The Adventures of The HandyGraham

So...I live in Colorado now.

2011-10-17T07:56:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody!

For some reason, I just haven't been able to muster up the "I've moved to Colorado" blog until now. Actually, even now, it's proving trickier to write than I'd imagined...no thanks to the fact that I've taken yet another multi-month hiatus from the blogging world. If you enjoy my blog, I do apologize. I just want to make sure this remains a privilege, not an obligation.

On September 6, it rained all day in Nashville. I spent most of that morning pacing, waiting for a guy to come buy my old motorcycle so I could hit the road. I thought he'd be there around nine or ten in the morning, but he didn't end up getting there till one. Most of my things were either packed or sold at that point, so I had nothing to do but get impatient.

What do you do in the final moments of living in a place where you've lived for the last 12 years? Honestly, I think you just get overwhelmed. I was leaving something far too vast for me to process, on the way to something that was also far to vast for me to process...talk about a mind-job.

As soon as that guy showed up, I helped him load the motorcycle, and I jumped in my Jeep to tow a u-haul (that I was pretty sure was WELL over weight capacity) about 1200 miles to my new home. I was rather nervous that my Jeep wasn't actually going to make it here, so I'd already planned contingencies for what I'd do if/when it broke down in the middle of Kansas. By the way, one gains about 3,000' of elevation travelling from the east side of Kansas to the west side. Not as flat as you might have imagined.

I slept in the back seat of my car at a rest stop in Topeka, KS that night for a few hours, woke up with the sun and pressed on. The Jeep, the U-haul and I did a 20-hour drive in a span of about 25-hours total. Hellboy (my Jeep) never balked for a second. Real trooper. I started my new job at Fleet Feet Sports in Boulder two days later, and have been working there since then.

I'll give more details about CO later. For now, I'll say this. I'm lucky to have always had family to lean on when moving to a new place. I'm living with my uncle, aunt and cousins until I get my feet on the ground, and they continue to take good care of me. I'm very thankful to have a job, and one I enjoy as much as Fleet Feet. Good people are everywhere, they're just not always easy to find...fortunately, that wasn't my lot here. I've already found people to spend time around who make me smile, and that's valuable.

Nashville friends, know this: Good friends can NEVER be replaced. I've had a few very sad and melancholy days here thinking about how I miss you guys. I am REALLY thankful to already have been visited by a few of you. I don't know when I'll be able to make it back for a visit, but I sure hope it's soon. In the meantime, my bed is all yours if you'd like to come for a visit. I've been looking for an excuse to sleep on the porch anyway. 8)

remember that day I got hit by a truck and a train?

2011-02-11T07:43:00.000-08:00

So, I almost died yesterday. Yeah - just like that. Almost never got to see my family or friends again. Almost never got to see my house again, play my guitar again, drink a beer again, flirt with a girl again, rescue a dog again. I almost became one of those tragedies where not only the parents, but the grandparents outlive the children/grandchildren.

The physics of the situation is actually a little complex (there's a video at the bottom that may better explain), but here's the nutshell version:

My buddies, Kevin Kazlauskas, Jeff Snider and I were on our way over to East Nashville for a run with a few other guys. On the way, we got stopped at a railroad crossing on a busy road that doesn't have drop bars...only flashing lights. It was bright enough outside that we almost missed the flashing lights indicating that there was a train coming. We stopped, but a semi-truck coming from an awkward angle into the crossing missed the lights. The back end of the truck was still on the tracks when the train went through. It smashed the trailer of the truck the whole way across the intersection into the drivers' side of the car that we were sitting in.

I watched the whole thing happen. In fact, the last thing I said before the train hit the truck was, "Wow, that's going to happen." Now, I'm not exactly a stranger to subtle, and not-so-subtle near-death experiences:

One time, a buddy of mine accidentally hit a glass Snapple bottle with a soccer ball. I got hit in the neck with the cap after it shattered. Upon closer examination, part of the bottleneck was still in the cap, and it was nothing but sharp shards. It was one revolution away from severing my jugular.

Then there was the time Ricker and I were driving "a little over the speed limit" on a windy road back home. We lost control of the car and eventually landed in a creek.

Those both happened so quickly I didn't know what happened till it was over. This, however, happened quickly, but it went slowly enough that I actually had time to know what was going on...to speculate...to panic...to be afraid. I'm glad to say that my adrenaline-infused mind over-estimated the weight of a semi-truck. I knew it was going to hit my seat RIGHT on the money and thought for sure Kevin and Jeff were either going to look back to see half the SUV ripped right off with me nowhere in sight...if they were even conscious. At the very least I expected to be mangled, broken, or wake up in a hospital bed...if at all.

The whole thing felt like a clever game of mousetrap, and I was the mouse. I felt like I was caught in the trap and there was a sledgehammer coming down to seal the deal.

Truth be told, I think my biggest fear is helplessness. I'm a big believer in "it ain't over till the fat lady sings," and if I'm in control, I can at least go down fighting. That wasn't the case yesterday though. I was trapped and was subject to whatever physics felt like dealing.

Jeff, Kevin and I walked away unscathed. After dealing with all the politics, we actually drove Jeff's mangled SUV over to the park and went on our run anyway. That's when we began to speculate on the "what if's."

That truck was full of raisin bread. What if that truck had been full of something heavier? What if it had been a fuel truck? What if we hadn't seen the flashing lights and were on the tracks as well when the train went through? What if it had been a car full of women? What if there had been a child involved?

I gotta tell you - I'm so glad I was with those guys. About ten minutes after the accident, we were out joking with people about the raisin bread all over our car and the intersection. We took videos, pictures, updated our facebook statuses with pictures, and gave somewhat whimsical interviews to the news crews. Then we went and processed together during an hour-long run, during which we looked much deeper into what just happened. We actually talked the first half of the run, then spread out a little and were silent for the second half. I think we celebrated life.

Hey guys - remember that time we got hit by the truck that got hit by a train? What a day...what a day.

Lola Louise

2011-02-08T13:50:00.000-08:00

It's been a busy week+, which I guess is somewhat evident in my lack of online presence.

Sunday morning, I woke up to get ready for my annual Super Bowl party that happens here at Castle Stoner. While I was brushing my teeth, I heard a "banging around" on my back porch. In my neighborhood, we've got our share of stray cats, possums, birds, squirrels, and other wildlife that don't really have much sense of boundary. That said, I'm not unaccustomed to hearing these types of noises on the back porch.

I ignored it for a few minutes, but I eventually realized this was a bit more of a clatter than I'm used to hearing. I glanced out the door and saw a little dog who was almost literally knocking on my back door. She would knock at the door for a while, walk around the house to cover the exits, then head back to knock on the door again. I'd never seen this dog before, but she was acting almost like one of my friends who came by to see me, but was not content with the, "go away, I'm asleep" response.

I came to the sad and difficult conclusion a few years back that I just can't save them all. My plate is pretty full right now, and this would not have been the first dog I've taken in. Knowing what a responsibility that is, I agonized long and hard about taking her in. I think it was Gandalf [Optimus Prime, not Gandalf - Thanks "Angry Asian"] that said something to the effect of: "Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing." I decided to meet the East Nasties for our Sunday run, and if she was still there when I got back, I'd put food and water out...I'd be committed.

Well, darn it if she wasn't sitting in the back yard looking expectant when I got back - I guess I respect that kind of persistence. I sure had to work hard to get her to come to me, though. What's crazy is that this isn't the first time a dog just showed up at my house and wouldn't leave. It's like they know where I live.

I named her Lola Louise. She just looks like a Lola, and she has a bit of a bull dog-like "wheeze," so I added Louise since it seemed to flow so nicely. Anyway, with some help from my friend, Marie and a few others, Lola now has food, has been vaccinated, will be spayed next week, but has sadly tested positive for heartworms.

Even with some serious generosity on behalf of some fellow dog-lovers, I just have to admit that I'm stressed. There's a long road ahead for Lola. My friends and I are going to fight for her though. Why? Because she's about five years old, and it doesn't look like anybody's been on her side for a LONG time. Because she came to my house for whatever we consider to be the driving force behind fate. Because she is sweet as candy and deserves a chance. Because she gave me one.

The eyes of a baby girl

2011-01-31T15:06:00.000-08:00

My friends, Josh and Meredith, got married this weekend, and I attended their wedding. I have this rotten habit of arriving at weddings mere seconds before the bride and her posse make their entrance. This wedding was no exception. Staying true to form, I got stuck in the very last seat in the back of the groom's section.

I'm not really much of a ceremonious type of dude. Ceremonies feel scripted and a bit impersonal to me. The receptions, on the other hand, are where people usually let their hair down. Receptions are much more my style. We have the option of two-way communication with each other, and we don't have to worry about composure so much. We "commune" with each other.

That being said, my mind is unlikely to stay focused through a wedding ceremony, no matter how hard I try. This was no exception. Part way through the service, a father sitting in front of me hoisted his little baby up so that she was face-to-face with me...this is where my memory of the wedding starts getting fuzzy.

She stared at me the whole time, unabashedly. I could only return her gaze for so long before I felt embarrassed and kept having to look away, but eventually I found I couldn't look away from her.

I've had an issue with eye contact since I was 15. The girl I was dating mentioned that the way I made eye contact made her uncomfortable, and I didn't want her to feel that way. In that simple sentence she transfered her discomfort and insecurity to me, and to this day, as I stand on the doorstep of 30, eye contact is a huge struggle for me.

A little over a year ago, I wrote this blog, which cryptically alludes to this struggle of mine, and some other things. I had honestly forgotten about what I said that day until I got caught in that little girl's tractor beam. In her eyes, a multitude of things revealed themselves to me. I saw beautiful innocence. I saw peace. I saw truth. I saw confidence. I'm not sure I can explain this, but the oddest, most prominent thing I think I saw in those eyes was forgiveness...almost as if that's the one thing she wanted to convey to me. All in the eyes of that baby girl who can't even talk yet!

Eventually, she lost interest in me, got fussy, and was taken out into the lobby. Immediately, I felt a bit like somebody turned out the lights and the room was suddenly short on oxygen as I came out of the trance. I guess it's been a long time since I've taken the time to really see something as beautiful as a little baby girl. I never saw her again, and though that makes me sad, I know it's ok. We exchanged a few moments where she was the teacher and I was the student, and that was the end of our story.

There isn't really a point to this, because I'm not sure I understand it yet. I do know it was beautiful, and I've got a lot of other thoughts in my head now.

Extended Weekend Power-Fail

2011-01-26T06:24:00.000-08:00

My car broke down five times between Friday night and Monday morning.

On Friday night, I was on my way back from working in Franklin when my radio died and my dash lights started dimming. I know those signs...the alternator crapped-out two blocks from my house...REALLY? (Yes, I'm thankful it wasn't further away, but still.)

ONE.

Rod picked me up, and we got the battery charged just enough. I ran every stop sign till it died pulling into my driveway.

TWO.

Saturday morning, I should have rested in light of my 3-mile time trial on Sunday, but I stubbornly ran anyway.

Saturday afternoon. With coffee, a few rides to O'reilly & Autozone, and an extra hand catching nuts & bolts I pulled out of my car (all of which were provided by my friend, Brittany), I replaced the alternator and Hellboy (that's my Jeep's name) ran again.

Saturday night. "Check Engine." Now, Ol' Hellboy's got almost 200k miles on 'em now. I've had that light come on for nothing, many times, in many vehicles. I decided to proceed with caution and drive.

Sunday morning - The 3-mile Time Trial. I missed my goal by 12 seconds...probably because I was an idiot and ran the day before...or maybe I'm just not in good enough shape. Either way, FAIL.

Later that morning...Car breaks down in Shelby Park by lake. I eventually get it started, then to Hunter's, then home, thanks to Rod and Brittany again.

THREE.

I walked/jogged to the bar that afternoon and bummed rides from Hunter and Drew the rest of the day. I spent most of the day wondering what I could possibly have screwed up on the alternator to cause this.

Monday morning - I take Ol' Hellboy to my man, Ali, at David's Tire and Alignment. Unfortunately, his code reader's busted, so I have to run down to Autozone to get it read, but it's there that my car...breaks down.

FOUR.

Eventually fired it up with some starter fluid and made it to the intersection of Nolensville & Thompson where it broke down...TWO blocks from Ali's place.

FIVE.

On Monday, I paid for a tow truck for the first time in my life, and paid to have somebody ELSE fix my car for the first time in at least six years. Ali explained it all to me, and was kind enough to show me that I'd installed the alternator fine, and that the distributor was a completely unrelated issue.

As it's still "Dry January," I couldn't just meet somebody for a drink to cap this off properly. So, I ended the night quietly at home with a meal from Fat Mo's, a chocolate malt shake, a half box of Swiss Rolls, and the "A-Team." A reasonable substitute, I guess.

It's not for sympathy that I record this story. We all have really bad days so that we can properly appreciate the really good days when they happen.

Bachelor Power!

2011-01-20T07:26:00.001-08:00

I used to wonder if growing up betwixt two sisters made me soft. I guess it probably did a little bit in some ways. Just like dudes have to be dudes, ladies have to be ladies, and I think I probably have a bit more patience/understanding for that than most dudes. I mean, have you MET my sisters? 8)

Every once in a while, if I'm feeling like I'm just not "dudely" enough, I stop, take a deep breath, and look around my house.

