While visiting Rick's blog (Slightly Deranged), I found something I had to try out... the "What Matrix Persona Are You?" quiz. You should try it... below are my results, and the link is below that.

You are Neo, from "The Matrix." You
display a perfect fusion of heroism and
compassion.


What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla


Hell yea! I am The One! Anyway... give it a shot, post your results in the Forum. I'm interested to see how many Ones are out there.

Hey, again. I didn't get any sleep last night... stayed up trying to look up people I haven't talked to in forever that I'd like to catch up with. They're all from Coronado, from various classes, and since most of you blog visitors are from Coronado, too, I thought maybe I'd throw out a list of names and see if anyone has any ideas. Here's the list, with their graduating year... if you know where I might drop them a line, let me know. Oh, and if you have a contining personal beef with some of these people (like one person did whom I chatted on the phone with earlier... name withheld), please keep it to yourself. I don't care if you do or not.

• Brooks Corbin (1999)
  
• Rachel Klein (2000)
  
• Jessica Knight (1998)
  
• Jed Gray (2001)
  
• Jessica Packer (2001)
  
• Dave Glascock (1999)
  
• Ben Berry (1999)
  

So... yeah. They're all people I haven't talked to in four years or more, with the exception of Brooks, whom I lost track of a year ago Christmas. Like I said, I just want to drop a line, say "How ya doin," see what's been going on the last four years.

The other thing is (and notice how I bury this under the lead story) is I've set in motion a rolling rock which can't be stopped. I'm starting to formulate a timetable as to finding a new line of employment. It's time. I can't lie to myself about my future anymore, because day by day it's becoming more obvious that I won't be doing this forever, let alone within 4 or 5 years. I haven't lost my love for the dogs... but I've lost my flair for the work, I guess. I still feel about my dogs the way I've felt forever. I don't know. I still hold out hope that something, somehow, will reignite me and give me hope that I extend what I'm doing for a while longer, but... we'll have to see. I'm not going to up and quit or anything -- don't get the wrong idea here -- I've just started to sketch out what I'd need to do. Call it a contingency plan. "Be prepared," as I once heard when I was a Cub Scout.

Okay, that aside... *deep breath* Okay. As briefly mentioned in the above post, I edited the information in the gray sidebar to your left. I've created the TFGBlog Virtual Bookflap (and, Briste, I think the extra "the" is proper here, because TFGBlog is used as the adjective and not the direct object. I've created the bookflap... the bookflap which is TFGBlog's, so it's the TFGBlog... well, you get it.). See, I've started to go to random blogs through the Recently Updated link back at blogger.com's homepage. Well, I started last night, around 4:30 AM, for lack of anything better to do. But it turned out to be fun... some were kind of nonsensical, some flat-out stank, yet some were a worthwhile read, much like I'd hope mine could be... kind of a peephole into my life. If I liked it, well, I commented in their Forums. I was especially impressed with Sprite's blog... that, and I wanted to give her a shout-out because she came back and commented on MY blog. So I've also decided to keep a list of those who've crosspollinated my blog, so to speak. At the same time, I realized if I was hoping people might drift over my way, I needed to include a little bit more information about myself, to give them perspective on what they're reading. Thus... the Virtual Bookflap. Now, to be fair, I included friends' blogs, too, since you've all been here before. I'm also going to include your various homepages on my main page when I finish it, too.

Anyway, I think that's it. Again. Jeez. I can take a molehill of subjects and turn it into a mountain of verbosity, can't I? Hey, on the upside, if you read my blog enough, you might find yourself using these big words in everyday conversation, and then people will think you're uppity and presumptuous, too. :-)

(Editor's note: There's another new post for today below this post, and yet another short one below that. 3 posts in a day?! Yowza!)

Hey, group. Not a single thing happened today (Tuesday). Almost slept through daylight today (Tuesday... stupid posting-after-midnight-yet-can't-seem-to-convince-myself-it's-tomorrow crap)... didn't get up until 4:30, save for a couple of phone calls from people who figured I'd be up at a normal-person time this morning. I edited the info section of the blog to your left, and in the process noted that the rest of my archives seem to have vanished. Bleh. I'll look into it tomorrow (today).

Feeling a lot better, though, overall. Getting that off my chest about the future of our business seemed to alleviate a lot of the pent-up stress I have. I've been able to come to some self-closure over a few other things that've been bugging me, too.

Another factor troubling the future of dog racing in Phoenix is that the airport wants to expand northward, to Washington Street. If you're not familiar with the location of the racetrack, it's situated south of Washington, between Washington and the railroad tracks, and between 40th Street and 36th Place (right next to 36th Street, with a handful of more-or-less vacant businesses in between). So it takes up a fairly large lot. You might be more acquainted with the Park 'n Swap that takes place on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday mornings, out in the gigantic front parking lot.

Our kennel is on the very southeast corner of the track's lot, on 40th street and the train tracks. Us and my grandpa/aunt's kennels are the only two that kennel there, though. Everyone else is situated elsewhere, with most of the other kennels having farms on the outskirts of town.

Anyway, for years now the airport has wanted to expand northward and build more runways. One of the major stumbling blocks is the huge Honeywell operation, situated off of Air Lane between 32nd and 36th. If they could work out a deal, though, that would be it for the track. The airport has so much money, it isn't even funny. The mechanic we've been going to for years had his shop on 36th south of Washington for God knows how long. The airport, in anticipation of eventually paying off Honeywell, has already started to buy out the smaller businesses in the way... they paid Tommy Bishop enough money to where he could move all of his equipment and operations to a shop on the other side of Washington, PLUS extra cash on top, then they bulldozed his old building. No big deal. Hell, HE quoted the price.

Anyway, the track would have to relocate somewhere (that is, IF the corporate bigwigs wanted to keep it... depending on the economic outlook at the time, they could just decide to let it go). However, zoning laws being what they are, it would have to be somewhere outside of town, probably out west. We'd have to move our kennel, too, and I KNOW our current landlord would seize the opportunity to be rid of the kennel-renting business and take the airport money and run. Leaving us to do... what?

As a disclaimer, this scenario is a lot less likely than the other one. Honeywell is pretty well dug in where they're at and have voiced their concerns over being moved. The likelihood of us being legislated out of existence before the airport paves over us is strong.

However, regardless of which poison we're given, do you see what I mean when I say I have trouble foreseeing a distant future?

Anyway, as gloomy as that sounds, I'm not in a bad mood. I had wanted to get out and do something tonight, but I also had a marathon of Good Eats tivoed from Sunday, along with today's Pardon the Interruption and Rome is Burning that I slept through, tivoed up to watch, which provided me with a good 5 hours of TV material, plus I watched the Dallas/San Antonio game finish up. I'd like to noter that I think this postseason has proven that Don Nelson is one of the most brilliant coaches of all-time, as long as he's provided with a fleet of capable talent to work with. Phil Jackson is good, better than most, but he''s been blessed with the best player ever (Jordan) and then the most physically dominant player ever (Shaq, at least when he weighs less than 400 pounds) and one of the best players of today (Kobe). Nellie never had much to work with at Golden State, though he had a little bit of postseason success there. This Dallas team, though... their ability to adapt to whatever they're facing that particular night is Borg-like. It takes them about 1½ quarters to warm up, and then once they have their plan formulated, watch out. San Antonio has proven their toughest opponent yet, and here's why: You can slow down their stars but the supporting cast is good enough to get the job done anyway. In my opinion, if the Lakers had beaten San Antonio, Dallas would have shredded them. After 4 or 5 spots on the Lakers' roster, the talent level drops WAY off. I mean, seriously, people: Mark Madsen? Slava Medvedenko? Devean George? These guys aren't riding the end of the bench waiting for mop-up duty (that job goes to Tracy Murray and Jannero Pargo); they get serious playing time. Actually, they solely exist as extra bodies on defense, since Kobe and Shaq basically constitute 75% of the team's offense, with Fisher, Fox, and Horry supplying most of the rest.

