The Day the Twinkie Died

Flash-forward to autumn of the year 2029.

My daughter has just started her freshman year at Clemson University. One evening her and some friends have decided to go to Oldies Night in the Hendrix Student Center's McKissick Movie Theater for showings of some classic 1980s movies.

Up first is "Ghostbusters", widely recognized as one of the best comedies of all time.

(You and I know this convesation by heart)
     Winston: "Tell him about the Twinkie..."
     Venkman: "What about the Twinkie...?" 
(In case you don't remember the details of the Twinkie, here's a refresher video...)

"Any of y'all know what a Twinkie is ?," asks one of Ashlyn's friends.

Ashlyn eating her first - and probably last ever - Twinkie

Ashlyn responds, "It was some sort of snack cake. My parents have a picture of me eating one when I was little...the day they stopped making them...the day the Twinkie died."

About That Day

Rewind to November 16, 2012. 

I learned about the Twinkie's demise .... the demise of Hostess, an 82-year old company and the manufacturer of some of our nation's most recognized bakery snacks...on Facebook. 

My wife knew about it earlier in the day and posted about it on Facebook. I hadn't scrolled down far enough to see her post when I saw a post from a friend of mine about Hostess' closure and instantly shared it out and commented. We (she and I) have always had a thing for one-upping each other as far as knowing things before the other, so she won out this time.

At first, I didn't really think everybody would go Twinkie crazy. Then it was like the Zombie Apocolypse hit and people started talking on Facebook about going to the store and stocking up on them. Then I started reading more and more posts about people running to the store to get some.

My wife began telling me when she got home from work to go buy some. Finally, after reading even more stuff online, I was like, "Okay. We need to go now. I may never be able to eat another Twinkie again if we don't."
 
Apparently today was the day that Ebay also went nuts. With people selling Twinkies. And any type of Hostess products or memorabilia they had or could get their hands on. 

Our final haul of Hostess stuff

We went to at least 10 convenience or grocery stores. Our only score was a bag of Hostess donuts at Publix and a handful of Hostess products at Dodge's General Store down the road from our house.

After getting home, a choice had to be made. Eat them or frame them? Eat them it was. That the best Twinkie I think I've ever had. It made reflect...

Emotions and Stuff

... I was sad that day. And mad. And nostalgic.

Twinkies have always been in my life. My dad is a fan of them. I'm a fan of them. Although in recent years, I've admittedly developed more of an affinity for Zingers. That's where the sad and nostalgic comes into the story.

The mad part, well that's my political side coming out.

Hostess has been around for 82 years, employing hundreds of thousands of people during that time. They are an icon of capitalism, the American dream, Americana, hard work and determination, and economic vitality - at least until recent years, and a lot of that had to do with unions.

When America's first unions began to establish themselves, there was a genuine reason for that. Working conditions in many industries were absolutely horrible. There hardly were any such things as safety protocols. Company owners and managers could get away with pretty much anything they wanted to at the expense of their workers. 

In their purest, truest sense, unions were a great solution to curb most of those behaviors and practices - while still allowing the business/organization to thrive. 

What we have seen in recent years though (for far too many reasons to name) are companies that have been forced to reorganize or relocate (in many of those cases causing mass layoffs) just in order to survive - or close, as is the case with Hostess. Their closure will result in the loss of an 18,500+ member workforce. 

Another major blow to our economy. When that many people go out of work, it has serious economic repercussions in more ways and in more lives than we can imagine. It affects our entire nation.

I know there's people who will go to the wall for their beliefs in the idea of unions. But I'm just not one of them. Fortunately, South Carolina is a right-to-work state which means you won't find many unions here. They are few and far between. 

Our economic developers will not in most cases even talk to companies who are interested in relocating or expanding to our state if that company has unionized workers. One of the first questions our EDs will ask a company when they express an interest in South Carolina is "Are your workers unionized / are you a union company?"  If the answer is yes, the we will ask "Do you have a transfer clause?"  If a transfer clause exists, that means the union charter allows it to transfer along with the company to another state or location. If the answer is yes, the state will immediately cease talks with them. If the answer is no, we'll invite them over to come check our great state out.

Unfortunately, with the leadership (or lack thereof) in our current administration in Washington DC, we're probably going to see more instances of companies like Hostess having to deal with this type of situation - especially with what's going on with Obamacare coming into full effect and our economy in the shape it is, but that's a discussion for another day and time.

Getting Back to the Story

So I'm sad that the memory of the Twinkie will more or less be lost on the generation of kids that will soon be going through our elementary schools - and for our future generations. They'll never know that original, great taste of a REAL Twinkie instead of that of BlueBird Twinkie knockoffs. (By the way, I'm not an economist by any means... but they are probably in for a huge increase in sales in 2013)

For all you health nuts out there, you can complain about the nutritional detriment of a Twinkie, or a Ho-Ho, or a Ding Dong, or a Snowball, or a Zinger all you want. Go ahead. It doesn't matter to me, and unfortunately it won't matter to Hostess anymore.

So long Twinkie the Kid. It's been great knowing you - we (at least I) wish you weren't riding off into the sunset.

