Cat-box or Cake??? - You be the judge

Would you eat something out of a cat-box?

Well, I did!

I teach with Marcell, and Marcell is an amazing baker. She loves to bake, is quite good at it, and is all too happy to bring her delicious taste treats to school for her fellow teachers to enjoy.

That being true, you can imagine my surprise when she recently unveiled this in the lounge.

Believe it or not…it tasted incredible!

If you want the receipe I'm sure I can get it.

Better Late Than Never...A Halloween Costume Update

I was reminded by a comment on my last posting that I never came back and told you about our costume. In my defense, I was looking for one of the dozens of people who took our picture in hope of adding it to the post. But alas, it seems all the parents at my school are photography purists and wouldn’t go near a digital camera.

So, I’m forced to report on my costume without the visual aid I had so desperately desired.

We were, drum-roll please…yahtzee!

That’s right, the five of us painted boxes while, attached black circles, cut holes for our heads and tumbled through the halls. We’d stop at various points along the way and scream, “YAHTZEE!” at the top of our lungs.

We were a gigantic hit! Many of my student’s extremely impartial parents told me later that ours was the best teacher costume by far.

But just you wait until next year, we’re really going to blow them away!

Monty Python and the Holy...Ale???

So there I am walking through the Market Street grocery store in McKinney Texas, when I happen onto the beer isle. Deciding that I need a beer, I begin perusing the various brands available. That’s when my keen beer senses told me that this was no ordinary beer isle.

Oh sure, they had Bud, Coors and Miller. However, this store was the haven for every bizarre type of ale known to man. They had literally hundreds of different kinds of ale. I mean everything from Hobgoblin Ale to Pumpkin Spice Ale. It was truly extraordinary.

I’m at one end trying to decided between Hobgoblin Ale and something written in what I think was German, but had a really cool label when Melissa come walking up with a bottle of Monty Python’s Holy Grail Ale.

And the choice was made.

It only comes in pint bottles. A fact that has always seemed a bit odd to me, England being on the metric system and all. I got home, popped it open and enjoyed the whole pint.

If you like dark ale, I recommend giving Monty Python’s Holy Grail Ale a try.


Note:
Don't worry big brother, I’ve got one for you in the fridge and I’m brining it to Georgetown!

Leap-Frog Thinking

It’s funny how the mind works. I’m more than a little curious about where thoughts and memories come from. I have a progressive kind of thought “leap-frog” thing that at times can be quite fun, but is usually a bit annoying. Here’s how it works.

It begins with me reading or hearing something that starts my mind wondering about some odd detail from whatever it is that I’ve just read or heard. Next, the natural progression of my wonderings causes something different, but closely connected to the original thing I was first wondering about, to come to mind and I’ll start thinking about that. I’ll stay focused on whatever this happens to be until my mind takes its next “leap-frog” thing.

So goes the mental processing of a self-diagnosed, borderline ADD person. I’m forever finding myself staring thoughtfully at whatever person happens to be speaking with my mind having moved progressively through dozens of different topics. Top that off with the fact that I’m usually more that a little confused about how I started thinking about whatever it is that I am now think of, and you have an extremely perplexing quandary.

I recently had one of these “leap-frog” episodes in church. It went something like this:

The pastor was preaching, and I was listening. I don’t know if he said “peppermints,” or if something he happened to mention caused me to think of peppermints. Whatever the reason, I found myself thinking of peppermints. Peppermints caused me to think of a time I had my class use paper plates to make peppermints to decorate for a holiday program. Then I remembered a boy who wanted to make Mentos instead of the red and white kind, because in his words, “I like Mentos better than the other kind.” I started wondering which kind I like better. That made me think of how when I was a volunteer at Memorial City Hospital in Houston and I would always get two packages of Mentos in the cafeteria and eat them the whole time I was at the hospital. Thinking about being a hospital volunteer caused me to remember Doug Persons, possibly my first best friend in Houston. Then I thought about the time Doug Persons and I made copies of our faces on the hospital’s copier.

I was engrossed in my twisted web of thought when something yanked me back to reality. I somehow managed to backtrack through my mind’s bizarre train of thought and find the logical progression that had brought me to my current wonderings.

Like I said, it’s funny how the mind works…at least mine.

Being Scared

I’ve never really been scared before. Sure, I’ve been on the edge of my seat during the scary part of movie. I’ve also had the poop scared out of me while driving on Central Expressway here in Dallas. However, it wasn’t until I got the news of my dad’s cancer that I understood what being scared really is.

