And I Mean It, Stanley

I've mentioned in earlier posts that I have been spending a lot of time in local schools to meet the requirements for my degree. Illinois standards require teaching majors to spend a certain number of hours observing students and teachers in a classroom setting for every hour of college instruction. Since I am getting my degree in secondary education, I am assigned to junior and senior high schools for my observation credits.

However, I spend even more time in the schools as a substitute teacher. As a substitute, I have worked with all age groups. I have written about some of those experiences here. I quickly learned why I am specializing in secondary education. I really do not relate well to younger children. I have since taken my name off the list for grades kindergarten through fifth grade. I didn't have much of a choice. On one day (if school had lasted another hour), I might have been jailed for choking half a dozen second graders. It was a horrible day.

No! You can't take your pants off.

I'll stick to what I know. I work very well with junior and senior high age kids. I have even discovered that I can work with preschoolers as long as there are helpers in the classroom that know what to do. I would never attempt that age by myself. I have been bitten, stabbed with a pencil, cussed at and spat on. Without another adult in the room to keep me in check, I might act out my fantasies of chucking a 4 year old through the nearest window. They are pretty small. It wouldn't be that difficult. However, their outbursts are typically short lived and I even enjoy it for the most part. Just don't leave me alone with them.

Last month, I was cursed had the privilege of returning to the same preschool class every day for three weeks. This actually makes things much easier than going to a different class every day. I had the opportunity to learn the names and strange idiosyncrasies of each ankle-biter. It makes all the difference in the world when you get to know the kids. It is so much better.

Each day involved lots of crafts, lessons and activities, but my favorite part was the beginning and end of each day. I would start each day reading a couple of books to the kids. This helps them to calm down and gain a little focus before starting the day. We ended the day with the same activity right before their parents came to pick them up.

I enjoyed this for several reasons. One of the biggest was the fact that I got to sit during this time. Another reason was that I actually had the attention of the whole class. That rarely happened. I would do the voices of the characters and add my personal commentary to each page. It was great to hear the kids laugh and say the words with me. As much as they liked to hear the same stories again and again, I tried to introduce them to a new book each day.

I remembered reading this as a child.

I would get to the school early so I could dig through the library and find a book to read during story time. On one of those days I came across a book that I vaguely remembered from my childhood, And I Mean It, Stanley. I thumbed through it quickly to see if it was the story I remembered.

Throughout the book, the child is yelling at someone not visible in the pictures. She is building things with the junk in her back yard and yelling that Stanley better come out to play now. The whole book is rather one sided. This little girl is yelling and getting more and more irate as the book progresses.

It finally reaches the climax when . . . well, I don't want to give away the ending in case it ever gets made into a movie. I don't want to spoil the ending.

Being a book from my childhood, I was excited to share it with the children. As they started coming into the classroom and taking their spots on the rug in front of me, they started making their demands requests for the book they wanted to hear. I told them I had already selected a book for the day.

Once they all got seated and quiet, I pulled out the book. I explained that I had read this story when I was a kid. As I was showing them the book, I saw something on the cover in the top right corner I had not noticed before.

That is my brother's name!  KYLE MINOR
This is the same copy that used to be in our house.

When I said I had this book as a kid, I didn't know I had actually owned THIS specific copy. It threw me for a moment. We grew up 30 miles away from this school. It had been at least three decades since we physically had the book in our possession. Somehow it had made some travels, passed through countless owners and ended up in this school in my hands.

Once I regained composure and snapped back to the present I told the kids what I had found. They didn't seem to be nearly as impressed as I was. I read the book to them with more enthusiasm than I would have otherwise. We all celebrated when we got to the ending and began our day.

At the end of the day, they requested to read the book again and I was more than happy to oblige. Soon, the parents began to show up and one by one the kids got their hugs and left for the day. Once the room was empty, I pulled the book out to marvel at it again.

After a couple of minutes, I realized that my amazement was silly. The book was still in the same county as last time I saw it. It had probably been donated to a library by my mother or sold in a yard sale. At some point it was given to this school. It really wasn't that big of a deal. I set the book down and turned off the lights for the day.

Before I closed the classroom door, I returned to the book and quickly placed it in my coat. After all, it had my family name on it.

RELAX!!!
I brought it back the next day.

Are These Numbers Important?

I'm one of those nerds that does this stuff for fun.

I can't get away from the stats page on Blogger. I check those numbers more often than Lindsey Lohan calls her dealer. I have read from several bloggers to ignore those numbers and just write. The stats will drive you crazy. However, I can't help it. I'm studying to be a math teacher. I like numbers.

Numbers just make sense. There is very little theory or interpretation involved in math. An answer is either right or wrong. Numbers represent hard facts and with my overly analytical and logical mindset, they just make sense to me.

When I look at my stats I am given a count of how many people have visited, which pages they looked at, what site brought them to mine and several other pieces of information. Sometimes these numbers will teach me something and at other times they just are what they are without making sense.

In my opinion, the best post I have ever written is Biblical Mistranslation and Special Interest Groups. I was proud of that one and it quickly rose to the #1 spot. Why shouldn't it? Doesn't it just make sense that the best would find its way to the top? I used to think so, but my mind was changed last September.

NASA said this was the size of a bus

In September, I wrote The Sky Is Falling about the UARS satellite that was falling out of orbit and was going to crash to Earth. Within 20 minutes of publishing the post, it had over 200 hits. WHY? It wasn't that great. I believe a few of the jokes were clever, but it was far from being some of my better material. After digging through my stats, I realized that the surge of traffic was due to the immediate relevancy of my topic. Millions of people were online searching for information about whether they would wake up in the morning with a satellite in their living room. Had I posted the same words a week later it would not have gotten the same audience.

I was actually a little bothered that this post was sitting in my sidebar as the second most popular post. A piece that I believe was better had to be bumped to make room for it. Regardless of how I felt about it, the numbers were what they were.

My audience has grown recently and a new post today sees 5-6 times the traffic of posts from a year ago that I consider to be quality posts. Having this bigger audience explains why five of my top ten most read pages have been posted in the last two months. However, timing and playing the game still play a big part.

As of right now, the post ranked #5 as the most popular is the one I wrote two days ago: The Awards Fairy Came By. This was a post recognizing some awards I received and I passed them on to some other deserving bloggers. While I enjoy pointing people to other good blogs and showing appreciation for the people that gave me special recognition, most award posts (from other bloggers as well as myself) are far removed from the quality of writing that is normally found on their site. My last post was mediocre at best, but I know why it is ranked so highly.

