my favorite albums... 80 to 71

Continuing on my own personal list of my all time favorite albums, CDs, records, digital copies and so forth...

Introduction
My 100 to 91st Favorite Albums of All Time
My 90 to 81st Favorite Albums of All Time

80
"The Way That I Am" by Martina McBride (1993)... It was very tempting to go with "The Greatest Hits" from Martina... she's a country icon, one of my favorite voices and let's be honest, very easy on the eyes.  But this, her second album (following "The Time Has Come") is just amazing.  The one negative about any greatest hits compilation is the track lineup... the original albums were arranged for the music to flow perfectly, and in a best-of, its mostly just hit after hit, or in chronological order.  Martina's "Greatest" is an awesome set... but "The Way That I Am" has "Life #9" and "My Baby Loves Me" and the heart wrenching "Where I Used to Have a Heart" and her signature song, "Independence Day"... few times has a woman taking revenge on an abusive husband sounded so doggone awesome.  By far, my favorite track.

79

"Even Worse" by Weird Al Yankovic (1988)... Michael Jackson was always a good sport when it came to Weird Al's parodies, and this takeoff of MJ's "Bad" was no different.  The lead single, "Fat" is hysterical ("the sidewalk cracks... when I fall down... I've got more chins than Chinatown... ham on... ham on whole wheat, alright..."), and the video is even better.  But the jokes keep on coming, including "This Song is Just Six Words Long", a rendition of George Harrison's "I've Got My Mind Set On You" and "I Think I'm a Clone Now", from Tiffany's (and Tommy James & the Shondells) "I Think We're Alone Now"... my favorite is the original "Good Ole Days", a James Taylor'esque look back at the days of yon... "do you remember sweet Michelle, she was my high school romance... she was fun to talk to, and nice to smell, so I took her to the homecoming dance... well, I tied her to a chair and shaved off all her hair, and left her in the desert all alone... well, sometimes in my dreams I can still hear her scream, oh I wonder if she ever made it home... those were the good old days..."

78
"Grease: The Original Soundtrack from the Motion Picture" (1978)... Who doesn't love "Grease"?  Its the kind of film that when you see it on the big screen at special theater shows, you can sing along to everything.  In college, I saw it with a group of friends, and all we did was sing, or at least mouth the words, and do the hand jive during the TV show taping.  If you pick this one up, make sure you get the full album... there is a single disc CD that has the major stuff on it, but there is a 2-disc set that has all of it... you want that.  Its hard to pick a favorite, though... "Hopelessly Devoted To You" is sweet... "Summer Nights" is fun... "You're the One That I Want" is great... and I do love "Sandy", as silly as it is. 

Two thoughts on "Grease", since we are on the subject...

1) You do.not.understand how dirty and innuendo filled "Greased Lightning" is until you get older and are able to understand such things.  Its like "Walk this Way" or "Pour Some Sugar On Me"... nothing but musical sex dressed up with fun phrases that mislead a 12 year old into singing along.

2) This was the cassette I was listening to when I had my first wreck.  I was driving along through Elba, Alabama, not paying attention, singing along to the title song, "Grease", and ran a red light.  I smashed into the side of an Oldsmobile with a couple of brothers in it.  They weren't happy, but I didn't get beat up.  Which was good. 

77

And as a 12 year old boy, how cool is this album cover? I
just don't feel like they do cool album art anymore... its
an afterthought now, in this day and age of mp3s and
iTunes and immediate downloads...

"Hysteria" by Def Leppard (1987)... When I was 12, my brother Shawn had acquired this tape from a friend of his, this band called Def Leppard.  On it was this song that just had hit the radio, "Pour Some Sugar On Me", this sexually charged party anthem that would go on to become an all time classic and a mainstay on rock stations forever.  Again, like in the previous album review, we didn't know the full meaning of the song, we just liked singing "I'm hot, hot, so hot, sticky sweet!" at the top of our lungs.  Anyway, I really liked what I heard... rock like "Armageddon It", whatever the crap that even means... "Rocket" and "Animal" and "Don't Shoot Shotgun"... this album rules.  I mean, they have a one-armed drummer!  My favorite track: "Hysteria"

76
"Sleepless in Seattle" Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (1993)... As the years go on, this movie holds up.  And I think it will be shown on cable and E! and the TV Guide Channel and Hallmark for decades.  Part of the charm of this film, though, is the music.... and to 17 year old me, it was my first real introduction to the likes of Jimmy Durante, Ricky Lee Jones and Nat King Cole.  Every track is gold, no moment is wasted, and everything has its own special place in the movie... my favorite track is hard to choose, but its probably something sing-along-able, like Harry Connick Jr's "A Wink and a Smile" or the classic "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" by Louis Armstrong.

75
"Greatest Hits" by Keith Whitley (1990)... For those who have no idea who Keith Whitley is, you probably know his music... or at least, "When You Say Nothing At All", a song later made even more famous by Alison Krauss.  The late 80s featured Whitley in heavy rotation on a ton of country stations, featuring such now-classics as "Miami, My Amy"... "Don't Close Your Eyes"... and "I'm No Stranger to the Rain".  And that's what made it so sad when on May 9, 1989, he was found dead, face down in his bed, fully clothed, after a weekend of drinking and partying.  The official report was alcohol poisoning, with a blood level of .477--that's equal to 20 1oz shots of 100-proof whiskey.  I'm not a drinker, but that seems to be heckuva lot of the booze.  Like Tupac, Keith Whitley's music was released long after his death.  My favorite cut on the album: "Don't Close Your Eyes"

So... could I be the first person to ever put Tupac Shakur and Keith Whitley in the same sentence?  Maybe.  I hope so.  We all have to have goals.

74
"Cooleyhighharmony" by Boyz II Men (1991)... I love me some Nate, Mike, Shawn and Wanya... no joke.  Its often joked how similar some of their songs are, with the slower pace and the deep voice speaking about "Baby, come back, I know its tough, but I know we can make it" or something like that.  Doesn't matter, though, because Boyz II Men sounded great in all their music. This was their first album, and it was an R&B masterpiece, with "Uhh Ahh", and the song that would end up being the Samson High School 1993 Class Song, "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday"... and of course, the incredibly cool "Motownphilly", which makes you move.

Do they still do class songs?  I wanted ours to be "Forever Young" by Rod Stewart.  Someone else pushed hard for "Free Bird" by Skynyrd.  I'll take "Its So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday", even though it was featured in a funeral scene for a teenage gangbanger in "Lethal Weapon 3".

73

In 1994, any picture with the Friends gang in it was a
picture you wanted to be in.  We don't think about it
much now, but back then, this show was a huge'
cornerstone in so many lives, especially those in
high school and like myself, in college

"Friends Original TV Soundtrack" (1995)... Like the TV Soundtrack to Ally McBeal, this is one that stayed in heavy rotation in my CD player... well, at first my tape player, then my CD player... for a long time.  "Sunshine" by Paul Westerberg became a daily sing along with me, while "Shoe Box" was fun to blare while speeding up Highway 231... plus, Hootie & the Blowfish's "I Go Blind" was awesome, as I am a big fan of Hootie, and I ranked "Good Intentions" by Toad the Wet Sprocket as my 2nd favorite song in all of 1995 (behind "Fantasy" by Mariah Carey. Naturally.)   And to top it off, there were bits of dialogue from some episodes intersparsed between tracks... loved it.  Favorite track is definitely "Good Intentions"

72
"Notting Hill Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (1999)... Let me establish that I frickin' love this movie.  I love it.  I love everything about it.  Currently, it sits as my 15th favorite film of all time... its just wonderful.  Like "Sleepless in Seattle", the music is a big, big part of it.  Its got your typical love song stuff, "You've Got a Way" by Shania Twain and "I Do (cherish you)" by 98 Degrees... there is an Elvis Costello cover of "She" that is pretty great... but there are three that pop out and make this entire albu\m shine--"How Do You Mend a Broken Heart" from The Rev'rn Al Green... the incomparable Bill Withers doing "Ain't No Sunshine... and Steve Winwood leading The Spencer Davis Group, rocking out on "Gimme Some Loving", one of the best party songs in the history of the world.  All three are immaculate tunes.



