This Saturday past, I travelled Upstate to visit my buddy, Mike, in Greenville (I didn't make it to Spartenburg, Aunt Maggie, or I'd've waved at your people).
Mike gave me a tour of the town, which included a lovely city park, Falls Park on the Reedy.
There's Mike, standing in front of the park's pedestrian suspension bridge. It was cool, and offered nice views of the park. Like these falls. Nice landscaping, too. And, of course, the Reedy River.
I turned fifty a few days ago. After my old buddy Russ did it five months ago, I figured that this might happen to me. My fiance, the lovely Lady Di, bought me a super-duper chair, and put together an amazing party for me, too. My brother, the Amazing AndyMan, came up from Tampa, as did high school buddies Phil and Terrie. My oldest (non-relative) friend, Russ, and his girlfriend, and his mom (who, as I've mentioned not a few times in this space, is my "second mom"), Frandy, drove up from Panama City, FL. My running partner, Kevin, and his fiance made it, along with lots of friends from Church and out and about (I'll post more pictures on FaceBook, if you wanna look). An early rain burned off, and the weather was perfect. Lots of food, music, and camaraderie were made possible by the hard work and planning of my true love, Diane. Out of a slew of blessings for which I am grateful, Diane is my greatest.
About every other month, St. Jude's Episcopal Church has a social gathering. Since it's always on Fridays, they call it "Good Fridays" (you know, after the Easter Prequel thing). Mostly it's at one or another Parishioner's home in or about The Boro, but last night we loaded up our vehicles and traveled to nearby Yemassee to Harold's Country Club. Yemassee has some history, of note, including its role as the former train-stop for Marine recruits heading for Parris Island and for the tribe of Native Americans after whom the town was named (As I understand it, British settlers killed every last one of the Yemassee tribe, leaving only the name behind). Harold's is a restaurant that used to be a auto mechanic's shop and gas stop. Currently, Harold's is about the only thing going in Yemassee, but it's enough. Shoot, look at the stuff offered at Harold's: Fishing lures. Pickled pig's feet. Pool. Smokes. Dancing. and, yes, you can even get a steak (but only on steak night. Usually, that's Saturday, but they made an exception for us).
After spending the morning in Beaufort, I came home to see this box on my doorstep. The only parcel I've been expecting is a roaster pan from Sears. I don't know anybody in Groves, Texas. Who's Nancy Pellerin? Hmmmm. Seems I recall Col getting a surprise mug a couple of weeks ago, which I figured must have come from Illinois Internet friend John. Betcha that's a mug.
Well, waddya know? And a smiley face, too. The timing couldn't've been better, either. Though the Christmas season has been fun, I only had one present to actually open for Christmas: a nice coffee maker from the kids. Say, and this'll go nicely with that, too, won't it? Thanks, John.
The region has been getting some bad weather the past few days. Maybe not as bad as Atlanta, but not nice. Last night we had a hail storm. My covered front porch was, well, covered in it. Seemed like there ought to be some use for it.
Here we go. My "dogs playing pool" needed a new cueball, applied by My Friend Amy. What? You don't have a black velvet "dogs playing pool" in your home? I'll interpret your condescending tone as jealousy, thank you very much.
Hail is ice, which is just what I needed for my, er, applejuice. We need another hailstorm. I'm thirsty.
Chase Squires opined that I was pretty safe in offering four commenter tributes, as that is pretty much the number of commenters I can count on. Well, pffft! I got five commenters. Okay, I grant you there was a surprise lurker to bring the total to five, but, of course, any number of others might've logged in, but, you know, didn't on account of the game already being "locked" and all. So, here we go:
Chase was actually harder to shop for than I figured. "Chase" yielded a couple of decent possibilities, and I briefly (very briefly) considered a chase from the Benny Hill Show. Nah. "Squires" gave a fair number of hits, and I seriously considered a Spiderman 3 clip set to the tune of Billy Squiers' The Stroke. It was actually pretty neat, but didn't feel right. I know Chase likes Paperbird, and flirted with a couple of their videos. No, not the right theme. Well, while Chase is far from a one-trick pony, it is fair to say he runs a little. A hunnerd K here, a hunnerd miler there. That sort of thing. Probably he has tons of running songs already. The Distance? Oh, THAT'S original. Not. Anyway, I found a video with a running theme and a heart-beat rhythmn and an interesting series of clips, so I went with it (though I really liked No Doubt's "Running", too).