Philadelphia has proved that, if you've got a star who wants to handle the ball for 47 out of the 48 minutes out of a game, you can't bend to their wishes and surround them with players who don't mind never handling the rock except to rebound it and pass to Iverson. LA was heading in that direction, and it bit them in the ass this postseason. Look, I'm sorry.... Mark Madsen's got mad moves on the dance floor, but he's NOT a viable offensive option, and he's not exactly shining on defense, either. Anyway, back to my original point... You can try and slow down Tim Duncan (and it can be done, albeit difficultly), but the backup crew on the Spurs, though most of them are relative unknowns, can give you trouble, too. These guys WERE the last team not coached by Phil Jackson to win a title (although they carry the asterisk of doing it in the lockout year of 1999).

Greetings, folks. I'm sorry I've been all gloom-and-doom recently. The biggest problem I have is the largely uncertain future of my line of employment. Can I get a show of hands as to who's seen Blazing Saddles? I'm starting to feel like a poor citizen of the town of Rock Ridge. See, the previous director of the Department of Racing had resigned or retired or something a few months ago. Within a couple of days, I saw a couple of the high-up mucketymucks at the track giving this small guy in an important-looking suit the nickel tour of the track. "This is the paddock, where the dogs are weighed in, and out here is where they take urine samples," etc., etc... basically the same brochure I prattle off whenever I have someone new at the track.

I asked someone, "Who was THAT?", and I was informed that was the new director of the Department. And he'd never even SEEN a dog track before. DOES ANYONE ELSE SEE A PROBLEM HERE? This guy has the power to end our existence with his signature, and he has NO IDEA HOW OUR BUSINESS WORKS?!

Hence, I draw the correlation to Blazing Saddles. This guy -- and I've got nothing against him personally, I don't even know the man -- was installed by those in the state government who would rather see our business go away. It unfortunately appears that he'll sign whatever they give him to sign. Case in point... we've been under a statewide quarantine now since April 3rd or 4th. Granted, at the time it was a good idea... there was a strain of kennel cough moving about the country, and a quarantine is the surest way to block that. But it's been dead and gone now (the virus, I mean) for almost a month, and the fact that we've got dogs to bring in from Kansas, dogs that have been ready to go really since they imposed the quarantine, is starting to wear on us. We've got a small group of dogs that Mark was on the road with when they imposed the quarantine, and we had to call to see if they'd let us bring them into the state or if he had to turn around in Texas and go back with them. They let us bring in that one group, but said we couldn't turn in their papers until the quarantine was lifted. So now THEY'VE just been sitting here treading water, going to morning schooling over and over. God knows they'll be ready to fly when (if?) they lift the ban -- shit, one of them got hurt, rested up, healed, and is back working again already. But every time we ask about when they plan to lift it, we get the runaround... "We'll let you know on Monday... well, we ought to know by the end of the week... Uh, we think they're going to take a look at it after the weekend... I've heard them say Wednesday... they might lift it next Monday..." and so on. Each time we ask it seems like it's always three days from now.

Completely aside from the fear that we're going to be mismanaged into the ground, there's the neverending threat from anti-dog-racing groups (although they're not concerned with horse racing, I've noted). Elections are a scant 18 months away, next November, and if the forces manage to get an initiative on the ballot to ban dog racing in Arizona, we lose. Hands-down. Our meager bid to get slot machines in racetracks went down 80-20 in last year's election, while the bid for tribal casinos to get more slots and to add blackjack squeaked through at 51-49 (it was actually 50.8 to 49.2). 80-20 isn't just a defeat... that's a humiliation. I mean, bills for teacher salary increases and generally good things like that still get approved 70-30, and they call that a landslide. If that's a landslide, what's 80-20... a catastrophic earthquake?

Anyway, in 2000 the anti-racing forces went after Massachusetts, and it looked bleak. The only reason it was voted down (51-49) was because the pro-racing groups pointed out that the people sponsoring the bill (actually, it was called a "Question" on their ballots) were based in Idaho, and I guess there's a really strong sense of local loyalty in New England. Thus, several people voted it down solely based on that fact. The way it was set up, though... if that Question had passed, they would have had to shut down by the end of the year. That's, what, 7 weeks? I can't see why they'd word it any different if they were to get it on the ballot here in 2004, and I've got a sinking feeling that we're in the crosshairs, given our vulnerable state after going balls-out trying to get slots. After the sound defeat we experienced, it's clear just how much we're disliked in this state. I've always said, if you asked 10 people on the street how they felt about dog racing, 8 out of the 10 wouldn't know enough about it to form an opinion, but 9 out of the 10 would vote against it in an election. All anyone's ever heard is negativity about what we do... and I'm not trying to say we don't have problem people, though we'd like to think we've got most of them taken care of by now. If anyone ever wanted to come down and observe how we operate OUR business, or my grandpa/aunt's kennel, I'd think we could change your mind about how this business works, because the vast majority of people are like us... but we're indelibly stained by the actions of those who you read about in the newspapers.

"TFG," you ask, "why don't you ask the newsmedia to look at your side of the story?" I respond (and as a disclaimer, I'm just using this profession as an example, you can plug in most anything here): How many front-page stories have you seen about teachers who do an excellent job at what they do? Twice a year, maybe, and once on Teacher Appreciation Day or whenever they're pretty much obligated to make it front-page news, I'd say. Now, how many front-page stories have you seen in the past year about teachers who've done something wrong, especially teachers involved in sex scandals?... Counting each instance separately, meaning if a teacher appears twice or three times, each one counts... the number is up there... a dozen? 15? Point being, the bad-apples stories are what sell newspapers and make people tune in to the 10:00 pm news. The good-side stories are buried on page A15 of the Republic or "featured" between weather and sports on channel 10.

Anyhow... so, I've been forced to be realistic about it. I left school, left a scholarship, to join this business. I can't, however, just hope that things will turn out for the best, because I've decided I don't want to leave Phoenix again. If they close us down in Arizona, we'll have to move to Kansas or Texas or Florida or someplace where we can run our kennel with some success. And I don't think I want to go if that happens. I'd rather stay here and enroll at Scottsdale Culinary Institute. Why not just do it now? Because it's not that I don't like what I'm doing. I had begun to have creeping doubts about it, but I'm thinking it's just this pressure I'm feeling bleeding over into it and being misinterpreted. I can't complain about my setup... I've got 2½ days off a week (as do my uncle and my sister, so that's not a special perk or anything), and I've got my share of decision-making power. It's just the seeming lack of a future which has got me all up in arms in my head.

Anyway...

giving a little breather space as I change gears here...

I'm figuring my next dinner may fall on a Wednesday. I need some feedback on this. We're not running Wednesday nights during the summer, so that'll give me more flexibility to invite more people I work with. However, I'll still have Friday night through Saturday off, so a Saturday night meal gives me more prep time.

I'm looking at about a month from now, at some point before July 4th. I'm planning to make it a pool deal, too... eat dinner, get beat up by my brother on Cube for half an hour, then hit the pool after it cools off a little more. So far, I'm looking at making fried okra (Becky), sausage & peppers (something new I've never tried, but seems to be right up my alley), baked ziti (2x batch this time), and my clam chowder, which is probably my favorite thing to make since it turns out SO good... although the vegetable preparation for that one gives tedious a new name. (I have to dice a pound of leeks. Leeks! You have to CLEAN leeks before you can dice them. And then, there's the pound of onion, and all the celery and carrots and stuff... but like I said, it turns out SO good.) That's not my whole menu, though... I'm still very open to suggestions. I want to make some kind of a fancy-schmancy dessert this time around, too, instead of just throwing together some more orange salad.

anyway... breather space again...