By the way... the scene when "Ain't No Sunshine" comes in, when Will (Hugh Grant) walks down the street and you see the seasons pass him by as he walks--so underrated as a visual montage.  I mean, just incredible. 

71
"Thriller" by Michael Jackson (1982)... Okay.  Its Michael Jackson.  It's "Thriller".  Its "Billie Jean".  Its "Beat It".  Its "P.Y.T. (pretty young thing)".  Its "Human Nature".  And it's one of the best jams in the history of great jams... "Wanna Be Starting Something".  Nothing else I can say... if you say you like Michael Jackson, you need to either buy, or at least listen to this soon.

So, I rave about it, but why isn't it higher on the list?  Well... because its at 71.  That's how this works.  There are 70 albums I like better than Thriller.  So there.

ALMOST MADE THE CUT

Another soundtrack that I really enjoy is the 1997 "My Best Friend's Wedding" music.  I mean, its fluffy and love-struck, like most rom-coms, but sometimes the guy who puts these things together really outdoes himself.   The opening cut is the signature song from the film, "I Say a Little Prayer (for you)", this version done by Diane King... then the song that opens the movie itself, Ani DiFranco's version of "Wishin and Hopin'"... Jimmy Soul's comical "If You Wanna Be Happy"... and how can you beat Tony Bennett's "The Way You Look Tonight" (okay... Sinatra's is better, but Tony's is pretty good)... and towards the end of the album, you have the cast version of "Say a Little Prayer (for you)", from the famous dinner scene in the movie.  My favorite, though, and one of my all time favorite songs--at least in my Top 50--is Amanda Marshall's ode to letting go of someone you love, called "I'll Be Okay".  Holy crap is this song brutal.  Awesome, but brutal. 

A Random Rebecca Mandolin Sighting

For those of you expecting a full on review of "Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince", let me just tell you that I'm breaking my breaking of the self-imposed rule that says I will wait a few days before reviewing a movie... simply put, I loved the movie, and its my favorite of all the Potter flicks, but there's much more to it... but to properly assess and discuss, I have to discuss the movie and the book, so I figure I'll give a few days for people to see it, so I won't be giving spoilers.

Plus, I had a Rebecca Mandolin Sighting.

The Happiest Place in the Mall is a treasure trove of rekindling, by the way. I've seen dozens of faces that I've not seen in years, sometimes in the double digits. Micke Arant, Jaime Echols, Julie Echols, Jason Howell, Jeremy & Crystal Jones and so on, names that won't mean much to you, Coffee Drinker, but names that each carve out memories and instances, sometimes small, sometimes large, in my years of living.

Zipping around at The Happiest Place in the Mall, as I do on a daily basis, doling out magic for this person and that, providing the best 30 minutes of the day for some lucky guest. This is a special week as its Buy One Get One Free on the plush--come in and purchase a plush animal, be it off of the mountain, or one of the big ones, or the mini bean bag plush or even the soft Princess dolls and you get one free!! (if you think that was plug for our store then... you'd be right)

I'm straightening as I go, of course, and am already banking the little experiences--good and stupid--with guests that make the day so interesting (I'll probably end up writing a second volume to one of my most popular posts, "Happy Times") and I work my way to the backstage door, probably headed back to grab a couple of Mater die cast cars to go on the rack.

There's a young woman kneeling over some Hannah Montana water bottles, her face obscured by the mane of thick hair surrounding her head. I stop... well, I don't stop, I really just slow down long enough to say understandably as I move, "Don't forget, all the Hannah Montana, High School Musical and Camp Rock merchandise is an additional 40% off the red tagged price!" (yes, yes, another plug. what are you waiting for? go get you a Sharpay swimsuit for only $8.99 after discount!)

The young woman freezes for a second, slowly turns her head up to me and says, "d$". My eyes widen, my jaw drops and I utter out, "Mandy Stewart." She leaps up, I gasp and we hug for at least ten, maybe twenty seconds, with both of us sputtering out phrases like "Oh my gosh!" and "So good to see you!" and "I can't believe this!".

There are just some people in this world that just... well, they make you happy. Your hard pressed to find fault with them, you have nothing but thoughts and experiences with them that make you smile, and when you see them again after so long without, its as if for a few minutes, the world is just right. Things make sense. Your friend is here in front of you, and for the next little while, maybe a few sentences worth, maybe an hour over lunch, things are just good. My friend McQ is like this. My buddy Mikey is like this. And so is Rebecca Mandolin.

We met in the fall of 1993--forgive me if you've read this already, I might have told this story in one of the previous 489 posts--in English class. We were sitting close to the end of the long table in Honors Freshman English, being taught by a nice blond lady who had hairy armpits. No seriously. Like, she was married to this Brit, and I guess she felt as if she needed to play the role of Brit Wife (do they do that over there? I thought hairy pits was a French thing?) and she liked to wear sleeveless shirts, and when she lifted up her arms in discussions or animated conversations, whoop there it is. Rebecca Mandolin always had a faceful of it.

I personally thought that she was gorgeous, but I was never attracted to her. Funny how that worked, really, as there were lots of guys who were. Maybe that's why we were such fast friends, because I had no ulterior motive. It did make me look good, though, that I had good looking chick friends. Maybe it was also that we both had small town upbringings, being tossed onto this campus and were just looking for nice people to hang out with. Whatever the reason, d$ and Rebecca Mandolin were friends.

Actually, I was attracted to the blond girl who sat across from Rebecca Mandolin and I, Ginny Kochen from Wisconsin. That's a whole other story for another day, but Ginny and I didn't work out. Discovered that Rebecca Mandolin was roomies with another person I had just met, Miranda Bryant, and then we all got to know and hang out with some other people we met and so on.


d$ and Rebecca Mandolin then, having both just turned 21. This is 1996 at a FH/Alpha Gam. The Lovely Steph Leann made me sell that tie at the yard sale a few weeks ago.

Time goes by, as do friends who suddenly aren't around and become acquaintances instead, or people you barely know who come into your life to become pretty good people to be around and such. Miranda and I were pretty tight for a while, then I became good friends with Labett and Adrienne, then eventually I met my best mate Wookiee and... well, you get the drift. I friend hopped, no sense in denying it, at least until around 1995 or 96, when I got involved in our BCM and actually made some friends I could keep.

But even though we weren't talking every day, even though we weren't around each other all the time, Rebecca Mandolin and I never stopped being friends. She introduced me to this awesome redhead, Allison Hodnett (which also didn't work out, thanks to John Glasscock... again, another story), and encouraged it on while it almost started. We had lunch at Los Pericos in Troy from time to time. She would give me the truth that I didn't want to hear when I was, say, hitting on Greta Gaskin ("Seriously, d$, that was totally a line you gave her... and pretty lame too") or telling me about Indya Lawless ("She asked me about you, d$, and I managed to get her number for you") or letting me know I blew it with Rebecca Miller ("You know, you need a divine do-over, really") and sometimes, she would do her own confiding in me about her own set of romantic issues ("Yeah, so... here's what happened... and I feel pretty stupid about all of this. What do you think, d$?").

We both rushed about the same time, Rebecca Mandolin headed towards Alpha Gamma Delta, and I toward FarmHouse, and we would catch up with each other over Fraternity/Sorority gatherings, or pledge swaps or Greek Week, always with a big hug and a big smile.