If you read THE BLOGGESS,
no explanation needed

The most successful blogger I know of, The Bloggess, has a huge following. She recently spent literally days signing autographs for a mail out. Celebrities send her pictures of themselves doing mundane things (Wil Wheaton collating paper, Matthew Broderick holding a spoon, etc.) so she can send the pictures to companies that sent her a picture of a celebrity using a product to sell it. Her blog is huge.

There has been times I've been sitting at my computer and get a notification that she has posted a new blog. I try to leave comments on other blogs to increase my traffic and exposure to other bloggers. However, her following is so big, by the time I read her post and leave a comment, I am comment #156. This is within just a few minutes of her blog going up.

Yesterday, she posted a blog about a conversation she had with her husband. I left a comment (like I always do), but this time I was the second comment. I don't know why, but I wasn't lost in the middle of hundreds of comments never to be seen by anyone. I was at the top.

Since her blog lists the most recent post of the person commenting, I started getting traffic. Because of her huge audience, I pulled over 100 hits from that one sentence comment within an hour and the numbers are still climbing. Does that post deserve to be at the #5 spot? Definitely not, but I am starting to see how this works.

If I want crazy traffic, it is about more than just quality posts, I need to be at the right place and the right time. I need to pay attention to trends. How much traffic did I lose by not posting about the Monkees within moments of hearing about the death of Davy Jones? I need to be dropping words into my posts to attract more British traffic: Oxford, Princess Diana, Buckingham Palace. I should be taking advantage of the presidential campaigning right now and name drop Newt Gingrich, Barack Obama, Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum. I also need to site stalk The Bloggess and other successful sites like her. (I will be watching to see what happens to my search engine results because I just did this.)

This post is part of PISH POSH's Challenge.
Click picture for more info.

As much as I like numbers, I am beginning to understand why I need to stop relying on the stats page. I cannot base the quality of my posts on these numbers. While a well written post will attract some extra traffic, there are many other factors to consider. I need to get back to just writing what I like to write and let the rest take care of itself.

The Awards Fairy Came By

This is one of those posts when I don't have to be creative. I just get to sit, say my thanks and pass on some love. I get to take it easy because the award fairy came to my house this week.

He is not what I pictured a fairy to look like. He was short, had a large beer gut and was missing a couple of teeth. After a prolonged coughing fit and spitting on my floor, he handed me two awards.

I objected since I had already one this one a couple of weeks ago. He told me that it wasn't his problem and shoved it into my gut. According to him, Shane over at Wag the Dad said my blog was "selling like hotcakes." I considered this to be the greatest compliment, because I love Wag the Dad, consider him to be one of the blogging greats and was thrilled to find out that he even knew who I was. Shane writes about being a dad, living in Austria and recently wrote a piece about the benefits of letting your mind go blank and drooling on yourself. He made a very good argument. His weekly debates with Angie at Angie Uncovered are not to be missed. Shane is very funny and, if you are not reading him already, you should check him out.

The balding fairy then told me that I had been given the same award by another blogger. Random Thoughts of a Not-So Random Mind passed it on to me as well. This blog is written by an Argentinian teacher who shares the same birthday as Jesus. I found her blog last January within a few minutes of her putting up her first post and have stayed a follower ever since. She promised me (since I have been there from the beginning and was her very first commenter) that if she hits it big with her writing, she won't forget me and will introduce me to celebrities. Then I will use those connections to realize my dream of becoming a Hollywood stuntman. Go check her out.

The fairy then told me that since I had already won this award and followed the rules, I didn't have to do it again if I gave him money to buy a pack of smokes. I gave him $5 and asked for my other award. He used my bathroom and then handed me this one. ==>

I quickly washed if off and looked on the back. It came from two different bloggers as well. Misty from Misty's Laws and Pish Posh.

Misty of Misty's Laws is a ninja stealth photographer who captures discreet pictures of the freaks and fashion mishaps that occur around her. Usually, without being detected. She also does not appreciate strangers complimenting her feet and has a couple of posts showing off her friends' planking skills, a pastime I discovered last fall. She is a very funny lady and worth clicking over to check out.

My first thought when I saw Pish Posh's name was "That's the lady that keeps blowing up my phone." I love my blogging friends and if they have a Twitter account, I have their tweets forwarded to my phone. No one tweets more than Pish Posh. Fortunately, she is a good tweeter and is always pointing me toward something worth reading. There was a little confusion on my part about whether she was actually giving me this award or just calling me out for being confused about one of her recent posts, but since I was getting it anyway her name is now attached. Pish Posh is a teacher who is now looking for a sugar daddy so she can stay home and write. She is very funny and writes about absolutely everything. She often includes recipes on her blog, but will not tolerate you noisily eating your food in her presence. Quiet chewers only!

At this point the fairy was sitting on my couch flipping through my cable channels. He informed me that since it is my first time winning this award, I am obliged to play by the rules unless I wanted to order a pizza. I had already given him the last of my cash so I asked for the rules. He said I had to link back to the blogs that gave me the award, mention some blogs that I read and list 7 things about myself.

1. Despite all my recent posts about the stuntman antics and crazy things I did as a kid, I have never broken a bone. My brothers cannot say the same.
2. I originally went to school to be a computer programmer.
3. I've been divorced for 5 years and still go to my ex-wife's family reunions.
4. In high school, my favorite teacher was also the one I hated the most.
5. I have recently started watching Glee on Netflix Instant. The storyline is weak, the characters are stereotypical and the acting is cheesy, but it is fun to watch. Don't judge me.
6. When I was 9 years old, I won GRAND CHAMPION with my goat in 4-H.
7. I still own every book I have ever read. I have a problem with letting them go.

I am going to try to name bloggers I read that I have not mentioned before. I don't want to give awards out to the same people over and over again.

•  Ash-Matic Does Things - He has only been blogging for a little over a month, but he has great stuff. With 25 followers after only 4 weeks, he is onto something.
• Kernut the Blond - Her blog caught my eye because she is doing something my parents are doing. Traveling around the country in an RV. I can't wait for her new posts to find out where she is now, who she has met and what fantastic things she has seen. If she would let me, I would love to travel with her for a month.
• Wait in the Van - Kristine recently got kicked out of a blogging competition for cheating. She didn't really cheat and her readers have her back. She came out stronger.
• Twenty Something Waitress - This waitress blogs about the crazy things that happen to her at work, the difficult customers she has to put up with and how she gets jilted on tips.