I want to point out that a few people have asked me why I'm so open on here. I don't know. But I look back at it, and I see where it may have been a better idea for me to withhold at least some detail about some stuff. Nothing in particular, I'm not naming names, but those who mentioned it to me in private, you know who you are, and you're right. I see your point. I promise to give it a little more thought in the future.

A main reason for my break in posting was that my great-aunt Dottie (my grandpa's sister on my father's side) passed away on Thursday. I honestly wasn't too tremendously close to her, but a lot of people in the generations ahead of me in my family were deeply affected. Something like that always makes you sit back and look at the petty things you've been worrying about and say, "Well, maybe that was kind of silly for me to spend all that time worrying about something like that."

I guess that's about all. To tie it all in, a lot of the things I've been so stressed about have largely been stress about the business bleeding over into all other aspects of my life. I'm making a conscious effort, basically starting now, to separate them, though, because if I spend ALL day worrying about things, where does that get me? Laying in bed, groaning, unable to move with a paralyzing headache, in fact. (Editor's note: I don't think it was the caffeine.) So if I can leave work at the kennel, and try to enjoy my time away a little more, maybe things won't be so dark.

Yeah, I haven't postd in a couple of days. I lost my enthusiasm. When I find a reason to, I'll post more regularly again.

"That's the LAST thing I need!! Well, actually, the last thing I need is to be taking a dump in an airplane bathroom, and reaching back and pushing the vacuum-flush button, having my ass create an airtight seal with the toilet seat, thereby causing my intestines to be sucked out through my anus. That's the last thing I need. This isn't quite that bad, but it's damn near to it!"

Hardy har har... anyway, here's another chuckler: This. It's a Garfield strip which pretty much sums up my thought process on my nights off.

Anyway, I'm feeling better today. I usually do. I get a dose of sleep and I wake up far more levelheaded than I did when I went to sleep. Like I said, Chicken Little Syndrome; it always seems like the world is ending. Things'll work themselves out for the best, whatever may happen. I'm still going to work on this diet deal... I stopped at Sonic for lunch on the way home from my parents' house.(I went over there to redo the work charts for the kennel -- I was just going to blog from there, since that's where I scanned the cartoon at, but their mouse trackball isn't rolling right. I know: Trackball? ¡Muy primitivo! my dad has been hesitant to join the optical revolution. He's out of town for a couple of days, though, and my brother's on me aboout buying him a new mouse NOW, so maybe he won't notice that I'll have done away with his dinosaur of an outdated accessory by the time he gets home.) Anyway, Sonic... I got a BLT, a chili-cheese tater tots, and a large Cherry Limeade No Ice Extra Cherry Juice. What's the significance? Do you KNOW how much food I used to get at Sonic? Two or three BLTs, a burger or two, chili cheese fries and an order of tater tots, and then if I was REALLY hungry, an order of Jalapeño Poppers, and a shake to go with the large Cherry Limeade No Ice Extra Cherry. You forget, I weighed more than most any two of you combined, once upon a time. I'm very, very proud of myself... I mean, I still could have REALLY sacked up and not gone to Sonic, but at least since I had that fluctuation in weakness, I was able to restrain myself from ordering everything and the Thank You Come Again.

Gee whiz. I just meant to post that funny I was thinking about and the cartoon, and I end up with another novelette. Somebody stop me.

See below this post for another post from today. (I don't know how else to make sure both new posts get read... sorry.)

Blegggghhh. In a sense, anyway. I went to bed last night minutes after I posted that blog entry, so it was around 12:45 am. You know when I got up today? 3:45 pm. There was one interruption -- my sister called at 5:00 am because she thought I was supposed to work this morning, and I, obviously, wasn't there. But without those 90 seconds of being awake, I slept for 15 hours straight. I'm guessing it's the sudden lack of caffeine in my diet. I cut it out completely after going two weeks straight consuming nothing BUT caffeine, and I think I crashed. I can say the first thing I realized when I woke up was, "Hey, my bladder is full."

And I sit here and I can't stop yawning. I'm unused to going 11 and 12 hours straight without naptime... I usually get up at 5:30 am, go to bed around 1:00 pm, get up around 3:30, and go back to bed around 1:00 am.

American Idol ends tomorrow, which if you weren't aware of that, go back to living under your rock.I mean, seriously... you have to have at least heard of it by now. Anyway, I didn't watch a minute of last season, and this year I haven't missed a show since the final 12 started. Go figure. At the outset, I pegged Ruben. My dad figured one of the modelesque blondes would win off the bat, but they're long since gone. I was pretty surprised that Joshua Gracin lasted as long as he did, but he certainly benefitted from the positive Marine persona. For the top 3, I noticed that Kimberley Locke relly had changed her style by the last 3. Originally, in the first few finalist shows, I thought she was kind of unattractive, to be perfectly honest, but by the latter rounds, I couldn't remember what it was that had made me think that. All the same, I wasn't a bit surprised when the two guys made the final two. Like I said, I'd originally pegged Ruben... but I've got to admit, I hope Clayton wins it. Why? Why do I need more of a reason than his name is Clayton? I sense good karma there! Of course, he did what I'd do with a name that doesn't lend itself wel to being screamed out by a throng of weepy preteen girls -- he changed it. (Try yelling out "Claytonnnnnnn...") He went with the concise Clay, which is perfectly cool in my book; for much the same reason, I go with "John" whenever I leave reservations at restaurants. Why? Try and get someone to understand "Clifton" on the first try over the telephone. "Kristen?" "Uh, no, Clifton." "Oh, Christian." "No, CLIFTON." "Oh, okay." Then they spell it with two F's without asking first. Much the same reason why I plan to change my last name to "GraywithanA" eventually, too.

What was I talking about? Oh, American Idol... so, anyway, I think Clay's your winner. Ruben is as good as he was on Day 11 -- but unfortunaterly, I think he's STILL just as good as he was on Day 1, in that I don't think he's improved himself at all. That first-day level of talent is still good enough mto be #2 in this competition, though... I just think that Clay has progressed on from second-round loser to wild-card resurrectee to, now, finalist and, I think, winner. Every week he's listened to EVERYTHING the judges have told him, and he's taken it all to heart and done his homework. Every week he comes out and performs that much better, until he finally peaked on "Mac the Knife" last week. GEEZ. Now, I've looked at a lot of people in this competition and I've said, "You know, with a little training to smooth out the rough edges, I could probably outsing him/her." But I heard that rendition, along with tonight's "Bridge Over Troubled Waters," and I was blown away. He's got IT -- that deceptive IT that the real gifted people in any field have. Michael Jordan has IT. The Wachowski Brothers have IT. Tiger Woods has IT. Franklin D. Roosevelt had IT. Babe Ruth had IT. There's no real way to explain IT except to give those examples.

Anyway, enough about that... I'm glad I didn't post earlier, because I was severely under the grip of EvilMe. I had Lindsay downright worried about my sanity... but I'm all good now. It was a lot of things, but one big thing was that I'm really, really fed up with all the royal b.s. in society. I'm sick and tired of how fake people can be, how they can pretend to be your friend just long enough to get whatever information they need or use you for whatever personal gain they can, then they kick you in the nuts, crap on your shoes, and wipe their ass with your shirttail.

