Dinner with Ping Pong and Dr. Fro

Tom Stack is one smart cookie, some may even consider him to be a genius. The kid can do a rubik's cube in under two minutes, achieved an astronomical score on the SAT's, and graduated from the University of Virginia. Ever since I first started hanging out with him back in high school, I've always been impressed by his intellectual level, but there was one night in the summer of 2004, when ol' Stacker made a not so intelligent decision.

Tom, Shouldice, and I were sitting around playing FIFA at Shoul's house, when Tom made an announcement to the three of us that he had to suddenly leave for dinner. Assuming he was going home to eat dinner with the parental units, the three of us began verbally harassing the young fellow, in a attempt to get him to play some more FIFA and grab some grub somewhere with us. After our brief argument, Tom informed us that he was actually going to Italian Gardens to meet up with some high school friends. Being that we were only one year removed from high school and attended the same high school as Tom we instantly bombarded him with questions until we got him to reveal who exactly Mr. Stack had a dinner date with on this particular evening. He told us that he was supposed to meet up with the lovely couple known as Ping Pong and Dr. Fro so that the wise trio could discuss their dubious adventures studying in the libraries of prestigious universities. Now, it was approaching dinner time, and Shoul, Shouldice, and I are all big fans of pizza, so we did the only appropriate thing. We invited ourselves along. Tom began by countering with every possible rejection to deter our ways, but to no avail, and eventually he settled for a compromise.

Tom's plan was to drive to Italian Gardens separately, acknowledge the presence of Ping Pong and Dr. Fro, and get seated somewhere in the restaurant. At this point, we were supposed to walk in and hope we got the offer to join them, or at least sit in the near vicinity. What Tom didn't realize is that ten minute drive from Sherwood Avenue to Kenilworth Mall, gave three numskull idiot's an opportunity to develop a plan of attack on how to ruin one's dinner. Ping Pong and Dr. Fro were patiently waiting outside when Tom arrived and within a matter of seconds the trio was sitting down at a table with an outside view. Things couldn't have fallen into play more perfectly. Before the waiter could even greet his table, Shouldice was banging on the window pannel, waving away as he packed a huge handful of dirt into his mouth. Shouldice always had some theory about the amount of protein one gets from eating dirt. A few seconds later we were walking into the restaurant as well and acting super surprised to see Tom out to dinner. I think Ping Pong and Dr. Fro were equally as surprised to realize that we even knew their names, their real names were Jon and Jing Jing, and Jon attended Harvard and I believe Jing Jing went to Cornell or some other Ivy League school. Jon always rocked a white man's afro, throw in his specs, and hence the nickname. To be honest, I don't think we were ever truly invited to join the dinner party, but we sorta forced our way in and the rest is history.

With the refreshments now being served, the conversation began to heat up. Jing Jing and Jon wanted to hear all about how Tom's freshman year was, how his fraternity brothers were, and the overall academic life of a Cavalier freshman. The three began talking about engineering and politics, their futures, and other types of things that came across as flat out bore to the three stooges sitting on the other side of the table. It wasn't long before Shouldice and I began debating on whether or not our fake ID's would work in the restaurant, and telling tall tales about the freshman keg parties we attended. At one point Shouldice started to quiz ol' Dr Fro on the women and the part scene at Harvard and Jing Jing seemed not to pleased. Every time Stack would begin telling a story, we would interrupt and ask him if this is the one where he got hammered at the fraternity party and threw up all over the place. With each winding moment, Stack's face became more and more red and it looked more and more like he was about to rein act an old school Gusher's commercial. Eventually a check was dropped and for some reason Ping Pong and Dr. From had no desire for desert, Shouldice said that was alright with him though because there was plenty more dirt in the garden. We paid our respective parts and soon parted ways. I haven't heard from Ping Pong or Dr. Fro since that evening but I heard through the grapevine that is high school friends that they are married now and good for them, I'm sure their kid will be a brain surgeon or something. As for Stack, I miss the ol' son of a gun, he's off doing things down near Virginia Beach and I know he was on smart person probation for awhile after that dinner, and we do probably owe him an apology for that one, but a chance to dine with Ping Pong and Dr. Fro, well I couldn't turn that opportunity down. Plus, Tom has a hot sister. Well, that has nothing to do it, but Allie is pretty hot, and that seemed relevant.