Being a single guy who lives alone, I have a lot of freedom:

Wardrobe changes: I can change clothing anywhere in my house. It's not uncommon for me to have to race home, after inviting people over, and have to pick up all of the clothing that has been shed in all of the rooms in my house. I'm usually just in a hurry to get to a run, or tired, or watching TV and don't see any reason to leave the room. For that matter, I'm not really obligated to wear any clothing at all while I'm home alone, now am I?

I like having things readily accessible. I have three guitars in my living room. Why? Because if they're in their cases in the next room, I'm going to be less apt to play them. That's the reason why my vacuum is prominently placed between two of those guitars...actually that's a lie. I bought the dude equivalent of the "roomba." It's the irobot "Dirt Dog," (I named him Sanchito) and is designed to tidy up one's workshop. Seems to work well in my house though. I don't know why that other vacuum's there.

I have lockers in my room for all my running gear. I broke the glass globe of the light on the fan in my living room punching for the sky during "another MTSU First Down" over a year ago...doesn't bother me. There are a leaf blower and a hedge trimmer in the corner of my kitchen because...well, I don't know why exactly. I have a quilt on my bed that is camouflage with army tanks and such on it - matching pillow cases too. Uh, my movie collection...HELLO.

But guys, I took things to a whole new level yesterday. Are you ready for this?!?

Not the tools on my kitchen table, not the sweaty jacket hanging in the back, or even the stuff all over my fridge. Nope...Look all the way to the top. That, my friends, is a pull-up bar...IN MY KITCHEN!!!

Ok, I suppose you're asking why (and probably rolling your eyes...I get that sometimes).

cause it's AWESOME!
I ordered inversion boots and there was no room to hang upside-down anywhere else in my house so I'd still have room to move and do exercises.
umm, did I mention that it's AWESOME?!?
err...that's all I got.

Yes, I can get it back down and patch the holes in no time when I go to sell my house, but for now, it's MY house, and as such, shall maintain optimum level of dude-ness.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some pull-ups to do.

Backwoods wiring...

2011-01-19T11:08:00.000-08:00

So Neal, one of my fellow East Nasties, came to me the other day apologizing that he was unaware of my profession and the fact that I'd been voted Nashville's Best Handyman in 2008 & 2009 - Yeah, I was too busy doing other stuff to win last year. 8) No biggie at all, Neal. I don't go around touting that award...I'm too busy touting all my other, far more lucrative abilities.

Anyway, Neal asked me if I'd be willing to come look at a ceiling fan, and a vintage media console for him. He'd actually done a fine job installing the fan himself, but the wiring in his place was causing some confusion. The console had been working fine, but upon a little bit of moving the power cord, it just stopped working.

The fan was a pretty straighforward fix (for somebody like myself...Neal was right to be confused), and I even got to wire up a couple of remote controls for the fan. I've probably mentioned my enjoyment of electrical work. Generally speaking, it's clean...I don't have to play in sewage or get covered in drywall, and when you're done, the payoff is getting to see a light turn on, or an outlet work. Plumbing offers similar payoffs, but you often have to get at least wet, if not "yucky" to get to the payoff.

Fan - Check. I moved onto the console. It was one of those cool old consoles that looks like a piece of wooden furniture, but discretely houses a stereo usually featuring a turntable, a radio, sometimes a cassette player, and maybe if you're really lucky, an 8-track player. Neal seemed to think the cord may accidentally have been wrenched loose, causing the unit to refuse to power up.

I took the back off and began digging around, but couldn't find any shorts or breaks in the power cord, so I dug a little deeper. After another couple of minutes I came across a small set of RCA jacks. They looked as though they were from the same vintage as the console, so I'd overlooked them before. This time, however, I noticed scotch tape and safety pins, which are not components that manufacturers typically use when fabricating electronic audio devices. It was a sure sign of backwoods rigging!

Whoever had this console before tried to rig up an auxiliary speaker output jack. They did so by pushing safety pins through the existing speaker wires, then looping them through the respective contacts on the jack. Then they used the scotch tape to "insulate" them so they wouldn't touch.

I'll give them credit...this was pretty resourceful, and somewhat ingenious. I've done plenty of projects @ 2am, when Hope Depot is closed and I'm limited to whatever parts I've got sitting around...something tells me that wasn't the case here. I took the safety pins out of the wires and the unit fired back up. (Honestly, I'm not sure what that had to do with the power not coming on, but it works now...maybe I'm just overlooking something.) At any rate, Neal & I had a good laugh about it, and were both glad to see that thing making music again.

Anyway, thought you guys might get a kick out of that...I know I did. 8) For anybody that cares, I've included some facts below. For everybody else - or maybe just everybody - catch you next time!

Boring facts:

They actually make wire splices that do something similar to what the safety pin was doing...but those actually work.
Safety pins aren't actually bad conductors.
Scotch tape is NOT a good insulator.
Most speaker wire connections INSIDE a stereo unit will be soldered. The safety pins were just dangling...sometimes making the connection, sometimes not.
It's generally a bad idea for any two wires (speaker/power/etc.) to touch if they are not meant to be touching.
feel free to add your own...

Born to Run + ENFL

2011-01-18T06:36:00.000-08:00

Guys, I cried a little bit yesterday.

No, I didn't try and cut a glass bottle with my teeth. I did try the Jedi mind trick though...I figure it can't hurt, right...actually, I think I try that on something almost everyday. I digress. The truth is, I cried because I finally finished the book, "Born to Run," by Christopher McDougall.

I've heard the hype for two+ years and just now read the book. I think I mentioned in a previous blog that I'd actually used many of the theories from the book (passed on to me by fellow runners) to change my running life for the better. The story behind it, however is worth every bit as much as the facts found amidst it.

You know why I cried? It can be summed up in four words:

East Nasty For Life.

I don't want to risk butchering McDougall's story at all, so this will be quite cryptic, but his story reminded me of why I love East Nasty AND Running.

Last weekend, I ran with my friend Julie, and somehow we got onto the subject of struggling through long races. The surprising thing is this...it never ends badly. Whether it's a close friend, or a random weirdo you've never met, somebody is always there to pick you up when you fall, or encourage you through it when you think all hope is lost. ALWAYS.

Julie actually coaxed me through the disaster that became my first marathon attempt, which involved agonizing side stitches, an IT band lock-up on my right knee, and a thunderstorm which made them call the race before I had the chance to finish. That day I was pulled off the course at 20.5 miles on a 26.2 mile course.

That's why McDougall's account and reference to the community that running provides brought tears to my eyes...because I've been basking in that beauty for almost three years now, if my memory serves me correctly. It's changed my life, and quite possibly saved it.

So last night, in honor of this great book and Running in general, I broke out my Vibram fivefingers and did my normal Monday night 6-miler...I'd forgotten how good the earth feels when your bare feet (almost bare in this case) meet it. Then I swung by Kroger to pick up some pinto beans, corn tortillas and some cilantro to enjoy a Rarámuri-style recovery meal.

If you don't run, I hope you find yourself doing it someday. I hope you can find a group like East Nasty has been to me. If you do run, I hope you get frequent reminders of how good we have it. If you haven't read the book, you're doing yourself a true disservice, and perhaps those around you as well.

I believe it firmly. We are born to run.

How to Cut Glass Bottles (a video how to)

2011-01-17T16:21:00.000-08:00

My friend Gail (I call her HandyGail) has a wonderful blog called "My {re}Purposed Life." Some of you may also know HandyGail as my friend Jamie's mom (the HandyGraham shop is in Jamie's garage).

The last thing I'll say about Gail is that if you don't go see her blog, it's your loss...aside from that, her blog speaks for itself far better than I ever could. Gail did mention something about cutting glass bottles the other day. It just so happens I know a thing or two about that, so I decided to make my first "How to" videos on cutting glass bottles. There are 3 videos below. Enjoy!

Glass Bottle Cutting 101 - (the contraption)

Glass Bottle Cutting 102 - The Tile Saw

Glass Bottle Cutting 103 - Edge Clean-up

Hey Jealousy

2011-01-13T19:17:00.000-08:00

Ironically, I heard that song yesterday, and hated it just as I've always done.

I'm jealous today because I read my friend Sarah Brown's blog earlier, and she's headed to Tahoe to go skiing this week. Many southerners have to specify that as "snow skiing," but everywhere else, it's just "skiing."

Anyway, Sarah expressed some insecurities about her skiing abilities...well, this one's for you, Sarah.

A few years back, I was visiting my Uncle and his family out in Colorado and we decided to hit the slopes at Winter Park. I'm a pretty competent snowboarder. I'm not afraid to hit the double diamonds and hammer them out. I'm a far, FAR cry from that mutant Shaun White, but I do like to try and hit the jumps when I can.

There were about 10 of us who went up there together for the day, so we all went to our favorite parts of the mountain and agreed to meet for lunch at noon or something.

For most snowboarders, the mogul field is a nightmare. For me, however, it is a smorgasbord of jump after jump after jump...and I LOVE IT! I found a huge field of moguls that ended in a big powdery section with a sweet jump in the middle of it and dug in.

Perhaps I'll venture a bit more honesty about my snowboarding capacities: I can carve and go fast for days...no problem. I LOVE jumps, but the truth is that I get to snowboard so little that my landings are often a textbook definition of "tumultuous."

I spent the WHOLE morning riding through that mogul field over and over...run after run. I would just go as fast as I could through them until I simply couldn't control myself anymore. Then, I'd crash hard and smash into the next few moguls with whatever body part gravity hated most at the moment. At the end of the mogul field, I'd stand for a second so my eyes would uncross, then head full-speed toward the big jump to attempt some trick that I didn't have a chance in the world at landing.

Lunchtime rolled around, and I was giddy. I dragged myself into the lodge to meet my crew for some nourishment. My uncle said, "Hey Graham, give me your backpack. I put the bread and pretzels in there." I sheepishly handed him my backpack...which I had been wearing for the WHOLE morning crash session. After opening it, he just smiled and looked at me with incredulity asking, "Man, what the hell were you doing?!?" The whole loaf of bread was flat as a board, and the whole bag of pretzels had been reduced to crumbs too small to see with a microscope.

Fortunately, those guys have come to expect a certain degree of crazy from me, so we all had a laugh about it. You guessed it. I went right back out and did the same thing all afternoon.

Anyway...not sure what you should take from this. Go for it? Falling is more fun than not? Don't volunteer to take the bread and pretzels if you treat yourself as a human crash-test-dummy?

Whatever. Have fun Sarah - do some shredding for me!

The Italian Stallion

2011-01-12T13:07:00.000-08:00

Until last night, I had never seen the original "Rocky" movie. I'm ashamed to admit that as I'm from Pennsylvania, and I love Philly, but sadly, there remains an embarrassingly long list of movies that I should have seen already and haven't.

January's off to a quiet start as I'm abstaining from alcohol for the month, and it tends to limit your evening social activities. I was bored last night, and the only movies on TV were "Ironman," which I've seen a few too many times, and "The Crow," which I nixed because I wasn't really in a vengeant mood. Rather than go back out to the redbox, I checked my on demand and decided it was high time that I moved Rocky into the plus column of my movie checklist.

"Rocky" came out in 1976. I was born in 1981. While I was growing up, I watched every Van Damme movie in the video rental store multiple times. I'd seen "Bloodsport" somewhere between a million and infinity times. There's just nothing like mindless, plotless ass-whooping to nurture a teenage boy's brain.

These days, I...well, my taste hasn't changed much. Watching Rocky actually led me to some surprising (to me, at least) realizations.

Movies nowadays not only cater to, but probably also shorten our (already short) attention spans. Every time the camera watched Rocky walk down the road, I was waiting for something to happen, but he just kept walking till he got to his destination. I was waiting for the scene to end/transition. Since they never ended quickly, I was under the impression that they were just building suspense for something bad to happen. The loan shark would come rough Rocky up, Apollo Creed would send the media to humiliate him, or maybe the ghosts of a thousand British soldiers would crawl out of the Delaware River and ambush him in a hail of musket fire. Nope, the scene was a 30-second walk down the block...end scene. I don't know if I've ever seen anything like it.

I expected the loan shark, Rocky's shady employer, to find some reason to shake Rocky down for money he didn't have so Rocky would have a more desperate cause to beat Apollo. Turns out Rocky was going to get the money, win or lose. The loan shark actually turned out to be a pretty good dude, generously GIVING Rocky money for a date with Adrian and more money later for training expenses...no strings attached. He even came to see Rocky's fight.

Rocky's training scenes didn't pump me up like I expected them to, and in the end, although Rocky lasted all 15 rounds with Apollo, Apollo still won by decision. The movie didn't make me hate Apollo like I usually have reason to hate antagonists, but I still felt the need to see Rocky floor him.

So...I think I LOVED it. I hadn't realized how conditioned I'd become to expecting a movie to take me from extreme highs to extreme lows. Extreme tension - resolution. Extreme oppression - revenge. Extreme suspense - relief.

I hadn't realized how modern movie scripts are designed to give us such severe mood swings. Stallone was just trying to tell a story about a simple guy, so he kept the story simple. Genius.

Eh, that's all, I guess. Thanks Sly, for a good reminder that life is a marathon, not a sprint.

How about some brass tacks?!?

2011-01-11T09:11:00.001-08:00

All right tricks...

Enough of all this, "oh, I've been gone so long, what do I write???" crap.

Today, I'm taking a belated snow day.

I've had the good pleasure of meeting a guy through East Nasty by the name of Cheyenne. He and I have struck up a fun friendship right from the off because he's one of the few people I know here in Nashville with an affinity for all things ghetto. Oddly enough, on Sunday at our post-run brunch, after discussing good hip hop, R&B, football and running, we found ourselves discussing (of all things) books.