All of these blogs are amazing and deserve a read through. Subscribe, leave comments, show them some love from me. I have to go get the fairy. He is in my fridge making a sandwich.

Stuntman Training #2 - Playing with Fire

It's all in the wrist.

My Uncle Kevin knew some of the coolest fire tricks. We would be sitting there talking to him and suddenly a big ball of fire would jump out of his hand. As we shouted, "AGAIN! AGAIN! DO IT AGAIN," he would quiet us and nervously look around. "No. I got away with it once. I don't want your mom to see me showing you." He acted like he was worried we would try to imitate it ourselves.

He had every reason for that concern. You can't show a boy something as cool as that and not expect them to try to figure out how to do it. It was actually a pretty simple trick. It only required a standard lighter. We soon figured out how to do with our hands, as well as, with our mouths, on the kitchen table, in our pants pockets or under the shirt of an unsuspecting friend. It was one of the earliest things we learned about how much fun fire can be.

Being fairly stupid adventurous already, we were more than eager to add fire to the things we were willing to play with and experiment on. Since we were determined to be stuntmen when we grew up, it only made sense that we familiarized ourselves with the dynamics of fire. Some of our other stuntmen adventures can be read here and here.

Kyle loved to set his hand on fire to get attention freak people out at parties. If we used the right accelerant, the fuel would burn quickly enough that the flame could be withstood for a few seconds before having to extinguish it. He might be standing in a crowd of people and his hand would burst into flame. He would calmly look at it and say something like, "Well, that's peculiar," and then pat it out and continue with the conversation he was having as though nothing had happened.

One Halloween, we decided to use this for a larger audience. A local Jaycees chapter had a Haunted Hayride and was taking volunteers to man the various scenes. Each group built their own scene and the tractor would pull a hay wagon full of screaming teenagers and families by for them to terrorize. Plus, as teenagers, it was an excuse to sit in the woods and drink beer all night.

The scene we came up with consisted of someone being burned at the stake. The wagon was far enough from the scene, we could put the person being burned behind the fire and make it appear that they were being burned alive. Once the people on the wagon could see us, we could start our scene and toss something in the fire to make the flames shoot up. Various people in our scene took turns being the one to get 'burned alive.' The crowd loved it, but we thought we would take it up a notch the next night.

Stick men shouldn't try this.
Wood burns too fast.

We spent the next day digging a large trench in front of our entire scene and filling it with wood. When the hay wagon would pull up, we would do our quick acting and light the stake while our victim screamed. Now that we had their attention, one guy would run along the length of the trench, pouring a fuel mixture over the burning coals. This created a quick wall of fire blocking out the rest of the scene.

Once the fire jumped up, a flaming man would come running out of the fire toward the wagon and disappear into the woods. The part of the flaming man was played by my brother Trevor. He played that part dozens of times for the next two nights. However, just like many of our other ideas, this didn't always happen the way we planned.

 Before starting that night, we experimented to get the perfect concoction of flammable material for the effect we wanted. After spraying our solution on his outer clothing, when he jumped through the wall of fire, he would ignite. The flames were big, but not so hot that he needed much extra protection. His head was exposed, so the crowd could see his face, but we had one problem. The fumes, flames and smoke made it impossible for him to see once he was lit.

Our solution? We discovered that about 30 feet past the wagon path was a creek. As long as Trevor ran straight, he would eventually fall into the creek, putting out the flames. From beginning to end, he would not be on fire for more than 8-10 seconds.

When the first wagon went through, we got exactly the reaction we wanted. People were so scared some of them tried to jump out of the wagon. It was a huge success. However, we had four more hours until the end of the night with a wagon coming every 10 minutes.

As the night wore on and our alcohol consumption excitement increased, we kept making the effect bigger and bigger. Trevor screamed louder and would stop and flail his arms more before proceeding past the wagon to the creek. After a couple of hours, one of the other members of our group decided he wanted to be a second flaming person as well. We figured two flaming people would be even scarier than one, so we agreed. Since Trevor's stunt required several costume changes (you can only burn clothes so many times before they fall apart), we had the extra clothing.

We only had 10 minutes between wagons, so we had to move fast. We covered them both in solution and Trevor quickly reminded him that he would not be able to see once he ignited. "Run straight and you will be fine." He assured himself and us that he could do it.

When the next wagon came around, we started our scene. The stake was lit and the screaming started. The pit was ignited with the wall of flame and our two human torches ran toward it to jump through. At the last second, the new guy changed direction as he jumped because he was concerned he would hit the wagon when he ran out the other side. In doing so, he collided with Trevor, knocking him into the pit and directly onto the burning coals.

As drunken teenagers,
we weren't adequately prepared

Although the new guy landed on the other side, he was sprawled on the ground. Still in flames, he jumped up and started running, but in his blinded state, was not headed toward the creek. Kyle quickly assisted Trevor, who was out of the pit, but still burning, while I chased down the runner. I knocked him down and started throwing dirt on him while he rolled around. We got the fire out, but not without the loss of some skin.

Trevor, who got the worst of it, had fabric burned into his skin, lost a good portion of his hair and was already starting to blister on his forearms. For the rest of the night, he had to use long sleeves to prevent further burning. Plus, with the new bald patches, he was much more frightening.

We won the prize for scariest scene.

This Witch Had No Candy

I have been spending a lot of time in schools lately. I substitute teach for several different districts and am working on a teaching degree which requires me to do a lot of classroom observation. I even got to spend a day at my old high school. I have been amazed at how different school is from when I went.

There are different teaching methods, classroom set ups, educational theories and safety concerns than there were when I was a student. One of the things I remember from school that no longer exists in most states is the possibility of being beaten with a plank of wood for misbehaving.

Q: Do you know what the holes are for?
A: To cut down on wind resistance.

SWATS!  That's what we called it. If you didn't stop acting up there was always the possibility of getting swats. Nobody wanted that.

Despite the fact that those paddles were rarely taken down to be used, the sight of them hanging on the wall was enough of a deterrent for most kids to stay out of trouble. We knew someone was in deep doo-doo if the teacher started to reach for the paddle. If the offense was bad enough, the teacher would threaten to get Mr. Scrivner to deliver the punishment. He was known for his paddlings and it wasn't good.

I am not an advocate for bringing paddling back into schools. While I am not against kids getting a good swat when they need one, the liability and potential for misuse is just too much, so I am not really against this practice, I just think it is better to leave it out of the system. I got swats once in 2nd grade and, trust me, I deserved it. I also got swats once in the 7th grade. Once again, I had it coming. However, I can't tell you how many times I got swats in the 4th grade. These were different.