I came across a Sports Illustrated while at the gym today, and sadly it wasn't the swimsuit issue, but it did have a rather interesting article on a guy named Mark Buehrle. The soft throwing lefty, who was apparently the fourth best pitcher on his junior college team, and was cut from his high school team not once, but twice, just accomplished a pretty impressive feat as he was perfect for 45 batters. Pretty good for a guy who barely reaches 90. To make things more interesting, Buehrle is supposedly quite the avid hunter and redneck, and I'm counting down the days till August 13th when I get to go and take a 2hour course at the Loch Raven Skeet and Trap Center so I can obtain my hunting license. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that guy is definitely invited to my birthday party.

The Day I Was Carjacked

Ever since I started this damn blog back in late November, certain people have expressed their desires for me to elaborate on some of my finer moments in life, and by finer moments I mean moments I'd quite frankly rather forget. However, as I sit here tonight, twiddling my thumbs, and texting half of my phone book, I have decided, to venture into one of those stories.

It was the summer of 2006, and I was working for Lawyers Trust Title Company. My job entitled me to travel back and forth between their two office locations in White Marsh and Towson amongst other things. The typical morning would consist of me picking up mail and envelopes from the Towson office, and than traveling eastbound towards Bel Air road. At the time I was driving a 1994 Jeep Cherokee with no CD player, so I typically resorted to listening to the radio on my brief drive down 695. On this particular morning, I happened to catch wind that 695 east was backed up as a result of an accident and therefore, I decided it would be more reasonable to take the back way to work. Till this day, I still curse that radio station and traffic reporter.

So here I am minding my own business, cruising down Taylor Avenue, without a care in the world when my cell phone rings. I immediately reach my hand into my pocket to answer my phone and pull a complete Kyle Boller. I managed to fumble the phone on the transition from pocked to ear and my cell phone is now trapped underneath my seat. I felt it was safe to assume that the phone call was from an employee and it was critical that I returned the call instantaneously, so I simply made a right hand turn and turned off Taylor Avenue onto a side street. I began glancing around underneath my seat trying to locate my cellular device, when I noticed a rather unusual occurrence happening. Two large African American men, where casually climbing into my car as if I had simply pulled over for the sole reason of picking them up from the side of the road. Taking first glance at these two gentlemen, I soon realized that I had never seen them before in my twenty-one years of life. Taking a second glance, I soon realized that the gentleman in the front seat was holding a hand held weapon of the 9mm sort. This gentleman than said "Shut the fuck up, listen to what I say and just drive and you will be alright." At this point, I dropped my cell phone in the center console, made a nonchalant three point turn, and began following his instructions.

After driving for a few moments the shorter,rather pudgier fellow riding in the back seat, made an interesting remark. He began to complain that the guy in the front seat was the only person that would jack a car in the middle of summer without a cd player or air conditioning. At this point, I wanted to explain to him that there were plenty of other options a long the road, but, I decided to stay silent. A few moments later, my cell phone once again begins to ring, it was my work probably attempting to figure out where the hell I was in life, and being that it has become a natural reaction for me to pick up a ringing telephone, I picked up the telephone. Not a smart idea. As soon as I reached for the phone, I was greeted with a five across the eye like none other and was getting yelled out for being a stupid white boy. I dropped the phone and was back to driving silent as piss slowly trickled down my leg. Now, I didn't really piss my pants, but the feeling was undoubtedly there.

Nearly 20 minutes or so have now passed without too much communication in the car. For some odd reason, I never found it important to wonder if these two gentleman would like to turn up the radio and start listening to some tunes. At some point we got to be around Greenmount Avenue in a part of Baltimore City that one really only wants to see when their watching an episode of The Wire. The guy in the passenger seat tells me to turn in the McDonald's, park, and start walking. At this point he decided it was time to ask for my wallet, as well. I obliged to all of his directions, got out of the car, and than watched as he hoped up and pulled away, leaving me stranded in the middle of a Baltimore City ghetto. As I am walking away from the scene of the crime, I noticed that I had become the center of attention. Little kids were pointing at me, drug dealer's were approaching me, and everyone seemed a bit confused as to what this dude wearing plaid shorts and a polo was doing in this part of town at ten in the morning. After walking a few blocks I found a pay phone and called 911. Moments later, I was filling out a police report, and my rather interesting morning was now officially behind me. A police officer escorted me home, and it wasn't long before Corey was on his way to my house to pick me up. By the time he picked me up, my hands were still shaking more than they were if I were holding a royal flush at the final table of the World Series of Poker.