Eventually, she found her boo, a big gruff guy named Peter who played baseball. Somehow, someway, that final year of Troy State for both of us, we moved different directions and missed each other somehow.

I found Rebecca Mandolin's email address, and contacted her around, I dunno, 2000 or so, and she responded, and again, we lost touch. Finally, she joined the rest of the free world and got on Facebook earlier this year, and I was excited about it, leaving her a wall post that simply said, "Its about time". She responded with, "I am technologically challenged. I had not checked my hotmail for 2 months. I had 500 messages. It is so good to hear from you (slightly less good to see those pictures, although the formal picture is priceless)."

And after that, didn't hear from her again. Not that I tried much, mind you, I'm not stalking out Rebecca Mandolin, but I never saw her online, so we never got around to chatting about anything.

And then today... here she was. She laughed, ruffled the side of my head with her fingers and said, "Oh goodness, look at all the grey you've collected." She introduced me to her son, who is like, 8, and her daughter is 5, and running all over the store. Her husband Peter shook my hand and nodded, then walked back to the front of the store in a typical, "Okay, I'm done, I'm ready to get out of here" fashion.

We stood for about five minutes and discussed the old days, with me bringing up a few names that made her laugh and shudder and she doing the same for me. I gushed about The Lovely Steph Leann, and we discussed kids and when we'll get our own. I gave her this web address and my email, and told her she had no excuse not to find me, and even that The Lovely Steph Leann and I would be in her neck of the woods in August, and a Sunday lunch before we head home is in the realm of possibilities.

To be truthful, I might live to be 84 years of age, and I may see Rebecca Mandolin once, maybe twice more ever... or we might become friends again, at least, virtually anyway. I always long for people from my old days to meet people from my current, notably The Lovely Steph Leann, if only to show to the old friends how far I've come and how wonderful I have it, and to show The Lovely Steph Leann a glimpse into what I used to be and a small glance of how I became what I did. And maybe they will meet, who knows.


Here's us in 2009, both on the cusp of 34. Personally, I could stand to be a little thinner, perhaps like the earlier pic, but I think she's never looked better.

Here's to you, Rebecca Mandolin, for making my day, and here's to hoping you make another.

Someone called Rebecca Mandolin once by mistake, thinking that was her full name. I think its actually "Reba Mandy" or something country like that... she is from Talladega... anyway, I took to calling her that, just like she called me "Young David" for the longest time, even though I'm a month older than she.

Samson Blog Part III: High School Highs... and Lows

Thanks for coming back--I've already stopped off in Troy, visited Jennifer, run into a few old faces that I recognized and now its time to run into another, and re-visit the school that taught me how to... well, do whatever it is that high schools teach. Previous posts include...

Samson Blog Part I: "...Knee High to a Puddle Duck"
Samson Blog Part II: Tammy Ward & the Library Books

PART III... HIGH SCHOOL HIGHS.. and lows


The brick sign that wasn't there when I was there

Back when I was in school, there was a middle school and a high school, though the lines between the two were very blurred. The building on the south part of the school was primarily junior high (at what point did they stop being called junior high and start only going as “middle school”? Is “junior high” a bad thing? Really?) leaving the north part as the high school, but the ball field was shared by both, the small business building in the middle was shared by both, the recess yard was shared by both…. Really, it was all one big school, 6th grade through 12th. Maybe 600 students. Might be more, might be less.

Some number of years ago, though, they built a new Middle School and placed it next to Samson Elementary, which was building in 1984. I only know this because I moved there in 4th grade, and it was just opened the previous month. We couldn’t lean on the walls, it was so new. Imagine telling a bunch of 9 year olds you can’t lean on the walls. Right.



With the middle school gone, Samson High School truly is just a high school. As I walked onto Broad Street, I noticed that a couple of the buildings where there, and a few were now gone… I can only guess they were gutted and torn down, probably a good thing. I walked onto the sidewalk that runs in front of the entire school, walking slowly to observe. Another teacher had just come out of one of the buildings, and said, “Can I help you with something?” I smiled and said, “No, thanks. I’m an alumnus, and I’m just checking out the school.” I added with a grin, “I thought it best to wait until all the students were out, so as not to be that creepy guy wandering around the campus.” She smiled and said, “Good idea.”

I stopped in front of the Samson High sign to snap a few pictures, and noticed a familiar face up ahead. She was with a young boy, and she moved between a furniture delivery truck and another group of people. I slowly made my way past the group, snapping more photos of the surrounding school monuments and scenery, but kept glancing up at her. Is that…? I mean, could that be…?

She said something to the group, they all chuckled, and she led the boy inside the school doors. I followed her, but when I went inside, she had already disappeared into the next set of double doors. Another teacher was there, looked up and asked, “Can I help you, sir?” I stopped, not taking my eyes off of the door, pointed and said, “Was that Renee?” She smiled and said, “Yes! Go through these doors and take a right. Mrs. Adams is on the left, you’ll see her door.”

Mrs. Adams? I thanked the kind lady and went through the doors. The school, for all its differences, still had the same look in the hallway. The floor was different, the lockers were bigger, the paint was newer, but this… this was Samson High School. I walked toward the first door, and saw the placard that said “Mrs. R. ADAMS”. I stared at the door for a minute, and then thought, “Holy crap, she’s a teacher.”

“So, uh, you got your name on the door and everything, huh? Think your somebody?” I asked, as I stood in the doorway, pointing toward the sign. Renee Carroll looked up from her desk, glared at me for a few seconds, then her face brightened. “Oh my gosh… d$!” she stood up, ran over to me and gave me a big hug.

Renee Carroll and I go way back, to… 1991? She was an 8th grader, I was a senior, and her step-father, Steve, worked as an excellent cook at The Wright Place Restaurant. Her mom, Carlene, also worked there for a time, and Renee washed dishes and helped out too. She had a crush on me. I don’t say that in vain, or in an arrogant assumption, I say that because she told me so. And as gently as I could, I told her I wasn’t interested in her. She didn’t talk to me for a month. I also remember she was obsessed with country group Alabama.

She looked great, her son Ryan is now 7 (or was it 9?), and she’s a teacher now at Samson High School. She has been teaching there for a while now, teaching all subjects to all grades at this point. Renee told me that there were plans for a memorial garden to be built behind the main school building, right outside her window, in honor of the victims of March 10th. We chatted a while longer, what I’d been up to, teachers that had come and gone (Mrs. Hutchison is retiring, it seems!) and who was still there. Mrs. Danley was still there. A few others had gone. Some had died.

We discussed Samson, how it was different, how it was the same, and Renee said the most amazing thing was that when she came back to teach, she went into the lunchroom… and it was so small! “I remember it being so much bigger, and now, it’s like, tiny. It was bizarre.”

It was great talking to her for a little while, and finally, we said our goodbyes. Who knows if and when I’ll see Renee Carroll Adams again? Hopefully soon.

I left the classroom, and as I rounded the corner, I locked eyes with Mrs. Danley. On her face was the now-familiar “Is that…?” expression, but I didn’t stop. I smiled and kept walking, right on out the back door of the main building, finding myself in front of the lunchroom. And as I peered into the window (it was locked), I could see a few new additions, notably a big cooler that said “DASANI” on it. But the big tiger painted on the wall was still there. And Renee was right… it was tiny. Did I really sit and have milk carton drink-offs with Chad Ward and Greg Avant right there? Unbelievably so. And there, on the opposite outside door of the lunchroom is the area that the freshman girls congregated—Chris McCall’s obsession Andrea Foreman, my first slow dance ever Angiejay (in this very lunchroom, by the way, but more on her in a minute), Manda Donaldson, Jennifer Herndon (yes, that one) and Stephanie Sheffield.

