him. The only problem was that he didn’t interpret it as ok. Instead, what he heard was “International, une moment (asshole)”, all the while I’m grinning like a fool. I must have called him an asshole at least three times.

Of course all my friends in the bar erupted in laughter. Suddenly I had become the punch line in my own story. No longer was I the hero of this adventuresome tale, but the antagonist. He wasn’t the rude Frenchman, I was the rude American. To add insult to injury, I had also pushed this guy around like I was some kind of hoodlum. What this guy must have thought and for all these years I thought I was was under the impression that I had been the one who was slighted. All I could do at that moment was hang my head in shame and laugh.

I don’t tell this story much anymore for reasons that seem quite apparent I’m sure. It used to be that I needed to be in a conversation and have the topic turn to “this one time I was tough”, which is a fairly rare occasion in and of itself. Now I have to wait for a conversation about “this one time I was tough AND an idiot.”

How I Got The Suit
There was a department store in Baton Rouge called Godchaux’s (pronounced “god shaws” ). It was the premier store in town and also was a local store to boot. Even when Dillard’s and other stores came to town, everyone still shopped at Godchaux’s. Godchaux’s was fancy and was very tied to the community, so it was more ingrained in the local culture than any other store. Founded in New Orleans, Godchaux’s had several stores, the largest in Baton Rouge in fact, and it was a mainstay of Louisiana life. Unfortunately, the store eventually fell on hard times, or the owners wanted to sell, I don’t know which, but in the late 80’s Godchaux was sold and went out of business.

When the going out of business sale started it was absolute bedlam. I remember going down there to pick something up for Holly. She couldn’t make the final day and sent me as her proxy to pick up a piece of furniture or something, I can’t remember the details. As I walked around the store, it felt like there was a fire in the store and the shoppers only had minutes left to shop. I’m not kidding, people were everywhere snatching things up and the registers had lines a mile long. Since I was only there to pickup something Holly had on hold, I was much more relaxed and just taking in the spectacle.

When I got near the loading docks, and had Holly’s purchase in hand, I noticed a small rack off to the side. On the rack were costumes. They had Santa suits, Easter Bunny suits and a few others. These were the actual suits used in the store during the holidays and they were really really nice suits. I don’t remember the exact price, but I think they were going for $100 each, maybe more, because I wanted to buy them all, but couldn’t afford it at the time. I opted for the Santa suit, since that seemed to me at the time to have more value than the Easter Bunny – I could see getting more use out it.

The Suit
Things were so crazy at the store, that I didn’t inspect the suit very closely when I was there. I checked to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, but I didn’t inspect it heavily for fear that some crazed shopper would snatch it out of my hands. When I got home, I opened it up, inspected it, and tried it on.

It’s one of the nicest suits that I’ve ever seen. The coat is fully lined and has actual fur for the collars. The label inside the coat says that it should be laundered by a furrier. The pants are huge and some of the loops have snapped, but it’s all wool. The beard is fantastic and firmly attaches to the chin easily. There was a hat and wig I think, but I’ve lost it through all our many moves. As I stood there in the mirror with the outfit on, it was clear that I had made a wise purchase. This was the Santa suits to end all Santa suits.

Why I haven’t worn it more is beyond me. For some reason there hasn’t been an opportunity is my only defense. I did wear it for a business function when I worked at the SIF many years ago. It was an association meeting in December and I wore it as a surprise to the other members. However, since it was an adult function, it was more of a drunken reveille than anything and it wasn’t all that fun. All I did was scream “Ho ho ho!” and sweat my ass off. The experience was barely tolerable and thinking back on it now, that’s probably where I lost the hat and wig.

Completing The Suit
Holly likes to do little things for the kids she teaches at certain times of the year. For example, around Halloween she’ll make little treat bags to give everyone after rehearsal. This year she was having an extra rehearsal and thus was closer to Christmas than she’s been in previous years, so she asked if we still had the suit. I dug in the coat closet and found that I did and pulled it out. After putting it on and seeing what was missing, it was clear that I had a few items that I needed to purchase to complete the suit. I needed boots, a hat and a mustache; everything else seemed to be there. So the next morning I went shopping.

Near our house is a party store and that was the first place that I stopped. In looking at the Santa costumes, it was clear that I needed more than a mustache and a hat. I purchased a hat, wig with beard, eyebrows, gloves, and small rectangular glasses that fit on the end of your nose. The only item left was to find some boots, and I found a perfect pair at Wal-Mart. They were rubber, but had a high sheen to them like black patent leather. They are designed to be worn in high water, but they looked great as Santa boots.

Finding My Motivation
Now that the costume was complete, I could relax a little and think about how to play Santa. I had been practicing my “Ho Hos” and “Merry Christmas” throughout the rest of the day, but past that I really hadn’t thought about what I was going to do. Other than a couple of catch phrases, I didn’t really have any real plan of how I was going to act, or what I was going to say. I was starting to get nervous about it too. The last thing I wanted to do was mess up in front of the kids. Santa is such an icon and I didn’t want to do, or say the wrong thing.

I got to the Church early so that I could find a place to change into the costume. I needed to find a place where the kids couldn’t see, or find me, because once they did, I didn’t think there would be any way for Holly to keep their attention. I found that the room usually used as a cry room on Sunday’s is actually the “Bride’s Room.” This is where the bride gets ready for her wedding, so there’s a vanity area with mirrors and a full length mirror near the door. The best part is that the door locks, so this made a perfect place for me to change.

I started taking out all the items that I purchased that day to inspect them and try them on. The eyebrows were a joke. There was no way those were going to work, so I put them aside. The beard that came with my suit was really nice, but without the mustache, it wasn’t going to work. Luckily, the wig and beard I purchased looked like it was going to do the trick. They were two separate pieces, but they worked well together. The only problem I had was keeping the mustache up in place, it kept wanting to slide down past my mouth. I looked at the back of the eyebrows and noticed that there was a strip of adhesive for them, so I removed it from the eyebrow and attached it to the back of the mustache and it worked perfectly.

Not wanting to leave anything to chance, I put on the entire costume. The pants were cinched around my waist. I stuffed a throw pillow under my t-shirt and put the coat over it; the elastic belt held the pillow in place. I slipped the boots on over my socks and tucked the bottom of the pants legs into the each boot. I left enough material out so that it bloused over the end of the boot, which gave it a nice effect. Slipping on the wig, beard, hat and glasses my costume was complete. I stood and looked in the mirror and couldn’t believe my eyes – I was Santa.

Pre Game
When Holly arrived at the church, I had changed back into my regular clothes and gave her my game plan. There were two chairs that I had setup next to the Christmas tree. It was all lit up and made a perfect staging area. When rehearsal was over, Holly was to ask the kids, “Are you ready for Christmas?” to get the kids to holler “Yes!”. She’d ask the question again in order to make them shout louder and then I’d enter the Church and say something and lead them out to the tree.

It was a good plan, but that’s not how it went. The rehearsal was for a performance by all the kids of St. Edwards for Christmas Eve, not just Holly’s youth choir. Holly and I are going to be out of town then, so another choir director, Deb, was going to lead the kids that day, and thus was leading the rehearsal. This coupled with the fact that there were other children besides Holly’s usual youth choir made things a little hectic. Holly wasn’t technically in charge of the rehearsal and neither was Deb for that matter, but that’s another story.

I was sitting in the “Bride’s Room” back in costume and waiting for my cue. I had the lights off to make sure that no one could see through the blinds and as I sat in a folding chair, the costume warmed up a bit and I got all nice and toasty. The rehearsal dragged on and on and I would drift off until my head bobbed and then I’d wake up and listen frantically to make sure I hadn’t missed my cue.

Holly’s kids range from pre-k to 3rd grade and it’s a challenge to keep them focused for the usual 30 minute rehearsal. Deb had gone for more than 45 minutes and things were almost out of control. Holly came back to ensure me that I would make my appearance soon and I gave her some ideas of how to wrap things up. She valiantly tried to keep order and bring the rehearsal to a close, but this was Deb’s rehearsal and there was little she could do. I was dying in the back hoping that it would end it soon.

