Ah've jest spent fahv days in Georgia, en now it's goan take me two weeks to git shed of this southern accent agin.
Whahl it wuz good ta see mah family and friends agin, Ah always have to spend some tahm ta lose the drawl after Ah've bin there a spell.
Ah have to stop makin' two syllables out of one-syllable words agin (a doe-er is somethin' ya shut ta keep the draft out), Ah've got ta quit makin' mah "I" sounds as if the doctor has jest tol' me to open wahd, en even at mah best, Ah've never quaht got rid of mah tindincy ta make "en" and "in" sounds ahdentical (which is why we southerners have a tindincy to come up with colorful phrases like "ink pin" so that we can distinguish that item from a "straight pin").
It's hard not to pick the accent back up agin, since most of mah family can tawk the ears off a two-headed billy goat (Ah got to remember to stop usin' them colorful phrases, too), but it's dayum nigh impossible to stop oncet it's back in mah head.
So as soon as Ah'm able to communicate agin without bein' a laughin' stock, Ah'll post somethin' about our trip down south, although it wadn't as bad as the one LiLu had up north.
Ah hope ya'll had a good holiday, whutever that maht've looked lahk, en Ah hope yer New Year's collards and peas are tastier than briars are to a mule.
And bah the way, if yer not southern, don't trah to put own a southern drawl. It jest makes ya sound stoopid.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Dayum
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
20 Years Later
This post is not going to be funny. It may be sappy, sad, self-indulgent and downright melancholy, so if you're looking for funny, you should probably just go on to the next blog. As I've done once or twice before, I'm writing this more for me than for you, so don't blame me if you continue reading beyond this point. Quite frankly, I'm sort of glad that no one can see me as I type this.
You see, today is the 20th anniversary of the death of my father. I remember a time when I couldn't name anything in my life that had happened 20 years ago.
Dad was born in 1920 in the hills of north Georgia. He was raised on a small farm that made most of its income from a large apple orchard and a few dairy cows. His parents gave him a very unusual name, which he never really liked, so that in his adult years he went almost exclusively by his initials. Only his close friends knew his middle (preferred) name, and most people had no idea what his first name was. Only my mother could get away with calling him by name, and that was usually an indication that she was peeved with him about something. If she used both names, we knew there was trouble.
He was not a tall man, by most standards, standing about 5'6" ("soaking wet" as he used to say). My brother and I both towered over him. He had wiry dark hair that never went completely gray, and a deep complexion and brown eyes that displayed his Cherokee roots. He had a booming bass voice that lent itself weekly to the church choir.
For my entire lifetime, he was a deacon at the Baptist church in our town, which he literally helped to build with his own hands. He knew his Bible inside and out, as well as being familiar with The Koran, The Book of Mormon, most apocryphal Christian writings, and other religious texts. He encouraged all of his children toward Christianity, but unlike other Southern Baptists I knew at the time, he also encouraged us to think about things, to question things we didn't understand, to struggle with our beliefs. He didn't develop his own opinions or beliefs lightly. I learned early on that if I went to him with a difference of opinion about something religion-related, then I'd better have done my homework. He had come to his beliefs through years of study, questioning, and consultations with elders, and he could instantly point you to any number of (sometimes obscure) references to back up his opinions. I know that he was disappointed when he saw that my study and questioning of beliefs started to lead me in a direction that was pretty much the opposite of the one he would have liked.
Part of his service to his church was teaching Sunday School to 9-year old boys. He was good at it. He would give quizzes that forced them to do research ("Among the 12 apostles, there were three sets of 2 brothers and one set of 3 brothers, who were they?") and he would occasionally put things out there just to make them think, even if there was no "right" answer ("If young David had so much faith in God when going up against Goliath, why does the Bible tell us explicitly that he picked up five smooth stones?"). I no longer know the answers to those questions, although it seems that I did at one time.
In his non-church life, he was a salesman. He travelled around the city all day every day, calling on clients to whom he sold packaging products. His specialty was the moving industry. Anyone who moved in northern Georgia from the late '60s to the early '80s probably had their things packed in cartons sold by my father. He didn't make a great living, and I would classify my family through most of those years as "lower middle class", but he was able to buy a small house, raise 3 children and have the resources to get us all to college. There was enough for an annual vacation to Florida, and for my brother and I to get clunker cars when we were old enough to drive (my sister wasn't all that interested in driving at the time).