At the beginning I kept thinking that I was going to wake up from this really bad dream and everything would be okay. When that didn’t happen, I started believing my dad’s doctors would figure out that they had made a mistake. When that didn’t happen, I started thinking that some smart doctor would show up and he would have the cure. When that didn’t happen, I thought the doctors were going to figure out a way he could easily live with medullary thyroid cancer. When that didn’t happen, I took my dark suit to the cleaners.

I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster for the better part of a month and right now I’m feeling pretty good. The good news is, doesn’t look like I’m going to need that dark suit anytime in the near future. Dad’s surgery went as well as the doctors could have hoped for, but I find that after the wild ride’s ups and downs of the last few weeks, I haven’t been able to let go of the bar and stop holding my breath…not just yet.

Thank you to everyone who prayed for my dad and my family. There is no doubt in my mind that the prayers (and there were a lot of them) made all the difference.

I’ll keep you posted.

Hugh

Moon Pies and Me

Have you ever seen a Moon Pie? Growing up I’d see them at Otto’s, the little independently owned convenient store near our house in Houston. Otto’s happened to be right behind Shadow Oaks Elementary and, luckily for me, right on my way home. Each day I’d scrape together enough change to stop on the way home and buy a Coke, or ice cream, or candy, or something.

You couldn’t miss the Moon Pies. They occupied a prime “point-of-purchase” location all along the checkout waiting line. They came in brown, white, yellow and even pink. There were always dozens of them stacked up in lines on the three shelves that stretched the length of the counter and as far as I knew, nobody ever bought one.

Occasionally, my friends and I would discuss these strange looking cookie creations as we waited in line. These conversations would go something like this:

“Have you ever had one of those?”
“No, but I think my dad has.”
“Are the brown ones chocolate?”
“Maybe, but what are the pink ones?”
“Beats me. Get one and let’s try it!”
“I’ve only got enough money for one thing, I’m not going to waste it on one of those.”

And so went my years at Shadow Oaks Elementary. To Moon Pie, or not to Moon Pie? – That was the question.

I never did try a Moon Pie. As a matter of fact, that was over 30 years ago and I have never so much as sniffed the wrapper of a Moon Pie…that is until last night.

I’m not sure what sparked my Moon Pie memory, but for some reason I was prompted to bring them up with Melissa. I don’t even remember what was said, but I’m sure it sounded something like this:

“Have you ever had one of those?”
“No, but I think my dad has.”
“Are the brown ones chocolate?”
“Maybe, but what are the pink ones?”
“Beats me. Get one and let’s try it!”

That was several weeks ago at best. Like I said, I don’t really even remember having the conversation. However, Melissa was at a conference in Nashville, Tennessee. As it turns out, Tennessee is where Moon Pies are made. So, being the dutiful and supportive wife that she is, Melissa decided to buy me not one, but two Moon Pies, which she proudly gave to me at baggage claim A16 at DFW Airport. This was to be the historic location of my first Moon Pie experience.

Being a Moon Pie virgin, I inspected the outside of the package. The first thing I noticed was the slogan, “The Only One on The Planet!” As I’m pondering the whys and wherefores of that statement I see where it says “The Original Marshmallow Sandwich.” Standing there gazing down at this chocolate covered creation I noticed where it says, in big letters, “Double Decker – Big Snack, Great Value.”

Baby, I was hooked!

Then I noticed the date. This was October 13, 2006, so I was cautiously optimistic when I noticed that my new Moon Pie buddies were set to expire on January 8, 2007. I really had no way of knowing how long these bad-boys had been on the shelf. Based on the ones I remembered from my Otto’s days, it could have been sitting there for a couple of years before Melissa bought it. However, I didn’t let that deter me from my date with my Moon Pie destiny.

These two pies had been stuck in Melissa’s purse for several hours, so they were pretty smashed. But you would have thought it was Christmas morning the way I tore into this thing! Remember, these were Double Decker Moon Pies and being stuck at the bottom of a purse for over half a day had not done them any good. However, I was determined to not only taste my first Moon Pie, but eat the whole thing!

Thanks to the purse, the chocolate flavored outer layer was now mostly stuck to the wrapper, so holding the bottom half of the sandwich through the wrapper, I tried to break part of it off, but the gooey marshmallow center was not breaking easily. That’s when I decided to just take the big plunge.

Throwing caution to the wind, I clamped my mouth down on my first Moon Pie.

I must admit that the experience was nothing at all like I expected it to be. I really thought that the cookie part of the Original Marshmallow Sandwich would be crisper, something like a Oreo, but I was sadly mistaken. It was more like a stale graham cracker that had been soaked in liquid and allowed to sit out for a few days.