I started the 4th grade with a lovely teacher named Mrs. Scroggins. I still don't know if this was her first teaching job or first job at our school, but we had never seen her before. I went to a rural school and the entire fourth grade was in one classroom. It was a very large class. After a month or so, it was determined that she had more students than she could handle and one-third of us would be moved across the hall into the 3rd grade room. Those students would then be in a split 3rd/4th grade classroom. I was one of them that got moved.

She had a special teachers' lounge,
where she dined with other teachers of her kind.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a legal expert and have no idea what exactly constitutes libel or slander, so I will not be using the real name of my new teacher. For the remainder of this post, she will be referred to as the Witch.

For the most part, it was a regular classroom. The Witch was strict and not nearly as cheery as sweet Mrs. Scroggins, but I wasn't worried. If I kept my head down and did my work, then everything would be fine. It turned out it wasn't that easy.

Now, I hate when whiney kids start complaining that their poor grades or punishment is because "that teacher doesn't like me." While that is possible, it is rarely the case. Bad grades are usually due to a deficiency in the performance of the student. In most cases, if a student got into trouble, it is because he was misbehaving in some way, but something different was going on in this class. I won't even try to make the claim that The Witch didn't like me, because I don't think that was true. I just believe that she had a bubbling cauldron in the coat closet an evil side.

The trouble started with a comic book assignment. Each week, we constructed a comic book about an alien named Gloo McFoo. I am not positive on the name and scoured Google for pictures, but can't find it. This was 30 years ago. Give me a break. On Monday she gave us 3 or 4 papers with the pages of the comic that we were to color, fill in some of the blanks with our vocabulary words, glue to construction paper and construct a small comic book by Friday. This was not a difficult assignment and was supposed to enhance our reading, vocabulary, spelling and art skills. There was a small problem. I hated Gloo McFoo.

See! Aliens are usually green.

I didn't hate him at first, but the hatred came pretty quickly. The first week I did the assignment and turned it in, but when we got them back on Monday, I discovered the Witch was not happy with my work. She pointed to the example hanging on the wall and told me that Gloo McFoo is a blue alien. She berated me in front of the whole class for coloring him green. Honestly, I hadn't really thought about it. In the cartoons on TV they were green, so that's the color I used. The Witch didn't let up on her tirade until I was crying in front of everyone.

The following week, I made sure to color him blue instead of green. I did not want a repeat of the week before. However, when they were returned this time, she said she wanted to see me in the hall. The Witch grabbed the paddle as we stepped out. I didn't know what I had done, but was already shaking, because I knew what was coming.

My heinous crime was that I had failed to trim the edges of the construction paper to match the size of the papers on the inside. I cried that I didn't know I was supposed to. The Wicked Witch gave me three swats.

The worst part was that I hadn't trimmed them the week before either, but the Wicked Witch hadn't said anything. I had corrected the thing that she said was wrong and still got into trouble. Being the wonderful child that I am, I did not tell my parents about this. I didn't realize that what this teacher had done was wrong and I did not want to get into any more trouble at home for being "bad."

The following week, I received swats for not numbering the pages. This time I tried to explain that she had never told me that before. The Ugly Wicked Witch gave me an extra one for arguing. The next week, my swats were for putting the title at the top of the cover page instead of in the center. Once again, it didn't matter to the Ugly Wicked Witch that I had done it that way since the beginning and she had never corrected me.

This practice became my Monday morning routine for the rest of the fourth grade. It didn't happen every single week, but it was the majority of them. I always did something wrong: the middle crease wasn't centered, too much glue in one of the corners, forgot to put my name on it and others. I will admit that after a few months of this, my effort on this assignment slacked off. I knew I would not be able to please the Ugly Wicked Witch and just accepted the fact that I was going to get paddled. Plus, the worst part of getting paddled was the fear beforehand. I was no longer scared of it.

It wasn't until I got much older that I realized the problem was her and not me. The Ugly Evil Wicked Witch never went to get another teacher to observe the swats. That was school policy to ensure it was done properly. Sometimes, she didn't even take me out to the hall, which was also policy. She did it in the classroom in front of the other kids.

I was relaying this story over Thanksgiving dinner a few years back and my mother exclaimed, "I wish I had known about this." In hindsight, I wish I had said something, but my 9 year old mind did not understand at the time.

Now, I do not want to give the impression that I was scarred for life and horribly traumatized. It should not have happened, but it was just a bad year. I still believe I had a wonderful childhood, she was just a dark shadow that didn't last very long. The Horrible Ugly Evil Wicked Witch has since retired and is no longer working with children. Hopefully, I never learn what nursing home she is in.

I Have the Best Friends in the World

The last few days have been a whirlwind on this blog. Loads of people were signing on to see the story unfold between Red of Doesn't Speak Klingon and myself. It began with a tongue-in-cheek marriage proposal on Valentine's Day, grew into the suggestion to meet in person and then understandable concerns about the safety of meeting someone from the internet (we have all heard horror stories). In my last post, I made an attempt to address this issue.

In order to try to prove that I am not a threat to women puppies small children anyone, I invited people that I know personally to vouch for me in the comment section. Then, knowing that most of my readership consists of people who have never met me, I shamelessly begged my friends on Facebook. The response was overwhelming.

Twenty-five different people that know me in my personal life chimed in. This includes people I grew up with, go to church with, neighbors, coworkers, one of my brothers, and my parents. There are over 120 comments on the post at last count. Due to some of the responses I received, I am beginning to realize I hadn't really thought this through.

Some people chose to have fun with it. There were lots of axe and hatchet jokes and even a few mentions of hidden bodies. My childhood friend, Amanda, left a lengthy comment that is probably my favorite one. My father mentioned that I could not be a threat to women since he had to bribe the neighborhood girls to go out with me. If you didn't see this when it happened, it is worth a look to read through the comments. Several of them were funnier than anything I could ever write.

Many of the others took it very seriously and I choked up while reading a couple of them. This was all meant to be in fun (and it was), but I did not expect some of the responses I got. Thank you to all of you who helped. I love you all and value our friendships.

A few of them painted a glowing picture of me.  One, in particular, said:

"Brett could never be an axe murderer. On the other hand, he has been everything else: rebel, preacher, biker, tattoo artist, comedian, writer, photographer, videoman, gamer, extreme sports, etc. If there's anything he hasn't tried, just give him time. And he excels in everything he does."