He desperately loved my mother for the 44 years or so that they were married. He spoiled her as best he was able. She kept house, cooked and raised us kids as a good '40s and '50s housewife did. For as long as he lived, they would hold hands when walking together. He kissed her as he left every morning and again on returning home. Their wedding anniversary was always one of the high points of the year for them.
He had a rather unusual sense of humor, delighting in plays on words. He would often tease those closest to him, to the point that my mother would say that he had gone too far and never knew when to stop. He knew a little bit about a lot of things. He was able to chat with me about the sciences when I was majoring in them, and at the same time he could tune up the car with my mechanically-inclined brother. He explained to me the wonders of various plants while strolling in the woods. When the pine borers destroyed all the trees in our back yard, Dad made lemonade from those lemons by grinding the stumps down and planting rose beds where all the trees had been.
He was a very patient man, but he had one or two "hot buttons". When I was a little boy, I once complained that there was nothing on the dinner table that I liked. He pulled me right out of my chair and told me that if I didn't like the food, then I didn't have to eat it, but I was not to complain about it either. It was so uncharacteristic of him that it left me in tears. My older brother later explained to me that, during the Great Depression, there were times when my dad's family of 7 simply didn't have enough to eat and therefore all food was to be appreciated. He would also tolerate nothing below "good" conduct in school. "If you aren't interested in learning, then shut up so you don't bother those who are."
Aside from those two occasions, my father rarely showed any emotion other than happiness. In my entire life, I saw him cry twice: once when his father died and once when he took my brother to the Army induction center at the height of the Vietnam War.
He was a lifelong smoker, starting when he was a young man before everyone realized the dangers. In his late 50s, he had a heart attack that was so minor that he didn't even recognize it for what it was until his next checkup when his doctor detected scar tissue. As time went on, he developed a condition in which his blood vessels began to constrict. The immediate and most noticeable result of this was that not enough blood got to his lungs and he would become winded easily. In December of 1988, he developed a case of bronchitis which constricted his lungs, causing him even more breathing difficulty, and he was hospitalized. He was on the road to recovery and was expected to be home for Christmas when he suddenly took a turn for the worse and, on December 17, 1988, he passed away. I find it somewhat sobering when I realize that I am now only 17 years younger than my father was when he died.
Despite his stature, the minister referred to my father as a "giant" in his eulogy. He was a charter member of the church, a lifelong supporter both financially and personally, well respected, scrupulously honest, highly knowledgeable, and well liked. There were hundreds of church members, coworkers, customers, neighbors, family and friends at his funeral.
In the few years after his death, I began to realize that I had placed my dad on a pretty high pedestal. As I began to notice a bit of tarnish on the image I had constructed in my mind, it made me somewhat uncomfortable. He made mistakes. He was wrong about some things. He could have done some things much better than he did. I struggled with this for some time, until I realized that it was me who wasn't being fair here. I had to allow my father to be the human being that he was, warts and all. He wasn't superhuman. He was a good man, and that's all anyone should really expect of a man. Finally recognizing that fact doesn't mean that I love him any less.
It's been 20 years since I got the phone call. That's almost 40% of my life that I've spent without my father. After 20 years I still think about Dad often.
And it has taken me 20 years to finally arrive at the realization that I will miss him for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Please be assured that I'm not trying to sell you anything
Friday evening, for the third time in two days, I received a call from the Bother You While You're At Home Research Group. For the third time in two days, I summarily hung up on them as soon as they identified themselves. For the first time in two days, I did what any self-respecting geek would do and looked them up on the Internet.
I found their website on the second try (spelling apparently counts), and looked around for some sort of opt-out method. Since none could be found, I went to their "Contact Us" page. The first thing I noticed was that the first e-mail address on there is for the president of the company. Impressive.
So I sent the guy a message. I informed him that I had gotten three calls in two days. I told him that I would never, ever speak to some corporate entity who called me uninvited during my precious leisure time. I asked him, if it was at all possible, to remove my phone number from any and all future calls, suggesting that to do so would save us both time and save him money. Since they already have it anyway, I included my phone number to expedite things.
Imagine my surprise when, within minutes, I got an email message back from him (from his Blackberry, it said) saying that my number would be removed. Impressive. I sent him a "many, many thanks" message.