I wouldn't say case in point, but this is what pretty much set me off: I didn't post this in my blog yesterday, because I didn't really have a reason to, but now I think it's got its place. Yesterday afternoon, after weigh--in, Danny and I had an hour and a half to kill before our first schooling race -- we didn't start until the 7th, so we didn't need to be back until 6:20 or so. So aroundd 4:55, we dropped the trailer and I phoned in an order to Rubio's, up on 44th and Indian School. (Their fish tacos are KICK-ASS, by the way... quit being a wuss and try one.) Anyhow... so we headed north on 44th from the track. We get to Indian School and get in the left-turn lane, and just as I do, I see people start to pull OUT of the turn lane. "Uh-oh," says I -- obviously someone's stalled or something up ahead. So I manage to wind the truck out of the lane before the left-hand straight-ahead lane gets too full, and we look like we're going to catch the nxt light. "We'll go through and flip a bitch after the light," I tell Danny. Well, as we pass the light, I see it's two girls driving a Maxima that are the source of the backup. One's on a cell phone, while the other is just standing there, looking bewildered. We're past the light, now, though, and I find that there's nowhere to make a U-turn until the first side street, damn near a quarter-mile past the light. The street's too congested to make the turn, so I have to actually turn down the street and pull into a driveway to get turned around (the work truck is a ½-ton SIlverado pickup, so, like with my pickup which is only a ¼-ton, U-turns are always an adventure anyway -- I need plenty of open street to get it done). And coming back the other way, it's going to be a two-light wait to get back to Indian School. That gives me plenty of time to watch the drama unfolding across the way, which I can see most of thanks to my high-riding truck; the girl on the cell phone looks like she's not getting hold of anyone, as I see her dial 4 or 5 different numbers while we wait. The bewildered-looking one continues to look bewildered, wandering around the car generally looking helpless.

Well, I get an idea. As soon as I'm close enough, I pull into the Chevron on the northwest corner and park the truck. "Let's go see if they need a hand," I told Danny.

(Actually, what I did was park the truck and started to get out. Danny asked, "What are you doing?" "D.I.D. -- Damsels In Distress," I told him, trying to give it my best dramatic flair. "Oh," he said, and jumped out of the truck, too. As he rounded the front bumper, though, he said, "Hey, Cliff -- what's a damsel?")

(Danny's a great guy -- anyone who met him at the party will attest to that. His grasp of little-used English words, though, is, ah, lacking. For those of you who know my propensity to use a bigger word where a smaller one would do... it's been an interesting year of communication with him working for me.)

Anyhow, we get to the corner. I yelled across to the girls, but they couldn't hear me over the Autopia-like roar of engines, so Danny and I crossed Indian School so now we were only half of 44th away from them. "DO YOU NEED HE--" I started to yell, but before I finished the sentence, the cell-phone girl yelled back, "YES, PLEASE!!"

At our first opportunity, Danny and I crossed over to the median. Now, mind you, it's about 5:30 now, so rush hour is in full effect in all directions. I see the bewildered-looking one has been (and is) crying. Cell-Phone Girl says, "I don't know what happened... it just went dead and I can't restart it. I don't think it's out of gas or anything, but I can't get a hold of my boyfriend or anyone on the phone."

I say, "Well, Danny and I will push you over there to the Chevron on the next green arrow." We were lucky, because they were first in the intersection, not behind anyone.
"Wouldn't it be easier if we just made a U-turn and went into the Circle K right here?" The Circle K was on the southwest corner.
"No, I don't think so. It'll be harder to start the car going that way. We've got the arrow -- let's just go to the Chevron."
"Okay. I'll help you guys push, but I'm wearing platforms, so--"
"Don't worry -- we got it. It shouldn't be that hard; it's just a Maxima," I said, and grinned.
So the light changed -- as her friend steered, Danny and I got it going. It was, in fact, not too terribly difficult, although we almost ran her friend over because she tried to help us get it started and almsot forgot to jump in and steer it. THAT would have been an interesting headline -- GIRL RUN OVER BY STALLED CAR
Anyway, we got it all the way over and up into the Chevron. They thanked us profusely, but we didn't hang around -- hell, we had fish tacos and shrimp quesadillas to get to.

Point being, though... How many cars passed by them before we stopped to help? Two lights' worth before we went by the first time, and three more before we came back the other way... if you figure 50 cars per green just on 44th street each way, that's 500 cars. Of those 500, eliminate a chunk who had to be somewhere at a set time. I mean, there's been times where I've HAD to be somewhere at an absolute time, and I wouldn't've been able to stop just to help move a stalled car. But let's say of those 500 cars, only 100 were driven by someone who had a little time to kill. And of those 100, Danny and I were the only ones who stopped to help.

Of those 99, how many didn't notice? Maybe a few. But of the rest, how many looked, snorted, and said, "Heh, glad that's not me..."? Or "Sucks to be them..."?

See, THAT's what's wrong with society. Those two girls had no idea what to do, and though they hadn't tried to move it yet, I don't think they'd've been able to push it themselves. And it wasn't only to help two girls -- traffic heading north on 44th was getting more screwed up by the minute as people tried to pull back out into traffic to get around the car, and people tried to wait and make a left turn from the left-hand thru lane. We unsnarled traffic at the same time.

I don't know. I don't get it. And the reason I didn't run and post it on my blog yesterday is because I don't think it's that big of a deal. Do you know how many times I've stopped to help push a car, or offered my jumper cables when someonee can't get theirs started, or whatever? Maybe it's because I hope that, someday, when I'm inevitably broken down on the side of the road, I naïvely hope that somepne will stop and heelp me, too. But more and more, I'm losing that hope. Sure doesn't look like it would happen.

And THAT's why I don't want to bend to society's will in how I "should" look... because society sucks, in general. Not everyone, obviously -- I certainly feel like I've been blessed with a top-tier group of friends -- but in general, how many people out of 100 do you think would pass you with a flat tire on the side of the highway and say, "Gee, glad that's not me..."? I want to lose enough of this excess flab to where I'm not lightheaded after I climb my stairs, and like I said, I used to be winded from going DOWN the stairs, so I'm improved. But I don't want to convince myself that I have to do this whole diet thing just to look more like everyone else. "Everyone else" likes Avril Lavigne, "Friends", and sushi -- which, by the way, are all good things -- but "everyone else" only likes them because "everyone else" does. You see where I'm going with this? I wouldn't say that I like Avril Lavigne (sorry), but "Friends" can be funny at times, and there's nothing wrong with sushi. "Everyone else" buys $100 T-shirts just because they've got a logo on them, when in reality, it's probably made by the same company that made the $6 T-shirt I'm wearing under my plaid. And it's just blah, blah, blah, blah... I don't want to be like "everyone else." I want to be an Iron Chef fanatic. (Hiroyuki kicks ass!) I want to own every CD in the Rockapella collection. Hell, I work at a job that 50% of the people I meet didn't even know existed in Arizona, and 90% of the people I meet know about it but don't know anything ABOUT it. I own a tuba -- how many people own a tuba?!

And yet, at the same time, here I sit, having spent my entire day inside my apartment. It's been a nice variance from work, but at the same time, I sure didn't spend any time with anyone special, either. And I can't help but think that maybe I'm a little too far "out there." Maybe if I dialed it down a notch, it would be to my advantage. But I've been odd for a long, long time. I don't know any other way.

Then again, maybe if I didn't think about it so much, and post 2,500-word blogs (count 'em) about it, maybe it wouldn't be such a problem. Ignorance is bliss, they say.

Strange day, today. (Monday, I mean... I know this'll be posted under Tuesday's banner.) I was at the kennel at 5:30 am, like we usually do on Mondays and Fridays due to early-morning "workout" races at the track. Unfortunately, they moved starting time for schooling up to 6:00 am, and we start an hour before that...it had been 6:30 for a while. So, therefore, I was half an hour late today... but on the upside, so was everyone but Mark, since he was the only one who knew about the memo; he left it in the kennel but nobody, myself included, bothered to look at it. We decided to bump schooling to tomorrow (Tuesday) --- which doesn't bother me any, considering I'm off all day Tuesdays.

