Porsche

Friendly Reader:

The tricky thing about Spring in Atlanta is that you're never really sure that it IS Spring in Atlanta. Take yesterday for instance - 30 degrees. Three days before that it was hot pollen and heatstroke. They were selling boiled exotic fish outside the new aquarium. Its like the Weatherman has gone schizophrenic*.

Actually, I know our weatherman personally and he isn't schizophrenic at all. He's a golfer.

I was there when the Weatherman's son wrecked his Porsche. In fact, I provided the buffing compound to attempt scratch removal at 3AM. George held the light for us in the driveway. It was a team effort Porsche-wrecking. We failed in the buffing and thus ended those halcyon days of us in the weatherman's Porsche. I liked my 1978 Bronco better anyway (when it ran). Which was approximately...never. So I guess I showed you, Weatherman!

As I write this I find myself absentmindedly biting my fingernails.

Why do I do that? I know it isn't good for me. Sometimes I think to myself:
"I know it ruins my fingers, people notice, fingernails are dirtier than roaches, and what do you do when you bite it off? Swallow it? Spit it out? Either way somebody in the room is offended and then do I feel bad? What then? Am I self-conscious about it? Should I be? Maybe I should quit."

What it boils down to is this: I really like doing it and I've invested so much effort into it at this point that I think I'm going to keep it up.

Nobody likes a quitter.


JGE


*If you find yourself reading this, think "HEY I'm schizophrenic and you're making fun of me!!!", and contemplate taking some sort of retaliatory action; first ask yourself and yourself what to do about it and if you two can agree on a plan of action - let me know. Until then don't bother me with it. I'm insensitive. There, I said it.

Spandex

So, Mom and Margaret love to ride their bicycles down the Silver Comet Trail. Apparently its relaxing.

I have to admit strapping myself to a metal frame and hurtling down a long concrete ribbon at 20mph sounds about as fun to me as an accidental branding, but hey - whatever.

The point is: they love it.

I guess I can't blame them. It’s a legitimate opportunity to wear spandex in public and not get laughed at, so I'm all for it. I think spandex is the funniest manufactured material in the history of the world. Spandex - a garment that instantly clings to every crevice on your body. Who in the world thought that was a great idea?

"Hey, look at this - if I stretch it 'real tight over my buns you can see the little dimples right through the material!! We'll make millions!"

If I'd have been standing there - all my business partner would have gotten is a stinging smack to the back of the head and a chuckle...And we'd both still be broke. Chalk one up to visionary intellect I guess.

Anyway, the real point is this:

On Tuesday while riding her bike down the trail, Margaret (in spandex) ran over a squirrel….and KILLED IT with her bike. THATHUMP. SQUEEK! She maintains that the squirrel "ran into her bike." I think you all know the truth.

Now THAT is one unlucky squirrel. To be killed by the least dangerous human conveyance in the history of the world has to be some sort of bad squirrel karma. I say he deserved it. Sort of makes all that ridiculous nut storing they do seem sort of pointless, doesn't it? I mean, if you're just going to go out and get killed by a 100lb girl on a Schwinn you definitely don't need to be filling up a hollow tree with acorns.

Anyway, that’s just my thought on it.

Beware anything thats in Spandex and wearing a helmet.

JGE

Small Town Practicality

I recently had lunch with a friend of mine at a little cafe in a small, South Georgia town. We had a wonderful lunch and had a great time catching up before I headed back to work. Our return route took us past the turnoff to her house and as we approached the turn she mentioned that her husband often went home for lunch in the middle of the day.

As we rounded the bend her husband's truck came barrelling across the road out of their driveway and he swung off onto the shoulder as we went by. She waved excitedly and honked her horn as we flew past him.

After we passed, I turned to her and said (facetiously), "Who was that beautiful young blonde sitting on the passenger side of your husband's truck?"

She looked at me and exclaimed, "I don't know, but I sure hope she cleaned my house!!!"

JGE

Observance of the Birthday Month

FRIENDS:

In observance of my birthday month I will be accepting gifts throughout March beginning at noon March 1 and extending through midnight on March 31.

Just FYI to aid you in your gift-giving budgeting and preparation for my birthday month - I prefer useful man toys such as anything with a blade, anything that explodes, anything that you put gasoline in, anything that requires a pump or motor, anything that you shoot, anything camoflauge (mossy oak), or any sort of tool (over $65).

I specifically do not request:

1. a pony
2. anything with a ruffle
3. a cute basket of any kind
4. a poodle
5. curtains
6. socks
7. a scarf
8. anything from banana republic
9. a manicure
10. hair gel
11. a Honda civic
12. a book on relationships
13. those little square sushi plates
14. a large, neon Pabst Blue Ribbon sign (matt)
15. a live tiger
16. a small knapsack
17. any musical score performed by Jewel, Sarah Mclachlan, Barbara Streisand, Dionne Warwick, or John Mayer.
18. anything from the Hello Kitty store
or
19. The Rent soundtrack on cassette

Please also note that anything less than $65 I consider "card wadding" and should be considered appropriate only when accompanied by a gift over $65.


JGE

The Rare and Legendary Kiss-Me-Not

(from earlier in the year)

Friends:

Lets hear it for pleasant surprises!

It turns out this "training facility" is actually one of the top rated golf course resorts in the US.

Apparently the spa is top-notch as well.

Am I a "heated-stone-shiatsu-massage" kind of guy or an "herbal-mudwrap-defoliating-seaweed-body-massage" kind of guy? These are the important questions I find myself pondering today. Have no fear - I am going to transition into some harder emotional problems later in the week. My plan is to attack the deep-seated childhood issues on Thursday like, "Do I prefer to tee off before breakfast or after dinner?" and "Is 6th street in Austin really the best live music scene in the lower 48?"

Stay tuned for my thoughts on "Chocolate-triple-extra-truffle cake vs. Double-overhead-negative-white-chocolate-explosion-torte." I get emotional just thinking about it.

So far the only major negative is that our team facilitator lady bears a frightening resemblance to Danny Devito which I find oddly unsettling.

Also, my all-male training team just lost scattegories because we couldn't name a flower that starts with a "K." (Hey, I'm a guy. I know "rose" and "honeysuckle" and I think you take somebody camelias when they die. Or is that chrisanthemums? And can they be red? I don't know). Anyway, one of the other teams said "Kiss-me-nots" as a flower type and got a point from our bonehead teacher; costing my team the squishy logo ball and a $5 gift certificate to Starbucks. Now, I'm no botanist, but that CAN'T be right. To whom might one give a "kiss-me-not?" They must be the least profitable flora in the universe.

Now that I think about it - they're not such a bad idea. A "Kiss-me-not": the perfect breakup flower. "Heyyyy!!! What a lovely bouquet of…WAIT ARE THOSE KISS-ME-NOTS??? MONTY YOU WOULDN’T!!!"

"That’s right Bertha. We're through."

Kiss me not.

JGE