Now, picture this: Cheyenne and I are isolated off in the corner of this house full of runner-types. I'm wearing my infamous, larger-than-life yellow fleece sweats, a hoodie, and my hat cocked to about 1 o'clock. Cheyenne's in b-ball type shorts, a t-shirt and rocking his ice-stud earrings (I may or may not have a similar set).

I guarantee you that none of my friends at brunch who saw us would have guessed in a million years that the two ghetto kids in the corner were on the topic of literature. Chey and I had quite a few riveting discussions, not the least of which was a debate regarding reading fiction vs. non-fiction books. I'll spare you the details, but by the end of our debate, I'd convinced Chey to read "Call of the Wild" by Jack London, and I was headed straight home to find a non-fiction book to read.

When I got home, I called Rodimus Prime Jones for a suggestion on a good/enticing non-fiction book to read, and he suggested "Devil in the White City." The official classification of my attention span is: "Distracted," so I have a tough time reading books that don't have intriguing stories and knew Rod would have a good suggestion. I was about to run out to snag a copy when I realized that I had a perfectly good non-fiction candidate sitting on my kitchen table.

For years now, I've heard about "Born to Run." Having heard the lessons learned from it recounted to me by my friends many times, I never felt the need to read it. In fact, a year ago, I actually completely changed the way I run altogether as a result of this book that I'd never even opened. As it turns out, I really love running, and this book is not only about that but is rumored to be quite non-fictionally plot-driven. My older sister, Gretchen, who is somewhat new to running (and yet has already completed her first 1/2 marathon with another on the books) lent me this book a few months back after she finished it. It seemed like a no-brainer, so I dove in and am quite glad I did. I'm about 60 pages in and am contemplating a trip to Mexico ASAP. Perhaps I should finish the book before I do anything rash.

Hasta entonces - ¡Que corran bien amigos!

harder than I'd thought...

2011-01-06T08:06:00.000-08:00

It's Thursday morning. I'm at my favorite coffee shop, Crema. I just saw my friends Cindy & DJ Murphy. I'm wearing my sweet North Face fleece. Last night was our weekly East Nasty run. I'm having a writer's bottleneck.

Many of you have known me as a bit of a talker. Historically, it's actually how I used to work my thoughts out...rotten luck to those innocent bystanders who were ambushed by my raw thought process.

One of the reasons I grounded myself from reading/writing blogs was this: I'd get so caught up in my own head trying to figure out my thoughts and the thoughts of those around me, I'd occasionally sort of forget that the real world actually exists. So, in my 313 days of penance/freedom, I have gotten MUCH better about not over-thinking, but rather, living.

So, I'm sitting here thinking...

-have I forgotten how to think/ponder?

-do I even remember the dude who wrote all these old handygraham blogs?

-gosh...blogging is harder than I remember.

-do I backtrack and tell old stories, or do I focus on moving forward?

-this blog is getting way too serious.

-my pandora hip hop station kicks ass.

Woah, ok, I think I just needed to get that crap out. I feel way better now. Getting back into blogging is, indeed, harder that I'd thought. Feels like my rhythm's starting to come back now. I owe you guys something fun for wading through that, so I'll leave you with this...

I think I feel a pulse...

2011-01-05T14:05:00.000-08:00

Dear blog-world - It's been 313 days since my last confession.

I kind of picture today's blog like so many movie scenes where somebody just disappears unexpectedly, and without any type of warning. People have long since forgotten that the person is gone, and then... Peter Pettigrew shows up on the Marauder's Map.

I thought to myself yesterday, "What do you blog about when you've been off the reservation for the better part of a year?" Well, how about why?!?

Perhaps you're asking...where have you been? The short answer is: "bricks & mortar." The longer answer begins with this: I grounded myself from all things blogging, and... You know...I'm just going to leave it at that. 8)

So, if you were enjoying my blogging, I do apologize for the not-so-brief lapse. If you weren't enjoying it, you're welcome. Also, I haven't read any blogs during this span either... If I missed anything, I hope you told me.

Why come back now?

-I talked to my buddy, Cary Graham (The Hack Novelist) the other day about his blog, and it must have called my writing spirit out of slumber.

-I also checked on Annie's blog the other day to find the sad status of "The Honda." I broke the no blog-reading rule...Hell, I might as well go all in with the writing part too.

-2010 may have been the craziest, best, worst, most-meaningful year of my life. 2011 is going to be a big year, and it's going to need to be documented.

-I've missed writing.

Anyway, not exactly a triumphant return, but seriously if I'd tried to blog about 313 days of material we'd be in quite the cluster right now. More exciting entries to follow...

In the words of Drew Jones, "I think it's safe to say, 'He's back!'"

or am I just that shallow???

2010-02-26T07:26:00.000-08:00

A few weeks back, REI had a sweet clearance sale, and I just so happened to have a little bit of Christmas money that I'd not yet squandered. I've never really had a clothing budget. I buy new clothes as inexpensively as possible when the old clothes are so worn out that they don't do the job anymore.

Anyway, I bought two articles of North Face clothing because they were SEVERELY discounted. I've always liked North Face clothing, but simply can't justify dedicating that much of my budget to clothes when it could be so much more enjoyably spent on big cheeseburgers, fries and chocolate malt shakes. Fat Mo's anybody?!?

That being said, I absolutely LOVE my North Face fleece jacket. I'd wear it all the time if I could. If handymanning weren't such a dirty job, I'd wear it to work. It's wicked soft. It's considerably warm. It actually fits me! I have a terrible time buying clothing because I'm slim, and I have long appendages. If I buy a "large" shirt, the sleeves aren't long enough. If I buy an "extra large," the sleeves are good, but the body fits me like a rain poncho. This jacket fits me amazingly.

I have a confession to make. I'm an incredible sucker for a good logo. In high school, I was like an Adidas poster child. I still think the original Adidas logo is amazing. I like the font of the letters and the little "flower" (i guess you'd call it) insignia. I always wore Adidas in high school.

The North Face logo speaks to me as well. I just like the simplicity of it. The question I often wonder is: am I attracted to this because it's the "in" thing? My buddy Hunter, who works at REI, was telling me about people who go into REI to buy things because of the logos. They come into the store on Saturday mornings when the people for whom REI originally came into being are actually out doing things outdoors. It's the same people who buy Hummers to drive around the city. So much capacity put to so little use.

I'd just finished a seven+ mile trail run before I bought my North Face jacket, so why do I still feel like a fraud having one? Maybe the same reason I have trouble calling myself a runner even though I'm clocking 30+ miles a week.

Did I just buy the jacket for the logo? Do I just believe it's better because it says North Face on it? Do I feel just a little more legitimate wearing it? Eh, I dunno. I do know this though: I LOVE this jacket and I enjoy wearing it. Perhaps those other questions don't really matter so much.

Happy Weekend, Friends!

oh, to be uncool...

2010-02-23T10:36:00.000-08:00

Many of you know that I used to work at a record company as a sales rep. It's always fun to see what kind of a reaction I get when I convey this information to people who only know me as Handygraham, or only know me from church or from my East Nasty running group. Generally speaking, these reactions are usually to some tune of "surprise."

Maybe they're really used to me showing up at places with my tape measure on my belt and my pencil in my hat. Maybe they're used to me hanging out in coffee shops when normal people are working. I think, however, they're just used to the idea that I'm completely, unapologetically, unashamedly UNCOOL. Actually, when I consider that, even I find it hard to believe that I once worked in an environment where being hip was a prerequisite.

I know what you're thinking..."No way, Graham - YOU ARE THE COOLEST PERSON I KNOW!" I'm so, so sorry to have to do this, O imaginary blog fans, but the truth is quite contrary, and I think I'll give up lying for lent...or at least for today.

Good Ol' HootenAnnie Parsons recently alluded to guilty pleasures in one of her blogs...I realized that I don't actually feel guilty about some pretty lame pleasures. How am I "uncool?" Let me count (some of) the ways:

I keep a copy of Lord of the Rings next to my bed and read it cyclically.
AND I would gladly join Dwight Schrute if he went to New Zealand and journeyed from Hobbiton to Mordor.
I know spells from Harry Potter better than Seamus Finnigan.
I don't just think Saturday Morning Cartoons suck now, I've got a multifaceted argument to prove it.
When I get home from work, I put on Nickelodeon. iCarly is my favorite.
I appreciate Van Halen's "Jump" for it's musical genius & still listen to it even when I'm not at an eighties party.
If it wouldn't scare the majority of my clientele, I'd always rock my Fu-Graham-Chu.

I could go on for days. I guess my point here isn't really to show how uncool I am, but more so remind myself that a lot of the uncool things about me are what make me who I am.

To quote Philip Seymour Hoffman's character in "Almost Famous:"

"The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with somebody when you're uncool."

I had trouble communicating with people at the record company, and often times just people in Nashville, because of this. For quite some time now, I've been pretty okay with my uncool preferences...Okay, okay...perhaps a bit TOO okay with them sometimes. 8) It's often difficult finding somebody who is either okay with their uncool preferences and/or okay with mine. But I'll tell you what - I couldn't even begin to put a value on the friends of mine with whom I share the bond of mutual uncoolness. Nothing compares to the freedom to be one's self - not to mention having friends who encourage this whether intentionally or unintentionally. So, here's to you, my friends who accept me for who I am...the good AND the bad. You've been a source of saving grace for me and will continue to be such.

AND, while I'm bleeding here on the altar of dignity...

I may or may not have watched most of "The Devil Wears Prada" last night.
I may or may not have changed the channel quickly when my buddy Aman arrived to watch 24 with me.
I may or may not have to borrow it from one of you so I can see the end.
I may or may not have a bit of a thing for Anne Hathaway.

On a far more manly note...I started yesterday by watching "Invincible" with Mark Wahlberg and ended it by watching Jack Bauer beat up on bad dudes.

Hey, I'm okay with being uncool...not unmanly.

In the words of Miranda Priestly, "That is all."

Colds are STUPID!

2010-02-18T06:30:00.000-08:00

I'm into my fourth day of having a wicked-annoying cold. I'm in a sour mood because of it, and I'm just going to embrace that, so buckle in.

Mindless musings of a man on Sudafed...

I spent Monday & Tuesday sick on the couch, for the most part, which doesn't really happen all that often. I redboxed "Coraline" which was pretty cool. On Tuesday, I bought "The Patriot" on Blu-ray because it was on sale. I hadn't seen it in a while, but I know why it's on sale.

At one of my high school track meets, I was about as sick as I am now...not sick enough to stay home, but certainly not well either. I brought a bottle of Dayquil to that meet, determined that I would not be sitting out...and I didn't. I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing and began treating that bottle like cough lozenges. Well, half a bottle later, my dad retrieved me from lying sprawled out at about the 50-yard line. He told me the meet was over and it was time to go. It was the only track meet I ever won all four of my events. (to his credit, my buddy Mike who was my long jumping superior, was on an injured ankle that day.)

One good thing about saying home sick is that you know you just can't work. I couldn't focus on email, and I surely wasn't about to go out and fix somebody's "something or other." There is a certain degree of liberation that comes with that. It usually gets squelched, however by the fact that we need money and we can't make it while we're sick on the couch.

A couple of years ago, my flag football team had their playoffs all on a Saturday. I was, of course, sick as a dog. I knew I needed some Dayquil (I take recommended dosages these days), but I knew I also needed some caffeine, so I grabbed a Full Throttle energy drink on the way to the game. Let's just say I wasn't exactly at my best that day. I remember the huddle felt a bit like the circle of Charlie Brown's friends swaying around the Christmas tree...or was that the Who's (I debated on that apostrophe...too sick to care) of Who-ville? Well, the huddle wasn't swaying, but it sure seemed like it.

Colds suck because they have to run their course. I can't arm-wrestle a cold. I get really frustrated with them because they block off my nose entirely so I can't sleep properly. In exhaustive stupors, I lose my cool and get really frustrated and angry at the cold, which makes it even more difficult to fall asleep. Not to mention the fact that I have to try and sleep sitting up in attempt to keep my nasal cavity open.

Perhaps colds are a reminder for us to be empathetic toward one another. We all get colds, and they're not fun for anybody. Note to self, take care of the sick...now where have I heard that before?!?

In closing:

If I could punch a cold in the face, my fist would come out the other side of its head.

That's how much I hate colds.

More cohesive and positive thoughts to come!

Special thanks to Rod Jones this morning, whose blog posting made me laugh so hard I literally cried into my cereal!

More Super than the Super Bowl???

2010-02-08T11:27:00.000-08:00

So, I had a Superbowl party last night, and it was FANTASTIC!

I love hosting/throwing parties at my house...and I must say that I put on some pretty good parties, if I do say so myself. 8)

I'll get to my point in a little bit, but let me go ahead and set the scene here:

A month ago, my buddy Aman (the one who decided 2010 is my year) called me and said, "Hey Stoner, are you planning on throwing a Superbowl party?!?" I thought about it for a second, remembered how much fun my SB party was last year and replied, "Uhh, heck yeah, man!"

As of yesterday, 14 people had RSVP'd to my party, which is plenty to have a great party. For those of you who don't live in Nashville, RSVPs for Nashvillians are meaningless. Case in point...from six pm till ten pm last night, there were between 40 & 50 people in my house...err there were that many people in my living room and kitchen all night, and somehow it worked.