Anyway, so after about 20 minutes of working, I step outside to sip some more of the tea I brought, and wammo! I get hit with another one of the migrainesque headaches I've been having for the past 5 days. I ended up sitting in my truck for two hours waiting for my head to clear up enough to drive home -- I'd already decided I wasn't going to finish the morning. I checked my blood-glucose level, and it was at 129 mg/dL, which is good, towards the top end of average, so THAT wasn'r causing the headaches. Then I went over to my parents' house and had my mom check my blood pressure, and it was just fine, though I don't remember the exact numbers, so THAT wasn't causing them, either. Near as I can tell, without going to the doctor just yet, it's got to be my heightened caffeine consumption. I've been drinking almost a gallon of iced tea (caffeinated) and half a gallon of Diet Pepsi or Diet Dew A DAY. I'm laying off the nasty drug and we'll see what develops.

Got to get to bed. I can't finish sentences -- I keep dozing off.

CLIFTON'S AMBITIOUS SELF-IMPROVEMENT PLAN
(aka Diet)

Why, you ask? I got another nasty headache earlier, about an hour after I blogged this morning. It sent me into a funk pit, so I ran right out to Taco Bell and had a healthy lunch of 4 soft tacos, a bean burrito, two orders of potatoes, and a chicken enchilada bowl. Naturally, I've spent the rest of the afternoon bemoaning my angry stomach, which only made me angrier at myself. So rather than do what I usually would -- run out and eat a huge dinner, too -- I decided that it's time to stop lying to myself.

How's that, you say? Lying to myself about what? Lying to myself about the fact (fact) that most of my trouble in every aspect of my life stems from being overweight. When you consider that eight months ago I weighed around 350 pounds (estimating, but I know I'm not far off -- maybe less, maybe more) and I've still got issues like these, well, I guess I'm just glad I'm not dead yet. But I look at myself in the mirror and I think, "Yeah, I'm better off than I was, but I'm still worse than most." I'm not THAT far from 300, here. I've been hovering around 282 for two months now... I dipped down to 279.5 on one check-in at the track (I'm using the track's scale), and I've bounced up to 285-286 on a couple of occasions. The main problem is, I eat the wrong kind of eating-out food, far too often. You know what I've had for dinner while I've been sitting here trying to figure out how to approach this topic? A can of chicken broth. Exactly one gram of fat in the whole 14-oz. can, and 30 calories, and I feel like I've eaten a meal. It's just, I'm a weak, weak person, and it's far too easy to stop off and grab GreasyBurger on the way home. I need to go to the store tomorrow and get some healthful food, as well as some supplements (why not?), and get going on this. I'm not going to do the Atkins thing, or go on one of those crazy cabbage-soup diets... I'm just going to eat smaller amounts of more healthy food. And I'm going to go down to the workout center here in my apartments and see what they've got. I'm at the same time tired of being lightheaded after I climb my stairs.

I don't know. I guess I'm finally caving in to society. That's all it boils down to. I'm 22 years old anymore... it's time to stop being the fat kid.

Wheeee... I had a blast making all that food for the party. I like to cook, but I don't enjoy my own food enough to cook for myself... so I think I might make this party thing a regular deal. I'm already soliciting requests for the next meal, because, to tell you the truth, what I made yesterday was pretty much everything that's good -- the other stuff I've tried wasn't worth a poot. Becky says I should make fried okra, so that, I guess, will be Item 1 on the next menu. Let's figure 1½ to 2 months from now for the next one.

Matrix II is as good as advertised. I warn you, though -- they try to advertise it as if you can just jump in and enjoy the 2nd if you haven't seen the 1st, and that is totally untrue. In fact, Mark and I were a little bewildered ourselves at a few things which didn't seem to gel with the 1st film, like, say, for example, where's Tank? We kinda thought he survived from the 1st one, but apparently not. Oh well. I like the guy from Oz as the operator, although it's completely weird to see him up and walking around after having seen him confined to a wheelchair for six or seven years.

Action content is high, but so is the intellectual jabber. There were spots where they'd talk about theories and how the Matrix was created for 5 minutes at a pop... I was completely enthralled, I love a movie that makes you think, but I could tell my brother was getting restless during these periods of nonphysical activity. There was a lot of symbolic overtones, too, I thought... a lot of issues came up that, while they didn't say it outright, seemed to parallel religious beliefs. I don't want to be a spoiler, so if you want to read what I'm talking about (it WILL spoil the end of the movie, so choose carefully!), highlight the following blank area -- it's white text.

What I'm talking about is right towards the end, after Trinity's been shot, and Neo reaches into her and pulls out the bullet, then reaches into her again and restarts her heart -- so basically, he resurrects her. There was also the scene where he's first coming into Zion, and the people rush up to him with offerings of clothing, blankets, and food, if he'll "watch over" their relatives. I could totally be off on a tangent here, but those two scenes in particular had an almost Biblical sense of religious symbolism to them. This seems to me like it's going to be a big theme in Revolutions. Or not. I will say, though, that in the car-chase scene where they spin around and start going down the freeway the wrong way, I was having bad flashbacks to Friday night. It wasn't even a voluntary reaction -- every time another car or truck approached, my head jerked itself away from the screen, until I just finally put my hand over my eyes. Mark was sitting next to me and he saw me doing it. ... You know what? I probably ought to fade the text back in since this isn't spoiler material anymore.

Anyway... I guess that's about it. Catch y'alls later. I'm glad people enjoyed the meal, and trust me, it was my pleasure. Like I told Rick, "It's nice to have an audience to cook for."

Get out and enjoy life. Even if you think you might be lost, keep going, because you never know what might be around the next bend. And above all else, don't play it safe. If there is no risk, there will be no reward. Try something different for once. You never know... you might like it. And if not? Well, at least you know now.

I'm sorry... don't mind me. I just had a brush with death on the way home just now, and it's got my head doing wild gyrations.

You know McDowell Road where it comes through the Buttes? Heading east? I'm talking about when you turn off of Galvin Pkwy/64th St and head towards Phoenix, through that little mountain pass. Where the road is a three-lanes-in-each-direction divided highway.

Okay, so, scene: It's about 11:55 PM. I'm tooling along at around 55 or so (speed limit's 50) in the middle lane, with a car just behind me in the right-hand lane going about the same speed, heading up towards the peak of the pass. I'm probably 15 car-lengths from the top when I notice a glow of headlights that looks like it's on my side of the road. I start to think, "That's odd," but before I can even finish the thought, a white Crown Vic-looking car comes flying over the top of the mountain -- on MY side of the road, heading TOWARDS me, in my lane, at about 80 miles an hour.

Well? No, my life didn't flash before my eyes or anything like that. At least I don't think it did -- I was too busy shitting myself to notice. All I could remember was knowing if I went right, I'd drive right on top of the car behind me, so I hit the brakes and jerked the wheel left then back right so I wouldn't hit the curb on the left-hand side, and hoped like hell that (1) the driver of the deathmobile was traveling in a straight line, so he/she wouldn't hit me or the other car, and (2) that the other car swerved right instead of left. I felt my antilock brakes stuttering, and then, whoosh -- 3 seconds and it was all over. He/she blew right between us.

To tell the truth, I didn't even look in my mirror. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I let off the brakes and slowly crested over the top of the butte. I don't know what went on behind me. I was so terror-stricken that I just sort of coasted all the way down to 52nd Street, where the light was red, and I got a chance to get my bearings back. The other car was gone, so they must have U-turned at Bushmaster (the light at the entrance to the National Guard place) and gone back the other way. There were a few more cars coming over the mountain now, so I figured there must not have been a wreck -- although now I'm wracked with guilt over the fact I should have gone back to make sure nothing happened. I have no idea if the driver finally came to their senses at the light at 64th St, see... they could have just kept right on going down into Scottsdale if they were drunk/high enough (I'm assuming, anyway, that they were impaired in some way). I hadn't noticed anyone in front of me, either, so we might have been the first two cars the driver encountered assuming they got on the wrong side at 52nd St or Bushmaster -- though, again, they could have been cruising down the wrong side of the road for a while. All I can hope is that they realized after they passed me what was going on. I didn't honk my horn or flash my lights, since I was primarily concerned with not flipping my truck over. If I'd had more time to react I probably could have done more, but like I said, I had about 15 car lengths to make my move, somewhere in the neighborhood of 2½ seconds, after they came over the top of the pass.