There was a lot of noise going on and unbeknownst to me, Deb asked Holly to keep the kids occupied while she talked with the parents. Holly got all the kids to sit back down since they were all over the church like ants at a picnic. Once they were reassembled, Bill, the pianist, started playing “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town”. Holly got the kids to start singing and I took this as my cue. I didn’t know that Deb was trying to speak to the parents and even if I had, I didn’t care. Her rehearsal had tanked and the kids were ready to get out of there 30 minutes ago.

I’m Ready For My Close up Mr. Demille
I poked my head out from the Brides Room and seeing no children, I walked to the doors leading into the Church. My adrenaline was surging through veins like a raging river. I was almost shaking with anticipation. I had no idea what I was going to do, or what I was going to say, but I couldn’t wait to jump into the maelstrom of improvising Santa. At that moment, I was Santa and I was here to save the children from this long rehearsal.

As the kids finished the chorus, “… you better not pout I’m telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to towwwwwwn.” I marched into the Church and yelled in my deepest voice, “Did someone call my name? Ho ho ho, Merrrrrrry Christmas!” The room felt like someone had just fired a gun. All of the energy in the room immediately sucked in towards the kids like some huge gasp. As I looked down the aisle, I could see that all the kids were in shock. There eyes were wide and their mouths agape. It felt like they were vibrating and the vibrations where just getting stronger the longer they went without speaking. This must be what an implosion must feel like.

Bill was continuing to play the song and Holly was still singing as I made my way down the rows to pews to the front of the church. Only adults were singing by the end because all of the children were fixed on me. As I stood there in front of them, I felt like I was blind. With all that attention and energy focused on me, it was like staring at the sun. The music had stopped and everyone was looking at me to see what I would do next. Those kids were the brightest spotlight I’ve ever been under and it was time to deliver.

“Are y’all ready for Christmas?” There was a yes, that was uttered, but it wasn’t all that loud and not everyone said it. I put my hand to my ear and tilted my head in a loud, but slow manner said “I can’t hear you…” That was the spark that lit the fuse and all the kids screamed “YES!!!” in one huge explosion. I hollered, “Then let’s go!” as I motioned the children to follow me and began marching out the Church. Bill began playing “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” again and I could hear Holly asking the kids to get in a line, but I could just picture her standing waist deep in a flood of children as they rushed away from the altar.

In The Eye Of The Storm
I couldn’t see behind me, so I had no idea if the kids were with me or not, but as I took my seat, I looked up and my entire field of vision was filled with tiny smiling faces. They were standing right up against my legs with not an inch of wasted space. Holly finally made it close to me and began trying to get the kids lined up. She had treat bags for all the kids and the plan was to have a child sit on my lap, take a picture and then get the treats.

Suddenly I was struck mute as I stood there staring at this sea of children. They were all on their best behavior, but they couldn’t wait to come tell me what they wanted for Christmas. The only thing I could think of saying was “Who’s first?” There was no answer, no one wanted to be selfish; or they were nervous; or as thunderstruck as I was, I don’t know, but I reached down and picked up one a child and set her on my lap. I looked at her and asked “So what do you want for Christmas?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, or any of the children as they told me what they wanted. I was thoroughly transfixed on their faces as they told me all the magical gifts that would make their lives complete. I know it’s a well worn saying that children are precious, but oh my stars is that saying true. Each child was a precious gem, each one unique in it’s own splendor. Some were nervous, some were just happy. Some kids forgot what they wanted, some had long lists that came out in rapid fire like a snare drum. Some parents would come up and ask me what the child said to confirm that was was hidden in a closet was indeed what their child wanted. One child couldn’t remember what he wanted, so he repeated what the little boy in front of him had said, “A robot dog and a basketball.” At that point I realized that the kids might notice that I was saying the same stuff, so I tried to vary it up a little bit. I would ask them their names, or if they have been good all year, or if they’ve sent me their letter yet. This opened up whole new vistas of emotions.

Heart Wrenching Moments
When I asked one boy if he had been good all year, I could visibly see the guilt rush up into his face as he stammered to say “yes?” Talk about shatter your heart! I instantly said “According to my list, you’ve been a very good boy.”, which instantly swept away all the guilt and replaced it with relief. I offered a few words of encouragement that everything was going to be ok and he left my knee with a big grin on his face.

One child that I know a little bit about sat on my knee and was too shy to really say anything. When I asked her what she wanted for Christmas, all I could get was a “I don’t know.” I felt like she was too shy to say what she really wanted. Maybe it was to have her Mom and Dad get back together, or something of that nature. I don’t know her whole story, but there was something she wanted, but was too shy, or embarrassed to ask.

Holly interrupted us for a quick picture and as we turned to face the camera and pose, I said “That is such a pretty dress. You are a beautiful girl.” After the picture was taken, I leaned in close to her and whispered, “I tell you what, why don’t you write me a note about what you want for Christmas and I’ll see what I can do.” She looked at me with kind of a questioning look. Her entire face read “Really?” I said, “You are a very good girl and I’m so glad you came to see me. I hope you have a very Merry Christmas.” I don’t know if anything I said helped, but she seemed a little bit happier than I’ve seen her recently. Later, when we were leaving the church and I was back into street clothes, I could see her just beaming with smiles. She didn’t see me looking at her and she wasn’t really looking at anyone in particular – she was just smiling.

One of the sweetest and most tender moments came when a little boy named Nick came and sat on my knee. Holly says that she’s nicknamed him St. Nick because he is so sweet and I can see why. He told me that he wanted a basketball, a talking T-Rex and a new dog. I asked, “A new dog?” before I thought about what I was asking. I waited, cringing in anticipation of his response. He said, “A robot dog!” I was relieved to hear that there wasn’t an old dog as he proceeded to tell me all about the robot dog he wanted.

When he was done, he took my hand and put a folded piece of paper in it. I looked at the paper and then at Nick. “Is this for me?” I asked. Nick said that it was and that I had to open it now. I fumbled with it since I had gloves on and asked Nick if he would open it for me. He opened it and handed it back to me. In printed letters it read,

   ”Dear Santa,
    Have a Merry Christmas”

There was a snowman underneath the writing and then cascading down to the bottom right corner were the words “I Love You, Nick”. It was the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. I asked him if he wanted me to keep it, or if he wanted to mail it to me. There was this sudden realization that he had forgotten to write what he wanted for Christmas on it and he replied, “I’m going to mail it to you. I need to write what I want on it.” I breathed a sigh of relief because I don’t know that I could have kept it together if he had let me keep the note. I already had a knot in my throat.

I could go on for days about what all the children did or said, but I’m going on long enough as it is. Here’s just a couple of other gems that stand out in my mind after I asked, “What do you want for Christmas?”

   ”Candy”
   ”Gifts for all the children in the world.”
   ”A drum set!”
   ”Lots of presents for my mommy and daddy.”
   ”Surprise me.”

Winding Down
Eventually, most of the 40 kids had their turn at sitting on Santa’s knee. Some where too shy and kept their distance, so I just waved at them before they turned and buried their face in their parents leg. At every turn there was a new surprise, or something unexpected. I found the entire spectacle completely fascinating. Those children are beyond description.

One of the things that most surprised me is that none of the kids called my bluff. I had nightmare fantasies that some would say they didn’t believe in Santa anymore, or that they knew I was “Miss Holly’s husband”, but none of them did. I knew my disguise was complete, when one of the more mature children, who cut me little or no slack came to sit on my knee. Elizabeth is not shy around me and holds nothing back if she has an opinion. She’s an adorable child, but she’s smart too and she loves to give me a little attitude. As I picked he up to place on my knee, she was clearly shy and almost coquettish and appeared to even blush. She had no idea it was me. Joy!