Okra. The Other White Meat

I had to post this while it was on my mind....

Sixth grade. We had just moved to a new town and I had just started at a new school. It was middle school -- one of those periods in your life when being viewed a weirdo isn't exactly what you strive for.

One day, very early on the year, I'm standing in the lunch line and deciding what sides I want with my meal. There's a bowl of chicken nuggets. So, yeah, hey, I wanted some chicken nuggets to go with what I had on my tray.

Fast forward to a couple minutes later, I pick up one of the nuggets, take a bite out of it, and ..... WHAT IS THIS GROSS TASTE?

I take it out of my mouth, look at it, and see green. I'm not sure exactly what I said; I think it was something like, "This is no chicken nugget. It's green." Whatever I commented, it got laughs from the entire table.

In my own defense, how was I to know that what was completely breaded over and from the outside looked like a chicken nugget was actually not a chicken nugget and some kind of fried southern vegetable. I still shudder when I think of that taste. And I still can't eat okra.

Which leads me to....

My daughter absolutely loves okra. I don't get that. And I don't see how with my taste buds' disdain for it, she inherited a love of it. Of course, my wife likes okra. So that's where she gets it. 

Along with her love of cornbread. And for grits. Both of which I hate.

Oh well, I guess I'm raising a Southern girl who loves okra. Totally loves it. She eats it like it's candy. I just watched her devour an entire plate of it.

Yuck. Absolutely, yuck.

To her it's a treat. To me, it will always be the other white meat. That I don't eat.

WOCKA WOCKA WOCKA WOCKA

"Follow the dots, eat the dots. Follow the dots, eat the dots."

"Ooops, turn around, Clyde's on my tail. Here comes Inky...... gotta get ahead, gotta get ahead."

"C'mon dude, move it, move it....."

"Yes, a power pellet! HA HA! Time to eat me some ghosts"

How many times have I said any of the above, I wonder.

How many miles of arcade screen did I drive that little yellow dude, I wonder.

Alot. Many quarters worth. But it has always been fun, whether in it's original form, the super-sized version, or even the Ms. version.

I had Pac Man fever for many years of my youth.

When I was in college, I had an HP-48SX graphic calculator on which I installed Pac Man (along with Joust, Tetris, and a few others).

No matter what computer I have had, I have always had a version of Pac Man on it.

My wife and I were recently in Myrtle Beach for a few days - and the morning we were checking out, as I was on my way to get a luggage cart, I noticed a Pac Man machine in the game room. I just happened to have a couple quarters in my pocket.

So I used them.

The joystick felt the same - like it and my mind instantly connected and became one for the nth time.. Like some sort of arcade Jedi. Use the force Brian, let it guide your Pac Man.

I felt like I was six again. I burned through about a dollars worth of quarters and then wandered on to get the luggage cart, disappointed I was out of change.

I grew up on Pac Man. We used to line up to play it in the arcade at the YMCA where I spent many afternoons of my youth. I listened to the song. I watched the Saturday morning cartoon.

And I celebrated his 30th birthday today. Happy birthday little yellow dude!

Late Night At Bloom, Or, In Other Words "The Coupon Cougar"

It started off as your run of the mill grocery shopping trip for me, although that really depends on what your definition of “grocery shopping” is.

This was a late-night run to Bloom.

My wife sent me to get a few things, too much for the 10 items or less line… but at 11:30 pm, that didn’t really matter as by that time at night most stores have that lined closed anyway.

I had a handful of coupons with me that I was fumbling through as I was making my way through the store.

I know, you’re probably thinking: “A guy with coupons? His wife must have sent them with him.”

That she did.

I wouldn’t describe my wife as a “coupon-aholic” but she keeps a very watchful eye on the sales flyers. We get the Sunday newspaper specifically for the coupons. We generally have more coupons than will comfortably fit in her coupon case. And cutting them all and going through all the sales flyers each week is not an hour you want to spend in our house.

We do this because we’re very cost conscious of groceries, and, as any family, we would like to keep our expenses down.

So getting back to the story….

It was a short grocery list. I didn’t have my wife’s coupon book with me. Ordinarily she would try her best to get me to take it and if I knew I was getting a lot of stuff, I would. But I intended to make this a quick trip with minimal purchases.

I’m walking down one of the aisles as another shopper and I come upon each other.

She looks up and down the shelves, scanning. Her glance turns my way, and she smiles.

“You have coupons!,” she exclaims.

“Ummm… yeah, that’s what these things are alright. Ding ding ding. You win the genius of the night award,” I think.

In reality, I responded something like “…well a few anyway. Just enough to cover some of the items on the list my wife sent me to the store with.”

To which she responds, “Well, you mind if I take a look at them to see if I can give you anything better. And you can look at mine too to see if there’s anything you want?”

Admittedly, the first thought out of my mind was “What is this? Some sort of really bizarre ‘show me yours, I’ll show you mine’ game?”

Not to pass up an opportunity to save a buck, I agreed. She took a quick look through mine and found one she replaced with one of hers that gave me an added 15-cents off that item.

I was kind of in a hurry because for some reason I was feeling really awkward about the situation, so I flipped through her binder real quick, didn’t see anything that struck my fancy, and thanked her.