And, by the way, what does it say about me that the main thing I remember noticing right away was that my Olive Garden take-out box on the dash was undisturbed?

anyway... so I drove home in kind of a fog as the reality that I was damn near roadkill started setting in. I mean, what if I HADN'T been looking straight ahead when it happened? What if I was reaching for a tissue or trying to sneak a chunk of food out of the box? What if I had some music on and was totally jamming out? What if I had been sending a text message? ANYTHING could have delayed my reaction time by a split-second, enough to have not gotten out of the way in time. It's really made me sit here -- it's been almost an hour now -- and think about things. What if I'd died? I was wearing my seat belt and as far as I know, my airbag is operational, but that would have been one powerful collision -- directly head-on, with them going at least 80, maybe faster, and me going 55 or 60. What if the guy next to me or someone else behind me got hit?

I don't know. It makes me want to call my family and let them know I love them, if it weren't 1:00 AM already. It makes me want to tell all of my friends how much I truly appreciate our friendships -- again, it's 1:00 in the morning, though. It makes me want to apologize to Kristy and Michelle for me ruining a perfectly good evening out... we were having fun walking around the Scottsdale Hyatt Regency until I started being all moody because I'm alone, even though obviously that's nothing new for me... but now it seems pretty petty. I'm just happy to be alive and healthy, single or whatever. I'm going to get some sleep, and I'm going to throw myself into putting on this meal tomorrow. Y'alls come hungry, hear?

Trum-diddle-liddle-liddle, lum-diddle-lie, trum-diddle-liddle-liddle, lum-diddle-lie... We're getting close to Go Time now. I've got the orange salad prepared & setting. Going to start the chicken thawing later on, and try and get some of the vegetables chopped. By the way, tomorrow if you're just laying around waiting for 7:00 to arrive, you can feel free to come over anytime after 5:00 or so -- by no means do yoou have to wait until 7:00. I mean, there won't be anything going on save for me finishing the meal, but hey, if you're bored, come on over and be bored at my place. Anyhow, nap time...

Well, if I hurry I think I can slide this in before the date kicks over to Friday. (Actually, in truth, I cheated -- I saved it here, then went back and edited it. All in the name of not missing a day.) Isn't that odd, though, how no matter how late into the night it stretches, it still seems like Thursday night until I go to bed? As we speak it's technically 12:02 AM Friday morning, but there's no way it feels like Friday in any way. Friday is when I hand out paychecks, Friday is when I don't work at night, and so on. It's still Thursday, no matter how technical you want to get with me.

Of course, when I stay up all night, that screws everything over. It's like I have to manually reset my mind-clock when the sun ccomes up, because somewhere in there it stopped being Monday and it started being Tuesday, or whatever days of the week were affected. Yet there was no concrete change in my mind. If I'm not careful here, I'll slip back into the discussion on time zones and Daylight Savings which I started on Mark's blog a couple of months ago.

Anyway...........

I forgot why I was posting.

I don't know... I guess I didn't have anything interesting to say, anyway. It's been a lame two days. I could have slept through yesterday and wouldn't've been any further ahead or behind in life than I was when I ended Tuesday, and days like that just suck.

Today was thankfully a little more interesting... got all of my dinner shopping done. Tomorrrow, I chop things. That's always fun... I've got about 25 shallots to peel and chop. Those little fuckers really start to get on my nerves after a while... not so much from the onion scent, but just because there's so much garbage on them you've got to get through before you get to the good purple part. There ends up being a huge stack of dry shallot skins and layers of crappy green outsides, and a little bitty pile of chopped shallot. Oh well. You can't beat the flavor you get from shallot.

By the way, if anyone who's coming likes celery, I'm going to have an assload of leftover celery that'll be free for the taking. I only need ½ cup chopped (like maybe 2 ribs), but you've got to buy the whole friggin' bunch, and I'm not going to eat it. But aside from that, I should pretty much use up everything else I bought. I've got half a shelf devoted to just broccoli for the Broccoli-Gruyère soup.

In response to those who've pointed out that my archives don't work (and those who've complained grouchily... Kristy), I fixed them. Apparently it's a fairly common problem, some sort of bug in the template, but one they never bothered to actually, you know, fix. DISCLAIMER: I love the service I get from Blog*Spot hosting, and I'd NEVER speak ill of them... would I? So occasionally I have to go in and do some clicking around to make them come back, but now that I know how to fix it, there shouldn't be a problem.

All right, stay fresh, everyone. Matrix in less than 48 hours. JMA says it's got the best plot twist ever, but that's all he said... which is probably for the best. If anyone spoiled the big surprises, the ones that even Newsweek hadn't been allowed to mention, I'd be halfway liable to lose my temper.

All right. The directions have been sent. One problem, though -- I couldn't access my blog archives to double-check who said they'd be there off of my original party post on the 3rd. If you haven't gotten the email with the directions, let me know at tfg46@cox.net.

So the ball's rolling now. I've got my recipes in order, and tonight I'll arrange my shopping list. Tomorrow I shop, Friday I chop, Saturday it drops, and Sunday I flop. :-)

Oh, yeah... the funky computer problem? I seem to have fixed it. Of course, the problem with the modem was just a temporary cable outage, but noooooooo, I couldn't be patient and wait it out. Besides, after 3 attempts to connect, the modem froze up my computer each time. So I ran System Restore, figuring whatever caused the problem would go away if I reverted the system a few hours or so. Unfortunately: (1) it didn't, and (2) I found out after the fact that if you run System Restore, it kills Norton AntiVirus. Something about resetting program settings that shouldn't be reset, so it deactivates itself and notifies you that you have to reinstall it. No big deal -- save for the fact that I have no idea where my original system disks are. Mark's come through in the clutch, though, with software that should help me restore NAV.

Hey and greetings, everyone... I'm still planning on sending out those directions today, if I can get my computer to stop acting funny. My cable modem is out, along with two or three of my regular programs -- but the programs are probably out because I tried to fix the modem problem by running System Restore. So, anyway... I'm working on it.

Talked with my therapist for a while today... Yeah, things are going very well in that arena. I've got a book I'm reading which is giving me much, much insight into my social phobia. Hopefully I can put some of this stuff to good use. Ironically, the best thing that happened in today's session was totally by accident -- I mentioned something I hadn't intended to, and it was totally just a slip of the tongue, but it led to an in-depth discussion about some issues I had, and things are for the better because of it.

I know everyone's hanging on the edge of their seats to see how I'll react... Well, I'm all right. EvilMe and I had an argument this morning after I got to the kennel, but I won out. Rationally, I know that it's not, like, over... we're just slowing it down and trying not to rush it. Rather than fake emotions that aren't there, we'll let it develop and see if it comes on its own.

Of course, if this were EvilMe, I'd be nowhere near as rational. I don't mean to freak you out... it's not like I have MPD or anything, like where I'm a wholly different person or something and can't remember what each personality does on its own time. But I'm coming to understand I have two distinctly different mindsets. Actually, I probably don't... but it's easier for me to deal with it and talk about it if I picture it like that. There's me, the one who everyone really knows... witty, charming, handsome, and somewhat of an exaggerationist. Then there's EvilMe, who has no sense of humor, likes to sit around and stare at the wall (that's always a dead giveaway... if someone asks, "What are you doing?" and I respond, "Oh, just laying around, staring at the [wall/ceiling]," I'm probably under the grip of EvilMe -- see also "bad head morning"), and prefers to not see the real rational reasoning behind things.