The marshmallow part was very spongy, and never really seemed to break down as I chewed. It was a lot like chewing a piece of gum and eating a saltine cracker at the same time. (A stunt I’ll never do again…but that’s another story)

So there I am, standing at baggage claim A16 enjoying, or at least eating, my first Moon Pie. That’s when Melissa pointed to the ground. What I had either failed to notice, or had chosen to ignore, was the fact that my new taste treat was quite crumbly. At my feet was a rather large pile of chocolate covered, graham cracker looking pieces. The mess was so large that my now embarrassed wife and daughter walked away and pretended not to know me. A little game they sometimes feel they’re forced to play when we’re out in public.

Trying in vane to kick my ever growing pile of Moon Pie droppings under the edge of the baggage carousel, I looked up to a find somewhat snooty man looking at me with a kind of disgusted frown on his face. Without missing a beat I boldly thrust my half eaten snack up toward him and announced in a loud and somewhat gleeful voice, “MOON PIE!” He grabbed his stuff and moved to the opposite end of the carousel.

At this point Melissa rushed back over. Wiping crumbs off my face and shirt she whispered, “Hugh, I know people here, please don’t embarrass me!”

So there you have it. My first Moon Pie experience.

I somehow managed to choke down the whole thing. To tell the truth, after the first two or three bites, it got a bit easier to eat. I’m not sure why. After living on this planet for almost 42 years I’ve finally eaten my first Moon Pie, and not unlike swallowing a piece of chewing gum, I’m sure this first pie will be out of my system in about seven years.

Maybe by then I’ll be ready to eat the second one.

Family Crisis

We, my family and I, are in the middle of somewhat of a family crisis. It's not something that we won’t make it through, but it is something that we’d rather not be dealing with. We have many, many questions and to date, not as many answers as we would like.

Suffice it to say the crisis involves an illness and like my brother, RLP, I’ll probably write more about it later.

For now, if you pray, please put my family in your prayers.

Thank you,

Hugh

Life

Sometimes life is hard to handle...

Hugh

9/25/2006 - An Update...

It looks like we’ve decided on our costume ideas for the costume parade. Now it’s quite possible that couple of the teachers at my school actually read my blog from time to time. (Nobody actually admits they do, but it’s the only explanation for some of the giggling and sideways looks I get) Due to that fact, I’m not going to give our costume away just yet. Rest assure it is a wee-bit strange. You’ll just have to check back sometime after Halloween to see the pictures.

Remember back when you were in school and you had those things called Teacher-in-Service days, but all you knew was that it meant you didn’t have school? And remember how much fun they were, especially when you didn’t know anything about them until the day before? And remember how you always wondered what the teachers could possibly do up at school if you weren’t there?

As nice, and as much needed, as a break like that is for the students, it ain’t all that bad for the teachers either. Today was an In-Service day in my district.

We sit in some classes listening to some good speakers and some not so good speakers. If you’re ever asked to speak to a group of teachers, say, “No,” quickly and firmly and run for your life! Teachers make the worst students. We doodle, we talk, we pass notes, we make all kinds of faces, we interrupt the speaker with all kinds of off-the-topic comments and some of us even fall asleep. Not me...this time.

I’m not ashamed to admit that the highlight of everyone’s day is lunch. You see, on the average, we usually get somewhere between 20 to 25 minutes to inhale our cold sandwich or microwave burned Leal Cuisine.

But our district, in an attempt to compensate us for our speed eating induced acid reflux, allows us an hour and a half for lunch on In-Service days…that 90 minutes to you and me!

I must admit that we all enjoy the chance to have lunch with adults and not have to hear about how little Johnny stole Billy’s last tator-tot, or how Billy poured milk on Johnny’s hamburger to pay him back, but got some on Martha’s new dress by mistake and now she’s going to get in trouble.



As wacky and strange as all this sounds…I’m looking forward to school tomorrow.

Just Me...

I’m finding it harder than ever this year to be motivated to sit down and write, and I don’t know why. I like to write. When I’m writing hours pass by like minutes. It’s a grand experience.

But I don’t know what it is that causes my writing to slow down. Maybe it’s school and all the beginning of the year headaches. Maybe it’s just life and normal everyday pressures. Maybe it’s age. Who knows?

What I do know is that I miss writing, but just can’t seem to get myself started. I have several things I want to write about and I’ll do my best to get around to them at some point.

But today I have a question and I need your help.