The woman had two 6-inch binders of coupons. And I thought my wife was a little overboard on couponing.

We said our goodbyes, she smiled again, and we pushed our respective buggies our separate ways.

It was creepy. For some reason, I felt like I was cheating on my coupons with another set of coupons.

I shook it off, saying to myself “that was really, really weird.”

It was one of those things that went back in forth in my mind as I drove home thinking “how exactly do I describe this to my wife when I get home without it sounding wrong in some way?”

So I described to her the weird experience – and we both laughed about it. We ended up calling the lady The Coupon Cougar.

She’s out there somewhere. Waiting to make some other guy feel really awkward, I’m sure. If you’re ever in the Bloom in Greer, SC at 11:30 at night, you just may run into her.

A 30-Year Love Affair

My ears perked up. Sort of like what happens with a dog when they hear something that surprises them or they're trying to identify a sound. As much as they can perk anyway.

My wife gave me a quizzical look. Then I grinned.

"Do you hear it," I said.

"Ummm... what?," she asks.

I tuned my ears for that sound I thought I just heard -- a sound a child falls in love with at an early age while on summer break from school --- just to make sure. Yup, there it was again.

Then my wife heard it and responded, "Is that an ice cream truck?"

"Yes it is!" I exclaimed, as I jumped up and scrambled for some cash.

Where's some cash? No cash. Stupid debit card..... where's some change?

"Honey, where's all our change," I'm screaming through the house like a madman.

She gets up and starts picking coins out of her change box on the dresser.

Impatiently I reach over, grab the box, and turn it upside down as coins rain down into my hand.

"You're crazy," she says as I grin.... "Go get me a Brown Mule ice cream bar"

"OK," I'm yelling as I'm running out of the house to locate the source of the music.

It's already passed our house going up into the cul-de-sac. So I wait. It comes back towards us. Turns up the side road cul-de-sac. And starts coming my way.

And I'm sort of laughing at myself and the situation, but more grinning as they pull up beside me.

I'm sure the neighbors were amused. They may have wondered 'What does this idiot think he is, five years old?"

Frankly, I don't care what they may have thought. The ice cream truck was here.

I was happy. I picked through the coins counting how much I had. Just enough for something for both of us.

She got her ice cream and I got myself an orange pushup. Sweet.

I know I sound like a child, but I have had a 30-year love affair with ice cream trucks. My sister and I both can hear one coming from a mile away. It's just a sound that brings back a lot of memories of "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM, I need some quarters. THE ICE CREAM TRUCK'S COMING!!!!"

Except now it's, "Honey, where's all our freaking change!!!???"

We have an ice cream truck that drives through the campus of the college I work from time to time in spring and even during the summer when the students aren't there. Why when students aren't there, I don't know... I guess they know that I'll give them business if I'm around.

My wife had her first experience with an ice cream truck a few years ago when we were living in an apartment not too far from where we went to college. She lived out in the country growing up; we lived in a neighborhood full of kids that was on the regular route of area trucks. We would assail the truck en-masse, scan the pictures of the treats plastered on the side of the truck with wonder "What do I want, what do I want?" and then fight to get to the window to get our treat.

She never had that experience.

I have always thought of ice cream trucks as a special slice of Americana. As a right of passage for all children. Obviously not everyone has that experience.

The first time she heard the jingle of that magical music, she was like "What is that weird music?"

I had already beat her to the punch -- before she was able to say anything I had leaped all the way across the room to look out the window for an ice cream truck.

I got the same response then as I did the other day -- "you're funny". This all went down on Saturday.

So this evening after getting home from work, I heard the music again. Before it was on our road. Didn't have to look out. I had faith it was turning up our road.

It did. And I had some change ready. And I got a Rocket Pop this time.

I don't know if our neighborhood is a regular stomping ground for this ice cream truck, but if it is I'm really looking forward to the rest of this summer.

An Open Letter To All Interested In Being On The News

I saw a story on one of our local news programs this morning in which a woman was being interviewed who, well, didn't graduate from Harvard University. She didn't exactly look like Cindy Crawford either. And she didn't exactly live in a mansion.

Not that there is anything wrong with not having graduated from Harvard, not looking like Cindy and not living in a mansion. On the contrary. People from all walks of life have many admirable qualities about them.

But some qualities that people exhibit can be quite humorous and, sometimes, even more so, quite embarrassing - especially when you put a TV camera on them.

You know what I'm talking about. Severe weather hits. A major local catasrophe happens. Someone dies. Someone is rescued. Someone wins the lottery. And the TV news just wants the first soundbite that really grabs people's attention.

So they seek.

It's kind of like Star Trek in a way. They seek out new life, and new civilizations - life and civilizations that you didn't realize lived just a few miles away until you see it on TV. Or maybe you know it does - and you either tend to ignore it, pretend it doesn't exist, and/or laugh at it.