There were several comments along these lines. While I can't really dispute anything in this sentence (other than excelling at everything), it does give an impression that I cannot even begin to live up to. I reminds me of "the most interesting man in the world" from the Dos Equis commercials.

I am not that guy. I do like to make life interesting and definitely strive to have fun wherever I am, but have never fed baby eagles on the side of a cliff. I wasn't actually a tattoo artist, but I did own a tattoo shop for a while.

Proof that I was a biker. VP and founder of motorcycle club.
Two years ago - I miss my Harley

Even though I did ask for this, the extra attention and wonderful words said about me made me pause to reflect on who I am and the wonderful friendships that I have made over the years. Once again, thank you to everyone who participated. It did not go unnoticed.

Putting all that to the side, I believe that Red was convinced. She even shared with me her real name, even if it was an accident. If she is willing, I would like to meet. I don't have a time frame in mind and our work/school schedules would have to coordinate for both of us. Since she lives 900 miles away, it's not just a quick weekend trip.

The following paragraph is for Red (don't anyone else read it):
If you would like to meet, let me know and we can arrange something. I am always looking for excuses to travel and I have never been to Delaware. I have no expectations other than putting a face with the blog. I think it would be fun.

Everyone else can read now.
I promise that my next post will have nothing to do with any of this. I have a childhood trauma story I am going to try to tackle. I had an evil teacher when I was in the 4th grade. Between her, broken crayons and a space alien, the 4th grade was definitely my worst school year.

Thank you and welcome to all my new readers.

Evidence that I am Harmless

In response to recent internet conversations, I feel a need to defend myself. I have not been accused of anything, but there have been questions about who I am...or am not. Let me give a little background information.

Since I have started blogging, I have made a lot of new friends. This online community I have become a part of has been very rewarding and was not what I expected when I started. My only intention was to write my little stories and I honestly did not know if anyone would ever read them. However, people have been reading and it has been a great experience.

Despite the fact that I have only met these people in the virtual world, I do consider many of them my friends. In fact, this summer I will be meeting in person Jen from "Jen" e sais quoi, since I will be in her city for a wedding. I am not trying to speak for Jen, but I assume she felt that she knew me well enough from my writing that it would be safe to meet and show me around the city. Then again, maybe she carries mace and a gun in her purse and just isn't too worried about me.

However, there is another blogger (Red from Doesn't Speak Klingon) that has been much more cautious. We have developed a mutual curiosity about each other and the idea has been proposed to meet. There are no actual plans being made, it is just an idea, but having never actually met me, Red has one major concern as can be seen in the comment section of one of her posts.

I do understand, but am hit with a dilemma. How does one prove that he is not an axe-murderer? I started with the person that may know me the best, my mother.

This morning's phone conversation:

MOM: Hello.

ME: Hey, Mom. I have a question for you.

MOM: What is it?

ME: Have I ever killed anyone with an axe?

MOM: What!? Do you mean, like, when you were younger?

ME: No. Any time.

MOM: With an axe? No.

ME: So, would you say that I am not an axe murderer?

MOM: I guess so, but I'm not with you all the time. I don't know what you do in your spare time.

ME: Please, help me out here, Mom!

MOM: Fine. To my knowledge you have never killed someone with an axe.

ME: Thank you, Mom. I will quote you on that. I love you.

Now that I had the good word of my mother (and who cannot trust a mother), I thought I would share a story. When I was about 20 years old, I was participating in a Halloween Haunted Hayride. A week before the event a few dozen of us were out chopping wood for the bonfires for the various scenes. I busied myself by throwing the split wood into a truck and assisting the others.

For story accuracy,
his was orange,
not red.

One man named Matt was using a large maul axe since he was splitting some rather large pieces. I was tossing the pieces he cut into the truck. Occasionally, the axe would stick in the wood and I would put my foot on it to steady it so he could pull it out.

One of those times it stuck and I used my foot just as I had before, but this time it was really stuck in there good and pulled the wood out from under me when he pulled the handle. So, trying to be of better assistance, I really leaned into it. I held it down and he gave the axe a wiggle and pulled up. This time it came out. It came straight up and hit me just over my right eye.

The blow threw me back and trying to catch my balance, I almost ran into the tailgate of the truck behind me. My brother caught me and saved me further injury.

Still bent over I removed my hands from my face and saw the blood pouring out of my head. It was like a faucet spewing out water. I wasn't in much pain, but remember thinking, "Wow! My face is probably really messed up."

A girl I didn't know approached me, said I needed stitches and put me in her truck. She drove me to her house and fixed me up in her bathroom. We then returned to the wood cutting, but they didn't make me work. In fact, they took turns making sure I didn't fall asleep. This is as good as it gets with redneck first aid. Within a few days, most of the right side of my face had swollen and turned black.

Today, I only have a small scar under my eyebrow, but you can feel where the bone was chipped (or broken). I really don't know since we never went to the hospital, but this is another reason I cannot be an axe murderer. I have been on the receiving end of an axe and know how they feel. I just can't do that to someone.

Further arguments:

No one wants to see this.
The economy has slumped so low,
this clown had to become a butcher.

1. One of my favorite shows is Dexter. The lead character may be a serial killer, but he only kills people that really deserve it and he has never used an axe.
2. Ask anyone in my family, I am not handy with tools. My kids rush in if I even pick up a screwdriver, because they are scared I might try to fix something.
3. The most grievous injury I have ever caused was to a kid in my youth group. He did have to have surgery, miss his senior trip and go to his graduation on crutches, but I did not hit him with anything.
4.  One of the reasons I don't like small children is because they are sticky. It is disgusting and I would imagine cleaning up the crime scene after killing someone with an axe could be pretty nasty. No thank you.
5. I was belted in Tae Kwon Do when I was an undergrad. He never trained us with weapons.
6. I have never even owned an axe.

I hope this extra knowledge about me will calm any other concerns she may have.  For those of you that know me personally, please feel free to vouch for me in the comment section of this blog. Comments on Facebook will not be seen by her.

Did You Mean "Lobster?"

I received a wonderful compliment this week. The fabulously funny Tracie over at Crack You Whip gave me a blogging award. Tracie is a published children's book author. Noticed that I put the word published in italics. I did that to draw attention to the published part. I am not assuming my readers are stupid and do not know what italics are for (unless you really don't know, then maybe you are), I just intend make this part very clear. I won this award from a PUBLISHED (see what I did there, capitalized and bold that time) author. It was not just thrown at me by some goober that happens to know how to use the internet. This means I am recognized by the literary world. They're going to start sending me checks any time now.