It was then that I realized something for the very first time. All these polls you read about, all these "scientific" surveys, are only giving you the opinions of people who have nothing better to do with their time than to talk to pollsters.
So 37% of the incredibly lonely people in this country will probably vote in the next election.
62% of all agoraphobics are happy with the way this election turned out.
76% of all nursing home residents are extremely concerned about the economy.
50% of all people with multiple personalities are against the war in Iraq, and 50% aren't. Maybe.
Folks, if you're talking to these people, this is the impression you're making. You've either deluded yourself into thinking that they really care about what you have to say, or that you'd talk to Chia Pets if they didn't keep shriveling up and dying on you.
If your life is so empty that you're willing to take the time to talk to a total stranger about your opinions on things, join a meetup group.
Get a dog. A dog will listen to your opinions for hours, be completely fascinated by you, and will agree with everything you say.
Stand on a street corner and state your opinions out loud for the world to hear. We see this sort of thing all the time in Washington. Anybody who wants to hear what you have to say can stop and listen to you.
But please don't engage pollsters or telemarketers on any level at all. If you do, they're just going to call more people because there's a sliver of hope that it might be effective in some way.
Finally, if all else fails, if worse comes to worse, if you absolutely must spout your opinions no matter how idiotic they may be, write a blog.
Monday, December 15, 2008
My First Trivia Quiz: The Answers
1) In the chorus of Donovan's song "Mellow Yellow", the words "quite right, Slick" are whispered. Who's doing the whispering there?
Paul McCartney
2) Speaking of Donovan, what famous actress is his daughter?
Ione Skye is the daughter of Donovan and model Enid Karl.
3) Speaking of famous daughters, who is Nora Jones' father?
Ms. Jones is the daughter of sitarist and Beatles mentor Ravi Shankar and Sue Jones.
4) What late sixties/early seventies group had 7 platinum albums without ever producing a #1 hit?
Creedence Clearwater Revival.
5) What artist has the most top-10 records for an artist who's never had a #1 hit? (not the same artist as 4)
Bruce Springsteen, although several of his albums were #1 on the charts for weeks.
6) In 1965, The Easybeats had a top-20 hit with "Friday On My Mind". It was the only top-40 hit they ever had. The guitarist for The Easybeats was the brother of two guys in an eighties hard rock group that's still performing today. Who was he and who are his brothers?
George Young was the guitarist for The Easybeats. His younger brothers are Malcolm Young and Angus Young of AC/DC.
7) What's Alice Cooper's real name?
Vincent Furnier.
8) What's David Bowie's real name and why did he change it?
David Jones. He changed his name so as to avoid any confusion with Davy Jones of The Monkees. Like that was possible.
9) What famous novel was the basis of a rock opera written by David Bowie which was never produced because the estate of the author wouldn't grant permission?
George Orwell's 1984. A couple of the songs (1984 and Big Brother) did make it onto Bowie's Diamond Dogs album.
10) What female dance singer was the only artist to produce 4 top-10 hits from an album that didn't even make it to the top 20?
Taylor Dayne. Tell It To My Heart, Prove Your Love, I'll Always Love You, and Don't Rush Me from her self-titled debut album all reached the top 10 on the singles chart, but the album itself peaked at #21.
11) Two songs have reached #1 on the charts, then been off the charts for 12 months or more, and then reached #1 again. What are they? (Hint: One of these is not actually a rock & roll song, but it did make #1 on the pop charts.)
Bing Crosby's White Christmas (December, 1942 and December, 1955) and Chubby Checker's The Twist (August, 1960 and November, 1961). White Christmas is the best-selling Christmas record of all time.
12) Who played the steel guitar on Crosby, Still, Nash & Young's "Teach Your Children"?
Jerry Garcia.
13) Who was the first white group to record for Motown Records?
Rare Earth.
Mr. John and Mr. Taupin were big fans of The Band, in particular member Levon Helm, who played drums, mandolin, guitar, bass and sang.
In The Garden of Eden.
The Beatles (Capitol, Swan, Tollie and Apple). By the way, Yesterday is the most-recorded song of all time. By the late '80s, there were more than 2500 versions of it recorded. I suspect there are even more today.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Not Really TMI
In the early '70s, I went to a Kiss concert at the Omni in Atlanta with my friend Gary and my other friend Gary. Back then, although there were strict rules about what you could and could not bring into a concert venue, nobody checked very closely and it was ridiculously easy to sneak things in that, strictly speaking, were prohibited.