That slow dance was weird. It was, in fact, with Angiejay, who agreed to be my homecoming dance date, then bowed out because word spread all over school that we were going out. We danced to “Wanted” by Alan Jackson, and looking back, I think she did so because she felt obliged to do so, not because she wanted to. We were dancing close to Ryan Frary and Stephanie Sheffield, who were going out at the time, and Ryan leaned over and yanked my hand down to Angiejay’s bum. Luckily, I yanked it back in time to save the embarrassment, and though Stephanie smacked him, Ryan thought it was hilarious. Looking back, I do too.

Laughing to myself as I remember this monumental moment, I went down the sidewalk through the campus, passing the gymnasium, home of the 2 time defending girl’s basketball team, the Lady Tigers. The further I walk, though, the more I realize that yes, there is a new high school building… but most everything else on the grounds is exactly the same. I walk between the science building, where Mr. Holmes tried in vain to teach me Physics and Chemistry, and the Ag/Home Ec building, where I won top grade prizes for like, four straight terms…. In Home Ec, not Ag.

I stopped at the bandroom, and boy those memories came back as well. Renee told me that the last time the band was really, really strong was when we were in school. When I was a sophomore, we were 70+ strong, 6th through 12th grade, but over the years, the band has dwindled. It’s had it shares of highs and lows, but right now it was at a low point. Sad, really. The Blue and Gold rocked back in the day.


It was on those railings on the sidewalk leading to the door on the right that, in October of 1992, I waited outside for Angiejay, after the Homecoming Ballgame. She said already said yes a few nights ago. Then she sent someone (Tracy Lassiter?) out to tell me that "she would just meet me there". I was crushed. Am I still bitter? Not at all, it was 17 years ago, but its still fun to talk about. And the fact she rejected me on Facebook last year makes it all the more fun. Hence, the decision to make Angie Jay a villian in the book. Ha!

The tennis courts sat across the street. Samson was always too small to have a tennis team, but we did have courts. During my sophomore year, I became infatuated with Jennifer Capriati, a young tennis star, so I bought myself a 18 dollar racket (a huge sum when you are 15) and taught myself how to play tennis. Over the course of that year, I lost about 30 pounds, gained much leg strength and went through two pairs of tennis shoes—wore a hole slap into the soles of them. See, our court wasn’t grass, or clay or even a regular hard court, our court was asphalt and gravel. And there was a big sand pit right in the middle that you would slide through if you weren’t careful. The back fence was about four feet from the back baseline, so there was lots of slamming into the chain links, and the net was such that you had to hook it back onto the posts when you played. Sometimes the ball would go through the gap between the netting and the white border, so you had to argue over whether it was actually a Let or not. (you can read more of this, and some of the same, in a post from June 2006 called "Game Set Match", if you feel so inclined)

By my junior year, there were lots of people playing. I’d like to think I was at least partly responsible for the tennis resurgence from 1991 to 1993. Names like Ryan Hutchison, Juice Williams, Jason Lambert, Wade Rials, Bren Finch, and of course, Ryan Frary and myself—the Federer and Nadal of our day. For two years, we were gods of the court. Every single day, until the light was gone, and even then sometimes into the night, using the one single yellow light that shone on half the court. The summer between my junior and senior year, I collected $5 from 16 court regulars, bought some paint, went out in the hot July sun and painted lines on the court. Then we had ourselves a tennis tournament. And it was a beautiful thing.


You can barely see the yellow of the lines that were painted all those years ago. Some of the weeds might be the exact same, though. But this is the court we played on.

Now? The lines are faded away. The dirt is piled high in various parts of the court, the fence has bigger holes in it than before, the weeds grow tall through the asphalt, the post has an old plastic cup on top of it, and the net is nowhere to be found. Doesn’t matter, though, because where the net would go is taken up by a big greenhouse nursery sitting smack in the middle of the court. A messily handwritten note on the door of the greenhouse said, “If you need plants, call…”


The abomination that sits on our courts. Ryan (can't remember if it was Frary or Hutchison) and I actually scheduled a meeting and went to the mayor, asking for the council to look at devoting some money to renovate the tennis courts. There were only three courts and a few thousand tax dollars would be all that was needed to put up new nets, fix the light(s) and give it a light touch-up. They rejected us out of hand.

Sighing, and a piece of my soul now dead on that court with the knowledge that there would probably never be another Snuff City Invitational Tennis Classic, I walked back to the campus, and entered the football stadium. It was here on this very field that I graduated high school, coming now upon 16 years ago. They put in metal bleachers sometime around my junior year, maybe a year earlier, but that’s just for the home side. The visitors still have the old concrete bleachers, and they still look exactly the same.

I walk around the football field, past the concession stand that sits boarded up for the offseason, and just take it all in. Lots of memories here too. Marching saxophone in the band, chomping on stadium burgers and $1 M&M bags, sitting with Jason Howell and ALL of the guys admired Claudia Sorrells was in her majorette uniform, enjoying those late October/ early November Friday nights when the temperature is around 45 degrees… is there anything better than high school football in cold temperatures? Sipping on watered down hot chocolate that burns your tongue?

The grass is about six inches too high now, this being the offseason and daily care not necessary. Its Alva Hawke Stadium, though I have yet to figure out who Alva Hawke is. And I still don’t know the alma mater song, though I can reel off that fight song. Or could, at one time. There is a ton of junk piled under the bleachers—stadium lights, wood, trash, a small hauling trailer—and it just looks messy. I smile as I stand next to the chain link fence, a fence that 16 years ago I stood next to, wearing a hot blue uniform with a poofy feather thing jutting out of my hat, holding an alto saxophone, joking with Jason Howell and Kelli White, close to Chris McCall who kept stealing glances at Andrea Foreman, all while I was stealing glances at majorettes, while Jason stole glances--who am I kidding, he just plain stared--at Kelli White, all of us awaiting marching orders from drum major Tonya Windham, and wondering if I would actually keep in step this time around, and knowing the answer would be, probably not. But that’s okay. We marched on.

I haven’t picked up an alto saxophone in at least five years, and then it was only once. Before that, it was high school band. I've thought about picking it up again, memories of Kenny G songs still flowing through me head... I could actually play "Songbird" at one time. But, alas, I've also thought about learning how to play the mandolin I've owned for 8 years, and that hasn't happened either...

I stared out into the football field a while longer, making verbal notes into my voice recorder, discussing my own characters that are dancing around in my head and how a football field might come into play when Peter and Barrow are discussing what to do for homecoming. But that’s later, I think. I decided it was time to go, enough nostalgia for one day had been accomplished.

I walk back down the same sidewalk, pausing for a moment from talking into my voice recorder as an older gentlemen walked by. No sense in sounding stupid. Er. I make another walk around the school, out onto the front lawn and back down Broad, then Farmer Street. A few blocks later, I was back in my own home, sitting and talking with my dear mother again.

She’s addicted to judge shows…. She doesn’t care for Judge Judy, but Judge Judy comes on between Judge Joe Brown and some other judge, so she doesn’t bother to change the channel, she just sits and complains about how much she doesn’t like Judge Judy. Love my mom.

It's around 4pm, and I'm getting hungry. I've got an hour before dinner, though, one that should be fun. I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friends, and shake their hands.  I hope the Pea River is as blueish green as it has been in my dreams.

I hope.

And finally, the last part of The Samson Blog... Memories in a BBQ Dive

A Quiet Time with a Man of God

What a gorgeous day. You know how sometimes you want to roll the window down, feel the air coming in as you drive, but either its a bit too chilly, or its just too hot, even traveling at 40, 50+ miles per hour, so you end up rolling the window back up, and you have to pipe down the radio, because you had it blaring--blaring out because your windows were down, right?