For those of you who don't believe me, I can prove it.
Here it is.   See.   I can do stuff.

I have seen this award floating around the blogosphere, but never knew what it was for. Mainly because I did not know what a Liebster was. I won the Versatile Blog Award from Brandi Boddie at Penning Praises a few months ago. I knew what that one was for since I know what a versatile is, but I had to turn to Google for the meaning of this one. Liebster is actually a German word that translates to "dearest" or "favorite" in English. Now I really feel special.

This is not to be confused with CRACK YOUR WHIP
which focuses on professional bullwhip competitions.
Not as exciting as it sounds.

In order to properly accept this award, I have to follow a few rules. First, I have to link back to the person who gave it to me. As I stated earlier, the Liebster was passed on to me by Crack You Whip. Pay her a visit if you are not already familiar with her blog. It is well worth the trip. Believe it or not, she draws those illustrations herself. Seriously, go check it out.

Second, I have to pass the honor of this award on to five other bloggers and notify them on their blogs. However, they must have less than 200 followers. We don't want those bloggers who already have thousands of followers to get big heads.

When I have have done this in the past, I really had trouble because I did not read many blogs, but now I read a few hundred (slight exaggeration) so the problem is whittling it down to only five of the dozens that immediately come to mind.

The first is a friend of mine. Rob over at Rob's Altruistically Self-Serving Blog. He is one of the few bloggers that I know personally. He has just started blogging and only has eight posts at this time, but he has told a few good stories. Rob may have just started blogging, but he is no stranger to the internet. He is part of a podcast that records every week. The link for the show is on his site.

Next is the fabulous Nellie Vaughn at Buttons Are Not Currency. Nellie writes on a variety of topics, has some short stories and shares her life. Sometimes funny, sometimes thought provoking, always entertaining. On a side note, her name is not really Nellie Vaughn. I know her real name, but am not telling.

Violet at Creative Devolution is one of my absolute favorite bloggers. She lives in Africa and tells her stories through pictures. Her drawings are hysterical and she captures the moment very well. I always get excited when I see that she has a new post available. I wish I could draw.

This blogger I will get to meet this summer. My cousin is getting married in the same city she lives in (Portland) and Jen from "Jen" e sais quoi graciously offered to show us around. She just barely met the requirements of the award since she has 175 Google Friend followers, but she is still under 200 so she gets it. Jen has the courage to disclose exactly who she is in her posts, even on the occasions when she isn't painting herself in a positive light. Her readers love her for her honesty and openly sharing her struggles. She is very funny when she wants to be and is equally adept at addressing serious issues.

Lastly, I have to send some love to my internet fiance, Red from Doesn't Speak Klingon. I became a follower of Red early enough that I commented on her very first post. I have read every one since and have never been disappointed. In fact, one of her posts moved me so much, I proposed to her on the spot. I still don't know her real name, but my offer stands. Red picks apart the destruction of the English language, is anti-Valentine's Day, pro-Star Wars and loves her parents. Pay her a visit.

Here it is again in case you forgot what it looked like.

There are many deserving bloggers, but these are the ones who came to mind for me. I am off to each of their blogs to let them know of the great honor that has been bestowed upon them. Check out each of these blogs for yourself. I will be watching.

Kicking Addiction by Going Cold (Angry) Turkey

I have just entered the last week of my adolescent development class and only have a few assignments left to do. They are the biggest assignments for the course, but I can't seem to concentrate and get them completed. I want to do my homework, but I can't. I blame Mark Zuckerberg's recent decision to partner with Rovio Games. Their partnership allowed Angry Birds to be included in the apps now available on Facebook.

The pigs stole 3 eggs.
You have sacrificed your entire flock.
Who is really the winner here?

I don't know how long it has been available to play, but I discovered it three days ago and installed it immediately. I had played it a few times on other people's phones, but since I don't have a smartphone, I hadn't really put any time into it. I knew how fun it was, so I had to have it. Since installing it three days ago, I have logged 63.7 hours of game play.

I have not been getting my homework done, getting enough sleep or eating properly. After playing for half the night, when I got up to take my daughter to school this morning I felt more guilt than Whitney Houston's pharmacist.

When I arrived back home I deleted the game and blocked the app from appearing on my Facebook in the future. I had to get this darkness out of my life. I always heard fun and addicting this game was and they were right. As soon as I hit my first pig, I was hooked. It only took one. One time and I belonged to that slingshot. I didn't even have to use it for a while for it to build up in my system. It was immediate.

This bird poops out an egg the same size as his body.
No wonder he is willing to kill himself.

On those occasions that I absolutely had to leave my computer, I couldn't stop thinking of ways to destroy that last pig or get more points on the levels that I only had 1 or 2 stars. When I went to sleep I heard pigs laughing at me and was haunted by the "WEEEEE" of overhead birds about to crash through my poorly constructed ice roof. That stupid song was continuously ringing in my ears. I couldn't get away from any of it, but also couldn't wait to score another hit.

Knowing that I couldn't do this alone, I called a friend who had successfully walked away a few months ago. When I told him what I had done, he was deeply empathic. He reminded me that he had warned me to stay away from it. I thought I was strong enough. I could dabble with it and not get hooked. It was just for fun and could put it down anytime I wanted to. Besides, all my friends were doing it. I should have known better.

He made me agree to call him if I began to feel tempted. I have done alright so far, but it is just the first day. I hear it gets harder about day three. I need to find a support group. Pray for me.

Fortune Cookie #1 - Lesson in Patience

Kirsten and I went to eat at our favorite restaurant in town yesterday China Buffet #6. I have no idea why it is number six. I have never seen or heard of China Buffet 1 through 5. Maybe the first five failed and #6 is the first one to succeed. I have no idea, but it is the best Chinese place around. I love Chinese food.

Despite the absence of raw fish,
this is still sushi

Kirsten is not normally available for lunch, but the high school got out early. It was for this same reason there were several teenagers in the restaurant as well. Throughout the meal, I kept laughing at the kids next to us. Kirsten couldn't figure out what I thought was so funny. The table had seven students, including two Asians, who were lecturing the others on how to properly use chopsticks, correcting them about what sushi is (a style of food preparation and NOT raw fish), and explaining the difference between sushi and sashimi.

The entire group was very animated and debated extensively about any topic that was discussed. I was not making fun of them. I found them to be very entertaining and enjoyed listening to their banter, especially when it got ridiculous. My daughter begged, "Dad, don't laugh at them. They can't help it. They're theater kids." Well, that did explain a lot, but they were still fun to watch.