At my school we have a Halloween parade every year that is a pretty big deal. I mean the hallways are filled with parents and grandparents holding cameras and cheering. All the students walk through the halls and classrooms showing off their costumes. Not only do all the students dress-up, but the teachers as well. The kids, for the most part, all wear the usual store bought costumes. However, the teachers are always the ones to watch. Each grade level tries to outdo not only the other grade levels, but also themselves from the previous year.

That being said, there are five teachers on my grade level and we could really use a great costume idea. There are four ladies plus myself, although gender really isn’t a factor for the costume. I would wear a dress for the team if I needed to. Remember, this is a public elementary school, so any costume idea would have to be appropriate for our younger viewers.

We had the idea of being a hand, but we haven’t come up with an easy way to pull it off.

Whatever we end up being, I’ll get some photos and post them here…should be good for a few laughs.


Got any good costume ideas?

We Don't See That Anymore...

We don’t see that anymore, is a phrase I’ve heard two times in the past couple of weeks.

The first time was when I stopped to help a woman in her 80’s put some heavy items into her car at Office Depot. She and her driver, a woman of similar age, were both flabbergasted when from out of the blue a man stopped and helped them load these heavy items into their car. Top that off with the fact that I then opened the car door for the lady and you have dinner conversation at the retirement center for the next month. As I was replying to the thanks I was receiving with, “You’re welcome, it’s my pleasure” and closing the door, the first lady turned to the driver and said, “You don’t see that anymore!”

About a week later, I was at the grocery store when a woman, maybe in her 30’s, dropped her shopping list on the floor. I happened to be walking by as it fell, so I bent down and picked it up for her. It wasn’t even all that big of a deal. All I did was take about 2.5 seconds out of my day to do something for someone else, but that’s when she said it. “You don’t see that anymore!”

It wasn’t until I heard the second woman utter the phrase that I was struck with the thought…why not?

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not the polished gentleman. I tend to put my elbows on the table, eat a bit too fast, and on occasion I’ve been known to laugh at, and yes even make, slightly inappropriate comments. (I stress slightly, because my mom does read this from time to time)

However, when it comes to simply being courteous, I take pride in the fact that I always open doors, both building and car, for my wife or whatever woman I happen to be around. When we're eating, I also do my best to stand when a lady comes to, or gets up from, the table. I don’t always remember, but at least I’m trying.

I am always surprised at and a little disheartened by the number of women for whom this kind of behavior is so out of the ordinary. When and how did simply being a courteous gentleman become a lost art?

There was the time that I was leaving Dillard’s and I held the door for a very tough looking woman who was about to enter through the same door that I was exiting. (A gesture I would do for anyone, man or woman) Flicking her cigarette butt to the sidewalk she said, in a not so pleasant tone, “I can get that myself you know!”

To which I replied, in the very same overly happy tone I used the first time my daughter made poopy in the big potty, “Well, aren’t we a big boy today.”

An angry scowl and a protruding middle finger were my only reward for my quick tongue.

Putting this angry masculine woman aside, I believe that women enjoy being indulged with these small, everyday courtesies. And to tell the truth, it’s just not that hard to do.

So why is it such a lost art?

Gone are the days when door handles were akin to outdoor grills and lawn mowers. Both of which, I’m proud to say, my wife has never had any reason to learn how to use!

As men we should be taking back the door handles! They were our domain, but time and possibly apathy have turned them into common property.

If you’re a man, and I mean a real man, I challenge you to get out there and open some doors and let the ladies go first!

If you do, and it becomes a habit, maybe it will be the end of comments like, “We don’t see that anymore…”

My Governor is a Jewish Cowboy! If only...

If you’re not from Texas then this isn’t going to mean much to you. However, if you happen to live in Texas and are 18 or older, then you need to be thinking about who it is that you want for your next Governor.

I really can’t sit down and argue politics with the big boys. It’s not only that I can’t, it’s also that I just don’t have the desire. I guess that dumps me into the pot with all the other apathetic Americans, but I can say that I do vote in every election. The fact that my place of employment is the same place I go to vote, makes it a bit easier for me than it may be for the majority of the American public.

When I started blogging back in 2004, I never thought that I would write about anything even remotely political. I thought about, but quickly decided that I wanted this to be fun and that writing of that kind would take way too much effort. So, I’ve avoided writing about anything even remotely political. To tell the truth, it wasn’t all that hard. If you don’t know anything about something, then it’s pretty easy not to talk about it. You may have also noticed that I haven’t written much of anything about how hard it is to do surgery…and that’s for the same reason.

However, I do know enough to say that Rick Perry is not doing anything to help Texas’ education system. I know that Governors have no real power and therefore can’t really change things, but they can work to hard to steer things in the direction that they want things to go. We’ve seen Governor Perry get things done, just not for education. I mean it took him two years with extended special sessions to finally pass an education reform bill kind of thing, but it really didn’t help.