Today was the kind of day that you could roll down the window and drive, the air felt treeeeemendously awesome and the CD playing could blast away. My CD of choice? "Cracked Rear View" by Hootie & the Blowfish. Normally, I use my iPod, but with the car dock, sometimes its all staticky, and I wanted to feel the air rushing around my head, even in my ears, so I had to dispense with the earbuds...

Hence, an actual CD in my car stereo. And you can't go wrong with "Cracked Rear View", by far and away their best CD of the band's career.

The latest stop on my Reunion Lunch Tour had me meeting for lunch with Barrow, a friend from the old days at Troy that I hadn't seen in at least 10 years. Very good to see Barrow, though next time I have a reunion lunch--or any kind for that matter--its gotta be somewhere different than Chick-fila. Had it like, three times in the last four days. Too much.

Had to stop for gas, as Toni Rocki Honda was gasping for fuel, then stopped off at Valleydale Church (an sbc fellowship) to run up to the theater and pick up a suitcase I left backstage. I was using the suitcase as a prop on Sunday morning's KidStuf performance, another one that we thought would be an unmitigated disaster, but came off extremely well... actually, I worry more about those KidStuf Sundays when everything seems perfect.

The Funniest Man of 2008, Rhett Barnett, and I joked on Sunday that when its perfect, it almost feels as if we're too arrogant, and God puts us back in our place. When we royally screw it up over and over, its as if God steps in and says, "Oh my Me, you guys just need to back up and let me handle this. Geez. Want something done, gotta do it Myself".

Stopped off at the Hoover Public Library to tour the audio books, which they've expanded (still didn't find much of anything good at the time) and the CDs (which they are currently removing for a few weeks to sift through, get rid of old ones and put new ones in the selection). I did pick up a copy of Natalie Grant's new CD, as well as one from Third Day, so we'll see what it looks like.

By the time I had pulled out of the parking lot, the Hootie CD had run its course, so I had change out the music... I was disappointed to learn that I had not put in "The Globe Sessions" by Sheryl Crow in my CD wallet, so I settled for "Sheryl Crow" by Sheryl Crow, which made for another good driving CD.

Took a trip to Starbucks on 119, my current store to pick up my tips, saw my friend MZ and also Lil Sister Ashley, so I conversed with both of them. Got my tip money from last week, and then finally headed to my final destination before coming back to The Cabana... Veteran's Park, where I planned on having a good ol' fashioned quiet time. Though they aren't nearly as frequent as they should be, they are getting more frequent now as time goes by. My prayer of "Help me need a quiet time" has been coming truthful, as I actually want to have one. Strange, I know.


The scene from where I sat at Veteran's Park. Life rocks. Except for the pollen that is now embedded in my Word Sheath, all things are great.


Also came up Paulie Walnuts and his wife, Sammi C, as they were picnicking with Baby Cate on this wonderful Spring day.

I flipped through Luke 23, as directed by my Sunday Scho.... er, Life Connection book that we've going through, but found myself on Psalm 40:

I waited and waited and waited for God. At last he looked; finally he listened. He lifted me out of the ditch, pulled me from deep mud. He stood me up on a solid rock to make sure I wouldn't slip. He taught me how to sing the latest God-song, a praise-song to our God. More and more people are seeing this: they enter the mystery, abandoning themselves to God. -- vs. 1-3, so sayeth The Message

Love it. David knew he was writing for readability, so he broke up Psalm 40 into sections, much like most of the Psalms are, and so it might be nice to take a few verses at a time over a couple of days.

Also, while listening to the iPod on a playlist called "Open Me Up" name for a song by Watermark, one of my favorite bands, a gem came up that, had I an iPod and play count capability in 1997, I would imagine that this song would have had a couple of dozen plays... "Man of God" by Audio Adrenaline, off of the forgotten but much loved "Bloom" album. While its true that I think the band peaked with "Underdog", the aforementioned "Bloom" was great.

Here's my take on Audio Adrenaline... the first CD was just silly. Its kinda like dcTalk's first CD, or their second, "Nu Thang", with the immortal classic "I Luv Rap Music". Shoot me. The second, "Don't Censor Me" was good... it wasn't great, but it was good. It features the oft recited and hand motioned "Big House", which can be annoying if you hear it more than twice in, I dunno, a year. Next was "Bloom", which like I said, was solid but not perfect. I think "Bloom" was the album the studio wanted them to make, and then they did "Some Kind of Zombie", which was excellent (you ever want to get a party going, pop in the title track, or "Blitz", their collaboration with The O.C. Supertones)... but it was like, they wanted to make something more rockin' than the previous stuff, so they overcompensated on the rock effect with "Zombie"... don't get me wrong, its a great CD, but they went from one extreme to the other.

"Underdog" got it right. The fine balance between rock, pop and just a little grunge with some Holy Spirit mixed in all of it was just perfect. Loved that CD, probably listened to it a dozen times or more in the first month it was out. The next several, like "Lift", "Worldwide" and "Until My Heart Caves In" all kind of sounded alike to me, though I'm probably going to give them all another try at some point.

Anyway, my point is I heard "Man of God" again for the first time in maybe five years... and its a great song...

Sometimes I'm a liar, sometimes I'm a fake, sometimes I'm a hypocrite that everybody hates.
Sometimes I'm a poet, sometimes I'm a preacher, sometimes I watch life go by sitting on the bleachers
But I've never been left alone in any problems that I've known
Even though I'M TO BLAME (blog authors emphasis)
There were times when things were dark and I've been known to miss the mark
But Someone fixed my aim

Sometimes I'm a Man of God
Sometimes I'm alright
Sometimes I lay down and close my eyes and pray to God...

Sometimes I don't feel good, its hard to start the day, its hard to climb the obsticles that sometimes come my way
If I make it, I'm a good man. Am I a bad man if I fail?
I know I'm never good enough, so I left GRACE PREVAIL (blog authors emphasis, again)
I've never been left alone in any problem that I've known
Even though I'm to blame
There were times when things were dark and I've been known to miss the mark
But Someone fixed my aim

Sometimes I'm a Man of God
Sometimes I'm alright
Sometimes I lay down and close my eyes and pray to God... I'm ready for the night

Right now I'm alright, right now I'm alright, sometimes I'm alright
I'm alright, I'm alright, thank God, thank God

Cause sometimes I'm a Man of God
Sometimes I'm alright
And sometimes I lay down and close my eyes and pray to God...


The song plays over a screenshot of "Hit Parade", one of their greatest hits compilations.

Alright... its almost 5pm. I'm going to go enjoy the rest of my day off, the day that He tossed at us to take delight in. Cause that's how He rolls. Idol results tonight.

Picture Imperfect

We've already established that I'm a complete, foolish nostalgic person... As anyone who has talked to me in the last few weeks has discovered, I've had a blast going through all my college--and high school--pictures, sorting through the ones that I can scan, tossing some that I just don't need anymore (I'm not sure anyone needs a picture of me and fill-in-chick-I-went-out-with being cute) and pausing to stare at pictures of friends that I haven't seen in a very, very long time. Friends I miss.

And something happened that I didn't expect... I think I got caught up in all of it. The memories flood back, kinda reminding me of the Trisha Yearwood song I was singing earlier, while making perfect mochas and delicious grande lattes... "it was like a lighted match had been tossed into my soul, it was like a dam had broken in my heart... after taking every detour, getting lost and losing track, so that even if I wanted I could not find my way back, after driving out the memories of the way things had been, after I had forgotten all about it, this pic remembers when..."

Okay, it wasn't quite that dramatic. But I do love that song, and consider it to the be the saddest song ever written, though thats a complete other post... anyway, some of the memories that rushed back...