Several days later, I received a telephone call from the Baltimore City police department informing me that my car had been ditched an empty parking lot somewhere in the vicinity of the McDonald's. Making matters worse, they than informed me that I would now have to pay $250 to have my car removed from the impound lot. So as a result of getting carjacked, I got the right to pay the city of Baltimore two hundred and fifty big ones. Sweet life. After picking my car up from the impound, I was pleased to find that the Vault was still in my trunk and the guys who stole my jeep were hospitable enough to leave more than enough rolling papers for me to get through the summer.

Finding Ways to Pass the Time at the Gloryhole

I've been slacking on this whole blog thing a bit lately, I don't know quite why exactly, but three posts through mid-July is simply inexcusable. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that my mind and body took nearly a week to recover from my long weekend down the A.O. The scary thing is I'm not lying when I claim that it took me nearly a full week to recover. Spending four days and three nights with a cast of misfits, led by a man known as the pharmacist can take a toll on one's body. Whether it was the overall lack of sleep that occurred due to a number of late night antics in the bunk bed palace or just the unforgiving serial abuse on my body's vital organs, there was without a doubt a serious price to pay.

You can blame it on the recession or perhaps on the fact that they serve nothing but god-awful American food that would make a health freak vomit in his own mouth, but there hasn't been too much business coming into Glory Days recently. It's become so bad at times that I have resorted to finding unusual forms of entertainment. For some reason, I have been getting quite a kick out of waiting for a rare moment when no one is in the near vicinity of the jukebox and putting in a few George Washington's so that I can possess the power of what is being played over the loudspeakers. The looks amongst the patrons in the restaurant and exuberant curse words that are lashed out in the back kitchen, when Alabama is played until on repeat is truly amazing. The combination of "Song of the South," "Mountain Music," "Fiddle in the Band" and "Dixieland Delight" played back-to-back on repeat does a marvelous job of annoying the living hell out of a lot of people. Eventually though, someone will most likely figure out that I am the only stupid enough to pay to listen to music like that, and I in turn will be lashed out, but until that day, just keep on bringing me my Sweet Potato Pie. As for the recession, I'm not too worried, because we elected ol' Barry into the oval office and as everyone knows, he is our Messiah, and will bring forth change and hope to the country.

At some point yesterday evening, I got bored and when I get bored, trouble usually follows. The trouble that occurred yesterday was Smedium was in town and Zach was bartending at Friday's. There are plenty of things in this world that do not mix well together and one of them is any combination of Smedium, Creech, and myself at Friday's when Zach or Kari are behind the bar. To make matters worse it had been several month's since I spent anytime with my most metro sexual friend and our reunions typically do not run in a smooth and orderly fashion. Zach did however, come up with a well timed zinger as he proudly stated that Smedium is "the most straight pseudo gay guy he has ever met." It was in reference to his baby blue, yellow, and pink watch that looked like something you could purchase from one of those glass containers that make a profit off selling over sized gum balls for a quarter. Despite it's lackluster appearance though, it turns out that the watch had a retail value of 65$ I found this price to be rather interesting, because, well, it was 25 more dollars than the kid spent on his fiancee's engagement ring.

For the first time in my life today, I seriously began debating the possibility of investing in an I-pod. I've gone through the first 24 years of life, perfectly content with listening to music on the radio, and I have never even purchased a compact disc with music already on it. I have spent a dollar here and there to buy blank CD's, so I can make an entirely awesome CD, that will have the average person wanting to stab themselves in the foot with a pitchfork. I think it's the truly unique randomness of the songs I select that drive people over the edge. For some reason most people do not like it when the song changes from "Crazy Game of Poker" by O.A.R. to "DuHast" by Ramnstein to "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" by Kenny Chesney to "It's Tricky" by Run DMC. Maybe, it's just me but I like a little change and variety every once in a while. I know my main man Shouldice is right there with me, but he may be the only one. Anyways, the whole reason I was thinking about investing an a I-Pod is I could quite possibly never feel down and despaired again. All I would have to do is play "Eye of the Tiger," "All Summer Long," and "Sweet Southern Comfort" in succession and I would once again be back to rocking out with my bad self. Even with this in mind though, I may stay away from the investment, I still don't know how to work the little fucking things.


If your gonna play in Texas, you gotta have a fiddle in the band.

TELL ME I WON'T, CUZ I WILL!!!!!