When there were only a handful of children and parents left and everyone had had their turn, I stood up and announced that it was time for Santa to head back to the North Pole. One child ran up and asked “Would you give Rudolph a hug for me?” I of course said yes and she proceeded to rush up and give me a big hug on my legs. I waved good bye and when the moment was right, ducked back into the Bride’s Room.

As I packed up my suit, reality started to set back in. I had been in a dizzying alternate reality and was not aware of some things. For one, I was drenched in sweat. I never knew that I was hot and yet, my clothes and costume were soaking wet. The other thing that surprised me was that over half an hour had passed. I made my appearance at 7:20pm and it was now 7:50pm. In my mind, the whole thing was over in 5 minutes. The time just flew.

Once everything was packed up in non-nondescript bags and suit carriers and I was back in my regular clothes, we hot footed it out of the church and to the car. Very few kids were still around, but of those that were there, none appeared to make the connection that I had been Santa. The secret was safe and I was now invisible to the kids.

Living In The Wake Of The Experience
This experience has totally changed me and my thoughts about Christmas. I’m not kidding, I’m never going to be the same. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve started crying as I typed out this entry. Call me sappy, or a cliche, I don’t care. You don’t know what it’s like to sit in that chair and be the recipient of all that love and attention. My heart was not prepared for that onslaught. Who knew that children were filled with such powerful, unfiltered and pure emotion. I couldn’t take it all in then and I still can’t right now. Sure those kids want presents and that may be what’s at the core of it all, but those kids love and adore Santa. They do, they adore him. I never knew the definition of the word until I had 40 kids give it to me with both barrels and no filters, or conditions placed upon it.

I am so not worthy of this attention. Heck no human being is, but I am so thankful that I was blessed with this experience. I feel a bit like the Grinch after he here’s the Hoo children singing. I forgot what Christmas was about from the eyes of children, but now I can see. I see what Christmas is like through the eyes of a child and it’s beautiful.

I can’t wait to play Santa again.

Note: You can find a few photos from the event at this link.

Call it catering to snobs, but I found a lot of missed opportunities at Callaway. These opportunities were not just flights of fancy, but opportunities that would generate revenue. There was a lot of wasted space in the main area of the Inn. What used to be the bar, was turned into a general common area that had little rhyme or reason. This area could be easily converted into a coffee bar. Starbucks has brought the idea of fancy coffee into the mainstream. Setting up a coffee shop that also served a pastries and bagels would have been very popular. There was a restaurant of course, but if you wanted something quick and easy, you were out of luck.

The coffee shop would have filled this need and fill it profitably. Coffee bars are not bargain centers. $3 – $5 coffees are the norm and $2 – $3 pastries are not uncommon and even if you’re not a coffee lover, you also have hot chocolate and other hot beverages that can cater to those tastes. Given the insane amount of traffic Callaway Gardens had the time I was there, they could easily pay for the addition within 3 months, because the Inn has a captive audience. There are no competing coffee shops in the nearby town of Pine Mountain and if there was, it’s still a couple of miles away.

Another Missed Opportunity – Internet Access
Coffee wasn’t the only thing missing from Callaway Gardens, there was no high speed Internet either. Having Internet access is becoming almost a necessity, especially for hotels. Callaway caters to golfers and golf is a popular businessman’s game, so how are they supposed to keep up with their e-mail? Having hi-speed access via a hotspot is the perfect solution. Guests could pay for the service at $10 per day and this would make a nice add-on for the hotel. I was there for 4 days, so that’s $40 just for one room that Callaway missed out on taking advantage of. It may take 6 months to recap your investment, but that’s nothing compared to the recurring revenue they could enjoy. It’s not as if the Internet is going anywhere.

I was able to connect to the Internet via a dial-up account, but the fastest connection I could establish was 28k. At that speed, just checking e-mail was a chore. While I was there, I was never successful in checking all of my accounts and had a truckload to wade through the following Monday. With a hi-speed wi-fi connection, I could have stayed on top of things without spending a lot of time away from my family. A quick check in the morning while I was getting ready and another before going to bed would have easily taken care of all of my needs and would have been worth the $10 daily access charge.

Gift Shop Opportunities
One of the things I noticed about Callaway Gardens was the fact that all the gift shops carried many of the same items. There were some specialty items at each, but they all had the same basic staples. One of the missing items were video products. There were no DV, Hi-8, or VHS video tapes that could be purchased. I brought a Digital Video camera and when I ran out of tape, I was forced to drive 20 miles to a nearby town to find a store that carried DV cassettes. I would have paid double the normal price for the same product in the gift store.

That’s the beauty of Callaway Gardens, it’s somewhat remote so they could get away with paying slightly higher prices for certain items for the sake of convenience. I don’t think food, or beverages should be hiked, but convenience items such as video tape, film, batteries, etc., are fair game. How many sales are lost because they simply don’t carry an item that is somewhat popular to travelers? Video cassettes are quite common on family trips and there were a lot of family reunions there that extended weekend.

One Surprising Thing
Although I’ve been ragging somewhat on Callaway, there was one thing that surprised me. In one of the gift shops, I found that they carried memory cards. They had memory stick, compact flash, smart media and secure digital cards. It was tucked away in a back corner that most people wouldn’t ever find, but they did have them. Clearly they were attempting to support digital camera users. The prices were fair and it’s a shame that they weren’t a bit more prominently displayed, not to mention sold in all the gift shops.

I’m Not Just Spoiled
Maybe I’m just a spoiled brat and I’m whining about not having some luxury items that I’ve grown accustomed to, but I don’t think so. The couple of items that I’ve mentioned are easy to add services that could generate solid returns in a short time frame. People want to be catered to when they are at a hotel and the more remote the location, the more valuable the services are. There are always going to be people that just want to get away from it all, but there are plenty of others that like knowing that those items that they rely on are handy.

Had I fallen in love with the area and was looking to retire there, or move there someday, I would run out as soon as possible and open an Internet Cafe in the nearby town right on main street.

Journals
I use paper less and less these days, but I still pack a National Brand 43-571 stitch bound notebook that serves as my journal. Since college, I’ve used this style of notebook and I’m now in my 6th one. I love the cloth covered cardboard covers which protect the light green ruled and numbered pages underneath. I found these notebooks at the LSU bookstore and it’s the only place that I’ve found them. I think it’s a lab notebook, but all my Google searches turn up Chemistry class overviews requiring the. Every few years I go by the bookstore when I’m in Baton Rouge and stock up. It’s not that the notebooks have the best paper, or anything of that nature, I just like them.

Letter Pads
My love affair with paper doesn’t end their either. I also use Levenger yellow ruled letter pads. Now that’s good paper. If I’m in a meeting, or if I just need to jot down some ideas or sketches for a web site, I always turn to my Levenger legal pads. The paper is some of the best I’ve ever written on. It has a certain weight to it and ink just flows over it like butter. If you find yourself writing a lot, I seriously encourage you to check these pads out. They come in ruled, unruled and grid styles in white or yellow stock.

Note Cards
Although business cards can be used as a make shift note to write something down for a new acquaintance, or a customer, I’ve found that I prefer 3×5 note cards. These are made by Levenger as well and give the user a nice sized card in which to jot down something. The stock is of high quality and you feel like you’ve really given something to someone instead of just a slip of paper. How do I use them? Well, I tend to talk to people all over town and if a topic comes up where there is a web site, or a product that I want them to remember, I’ll write it down. Since I tend to wear so many hats, having to carry a variety of business cards is a bit of a pain. Instead, the note cards I use have my name, address and telephone numbers on it. From there I can write down the information and not have to explain the card.

For example, lets say that I’m in CompUSA and I run into someone looking at Palm OS handhelds. I usually strike up a conversation and in the course of our discussions, I’ll inform them that there is a local Palm OS User Group here in Nashville. Instead of having to carry NPUG card with me, I just jot down the URL on the note card instead. It’s a little more personal and it doesn’t give the feeling that I’m trying to sell them something.