Thus, my friend Gary decided that he would take along his mini-cassette recorder and tape the show for posterity. In 1973, a "mini-cassette" was approximately the size of an unabridged dictionary, but Gary somehow managed to get it into the show under one of the enormous CPO jackets that we were all wearing at the time (I've mentioned before that this was a very ugly decade).
Anyway, this thing was huge, came with a leather cover, and had all the fidelity of a tin can on a string. Since the microphone was built in, it tended to pick up whatever sound was closest to it, which in this case was about 10,000 screaming teenagers. Gary held this thing over his head at arm's length all night. We listened to the tape of the concert later. Since the little built-in mike was completely overloaded, the entire tape came across like a static-filled AM radio station at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It sounded something like this:
SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH and party ev-e-ry SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH lose your mind in Detroit, Rock SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
it's cold gin time again SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Anyway, another advantage of attending rock concerts in the seventies was that the vendors would gleefully sell beer to teenage boys like myself and my friend Gary and my other friend Gary. Suffice to say that we took full advantage of this lapse of judgement.
As the evening drew to a close, Gary decided that it was time for him to retrieve the leather cover for his recorder, which he had earlier stowed under his seat. He searched around under there and came up with a hand covered in blood. Turns out that somebody else (none of us) had decided that it would be a good idea to smuggle a pint of vodka into the concert and perhaps, I don't know, break the bottle under the seat of some unsuspecting concertgoer.
Anyway, Gary had managed to gash his hand wide open on said broken vodka bottle. Fortunately, he was also in such a state that it really wasn't causing him a lot of pain. It was obvious pretty quickly that he was going to need assistance. We stumbled our way up the stairs and found an usher, who led us to a guard, who took us to the medical station, which was back stage. Gary and I are standing (reeling) there watching a nurse clean up Gary's hand and apply butterfly bandages while informing him that he should go for stitches, and just over to our left, 20 feet away, was Kiss finishing up their last encore.
As the show ended, I noticed a short, fat, balding security guard standing at the stage exit. He had his back to us and was holding his arms out and saying, "Stay back! Keep back! Back!"
The thing is, nobody was there. He wasn't holding back a crowd, except maybe in his own mind. He was holding back... nothing. In my state of mind (if it could be called that), I really felt sorry for the guy. I mean, here he is, working late at night, probably at a menial salary, and he has nothing to do, really. I give him credit for trying to make the best of it. So, being the kind and gallant guy that I am, I walked over to where he was and leaned against his outstretched arm. He immediately turned all his attention to me, but kept up the same banter. "BACK! Stay back! Give 'em room! Keep back!" I felt really good about it. I had given the man a purpose in life. How many of us can really say that?
Unfortunately, even then he didn't do a very good job. As Kiss took their final bows and exited the stage, I was able to slap every one of them on the back. I'll never forget what happened next. As I was slapping them all on the back and saying, "Nice show!", Gene Simmons looked over his shoulder and said "UUUuuuuh."
Even after giving his all at a show, covered in sweat, and exhausted, Gene Simmons went to the trouble to look over his shoulder at a young teenage admirer and offer him, "UUUuuuuh."
That's right, those of you who met me at the blogger meetup are one degree of separation from all of the members of Kiss.
OK, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it did make you say "ew".
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
My First Trivia Quiz
I'll be the first to admit that I glean (read: blatantly steal) some of my blog ideas from other blogs. So in the spirit of Trivia Tuesday from Sean's Ramblings, I've decided to do one, and maybe two, trivia quizzes of my own. Since Sean probably has a copyright on "Trivia Tuesday", I'll just call mine "Trivia [InsertDayHere]". It's a little clumsy, but I think it has potential.
I've decided to do the quiz(zes) on things that interest me, of course, so this first one will be on music. You may not be interested. If not, don't play. If you do play, you should bear in mind that this is probably going to be weighted heavily toward my era, the late '60s and early '70s. I may throw in a little later stuff, but don't count on it.
As with Sean's quizzes, I'd appreciate it if you didn't just surf the web to find these answers.
Please feel free to enter your answers in the comments.
Here we go:
1) In the chorus of Donovan's song "Mellow Yellow", the words "quite right, Slick" are whispered. Who's doing the whispering there?