Like, there's a picture of me and Mike Brunson blowing on Allyson Guy's head, to cool her down after rock climbing. I was about as tired as I have ever been after that day, but it was awesome because I got about 40 feet up before I reached a point where I just had to leap for it. And I missed, but luckily there was a rope and beaner tying me to a safety point. Later, I screwed up my friendship with Mike, but through God's grace and Mike's forgiveness, things were settled. I dunno that Mike and I will be BFF, but at least the air is clear.


There's a picture of me and Adrianne Benton and Labett White on the beach, a trip I vaguely even remember. We were freshman, the three of us, and we were pretty tight for a little while. We even called ourselves "Threenkies", a silly nickname that only a silly 18 year old guy and two 18 year old girls could come up with. We giggled alot. Adrianne emailed me a few weeks ago with the line "I tried this once and you didn't respond, so I'll try it again"... I emailed her last night. Hope to hear from her.


There's another shot from my senior year (yes, yes, my first one) during the Farmhouse Big Barn Party. I had invited my friend Chrissy to go with me, she said sure, and in the picture, its us with Kevin Spivey and Whitley Porter, four good friends who had a great time. Actually, Spivey was in love with Chrissy's soft felt jacket, but that's another story altogether. That night was a hoot, as it was kinda cold, and for whatever reason, on the trail, my horse decided to go walking in the lake. Mind you, this was like, 9pm at night. Had my first conversation with Spivey in almost 10 years a few days ago. It was awesome.


Oh, what about this one, from my senior year in high school, when my best buddy Chris McCall and I were with my cousin April and our friend Michael down in Orlando, standing under the Hard Rock Cafe car that juts out of the front of the building... good times, all. That's Chris, wearing a shirt that says "Pump This", which at this late (early?) hour I find extreeeeeemely funny. Yeah, and I'm totally wearing the same shirt that I later wore on the beach with Labett and Adrianne. Chris also emailed me a few days back, and I need to email him. On my to-do list on Wednesday.

But the harder pictures are the ones that indicate those friendships that either no longer exist or can't. I'll be very vague here, because I'm not going to try to embarass anyone or call anyone out. One is my fault. I did something stupid ten years ago, and am still paying for it. Maybe I'm not, maybe all is forgiven, but at the same time, it pains me nonetheless. I'm a closure person, for better or for worse, and when there is none, then to me... well, there is none. That whole closure thing has bitten me a few times--I wish I didn't care, but I do.

Another is not my fault, but that doesn't matter, because through no fault of my own, we're done being friends. And that hurts to no end.

I cherish my friendships. See, I kinda have these circles that go around me... there's an outer circle, people I know, people I consider friends, but have to follow it up with an "I guess" because really, they are more like acquaintances. There's another circle, maybe a little tighter, where most of my friends fall. These are the friends that I enjoy seeing when I can, but perhaps haven't taken the time to follow up, or email enough, or haven't been on the receiving end of such an attempt. Then you get a little closer, where most of my "closer friends" lie. Maybe I consider them closer than they actually think they are, friends that I would do anything for, would probably do anything for me, and such.

You've probably heard this entire analogy before, the "outer" and "inner" circles, but its the same with me, really, cause I'm not that much different. Then maybe there are one or two people that I'm pretty tight with, that know lots and lots about me. And the funny part is, no one stays the same really. People drift in and out over the years, some people I would see every day or two for years suddenly aren't there anymore, and we lose touch. People like Sybil Johnson, McQ, The Valdmanis or Big Eddy, people that I would love to see much more of, but just aren't able to.

Others who were never a factor in my life at all, people I barely said a word-one to most times suddenly become someone I talk to on a regular basis... Erin the Marine Wife and Mindy D'A (though she never spoke to me, being the popular ADPi that she was) come to mind (mostly via online chatting), as does The Official Clouds in My Coffee Ombudsman Brad Latta.

I've mentioned before the dangers of Facebook... try it when people you are excited about talking to again decide that it would be best not too. Then again, its a joy when people you didn't think wanted to be closer decide they do. Works both ways. Or as Gloria Estefan might say, "It cuts both ways..."

Though, honestly, if I'm going with Gloria Estefan, and I'm in "I want to hear some make-me-feel-like-crap" kind of music, you can't go wrong with "Here We Are". Wow. Her voice is incredible, her emotion is strong and I can't think of many other songs that make use of the word "sublime". Late 80s/early 90s Gloria = awesomeness. Where was I?

I'm not sure why I have this need to "catch up" with people anyway... its how I've always been. Maybe I'm a friend for life or something, but when I have the opportunity, I like to know whats going on with people I know and care about. Maybe its a few weeks between "catch ups", like with my buddy KT, or maybe its a few months, like with my best mate Wookiee, or maybe even a few years... had a great conversation with Shelby last week. She pretty much called me out and told me I was kind of a terrible friend, that we had been such good friends back in the day and we never talked. She was right. So, I did my best to make it right... and I hope Shelby will be around for a long time.

The Lovely Steph Leann must be bored to tears by now, as I've been regaling her with tales of college profundaty, names like McConnell and Claire and Shelby and Melanie and Ally Song and Hinson and BCM and Yo Adrianne and Bobby Black and Spivey and AmyAlex just tossed out there, each with a hilarious or emotional moment attached to it.

Of course, at some point, I have to ask, where does it end? I mean, I've got almost 800 people on my Facebook Friend list, and I'll be real honest with you... I don't care about most of them. Somehow, if you are from a small town, and that same small town happens to be the same small town I'm from, then somehow we know each other, which means somehow we must be friends. Right? I've actually developed a system now... when I pull up Facebook chat, and it takes me longer than 10 seconds to figure out who you are and why you are on my chat list, then you're gone. Sorry. Its best for both of us, really.

I've considered doing a Top 250... pick out the 250 people that I legitimately talk to (and if you are worried about whether you'd be in that list, then that means you are reading this, and if you are reading this, that means you have enough care to be my friend, which means you'll probably be safe...) and that's my friend list. Oh, its okay to add someone, but someone has to get punted.

Found out that Chris Barrow is living here. Barrow is a buddy of mine from waaaay back in the day, when Wookiee and I lived in the Thomas Circle Apartment complex in Troy. He's the cousin of Courtney Then Shaw Now McGough, and when I wondered where Barrow was in a picture I posted, Court's hubby Michael emailed me his email address. So Barrow and I are having lunch on Wednesday to... well, catch-up.

In a random sidenote, my book idea is beginning to take shape. I've been jotting down notes and ideas for three days now--names, descriptions, places, events, etc--and I'm going tomorrow to purchase a "audio diction recorder". I want to be able to get my ideas quickly before I lose them, and by a recorder, I can just turn it on, speak my thoughts, and listen to it later. Did you know these things cost, like, $30 or $40? I was thinking $20. I went to Best Buy, and of course, the $28.99 model is sold out. I almost picked up a $39.99 Sony, but put it back, thinking I'd go to Wal-Mart later. I went after working at The Most Caffeinated Place on Hwy 280, and they had similar prices... that is, after I found it. The old Indian guy who was there when I purchased the Wii Fit was there tonight.

"Can I heep you vit sum-ting?" he barked. I told him was I was looking for, he said, "Come, come". I felt like I was being led to see The Golden Child or something... he leads me to the aisle where they were, points at three different pegs and says, "All vee have is thees, thees, thees, that ees all." Then he walked away. I left without purchasing anything. I have to get something though--I had an entire dialogue conversation with myself today in the car, about four pages worth of material that I hope I can remember again.

Where am I going with any of this? Heck if I know. Its late. Its after midnight, and my best friend in the whole entire world is laying in a bed sleeping, not more than fifty feet from where I sit. Funny thing, that Stephanie Campbell. We became really close right off the bat, and she was my best friend, one I could tell anything to, and someone I wanted to tell stuff too first... and I was that for her. She wasn't the first girl that was that way with me, there have been others that have been that close... The Lovely Steph Leann was just the first one that stayed there long enough for me to not just like her, but like her like her. Love her even.