Well, I've put together somwhat of a guide for people to use for when they are being interviewed for TV news or think there may be a chance that will happen to them at some point. This document is highly targeted too, specifically at an alarmingly high percentage of South Carolinians, but extending from parts of western Pennsylvania on down the eastern seaboard, around the gulf and down into Texas. So here goes:

Dear Interviewee:

Congratulations on being selected as an interview participant for a story on which we are reporting today. You may be scared or nervous at this point, but rest assured many and most people are in this situation. So we have put together a short guide that we hope will help you through this.

Please keep the following things in mind:

• Don't be nervous. Try not to be yourself. Just remember, probably at least half a million people are going to see this. Don't feel embarrassed - just yet. That hopefully will come after you watch this on the 6 o'clock show tonight.
  
• Unless it actually is, this is not an audition for America's Got Talent. So please don't play the Star Spangled Banner with your armpit or showcase your bottle-blowing abilities just for the sake of showing the reporter than you can do it.
  
• Until you have had an actual freight train come through your living room, you have no basis for comparison as to what that actually sounds or feels like. So don't use that as a basis for comparison until you actually have that happen to you. This rule also applies to describing an experience in terms of a tornado, whether it felt or sounded like one came through the room also - whether before or after the train, or on its own.
• Not everyone knows where Joe Don or Ray Ray's houses are so please don't use them as reference points for establishing directionality or location
• Not every adjective needs to be modified. And please don't speak in metaphor. Ever. It will make you sound like a redneck, although you may already be one. Examples relating directly to this include:
  • "Worser" - This is not a word. Generally speaking things can't get much more worse than they already are.
    
  • "Stupider" - Something or someone can not be any more "stupid" than they already are. There are no degrees of stupid. Stupid just is as stupid does. Dumb, however, is an entirely different case. You, people, things, what have you, can be varying degrees of dumb.
  • "Deader (than a doornail, than roadkill, than.. well, you get the drift)" - When something is dead, it's just dead. Case closed.
    
  • Generally speaking, people will know something was loud when you say it was loud. You don't say it was "louder than en elephant tearing through a buncha trees." Yes there are varying degrees of volume and those are generally covered by "slightly," "moderately," "very," and "extremely." It stands to reason that this rule can also be applied to describing the degree of something's or someone's smell
    
  • When something is gross, you don't say it's "nastier than a diaper fulla poop" - just say that it's gross.
  • "Smarter than the average bear" - Do not say this. The only way this is ever pulled off is if you are Dave Coulier or are a cartoon bear named Yogi.
• The only type of grammatically acceptable usage of the word "dang" is as an exclamation of surprise, i.e. "Dang. I actually just said that."
• I wouldn't recommend referring to past illegal activities or infractions that you and/or somebody you know have committed or participated in and not yet been charged and/or prosecuted for if I were you , even in a comparative sense to the main subject at hand. There are statutes of limitations on many crimes that don't run out after a week.
• Only certain people can pull off wearing a smiley-face t-shirt. You're probably not one of them.
• Not everyone knows what burnt woodchuck smells or tastes like, so don't use it as a comparative reference.
  
• Keep any friends or relatives out of the immediate vicinity from where you are being interviewed who are prone to shout things out like "Hey, watch this!" or "Check this out!"
• Ice is what you get out of the freezer. Ass is what is at the top of your legs. The two are not the same and are not pronounced the same. Please do not say that you are getting some ass cream or people are going to wonder if you have a hemorrhoid issue. And unless someone drove the car over your ass, your car did not just slide on ass. It slid on ice.
• Our television transmissions are sent into outer space. Please don't let the human race down. What you say on TV could convince a highly advanced race of extraterrestrial life that has many technologies that would be usable for eliminating famine, disease, hunger, and war on Earth that it would be unwise for them to make contact with us. Why help out such a backwards race of beings? That shirt you were wearing on TV that says "I love my dog" could make or break that deal for us. They and we don't want to know that you love your dog - especially if you love your dog in unnatural ways.
  
• The reporter generally does not care to be covering this story. They want to go out and cover real news. But while they have to do this assignment, they're looking for someone entertaining, who looks or acts or says things that are totally off-the-wall. Don't give in to the stereotype and act the way they want you to act which you are naturally inclined to anyway. People do judge. It's human nature. It's something we don't want to admit we do, but we do. So try to act like you have some common sense and use your brain.

And please do the following things:

• If you're being interviewed at home, people are going to see your living room or yard (and I do understand sometimes that the two are one in the same) - so take a few minutes to tidy up beforehand. We don't need to see your arsenal of spray cheese or collection of Elvis lawn ornaments.
• Brush your teeth (at least the ones you have left)
• Comb/brush your hair (and please remember the take the rollers out first)
• Guys, please put on a shirt. This also applies to some women. Scary.
• Please put out the cigarette and/or get rid of the chewing tobacco in your mouth.
• Pull up your pants. Nobody wants to see it. This applies to men and women.
  
• Take a minute to break out your handy, dandy Roget's pocket thesaurus to find some new adjectives you've never thought of using. We pretty much went over this one in Bullet #5 in the previous list.
  
• Please don' t talk to someone with food in your mouth. We don't want to see it. Especially partially-devoured pork rinds. Throw out the bubble gum too. We really don't need to see your cow imitation
• Keep your rugrats in check, but don't discipline them on camera. Make sure they know there will be consequences if they act up on camera or in the background, either way. And please put a shirt on them, comb their hair, and take away their toy guns.
  