Sadly my highly anticipated summer trip to the A.O. has come to a close, and the whole trip could not have possibly been more fun. Four days and three nights of hanging ten and shredding brakes with what was without a doubt the most wiggin group of people in all of the A.O. miraculously passed without any serious drama or conflict. I could easily spend lots of time rambling on about all of the shenanigans and debauchery that went on, but instead, I will shift my focus to the lovely group of people that made up the trip to Ocean Shitty Oh Nine.

Steve Shaver did what Steve Shaver does best and was simply endlessly entertaining throughout the entire trip. Whether he was straight swashbuckling and making thirty something year old married women walk the plank at Fager's, providing the bunk bed palace with a roast of LSilv that put every roast in history to shame, taking late night bath's in green water, jumping from balcony to balcony, getting his bronze on at the beach, or blowing yayo in the A. O., the man was a complete riot.

Robbie Farr, who was not a part of the original cast, managed to get away from his one bedroom apartment with 6 guys, and was more than welcome to claim residence in our condo every night. Saturday night he took a two minute break from claiming the virginity of five year old's and straight got his smash on in the bunk bed palace. He has since returned to unemployment and being the wet dream of every 16 year old girl in Ocean Shitty.

The pharmacist is without a doubt the most wiggin person in existence. He never left the condo before 6 P.M. and served as a walking medicine cabinet. In the future, if I ever need to buy women's deodorant or cleaning supplies, I now know where to go.

Lisa B provided a distinct service to the Armed Forces. She followed up this distinct service by capturing the attention of half the male population at Seacrets. As a result of her hard work and dedication, she deserves her summer's off.

Julia spent the entire weekend entire weekend picking up creepy men from the bar or in some cases from Coastal Highway on her thirty block walk home. Come Monday, she was still complaining about her inability to impress decent men and her overall lack of sexual activity. She may still be envious of the services offered by Lisa B.

Raven, who also was not part of the original cast, was just flat out stoked to be able to get away from her male roommates who live their lives in Ocean City by watching movies on the regular. On Sunday, she became the only person in history to fail a Breathalyzer at work as a result of too much day drinking, and be offered better means of employment in the same day.

Nicole LoVerde was extremely intrigued by by Steve Shaver's unique vocabulary. She spent her weekend enforcing shots and beer bongs upon any interested consumers.

Bobby provided my condo with some much needed male reinforcement. If it weren't for him, Steve and I may have been run over with too much estrogen. He also played the part of hero as he was the only one willing to enter the marshland to rescue and recover J La's cooler top. However, Sunday night he did lay upon me the worst insult I have ever received in my life. He called me Creech.

Sam Kam quite possibly became my new best friend. As a result, I willingly granted her request to call me "Geilfy."

Elizabeth will one day avoid white trash and have her bachelorette party at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. She shares my aggravation for annoying busted women who choose to announce to all of Ocean City that they found someone pathetic enough to marry them.

Jess proved on the car ride home that she is without a doubt the ultimate creeper and fully deserved to be kicked out of the bunk bed palace on Sunday night. Currently, the Farr/Porrovicchio wedding is being planned, at least in her mind. She also enjoyed being banned for life from Chinese restaurants.

J La was the first to go out of her way to help make the trip a success. Her willingness to drive Steve over the Bay Bridge and straight into Ocean City was much appreciated. She also rocked out in the green water bathtub and took full advantage of Bobby and Booboo's extreme generosity at Fishtale's.

A Dubs arrived at the A.O. way too late and left way too early. Due to her inability to apply sunscreen properly, my back now looks as if I have developed a case of leprosy.

Kevin somehow found a way to make the term "socially awkward" a compliment.

Leigh was the first person to attain trainwreck status on the beach Saturday afternoon. She followed up this performance on Sunday by ordering a monstrous volcano drink at Yang's palace, being partially responsible for Jess' lifetime ban, and by attracting the interest of a 55 year old creeper who bought her split's at Fager's.

Kyle took a lead role in ensuring that the beach crew got at least a bit of athletic activity as he brought out the football for some action on Saturday. He was later honored as Coach of the Year for these actions at Seacret's.

Stef probably won the award for person I talked to the least during the entire weekend. However, she was the first new person to friend me on facebook and as everyone undoubtedly knows, a facebook friend is a friend for life.

LSilv deserves to be thanked for being the only one trusting enough to put her name down on a lease to secure us a spot in the A.O. for an entire weekend and being the only one responsible enough to deal with the leasing office and key distribution. Now, that she has been thanked, she spent her weekend reaching all time highs in being straight raw dizzle by going days on end without showering or brushing her teeth. Currently, she is limping around Bo Brooks with a sprained ankle due to an unsuccessful cannonball into two feet of water in the Assawoman bay.