So, if you call Texas you home and you believe that education is important, then I urge you to vote. I’m voting for Kinky Freidman and I hope that one day I will be able to say, “My Governor is a Jewish Cowboy!” (Click here to find out more about Kinky)

However, even if you’re not going to vote for Kinky…at least get out there and vote.


Just not for Rick Perry!




This advertisement was paid for by the “Hugh Atkinson is tired of Rick Perry” fund and is not associated with any of Kinky Friedman’s actual campaigns.

Dressing Backwards

I’ve been getting dressed on my own now for more than 35 years and I haven’t had any really huge problems. Oh sure, back in my closed head injury, rehabilitation hospital days I couldn’t put my pants on while I was standing up, but that only lasted about a month or two and give me a break…I had just spent a month in a coma!

However, as far as getting my clothes on my body correctly, I’ve never had all that much trouble. Okay, who hasn’t put a t-shirt on backwards by mistake once in a while, but you look in the mirror, see that the design that should be on the back is now facing the front and you turn it around.

Other than that, I just can’t comprehend how a person could accidentally put their clothes on backwards…it’s just too hard to do!

That being said, we were at a birthday party for one of my wife’s aging family members. Other than my wife and my father-in-law, I really didn’t know that many people. One of the people I know (who we’ll call Uncle Guido) was there, which always makes things fun. At times things with Uncle Guido can be a bit kooky and bizarre, but fun all the same. I really like Uncle Guido.

At one point my father-in-law looked around and noticed that Uncle Guido was nowhere to be found and we hadn’t seen him for quite some time. He rode with my father-in-law, so we knew he had to be there somewhere, but he was missing.

After checking the restroom, my father-in-law came back with a puzzled look on his face. “I found Uncle Guido.” He said trying not to laugh. “He was in the restroom and it seems that somehow he’s had his pants on backwards all day.” At which point we all lost it.

The roars of laughter brought several of Uncle Guido’s cousins over, all of whom were quickly informed of his clothing faux pas. By the time Uncle Guido emerged from the restroom, half of the people there knew what had happened and were giving him odd looks. Luckily for Uncle Guido, he’s a bit used to this type of attention and can easily join in the laughter. That’s one of the things I really like about Uncle Guido.

As the laughter slowly died down, I found myself wondering how this could have happened. I mean it’s not like a t-shirt where the only real front/back indicator is the tag. On no, pants have a very definite front and back. You don’t have to look down to know if you’re wearing your pants correctly.

Next, what about the zipper? How do you put your pants on and not know that your zipper isn’t in the front?

As it turns out, after getting to the party, Uncle Guido had gone to the restroom, for what I am forced to assume was the first time that day! He got into the stall, but couldn’t find his zipper! After searching, he somehow found it in the back. He then had to undress and redress right there in the restroom.

My only assumption is that Uncle Guido is somehow able to just step in and pull up his pants with them already zipped and fastened. A possibility that we won’t explore, but would probably be quite funny in it’s own right.

And let’s not forget about the pockets. Uncle Guido was wearing everyday, run-of-the-mill kaki pants. Wouldn’t the inability to put your wallet in one of your now missing back pockets throw up a red flag? Add to that the fact that your front pockets are now almost impossible to get your hands into and you’ve got a garment quandary beyond compare.

For whatever reason, nothing seemed out of the ordinary when Uncle Guido got dressed that morning and he somehow managed to live for more than half the day with his pants turned in the wrong direction.

I suppose there are items of clothing that would be more difficult to accidentally put on backwards, but for the life of me, I can’t think of what they might be.

Thursday Night Club

My freshman year in college was a magical time for me. I hadn’t yet received the Frictional Impact Explosives pamphlet, but things were exciting all the same.

Somehow this introverted, fairly mild mannered young man managed to be the only person from the Houston area that I knew of to attend this small Baptist university in Abilene Texas.

I spent the first few days of freshman orientation hoping to meet someone, anyone from the Houston area, but it was not to be. As it started to become apparent that I wasn’t going to find anyone from the southeastern part of the state, I began to realize that being cut off from my world could prove to be interesting dilemma.

I was far from home in a land where nobody had any preconceived ideas about who Hugh is, was, or should be. That’s when I realized that no matter what I said, what I did, or how I acted the people wouldn’t have the slightest idea if I was being myself.

I realized that, if I were so inclined, I could change my whole personality.

Changing my personality sounded fun and easy. All I had to do was choose the personality traits I enjoyed in others and mimic them until they stuck. It was an easy plan.