Yours Truly and The Lovely Steph Leann, lookin' all good and stuff.... kinda reminds me of when Mater is talking to Lightnin' McQueen, saying, "I knew I made the right decision... for my best friend..."

Saturday night we were driving home after the glorious wedding of Joey Thornell and Alissa Kelley, had to make a few stops here and there to do some errands, and we decided we were hungry. It was getting late, and neither of us wanted a ton of food, so we figured Taco Bell would be enough for right then... five bucks gets us a drink to share and a couple of Tacos to split.

When we lived in that area, we used to go to the one over on Highway 31, close to The Galleria Mall, but we knew what to expect. It was terrible, and you could figure on waiting about 20 minutes for anything, which means you had to really, really have a hankerin' for a nacho bell grande. The one on Highway 280, where we live now, has never been bad, until this night. When we get inside, there are people standing everywhere. The Lovely Steph Leann asks me if we should go anywhere else, but I just say, "Nah, we'll just wait it out". The last time something like this happened, over at the other Taco Bell, I stood in line for only 10 minutes, as the people in front of me left one by one.

Not this night. We actually ordered pretty quickly, though that was the mistake... once they have your money, your locked in, you can't leave. Its obvious that they were short handed, so we just went and sat down... for about 20 minutes. Some lady started talking loudly that she wanted her money back, another guy came in and told another guy that he had ordered, left, gone across Hwy 280 to fill up his car with gas and come back, and his order still wasn't ready. The Lovely Steph Leann and I just sat there, kinda giggling.

The register guy, Maurice, was complaining loudly about lack of help-- "We ain't got nobody shown up here!" and apparently said something to his manager, who said something back. Maurice left the register and came out into the cafe to stock the condiment bar (and not back to the kitchen to help do something--dress a taco, dump some cinnamon sticks into the grease, top off a quesadilla--SOMETHING) and I heard him say, "I's a man too! I is! I's a man too!"

I looked over at The Lovely Steph Leann and whispered, "This is why I blog." She laughed. I looked at my best friend in the whole world, knowing with all of my heart that she'd never drop me from Facebook, she'd never block her page from my sight and she'll always be in that very, very inner inner inner circle of people that I care about the most, and that care about me. And that's a picture worth a thousand words.

(that last line really made no sense whatsoever, but again, its late, and I thought that would be just romantic enough to end this blog post with... Idol tomorrow! Maybe another real, non-Idol post on Wednesday!)

Shay... I'm Sorry

It's always a magical day at The Happiest Place in the Mall. Somedays just happen to be more magical than others, really. This doesn't preclude an admission of a bad day, not in the least... in fact, it was a pretty good day. Except for about, oh, 13 minutes or so around 2pm.

The Lovely Steph Leann always cracks up when I tell her my "guest" stories, because usually I do the voices and everything (especially if the guest is a dern feraner, in which I imitate accents--I've never claimed to be politically correct) but she's in Odenville for the weekend, so I'll have to do my voices later for her.

I had just sent The Dainty Steph Halpert on her break for the afternoon, leaving myself behind the register, and our Magical Manager at the other register. We had quite a line building, so I turned on the magic for each and every guest buying things from Pull String Woodys to Percy and Tito plush (2 for $20!).

An older, well dressed, seemingly well to do gentlemen stepped up with a plastic grocery sack in his hand, and usually when they bring a bag to the box office register, I can tell when someone is returning something, so I happily said, "Hi. How are ya?"

"Miserable," said the older man. He was probably in his 50s, maybe early 60s, blazer, stiff collar, slightly balding, perhaps 5'7, maybe a little taller, mustache. "Sorry about that, so how can I make your day a little more magical?"

He then proceeds to pull out a little snowglobe... well, half of one. Its about two inches in diameter, with a pinkish base standing about two inches tall. Upon the base sits a ceramic Tinkerbell, with some other little decor around her. If this were a brand new Tinkerbell mini-snowglobe, she would be encased in a small glass sphere, filled with water and glitter. This particular one had no glass, though... this one had little jagged pieces of glass jutting out in a circle around the top rim of the base.

Mr. Personality then hands me the snowglobe. Fully aware of what is wrong, I grasp the bottom of the base carefully so as not to, you know, slice my fingers open. He then says, after he's already released it and I have it safely in my hands, "Be careful, there is glass on it."

"Well, what can I do for you, sir?" I ask.
"For starters, you can replace it," he sternly says, almost as if he expected that to be the last word, and I would simply say, "YES SIR!" and hand over another one.
"Can you tell me what happened?" I then asked.

Normally, when I ask this question, at least with a snowglobe in question, I get "Yes, we bought this earlier and someone packed it wrong. It broke in the bag, and now all my other purchases are wet" or maybe "This fell off the shelf in the back" or even "It sprung a leak on me when I got home, and I had to smash it to keep glass from going everywhere" (I've heard all three of these at one time or another.)

No. Mr. Personality says, "Well, we bought this thing, got it home, and my granddaughter was holding it. She dropped it, and it smashed all over the floor. Glass went everywhere. Glass and water. So, I'd like you to replace it."

I stared at him for a few seconds. Finally, I spoke, watching my words carefully, making sure I understood what he just told me. "So... you had this at home, and your granddaughter dropped it. It broke. And you'd like us to give you another one."

"Yep. Slipped right out of her hands."

"Sir..." I began, trying not to actually smile. How could I state what the obvious response was, without sounding condescending? "I can't replace this if you broke it at home. It's not a toy. It's a snowglobe."

"What?" Mr. Personality looked at me with an angry glare. "My granddaughter is three years old, and she was playing with it. It shouldn't have broken!"

"Uh... sir, its a snowglobe. It's considered a collectable. Its glass, you drop it, its going to break." Okay, to the Coffee Drinkers reading this, I know how incredibly rude this sounds. Seriously, though, I was trying to be as absolutely genuine as I possibly could be... but still...

He stared at me again, and finally, angrily said, "Give me the number to your home office right now." I smiled and said, "Sure." I got the number and wrote it on a piece of paper. "And here is my name and our store number, in case you need to reference it." I wrote my name down for him, and our store information and handed it off to him.

"I'll be making a call to your home office about this. This is ridiculous." He grabbed his bag, stormed off and left.

Understand this about me. Very, very few things surprise me. I find out that a marriage breaks up, I find out that someone is pregnant, I find out that a business is closing or a once-loved celebrity is actually a celebutard or so-and-so is doing this-and-that... I've been around enough "Holy crap" moments to not be surprised at much of anything anymore, for better or for worse. So this guy being a jerkweed for a snowglobe that was broken outside of our control didn't surprise me in the least. Its the nature of retail.

That being said, I do get rattled from time to time. And after Mr. Personality stormed off, I was a little rattled. I wasn't upset, I wasn't hurt, I didn't take it personally, but my brain was a little haywire for a minute or two at the idiocy of someone buying something perfectly constructed, taking it home, breaking it, purposeful or not, then coming back to get their money back. Seriously, who does that?

Here's where things are a little blurry... mostly because my brain was a little rattled. I don't know if it was the very next guest, or a few guests later, but a young lady walked up, put two Power Ranger blasters and a couple of other things on the counter. I smiled and said, "Hi ma'am, did you find everything you need today?"

"If you call me ma'am again, I'll have to come across that counter at you," she smiled. Brain rattled, I didn't take this is a "friendly jab", I took this as a "another guest who just ain't happy." I fumbled my response, I think I tried to make some joke about calling her "Young girl" instead of "ma'am", but it came out all wrong.