• Don't be judgmental on camera. Keep your opinions to yourself about other people. You don't want to be considered rude, discriminatory or intolerant whether you are or not.
• Do not refer to the photog and/or reporter as "dude" or "hey man"
  
• And, again, act like you have some common sense and use your brain.

Don't worry. The interview will be over before you know it. We thank you for your participation and look forward to making you look like a fool on TV.

Sincerely,

Your local news team

Thoughts on 35

People always say that turning 30 is a big deal, but 30 didn't really phase me. Let's see... I turned 30 in 2004. W was running for reelection. I was too busy hoping he would be reelected than to even remember now what I did for my 30th birthday.

It was one of those days that was just another day.

My 20s are a blur. Despite the fact I can't remember what I did on my 25th birthday, it was a milestone because I got my auto insurance break. I do remember that on my 21st birthday, my buddy Blake and I went to Applebee's where they burned my steak.

16 and 18 are milestones for anyone, but I can't remember what I did on either birthday - other than became old enough to get my license and then old enough to vote.

What's happening to my memory?

I don't know in another 35 years if I will remember what I did today on my 35th birthday. If Blogspot is still around and this blog is, then I guess I can go back through the archives. That's an interesting picture -- me blogging at age 70. That's if my senility holds.

If I remember this birthday for anything it will be for just feeling old.

My wife and I helped administer the SAT this morning. At one point, I realized that most of the kids there were born in 1992 or 1993. I graduated high school in 1992 and now they're about to do the same this time next year.

I feel old.

The little kindergarten girl whose picture I took with David Beasley in James M. Brown Elementary School's library on the first day of school on my first favorite day of being a newspaper reporter in 1997 could have been one of those students in my classroom today - and is probably excited about next year being her last year of school.

I feel old.

I dare say all the kids in my classroom this morning were born after our first foray into Iraq - after we turned tail and ran home, leaving the job unfinished for another 12 years.

But the world changes. Styles change, cultures change, attitudes change, leadership changes, music changes, technology changes, idols change and seasons change. But the one thing we can always count on is getting older.

As I listened to and took pictures of one of our professors at the college I work at teaching one of his religion courses recently, he asked "Who here can tell me about David Koresh and the Branch Dividians?" The room was silent. I remember the whole Waco thing going down on TV - sitting in the dorm room and watching the news clips of the fire and the entrance into the compound.

I feel old.

There are a few grays here and there. It's a little harder to get up off the ground now. My knees feel it when I get up from standing on them to shoot photos. I don't feel nearly as conscious about wearing my glasses.

I still drive fast though - and I'm as impatient as ever. I don't think even with age either of those qualities will change.

My metabolism has changed. I used to be able to put down a whole pizza plus more. Now I generally stop at about 5 slices.

I get ornery easier. I can't stay awake as late as I used to on a regular basis - I find myself falling asleep to the TV more and more (thanks Dad for that gene). I will actually listen to NPR now. And I don't mind Barry Manilow as much as I did when I was little.

What really bugs me (because it fosters that feeling of being old more than anything) is that they now consider 80s msuic - the music I grew up with - as oldies. Turn to an oldies station now and you've got a mix of Bobby Darin, The Supremes, CCR, and Tears for Fears or Rick Springfield. What is up with that?

I'm now my favorite Jimmy Buffet song - "A Pirate Looks At (or will be in five years) 40". I guess that's not a bad thing. Age brings wisdom. One of the few benefits. I do try to impart some here and there when I have the chance. Not that many people probably care what I have to say. If I wore jeans and a black t-shirt all the time and spoke with a British accent, I could be Simon Cowell. Not many people really care what he thinks. Although he's right a lot more than the other judges.

Nobody likes to think of their own mortality. But hopefully I have at least another 35 years of getting older ahead of me.

OK, now I feel tired from writing all of this -- where's the Geritol?

Is, Was, Thinks, Feels, Wonders, And Possibly Even Says

I realized today that I've let certain things go a little too far....

By that I mean, especially, Facebook. Somewhat, blogging. But mostly Facebook.

There was a time when my friends and I would spend hours on the *cough* Internet... or really a dial-up computer to Clemson-area bulletin boards. The one I distinctly remember was called the Mechanics Garage. I always envisioned these being run out of dark basements, something like the Warlock in the latest Die Hard movie had. Some nerdy dude, with a sinister laugh, doling out Castle Wolfenstein knock-offs, the newest freeware version of Duke Nukem or Barney the Dinosaur plug-ins for Doom. It would take four or five hours to download a 1 Meg file. Such was the life of a computer game geek in the early 1990s.

Then there was Gopher and FTP. Brand-spanking new ways to download even more crappy games and waste more time.

Phase 3 was discovering interactive bulletin boards. I heard about this one called ISCA and decided to check it out. I ended up spending the better part of six years on it before it folded in the early 2000s. At one point, you could get on there and talk to any one of more than 1,000 people. The last time I logged in, there may have been 25 people online.