Good to hear from John. John's witty, seems fun, and I check his blog regularly. I'd wondered where he went off to. Johnny Cash? Nah. Jimmy Dean's "Big John"? No, the sausage king doesn't deserve the affiliation. David Bowie's always been one of my favorites, and the following is Bowie at his glam-rocking peak. Hope you like it.
Sunny48? I think I know who you be. You picked the moniker, so there is really only one song, isn't there? Bobby Hebb's Sunny is a nice song, but his version doesn't look as good on video as James Brown's. And he was from South Carolina, too.
Amy did beat Andy, but she graciously allowed the Amazing AndyMan to share her tribute. They actually have quite a bit in common. They're both competitive. Both run. Both coach cross-country. Hmmm? I've never seen them in a room together either, now that I think about it. Oh, and they both teach. Well, that settles it (and it allows me to post one of my all-time favorite songs).
Let's see. Where was I? As I finish my gustatory adventure, Amy drops me off at my Babymama time-share in the people-factory that is Orlando. We go to the Magic Kingdom, which perhaps has replaced the Statue of Liberty as the primary symbol for America. We take the boat over, as I imagine Neil Diamond sing "We're coming to America!"
We do Space Mountian, Pirates of the Carribean, the Haunted Mansion, all that jazz. Still, my favorite ride at Disney is the ride referred to on South Park as "the waiting in line" ride. Properly done, the waiting in line ride offers a chance to sort through the crush of humanity to play fun games. One of the games that my oldest son, Davis, and I played was spot the faux-sports figure. Fat, white Shaquille O'Neals. Adolescent Peyton Mannings. The Tom Bradys were out in force. Hunting Bradys became our favorite. Twin Bradys seemed to be tailing us, but I couldn't seem to get both their pictures at the same time (I guess I just could have asked them, but where's the fun in that?).
The Magic Kingdom: The Happiest Place on Earth!
Davis and Superdave, daughter Caroline and her beau.
After Christmas, I came back to the Boro for a day of work on Thursday, then left out again on Friday to get back to F-L-A. For Christmas, my friend Amy had bought us tickets to the Champs Sports Bowl between Michigan State and Boston College. Amy spent some time in Boston, and is a B.C. fan (baseball is a decidedly schizophrenic affair for her. She also spent years in Cleveland and Chicago. Baseball apparently matters a great deal to the denizens of each of those communities). So, off we went.
Along I-95, past the Hilton Head Island, then Savannah exits, right near Brunswick, Georgia, lies the South Georgia town of Woodbine, home to a couple of gas stations and a barbeque joint. I opt for the petrol first. I look at the pump for a place to stick my debit card. Nada. Hey, old school! I pump my gas and am greeted by a pleasant lady who looks like a character out of an old Dukes of Hazzard episode, wearing a T-shirt that says, "Everyone's entitled to be stupid, but you are abusing the privilege". So, I ask if she'd mind if I snap her picture. No problem.
You can't see it in this shot, but she also had a petition to reduce cigarette taxes taped to the wall next to the register. After I snapped her mug, she said the shirt was popular, as I was the second person to take her picture that day. For some reason, this haunting scene did not deter me from taking us to the barbeque joint next door. There would be consequences.
Welcome to paradise (er, I guess that's actually a few miles South of here).
We missed the first few minutes of the game, but have great seats. 15 yard line, about 15 rows up.
Great seats! BC wins! My Friend Amy.
Sadly, the Woodbine barbeque turned out to be an unfortunate choice. I'm pretty sure the pork plate included pork, but I think "pork" was broadly defined. The net result was a tour of many of the restrooms throughout the Central Florida greater metropolitan area (it turns out that this was not a port-o-let as I'd imagined. Tragic).
After a really fine evening meal at Houston's in Orlando, we opted for the a simple breakfast the next morning. Perkins, it seems, must have a minimum weight requirement. At 235, I had no problem getting in. Amy had to sneak in behind me. Whilst there, I ordered the blueberry pancakes slathered in all sorts of unhealthy, coronary-inducing additives. But it was a trick! Look closely at the pancakes...