I mean, now, seriously... don't go getting weirded out on me. This is just how I picture the debate going on in my head. If I'm having a problem, I sort of imagine myself doing the Zac Morris time-stopper and letting myself and EvilMe go at it. For a long while in Tucson, I was EvilMe 24/7. Everything was Chicken-Little-esque -- the end of the world. Case in point? If I ordered a Cheesy Gordita Crunch without lettuce from Taco Bell, yet they still slathered it with the foul shredded leaf, I'd practically be on the verge of tears. How dare they besmirch my Cheesy Gordita Crunch, the uncaring bastards?! But nowadays, now that I'm solidly back in control of myself, hell, I'm not even ordering No Ice in my sodas anymore. It's not that big a deal.

I don't like EvilMe. I don't like talking about EvilMe, either. But the thing about this blog is, even though I know people read it, I feel like I can talk about anything on here. Well, ALMOST anything... my 2nd career of moonlighting as a cooler at Tiffany's is still my little secret.

Another new post for today is below this post.

If you think you're in a relationship, but the other person doesn't think so, can it actually be over? I don't think so. I appreciated her honesty in letting me know that I provide her with no romantic spark whatsoever, even though she tried to fake it. So, therefore, I'm (still) just a really good friend. However, unlike others in the past, she left it open to future developments: "...just a really good friend... for now." So we'll see. It's not like we broke up; since only one of us felt there was a relationship, there wasn't any breaking up to do. However, like I mentioned, I respect her courage and fortitude to tell me the truth instead of just telling me what I want to hear and what I want to believe.

So, anyway, am I horribly depressed? Actually, no. We'll see how I feel in the morning, but for now Rational Me is driving. I can handle this. Hell, she's still going to be my assistant chef at the dinner next week, so it can't be all bad.

Oh, yeah, there was a race earlier... Chris ran 4th. No big deal. Honestly, if I'm not going to win, I'd rather not run 2nd just for the bitterness of coming that close but not getting there. 4th is far enough up as to where it's a respectable showing (in a field of 8 of the best dogs on the grounds), too. So, okay. Konow ran a miserable race, ran 7th, for no apparent reason. Methinks he was overprepared, maybe.

All right. Peace out, y'alls. I'll be fine. Have fun.

Home. Getting changed. Nervous as hell. Heading to the track. WIll post results in an hour or so.

You know, in the movies, it's all so simple.

Scene: The nerdy, severely inconfident guy is at a crossroads in his life. You know the guy I'm talking about... thick glasses, hair parted on the side and combed over, wearing an old AC-DC T-shirt and shorts that should have stayed in 1986. This guy -- let's call him Craig -- has to make a move. The rest of the world has passed Craig by, and he's about to miss out on some opportunity if he doesn't raise up and seize the day.

Craig, obviously, needs a boost of confidence. What does Craig do? Why, it's simple. He takes off his glasses, puts some gel in his hair and comes it back, and goes out and buys a dashing vest-pants ensemble to wear. Poof! Suddenly Craig fixes all the problems in his life. Hell, it even fixed his eyesight... he's not wearing glasses anymore, and I didn't see him putting in contacts.

Now, obviously, that's not going to work. I don't honestly believe a new suit of clothes and some AquaNet will change the way one thinks. The past couple of weeks have been an interesting odyssey for me; the battle between good and evil has been raging in my head for a while. [See, I (finally) watched Lord of the Rings last night, so things are kind of coming to me in Middle Earth metaphors right now.] It's just... it's a funny balance. I'm all about full honesty in all areas of my life. I mean, if I wasn't, would I be telling the whole world that there's good and evil forces IN MY HEAD? But a piece of advice I received today was: If you find yourself not being confident, you have to at least fake it for a little while until you feel comfortable with it, and then you'll find you ARE confident. I don't know... I guess I'll give it a shot tonight and we'll see where things go. But I'm a lot like Craig... I need to make a move. I refuse to revert to my previous state of self-esteemless loserdom.

All right, so to be totally honest, I'm not usually this conflicted, nor this wiling to bore you with it. But this race tonight has still got me on edge, so my brain's kind of worn out right now, and when it's worn out, I worry about things best left alone. I've got to jet home after the race and change out of my suit, so I'll poke in here and post how we did, since I know people come to my blog every 15 minutes to see if I've updated it yet. (No, seriously, if you care... I should post the results sometime around 10:00 pm tonight.)

All right. Regardless of my day-to-day state, by the way, I'm still tremendously excited about the upcoming dinner. At this point, though, time to take a shower.

Nothing to report. Very nondescript day. Worked some, slept some, worked some more. Now I'm off for the night. I rented Lord of the Rings (still haven't seen it yet), Bourne Identity, and Drumline (sigh... you can take the nerd out of band but you can't take band out of the nerd).

I know, nothing terribly interesting, but I'd rather not let a day go unblogged, and it was either this or nothing. Part of my seemingly sudden quietness is that Night of Stars XI is tomorrow night, and we've got Chris (IR Chris Woolard) in the Phoenix arm of it. NoS is a nationwide simulcast featuring one race from each of 17 of the best tracks in the country, and it happens twice a year. Pretty neat deal. There's a little added money involved, but it's definitely not one of the big money stakes on the season. It IS, though, nationally televised, so... yeah. We'd have to pull off a major upset -- of course, we're in against Konow, but hey, Chris beat him once already (although Chris was nowhere near the lead in the other two races he was in with Konow in). It all depends on if Chris's timing is on; he's got to have his break timed down to thousandths of a second if he wants to get out close enough to Konow to catch him, because Konow is the best sprinter to set foot on this racetrack in... well, probably ever. No one's ever dominated like he has. I mean, if Konow runs a semi-average race (for him), he'll still beat most everyone else's absolute best effort.

He's feeling good, though. Chris is, I mean. I'm walking the fine line of I want him to be hyped up, but I don't want to psych him out, either. We went for a good walk this morning, him, me, and his brother Blanco, and afterwards I braced him down. Now it's all up to him. Of course, he doesn't know how big his race is tomorrow night... to him it's just another jog around the oval. I'm the one who's not going to get any sleep tonight.

I love getting up in the morning. I clap my hands and say, "This is gonna be a great day." --the late Dicky Fox, the original sports agent (Jerry Maguire)

Seriously, though... I woke up this morning and I said to myself, "Self... this is going to be a good day." Why, you ask? Because I'm one of the best trainers in the state, because I've got an awesome group of friends who've got my back, and I've got a girl who makes me feel like a million bucks whenever I'm around her. I look back on yesterday and I think, What the hell am I doing being glum?

SO there it is. I think my transformation is complete. We're all granted moments of weakness, and I let myself slip back into my comfort zone of being glum-and-doom, but simply by waking up this morning and changing my perspective, I hopped right back out of it. Kick-ass!

Morning, everyone. The dish last night didn't turn out as anything worth naming. I added way too much wine and cream, but on the positive side, the chicken turned out really good, so I might use the same technique in the future.

I had a relapse this morning... had the first Bad Head Morning I've had in weeks. Finally managed to shake it off around 9:00 or so, but I was quite in the grip of it for a while. To make matters worse (which is usually what I do when I have a Bad Head Morning), I went and had 3 glazed donuts for breakfast, so I ended up with a diabetic headache, too. Anyway, I tossed some Advil at it and managed to come around, so I'm good now. Probably just going to skip lunch and hit the hay pretty quick and get a 5-hour nap.