It didn't take me long to realize Aman's true intentions to have me host the Superbowl party...he wanted to throw a good party, and my house is kind of a party house. Let's get something straight: I absolutely LOVE IT when my house gets volunteered as a party-hosting site!!!

Aman showed up with two marvelous party platters from Jimmy John's. He also set up a beer taste test with voting sheets and all. My buddy Hunter made three pots of chili - two pots with different spice levels and one pot of vegetarian chili. These guys and my friend Julie showed up early to help set up...Hunter even helped wipe-down my kitchen and bathroom while I hustled to make final preparations. I'd spent most of the day alleviating the disarray of my bachelor pad...no small task. I spent much of Saturday building a mount to hang my projector from the ceiling in my kitchen so we could watch the "big game" in BIG. The kitchen is always where people congregate and chat anyway. For the die-hard fans, the TV in the living room was accompanied by surround-sound. For those who didn't really care, I set up a few Atari games in my bedroom.

As kickoff came and went, people began showing up in droves, and they all brought what we'd asked them to bring. I quickly ran out of counter and table space for all the food, and I'm pretty sure my house was in some sort of fire code violation.

I ask you: Are there any better times in life than being in a house surrounded by good friends while enjoying the over-abundance of food and drink at your disposal???

I'm going to brag about my great friends now a bit. As the game concluded and the night wound down, people began cleaning up my house for me. I watched as my friend Jen washed my dishes for me. Not only was the trash properly disposed of, the recyclable trash was separated out for me. Somewhere during the night, somebody emptied my regular trash can. My friend Christy made a heroic, emergency run to the store in the middle of the game as we had a ton of chili, but no bowls to put it in. This happens at my parties almost every time. My friends are awesome!

So my point: My favorite part about parties is that it's a great excuse for me to be surrounded by the wonderful people I have the privilege and pleasure of calling my friends. I also get to watch worlds collide as these individuals intermingle and find common ground in the crucible that my house becomes. If you take a moment to soak in a situation like that, it can be pretty overwhelming. Hardly all of my Nashville friends were in my house last night, and yet in that small collection of personalities, I had in my house last night more value than any bank, any vault, any treasure on earth.

Here's to a great night! Here's to my friends! Here's to the Saints' first Superbowl win! Umm...the Saints won, right?!?

sprinting's for the dogs... (storytime)

2010-02-04T15:11:00.000-08:00

Twice in less than 12 hours, I found myself in a fully-street-clothed, dead sprint.

The first time was last night after our East Nasty run...yes, after the actual run. We had just finished enjoying our post-run beverages at the Three Crow bar as usual and decided to go get some food somewhere a little less smokey. Three Crow is delightful, but when they can't open the windows, and it's too cold to enjoy hanging out on the deck, the smoke gets to be a little too much. Anyway, I'd said my goodbyes and on the way out, I ran into my friend Christy who was waiting in her car to see if I'd like a ride. I thanked her, declined, said I'd see her there, then started jogging up the street to my car. I heard Christy hit the gas with a little bit of gusto, and found myself inspired to do the same. Full-sprint up 11th street in East Nashville. I'm pretty fast, but I have a little trouble outrunning a car. It felt good, so I kept going long after Christy passed me.

The second time was this morning right in front of my house. I'm dog-sitting a good little dude named Wrigley who decided that my fence was not going to confine him this morning. A fellow after my own heart, Wrigley doesn't like to come when he's called. Trying to keep my cool so he would come back to me, I jogged after him for about a block. When I caught up to him, I finally got his attention and tricked him into chasing me. Wrigley's a Rhodesian Ridgeback and has some WHEELS. As I said before, I'm no slouch on a short sprint, so we had quite the race...he let me win. Dead sprint number two.

OK...I have to finish chase story. As he casually meandered down towards a mindlessly busy street, I began to lose my cool a little bit...I can't handle the idea of a dog getting hit by a car...just can't handle it. Fortunately, he ran through the gate into one of my neighbor's fenced-in backyard (last house on the right before the busy street...phew). Lucky break. I waited at the gate for the final showdown. OK Corral time:

Picture this...an inside-the-park home run. Wrigley took a speedy lap around this yard like he was running the bases. As he rounded third, I crouched in my best catcher's crouch and got ready. He didn't hesitate for a second and ran straight at me. Wrigley was about reenact the scene from "Major League II" when Willie Mays Hayes takes home plate despite the catcher already holding the ball. I braced myself for impact and waited to show him that 190lbs. is a lot heavier than his 35lbs. At the last second, however, I noticed a peculiar look in his eye and I knew exactly what he was about to do. I put my hands up and performed something between a penalty kick save, and a high tackle on a wide receiver trying to get past the safety. Little punk tried to jump me. How did I know that look in his eye? Because he did exactly what I'd have done...I knew I liked this dog. As my nose bled a little, I held him cradled like a baby (his punishment was humiliation), then carried him up the street to be unceremoniously placed into his crate with "NO COOKIE, MISTER!"

Ok...one more sidebar: I played on a softball team called "The Farm Team" with some friends this fall. We lost every game but one. With two outs during our last at-bat during one of our games, I walked up to the plate with a fool's hope to rally. I popped a safe base hit into the outfield, but was simply not content with staying at first base. Despite slipping in the mud and the ball already en route to second base, I stayed the course. Realizing that the ball was beating me there, I knew it was time for drastic measures. It must have been the energy drink talking, but I made to jump over the girl manning second base. It occurred to me what I was doing as I was jumping and I hesitated...

Had I followed through with my plan, I would have flown over her as she turned to tag me low, and I would have had a fighting chance at getting there first...not to mention earning a spot on ESPN's sports reel. As it turned out, I didn't follow through. I jumped straight up in the air and fell in the mud about two feet from the bag, was tagged out with ease, and the game was over. I guess it was more like this scene from "Major League." Everybody laughed. Eh, whatevs...I'm okay with trading the sports reel for the comedy reel.

Anyway, I was going to make some sort of pontification about sprinting, but for now, I'll just say "to be continued..."

So much more, indeed.

2010-02-02T10:48:00.000-08:00

On Friday night, as I stood outside Melrose Pub watching a long-awaited, decent snowfall here in Nashville, the conversation between my buddy Ian and me delved just slightly into the unfathomable realm of dreams. Dreams are some of the most curious of phenomena that we get to experience. They're so very telling.

Although I find dream interpretation incredibly fascinating, fascination may be the only real value to them. As Dumbledore said, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." What's so telling about dreams then?

Some people say we humans use only about ten percent of our brains. Ten percent may be an inaccurate figure, but it seems true that we're nowhere near optimal utilization of the capacity of our minds. I think dreams are a huge indication of this. As the dream world is a place where we don't necessarily have to play by the constraining rules of reality, it's a place where thoughts involuntarily stretch into freedom. Seriously - sometimes we wake up and can connect the dots in our dream to events from the day before. Sometimes, however, we wake up wake up wondering "Where the hell did that come from?!?" In dreams, we arrive at thoughts that NEVER could have manifested in the chaining sobriety of being awake.

In my newly-found, somewhat-forced addiction/obsession/habitualization of reading AND my learning how to listen better, I've begun to start my mornings by reading other peoples' blogs. I think it's awesome how I can actually hear some of my friends' voices when I read their blogs, and some of them seem to have this alternative personality who comes alive in the blog world.

This morning, I stumbled onto the blog of a friend named Greta Weisman whilst checking out the blogroll of my friend Hitoshi Yamaguchi. You may recognize Greta's name from some affiliation with the great HootenAnnie Parsons, through whom I originally became acquainted with Greta. Ok, I'm done name-dropping now.

Anyway, Greta's blog from yesterday detailed some of the pangs of being a first-year teacher. She eventually came to a comment to the effect of "I'm not just a teacher." Greta, you're so very right.

The world we've built on top of the original creation is incredibly binding. What I mean is that our human value structure is often so myopic (money, superficial beauty, status, etc.) that it prevents us from blossoming into our intended individual beauty. It's so common for a person to think they ARE their profession. I'm a teacher. I'm a doctor. I'm a handyman. Period. These are all honorable employs, yes, but as Greta highlighted, it's a mistake to stop there.

I am a man whose occupation is being a handyman. Graham Scott Stoner was created, however, to enjoy music, running, reading, writing, building things, eating...the list goes on, and will continue to grow as I age. THAT is who I am...not just a handyman. Generally speaking, the majority of things that make me who I am are not things that make me money. In this year of discovery, these are the things I hope to start learning about my friends. I hope to stop telling them apart by what they look like and what their job is. I want to tell them apart by the thoughts/desires inside of them that make them who they are.

Kudos to you, Greta. You most certainly are so much more than a teacher.

A Snow Day in Nashville

2010-01-29T09:04:00.000-08:00

Well kids, it's snowing in Nashville, or it has been for the last couple of hours. I'd say I had about an inch or two on my car when I walked outside.

Where I grew up in PA, we call this a "Tease." Teachers and students alike would sit in class and stare out the window knowing that this smattering was no justification for us to be at home, but we couldn't shake the thought, so the day was a wash anyway. We knew it was better to stay in school than to waste a snow day that we'd have to make up in June, but it wasn't much consolation at the time. We were all bitter.

Here in Nashville, this is somewhere between a "Blizzard" and "Armageddon." No joke. Let's just say that the weatherperson on the evening news lets it slip that there's a "30% chance of snow tomorrow." This is what happens:

Schools: county after county starts phoning in to cancel school for the next day.
There are bottlenecks at every grocery store and gas station full of all the people planning for aftermath to the tune of nuclear fallout. They are all buying bread and milk and gasoline.
Even the most level-headed of people break out their "the end is nigh" sandwich signs.
Driving: well, I'll get to that...

You non-Nashvillians probably think I jest. (Ok, the sandwich signs may be slightly hyperbolic.) I didn't believe it myself until I saw it with my own eyes.

Snow days (usually six inches or more) in PA were delightful. We'd all rush over to the biggest hill within range and start building sled/snowboard ramps. Moms and dads generally went to work knowing the kids would be too busy out in the snow to get into any trouble at home. When we were old enough to drive, we went straight to the high school parking lot to see who could turn the most do-nuts in their car...at least until the police showed and told us to beat it. Those of us who had 4x4's, put them to the test seeking out the biggest snowbanks to drive through. We'd cut through corn fields, pretending that we could have sworn this was where the road was. Gosh I miss that.

Nashville driving is a bit of a nightmare when snow's NOT in the picture. Snow makes it crazy.

My first snow here in Nashville, I went to visit my sister Friday night to do laundry. She lived atop a hill off of OHB in Nashville. I awoke Saturday morning to about four inches of snow. Not thinking much of it, I borrowed my sister's Corolla to swing past the grocery store for something arbitrary. OHB is a rather hilly five-lane road in south Nashville and once I had a visual of it, I couldn't believe my eyes:

As if there were no lines on the road at all, there were cars, trucks, etc. pointed in EVERY direction on both sides of the road. Wheels were spinning madly, and cars were sliding uncontrollably. I stared in awe. I'd seen more order in the bumper cars at Hersheypark. Recalling my mission to mind, I proceeded to chart a course through the wreckage in the little Corolla...slowly weaving my way through the chaos. It was laughable at first, but soon rather became a nuisance.

Driving in the snow in a rear-wheel-driven vehicle is the most difficult snow-driving there is. Front-wheel-drive is far more conducive...that's what my sister's Corolla was. If you are driving a 4x4, you have NO excuse. Period.

Refuting Nashville snow-driving logic:

You CANNOT drive the same speed in the snow as you would on dry roads and expect to be able to control your car. You should be at half-speed or less.
Once your tires begin spinning, giving the vehicle more throttle will NEVER make your wheels grip.

Seriously, just drive slowly. Once your wheels lose grip, take your foot off the throttle and try again even more slowly. I repeat: DRIVE SLOWLY!

In about an hour, I'm going to meet Hugh "Sunday Bloody" Mundy at Percy Warner for a snowy trail run. A fellow PA boy, I don't worry about either of our driving capacities in getting there. I am a bit worried about what kind of traffic resistance we'll meet on the way. I'm even more worried about having to abandon my journey to help somebody out of a ditch.

All kidding aside, Nashvillians...don't drive in this stuff unless you must, and be careful out there!

Dear Annie Dillard: (pt. 2)

2010-01-27T08:32:00.000-08:00

My promise to Annie Dillard has been kept. I finished her book "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" this morning. What a brilliantly creative and perceptive woman.

I've now finished two books this year, and it's still January. I'm going to keep two tangible piles of books this year: the ones I've read and the ones on my list to be read. Hopefully it'll help keep me on task. Next on the list is "The Sparrow" by Mary Doria Russell. I hope to be moving through books quickly enough this year that I can be a little less careful, and a little more adventurous in my reading selections.

In "Blue Like Jazz," the first book I read this year, Donald Miller goes into detail about the effects of spending too much time by himself. Amongst these effects, he talks about reading a lot and beginning to have "conversations" with people like Emily Dickinson who he'd been reading a lot of at the time. He even talks about visiting the house in Amherst, MA, where she lived in the 19th century and confesses to a romantic (in a nice, "kiss-of-the-hand" way...not a gross, "gratuitous-'love'-scene" way) relationship he'd love to have with her were she still alive.

I expressed briefly that Miller's book spoke to me in a way that met me where I am in life right now. I think he and I are rather kindred spirits and I hope to meet him sometime off the radar, off the record so we can have a candid conversation between two pilgrims on the same voyage. That being said, I think I sort of get where he's coming from.