In addition, the note cards are also handy if you need to jot down a quick note for yourself. I often find myself making little to-do lists on them from time to time. Granted, a handheld works great for that task, but there’s something tangibly satisfying about being able to scratch off a to-do item. Some days I need that experience and a note card is just the ticket.

Fountain Pens
Of course you can’t have a serious relationship with paper without having a nice pen. My pen for the last couple of years has been the Lamy Safari clear fountain pen. Those that know me know that I have an affinity for clear Palm OS devices, so when I saw this pen on display, I just had to have it. I’ve been known to lose a pen or two in my time, but I’ve been lucky and have been successful in hanging on to this one for a little over a year now.

I love fountain pens and each Levenger catalog that comes in mail teases me with new and exciting pens. If money were no object, I’m sure that I would have 100′s of pens by now. I remember courting a black Waterman “Opera” pen for a year in a local stationary store in Baton Rouge many moons ago. It was a beautiful pen and featured a herringbone pattern in the black lacquer. It was a discontinued model and thus made it rare, but I could never seem to afford the $300 for the pen and one day it was simply gone from the display case. I was sorry to see it go. It was a loss for sure, but there are plenty of other fabulous fountain pens out there in the world and I lust after them just as much.

A Complex Affair
I guess my love affair with paper and pens has some relationship to writing as a whole. I love books and clearly I seem to love writing as well. These passions must go hand-in-hand with this weblog, which must explain my new found propensity for publishing so much content. It’s an awkward balance though. The more I type into this weblog, the less I journal and the end result is that I end up typing more than writing. I’m still new to this writing thing, so perhaps I’ll find a better balance where I can write a little bit more than I’m doing now.

So for now the tech side of things is winning, but I still have my paper and I doubt I’ll ever give it up. How about you? Do you still use paper, or is your world mostly digital? Please share your thoughts with me on your relationship with paper by posting a comment to this entry. Who knows, maybe I’m not so out of the ordinary as I think I am.

In college I kind of minored in English. I took short story and poetry classes, but everything I wrote for those classes were assignments. I was told to write something and I did. Later, when I entered the business world, I ran several marketing departments. Being in marketing, I was expected to generate copy. I wrote annual reports, press releases and tons of flyers and newsletters, but still, all of these were required of my job and I perceived them as just another task in my job. When I started KCPUG and then later InterPUG and NPUG, I wrote my fair share of articles, reviews, and meeting announcements, but once again I perceived these as tasks.

Throughout all of my writing career, I’ve never perceived myself as “a writer.” Then I started a weblog. I laugh just typing that sentence. LOL! As of this writing, I’ve written over 115,000 words in 8 months. None of these entries have been motivated by work, or by demand, they have simply been ideas, or stories that I’ve wanted to share with anyone that felt like taking the time to read them. So now I’m looking at myself with different eyes. I perceive myself differently. I’m actually starting to consider myself a “writer.”

This is a new and interesting perspective because in changing how I perceive myself and what I do, changes what I think I can do. For example, I’m now considering looking at other writing opportunities. Could I write a column for a local magazine or newspaper? What about a book? I’ll probably begin with doing more articles for NPUG or InterPUG, but who knows where this new road could take me.

For friends that I’ve talked to about this subject, it seems like a natural progression, but for me it seems like a big leap. So I pose this question to you. What things do you do that you take for granted or dismiss? How is your perception of yourself limiting the possibilities that are available to you? Something that may seem like nothing other than a simple task to you could be a doorway to a whole new you.

Staying at the Mountain View Inn, I walked around a bit to see if there were any areas that would be conducive to enjoying a fine cigar. Calloway Gardens is known for golfing and many golfers enjoy a cigar on the links, but that is an outdoor activity, so even though the gift shop sold cigars, I had not expectation that they would allow this activity indoors.

My first stop was the restaurant. I knew that there was probably no way that they had a cigar friendly area, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. They suggested that I check the bar. The bar was busy, but I did see ash trays, so I grabbed a seat at a small table and ordered a Makers Mark, neat. Even though I was in the bar, I still wanted to ask if it was OK. Even though I enjoy cigars, I try to be respectful of those that don’t. The last thing that I want to do is offend someone. With cigars it seems that people either love them or hate them. So if someone dislikes them, they usually make their preferences known and it’s never pretty.

When I first sat down, a woman and her daughter sat down next to me. Even if it was allowed, I knew that my chances were good that the ladies would not appreciate it, so I waited and enjoyed my bourbon. After they left, an older gentleman with three ladies sat down almost immediately. Again, I didn’t want to risk it. After they left though, I went up to the bar to ask if cigar smoking was allowed. Just because ash trays are provided, you should never assume that cigar smoking is OK. The bartender informed me that cigars were not allowed.

At this point I was ready to go outside. It was raining, but maybe I could find a dry chair under an overhang or something. However, I took a step further and asked the bartender if there was any place on the grounds that allowed cigars. That’s when she informed me that there was an adjacent room that used to be the bar. They had an adequate ventilation system and that I could smoke there. There was no service in there, so I’d have to walk back to order from the bar, but I could at least enjoy a cigar.

I grabbed my Makers Mark and my bag and made my way in there. Much to my dismay, the room had quite a few people in it. Most were just hanging out, but there were kids playing a the pool table, several were watching TV and others were just talking. I found a small table that was as out of the way as possible. My biggest fear was that someone was going to come up and ask me to put out my cigar. Since this was the only place at the inn that allowed cigar smoking, I would have to defend my right to smoke and suggest that they find some other place to go. That conversation was not going to be friendly and I really did not want to have it.

Besides, it’s not like I was going to light up a Swisher Sweet. I smoke very nice cigars and the one I had on me was one of the best. It’s a special edition cigar that is only made for the Holidays. It’s made by Arturo Fuente and it’s called a Reserva Xtra Viejo. The shape is called a box pressed torpedo in maduro. Box pressed means that the cigar is somewhat square. Torpedo means that it’s cone shaped. The front of the cigar (where you light it is big and the tip is small. Why is this important? Well fine cigars are rolled by hand and only the best rollers can roll a torpedo shape. Maduro means that it’s a very dark rich leaf. I compare maduro cigars to espresso. A regular cigar would be considered coffee, but maduro is espresso. Being so rich though, means that they can also be more pungent.

After setting up my Dana and making a place for me to type and enjoy my cigar and bourbon, I lit up my Arturo Fuente. The flavor was sublime. I’ve been choosing the Helix brand as my regular cigar and by regular, that means one or two a month. Helix cigars are good, but not as good as an Arturo Fuente. They are less expensive though. My usual cigar – an Arturo Fuente Hemingway Signature – runs around $12 – $16 dollars a piece. A Helix runs around $4 – $5. It took a little bit to get the cigar lit, but that could have been because of my being so timid about offending someone. Once it was lit though, it was a great cigar. The draw was smooth and the flavor was rich and almost buttery. I tasted hints of dark chocolate and coffee and the burn was very even. It’s one of the best cigars I’ve ever had.

Unfortunately I noticed that the room cleared slowly, but surely. Maybe they had plans, or maybe my cigar chased them out of the room. I don’t know, but no one came up and asked me to stop. Instead, I enjoyed sipping my bourbon and puffing on my cigar All the while, I caught up on my travelogue and happily wrote away. It was the perfect way to end a great Thanksgiving day.

Why do I feel that the Mini Cooper is a piece of forbidden fruit? Well, Holly purchased the New Volkswagon Beetle this year and that is a fairly small car. My lease vehicle has been a Jeep Cherokee, so that gave us a 4 door and hauling vehicle if we needed it. I don’t haul people, or cargo all that often, but it does happen. As much as I love the Mini, the first time I have to go to Home Depot and pick up a piece of plywood, I know that I’d kick myself knowing that I purchased another small car instead of a more practical car.