Along came the World Wide Web. This was cool. When we could get it to work. On the dialup accees to the Engineering VAX, we could run this program called Lynx and read all kinds of cool stuff from around the world. I cited a Department of Defense paper on Hezbollah that I found online in a paper for my Political Terrorism class once and my instructor asked me, "What's this? WWW? How did you access this?"

Then the levee broke. Graphical web browsing. You would hear that someone had gone in and put something called Mosaic on the the third computer over on the fifth desk in the second floor computer lab; or on the fifth computer from the door in the library lab. Massively cool stuff. Trying to get the same stuff on the computer in the apartment was another thing. Dial in to the VAX, start Winsock, initiate your TCP-IP stack, start up a SLIRP connection - I may be missing a step.... and I'm taking a long time to get to the point of this post, so to wrap this paragraph up - I've discovered that my newest computer toy has given me a totally new outlet and new outlook.

A friend of mine from church wrote an interesting article on Facebook a few weeks ago that was published in one of the local weeklies. It was on how she has started to think in terms of status updates.

What's your status?

I am thinking that .... I am going to sleep.... I am frustrated about... I'm wondering when someone is going to...

Ok, yeah. I've started doing that pretty frequently lately. I will see, hear, or experience something that I will then react to with a "that would make for an interesting status update or an interesting blog."

Now I know people who are on Facebook that could care less about getting on it more than once every couple weeks. I know people who spend several combined hours on it throughout the day. Left to boredom, I could probably spend the better part of at least several continuous hours on it.

I have the potential to spend a lot of time on it since I keep up a few Facebook pages for our college -- post photos, update events on them,etc. But I'm usually content for a few minutes on it to skim first thing in the morning, on my lunch break and once I get home from work. Then probably at least a little time at night.

So, again, I'm constantly going over in my mind "What would be a status update that would be funny, or interesting -- what could I say to make people laugh? what could I say to get a reaction out of a particular person?"

I got a Blackberry a few weeks ago that has Internet access. I realize that could potentially be a bad thing. I'm already checking Facebook on it when I get bored waiting on a prescription or pumping gas, situations where there is no real risk of death involved.

Today I was driving down one of our busiest thoroughfares in G-vegas when I noticed a local bank had, programmed into their big LCD along the roadside, a screen that said "Say no to TARP". My first thought was "Awesome! Gotta mention something about that in my Facebook status."

So I reached for my phone -- and then I realized: No, this is bad. I'm reaching for my phone to update my Facebook status while I'm driving. Not good. On various fronts.

I immediately put the phone back. Although once I got to where I was going I broke the phone back out and keyed in a new status before I had the chance to forget to do it.

Not that anyone really cares about what I think about the bailout or about opposition to TARP from an actual bank.

So despite the fact that I may not always be in a position to update my Facebook status, it appears that it's become a new outlet for my creativity to unload at random times.

I probably need to get a new hobby to keep my mind off of letting people know that my mind is on Facebook rather than on going to bed. Maybe I can talk my wife into letting us get a dog. Good luck to me on that though.

Oh, I just forgot. I've got an Atari 2600 emulator in the living room. Maybe if I start spending more time on that, I'll forgot about getting on Facebook so much and letting the world know that I just got a new high score on River Raid. Who knows.

She Had A Long Life

We first noticed the symptoms about a week ago. At first, it was just some minor discoloration. But as the week went on, her color just kept fading. Her energy levels got weaker and weaker.

We could tell she was trying to fight. She wanted to live on. But she had had a long life ..... and it was her time.

Shortly after 8 am on Sunday, Feb. 15, she passed on.

She was a good friend to me who had been there for me all through high school, college, and the first 11 1/2 years of my marriage.

She didn't have a name - up until this past week, when I started referring to her by such phrases as "come on darlin,' you can stick it out a little while longer" or "don't die on me now baby."

My TV of 20 years died this morning as she finally gave up the ghost and left us.

I guess it was her time. Those last couple days we knew the end was near, but we didn't want to admit it.

I'll remember the good times though --- like when I was transfixed by series premiere of Star Trek Voyager on her screen. And the sad times -- when the ending notes displayed on her screen said that Sam never came home on the series finale of Quantum Leap.

You have to figure though that 20 years is a pretty long life for a TV, especially when you don't see too many computers lasting three or four years anymore. All in all, she had a good life.

The guys at the county recycling center will probably think I'm weird when I show up with a television wrapped in a blanket, with a card on it that says, "Goodbye baby. We'll miss you."

So I guess won't do that. I'll just ask that they treat her with a modicum of respect when they take her off to the land of cast off electronic appliances -- the place where televisions, computers, and the like go so that their inner anatomy does not contaminate our environment.

I'll grieve for a day or so. But as with life, I must move on. And I imagine we'll start looking soon for our first flat screen TV, considering that's all they sell now.

O' Christmas Tree

My wife and I went up into the mountains today (well, now, yesterday) in search of a Christmas tree. The whole ride back I was formulating a blog posting about my disdain for popular culture's excuse for Christmas music. I've decided that post will be for another time... but definitely in the next few days.

Right now, that tree is what's on my mind - and not for any good reason, either.

I'll start this off by saying that I should have learned my lesson last year.

