Emancipation Day!
Also featuring Anniversary Weekend and Eternal Airport Delay

Actually, it was Thursday, but who's counting!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Thursday marked the first anniversary of my departure from Signature Special Events! (link included soley for informational purposes- don't think of renting something from there, traitor!) You might remember that my final week there was abbreviated by egregious behavior on behalf of one of my bosses, which prompted me to say "Hasta La Vista" two days early. Well, joke's on them, since I managed to get off the ship before it irretrievably sank! May they each have chance encounters with massive, speedy objects as they endeavor to cross the street!
Alright, now that I've gotten the hate and discontent out of me (to quote my parents and family from innumerable occasions during my childhood), let's move on to recent news!
In answer to the question that's caused much angst and handwringing these last two months, yes, it has now rained in North Carolina. Not only rained, but rained nearly continually for 3 days. Apparently, the atmospheric cycles haven't up and stopped what they've been doing since time immemorial, nor shall we run out of water in 120 days. I was very disappointed in the local media since, for the first time ever, it took a minor inconvenience and blew it into a disaster on par with the Ten Plagues of Egypt. Hmmm... wait a minute! What do you mean 'They do this all the time'?
There has not been much in the way of personal news with me since I last posted (and hence my lack of a rush to do so). Perhaps this has annoyed my readers, but would you really have wanted to read a week and a half of blogs saying "I went to work and came home... I went to work and came home"? We did get to spend a fun night with Jason and Erika: In between dodging wasps issuing from the fireplace in droves, we managed a game of Taboo. For a change, I played with Erika and Shelly played with Jason. Mrs. Hawkins and I won the day, thanks in large part to Jason's refusal to speculate on the role Morgan Freemon had played in Driving Miss Daisy, since, as he repeated twice in strident tones " hadn't seen the movie!"
Well, no, we didn't win by just one point, but I just wanted to bring up that particular memory!
So, that brings me up to today.
After a lengthy opportunity to better acquaint myself with RDU airport last night, Southwest finally managed to deposit me at BWI airport around 1 am, about three hours behind schedule. Apparently, during the drought, Raleigh pilots allowed their inclement weather flying skills to degrade substantially, therefore causing my weekend trip home for Mom's birthday to be delayed. As the only person I know who works for Southwest, I hold Jen Glass directly responsible for this travesty.
Alright, really going out on a limb here, but Mom doesn't read my blog regularly, and I hope she doesn't read this tonight: I'm actually here for her and Dad's surprise 40th Anniversary party tomorrow. She might have found it somewhat suspiscious that I up and flew here, then requested to 'keep things quiet' and not have any family come for dinner while I'm here (since they'd all have had to refuse, since they're coming tomorrow), but she hasn't mentioned anything. Anyway, I'll get pictures of the festive affair tomorrow, then post them when I get back to Chapel Hill tomorrow night. I'll also have pictures of the outside of Danielle's new house, which Dad, Grandpop and I visited this morning.
Well, that's really about all for now. Sorry about the lack of pictures, but like I said, I'll get them up tomorrow or Monday. Or Tuesday. Or possibly the end of the week. But point is, you'll get to see them! ;)
Have a good week until then, and I'll see some of you tomorrow.

Late, As Usual

Yes, I'm two days late. Some grovelling seems in order.

Anyway, I hope everyone's weekend was as good as mine, although I'd like to think you didn't part with quite as much of your livelihood as I did. Damn Balsam Mountain Inn! And curses upon the conniving harlot who planned to have her wedding there, only to postpone it, yet still leave the seed of the idea in Shelly's head!

Shelly hasn't yet demanded that I remove the scandalous (and thoroughly baseless) reference to Jen Glass in the previous paragraph, but then again, she hasn't read my blog yet. So "I'm sorry" in advance, and I'll perform the necessary rituals of supplication.

So anyway, after a rip-roaring week at the SECU, Shelly and I managed to depart Chapel Hill at 5:15 pm, as I had departed work early in exchange for not eating. Any advantages this may have theoretically offered were washed away by three, count 'em three, traffic jams before we even got to Winston Salem. Making lemonade out of lemons, we stopped for a 'quick' dinner at Wendy's, where again our plans were thwarted by the Golden Girls' stand-ins, who wanted each and every possible price combination to the Number 11 meal spelled out to them in encyclopedic detail. Half an hour later, we finally got our food, only to have Shelly scoff at the French Fry quality and return them. Old, long-forgotten feelings of enmity between myself and Wendys (and my seed and its seed) rolled uneasily in their sleep.

Finally arriving in Balsam, about thirty miles west of Asheville, we ascended a high mountain hill in the dark of night, checked in at the desk, and were ushered to our room. Here's a picture of the hall of the east wing, first floor:

By a complete act of blind fate, a priced, purchasable picture graced the wall outside our room, apparently fulfilling a scarecrow-like function, warding off miniature greyhounds and their doting owners:

Despite the utility of having such a picture back in Chapel Hill, we were forced to leave it there.