So there I am, fumbling through my first few weeks of my freshman year and trying to reinvent myself at the same time.

That’s when I met Gregg. Although I was quite sure he had one, I couldn’t have told you Gregg’s last name to save my life. I don’t think I ever even heard his last name until my senior year when we were roommates. To me he was just always “Uncle Gregg.”

I don’t remember exactly where the name came from, but I think it had something to do with my calling his then girlfriend, now wife, “Cousin Lisa.”

Anyway, Uncle Gregg tells Dan (from my explosive adventures) and me about The Thursday Night Club, of which he was a member in good standing. And we decided that we should go check it out, just to find out what it’s all about.

As the name might suggest, this club met every Thursday night. The location of choice for the TNC was a frozen yogurt shop on the east side of town right near Abilene Christian University. The fact that the club had chosen this particular place as its meeting place was a big enough honor to the owner of the establishment that he bought and paid for a plaque for the wall that had each member’s name engraved on it. Along with our motto and sacred words.

As we arrived, the first thing I noticed was the lack of pomp and circumstance. This was no formal ceremony. They didn’t even own a copy of Robert’s Rules of Order.

The first thing I had to do was stand up and in 10,000 words or less (and the words “or less” were strongly stressed) tell why I was there and what, if any, good would my being a member of the TNC bring to myself, the TNC, or the world in general.

I said something like, “I’m not quite sure what good will come out of this...but”

And I was cut off mid-sentence by thunderous applause and an earnest plea for me to have a seat.

And that’s when I realized that, without knowing or even asking, I was being initiated into the TNC. At first I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to be a member, but then I just shrugged and thought “ what the hell”.

The next phase of my initiation was the memory test. I had to memorize the motto, the sacred words and the official TNC song.

The motto: Apathy and Undiscipline


The sacred words: Riloto Wue Mugabe - pronounced, ri-loe-toe, way, moo-ga-bay - (Nobody’s really clear about what they mean)

The song: “It’s been lonely on the saddle since my horse died…and we don’t give a rip!”

After taking two minutes to memorize these very important pieces of the TNC’s heritage, I found myself starting the third and final stage of the initiation.

The reflection stage.

For the reflection stage I simply had to take my yogurt, stand in the corner facing a kind of a palm tree plant and silently reflect on my new life as a TNC member.

As I stood there reflecting/listening to the conversation of my brothers I was suddenly struck by the thought that I had no idea how long the reflection part of the initiation needed, or was supposed to last. Then I thought about the motto – Apathy and Undiscipline. That’s when I turned around and had a seat with my new Thursday Night Club brothers.

My time of reflection took only about 30 seconds, but I did some good thinking.

I sat down and asked, “If apathy and undiscipline are truly cornerstones of the TNC, then it seems that if I don’t care enough to have the discipline necessary to remember to come to the meetings, then I’m being the best possible member I can be…is that right?”

Through mock tears they welcomed me into the brotherhood and told me of the current TNC president. They pointed to one of the first names on the plaque and said he came the first couple of meetings, but hasn’t been back since. To tell the truth, nobody was even sure if he was in school anymore. For all they knew he might be dead.

And so began my life in the Thursday Night Club. The guys would turn out to instrumental in the whole “reinvent myself” phase of life that I was in.

On occasion, we would have theme night. Where you’d bring something, or dress a certain way…or maybe not. It really didn’t matter.

Then there was the time the producers of the school’s musical theme show called “Sing,” asked the TNC to pretend to be terrorists and storm in between acts and take over. The dress rehearsal just happened to be on a Thursday night, so after the rehearsal we went straight to the yogurt shop, still in costume.

We parked a little way down the street and snuck up on the shop with guns drawn sneaking between cars, diving, rolling and doing covert kinds of stuff.

After about 30 minutes of eating yogurt we noticed a police officer with gun drawn poking his head around the corner and cautiously looking in our direction.

As it turns out, somebody saw us and just assumed we were robbing the bank that was in the same strip shopping center and called the police. I don’t remember much more than an extremely agitated officer radioing back to his comrades telling them it was just a bunch of college students and that they can unblock the streets.

I had lots of fun adventures with my TNC buddies. All of which were impromptu attempts on somebody’s part to break up the monotony of the day.

I never joined a fraternity. It just didn’t seem like something I needed to do. I had camaraderie I needed without all the stupid stuff.

I came back to school after a summer break and found that the yogurt shop had been sold, or gone out of business, or burned down or something…I really don’t remember. Whatever the case was, it was gone and Thursday Night Club never had another official meeting.