The More Practical Car
I’ve been thinking about what my next vehicle will be for quite some time. I’ve been fairly happy with the Jeep Cherokee. I’m on my second one and I was expecting that I would simply get another one when my lease expired, yet Jeep discontinued the Cherokee and released the Liberty instead. The Liberty is an expanded Wrangler, and not the same thing as a Cherokee, but I won’t get into that right now. Knowing that the Cherokee was no more, I’ve been contemplating what my needs are etc.., for quite some time. The bottom line is that I need something that I can haul a few items in and has something of a back seat. Again, I don’t haul cargo or people all that often, but it’s nice to have that option should the need arise.

The SUV has worn thin on me. I was never much of a fan of this type of vehicle, but the Cherokee always seemed a breed apart from the traditional SUV. My main gripe with this type of transport is the gas mileage. SVU’s typically get very poor gas mileage and that can add up over the course of a year. With the purchase of Holly’s New Beetle, we’ve noticed how drastic gas mileage can be between types of vehicles.

The other deciding factor in my analysis is that we may be having a child in the next year or so. There’s been no date set as to when we plan to start trying, but Holly and I both want to have kids and when we have them we will need a larger vehicle than a Mini Cooper or a New Beetle.

With all that in mind, I’ve narrowed down my options regarding a practical car. Since I need flexibility, good gas mileage and the ability to haul cargo and people the only car that matches is the Honda Element. All the other vehicles in the SUV market seemed to disqualify themselves either in terms of price, or gas mileage. I looked at trucks and ran into the same issues and cars simply don’t have any way to haul cargo.

The Justification Game
Not that the Element is a bad vehicle, but it’s not the ideal vehicle either. When taking a test drive of the Element, I took a look at the Honda Accord and was stunned to see how nice they are. The Accord has come a long way since I drove one back in the 80′s. In looking at the price tags it’s hard to justify the Element when you could easily get an Accord instead and that kind of thinking starts the “Justification Game.”

What I really want is a Mini Cooper, but that seems so selfish in light of what would be a practical car. Yet I can’t help but think of ways that this car is the best choice. It gets better gas mileage than the Element and Holly and I haven’t even begun trying to have kids, so that could be more than a year away and who knows what could happen in a year. So the only other objections to the Mini is the fact that it doesn’t haul cargo or people well. I could get a trailer for hauling light loads and the Mini does have a back seat. I’ve talked with friends who have Minis and they claim that they have no problems. Besides how often to I have more than one person riding with me?

Every Car I’ve Owned Has Been Practical
The first car that I ever had as my own was practical and I’ve been practical ever since. After returning from a bicycle tour in Europe the first mode of transportation that I acquired was a motorcycle. I loved riding my Kawasaki Spectre 750 as my only mode of transportation, but when I got a new job at the LHBA-SIF, I was told that I needed other means. I was required to meet with and entertain insurance agents, so I needed a practical car. I ended up leasing a Dodge Intrepid. It was a nice car, but not the car I really wanted. Later, I started my own business and given the amount of travel and moving at the time, it only made sense that I would get an SUV. I ended up with a Jeep Cherokee and then re-leased another one 3 years later.

So for the past 9 years I have been the practical one and had cars that were what was necessary and not exactly what I truly wanted. That alone makes me want to rebel and be the impractical one for a change. Rebelling just for the sake of it doesn’t make much sense, but the bottom line is that if I don’t get a car that I truly want now, then when will that time come?

It’s Just A Car
The bottom line is that it’s just a car. Although we live in a dominant car culture, a car does not make the man. I’m more of a cyclist than a car guy anyway. Besides if I end up with a Honda Element it’s not as if it would be in the end of the world. The Element is a fine vehicle, however, it’s no Mini Cooper.

Can’t you just see me in a British Racing Green Mini Cooper S with a white roof… Bonnet stripes…

ahhhh… what a dream….

Everyone was meeting at Blackstone for a drink and a bite after work, before heading off to the Haunted House. When we arrived, Holly recognized two of her fellow members and we grabbed a few tables in the bar since we were the first to arrive. As I sipped on a fresh brewed Nut Brown Ale, we made small talk with Angela and Lindsey. After ordering some fish and chips, Amy and her boyfriend Bob showed up. A little while later Meleia, Dana and her boyfriend arrived and that made the group a total of 9.

Although the conversation flowed smoothly and everyone couldn’t have been nicer, I was instantly struck at how I was much older than everyone else. I’m 36 and I guessed everyone to be in their early 20′s. One of my best friends Dan is 10 years younger than me and Holly and I have gone out with he and his friends, so I’ve been in this situation before, however, it still throws me a little off kilter nonetheless.

After a couple of drinks, we all hopped in our cars and drove across town to the Death Row Haunted House. As I understand it, the facility is setup year round, even though it’s only open a few months out of the year. It took us a good 30 – 40 minutes to go through it all and it was plenty scary. There were people chasing us with chainsaws, zombies jumping out of nowhere and plenty of other frights along the way. I lost all circulation in my arm from Holly’s death grip throughout the tour.

With our blood pumping from all the screaming, we headed back to our cars. I thought that was it for the night until Bob asked, “Are you going?” “Uhhh, going where?”, I asked. He explained that they were all going to The Cantina to hear a fellow WMBA member sing. Just to show how little I go out, since I’m an old fuddy duddy, I had to ask where this place was. He gave me directions and we made our way downtown to check out the club.

Once in the club, we ordered some drinks and grabbed a few high top tables to watch the band perform. It was just 10:00pm so the band hadn’t started yet and we were able to get plenty of seats. After about 30 minutes of the band playing, everyone began dancing. Holly and I sat at the tables watching and talking to ourselves. This is about the time that the second bit of awkwardness kicked in.

When I was in my 20′s I knew what cool was. I was hip and full of self confidence like any twenty year old would be. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize just how little I actually do know and that self confidence has waned a good bit. On top of all that, I’m not 100% sure I know what cool is anymore. Sure I watch MTV and I’d like to think that I’m on top of things, but let’s face it, I know more about home repair than I do about dancing these days. I love to dance and back in the day, I prided myself on my skills. Yet as I sat there watching all these good looking 20-somethings dance, I had to think to myself, “Is how I dance still cool?” I wasn’t sure if my moves were going to be that of someone who still knows how to dance, or that of the guy you see at weddings who’s forgotten how to dance so he just fires off major muscle groups in random order. As I sat there pondering my quandary, Holly was pulled up for a photo opp. Once out there, she started dancing with the rest of girls. Suddenly my awkwardness was gone and in it’s place was awe.

Here I was in the back corner of a club, like a fly on the wall. Before me were 6 pretty women all dancing and reviling in their womanhood. My wife is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but I call it like I see it. They all glowed in the flashing lights as they stopped being self concious about things that people don’t even notice. Lost in their reverie, I couldn’t help but think how many ships have been launched, songs written, wars started, poems penned, or empires toppled all because of women just like these. Seeing how powerful these women were and at the same time, how they had no comprehension of it, made me sit back in awe. At that moment, those women could have done anything they set their mind or, or persuaded others to join their cause. You have to respect a concentration of power like that.

I was yanked out of my esoteric pondering, quite literally, by Lindsey. She pulled me by the hand out onto the dance floor. There, swimming in self conciousness, I tried to put on my boogie shoes and do my best. Holly and I cut the rug for a few songs and then hot and somewhat tired, we stepped outside for some fresh air. The band took a break about that time, so everyone poured outside to the deck. Sitting around a big round metal table, everyone recounted tales from the Haunted House. The discussion then led to other topics and finally settled on VH1′s “The 80′s Strike Back.” I enjoyed having a topic that I was quite familiar with. Well, that is until Malia made the comment, “81 baby!”, meaning that she was born in 1981. Quickly everyone else around the table shouting out the year of their birth and all were around that year. That’s when I did my best George Costanza impression and yelled, “Thank you and good night!” as I began making my way off the deck. That of course only highlighted that Holly and I didn’t want to mention how old we were. So we copped to it and tried not to notice how shocked they all were.