2) Speaking of Donovan, what famous actress is his daughter?
3) Speaking of famous daughters, who is Nora Jones' father?
4) What late sixties/early seventies group had 7 platinum albums without ever producing a #1 hit?
5) What artist has the most top-10 records for an artist who's never had a #1 hit? (not the same artist as 4)
6) In 1965, The Easybeats had a top-20 hit with "Friday On My Mind". It was the only top-40 hit they ever had. The guitarist for The Easybeats was the brother of two guys in an eighties hard rock group that's still performing today. Who was he and who are his brothers?
7) What's Alice Cooper's real name?
8) What's David Bowie's real name and why did he change it?
9) What famous novel was the basis of a rock opera written by David Bowie which was never produced because the estate of the author wouldn't grant permission?
10) What female dance singer was the only artist to produce 4 top-10 hits from an album that didn't even make it to the top 20?
11) Two songs have reached #1 on the charts, then been off the charts for 12 months or more, and then reached #1 again. What are they? (Hint: One of these is not actually a rock & roll song, but it did make #1 on the pop charts.)
12) Who played the steel guitar on Crosby, Still, Nash & Young's "Teach Your Children"?
13) Who was the first white group to record for Motown Records?
14) Where did Elton John & Bernie Taupin come up with the name "Levon"?
15) What garbled lyrics gave us the title "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida"?
16) What singer has had at least one top-10 hit in each of the last five decades, including this one?
17) What song hit #1 in 1964, but wasn't a certified million-seller for another 17 1/2 years?
18) What was the only group to have #1 singles on 4 different labels?
19) What do Harold Melvin & The Bluenotes, Paul Revere & The Raiders, Bo Donaldson & The Heywoods, The Spencer Davis Group and Manfred Mann's Earth Band all have in common?
20) Which duo had more hits than any other duo?
21) What name did Arnold Dorsey record under?
22) Who won the first Grammy in the "Heavy Metal" category? This may surprise you as much as it surprised the members of Metallica, who thought they were a cinch to win.
23) Which #1 hit boasts the longest title of any #1 hit (excluding multiple-song medleys)?
24) With 58 charted hits, 44 top-40 hits, and 26 top-10 hits, who is #3 in all-time hits after Elvis Presley and The Beatles?
25) In the '70s, there was an occasion in which a hit song, the album from which the song came, and the name of the artist were all the same. What was it?
26) What's unique about Led Zeppelin's most famous song, "Stairway To Heaven", among all of their other hits?
There's more, but that should be enough for now. Let's see if there's any response to this at all.
And it's been a long time since I said this, but thanks for reading my blog.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Just Go Inside Already
Friday, December 5, 2008
Facts
These facts come mostly from this past weekend. Feel free to print them out, paste them onto 3X5 cards, and use them as talking points at your next party.
Fact: New Jersey is the most moronic place to drive in the world. I've driven in a lot of places: LA; Boston; New York City; Cozumel, Mexico; Atlanta and other locales, and I can say pretty confidently that whoever laid out the roads, signage and signals in New Jersey was either the Marquis de Sade or Koko the gorilla. Before she could talk. Consider that in many places, one cannot turn left. In order to turn left, you have to turn right, go around a jughandle, wait at a traffic light, and then go straight across the intersection. It doesn't seem to have occurred to the good folks in New Jersey that no other state in the entire country has adopted this inane traffic pattern, and maybe there's some reason for that. That's why the above Wikipedia link specifically says "New Jersey jughandle". Sometimes you have to do a complete 180 via jughandle. You have to drive a mile or so past your destination on the left, turn right, loop around, turn left at the light, and then go back the mile or so to get to where you want to be. Oh, and that light you have to stop at? It's a "delayed green". That means that when it's green for you, it's not green for the oncoming traffic. Do they give you an arrow or any other indication that the light that's facing away from you is still red? Hell no. You just have to know that the traffic is not coming from the other direction and it's safe to turn in front of them. Fortunately, you have approximately 26 picoseconds to figure this out before the car behind you starts blowing its horn and continues it for a quarter mile after you've completed your turn. It's really fortunate that gas is cheap in New Jersey, because that's the only reason I can think of that anyone would stay there.