And that my friends is what shredding brakes and hanging ten in the A.O. is all about.

The Sexy Liberal from Vermont

I spent several hours today scrubbing and closing out files and if you have ever spent several consecutive hours scrubbing files, you would soon realize that it can get quite tedious. After a while my mind began to wander astray and somehow I began to think of a certain female I became associated with during my freshman year at Hofstra. My freshman year at Hofstra was really quite the experience, but if there was anyone there that could bring about some dramatic flair it was without a doubt this particular girl. Now, before I go into some of the finer details of this young lady, I will give you a brief synopsis of my lifestyle at the time.

Shortly after I was enrolled, I was given the contact information of the dude I was going to be living with and was also made aware that I had been place in a suite and would be living with four other dudes as well. The letter strongly insisted that I can contact my to be roommate as did my mother, but I believed that contacting some dude in Philadelphia that I had never spoked to before was odd and went about living my life. The whole summer passed and I never happened to receive a call from an Adam Golder of Philadelphia either. I arrived to my room shortly before Adam, and was instantly informed by the RA of the building that due to an increase in enrollment I would be sharing a room that had been once designed as a single with someone else. Shortly thereafter, Adam and his family arrived and it didn't take long for the parental units to start complaining about the whole situation. Eventually they stopped their whining and got out of our way and it is right here that things started to get a bit interesting. With both of our parental units now set on traveling south, Adam was now set to make his first real remarks. And his exact words were " Look, this room's tiny as shit and if the two of us are gonna live here together and get along I need to know the answer to two questions. Number 1: Do you drink? and number 2: Do you smoke weed?" When I responded yes to both of those questions, Adam was quite pleased, told me to call him Chuck, and said " I got plenty of money, now, let's go find somebody with a car and somebody that knows how to get some booze."
An hour later, with the help of our suite mate Paulo who was on the soccer team, we had found a ride and were walking home with three thirty packs. A few hours later, we were having the biggest party on campus. By the end of the first month, our place had established itself as the third best place for Hofstra students to party only behind two bars that were quite lien ant on fake id's. There was some website where student's could vote on particular things around the campus and one of the polls was where is the best place to party. The first was this bar called McPhebes, the second was a bar called Bogart's, and the place with the third most votes was none other than room 1324 of the New York building.

With each passing day, it seemed that Chuck and I were hosting another party, and meeting more and more people. I felt like I had become well accustomed with everyone in my building rather quickly and it wasn't until I traveled home that I realized there may have been a few people that I missed. We returned to New York rather late, it was probably past midnight, and to no surprise, Chuck had quite the crew gathered in 1324. After pushing my way through the crowd of people, I noticed three particular girls sitting atop of Chuck's bed that quickly caught my fancy. I was even more surprised when I found out that the three girls lived directly across from us and despite all the time that had passed, I hadn't as much as even passed them once in the hall. We had made several attempts to bring their other roommates over, but they were far from the most receptive girls and typically complained about out rowdy behavior.

It didn't take long for one of these girls to make a noticeable impression on me. I don't know if it was simply her stunning good looks or her irresistible charm, but the girl definitely had a certain awe to her. Her name was Tita, well I believe her real name was Alex, but she referred to herself as Tita, and she was definitely not one to avoid social confrontation. It wasn't long before ol' Tita was ripping into me for my so called southern accent, eating meat at every meal, wearing a camouflage hunting cap, and proudly admitting that I would be voting for George W in the 04' election. Tita was a tree loving, vegan, liberal that hailed from Vermont and was on the Howard Dean bandwagon. These type of girls typically tend to avoid socializing with people like myself, but despite our differences she still managed to accept me for what I was and we soon began to see a lot of this girl. With her now a part of our regular weekend activities, we soon found out that after a few alcoholic beverages she had a special knack for falling. A knack for falling so much that not even Julia could compete with this girl.

Things soon became a bit complicated as this young raging confrontational liberal vixen managed to capture the attention of nearly every guy we associated with. Whether it was Jesse, Ron, Reno, Chuck, Myles, myself, or the entire starting defensive line, someone was usually doing their best to try and tame this wild broad, but, alas, none of us ever had any success. Last time I spoke to the girl was when Ross and I made quite possibly the greatest road trip of all time on my spur of the moment decision to make the trip to Long Island. I went with Leslie and Jenna, the other two room mates of Tita's to pick her up from the train station, like myself, she dropped out of Hofstra, and it was the same girl I had become so accustomed to spending time with. It wasn't long before she was ripping into me for my Southern Draw and one she got rumor of my DWI, a whole whirlwind was set off. Several hours and a few bruises later, she was on her way back to the city. Ever since that weekend road trip, I've wondered what kinda antics that crazy girl has gotten herself into.Last I heard she was cocktail waitressing at some bar in Manhattan, so I guess if I ever head up to the Big Apple, and stumble into a bar, which is almost a certainty, and happen to hear a loud collapse to the floor, I may just have to look over my shoulder to find a bunch of guys offering their services to help the girl up.