When she handed me the credit/debit card to pay, I asked for ID like I always do when presented with a plastic form of payment. She gave me a weird look, then her face fell a little, then she handed me her driver's license.

"Shay Conway" was the name on the card. And my stomach dropped.

You know how we all have that little guy or girl in our brains, pushing the buttons--they are the ones that push the buttons to clear your head, or to make you understand something suddenly, or to tell you "Hey, my arm is bleeding and it hurts", or even when they are feeling frisky, they'll push ALL the buttons at one time when you are almost asleep so suddenly your entire body does that violent jerk thing in bed and suddenly you're awake again? You know, that guy?

Well, the little guy in my brain somehow set the reset button and everything became crystal clear. It was Shay Conway. Formerly Shaw Oliver.

A few weeks ago, I found this chick online from my high school days on Facebook, named DeAnn Weston. I met her on my senior cruise in the Bahamas, and after the cruise, DeAnn and I remained friends, and I befriended some of her friends, including Shay Oliver. Me and Shay, we went out a few times, it was a fun couple of dates (one of which to see "Indecent Proposal", which is better than "Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot!" which we saw later), we kept up with each other for a while after that, but then, I went to one school, she went to another, we lost touch.

So, imagine my surprise when, through DeAnn, I find Shay Oliver, though now she's Conway--or maybe she found me, I dunno--on Facebook. We post on each other's wall a few times, and finally, we end up having a Facebook chat where we caught up... we discussed life then and now, rehashed a few old memories, she gushed about her husband and kids, I gushed about The Lovely Steph Leann, and she said next time she was in Birmingham, she'd come into The Happiest Place in the Mall and say hello. I told her it was imperative that she did, even if it was just to get a snapshot for my "Me And..." photo album online.

And now, here she was, standing in front of me, and I didn't even know who she was. I told her, "If we weren't so busy, I'd have to come around and talk to you!" She signed her credit card slip, hands shaking--she then said, "I've got really low blood sugar right now, so I've got to get something to eat pretty quickly." She handed me back the pen, grabbed her bag and turned away. "Go to the food court! Get some food!" I said after her. "See you soon!" She waved her hand, a casual "eh" kind of wave and said, "Yeah, see you later."

I felt like a complete tool. How could I not recognize her? Well, for starters, I haven't seen her since the summer of 1993, and I had just had an undesirable interaction with the principal of a local charm school, so that didn't help... but, no excused.

So... right here, in front of the ones of tens of people that read this blog, I say to you, Shay Conway... I'm sorry. I should have recognized you. I had quite an experience moments before you got up to pay, but that's not an excuse. I always harken back to Baby's father, Dr. Houseman, when he approached Johnny and Baby after the big "Had the Time of My Life" dance... "When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong." I hope you forgive me, and come back to see me at The Happiest Place in the Mall! (by the way, did you know that Baby is going to be 50 next March? Whaaaa???? FIFTY!!)

Wanna know how it all ended? Well, glad you asked...

Mr. Personality came back in about fifteen minutes later, this time, bringing his wife, Mrs. Congeniality. Instead of coming to my line, they head to our Magical Manager, behind the other register. Mr. Personality pulls out the same snowglobe, hands it to her in the same manner, and says, "I've changed my mind, I want this exchanged."

"Did it break here in our store?"
"No, it broke at home. My granddaughter was holding it, and it slipped out of her fingers and it broke," said Mr. Personality.
"And it landed on carpet!" said Mrs. Congeniality, "and it still broke!"
"Uh... I can't replace something that you broke at your house..." said our Magical Manager.
"Why not! It broke! You have these things set out like toys!" said Mr. Personality.
"I'm sorry sir, but its a snowglobe. That would be like my cat jumping on a table, breaking something and me trying to take it back. I can't just give you a replacement on something that broke in your house," said Magical Manager.
"I don't believe this!" said Mrs. Congeniality. "There aren't any signs set up around them or anything!"
"Ma'am, its a snowglobe. Its glass." said our Magical Manager.
(for reference, The Dainty Steph Halpert and I checked the mini snowglobe fixture a little while later, after I relayed the story, and everyone of them had a little tag on it with a long paragraph of instruction and warning, instructions that began with the words "This is not a toy...")

Keep in mind that I'm currently ringing up more guests, having a very fun and friendly conversation with someone who is headed to The Happiest Place on Earth in a week or so, trying to talk over the ever increasing volume of Mr. Personality and Mrs. Congeniality.

"It's fifteen dollars! We spend hundreds of dollars in this store all time, and you're going to lose my money over fifteen dollars?" said Mrs. Congeniality.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot give you a refund or an exchange on a product you purchased here, took home and broke. If it was broken here, or the item was broken when you got it home, that would be one thing, but your granddaughter dropped it and it broke. Its glass, its going to break!" said our Magical Manager. Inside, my inner sista is yelling "Yeah! You tell her! You go girl!"
"I heard they were so cheap that Disney is going to replace them with plastic anyway! That's how cheaply made they are!" said Mrs. Congeniality.
Our Magical Manager just kind of stared at her, and I even looked over, with a "What?" expression.
"Yeah, you've had so many people bring them back and complain about them, they are going to make them with plastic instead of glass. You don't even know what's in your products, do you?"

(again, for reference, I discovered the source of this little nugget of info... we had another guy on the stage, greeting people, and when I was telling him the story, and how Mrs. Congeniality had said something about Disney replacing the product, he said, "What?! No! They came in, and told me about it, and I just said that we had had several of them broken by other guests, so they were doing a stronger glass, so it would be hard like plastic... you know, like the Buzz Lightyear mini snowglobe--it has much harder glass! I never said they were going to replace it! What the crap!?")

With one last closing statement, sounding something like, "Well, Magical Manager (she used our managers name, fyi) I'm going to tell everyone I know how you run your business and to never come in this store again! I'm never spending another cent in here!", Mrs. Congeniality and Mr. Personality took back their sad, broken little snowglobe and exited quickly.

Both the next guests who stepped up to my register and stepped up to our Magical Manager's register told each of us something along the lines of "Well, that was just rude, I would never do that." We both were commended on how we handled it.

Furthermore, I typed this blog tonight as a both a slice o'life story (and if Mrs. Congeniality or Mr. Personality happen to be your pawpaw or uncle or what have you, and you hear a completely different story about how terrible we were, then just take to heart what I said. This is what happened) and an apology to Shay Conway. When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong... at least to Shaycon. To Mr. & Mrs., you two are poopyheads, and I do believe The Happiest Place in the Mall will survive without your "hundreds of dollars" that you seem to have spent while I am not there, even though I'm there at least 40+ hours per week. And I'm not wrong.

PS... Shaycon posted a note on Facebook tonight, after I had almost finished writing this, and told her story of coming to Birmingham with low blood sugar, and what a terrible day it had been... she even wrote:

I remember standing in line for the register and thinking it isn't normal for a person to be trembling like this. So I get to the register and have a brief conversation with an old friend, even though he didn't recognize me at first! Sorry if I was rude!

Well, there you have it. Maybe I wasn't wrong. My apology stands.

My Cool Friends

I might actually have the coolest array of friends, like, ever. No, seriously... okay, let's get the famous ones out of the way--you know about Ambre Lake, but there's also Brooke Smith from the Bachelor, and Birmingham musician Michael Warren.

I have a friend who makes his own cheese and beer. I am friends with two different people on two different newscasts. I got a friend who has a ticket to the governor's mansion when he wants it. I have friends on the mission field, I have friends who have been up and down Route 66, I've got friends I met at 12 years old and I've watched them grow up and get married...

I've got really cool friends. But today, I discovered something that blew me away. Something I never expected. Today... the tipping point... I discovered I have a friend who was actually a woman wrestler.

I looked forever for this... I'm hoping this is you, Lori Fullington

My friends rocks.