Miller's and Dillard's books are both full of personal opinions and experiences. After finishing both books, I found myself with an overwhelming desire to meet persons behind the personas. It probably has a lot to do with that particular style of writing. For example, after reading Lord of the Rings, I wanted to meet Gandalf and Aragorn, not necessarily Tolkien...although that'd be cool too. I think it also has to do with the fact that I'm simply a poor listener in person. Books, however, offer a one-way communication in which I have no option but to listen and ponder what the other person says. I have no option to retort, and so I keep my comments to myself...hopefully something I learn to do more in person.

I wouldn't feign to even begin to understand Miller or Dillard, but I would most certainly REALLY relish buying them a cup of coffee and just talking with them for a brief spell. I would feel silly about this if it were for some sort of personal gain, but I'd really just like the pleasure of walking a few moments of this life together with them and no more. People were created to need and enjoy each other...it doesn't seem unreasonable.

Anyway, what I needn't forget is that most of the people who were aware of Dickinson in her lifetime found her reclusive, odd, and didn't know she even wrote. It wasn't till she died that she was discovered and published properly. Tragic. Whereas I'd love to meet both Donald Miller and Annie Dillard, I won't be found wanting should opportunity never present itself. I'm surrounded by people everyday, and I'm learning that they're all very interesting. As I get better about focusing outward rather than inward, I think there are a lot of unexpected adventures to be had. It's high time for me to start "seeing" the people around me and the unique beauty that's within every one of them. By not doing so, I do both them and myself a terrible disservice.

Dear Annie Dillard:

I kept my promise and finished your book and enjoyed it thoroughly. If you're ever in the Nashville area, look up ol' Handygraham. It would be my distinct privilege and honor to buy you a cup of coffee, or your beverage of choice. Thanks for being you.

sincerely,

graham

Dear Donald Miller:

I shan't re-invent the wheel, but the same goes for you, my friend. A cup of coffee is hardly a fair trade-off for how much I enjoyed your book, but hey, it is what it is.

just as sincerely,

graham

A moment of enlightenment???

2010-01-23T11:21:00.001-08:00

I think I may have had a brief moment of enlightenment this morning...a tiny glimpse of Heaven, maybe?

I've been under a pretty good deal of stress lately. The components are somewhat typical to those of us Generation X/Y or whatever we are, and are not really relevant or worth going into. Suffice it to say that sometimes the road is hard, and sometimes it's easy...right now, I'm on one of the hard stretches...perhaps one of the hardest stretches I've seen.

In the Annie Dillard book I've been reading, she described a particular moment of existence. Obviously, we constantly exist, but we come across a few occasions in this life where we forget ourselves and momentarily become one in symbiosis with the planet. Dillard's "moment" came unexpectedly at a gas station in backwoods Virginia. It involved patting a random puppy and getting lost in the beauty/wonder of (I think it was...) the Appalachians. My experience had some slightly different variables. 8)

Ok, I don't think my experience can be compared to Dillard's, exactly. If you ever read about it, I think you'll see what I mean. I think it is, however along the same lines. My moment came to me in the midst of some pretty high stress, and for just a moment, I was in a place where everything felt like it would be all right.

Here's what happened:

My nephew had a basketball game at nine in south Brentwood. Following my typical rules of "Morning Math," I naturally left at a minute when I'd have no chance in the world of actually getting there by nine. Of course, I forgot that I-440 was closed for construction, as it always is on weekends these days, so I had to go out of the way to get to the I-65 only to realize that my normal cut-through was also disabled due to the flea market at the TN State Fairgrounds. It's now nine, I'm still 15 minutes out, this short-term stress on top of my long-term stress is making my blood pressure skyrocket. Of course, I was so busy stressing that I got off at the wrong exit. AHHHHH!!! I HATE being late to things that children are involved in. Kids are so impressionable, and they need us adults to BE THERE when we say we will.

Anyway, I met only a negligible amount of resistance on the rest of the drive and began to calm down a bit. Crap - I was the "hustle & bustle" I mentioned last Saturday. Deep Breath. Exhale. I came back to my senses a bit. The sun was working its way up in the sky and looked warm and alive. I was wearing my favorite, hella-comfy East Nasty shirt and my brand-new, awesome sunglasses that impulse bought with a little Christmas money and are completely dope. I was sipping a cup of good coffee and driving up to the top of the bridge right next to Ravenwood High School, which provides a simply stellar view of the surrounding land. Are you ready for this? [Crescendo...] I was listening to "Jump" by Van Halen. [Crux] These elements melted together into one, and I felt the world around me singing along. My sails filled with the wind, and I was lifted out of my stress as I floated weightless in the arms of the moment. [Decrescendo] (Sigh of contentment)

I got to the game just in time to see Liam catch a long pass from back court and score his first two points EVER! It was beautiful...now he was on top of the world...getting back on defense with an uncontrollable sense of invincibility and trying so hard to play it cool...but his elation was undeniable and infectious.

Ahhh...well, like all fleeting glimpses of Heaven, the game ended and real life resumed, but at least I had those few moments, and they were wonderful.

Boldly going...somewhere...

2010-01-22T08:45:00.000-08:00

This morning I went to check out some things at my friend Sara's house that she's been looking at getting fixed. The last thing I took a look at for her was a spigot on the back of her house, which was oozing enough that it might make a mess of her water bill. I insisted on her letting me fix it before I left. Much to my delight, this meant I got to crawl into yet another undiscovered universe off the beaten path.

Boldly going where no man has gone before...where most would probably not want to go:

One of the "fun" things about being handygraham is that I get to venture into little pockets of the world that exist unbeknownst to the general populace. I joke about it, but I really do enjoy it.

When I was in elementary school, I used to read Beverly Cleary books, sports books, and other pretty down-to-earth stories. By the time I got to middle school, I'd picked up so many extra-curricular activities that I ran out of time for reading. Much to my surprise, when I got to college, I found myself reading (and REALLY enjoying) the nerdy fantasy books that I used to make fun of my buddies for reading. These are my favorite types of books and also my favorite types of movies now.

There's just something endearing about these fantasy realms that makes me really want to visit them...and I'm sad I'll never actually be able to. I can't tell you how many times I've thought I'd love to visit Hogwarts, journey from Hobbiton to the House of Elrond to Lothlorien to Gondor, take a spin through the floating mountains of Pandora, maybe make the jump to hyperspace with Han Solo & Chewbacca. Alas, so many realms, so little time.

Since I can't actually visit these places, I have to settle for exploring the lesser-known realms of our world...in my profession, that means crawl spaces and attics. I've spent hours in these atmospheres. Crawl spaces are usually dirty places into which most people don't even want to look, let alone hang out. I like them because they're like my only little space in the world where I know nobody will bother me - where there are no distractions. There's something peaceful about them, and I can think.

A few months back, I got to install an attic stair into an attic in a 90-year-old house. Nobody had been up there since it was built - in fact, I had to cut/make/frame the opening for the stair...talk about an adventure. As I began to make the breach in the ceiling, I couldn't help but imagine crawling up through that portal for the first time and vanishing into the future/past/parallel universe/Narnia/the Room of Requirement. Well, it was just an attic, but it was still my discovery, and it was beautiful.

About a year ago, I did some work at a rather large house. The crawlspace was so deep at some spots that the ladder wouldn't reach the house above it. It was so long that the foundation blocked the view of the whole space. I saw myself swinging across the abyss on Indiana Jones' whip, grabbing the hidden treasure, then swinging back out before the house caved in on me. I surely lost myself down there for a good twenty minutes just imagining the explorations and possibilities. (Then I had to deduct that time from the bill...sadly, I don't get paid to daydream.)

Who doesn't dream, when they're younger, that they can pull on a certain book on the shelf and open a door to a magical realm...or at least a secret laboratory. I get these thoughts EVERY time I am up in an attic with easily hidden and unused space. I did some work at some friends' house last summer. It was a relatively new house, but not without secret compartments. For the size of their house, both their attic and basement/crawlspace were vast. I immediately began imagining secret clubhouses, hidden chambers, and the infamous ninja training room. I wondered about the best way to conceal such secret entrances.

I hope when I have kids that I still have the imagination to appreciate these possibilities for my kids' sakes...and maybe for mine too.

sisters

2010-01-21T15:03:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I forget that I have sisters. I don't forget that my siblings are in fact female, I actually forget that they're there in their glory. (Please take note to the proper usage/spelling of those homophones. Thank you.)

My older sister, Gretchen, is...well, she's older than me. I also have a younger sister named Chelsea who is almost exactly two and a half years younger than me. When we were younger and all under the same roof, I'd say we got along ok. Chelsea and I looked up to Gretchen a lot because she was in high school, then college before we even knew what happened. Gretchen was always very loving and also rather "big-sisterly/motherly" to Chels & me, so we were really bummed to see her head off to college.

Chelsea and I, being so close in age, had a very interesting dynamic when we were younger...actually it's rather tragic now that I think of it. She really looked up to me, and I wouldn't have anything to do with her. Eventually, she fell into some friends with whom she was comfortable and we had an appropriate, Generation X/Y brother/sister relationship: we co-existed with little to no communication. Believing all things that happen in this life, both good & bad, happen for a reason, I don't regret a lot of things in my life. For a multitude of reasons, this I regret.

(picture L-R: Chelsea, me, Gretchen)

Well, time went on. Gretchen graduated college, got married, then moved on to further schooling in Nashville, TN with her husband Dan. We got to see her on holidays. Eventually, I graduated from High School. Being a little less particular in my college choosing, I visited one school, Middle Tennessee State University, applied to it, and soon found my way to Nashville.

It was when I moved 750 miles away to college that something miraculous happened...Chelsea and I began to get along. We'd still have some spats here and there, but we began to laugh together in far more significant quantities (she exposed me to homestarrunner.com, and I remember crying I was laughing so hard). I have a little sister...what a magnificent discovery. Though she and I are quite different, she is the only one who will ever be able to relate to certain aspects of my life and vice versa, and I hope I never forget that again.

More time passed. Chels put in a few semesters at community college back home, then came to her senses and joined Gretch and me in Middle Tennessee, as she finished up her undergrad at my alma mater (MTSU). The summer after I graduated, Chelsea and I moved into Gretchen & Dan's house...Gretchen was pregnant with her second child at that point. Details spared - maybe not Chels's & my best idea...

I work and live alone, and I also have a tough time really connecting with people, so I often get into the habit of forgetting the people around me...including my lovely sisters.

Last week, I took Gretchen out for her birthday...just "me & gretchy." I don't remember the last time I had her all to myself. It was glorious, and I hope it's not so long before I get to do that again with her. Whereas I've had a reasonable amount of good one-on-one time with Chelsea, I still feel I take her for granted as well. I was delighted the other day to find out that she has begun blogging. Sadly, I'll never know if this blog is any good somewhat due to bias, but mostly because I'm just excited to have a different vantage point on her life.

As this is a year of new discoveries for me, I'm very glad to have been able to move my sisters to the front of that list. Ahh, what surprises are lurking around the corners of my path today?!? Maybe I'll discover I'm adopted...

Amok in the Muck

2010-01-18T07:31:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, I had what they call "frostnip," if not a very mild case of "frostbite" on some of my fingers.

The East Nasties, my group of running peoples (and oh so much more) had their third Sunday morning training run for the Country Music 1/2 marathon yesterday morning. I wouldn't say that the weather has been uncooperative for our runs lately, but it has certainly made for interesting running conditions, to say the least.

The first two of these runs were unseasonably cold for Nashville, TN - about 15-17°F - cold enough, in fact, that the moisture from my breath froze into "beard-cicles." (I've included a picture of myself and my buddy Hunter...his sideburn-cicle's pretty amazing) Well, true to form for 2010 so far, yesterday's conditions were no exception. Let me set the scene:

The first few runs of our training are done in the luxurious land of Shelby Bottoms park in East Nashville, which is a protected area of natural wetlands. The temperature has just recently risen above freezing and we've had rain for the last couple of days. This makes for standing water on the paved trails, and grass/unpaved trails that are completely submerged underwater. The temperature was about 45°F and it was raining when we ran yesterday.

Shelby Bottoms has a great greenway that connects to other greenway networks...one could literally run for miles and hours. I spent the first 7 miles running with my friend Julie on the more civilized parts of the greenway, but on our return voyage, my adventurism got the best of me and "the wild" called. I bid Julie farewell and disappeared into the nastiest trail I know of in Shelby...it did not disappoint. I ran most of the next 3.5 miles in ankle-deep to calf-deep 40°F water (no exaggeration), plotting the wettest return route I could think of, and it was simply EXHILARATING!

It was so fun that I actually ran that part faster than the greenway part. It was so fun that I miscalculated my time and ended up running 90 minutes instead of 80...10.5 miles. When I finally emerged from the wilderness back into the mundane and stopped running, I realized that I quite literally couldn't move my hands. A 45°F-run isn't normally cold enough to freeze my digits, so I neglected my gloves. I hadn't accounted, however, for the cold rain and the icy swamp water I was bounding through.

My heat doesn't work in my car right now, but getting all of my wet clothing off REALLY helped. It's very difficult to untie your shoes, however, when you can't move/feel your fingers. That was the only bad part...I was helpless, irrational, freezing and very frustrated because I couldn't get those blasted shoes off and thus, was stuck in my wet shorts for a time. It took some time, some DEEP breaths, and a lot of focus, but I eventually got them off.