Fact: People are stupid. Besides the traffic and the 35-degree rain, the cherry on the sundae that was our New Jersey visit was that we got to unexpectedly spend 5 days visiting a loved one in the hospital. As I was heading down to the Au Bon Pain (motto: "Not quite as bland as hospital food") for a snack, an elderly gentleman got on the elevator with me. We were on the top floor. That's important. Being the chivalrous guy that I am, my hand was hovering over the elevator buttons and the conversation went like this:
Gilahi: Where're you headed?
Elderly man: Downstairs.
Fact: Some people are in the wrong job. Or maybe it's the right job, just in the wrong place. Our patient's roommate was a poor little Italian woman who'd had a stroke. I say "poor" not because she'd had a stroke, but because her family, who was with her night and day, was the loudest, most obnoxious group of raving lunatics it has ever been my displeasure to encounter. I'm guessing that, since she survived and was apparently recovering, her stroke wasn't all she had hoped it would be. Anyway, while we're there, the speech therapist pays a visit to tell her about her time in rehab. Remember, the little old lady is Italian and apparently doesn't speak a whole lot of English (and, thanks to her family, no doubt, is somewhat hard of hearing as well). The speech therapist has a heavy Australian accent.
ST: HELLO MRS. P. WE-UH GOIN' TA TAKE YA TO REHAB.
LOL: ?
ST: WE-UH NOT ONLY GOIN' TA WUHK ON YOH WOHKING, WE-UH GOIN' TA WUHK ON YOH SPAITCH AS WELL.
LOL: ?
ST: YOH SPAITCH! WE-UH GOIN' TA HEP YOU SPAKE PROPUHLY AGANE.
At this point I was the one who was LOL. I would hate to be the one to try to decipher Mrs. P's accent in the future.
Fact: You are not allowed to pump your own gas in New Jersey. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as they have teams of the finest trained orangutans in the world to pump your gas for you. When this conversation took place, I had to go to the bathroom so badly that I was sloshing when I walked.
Gilahi: Fill it up with mid-grade, please.
Pumpmonkey: Fill it up?
Gilahi: Yes.
Pumpmonkey: With....?
Gilahi: Mid-grade.
Pumpmonkey: Mid-grade?
Gilahi (pointing at button on pump): 89 octane. This one.
Fact: At least one vineyard in New Jersey makes a surprisingly drinkable cabernet franc. "An insouciant little wine with a taste of blackcurrant and stone fruit on the front and just a hint of petroleum distillate at the end. The thick, foamy head lets you know that this is a wine of quality. If you're suffering from 'travel bloat' from eating out for days on end, this wine can really open up the sluices." And the waitress, ah the waitress.
Waitress: Do youse want ice in this?
Gilahi: In our cabernet franc? No, I don't think so.
Waitress: No, youse two would drink this without ice.
Whatever that means. What followed was a couple of minutes of her trying to decide where on our empty table she should put the bottle down. Eventually my wife picks a blank spot at random and says, "How about right here?" Since the bottle has been doing a Pit and the Pendulum motion for the past thirty seconds or so, it was with some relief that the waitress didn't have to finally make the decision on her own.
Fact: The definition of "clean" can change with your circumstances. When you've packed for a two-day trip that unexpectedly turns into a six-day trip, your choice of clothing can become rather, er, limited. Which is better, a shirt that smells like a Metro stairwell and has a soy sauce stain on it, or a shirt that smells like a zookeeper's heel and doesn't match your least disgusting pair of pants? How far away can you stay from people and not seem rude? If you put on enough deodorant, will it seep into the armpits of your shirt and perhaps stop them from actually decomposing? After you've smelled one pair of socks, how long should you wait for your sinuses to clear before you can tell what the next pair smells like?
Fact: In times of stress, your ideas about your health can sometimes change. We stopped at a Wawa (see "pumping your own gas in NJ", above). I was looking around for something to snack on. They didn't have these, but I really wish they had:
I try to eat right and watch my diet. Wawa sells fresh fruit, salads, water, health drinks, juice, and other stuff that you don't expect to find at convenience stores. Me? I got a fat-laden, sugar coated, Krispy Kreme apple fritter and a 22-ounce fountain Coke. After 6 days and 5 nights of hotels, restaurant food, hospitals, and driving around New Jersey to enjoy all these treats, I really didn't care too much if I went into a sugar coma. And you know what? It was gooooood.
Fact: There's no place like home. Even if you don't have any fresh monkey suckers.