The first Christmas my wife and I were together we started a tradition of having a real Christmas tree in the house. We had both grown up with artificial trees, for whatever reason neither of us are certain. So picking out a Christmas tree for us has become a tradition that we look forward to each year.

Up until last year, we would go to the same Christmas tree vendor - a friend of ours from my wife's home church who has his own Christmas tree business. He would always help us pick out a great tree (although one year we got one that thought it was Spring again and started dripping sap all over the presents), recut it, drill it, bale it, and load it on our car.

But last year we went to a "choose and cut" Christmas tree farm in Maggie Valley, NC, picked one out, had it cut, they did the drill, bale and load routine, and we brought it home. Then I found out not only was the bore crooked, but the cut was also.

So I borrowed a friend's drill bit because I didn't have size that I needed, broke out my excuse for a handsaw, and went to work fixing the tree. A hour later, there it stood, in its stand, ready to be decorated.

This year, we went to a different tree farm - figured we'd try a different place. And this one definitely was different.

They had Santa in a little cabin, a lake with fish and ducks, a store, a wreath making department, a (small) fire for roasting marshmallows, a few wooden elves and snowman for children to stick their heads through and get their pictures taken with, about 3 or 4 times as many trees to choose from, a hayride... and about two or three hundred families each with at least two or three kids.

Understandably, I can imagine that all of that compounded on top of the holiday craziness can stress out and distract the people that work there.

Well, we took our hayride to the top, picked out our tree, they tagged it, we rode back down, got some hot cocoa, roasted a couple marshmallows and went to go get our tree and head back home.

They didn't have our tree. We waited - for 45 minutes. They hunted. They didn't have our tree.

Me and our first tree (the one they lost)

Now I can imagine what Clark Griswold would do in a situation like this and it probably wouldn't have been as nice or diplomatic as how I handled it; but I definitely was rather annoyed. I explained we had just driven nearly three hours, we both really liked the tree we had picked out and since they had lost it, we'd like to pick out another. So with what little light was left, we went back up the mountain, found another one, loaded it, and headed home.

Three hours later, I'm hunting down the trusty handsaw and wishing I had that drill bit back. I've been working with one not quite the size I need and it's just not doing the job.

Had I not asked for a discount because of the fact they had lost our first tree, I would have been really, really mad to have paid the full amount only to find out that the cut and the bore in this tree are so crooked you would have thought the Christmas tree farm was run by a bunch of Democratic congressmen.

Needless to say, there's been a lot of unChristmaslike language targeted at the tree in the last two hours. I've got about an inch of the tree mount pin in the tree so it's a balancing act right now.

There's about at least a vaccuum bag's full of needles on the carpet. And I don't know how much sap I just washed off my hands into the sink.

Home Depot is going to be seeing me in the morning. For some lucky drill bit and power saw, they're going to see a new home in the morning. And that tree is going to see the business end of both.

Sidenote: If you've never been to Black Mountain, NC, you need to stop at Berliner Kindl. It's a German restaurant and deli - and they have the best sauer kraut and German potato salad I have ever had.

Welcome to The Husbands' Hangout

Usually when I go with my shopping with my wife it ends up be a very long, tiring experience - one which she tends to enjoy more than I do.

We went to our local mall this evening. It started off being a trip to buy one Hello Kitty themed item - a shirt, a pair of pajamas, something. No, I'm not into Hello Kitty. But my oldest neice is and her birthday is tomorrow.

I figured we'll hit one store, find something, buy it, and be done with it. At the first store we went into we found something my wife liked in minimal time.

Since I have a very 'get in, find the specific item as quickly as possible, buy it, and get out' mentality about shopping I thought "OK, item bought, time to go." Not so much.

Four stores and three hours later of trying to find something "better" (in my wife's opinion), with a brief stop in some gadget store that sells all kinds of cool electronic toys (can't remember the name of it), I start getting dragged into several of the smaller, more obscure children's stores.

At this point, well, frankly alot earlier, I was ready to go. My wife, not so much.

The unfortunate part(s) about our local mall is that it doesn't have any really cool "guy" stores, it doesn't take long to peruse the tool and electronics departments at Sears, and there is no arcade.

Here's the tangent to the story:

When I was little and I heard we were going to the mall, the only thing on my mind was going to the arcade, trying out the new games, and trying to kick my dad's butt at Defender.

Aladdin's Castle was the name of the arcade. And it was the end all, be all of video gaming for all males in the Venango County area of Pennsylvania. My dad and I spent many a quarter (actually, we had to trade our quarters in for tokens before playing) at Aladdin's Castle. Mom would disappear into the mall - sometimes dad with her, sometimes not - and I would immerse myself into a world of barrel throwing monkeys, cotrollable yellow blobs eating little dots, and centipede and millipede erradication.

I miss those video games. They're hard to find, but still so addictive. I actually saw one of my favorites - the Star Wars video game (the one where you get to pilot the X-wing down the trench of the death star) at a local comic book store recently. I asked how much they wanted for it; and needless to say it would take many years to gather enough quarters to purchase it.

OK, back to the main point of the post.