Hey! This blueberry's not blue! Turns out that the frozen blueberries are stored next to the frozen peas. This little guy had at least six brothers and sisters adding unnecessary vitamins to my breakfast. Naturally, the peacakes were comped. Still, my tummy had only just recovered from the Woodbine incident...
Friday through Saturday morning were good, though. Saturday afternoon and Sunday? Later (if anyone's watching).
I was born in Montana, raised in Tampa, and reside in a small town in the lowcountry of South Carolina with the Lovely Lady Di, and son Tyler. Walterboro (the 'Boro) has about 5,100 residents. It's a moderately interesting place. I work in the public defender's office representing poor people charged with crimes. Some of them did it. Some of them didn't do it. Some are not very nice, a lot of them are just regular Joes with a huge plate of bad luck.
I'm a moderately interesting fellow, who has the good fortune to know or be related to some very interesting people. Is there anyone out there?
This Saturday past, I travelled Upstate to visit my buddy, Mike, in Greenville (I didn't make it to Spartenburg, Aunt Maggie, or I'd've waved at your people).
Mike gave me a tour of the town, which included a lovely city park, Falls Park on the Reedy.
There's Mike, standing in front of the park's pedestrian suspension bridge. It was cool, and offered nice views of the park.
Like these falls.
Nice landscaping, too.
And, of course, the Reedy River.
I turned fifty a few days ago. After my old buddy Russ did it five months ago, I figured that this might happen to me. My fiance, the lovely Lady Di, bought me a super-duper chair, and put together an amazing party for me, too. My brother, the Amazing AndyMan, came up from Tampa, as did high school buddies Phil and Terrie. My oldest (non-relative) friend, Russ, and his girlfriend, and his mom (who, as I've mentioned not a few times in this space, is my "second mom"), Frandy, drove up from Panama City, FL. My running partner, Kevin, and his fiance made it, along with lots of friends from Church and out and about (I'll post more pictures on FaceBook, if you wanna look). An early rain burned off, and the weather was perfect. Lots of food, music, and camaraderie were made possible by the hard work and planning of my true love, Diane. Out of a slew of blessings for which I am grateful, Diane is my greatest. 
About every other month, St. Jude's Episcopal Church has a social gathering. Since it's always on Fridays, they call it "Good Fridays" (you know, after the Easter Prequel thing). Mostly it's at one or another Parishioner's home in or about The Boro, but last night we loaded up our vehicles and traveled to nearby Yemassee to Harold's Country Club. Yemassee has some history, of note, including its role as the former train-stop for Marine recruits heading for Parris Island and for the tribe of Native Americans after whom the town was named (As I understand it, British settlers killed every last one of the Yemassee tribe, leaving only the name behind). Harold's is a restaurant that used to be a auto mechanic's shop and gas stop. Currently, Harold's is about the only thing going in Yemassee, but it's enough. Shoot, look at the stuff offered at Harold's:
Fishing lures.
Pickled pig's feet.
Pool.
Smokes.
Dancing.
and, yes, you can even get a steak (but only on steak night. Usually, that's Saturday, but they made an exception for us).
After spending the morning in Beaufort, I came home to see this box on my doorstep. The only parcel I've been expecting is a roaster pan from Sears. I don't know anybody in Groves, Texas. Who's Nancy Pellerin? Hmmmm. Seems I recall Col getting a surprise mug a couple of weeks ago, which I figured must have come from Illinois Internet friend John. Betcha that's a mug.
Well, waddya know? And a smiley face, too. The timing couldn't've been better, either. Though the Christmas season has been fun, I only had one present to actually open for Christmas: a nice coffee maker from the kids. Say, and this'll go nicely with that, too, won't it? Thanks, John.
Let's see. Where was I? As I finish my gustatory adventure, Amy drops me off at my Babymama time-share in the people-factory that is Orlando. We go to the Magic Kingdom, which perhaps has replaced the Statue of Liberty as the primary symbol for America. We take the boat over, as I imagine Neil Diamond sing "We're coming to America!"
My Friend Amy.
Hey! This blueberry's not blue! Turns out that the frozen blueberries are stored next to the frozen peas. This little guy had at least six brothers and sisters adding unnecessary vitamins to my breakfast. Naturally, the peacakes were comped. Still, my tummy had only just recovered from the Woodbine incident...