We finish our meal and the fortune cookies arrived with our bill. I crack mine open and read this message.

What?!? No, it doesn't.

For the moment let's ignore the fact that most fortune cookies do not contain fortunes. Lately, they contain little pieces of supposed wisdom or advice. False advertising.

That being said, this 'fortune' is wrong. Patience does not produce immediate results. Certainly not infinite patience. The only reason you would ever need infinite patience is because your results are far from being immediate. If I am getting immediate results, I don't need patience at all.

When I go to the DMV, I know that I will be there for a long period of time. That's why I always bring a good book and a sleeping bag. I am very patient because I know it is to be expected. I don't get upset and I don't complain. However, that attitude does not get me quicker results and it is nowhere near immediate.

Patience has nothing to do with getting results. In fact, sometimes being a little impatient will result in getting your way a little bit faster. It's amazing how many businesses will work faster to get you out of their establishment when you start making a scene because you have been there long enough that your mail is now coming to their waiting room.

Kirsten tells me that I am looking at it the wrong way. The immediate result is not necessarily the completion of the task you are waiting for. "Kirsten, that's stupid." She then tried to re-explain, but the results of her argument were not coming fast enough. My being patient was not helping. Once again, proving my point.  

"Dad, you are just wrong."

"We will see about that."

I got up and (much to my daughter's dismay) had a seat at the table of the theater kids. They halted their enlivened debate and looked at me. One of them with his hands still above his head from the point he was previously making asked, "Can we help you?" I produced the fortune, set it on the table and said, "Someone explain this to me."

One of the Asian girls immediately snatched it up. I was happy about that, since it was her people that wrote it. She proceeded to read it out loud, so they could all think about it. My daughter slid under our table.

She explained that patience will produce the immediate result of inner peace, which leads to less stress and better relations with your fellow man. My daughter yells from under her table, "That's what I said."

"SHUT UP! YOU DID NOT!"

I took the fortune from her and handed it to the guy sitting to her left. She huffed, "Apparently, he wanted a man's perspective." I politely corrected her. "Sorry, no. It's not because he's a man. It's because he's American." I will not be called sexist.

He then said that patience will make your life better.

Well, maybe....eventually.

I told the table they were wrong and needed to stay in school. One of the girls shot back, "Maybe you shouldn't have asked us then." However, one of the guys (the most strangely dressed one), came to my defense and said, "Wait, I see what he's saying. Anticipated results should pertain to the item...OW!!!"

The Asian girl next to him stabbed him in the arm with her chopsticks. The table then erupted into a heated argument about who was right. Four taking the original position and three who sided with me. However, since I was now being ignored and they were busy insulting each others' intelligence, it was time for us to leave.

I love that restaurant.

Wrong again! These numbers did not win.

Great Week for Blogging

I have had a very eventful week. Well, more eventful than my usual weeks of watching television, doing homework and spying on my neighbors. I even got out of the house a few times.

It started last weekend when I escorted my son, Christian, and his band Odysseus to a recording studio in St. Louis to record their first EP. It was a learning experience for me and, in an unexpected turn of events, my voice made it onto the album. For those of you who have been unfortunate enough to hear me sing, don't start investing in earplugs. It wasn't a solo and I wasn't actually singing. There is a spot in the chorus of one of their songs where we screamed chanted the phrase "Don't take it out on me." I haven't heard the whole song, so I don't know what that means.

$1.99 on Amazon

On Tuesday, which was Valentine's Day for those of you who might not have noticed, the very funny blog The Simple Dude had a give away for single people. The prize was a $50 Amazon gift card. It involved tweeting re-twitting re-twatting tooting re-tweeting a message he put out on Twitter that day and then he would do a random drawing. I re-tweeted (that word just doesn't sound right) his message and commented on his blog that if I won, I would buy his blogging e-book from Amazon.

I did not win, but the winner, who writes the blog Good Youngman Brown, decided to buy the book for me with his winnings. I had the link in my inbox by the afternoon of the next day. I have never met this man. He just decided to do this after seeing my comment that I wanted to buy it. Thank you, fellow blogger. You are one of the good people out there in this world.

Of course, I went to check out the blog of my benefactor and was pleased to find that he is very funny. Be sure to visit Good Youngman Brown and The Simple Dude. You will not be disappointed by either.

A heart, yes.
But no sappy pink
or frilly stuff

Earlier on V Day, I proposed marriage to Red at the blog Doesn't Speak Klingon. Well, I didn't really propose. I just told her I had decided this should happen and she agreed. You can see this in the comments of her February 13 post. We have never met and don't know if we ever will, but I expect that we will be very happy. Vesta Vayne at Cowardly Feminist gave us her stamp of approval. She even encouraged Red to accept.

Then this morning, I was informed by CopyBoy at the blog Not Worth Mentioning that I was the featured New Blog of the Day on his site. I just discovered this site last week and have enjoyed reading his take on the crazy facts he finds on the internet. Thank you, CopyBoy for today's plug.

I know I included a lot of links in this post, but I recommend every one of these great blogs. If I mentioned any you are not familiar with, pay them a visit.

Wedding Bells in Aisle 5

Since everyone else is writing about Valentines Day, I figured I better jump on the bandwagon. For those of you that are already sick of hearing about V-Day, don't stop reading. This is not a sappy Cupid post. I married and 12 years later divorced the girl in this story. I just wanted to share a story from my life (that just happens to revolve around the topic most discussed today).

Back in 1995, when I was considerably younger and stupider, I was in love with a girl that I just had to marry. We had been dating for a considerable amount of time and I had decided it was time to 'pop the question,' but wanted to do something different. Doing the traditional getting down on one knee or proposing over a candlelight dinner is just not my style. So, I devised a plan.

Christina had said many times that her favorite place on earth was Wal-Mart. She just loved to shop and Wal-Mart has just about anything a person could ever need. I had a college professor once say, "If you can't get it at Wal-Mart, you don't need it." So, I decided there would be no better place to do it. I know, I'm a romantic.

It's where dreams come true....at discount prices

We were headed into town with my friend John and his girlfriend. We were all going out to eat and had to stop by Wal-Mart for a few things first. I had informed John of my plan so he could keep the girls busy until I pulled it off. It was going to be a bit of a challenge. I knew what I wanted to do in my head, but did not know if the store would cooperate.

As soon as we entered the store, I excused myself to the restroom and told them I would catch up. Once they were out of sight, I sought out a manager to explain my plan. I wanted to use the intercom to declare my love.

