Miscellaneous Debris

How can I be agile and quick enough to catch a black carry-on bag by the small black handle on the top in a dark escalator while not paying attention and not even fumble it a little, but I can't keep myself from running into the wall when asked a simple question in a well lit hotel lobby?

Once upon a time, some friends of mine bought a Mercury Lynx for 500 smackers. This particular Lynx had a cracked block. We, however, didn't give a damn. After some minor adjustments (a three color spray paint flame job and the addition of six fog lamps hooked into the high beams) we took that bad boy out.

One particular instance of the "Lynx Chronicles" envolves a down hill drive and a guard rail. This example of bruhaha starts as we are driving down the roads of one of the neighborhoods in my town named "Stonemark" or some such nonsense. As we were travelling the well kept roads, a buddy of mine (seated in the front passenger seat) look over at the driver (who, as far as I know, now protects our freedom from rednecks in Columbus, GA [you know who you are]) and says, "I wonder what it's like to hit a guardrail."

The driver of the vehicle replied, "I don't know, let's find out" and proceeded to slam our mode of transportation into the next guardrail.

Now, I don't want to encourage this sort of behavior, but you haven't lived until you've driven (or ridden in) a car as sparks are shooting all over God's Creation behind you. That's one hell of a light show.

Have I ever told you why I believe in ghosts? It's not because of some deep seeded desire to think that there's something after this. It's not because I'm some fatalistic wack job. I don't even believe in psychics (though some stories a friend recently told me about his friend's mom are sort of eerie). It's because I've seen one. Yes, I've seen a ghost with my own two eyes. I wasn't drunk, stoned, or in any other way intoxicated. I saw a ghost. In a graveyard. Well, in a playground right next to a graveyard.

See, it goes like this. In Huntsville the oldest (and probably biggest) cemetery in town is Maple Hill. If you turn down one of the side streets (I've forgotten the name of that street) there will be a playground RIGHT NEXT TO THE GRAVEYARD. Seriously. The two are separated by nothing more than a waist high stone fence. The rumor was that if you went there at night, parked your car in the spaces overlooking the playground, drew a line in the sand in the playground, and then locked yourself in your car eventually you would hear the sounds of children playing, the swings would begin to move and when you got out and checked your line, you would see children's foot prints over and around it. Sorry for the run on sentence there.

Some friends of mine and I decided we would give it a try one night. Lord knows when, I can't remember for the life of me how old I was, but I would say at least 15. Anyway, we got there and a couple of us got volunteered to go draw the line. While we were there some one decided it would be a good idea to tell one of the girls some scary story (evidently involving parked cars and grave yards) and they ran down to us and refused to get back in the car. Since we weren't going to get to try out the rumor, we decided to play around and check out all the creepy crevices that were around (I should have said that the playground was between Maple Hill and an overgrown cliff or something). I wandered slowly, but surely, toward the grave yard. When I noticed that I had gotten close, I turned around and looked back up, past the cars, to the other side of the playground.

That's when I saw it. The name given to the playground by some one, probably kids like us, was "Dead Children's Playground" for obvious reasons. That being said. This ghost was most definitely not childlike in form. I appeared as a gray from of a man. That's the best way to describe it. It was backdropped against the overgrown cliff, there were no lights around, but there was this human shaped thing walking down past the playground toward and eventually down the entrance. I say it was a man simply because of the way it "carried" itself, but I couldn't see any definition.

After I recovered from my shock and just before it had disappeared down the entrance, I called out to it (dumbly thinking it was just some guy messing with us). I noticed a couple of my friends look at it when they took note of what that crazy Brad was yelling at. When it completely ignored me I, and a couple of friends, gave chase. The footchase ended soon since when we got to the entrance way, it had disappeared. It could have gone only two places: back into nowhere and (if it was a real person) the woods because it hadn't been long enough for it too make it to the side road. Not really wanting to believe what we saw, my friends and I launched a manhunt that netted nothing but another sighting. The apparition had managed to get from one side of the playground to the other (through us) without us seeing or hearing it in a matter of a second or so and it was making it's way to the graveyard. It rounded a bend and we didn't see it again despite a two hour hunt through god knows what that grows near dead bodies.

So, the next time some one tries to say that ghosts don't exist, you can say you know someone who has seen one personally. And if they want further proof, they can ask my friends Dana and Brandon, who I'm pretty sure saw it too, what they think about it.