The room itself was smallish, without TV or phone, equipped with the most primitive of heating apparatus (which, thankfully, went unneeded), possessed of a shower of equivalent strength as the one I grew up with (read BAD for anyone who's never had the pleasure of showering at my parents' house), and (according to the room's literature) not sound-proofed in the slightest. Use your imagination on that last one.

The bed, however, was huge, and the entire Inn was absolutely charming. Shelly and I toured all three floors, poked our heads into unrented suites, and positively loved the library, with its 2000 volumes, cozy gas fireplace, and 24-hour coffee dispenser.

The next morning, the two of us got up, enjoyed the complimentary breakfast, and hit the road. We also finally got a look at the place in the daylight. I didn't get a great shot of the whole structure, but here's a nice one of the front:

After a long, Lord-of-the-Rings-ish quest for a gas station, we backtracked and drove up on the Blue Ridge Parkway. I could go on for hours about the wondrous views, but words don't do it justice. We stopped at maybe four or five overlooks, but the best was the last, so I'll just show the picture I got of that:

After that, having not planned every second of our weekend, we found ourselves at somewhat of a loss for what to do next. Fortunately, having also found ourselves on a Cherokee Indian reservation, we took part in that great Native American past time, casino gambling!

Harrah's Casino was close by, so we drove over there and spent about an hour playing the slots and video poker, managing, not surprisingly, to lose $19 (which would have been $25 had it not been for a last minute, double or nothing times two risk I made on a winning, one dollar poker hand. Come to poppa, Mr. Four Dollar Bill!). Having satisfactorily introduced Shelly to a vice sure to empty our coffers later in life when she develops an addiction for it, we cut our losses and moved on, this time to an arts and crafts show in nearby Waynesville.

Not exactly my thing, but it wasn't a total bust: Shelly managed to find an elusive bag saver in a pattern she liked. Now all those plastic bags won't simply languish in the pantry- oh no. We have a tasteful, patterned bag to stuff them into now. I swear, I don't know how humanity managed to scrape by without all these modern conveniences....

It was then, when all seemed right with the world, that disaster struck. Completely unprovoked, a bee landed on, then stung, my wife. Folks, you can't comprehend just what a calamity this situation represented. You see, Shelly is deathly afraid of anything with a stinger, and always (in my view) totally overreacts when one ventures into view. My bored, smug assurances that they would leave her alone if only she'd remain calm did little to placate her, but at least I had reason on my side. But now, with one single, gleeful flex of the sternum and plunge of the stinger, this bee has shattered what little stock my rationalizations had! I can only hope it was one of those bees that dies after a sting, thus providing some small amount of cosmic justice.

Contrary to what you might think, this incident did not have the affect of cutting short our visit to the art show. Instead, we spent about an hour there all told. Interestingly, several Indians had stalls set up, some of which were selling T-shirts proclaiming "Homeland Security: Fighting Terrorism Since 1492!" Real clever, guys. Would it be a hate crime for me to point out that your efforts weren't all that successful?

And that just left dinner, which we partook of back at the Inn. I had a fish that looked to have been caught that afternoon, the interior of which was stuffed with mushrooms and breadcrumbs, and as an appetizer we ordered a cheese sampler tray. Dropping the equivalent of a nights rent by the time the tip was taken into account, we departed for the long walk back to the room, very tired and content.

And then we came back. Shelly wishes me to post these two pictures...

Ok, perhaps not. Blogger seems to have picked up a bug between the time I started and now. But the automated screen that comes up assures me they're working on it, which is very comforting.

So, let me leave you with this complex moral puzzle. Suppose you, whilst driving through a parking lot, hit a guardrail. Or shopping cart corral. Or a miscellaneous cement pillar. What is your first reaction?

A) "Oh, crap, I can't believe I did that! I'm such an idiot!"

B) "Oh no! I wonder how much this is going to cost to fix!"

C) "My God! I've hit a stationary object! This is someone's fault other than mine! The store that owns this parking lot should pay for the damage!"

Guess which choice two, count 'em, TWO different drivers that bank with the Credit Union have chosen in the last three days?

OK, Blogger must have worked out its kinks. Here's those two pictures:

And here's the first group I showed my pictures to, my three coworkers! Now, don't be jealous, they don't get to read my blog, so they have to get some perks, right? Well, I suppose getting to see me 9 hours a day is kind of a perk, but... OK, you got me.

Hello again, bloggerinos!

Well, I've fallen behind again, but as always, I'll give you a cursory review of the last week before I get to this one.