My hands went through the painful thawing process: warming up, burning, extremely sensitive, etc. After 25 minutes or so, the temperature had risen in them, but to my surprise I still could not feel my thumbs, index or middle fingers, and the color wasn't returning to them...I began to get a little worried. Thankfully after about 45 minutes (and oddly instantaneously), I regained feeling in them (perhaps by some magic in the Cracker Barrel coffee), but they definitely gave me a pretty good scare. Wowsers.

Anyway, I wanted to remember this, so I blogged about it. For some reason, I still don't feel quite right calling myself a "runner." I'm more comfortable calling myself a guy who runs. But I do feel that a run like this may be enough to earn me the title, "runner," or maybe "idiot."

Adventures to you on this Monday.

Let's also DEFINITELY take a moment to ponder the life of one of the greatest human beings to ever walk this earth...Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

When Saturday held its breath...

2010-01-16T15:06:00.000-08:00

I slept in this morning after a long, arduous Friday followed by a late Friday night enjoying a fire in my backyard fireplace with good company.

This day has been hauntingly surreal - almost dreamlike. The sky was a blanket of thinnish clouds with some extra-thin spots for the sun to almost come through, but not. It spent the hours in limbo between either getting sunny or getting rainy, but was never actually able to make a decision.

The sky was the first thing I noticed as I ventured out of the house this morning, but as I unloaded firewood from my trailer, I also noticed the wind, or lack thereof. The air was uncomfortably stagnant and still. My college buddies and I rent a place at Center Hill lake every March in the off-season to enjoy lower rental rates and a less-populated vacationing area. We often have a whole lakeside neighborhood to ourselves. Because of the low elevation of the lake and the high elevation of its surroundings, the air has almost always been still while we're there. The lake is a sheet of glass. Today had that kind of a feel.

The only sign of life was the crows' banter, which I daresay is neither pleasant nor soothing.

It seemed as though Saturday herself were on edge, nervous, anxious...as if she were in anticipation of something unknown. It felt like Saturday had taken a deep breath and was wondering on how she should exhale...there so many ways: Singing, shouting, return to normal breathing, making room for another deep breath, not to mention the vast array of sighs: sighs of relief, melancholy, contentment, frustration, unrest, etc. It was as if Saturday wanted to do them all, but couldn't decide on which emotion to follow through.

As I sat, waiting to meet a client, I watched car after car drive by, a flurry of hustle and bustle, unawares - just going about their business taking no notice to Saturday's unrest. They seemed like ghosts. Time was moving so slowly, yet so quickly at the same time, and nothing in the sky could give you the slightest inclination of the actual hour of the day. I felt the need to check two timepieces every time I checked the hour today just in case one of them was lying. I remembered to eat lunch today only because I happened to look at the clock around noon. Everything routine felt out-of-place and wrong. Saturday let a few raindrops fall, but I could tell she didn't have her heart in it, and those too felt out-of-place and wrong...perhaps they were accidental tears of anxiety.

I've seen Saturday behave like this a few times over the years. I remember one in particular right now though:

There used to be a quarry on the northwest side of my hometown...I assume it's still there??? One Saturday about this time of year, some buddies and I (we were probably 14), snuck off to the quarry to explore. We found waterfalls, beautiful blue-green water, rocks to climb on and cool trees. Later that day, we also found a deer that had been shot and left for dead recently. I wondered about the tree falling in the woods with no one to hear it making a sound or not. It's embedded in my mind the same way a really vivid dream is. The sky looked that day (14 years ago) just as it did today...undecided, like Saturday wanted us to explore, but didn't want us to find the poor deer. We must take the bad with the good.

I tried to understand Saturday's tension today. I drove in silence till I felt we needed music. I hopelessly scrolled through my ipod wondering what kind of music could POSSIBLY be apropos to embrace Saturday's mood. The best I could think of was Mozart. Saturday, Mozart and I waited together at Fat Mo's, then I went back home to eat my timely lunch, embrace silence and enter the world of dreams for the afternoon.

And so Saturday exhaled.

Cookies and Leaf piles.

2010-01-14T11:18:00.000-08:00

I'm eating "Kroger Value: Iced Oatmeal Cookies" right now. I just finished my lunch and have developed the habit of needing a sweet fix after meals. I think there are about 40 Oatmeal Cookies in this package. I also think I might just eat half of them right now. I mean why not? I have been blessed with an incredible metabolism that's never really allowed me to gain weight. On a slow week, my cumulative running mileage is higher than what the majority of Americans will run this whole year. These things are dang good. Oatmeal's good for you, right? Not to mention, I need an excuse to drink the milk in my fridge before it goes bad.

Yeah, I thought so.

The Distillery of Leaves:

On the next street over and about a block down, live some good friends of mine. They are awesome and I'm thankful for them, but I'm annoyed with them right now. They raked a big pile of leaves a month or so ago and left them in the front yard. I'm not annoyed because the leaves look bad...they don't...I'm annoyed because they are so wonderfully inviting that I lose myself every time I drive by them.

Leaf piles are magnificent things:

When I was in middle school (i.e. before I was driving [legally, that is]), I had a purple freestyle Mongoose bike with all the cool pegs and no brakes. I stopped the bike by putting my feet on the front wheel pegs and pinching the tire with my toes, and subsequently went through shoes rather quickly. In Palmyra, PA, all you have to do with your leaves is rake them out to the curb and the big vacuum truck comes to suck them up. Until the vacuum comes, however, they are SO fun to ride your bike through. My favorite thing to do was to ride into the piles and fishtail the back end of my bike so it was sliding sideways through the leaves...freedom.

I have a beautiful maple tree that stands watch over my front yard. In the fall, it goes ablaze with the most beautiful yellow imaginable. During the first year in my house, this queenly maple decided to completely shed her royal autumn robes the week before Halloween. Perhaps she was welcoming me to "my" property. Naturally, I raked them into a massive pile for the neighborhood kids to enjoy, and boy did they ever...I might have enjoyed them a bit myself.

A pile of freshly-raked, dry leaves isn't quite as cushioned as you might imagine. However, if you leave it to brave the elements for a few weeks, this changes. The rain makes the pile a bit spongier and a bit more cushioned. The combination of wind AND rain smooths it much in the same manner as the pebbles that have been worn down by the river-flow.

My friends' pile of leaves has undergone just this transformation. It's smooth, and is surely by now is as cushiony-welcoming as a king-sized bed. We've not seen rain in some days, so it's surely not too soggy. The temperature outside being far more bearable than it's been of late, and the fact that the pile has been warmed by the sun all day is making it simply irresistible to my soul right now.

Pairing this magnificence with my morning readings of Annie Dillard's awe-filled descriptions of nature, I want nothing more right now than to go lay in that pile and stare into the blue sky till it turns to night.

Alas, it just can't be so this day. I've over-stayed my lunchtime, eaten my 20 oatmeal cookies, and must go paint. There will be other leaf piles, and I would certainly like to make sure this property remains in MY name (not the bank's) until I should choose to sell it.

If you have time, perhaps you'll go enjoy a leaf pile today and tell me about it.

Within and Without

2010-01-13T08:00:00.000-08:00

I found a reading chair yesterday for $15 at Salvation Army. After a ton of Lysol, a sheet to cover it, and some other small additions, I now have a functional, albeit work-in-progress reading corner. I christened it this morning...

In keeping my promise to Annie Dillard, I worked through another two chapters of her book, "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek," this morning. The second chapter I read was entitled "The Present," and the first portion called to me enough that I had to force myself to finish the chapter before my mind slipped into reflection.

I became conscious of this world almost 29 years ago. I may not remember it, but even the days I don't remember made me who I am today. Those 29 years now belong to this mythological entity we call "The Past." I've always been intrigued by history - particularly the parts of it that happened before I was born - because there's no way for me to REALLY know if it ever actually happened. Seeing as everybody has a different spin on historical events, I often can't help but think sometimes that we're all in "The Matrix," and this is just a big hoax.

In this chapter, Dillard alludes to how self-consciousness robs us of our capacity to experience the present. She's right again. Somewhere in my childhood or adolescence, I learned self-analysis and became self-conscious. I found such a fascinating query (my own brain) that I think I may have been (and am probably still) trapped in the stifling world of introspect since then, and in turn, cut off from the world around me. I've exchanged the real thing for some alternative reality I've imagined. And what have I really figured out? I still use less than 10% of my brain, and haven't really discovered anything that hasn't been discovered before.

I realized this morning in my readings that I'm not sure I have ever really believed the world existed/will exist outside of MY existence. (i.e. when I'm born, the world is born with me...when I die, it dies with me.) I hate that.

Now, this doesn't stem from me thinking the world revolves around me (though I'm hardly exempt from such shallow thought). It stems from the fact that I've been so very wrapped up in solving the Rubik's cube in my head that I've forgotten the world exists outside of it.

I like Dillard's artistic, yet logical take on the world. The nature of the Scientific thought process is sort of a trapping process where we catch, classify, categorize and compartmentalize. The world is so vast and alive, however, that trying to do this is like trying to catch every ounce of the fire hydrant's spray with little glass vials. In essence, one could argue that Science tries to harness this beast of a universe and confine it to a box that we can understand...it's like trying to find the end of infinity. In Dillard's artistic process, the goal seems to be exploring the wonders of the world simply to appreciate its greatness...it literally expands before our eyes, and we grow to love infinity.

Now, please don't hear me downing Science here. I love Science, and it's so very important. Along with helping us be good stewards of our habitat, the understanding that Science provides makes it possible for us to appreciate this world's greatness in ways otherwise inconceivable. I think this is why nerdy scientists are so lovable, because every day they learn new ways to love the world. I like Dillard's thought process because I've spent so much time in the Scientific process that I've forgotten to appreciate the world and its inhabitants...in essence, I've forgotten to live. What's the point of spending all of this time trying to understand if it doesn't ultimately drive us to appreciate and enjoy the world around us. I know, it's cliche, but that doesn't negate its truth. The question I'm wondering about now is: How can these two processes work in conjunction?

It seems I've got a very quickly growing list of resolutions for 2010, but this is one thing I'd really like to work on. I'd like to shift my gaze to without rather than within.

The Reading Chair

2010-01-12T08:13:00.000-08:00

Last year, my buddy Rod Jones read 40 books. FORTY BOOKS! And they weren't all books like Harry Potter that you just start reading and 24 hours later realize that you accidentally swallowed it whole. This year he's going to shoot for 52...and I believe he'll do it.

I've enjoyed reading since I was able to do so, but when adolescence set in, my interests (girls) diversified so greatly and quickly that I either ran out of time for reading, or simply forgot about it. Of course, teachers ASSIGNING reading didn't mesh well with my rebellious nature.

When I got to college, I had "free time" for the first time. I put that in quotation marks because that "free time" could also have been labeled as study time or class time. That year, for some reason, I picked up "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald (a book I was supposed to read multiple times in high school, but never did) and was astounded by its beauty. I made sure to slip back into the high school on one of my breaks to apologize to Mrs. Bucks for not reading it when she'd originally asked me to do so. Thanks to Fitzgerald's genius, I'd re-discovered my love for reading. Every once in a while, I come across a book that reminds me of the treasures you can find in literature.

I daresay that Rod's got me inspired and excited to do some more reading this year. I haven't set a number yet because I've not yet decided on how I'd like to measure my progress. I think I'll probably come up with a weekly quota of hours I'd like to spend reading. I think I want to avoid reading a certain number of pages, or chapters, or books because my mind might focus on that rather than what I'm reading.

To help reach this goal, I'm setting up a reading corner in my bedroom that will revolve around "The Reading Chair," for which I'm on the hunt right now. My house is currently adorned in the furniture I grew up with and other pieces that just showed up as a result of people taking pity on my abysmal seating selection and capacity for home decor. Being a bachelor, I've never intentionally sought out a piece of furniture in my life, and I'm already overwhelmed.

This chair has to be comfy, but not so comfy that I'm inclined to fall asleep (it doesn't take much). Unfortunately, it also has to be relatively small because the tight entry to my bedroom strips me of my normal furniture-moving maneuvers...the window may still be an option though. It's got to be broken-in, but not falling apart. Free or cheap wouldn't hurt either. Perhaps I'll need a pipe and a smoking jacket...but I feel like that's contrary to my running life. Maybe I'm just not committed enough to this reading thing.

Anyway, I've knocked out one book now and am determined to keep my promise to Annie Dillard to finish "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" by the end of this month.

As soon as I click "publish post," I'm closing up this laptop and heading straight to Salvation Army & Goodwill to see what their selection of Reading Chair candidates looks like. Should anybody have any suggestions, however, I'm gladly open to them.

Happy Tuesday!

Dear Annie Dillard:

2010-01-11T06:50:00.000-08:00

My first English class in college was taught by Ms. Brookhart. She was neither a professor nor a doctor, but was quite effective nonetheless. Brookhart was a small woman with a rootsy (not hippie) vibe to her, always cloaked in the faint smell of cigarettes...it's funny how that smell can actually be endearing on some people. She didn't really dress to impress because she didn't have to. She was just that cool.

A wise and pragmatic woman, she handed my first assignment back to me ungraded - quietly saying something to the effect of, "Mr. Stoner, don't be cute, just do the assignment." I thought it would be "creative" to write the first part of the story from the third person, then switch to first person at a clutch, pivotal moment in the plot line. Brookhart didn't. Regardless, I really grew to love Brookhart and ended up taking my next English class with her as well.

I know we read at least four or five books in her class that first semester, but I don't remember any of them except the one we never actually got to read in class. It's a book called "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" by Annie Dillard. For ten years now, I've been trying to read this book, but it ends up making me think so much, I've never actually gotten much past the beginning of chapter two because of these two sentences (but particularly the second one):

"It is still the first week in January, and I've got great plans. I've been thinking about seeing."