I had this friend (have is more appropriate) who this one time picked me up from county jail. Now, there aren't many friends that will do that. There are fewer who'll bring food when they get you from the slammer. That's just what she did. Of course, she took me straight to work, but that's irrelevant. Thank you, you know who you are and I love you.

I have this other friend who has this problem with . . . well, everything addictive. They are not the same friend. Well, that last descriptor might cover them both, but I'm thinking of another. This friend I have known for what seems like eons. He probably knows me better than I do. Thank you, you know who you are and I love you, too.

I have this, we'll call her, wife that isn't happy wherever we happen to be, doing whatever we happen to be doing, who wants to move. Thank you, you know who you are and can kiss my ass I love you.

I'm sick of fighting everything. It's time for me to consider where to go next and, although I want to move to Italy, it looks like I'm going back down south. Here's the dilemma: Do I a) tell the wife (and my friends) to kiss my ass and go to Italy anyway, b) move to ATL so I can hang out with my best gal friend (regardless of how many times she may or may not have talked some shit about me) and her hotty female friends (whom she seems to attract like flies to sugar, oddly enough), or c) move back to be with my best bud of 6,000 years (regardless of what kind of death shroud that puts on my career)?

I think I'll tell a story. Tomorrow maybe. It's bedtime tonight.

I'll be spending the better part of the next four months in Washington, DC. I was supposed to go earlier this year for a temporary assignment to the office there, but due to bad planning on the part of the people who pay for it, I couldn't go. That's all over now. I will be leaving this Sunday for four fun filled weeks practically all by myself. I can't wait to watch 50 channels of crap every night or, on Thanksgiving, sob like a little girl who got dumped for the head cheerleader because I'll be eating a Stoufer's microwaveable turkey dinner alone. Mmmmm . . . . good times, good times. That's okay though. I keep telling myself that it's good experience and a boost for my job. All that and I get to do it all over again two more times.

Excitement, however, enters the picture at the end of my second stint in DC when, instead of returning to the tundra, I make my way further south to beautiful Las Vegas. I'll get a whole week there before I fly back up here to prepare for my next month long DC segment.

Let's top this bad boy off with my trip to Syracuse, NY in April (also for a month) and I will be at home for about 7 weeks of the next six months. If I still have a wife when I return, I will be very much surprised.

I watched two excellent movies this weekend. The first was Ladykillers starring Tom Hanks. I hadn't heard much about this movie, but it looked funny to me in previews. I laughed so hard I think I ruptured something. It's a definite must see. I also saw the Dawn of the Dead remake. While slow and predictable, it's always refreshing to see a movie like this where the heroes and heroines don't make it. That beats the hell out of the standard issue Hollywood Happily Ever After endings.

Unfortunately, this was the highlight of the week. The only other thing worth mentioning was the "Harvest Ball" that my wife and I attended. It was okay. Nothing to write home about, but it was just a little to "ethnic" for us. One of the main door prizes was a gift certificate for $250 dollars to some place that might as well have been called "Weaves and Extensions Emporium". That wouldn't have done my wife or I too much good. Of course, it also won't do the bald guy who won it much good either.

Tonight we leave to return to the south. For three very boring days, we'll be staying with my parents before leaving for two fun filled nights with our college buddies. Then it's back for an excrutiating few days with the in-laws and an early christmas. Hurray.

The snow held off just long enough for the trick or treating to start before it came down in buckets, if you can make an analogy of snow that way. I can't count how many kids I chuckled at as they all slid and fell in the same spot. If it had been young kids, I would have felt bad, but these all seemed to be the kids that were to old to be out getting candy anyway.

Free advice: If you're married/living with someone: Do not, I repeat do not, share a car. Fork out the extra cash for a beater if you have to. Currently I am the only person in the office and can leave as of ten minutes ago; however, I don't have a ride home. The wife has the car while she's shopping for our impending trip back to the south. Technically I should be here for at least another hour and a half, but if no body is here to see me, is that truly necessary? I don't think so. If I had a car, I could be at home right now drinking a beer and playing poker.

The wife's shopping trip is for Christmas gifts and wedding gifts. We're having to do the Christmas rush a little early since the in-laws think it would be a fantastic idea to have Christmas in the first week of November since we'll be there for the wedding we're buying more crap for. As a consequence, I can't get any work done because she's calling every ten minutes asking if I like this or that as if I can see what she's talking about and care know what to get people. Moral of the story: Don't get married, you'll never be productive at work again.