Midway through the second store of the night, I started to hatch an idea. Malls need to do something more for husbands.

My initial thought was to station a TV outside of the entrance to every women's dressing room area. You know, the area where the husbands stand around with an armload of bags, pacing back and forth, waiting on their wives to come out and say "What do you think about this on me" and the only thing you know they're all thinking is "As long as it gets me out the store quicker, it looks fine." The area where sometimes there may be one chair -- and nobody wants to be the one to sit in because you don't want to be a complete wuss in front of the other guys and you want to seem like a gentleman if there happens to be a daughter/child, mother, sister or female friend of someone who is in the dressing room and may want to sit down.

We're guys, we can take it.

Well, having a TV outside of the dressing room would be nice. But here's a better idea. It's called The Husband's Hangout and it's going to be my first business endeavor some time in the future. It will be franchised nationally at ever major shopping mall.

The exact schematics or floorplan, if you will, have yet to be determined, as well as its maximum capacity. But the experience would focus on The Chair.

Now this is not your average, ordinary lounge chair. It comes equipped with an Ipod docking station, wireless internet accessibility, head to toe heating and massage capability, and an integrated control pad that allows you to control.... wait for it...

Your own, individual monitor that swings out from behind the back of the headrest, swivels around, and locks in place at a comfortable distance for your viewing pleasure. The monitor allows you watch movies (you have access through your control to any movie ever released onto video) or any TV channel imaginable, play video games (you have access to any video game ever released), along with some other yet to be determined functionality.

From your lounge chair, you can order what's called Hangout Hospitality, i.e. the equivalent of room service. Have a burger, popcorn, or pizza and/or drink delivered to your chair from the in-facility kitchen.

Along with the yet to be exactly determined number of The Chair in each facility, there would be several foosball tables, air hockey tables, pool tables, several widescreen TVs on which groups of husbands can watch the game(s) of the day, and, yes ---- an old-style arcade, complete with all the best stand up arcade games and pinball games we played as youngsters.

The main rule of The Husband's Hangout:

• Only husbands are allowed in, and, even at that, only those husbands whose wives are currently shopping at that moment in that particular mall, and once their wives are done, they must leave until the next time they return to the mall with their wife

Obviously there are some logistical issues relating to verifying the conditions of the rule.

We don't want just any Joe Husband coming in off the street into the hangout. You can only be there while your wife is shopping at that mall. And we have to watch out for the single guys trying to take advantage of The Hangout's luxuries. Having single guys inside would defeat the purpose of The Hangout.

I guess we would have to implement some sort of membership. There's some other things that will need to be ironed out, but I think that can all be worked out over time before the first location opens.

Things I Would Have Asked During My White House Visit

Barack Obama met with President George W. Bush this week during his first visit to the White House as president-elect.

I can only imagine what an overwhelming, yet electric experience that would be for anyone in such a position. Such a historical event, in such a historical place.

No matter who the person, you have to respect the president, whether outgoing or incoming, the authority and trust they represent, and their role as our commander in chief. And to meet with the president, whether you're a common citizen or the president-elect, is an both an honor and a privilege. You have to be in awe of the White House itself too. It represents our 232 year history (Ok, it's a few years shy of that, itself), has countless stories to be told (and many secrets that we will never know about) and is the residence and office for the most powerful person in the world.

I've never met a president before. I met many presidential candidates and even met George W. Bush once during his 2000 campaign. I got him to autograph an issues publication of his.

That being said, if I were Barack Obama (or any president-elect meeting a sitting president in the White House the first time after the election), there are a still a few questions I would have to ask that probably are not on the typcial list of things to ask:

• Do we really have an alien ship stashed at Area 51?
• Will they let you hook a Playstation or a Wii up to the projection system in the White House theater?
• Have you ever wanted to go off script with a knock-knock joke?
• They do carry chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in the kitchen, right?
• So this button right here, bad.. OK, and this one is for room service?
• Where are all the secret passageways?
• Think they would mind if I played paintball in Rose Garden?
• It's pretty fun to slide down the banister of the main staircase, isn't it?
• Those headphones they give you to listen to at international meetings -- you can plug those up to an Ipod, right?
• Can I issue an Executive Order that all of Congress participate in Dress Up As Your Favorite Star Wars Character Day?
• Have they ever let you go out into the woods with the presidential station wagon in the dead of winter to select and chop down the First Family's Christmas tree?
• Who do I need to to give a 6-month vacation to in order to be able to fly Air Force One for a few minutes?
• What's the best game you've ever bowled in White House bowling alley?
• There's a massager and heating unit built into the big chair in the Oval Office, right?
• Would you really call it an Oval, or more of a Circle or Ellipse?
• Will they let Air Force One buzz the tower at Andrews, or do they always say that the pattern is full?
• Which one of the foreign presidents/national leaders is the most fun to trade humorous email forwards with?
• Think they'll let me take Bill Clinton's picture down and replace it with a big orange Clemson Tiger Paw?

and --- drum roll, please.........................

• Hey, all these flashy screens and buttons in the Situation Room are really cool and make it look like something out of a sci-fi movie - don't you ever want to stroll in dressed as Darth Vader?