This makes my mind spin every time I read it. When I finally was able to get past those sentences, I read Dillard's brilliant descriptions of blind people LITERALLY seeing for the first time. She also made some irresistible allusions to the wonderment with which the innocent, beautifully naive eyes and minds of children perceive the world.

I've gone to see the movie "Avatar" thrice already at the local 3D IMAX theatre. Particularly when sitting close to the screen, which I'm starting to believe is the best way to view an IMAX movie, I found myself getting a bit seasick due to the 3D view. I quickly found that if I stop focusing on only a small portion (the main character/action) of the screen and broaden my view to take the whole thing in, the queasiness subsides. What a telling metaphor.

So much in our modern day culture hinges on us keeping our eye on the ball, that we miss the fact that there are 17 other people on the baseball diamond...hundreds more in the stands. When did we lose or dismiss the wonderment we experienced as children?

I was at Lowe's just before Christmas picking up something arbitrary for a job when the guy in line next to me tapped me on the arm, smiled, and pointed across the store saying, "Remember those days?" He was pointing at a little boy with what looked like his grandmother. The little boy was staring wide-eyed at all the huge inflatable Christmas decorations, laughing with wonder, and Grandma was eating it up. My eyes fixed on the boy and his grandmother, through a faint smile laced with melancholy, I quietly replied, "I sure wish I could," never actually meeting my line-mate's eyes.

The sentence that follows Dillard's first two loaded sentences is this: "There are lots of things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises." She is so very right.

I will have owned my house for five years this March. This is my land and nobody else's, except maybe the bank's if I stop paying my mortgage...but they've got too many houses already...I think they want me to keep it. Regularly, I've groomed my lawn and cleaned up my house, covering every inch of my property countless times, but I'm not sure if I've ever really stopped to look at it. How am I ever to appreciate what I have if I never stop to look at it?

This makes me think of the other people in my life as well. How often do I really stop to look in their eyes, to truly connect with them? And we've got four other primary senses that we may be neglecting as well. When the native tribe in "Avatar" greet each other, they do so by looking deep into the others' eyes and saying, "I see you" but only after they actually "see" the other person. I want to know what that feels like.

The bad news: Who can tell how much we've missed by not seeing, etc.?
The good news: What's to stop us from doing so today? Childlike wonderment in our dull adult bodies sounds like a vibrant adventure waiting to happen.

* * *

Dear Annie Dillard:

It's the second week of January and I've got great plans. I've been thinking about seeing too.

sincerely,

graham

p.s. I'm finally on chapter four of your book, and I promise to finish it this month.
p.p.s. I see you.

Confessions of a Conformist to non-Conformity

2010-01-09T16:07:00.000-08:00

I've never really been able to listen to the Dave Matthews Band. Dave Matthews writes great songs and is an accomplished, respectable musician, but I've just never been able to listen to him. Why? Simply because the rest of the world loves him.

In middle school, it was routine for myself and a few others to stop at my friend Seth's house on the way home after school. We'd pilfer snacks from the cabinets, play soccer, shoot things with pellet guns, and spend hours coming up with wonderfully creative pyrotechnic experiments.

(sidebar) One time at Seth's house, I shot an exploding target at point-blank range. From my friends' perspectives, I imagine it looked a lot like Wile E. Coyote after he accidentally holds onto the ACME TNT just a little too long. I stood astonished and frozen for a moment, then turned around to see my friends mouthing panicked words to me, but somebody had pushed the mute button. My hearing returned about 30 minutes later. It was awesome. (end sidebar)

Seth's parents graciously, almost always, invited us boys to stay for dinner, and in doing so they got to know us quite well. I must have been ranting about my lack of respect for authority one night when Seth's father half-seriously, half-jokingly called me a "conformist to non-conformity." Not quite sure what exactly that meant at the time, I smirked and thanked him, but spent the rest of the dinner in silent, fierce contemplation. Turns out he was right.

Sadly, the DMB is not the only thing I've missed out on over the years due to my strict aversion to the mainstream. I know "What's popular isn't always right, and what's right isn't always popular," but apparently sometimes it is. Cognizant of my natural disposition to go against the grain, I have to consciously make efforts now to at least entertain the current trends and really try to see if I actually enjoy them or not.

About five years ago, my friend Amy gave me the book, "Blue Like Jazz," by Donald Miller. On the cover, the book is described as "nonreligious thoughts on Christian spirituality," which pretty much triggered my gag reflex right from the off. For five years now, I've looked at that book on my shelf and rolled my eyes because the whole Christian culture LOVES it. Generally speaking, Christian literature just gets on my nerves, and I don't enjoy what the majority of church-goers enjoy.

I'd never have opened this book if it weren't for my buddy Ian. Ian's story is his, and not mine to tell, but suffice it to say, that he's a great guy and I've found in him a certain kindred spirit the likes of which we humans are lucky to come across on few occasions in our lifetimes. Thanks to Ian's unintentional persuasion, a week or so ago, I quite painfully swallowed my pride to find myself staring at chapter 1 of Donald Miller's book. I finished it this afternoon and am at a bit of a loss for words.

I'm thankful for Amy and Ian.
I'm thankful for Donald Miller.
I'm terrified of my own pride and self-centeredness.
I'm embarrassed at how onlookers must have (rightfully) perceived me all of these years.
I'm afraid I'll forget what I've learned from this book.
I think I'm hopeful that there is yet hope for even me.

My point here isn't really to tout how great this book is, although I did enjoy it immensely . We all have books that speak to us, and this one came at the right time to a fellow like myself who really needed to hear it. The most important thing I've gotten out of this experience is that my pride is a cruel traitor, betraying me so very subtly yet so very effectively. Damn my pride. May 2010 be a year in which I grant no quarter to my pride in order to make room for Pride's far more laudable antithesis, Humility.

not ready, and yet ready,

graham

2010...hmmm

2010-01-08T09:54:00.000-08:00

Hello Blogworld - No doubt, the seven of you who kindly read my blog have missed me desperately. 8)

You know what's annoying? When the cup-holder in your car clings to your coffee cup just long enough to leave its proper place. It then proceeds to let go just in time to dump all of your change on the floorboard. Irritating.

At the end of 2008, I went to a New Years Eve Party with a bunch of friends. We ate, drank, and were merry. It was awesome. Later that night, we migrated about three blocks over to the JAM house - former home (and Nashville's newest tourist attraction), of the famous HootenAnnie Parsons. Enjoying an appropriate level of inebriation, and thus in the best of moods, I sought out my good friend Seth. Seth had seen some trying times in 2008, but I had a feeling about him that night. I pulled him aside and proceeded to tell him this:

"Seth, I don't know why, but I think this is your year. Yes, you're due. This is your year." Then I confidently and brazenly announced it to everybody else, perhaps a bit to Seth's embarrassment.

Later that night...or later that morning, I guess...we confiscated Seth's cell phone and texted everybody in his phone book saying, "Hey guys, it's my year!!!" Perhaps even more to Seth's embarrassment.

Well, 2009 progressed and the prophesy slipped my mind until Seth took me aside at a Christmas party about a month ago to tell me that I was right. "About what?" I asked him. "Turns out this was my year after all," he replied to me. I needn't go into detail, but I'll just say that Seth had a pretty good (and well-deserved) third and fourth quarter of 2009. Though I really had naught to do with it, it still made me feel good and happy for him, and they began to encourage me to give 2010 to somebody. Some suggested I should give it to myself, at which I chuckled and assured them was quite simply impossible.

Well, true to form, I forgot to give it to somebody, when in the wee hours of the morning on January 1, 2010, I received a text from my buddy Aman exclaiming something to the effect of what I'd told Seth a year ago almost to the minute. Weird. Later that night, I also received a text from Seth's cell phone saying, "It's totally my year yall!" It seems the confiscation of and blanket texting from Seth's cell phone on NYE has become a tradition...and a good one. 8)

Anyway, all that to say that though I'm a natural skeptic, rather untrusting, and not one for getting my hopes up, I think I have a good feeling about this year. (Thanks Aman!) Starting 01-01-10, I felt the very foundations of my life begin to shift. It seems I may be in for a wild ride in 2010, and I haven't the slightest idea of that what could mean. I guess we'll see.

Happy New Year, Friends!

hg

bratwurst faux paw

2009-08-10T10:19:00.000-07:00

Hmmm...what were you thinking??? 8)

Last night, I went to a cookout to celebrate a visit from a friend of mine who moved away about six months ago. It was requested that we bring meat to grill and either a side or a drink, so I grabbed a pack of bratwursts and some caffeine free coke...we need to protect our good night sleeps, yes?

Anyway, we all hung out and had a good time. By the time I'd gotten there, most had already eaten, so I ate two of the brats and had four left. One of our hosts was kind enough to wrap up the remainder for me to take home and eat later. I had to drop somebody off on the way home, and seeing as I've only got two seats in my pick up truck, I threw the grocery bag in the flatbead...something I do quite frequently.

As you can imagine (it wouldn't be a story otherwise), I got home and went to bed, having completely forgotten the food in the flatbed of my truck. Oops.

Not long after I awoke this morning, I realized what I'd done and eventually went out to retrieve the vittles. Truth be told, YES, I was going to grab them and throw them in my fridge.

Now before you go judging me, do you know what's in a Bratwurst? Could a night in a baggie in the flatbead of my truck REALLY make it any less healthy? Besides, a lot of you've been in college, or at least have shared in college-style dining. Just because you leave a pizza on the counter for a couple days (err...a week) doesn't make it bad. As long as there aren't bugs or something, and the crust isn't stale enough to chip a tooth, it's fair game. Yeah - Judgment vetoed!

As I was saying, I went out to retrieve the vittles and what did I find? A torn up baggie and a few scraps of what once were my leftover brats. No, I didn't eat them or try to save them for later...jerks. I took them straight to the trash like a good boy and concluded that one of our umpteen neighborhood felines ate well last night. That cat ate a lot more bratwurst than I did last night though...probably made for a rough night/morning. Serves 'em right.

Wait...remember the time Lucius Malfoy accidentally gave Dobby the house-elf a sock, and in doing so, lost his servant?

I hope I didn't just accidentally feed a cat at my house, and unintentionally acquire a new pet...

TONGUE?!?

2009-08-06T07:09:00.000-07:00

I'm a big believer in heuristics. This life is very complex, and we have such a short time to experience as much of it as possible. What we can't afford is to go back and double-check things that we have already proven to be true or false.

A simple heuristic example: At one point, I touched a hot stove. I now know that I don't ever have another reason to touch a hot stove. There is quite simply nothing to be gained from that experience.

A more complex example: If I am drilling through a tough piece of wood, when I pull the drill out, the bit is going to be hot. After some premature grabs, I now know that it takes about 30-60 seconds for the bit to cool off. I know to either play hot potato if I'm in a hurry or to use the next minute on another piece of the project till the bit is cooled off.

Makes sense, right?

All that to say that I'm a creature of habit in a lot of areas so that I'm free to be spontaneous in others.

I've developed a rather predictable schedule on Wednesday nights.

I run with the East Nasties at 6, and when we get done, we go down to the Three Crow Bar to enjoy a beer or two and have conversation that isn't perforated by heavy breathing and/or covered in sweat. (for those of you thinking about beer after running with incredulity, it's actually quite nice, and it's a good proven way to replenish nutrients after a hard run.)

The bartender girls there are so used to me ordering the same old Yuengling Lager every week that they're often handing me my beer before I've had a chance to ask for it. Even if I wanted something different, I'd gladly take the Yuengling because: A) it's awesome, and B) because being recognized by name and face as a regular is an honor that should put a smile on anybody's face.

Anyway, after I make my rounds and talk to all my running buddies, it's time for dinner. Dinner at 10pm is tough unless you live in Spain where that's the norm. I've heard it recommended that one shouldn't eat after 8pm, and I usually try to stick to that. That being said, if one must eat at 10pm, it probably shouldn't be anything heavy, which rules out about 95% of the restaurants open at that point, even in a good-sized city like Nashville.

Solution: The authentic (Nolensville Rd.) taco stand. You Nashvillians know of what I speak. Three tacos with a small side of veggies for $3!!! And man are they ever good.

Anyway, this is a new Wednesday night tradition for me, but seeing as I'm about a head or more taller than the majority of Latinos and dressed in my running clothes, I stick out a bit at the Taco stand. My favorite one is at the corner of Harrison and Nolensville at the Citgo Station. The food is great, and the people are very nice.

As usual, I ordered my three chicken tacos and then got into a conversation with one of the guys there. We shot the breeze mostly in Spanish, and then this transpired:

"Have you ever tried any of the other meats here?"
"No, what type would you recommend?"
Accompanied by a silly, but certainly not malicious grin, he said, "TONGUE!"
To myself, "How did I know he was going to say that???"
(Exit 'Regularly-Scheduled-Programming,' enter 'Spontaneity.')

Well, I explained to him that most Americans find that particular meat to be a bit gross, but I let him talk me into sampling all the meats in the stand. Truth be told, they were all really good. The scariest ones were obviously tongue, and the other was cheek...scary, but still good.

Anyway, just nice to see one of my life theories in action working in my favor. Regimen in conjunction with Spontaneity.

I concluded the evening by eating my awesome tacos, taking a shower and going to bed. All in all, another great Wednesday night.

The Food Vortex

2009-07-27T06:27:00.000-07:00

Ahh, a fine Monday morning to chase down a great weekend.