Work was frantic. Fellow MSR LaToya was out on vacation, enjoying the Virgin Islands (she later returned with a nice coffee mug for me), and everyone in Chapel Hill decided that was the week to visit their friendly neighborhood credit union, so it was fairly stressful. Add to that the fact that I inherited a new report to work, and also, being the wonderful, supportive colleague that I am, offered to help Denise type out minutes to an hour and a half long meeting, I didn't have much time or patience left over for blogging.

I did, however, have time to read books and watch movies, what with those two things being a staple of modern life. In the former category, I read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, a novel by Mark Haddon. This is a unique book, in that I happened to like it despite detesting almost all of the characters. (Incidentally, I apparently have a copy with a somewhat 'cleaned up' cover; like that wikipedia article picture, my book has an upside-down dog, but omits the ominous pitchfork protruding from its stomach).

The story is told from the perspective of a 15 year old, autistic boy, who lives with his father in England. The plot centers on his 'investigations' into the violent death of a neighborhood dog (which, being a poodle, likely deserved whatever it got anyway).

It's very believably written from the kid's perspective, and overall, a very interesting story. I don't know very much about autism, and don't know how well it would hold up to scrutiny for others who know more (namely, Justin), but the way it explained things seemed plausible.

I had two major criticisms, though. For one, at sporadic points throughout the book, the protagonist goes off on these spiels against religion and the supernatural, which don't mesh at all with the rest of the story. To me, it seemed to be a problem the real author had, which he felt the need to shoehorn into a book where it really didn't fit. Obviously, I took issue with that- it seemed calculated to needlessly offend part of the audience for no reason whatsoever, and just caused me to dislike the main character, who is supposed to be sympathetic.

Secondly, there's a part in the book where he runs away and travels by train to London. His father reports his disappearance, and the police manage to find him, but he eludes them. I understand that, for plot reasons, he needs to get to his mother's house, but the way in which this is done does not just strain credulity, it breaks with reality all together. Here's a brief synopsis of that part:

In train station, cop is drawn to him, as he remains in same place for 3 hours. Cop helps him get on train. Cop then discovers he's the runaway he's been hearing about, boards train, which then takes off with him in it. (Apparently, cop doesn't bother to tell station to hold the train, which is odd considering he works there all the time and would know how to do this). During ride to next station, protagonist wets himself, prompting cop to tell him to use bathroom, with admonishment that he'll be keeping an eye on him. Cop apparently does not, as 15 year old autistic kid comes out, studies luggage rack, hides in it, all while the cop is unawares. Cop disappears. After several hours, kid comes out, randomly gets off at next stop, which happens to be correct one. Station manager recognizes him, goes to get cops, and tells him to stay put, never stopping to think he might not obey. Kid studies signs, threatens friendly station worker with knife, which also raises no red flags. Kid goes down to underground train platform, sits on bench for 5 hours; good thing all auxiliary characters in this book have the memory of a goldfish, and don't think to, you know, look around the station for him.

One last thing: I refuse to believe that strangers (even city dwellers) are as incredibly rude as the ones in this book. With near uniformity, they're as verbally abusive as Joe Pesci in Casino on a bad day. The rare gem who isn't, though, doesn't get off any better: The few strangers who are nice to poor Christopher Boone usually get threatened at knifepoint.

So, anyway, go read it, or not, whatever. No solid recommendation here.

So, last weekend, Erika decided to invite us over again. This time, following a delicious pizza dinner, the lady of the house kept the veto pen in her desk and allowed us a stirring game of Taboo! The buzzer was broken, so we made use of a set of Charlotte's plastic flowers, which give out a melodious ding when pounded on. Shelly, I'm happy to say, received a great many dings, but her and Erika still managed to carry the day.

In movie news, we watched Rise of the Silver Surfer and New World over the last few days. Both were horrible. We'd actually tried watching New World during vacation, but fell asleep both times. We really should have learned something from that, but instead allowed an addition 140 minutes to be stolen out of our lives by bad directing.

That takes us through last week, and into this one!

This week, with us back up to full staff, went much smoother at work, and there were no major problems to report. This weekend, we have been blessed to have my mother-in-law and fellow blogger Jennifer Glass come to see us, along with a brief visit from her parents during the 'drop-off' phase. Southwest really takes it out of you:

Currently out on the Parade of Homes, the three ladies left me in blissful solitude, enabling me to catch up on my blog. They've already been to a big outlet blowout sale today, rising at 6:30 am to be 500th in line; I can only sit back in awe of their energy level, but then, it is shopping we're talking about here.

I want to say one thing, though, in all seriousness. I might tease Shelly a lot on here, and make her look like the world's biggest nag or free-wheeling spender, but she really is the best wife any man could want. She's never once disappointed me, and she's always been there when I needed her, and I wanted to make sure the record was crystal clear on that. And no, she's not looking over my shoulder right now. I've just had occasion to realize all that, once again, this week.

Ok, everyone, see you again soon. And PS- the Parade of Homes link was a joke, just so you know. The real one's here.