Shortly thereafter we made our goodbyes so that we could get home and feed Monkey. We had a great evening. It was a lot of fun and Holly’s friends couldn’t be nicer and more genuine. When I shared my awkwardness from the evening with my Mom, she made the comment that she hangs out with us a lot and she’s much older than us. Holly and I responded with “Yeah, but you’ve got it together.” She said, “No I don’t, it just appears that way.” Everyone just assumes that older people have it together, so maybe that’s what Holly’s gang thought of us. Of course if any of them read this weblog, then that myth will be shattered. Where’s that delete key?

I was at my favorite cigar store, for a relaxing smoke after my NPUG Meeting. Those meetings leave me a little drained, so I’ve taken the habit of visting the cigar store and just hanging out. It feels good to be the customer and let someone else take the lead as it were. Anyway, I was sitting back and enjoying a Heilos natural and talking it up with the owner. We were on the subject of cigars we’ve tried and began discussing Cuban cigars.

<Mr. Peabody and Sherman>
For those that don’t know, since the Kennedy Era, we’ve had a trade embargo with Cuba. That means that bringing Cuban cigars into the US is illegal. I’ve smoked my fair share of Cuban cigars before, but they aren’t easy to come by. Usually, I come across one after somone has gone abroad and snuck a few back to the states. If I had to count, I’d say I’ve had maybe 10 in my lifetime. That’s not to say that they were the best cigars I’ve ever had. Most, if not all, of the famous tobacco growers have left Cuba long ago and started new plantations in the Dominican Republic, Honduras, etc. Although Cuban cigars can be quite good, I tend to prefer other leaf. However, Cuban cigars are hard to come by, so I still keep my eye out in case I find one.
</Mr. Peabody and Sherman>

Now back to the story…

As we discussed Cuban cigars, the owner made the comment, “If you ever need any, let me know.” Wanting to make sure I heard him correctly, I gave him a puzzled look and said, “You mean…” His reply was, “I know you, so if you ever need Cuban cigars, just let me know.” Suddenly, I was hit with that sudden rush of being on the inside. Sweet!

Will I ever take him up on his offer? I don’t know, but it’s nice to know that the offer is there and more importantly, it’s nice to know that I’m “one of the guys.”

For example, my morning routine is to wake up and take Gracie for a quick pee. Then I put out her food and while she eats, I clean the kitchen, do the dishes and shine the sink. In the thirty minutes it takes for her food to digest, I write on my weblog and post an entry for the day as I eat my own breakfast. With an entry posted, I then take Gracie for walk in the backyard and down the hill so that she could do her business. After that, I do my “three S’s” and be in my office working by 8am.

I’ve come to really enjoy this morning routine and I actually look forward to it. However, with Monkey’s illness and all the crazy pet activity, my routine has been cast aside. Right now I’m sitting on the guest bedroom typing this entry on my AlphaSmart as I wait for Monkey to come out from under the bed. He has to eat 5 times a day. Given that it’s 10am now, that means that his last feeding will be at 2am. Don’t get me wrong, I love Monkey and if it means staying up till 2am so that he gets fed, then so be it. I’m don’t mean to sound like I’m complaining, it’s just that I miss my routines.

With Monkey’s feedings, Scruffy (one of our other cats) needing eye drops twice a day, Gracie’s feeding and walkings, and trying to make sure Midi and Tiger Lilly (our other two cats) get enough attention, I’m starting to feel like I’m running a boarding house for pets. Actually, given the fact that I can’t be away from the house for more than 4 hours, I’m starting to feel more like a housewife. Unless you love the work, being the person that manages the home should be considered slave labor. It’s a lot of hard work and you’re always taking care of other people. I can’t believe it, but I actually said to Holly on Friday, “I’ve got to get out of this house. I need to do some adult things. Take me out on a date.”

Of course the lack of sleep and constant feedings are good practice for when we have kids. Holly and I both want to have children, but we’ve just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Everyone who has kids will tell you that your life will change. It’s great, but that it’s a big change. Now that I’ve had a small taste of how your life can be when it’s not “about you,” I can see how things will have to change. I’m just as eager as ever to have children, but I guess I have a better understanding of what’s involved. Little did I know how self absorbed my life was.

Our street is pretty quiet. We live at the end of a cul de sac so there isn’t a lot of traffic and it would appear that most of the families here either have young children, or none at all. I say appear because I haven’t met many people on our block. When we moved in, no one came over to say hello, or introduce themselves. The people in the houses closest to us keep to themselves for the most part and we haven’t really become familiar with anyone. When our new neighbor Judy moved in next door, Holly and I made extra sure to introduce ourselves and get to know her. We didn’t want to miss that opportunity like we did when we first moved in.

Yesterday I got home around 6pm, instead of the usual 7pm. I always walk Gracie first thing when I get home since she’s been in her crate all day. As I walked down the street, it felt like any other time I’ve walked her. Halfway down the block, there was someone mowing their grass and they stopped to say hi to Gracie. Gracie is one of those dogs that just loves to meet people. After she runs up to someone, she usually rolls over on her back so that you can pet her belly. When she does this, I usually introduce her to the person, so I said “Hello, this is Gracie.” The man with the mower said, “Oh, I know. I’ve met Gracie before.” I just grinned and said “Oh?” and then we walked on a little further.

Not five seconds later, two people came up the street as if they had just gone for a jog. When they came up, they said “Hello Gracie” as if they knew her. I was befuddled. I had met three neighbors, that I had never met before and yet they all seemed to know Gracie. For a second, I had a Frasier moment – could it be that my weblog is that popular with my neighbors?

The female jogger began talking with me and somehow in our brief conversation, she asked who was walking Gracie two weeks ago. That’s when it hit me. “Oh, that was my Mom. I was out of town.” The mystery solved! When we were in Destin, my Mom had stayed at our house to take care of our pets. She gets off work much earlier and must have met all the people I was meeting when she walked Gracie.

As I was walking back to the house a little while later, I thought about how different the neighborhood is depending on the day, or even the time of day. Everyone has their own routines and mine simply never occurred at the same time as the folks I met that day. Although at first, it was a little like being in a Twilight Zone, it was fun to see this new side to our neighborhood. Being the community guy that I am, it makes me think that we should have a block party one Saturday to bring everyone together. Heck, if I’m not careful, I’ll get everyone name tags and create a web site for the block! Hmmm, I’ll have to think on that one.

Up until my senior year in high school, I was very active in soccer and other activities. Weight had never been a problem, so I could eat anything I wanted. Just before Christmas 1984 I broke both my knees (that a whole other story) and after that, I had to give up soccer and most activities involving running. I just couldn’t take the stress to the knees. So, after that accident my level of activity dropped significantly. When I was in college, I was either pounding the books, or sitting in a practice room playing my trumpet. Not a lot of activity, but I never really got too heavy, just a little out of shape.

The big decline in my weight was when I joined the SIF. That was a nightmare job that had me working days on end without sleep. One of the habits I developed there was working all night and then going home at 6am to shower and change clothes and then go back to work. That kind of thing happened a lot. Lack of sleep coupled with having to be on the road a lot eating fast food put on the pounds and I can look back at pictures taken at company events and each year, I was weighing more and more.

Eventually I had the presence of mind to leave that crazy place and strike out on my own – I started my own consulting firm. At first I was specializing in insurance technology, but when I moved to Nashville, I decided to focus on pure technology. The technology industry isn’t known for Heroin Chic, in fact it’s quite the opposite. So as I spent hours upon hours in front of a computer, my body continued to puddle. I think if you cross sectioned my belly, it might read like the rings of a tree.

The good news in this tale of ever expanding waistlines, is that I’ve never felt that the condition wasn’t fixable. My underlying thought process was that my increase in girth is due to the fact that I’m not active. In my heart I’ve always felt that if I got active again, the weight would eventually come off and I’d be back to my old self. I simply haven’t stayed active long enough to prove this theory. Sure, I’ve done some cycling, or spent some time in the gym, but there is always some crisis at work that pulls me away from my routine and everything settles back like sediment.