Since it was a Friday night, the store manager was not there. It was a shift manager who was afraid to grant me permission without talking to his boss first. Since it had taken about 10 minutes to even speak with the shift manager, I was beginning to get concerned about my time. However, this was important and I would do what I had to do.

When he got the manager on the phone, he wanted to talk to me directly. He asked me to tell him exactly what I was going to say. I had rehearsed it, so I told him. He gave me several conditions that I agreed to and asked to put the shift manager back on the phone. After hanging up he told me not to move and disappeared.

At this point it had been almost half an hour since we had entered the store. I was praying that John was doing a good job of keeping the girls busy since this was taking much longer than I had anticipated. I just knew that at any moment they would be returning back to the front of the store and my plan would be foiled.

When he finally came back, he had me sign some papers to relieve Wal-Mart of any liability from the events that were about to transpire. He then said I had to be willing to have our pictures taken for the national Wal-Mart newsletter. I didn't want to consent to this one because I didn't know if Christina would be up for it, but it was a deal-breaker, so I reluctantly agreed. He then wanted to hear what I was going to say again. Finally, after close to an hour of being in the store, he handed me the intercom microphone.

"Attention Wal-Mart shoppers and especially Christina XXXXXXXX of Waltonville. This is Brett Minor and I would like you to answer a question for me. A few days ago I purchased a ring that I want to present to you. I love you and want you to be my wife. Meet me at register 1 if the answer is yes. If you do not arrive within 10 minutes, I will assume the answer is no and leave quietly. I love you and the timer starts now."

I then took my place at the register and waited. As the minutes ticked by a crowd began to gather around me. After a few minutes there was over 100 people standing at the register waiting to see how this was going to unfold. Every woman that came walking around the corner caused the crowd to hold their breath. I would say, "That's not her," and they collectively exhaled with disappointment, "OHHHH." This happened dozens of times.

Every person that came around the corner was coming to watch the show and the crowd continued to grow. Considerately, they never blocked the view between myself and the area she would be coming from. The time continued to click by.

An elderly African-American gentleman approached me and asked, "Are you worried yet?" I wasn't before he asked, but was starting to think about it. I was pretty positive she would say yes, but maybe I was wrong. It was also possible that she wanted to say yes, but was not willing to be a public spectacle and had fled out the back door. Either way, it would be really embarrassing to be standing here rejected in front of all these people.

Someone shouted out, "Thirty seconds left." Everyone started looking at their watches. I stood my ground and tried to maintain my smile. I could hear the people whispering, "She's not coming. Oh, that poor guy. What will he do?"

The crowd began to chant, "TEN!!!"

Oh, great. She really isn't going to show up.

"NINE"

I can't believe I did this. This is the stupidest I idea I have ever had.

"EIGHT"

Are they even still here? We came in one car.

"SEVEN"

The exit is too crowded. I won't even be able to make a quick getaway.

"SIX"

My face feels flushed. Is it hot in here?

"FIVE"

Wait! Is that John? Yes. They're here. 

"FOUR"

Why is he by himself? Where is she?

"THREE"

She slowly walked around the corner. Her face was beet red, but she had a big smile. As soon as I acknowledged to the crowd that this was her, they erupted into applause. I put the ring on her finger, kissed her and the crowd cheered again. We got lots of high fives and handshakes as the crowd began to disperse.

A Wal-Mart employee jumped in to get the shot for the newsletter and we were on our way out to the car. I asked her, "What part of the store were you in that it took so long to get to the front?"

She responded, "I considered leaving and saying yes later after making you sweat, but thought that would be too mean. So, I decided to make you think I wasn't coming."

Boredom in Music Land

Yesterday afternoon I braved a mini blizzard, arrived in St. Louis and have been sitting in a dark room ever since. I've been sleeping in an unfurnished room with six gaseous teenagers and really crappy internet service.

That really sounds worse than it is. I have been known to exaggerate.

Much too my disappointment,
there was not a single dinosaur inside.

Last month I wrote about going to see my son's death metal band perform in a club. It was loud, as is necessary for shows of that type, and my ears have stopped bleeding since then. This weekend I am with the band again, but this time it is to record their first EP. They have recorded once before, but it was in the basement of their lead singer's house. This time, we are in a professional studio. It is a much better experience when you don't have to chase rats away to keep them from chewing on the guitar cords.

My being here does not mean that I really have anything to do with this endeavor. Because recording is not a fast process, they have to stay here for a few days to get all the tracks done. With five band members, all their equipment and sleeping gear, it would not fit into one vehicle.

Proposed solution: "Christian, call your dad. He's never doing anything."

So, here I am.

The owner's dog. Pit bull mix to guard
his owner's coffee stash.

Despite not having much to do, it really isn't that bad. I brought my laptop, several books and a few rented DVD's. There is also a big screen HDTV in the next room with a large comfortable couch. I am using these things to distract myself because a person can only watch a drum track being laid down so many times. And it has been done many, many times.

It was really interesting in the beginning. When they first started recording last night, I was fascinated by the microphone setup, the sound board, the process and the beautiful 37" computer monitor the sound engineer has on his computer.

Part of the control room

First, the guitar track (scratch track) must be recorded. This is a basic recording that will not be on the final cut. It is used as the basis for the drummer to play off of later. Once the drums are recorded, other instruments get recorded and added in one at a time. It is an incredibly slow process. The guitar scratch tracks alone kept them up until about 3 a.m. this morning. Since I don't have the energy of a teenager they don't need me for any of this, I went to bed at midnight.

This studio is built for several aspects of the music business. They silk screen shirts for bands, create CD and sleeve art and rent out rooms for bands to practice in. Since we live so far away, they let us crash in one of the practice rooms. While I greatly appreciate the courtesy offered to us, I thought I was going to freeze to death. That room was cold.

Since it is not designed for people to be living here, it is missing some basic accommodations. There is a refrigerator, but no stove or microwave. We ran to the grocery store to have food for the next three days, but since we cannot cook, it is mostly lunch meat sandwiches and fruit roll-ups.

One of the motivational moments between takes

Whether well-fed or malnourished, the plan is to have the entire album finished sometime Sunday afternoon. The guys have really been enjoying the experience and I am thrilled that I got to participate and watch their excitement. Despite all the downtime for me, I love that I was asked to come. I've learned a lot. Hanging out with teenagers, a lot of what I learned involved new ways to fart on each other, but I learned some music stuff too.

Hopefully, the new Odysseus EP will be available soon.