Oh, we’d get together. We’d sing the song, or quote the sacred words or even do the secret handshake, (I forgot to tell you about the handshake!) but we never had anymore Thursday night meetings. We talked about it. I think it’s just that everybody seemed a bit too apathetic to go out of the way to set it up. A fact that I think makes us all the president.

As it turned out, It wasn’t really in a reinvent myself time of life, as much as it was a “find myself” time of life. I don’t know, maybe that’s what college is supposed to be. However, the TNC turned out to be a very easy going, unassuming group of friends who, possibly without even knowing it, allowed me to celebrate and enjoy being whoever it was I decided I wanted to be.

Thanks Uncle Gregg!

Thanks for introducing me to the Thursday Night Club.

Ben Franklin and People Watching

I love watching people as they carry out their normal daily life activities. I’ll go somewhere and find myself engrossed in the daily happenings of people I neither know, nor will ever see again. I find people’s odd habits, quirky idiosyncrasies and daily happenings extremely interesting.

Watching people is a huge source of entertainment for me.

That being said, yesterday, Melissa and I were at eating at a Quizno’s near our house. We’re sitting there eating, talking and having a good time when I noticed a man having a hard time opening the hood of his car. Fancying myself as somewhat of a shade-tree mechanic, I found myself watching this guy with a kind of ‘should I offer to help?’ fascination.

It wasn’t long before a girl in an SUV pulls in next to the car. She gets out and it becomes quite obvious that she has come to help him jump-start his car. It didn’t take me long to see that jump-starting the car was something quite unfamiliar to both of them. The simple fact that they couldn’t find the hood release inside the SUV prompted me to shift from spectator to participant in this comedy of errors.

Hugh: “Should I offer to help?”

Melissa: “I’m quite sure you know more than he does.”

After our brief exchange of words, I headed outside to assist the fumbling duo.

Walking toward the couple, who was now working to untangle the jumper cables that looked old, but unused, I blurted out, “Can I give you a hand?”

“I think we can handle it” was his polite, yet persistent reply.

I shrugged, walked back inside and settled into my ringside seat. Then I gleefully waited for the upcoming attraction.

Right or wrong, the way I was taught to jump-start a car was to always start with the good battery and connect positive first, then negative. Then move on to the bad battery and connect positive first and then the negative, but not actually hook the negative to the battery, just ground it to something metal connected to the frame of the vehicle. I've always done it this way and I've never had any problems.

The first thing I noticed was that he connected his cables to the bad battery first, however I couldn’t see whether he connected positive or negative first. Then he connected the positive lead to the good car’s battery and slowly moved the negative end toward the battery…and that’s when the fun began.

In his defense, his slow negative cable movement may have been caution based, however, his puzzled expression communicated uncertainty.

When the negative cable got about two inches from the negative post on the battery, a spark shot up and he jerked his hand back. Throwing caution to the wind, he tried to quickly connect the cable with the same shocking results.

At this point he’s standing there with stinging hand and stinging pride, as the would-be good Samaritan sits laughing loudly not more than 30 feet away. (Which I’m quite certain he could hear) I tried not to laugh, I really did, but it was quite funny.

Somehow during my laughter he managed to get it hooked up and start the car.

Backing out he shifted his gaze in the direction of my amused grin and we made eye contact for the first time. Chuckling to myself I gave him a nod and a wave to thank him for the great show.

Watching people is a huge source of entertainment for me…see what I mean?

Baby Bug Pictures...

We got her!

Check out Melissa’s new ride. (If I'm good I get to drive it too...on occasion)

She’s a blast to drive, gets great gas mileage and looks cool to boot! Although we’ve been flirting with triple-digit temperatures here in Dallas, we haven’t driven with the top up very much.

Thank you to my father-in-law, for making the deal of the century!

Happy Driving...cause it will be for us!

Please Bug Me!

I wrote here all about getting my new Chevrolet Trailblazer and I mentioned my father-in-law, who I referred to as “possibly the world’s best car shopper.” However, after this week, I feel that I must take the word ‘possibly’ out of that statement.

He and I have spent about a week shopping for a convertible Volkswagen Bug. (Click here to see what we’re looking at) In all honestly, all I’ve had to do is stand there and try not to look like an idiot…a task which shouldn’t be all that hard, but at times taxes my acting ability.

There are only four VW dealers in Dallas and we’ve gone to or talked with each of them multiple times each day. “We’re going to go slow here. They know we’re talking with all the other guys and if they’re hungry enough they’ll keep making us lower bids.” And he was right.