Oh, and I seem to have stopped doing Matrix quotes, too. Oh well. Everyone knows I'm a nut about the movie, anyway. I'm thinking, after my get-together is over next Saturday, maybe those of us who didn't run out and see it on Opening Day Thursday can convoy down to AZ Mills to see it. Just a thought. Later

I'm starting to worry about this whole cooking thing... I may actually be good at this. I got up this morning and decided to make breakfast (not for myself -- I don't do breakfast). I looked in the fridge, saw I had 3 eggs left, so I thawed some frozen shrimp and shredded a little bit of the Gruyère I bought for the soup at the dinner (yeah, I plan ahead), and 5 minutes later, I'd created a Garlic Shrimp Gruyère Omelette. I had the last bite of it, and I don't mean to pat myself on the back -- okay, yeah, I do -- but it was damn tasty. Best part was, I've never successfully made an omelette before; they always wind up looking like regurgitated scrambled eggs. And, poof! It was Matrixesque, the way it came to me this morning. Freaky.

Anyway, I'm inspired, so for dinner I'm making something with chicken, shrimp, cream, wine, garlic, shallots, and capellini (angel hair pasta). (Before long, the Fry's by my parents' house, which I still drive to for my shopping, is going to just devote a lane to me. I'm there damn near 8 times a week.) Tonight's dish isn't named yet, but something'll come to me.

There's a feeling I hate to have, and that feeling is the wave of fear when you wake up not to your alarm, and you haven't processed time of day and where, if anywhere, you're supposed to be. That happened just now. I had laid down on the couch after microwaving up some Gorton's Lemon Pepper Grilled Fillets, and the next thing I know, I open my eyes and it's 12:35. Now, for the first three or four seconds, my mind is in an absolute state of panic, because I can't remember going to sleep -- the first thing that comes to mind is, did I just sleep through morning work? As I start to flail in an attempt to get off the couch, reason slowly seeps back into my head. But those few seconds of panic? Unpleasant, at best.

Anyway, I figured since I'd scored a bonus 2-hour nap, I'd post before I went to bed for reals. Besides, I had (now cold) fish fillets to eat and the Iron Chef grand finale to watch. Three cheers for Hiroyuki Sakai, who upheld the honor of Kitchen Stadium by defeating Alain Passard in the Battle of Long-Gang Chicken. (Now, if you aren't an Iron Chef fan, all that probably looks like a bunch of babble.)

I probably wouldn't have dozed off if I hadn't been up until 4:15 last night, and got up at 5:45, but them's the breaks, you know? I'd better get to bed soon, because I'm starting to feel like not going back to sleep. Something's got a hold of me. Going on an hour and a half of sleep last night, I flew around the kennel this morning in a fantastic mood. Mind you, I used to be grouchy for the first hour and a half each morning, and I was getting 5 or 6 hours of sleep a night.

Went out last night with Kassandra (yeah, by the way, that's her name; Mark can stop referring to her as "Mystery Woman")... dinner, then to a karaoke place. The smoke was ridiculously thick, though, so we opted out of there and went to Graham Central Station. Ach, yes, dancing! Okay, so I didn't exactly tell her I've never really been to a club and danced before, but, oh, she found out... so... I promised her I'd go online and look up "The Clumsy Big Guy's Guide to Dance" before our next foray to a club.

It's all good, though. I feel no negative energy in my life right now. Can't compain, man.

CLIFTON'S APARTMENTWARMING PARTY

When: Saturday, May 17th (two weeks from today)
7:00 pm

Where: Clifton's Apartment
Arcadia Cove Apartments, 2252 N. 44th St. (slightly south of Oak on 44th St. -- a mile north of the 202)

What: Just a general get-together and dinner. Bring your own drinks -- but I'll have water, some assorted diet sodas, and Dew.

Menu: Chef Clifton at your service
- Broccoli-Gruyere Soup
- TFGBread (formerly the unnamed Italian-style bread I make)
- Creole Sausage/Shrimp Linguine
- Chicken dello Fungo-Scalogno
- Baked Ziti

RSVP: By email: tfg46@cox.net
Who's invited: Well, if you're reading this, then you.

Weird. There seems to be problems with the blogging system here. I guess that's what I get for signing up at a free site.

Anyway, last night was really cool... The night, in terms of the track, sucked, but there were other outside factors which made it an enjoyable experience. It really makes the night zip by when you've got someone to talk to.

I've spent the entire day on one continuous adrenaline rush. I woke up RIGHT WHEN my alarm went off at 5:30, got up, got dressed, actually had time to putter around before I left and I was still 3 minutes early to the kennel.

I can remember the last time I felt this good... 'twas March, 2001, on a Monday evening, the Monday of spring break, because I remember my family was out of town and I was basically housesitting for them on one of my Tuc-to-Phx visits. That evening, and the moments therein, lie forever etched in my memory. Before that? April 9th, 1999, a Saturday night, or if you want to split hairs, April 10th, because it was after midnight and therefore technically Sunday already, but for all intents and purposes it was still Saturday night.

How I feel right now is just an in-general... There hasn't been an instant, yet, that's been timestamped on my mental hard drive. But it's in the arena.

There's goods and there's bads... I can tell you exactly how I felt at 11:46 PM on July 13th, 1999, too, but that was on the opposite end of the spectrum from where I'm at now. But somehow I'm reticent to list the bad moments right now. I can't bring myself to think in a negative frame of mind.

Those moments, though, were single moments in time... I don't remember before and after, just the feeling of the instant. One would think of an instant as a minuscule speck on the timeline, but these instants seemed to expand and stretch infinitely, like a dramatic grand pause in a symphony. (It's difficult to explain... we're taking a wild ride down into the expanses of my mind, here, and it always makes my brain hurt when I think about things like this. I can think it, and I know exactly what I want to say, but my memory explains things to me in terms uncommunicable. It's a concept that I'm unable to verbalize.)

When an instant like that happens, I can feel it coming... not like consciously thinking of what's next, but almost like a subconscious pre-thought, and I can sense that time in the world outside myself and the people/things in my immediate vicinity slows to a standstill as the moment progresses. My mind seems to temporarily devote all of its faculties to recording the instant for future recollection, so the presence of time and the sense of place become very distorted. But it's such a detailed preservation that I can remember absolutely everything about the moment. If I sit here and relax for a minute or so, I could call it up from my mind, and it's almost like someone pressed Play on a VCR. It becomes almost a meditative state... my eyes fix and my vision blurs, and I lose all awareness of what's around me as the scene replays. I can see what I saw, I can hear what I heard, and if I'm deep enough into it, I can faintly feel what I felt. If something came along to distract me, such as the A/C kicking on like it did just now, the scene breaks suddenly and I realize I'm staring at a blank wall with my mouth hanging open.

That moment, the bad moment... I was at my computer when it happened. I could tell you everything about it... how warm it was in the room, how the lighting was and the odd chiaroscuro effect of the light above my head, how the TV was blaring on beside me (although what was on it I don't know... that was a little far outside my range), even the color scheme of the ICQ I was on. And I can feel, right in the pit of my stomach, the feeling I felt when that message box came up... the nauseating cocktail of sadness, disappointment, and disbelief, with just a twist of anger mixed in, that hit me in the gut.

The good moments... they're just as detailed. I can tell you about the '01 moment, right down to the faint taste of too-much-garlic in my mouth from the lousy pasta sauce I'd made for dinner earlier that night. And I can feel upon my face the odd chill of that April evening in '99... it had been a cold day, maybe even rainy (though I couldn't say for sure -- again, too far outside my range), and it was a peculiarly chilly evening for early April.

There's other moments... I just picked out a couple of examples.

Well, then... anyway... My mind has spent itself. I'm going to let it take a break and go watch some TV. And remember... if you don't understand why I'd bother writing about that... I didn't force you to read it. This is my friggin' blog, and if I feel like posting a guided tour of my myriad thoughts, I'm damn sure going to do it.