So I found it rather surprising that so many people were commenting, “Have you lost weight?” I dismissed the comment, thinking that I just got lucky with a slimming outfit, or that they were just being nice. However, I’ve been getting these comments for the past few weeks and it got me to thinking. Why would people think that I lost weight? I haven’t been exercising, or doing anything different. Well, the only difference in my routines is that I’m walking Gracie 2 to 3 times a day. Oh that can’t be it huh? You mean to tell me that just by walking a few blocks a day is going to help me lose weight? Is my lifestyle so lethargic that simply by moving in an upright position I can lose weight? Oh COME ON!

This morning I got on the scales. I just knew that this was all a farce and that my weight hasn’t changed one bit. I hate our scale with a passion because it never moves downward. So, I stepped on the scale just knowing that there wasn’t going to be a change, yet in total shock, I discovered that I have lost 5 pounds. It would seem that by simply taking little 5 minute walks, two to three times a day has put a dent in my downward decline! Woo Hoo! As I continue to build on my FlyLady Routines, I will begin incorporating going to the gym and cycling more. That should help pick up the rate of reduction. Until then, I’m happy in the fact that baby steps have yielded such unexpected rewards!

I know that dogs and cats don’t marry and I know that they can’t reproduce should they try to mate, perish the thought. But the core of what I was saying is that dogs are the males and cats are the females. Think about it, men are like dogs. We’re not always the most hygenic. We want affection all the time. We love to play and we’ll do the monotonous task of chasing a ball for hours without getting bored. Women, on the other hand, are just like cats. They are more complex. They like affection, but on their terms. They groom themselves a lot and are more hygenic. They’ll play, but they get bored easy. Granted these comments are broad generalizations and there are exceptions to every rule, but you have to admit that this makes a little sense.

I’ll never understand Holly any more than I’ll understand our cats. Like Gracie, I’ll pounce around and get nothing but a cold shoulder. All I want to do is play and have fun. However if I ignore her and focus on something else, then all of a sudden she wants my attention and if I’m lucky, to be petted. I’m talking about the cats! Get your mind out of the gutter.

I don’t think I’m far off the mark on this one. I may be off my rocker in a general sense, but this concept rings true. Maybe I should write a book. Beats the hell out of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. :p

What helped me get over the hump and on the "downhill" side was something rather surprising and unexpected. I was sharing my experiences with some friends of mine in the Palm OS User Council. We were chatting in IRC and I mentioned some of what I was doing. Jennifer Shelamer made the comment that if I was looking to get organized, I need to take a peek at FlyLady.net. Greg Gaub chimed in and said that he highly recommended the site as well. I had never heard of the thing and had no idea what it was about, but figured I’d go check it out.

In a nutshell, FlyLady.net is a web and e-mail resource to help get you build good habits in cleaning your house. Since I was looking to clean a bit more than just my house, this sounded like something that could apply. Then I read "… Do you feel overwhelmed, overextended, and overdrawn? Hopeless and you don’t know where to start? Don’t worry friend, we’ve been there, too." and that nailed it on the head! Feel free to read more, but for those that have no interest, I’ll sum it up. FlyLady helps you create a system of routines to help you manage your home. The goal of the site is to help you build good habits that enable to not only have a clean house, but give you the time to focus on the rest of your life.

The first step is to shine your sink. My first thought was "I don’t have time for this." There’s an old Louisiana saying that goes, "When you’re up to your ass in aligators, that’s when you remember you were supposed to drain the swamp." I had a bunch of gators with lockjaw firmly clamped to my glutes and had been carrying them around a little while, so taking time to go shine my kitchen sink seemed absurd. I did it anyway. Then I began taking some baby steps and things began to click. Starting with small routines, I’ve made some serious headway with getting my house cleaner and more manageable. I’m now starting to apply some of those same principles to the rest of my life. For example, for my company my sink is my billing and I need to keep it clean and sparkling.

I’ve only just scratched the surface with this FlyLady business, but I like what I’ve learned thus far. I haven’t setup Zones or started a Control Journal, but my sink is still shiny after three weeks and I have a simple morning routine and evening routine that I can build on. I’m taking it slow and making progress little by little. What’s helped make the difference is a little thing that the FlyLady says in all of her e-mails, "You are not behind! I don’t want you to try to catch up; I just want you to jump in where we are. O.K.?" Being a perfectionist, those words are very encouraging and have done wonders to keep me focused on the task at hand. Who knew turning over a new leaf would begin with a shiny sink?

I minored in creative writing in college and I had a similar feeling during that time as well. Everything I did, or saw could be used in a short story, poem or song that I was writing at the time. I remember the first day in my first short story course. The professor said, “If you took this class because you like to read, you need to drop this class now. This course will change how you look at what you read.” In a nutshell, he was saying that we were going to peek behind the curtain and find out all the “tricks of the trade.” Once you’ve done that, it’s almost impossible to go back and blindly enjoy a good book. One of changes that the professor said would happen is that we’d develop this 3rd person perspective on our lives and that’s exactly what happened. It’s been awhile since I had that perspective, but its back with a vengeance since I started this weblog.

If I make an ass out of myself, my first thought is not on the embarrassment of the moment, but rather if I should write about it on the weblog. Some might call it a coping technique, but it’s really not. I still feel the embarrassment 100%, but there’s an additional perspective standing in the wings that sees the humor in it as well. It’s not always present in the exact moment, but it’s not far behind.

There is one remarkable difference between writing a weblog and that of creative fiction writing – it’s personal. With short stories, you could always change names to protect the guilty, but with a weblog it’s all you. That, in and of itself, should be enough of a difference, but there’s one more little gem that is not immediately apparent – you never know who’s reading it.

This became quickly apparent last week when Kerry Woo at PalmGear mentioned something from my weblog and that he enjoyed reading it. Although I was flattered that he was reading it, it also made me stop and think. “What have I been writing about?” “Is there something stupid that I’ve said recently?” The sudden pang of panic came from the fact that here was a professional relationship that had a personal aspect that I wasn’t aware of.

When you’re a small company you’re always trying to appear bigger than you really are, so my professional persona tries to portray that. However, on my weblog, I’m commenting on the reality that I’m trying to grow and going into details that I would never go into with a client, much less a potential client. All of a sudden, my 3rd person perspective got an editor. :O

It’s not that I have deep dark secrets, or that I want to vent things that I wouldn’t say to someone’s face, but you have to admit that being 100% honest isn’t the easiest thing to do. I had a great 4th of July weekend, but how much of it should I share? I could write about the good food and fellowship of having Holly’s folks in town. That would be easy to do, but what about the fact that I’m so very sore from all the work Holly’s Dad (James) did on Saturday? Would that make look like a wimp in James’ eyes? I didn’t really talk about it while he was here. I tried to look like the strong husband providing for his daughter.

Or what about my vocal performance on Sunday where I pretty much sucked? Do I talk about the contributing factors that helped my “suck factor”? Maybe someone from my choir reads this thing and might take offense to what I might say. Granted, most of the blame for my lackluster performance lies in my own hands, but I may not come across that way. You know what I mean?

Is this a real dilemma that I’m wrestling with? No, not really. In the end, I’m going to do what I want to do, lay it all out there and let the chips fall where they may. I’m not that modest and my mouth is quite familiar with the taste of my shoe, so I don’t see things changing on this weblog at all. It’s just one of those things that make you go “hmmmmmm” and in my case, make me want to share it with the world. LOL

Writing a personal weblog is letting anyone and everyone peek behind whatever curtains you have in your life. Any of your relationships could take a peek and that may change how you think of yourself, or how you think other people think about you. It’s a bit like finding out that although you’re the emperor of your own domain, you have no clothes. When you find that your relationships are stronger as a result of it, it’s a very empowering experience. I don’t think there’s anything quite like being yourself and having others accept you just as you are.