He and I talked about car shopping back before my daughter went to camp and while I’ve been camp shopping and packing, he’s been doing research on VW. We walked in the first dealer and he knew everything there is to know about the VW Beetle. I’m talking about everything from the differences between a package one and a package two, all the way down to the nitpicky trim and tire size things that most dealers have to look up. He had also researched all the financing options that VW offers. He knew all the possible interest rates, rebates and buyer’s incentives that VW offers. I’m telling you he walked in there knowing as much as, if not more than, the average dealer.

That’s one way he gages the integrity of the dealer. He knows in about five minutes if the guy is shooting straight with us. One of the first guys we talked with came back with some interest points that were a point and a half higher than what he had found doing his research and we haven't been back.

We got out of the car at another dealer and he said, “Slow down, make them come to us.” Then he said, “Now I’m going to say some stuff in here that might shock you, but try to just look like it makes sense.” I don’t remember being shocked by anything he said, but percentage points and numbers were flying around like a whirlwind, so I was just sitting there trying not to look like an idiot.

All I know is I’m having the time of my life. I’ll post a picture of the new car when we get it.

It should be any day now!

Waldemar - Here we go again!

She’s gone.

We hugged, we kissed and we waved good-bye as the big white bus pulled out of the parking lot with my little girl onboard.

While we’ll be able to go online and see a pictorial account of the camp’s daily happenings. Complete with the occasional glimpse of our daughter. We won’t get to hug her again until August 6th.

While the hugs lasted longer than usual and the need to be near us was stronger than it normally is, this is her second year…and that makes her a veteran. There really weren’t any tears, at least not while the bus was still in the parking lot. Then mom and grandma had a few, but I think that was expected.

But now I’m back at home and wondering what I should be doing. Melissa has the day off, but her mom took her to a spa for the morning. I’ve already purchased tickets to the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie…but what next?

Could I be bored already?

A Time to Share...

I’m all for sharing. In my line of business you have to be. I’m forever saying, “I’m sure someone at your table will be more than happy to share with you.” And whether it’s a certain color of crayon, an eraser, scissors, or a glue stick, having students who are willing to share makes life in the classroom much, much easier.

However, I have to draw the line somewhere. Don’t I? I mean, you’re more than welcome to borrow my pencils, scissors, or glue sticks. And hey, I’m happy to loan you any and all the tools you need. (And I’ve got a pretty nice collection!) But if you come asking to borrow my clothes…well pal, that’s a whole different bucket of dead frogs.

Not borrowing clothes…I think it’s a guy thing. At least it’s a thing for this guy. Never in my life would I have dared to ask a friend if I could borrow his clothes. Okay sure, I borrowed clothes from Real Live Preacher from time to time. However, he’s my brother and besides, I don’t think he ever knew I had them.

Girls however, the ones I was around growing up, at least the vocal ones, and now my daughter, seem to have no problem loaning clothes.

Maybe it’s a result of needing a different pair of shoes to go with each outfit. Maybe it's a kind of female bonding ritual that I just don't understand. Maybe it's just the way God created the universe. Whatever the reason, girls just seem to enjoy lending and borrowing clothes.

Recently, a friend of my daughter’s called and asked to borrow a pair of shoes. Not only that, but she needed them for church that morning! So we took them to church so she would have shoes to wear with her new outfit.

Maybe my not understanding about sharing clothes stems from the fact that I don’t understand the whole female idea behind buying clothes.

What do I mean, “maybe?” I’m quite sure I don’t.

If you need a new pair of shoes to go with a new outfit, wouldn’t it make sense to buy the shoes you need when you buy the outfit?

Or is it that, when shopping, you only have to know that one of your friends has shoes that match the new outfit?

Whichever mindset is correct, this a whole new world for me. With each new day I learn more and more (sometimes way more than I want to) about being the parent of a teenage girl...and I'm not even there yet!



By the way, does anyone have brown ropers, size 10?

Because I got these new pants and well...

Waldemar...Round 2

I wrote here about sending my daughter to camp for a month last year. It was our first year to send her to camp for more than a week and we spent almost the entire month of June getting her ready for the big adventure. We had lists to make and remake. We had clothes and tons of other camp stuff to buy. That plus all the last minute preparations almost killed me.

So I think you can understand why I wasn’t particularly looking forward to June this year.

However, now that she’s a seasoned veteran, things couldn’t have gone smoother. I guess it’s knowing what to expect that makes all the difference. Combine that with the fact that many of the “last minute” things that seemed to pop up last year were things that we were able to simply pack away and pull out again this year and that makes for a much easier, much less frantic packing experience.

We put her on the bus this Friday and the waters are calm…so far.

I’ll let you know how things turn out.