Note: The girl picture above is not Tita, I just googled sexy Cocktail Waitress and she was the first one to catch my attention.

My Main Man Woody

In my last post I ranted a bit about the atrocity of the kitchen manager at Applebee's. I could continue to divulge on the shortcoming's of this man, but alas, I will cut him some slack, because, all in all he was a decent human being. Instead, I will shift the attention to another kitchen manager, my main man Woody.

I worked with Woody at Bo Brooks and throughout my tenure there I couldn't of been more impressed. The man does a pretty stellar job of running the kitchen and if he were ever selected to go on that god awful reality show where some British chap rips clueless American's a new asshole, I would quite possibly be entwined to break my ban on reality television. I'd like to tune in solely to see Woody deck the lil bastard with a strong right hook when he goes on one of his childish rants and secondly, who wouldn't get a kick out of seeing someone they know on television? At times, I often felt that some of the other servers, especially those who only worked there during the summer, kinda gave the man a bad wrap, specifically those of the more attractive sex. Apparently, if your a smaller member of the female race, you can be quite intimated when a rather large black man is yelling at an obscene rate. There were a few that were even scared to approach the man, when they had an issue, due to his sometimes boisterous nature. As for me, when I address a situation, I like to look into both sides of the story and if anyone were to adequately analyze the situation as to why Woody yelled on a regular basis, they would most certainly adjust their opinions. I will now explain. For starters, one must realize who the man had working under him. His most reliable cook was Anthony, and Anthony can get so god damn annoying at times that even the most reserved of people can be forced to raise their voice. Hell, even I yelled at the guy on a few occasions, and that's just not my nature. I mean I love the guy to death, there were numerous occasions where I would sit around aimlessly to give him a ride back to Hamilton, once I even waited around for over 2 hours and missed out on a sure fire opportunity to get laid, and it didn't even bother me, but damn if the man can't be an annoying son of a bitch at times. I don't know if it's the fact that the motherfucker never stopped smiling, or that he never stopped talking, or that he never stopped hitting on other male employees, but after a while, you just have to tell him to shut the f up. So now, if your working next to him on a regular basis, it would probably cause your skin to boil, and I can imagine that boiling skin, would cause one to lose their temper.

To make matters worse, he had C.J. working under him as well and to be honest, I just never quite understood that man. He was a friendly guy and I was always nothing but pleasant with him, but as soon as he opened his mouth, I became instantly confused. It seemed that nothing meaningful could ever come out of his mouth, he would just talk and talk and talk, and than talk some more, about absolute nonsense. Seriously, there were probably a number of times I conversed with C.J. and just walked away, shaking my head, and muttering under my breath "What in god's name was that man talking about?" And to top things off he had a whole staff of people who couldn't even speak a lick of English. One would ask for dessert and be given potato salad. It was mind boggling. So with this in mind, I want one who was concerned about the tone of Woody's nature, to pause and think for a moment, because if your line of work entitled you to deal with Anthony, C. J., and the whole Hong nation, wouldn't you get a bit frustrated at times? Hell, I even forgot to mention that he had Curlee working under him and that just proves my point to a whole new degree.

In conclusion, I couldn't have been more impressed with the man. Whether he was chasing down criminals who tried to siphon gas from his car, behind the line cooking, or simply raising a storm, it was all meant in good intentions, and when I found out that he read my blog, a shout out was more than merited.

In other news, it is apparent that Julia has developed an eye irritation as a result of her contacts, and will spend the next few weeks, walking around blind. For some reason, she is refusing to wear glasses, and will resort to trusting her natural eyesight, which according to her is far from spectacular. As if things weren't going to get interesting enough when I embark for the A.O. next Friday, now we will have a blind Julia on our hands.

Well, I have a bit more to say, but my television is in the other room, and from the tone of the music, John Jay Rambo is about to be the ultimate badass and wreak havoc on a tiny police crew in the forests of Washington. Peace.