First off, I’m most known there as the guy who runs InterPUG. Not that that is a big deal or anything, just that’s how I’m normally introduced. However, I normally bring up that I also run NPUG because these guys live in Nashville, so I’d love for them to come to our meetings – not as PalmGear employees per se, but just as fellow Palm OS enthusiasts. Then if any of the folks I meet are in their IT department, I usually bring up the fact that I run a small IT consulting firm, because I’d love to support their Intranet. There’s even an occasion or two where I’ve brought up the Palm OS User Council, so you might imagine how confusing it is when it’s time to beam someone my business card.

The other day though, I was introduced to Alan Hecht for the first time and both of us were kind of searching for where we knew each other. That’s when I suddenly had a flash of the Simpson’s character Troy McClure. “Hi, I’m Michael Ashby. You might know me from such web sites as InterPUG, the home of Palm User Groups, or NPUG…” If you know the character, you know what I mean. Turns out Alan, up until recently, was the co-chairman of PhilaPUG and we quickly put two and two together. He now works at PalmGear, but I didn’t catch in what capacity.

It was just so funny to me though. Normally I relate more to Homer than any other character on the Simpsons. To find myself suddenly channeling Troy McClure was a real hoot.

Although I can get excited and talk your ear off about something, when I’m by myself I like to think of myself as fairly self-contained. As a customer, I’d like to believe that I’m one of the better ones. I don’t take up too much of your time, I’m polite to all the other customers and carry myself in a professional manner. Being a frequent customer of Starbucks, I’d like to think that although they may not know me by name, the staff think of me fondly as one of their better customers. Well, that may have changed today.

I was running a little behind yesterday, which is fairly typical for a Monday morning, so I decided to swing through the drive through there at the Cool Springs Starbucks. It’s the only location in town with a drive thru, so I was thankful that it was on the way to my next appointment. I placed my order and then pulled around to pickup my Venti Columbian roast coffee. The person at the window took my $2, gave me my change and then handed me a hot cup of hell.

Something was wrong with the cup. I don’t know what happened, but the damn thing felt all squishy and the top came off the instant I grabbed the cup with both hands. Suddenly coffee began spilling over the edges and covering both of my hands. It was like the container was filled with battery acid and it was sloshing over the top onto my hands. I don’t know why I didn’t drop it. That would have been the smart thing to do, but for some reason my brain forced my hands to hold on. I guess it thought I shouldn’t waste it, I don’t know, but I held on as wave after wave, in rapid succession covered my hands in scalding coffee. Finally the guy at the window grabbed the cup back and the worst of it was over. The gentleman was very nice and offered me napkins, cold water and even a drink coupon. I politely refused. While he was getting me a fresh cup of coffee, I had fast food napkins to wipe my hands clean and was happy to be on my way.

It was a few minutes later when I discovered that I had indeed burned the knuckes of each hand. It wasn’t serious, but it did smart, which made me wonder why in the hell they have to make their coffee so freakin’ hot? I’d like to believe that the outer epidermis of my hands can withstand heat a little better than the inside of my mouth. Who drinks this stuff this hot?!? Normally, I have to let it cool for at least 20 minutes before I can take my first sip and now my hands were reminding me of that fact.

To share my misery, I called my buddy Dan to tell him my tale of woe. I bitched and moaned about the whole ordeal and he was kind enough to share my grief and give me the much needed morale support. As I relaxed a little bit and continued on my way to my next appointment, my mind continued mulling over the experience, peeling it like an onion to discover more and more nuances to the event. I recalled that it only took about 3 seconds for the whole thing to transpire. Then I recalled that the guy at the window had it open the whole time trying to assist me with the return of the lava filled cup of joe – he was a really nice guy. With each passing second more and more details came into focus, like the fact that I had cursed like a sailor through the open drive through window.

That’s right, at the top of my quite powerful and projecting lungs, I remembered that throughout the event, I nailed the back wall of Starbucks with a string of obscenities that would have made a roughneck blush. I was so shocked by the fact that my hands were being burned I lost all control of my composure and proceed to scream cuss words like you wouldn’t believe. Chris Rock doesn’t cuss like this and here I am screaming it into the quiet, hip, calm atmosphere of Starbucks. I cuss as much as the next guy, but I was in rare form let me tell you. I won’t go into details, but I don’t think I’ll be visiting there anytime soon. :O

I had to laugh as I recalled what it must have been like to be a customer in the store just then. You’re standing in line to place your order with the barista. You look over the menu and scan the pastries as you listen to Tony Bennett Artist’s Choice CD. You secretly wish that everything else in your life could be this hip and cool. Just as you open your mouth to place your order and insane man begins screaming at the top of his lungs. “Mother $%*#! I’m burning! Argh! $#!&! #$)%^*!! For the love of all that’s holy! It’s so $(#%ing hot! Call 911! #)%*%&#@! I’m on fire! #($*^&$ $(%^&$ I can’t see!” I’m just lucky that I didn’t kick off a chain reaction as people spilled their coffee on themselves and joined in my chant of depravity here in the buckle of the Bible Belt.

Anyway, this week I got the hankering for the taste of coffee, so I was stopping by my local Starbucks every morning on my way to my client site visits. I would order a doppio (aka double) espresso and a Venti (aka large) Coffee Of The Day. I joked one day with the Barista that I was ordering the coffee equivalent of a shot of tequila with a beer chaser. I would drink the espresso immediately and then sip the drip coffee the rest of the day after it cooled off for about 20 minutes. I find their drip coffee too freaking hot when it’s first handed to me, but that’s another story.

Today I spent the better part of the morning in the office digging out of a few inbox “holes,” so I had my usual Green tea instead. By late afternoon I was finding that I missed the coffee fix that I had enjoyed the previous three days. So, after my last site visit of the day, I decided to stop by a nearby Starbucks and get a little remote work done and treat myself to a little coffee. In fact, I’m typing this entry on my Alphasmart Dana out on the patio at the Thoroughbred Starbucks location enjoying a Tall (aka small) Columbian blend having just finished my doppio espresso. I’m also enjoying a wonderful Don Tomas Dominican Selection box pressed cigar as well. And hell, since I’m digressing already, I should also mention that the sun is low on the horizon and there’s a light breeze that is making the end of the day feel like heaven. The temperature is in the 60′s and I feel like I could just sit here forever. It’s the perfect outdoor cafe evening as I look out on the Tennessee hills nearby and vintage jazz wafts from the outdoor speakers.

But I had a point didn’t I? ???

This isn’t my usual Starbucks, so I seemed to pay a little extra attention when I entered the coffee shop. It’s kind of like when you go to a McDonalds in a foreign country just to see if it looks any different. Anyway, everything looked pretty much the same (doesn’t it always?), but I did notice a plaque mounted somewhat inauspiciously on the wall behind the counter. It read “The Starbucks Millionaires Club.” That sign isn’t in my Starbucks, so I asked the Barista what it meant. Sheepishly, she said “I think it means that we had like a million dollars in sales our first year or something.” I responded with the appropriate “Wow” and then followed up with “Hard to believe that there could be a million dollars in coffee in one store.” That comment seemed to bring her out of her humility and give her a shot of pride in the arm, because she then said “Yeah! We’re the top grossing store in our division.”

So, as I sit here sipping my coffee and puffing on my cigar, I’m still amazed that this one little store could generate over $1,000,000 in sales in one year. It’s the retail equivalent of striking oil. When Holly and I first moved here, this area where I’m sitting was nothing but a field. Five years later, there’s a multiplex theatre, an Office Depot, several large clothing stores and at least a dozen restaurants. Restaurants like P. F. Changs, Atlanta Bread Company, Wolfgang Puck and Carrabbas. Of course this location is also in the center of yuppie-ville for South Nashville, so it wasn’t a complete shot in the dark that a retail location would do well here. But if there’s a million dollars just in coffee, it makes you think about how much is being spent at the movie theatre, or at Kinko’s, or at any of the other hundred retail outlets. It boggles the mind.