I had a pretty great weekend full of quality time with good friends, some nice quiet time for myself, time to sleep when I was tired, etc. Let me tell you about the high point, though...

Yesterday, we did a pretty hilly 12-mile run in some pretty stout humidity. Fortunately the sun was hidden behind the clouds and we were all in good company.

I noticed around mile 10 that I was starting to get pretty hungry. Those of you who know me know that I tend to eat a lot, and that I also LOVE food. I make the distinction between those two because they're NOT synonymous and don't always go hand-in-hand. I've got a pretty good metabolism and burn a lot of calories in my day to day activities, not to mention all the running I do on top of that.

Every once in a while, however, The Good Lord smiles on me, and somewhere in my stomach, a gateway opens to a parallel universe I like to call "The Food Vortex." In the presence of The Food Vortex, I can eat all the food I can get my hands on and never seem to get full.

Some of the guys decided to go to the Noshville Deli after our run yesterday. As much as I like hanging with the guys after these runs, I wasn't stoked about having to drive 20 minutes, then have to wait longer for my food to come out. I mean, what if the gateway to the food vortex closed?!? Plus, I was craving Burger King something FIERCE!

Fortunately, the guys got to Noshville well before I did only to find the line too long and I talked my buddy Hunter into meeting me at Burger King. Victory!

When we got there, I asked the cashier if they still had "that big breakfast sandwich," and she eventually found it...apparently not a popular item (I ordered it once before and couldn't finish it). I ordered that in the large combo meal and could barely stand still as anticipation mounted. I winced as she spilled a few of the hash browns and had to throw them out. I think she noticed, and seeing as they were done serving breakfast, she gave me a small box of french toast sticks as well. I had to choke back tears of joy.

About 15-20 minutes later, I'd finished the sandwich, the king-sized hash browns and also the french toast sticks. I did my normal post-meal sigh of satisfaction, but spliced in with the peaceful exhalation was yet another cry of hunger from the insatiable food vortex. I looked at my empty tray, then at Hunter, then at the (now lunch) menu, then back at Hunter who gave me the "Why Not?!?" look.

I returned to the counter to order a Whopper Jr. and some french fries from another cashier. My original cashier returned to the counter a moment later, saw me standing there, and asked me if I needed something. I thanked her and explained that I'd simply placed another order for more food. She gave me a brief glance of incredulity, then turned, chuckled and went about her business.

Finally the vortex echoed my sigh of satisfaction. I can think of few things that please me more than being able to enjoy that much food in one sitting. According to the BK website, my total calorie intake for that meal came out to about 2110 calories - breakfast accounted for about 1400 of that.

Like I said, I do normally eat a lot, but that's a pretty good amount of food even for me. Anyway, I guess its back to the normal eating habits, until the next time the food vortex graces me with its presence or lack thereof.

Simply beautiful, Simply beautiful.

Oh Starbucks...

2009-07-21T07:15:00.000-07:00

Today is free pastry day at Starbucks.

I've been doing track workouts with a group on Tuesday mornings to improve my speed for my newly-found love of running. Last week we had our second, one-mile time trial. Because I improved since the last one, my training paces have quickened, making my workouts feel a lot tougher than they did a couple of weeks ago. That being said, I opted to treat myself to a post-run trip to Starbucks for "free pastry day" after a new running acquaintance named Christine (sp?) kindly shared an extra coupon with me.

Truth be told, I'm not really a Starbucks fan. I'd rather spend three hours in Wal-Mart any day over ten minutes in Starbucks.

Why don't I like Starbucks? (forgive me, some of these answers are singularly cliche).

I hate having to feel cool or successful just to buy a dang cup of coffee. Now that I'm not in the music business anymore, I feel like an outsider if for some reason I go to Starbucks.
The hype is ridiculous. Good coffee and coffee drinks are an art, not a science or chemical equation.
Now, I'm no connoisseur...I'm just a handyman, but their coffee just doesn't taste very good...isn't it kind of bitter?

My main reason, however can be summed up in three words:

Tall, Grande & Venti. (of course, you knew I couldn't just LEAVE it at three words)

Let's ponder this for a moment. I'm going to look at it from a perspective of a person like myself and others who aren't particularly "Coffee Shop Savvy," as it were. I'll come back around with the original intent of the Starbucks sizing structure.

Tall: This is not really a size adjective. It's more of an appearance description, but for benefit-of-the-doubt's sake, let's treat it as a size adjective. Generally speaking, is a tall person not usually considered bigger than a short person? So, it may be safe to assume that "Tall" would be the Large, but in Starbucks vernacular, it actually means Small. If I order something Tall, I sort of expect to be drinking out of a test tube or chemical vial.
Grande: "Grande" is Italian for Large. Plain and simple but for the fact that this is actually the Medium size at Starbucks.
Venti: This is the most creative one of all. "Venti" is Italian for...dun dun dun...Twenty. Why? Because because it comes in a 20 oz. cup. It's actually 20.5 according to the bottom of the cup, but perhaps "Venti E Mezzo" was less catchy. I guess, however, seeing as Italy uses the metric system, perhaps it should be "Seicento E Sei" (Six Hundred and Six Milliliters).

These sizes aren't even all in the same language. So, for the sake of juxtaposition, let's put them all in English and get this straight (I'm leaving out the "short" size because you have to specifically ask for it to get it):

"Tall" = small
"Large" = medium
"Twenty" = Large

A height description meaning the opposite of it's definition, an actual size description meaning something other than its definition, and a number. So, not only do these all mean either the same thing or nothing at all, but they're relatively irrelevant to each other.

They could have gone with: Short, Medium and Tall, or Short, Tall and Shaquille O'neal (NBA Sponsorship, yes?)
The could have gone with: Small, Medium and Large
The could have gone with: Otto (8) Dodici (12), Sedici (16) and Venti (20)

My understanding is that Starbucks originally had two sizes that were "Short" and "Tall." Because we Americans like such mass quantities (I'm a huge fan of Sonic's Route 44 drinks), they had to adapt. I know I appreciate the adaptation, but could you guys not have made it a bit more user-friendly to first-timers, or at least more cohesive by using one type of measuring system?

I'm sorry Starbucks...I'm being kind of hard on you. Surely, I'll be buying your coffee again, but I'll do as I always do: Order a "Big Ol' Coffee" with the fullest southern drawl that I'm capable of, and wait to be corrected by some annoyed hipster behind the counter when he/she rolls his/her eyes and says, "Oh, you mean a 'Venti,'" like I was speaking some language other than English.

In the meantime, if I can help it, I'll spend my coffee budget at Créma, where Rachel, Lacey, Libby, Logan and Mark let me order a "Large Coffee," without batting an eye.

Moaning Myrtle

2009-07-20T14:07:00.000-07:00

It's been a rough couple of months as far as death is concerned...the world has lost a quite a few heavily, visually influential people. Today for some reason, I've really been thinking about it a lot.

"I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death..."
-Moaning Myrtle

I was at a restaurant for my friend Maggie's birthday last night and for some reason, "The Dark Knight" was on the TV. I say, "for some reason," because it seems an odd choice for over-dinner viewing. I stole many glances at the TV during dinner to admire what a find job Heath Ledger did portraying The Joker. It got me to thinking that there were so many blank pages in his book yet to be filled that are now destined to remain blank.

I think about Bernie Mac and that he'll never again be a part of Danny Ocean's team.

I think of Richard Harris and how much more I preferred him as Professor Dumbledore rather than Michael Gambon.

Being a guitar player and an appreciator of those who play it well, I sometimes wonder about Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan and what they would have become had it not been for their youthful deaths.

In the last couple of months, we've lost Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, Steve McNair, and just recently, Walter Cronkite. All of these people had very visible impacts on America/The World.

People die everyday and have been doing so since the advent of man, but we never really get used to it, do we? Even those of us who are confident of an afterlife struggle with death. It's so hard when we miss a person, or we can see what a strong impact their life made on others. We want to mourn them, but we are torn between mourning and continuing to make the most of our short time here on Earth.

"Follow me and let the dead bury their own dead."
-Jesus Christ

How precious is life? Considering the human reproductive process, the probability of any one of us being born is MILLIONS to one. Somehow, when we were born, we won the race to the egg. Let alone the probability of a single planet in a vast galaxy that has the capacity to sustain life. And yet humanity can be so cavalier in creating new life. So many unadopted children, so many single parents, so many irresponsible parents, so many abandoned children left to ponder their existence on their own.

How fragile is life? One squeezed-trigger/One bullet, one careless second behind the wheel, one blood clot, one moment of giving-up, In the same cavalier manner that humanity now creates life, it also destroys it. Gangs kill people to sustain their own egos according to their meaningless/arbitrary systems of pride, people knowingly drive drunk, people abuse drugs and miss out on precious seconds/minutes/hours/days/weeks/years that we don't get back.

How precious is our time? Can we really afford to waste precious minutes dwelling on unchangeable details, festering in drug-induced stupors, taking for granted the extreme improbability of our mere existence, harboring anger, holding grudges. Isn't life difficult enough w/out these complications?

Friends - Today, if we enjoy a beverage in company, let us offer a toast to life, and mean it.

"Almost Cut My Hair...

2009-06-11T05:23:00.000-07:00

Happened just the other day.
It was gettin' kinda long."

Can anybody (besides my mom) tell me who sang the song I just referenced?!? (without looking it up too...)

Well, I didn't actually cut my hair, but I did cut some hair. For the last few months I've been sporting a beard. I haven't actually been able to grow a beard before, so it was with a fair amount of grieving that I said goodbye to it. You may remember a similar blog by the name of Fu-Graham-Chu.

I've never been a big fan of Nashville summers, especially compared to the Pennsylvania summers I knew growing up. It gets so hot and humid during July and August that it's actually difficult to breathe, and you don't even think about a second layer of clothing.

Being a handyman, I do spend a fair amount of time working outside, not to mention trying to do my running workouts outside, so I decided to say goodbye to the beard:

I immediately had these three thoughts:

Wow - look how little my chin is.
Hmmm...my eyes ARE green, aren't they?
Crap...I've gotta grow it back.

My friends have been supportive, but I still feel kind of naked without it.

On the bright side, four hours after I doused the beard, I crawled up into an attic to rewire some lights. It was noon, and I spent the next hour and a half up in that attic where I'd guess the temperature was about 120 degrees. I was sweating so much I actually thought it might start dripping through the drywall in the ceiling below me. So, that made me feel a little better about my decision.

I can safely say, however, that as soon as summer starts making its way out of Nashville, I'm growing the beard back in full force.

A Day Off

2009-06-10T14:31:00.000-07:00

Today I took a much-needed day off. One tough thing about running your own business is that you're never actually done with work...or at least that's on of my difficulties. When I worked for "The Man" in Corporate America, I had clean-cut hours. When five o'clock rolled around I was out of there and didn't plan on thinking about work again until eight the next morning.

My Day off in a nutshell:

slept in till 7:30
enjoyed breakfast while watching the CBS Early Show (love those guys)
finished "The Glass Castle" by Jeannette Walls - I HIGHLY recommend it.
Bank, Grocery store, Lunch
Went to see the Pixar movie "Up" - It was pretty good...not my favorite Pixar flick.
Shopped quickly for some running shorts with no avail.

After taking in The Early Show, "The Glass Castle," and "Up," I felt like I needed to give back a little, so here I am blogging.

It's certainly one of the most boring blogs I've ever written. Admittedly, I've got far deeper issues on my brain right now, which have also been contributing heavily to my great need for a day off. I just don't really feel like putting them on screen yet...maybe in the near future...maybe not.

Tonight I'll run as usual with the East Nasties, we'll grab a few beers afterward for our recovery drinks, and then, if it doesn't rain, perhaps I'll attend Movies in the Park at Centennial Park here in Nashville. We'll see. I'm actually itching to start another book.

Well, sorry for a lame post. I'll do better next time.

Trampoline dreams & the weekend update.

2009-03-30T06:25:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a dream that I was jumping on a trampoline the size of a basketball court. It was magnificient. I had the freedom to jump anywhere and try any move I wanted because there was no danger of me falling off the side. I've always loved jumping in general, but jumping on trampolines is a really great feeling...sort of like you can temporarily ignore gravity.

Jumping on a trampoline alone is very different than jumping on it with other people. Please allow me to elaborate a little deeper on the pros & cons of both.

Jumping alone: You have the entire trampoline to yourself. You're free to flail about as you please and also try any ninja or gymnastic move you can think of without worrying about accidentally kicking somebody else in the teeth. I'm sort of partial to the back flip and the side flip...front flip's kind of overdone. Jumping by yourself can be slightly less interesting than jumping with others because...

Jumping with others: You have slightly less room and less freedom to try ninja moves, but you exchange it for something very exciting...the partner bounce. Those of you who've spent LOTS of hours on trampolines like myself know what I'm talking about. The partner bounce can be your best friend or a worst enemy depending on how you time it. Timed properly, the partner bounce can give you a much higher bounce than you could ever achieve on your own. Timed improperly, it can totally sweep your legs out from under you.

This is the foundation of one of the greatest games ever... "Knock Everybody Else Down" (I don't know if that's the official name.) Put three people on a trampoline at the same time and I GUARANTEE this game will end up getting played. The best part is that it's really hard to get hurt doing it. Ahh, I do love trampolines.

Notables from this weekend:

1. Starting Friday morning and ending Saturday evening, my brother-in-law and I spent 16 hours assembling a new playhouse for my nieces & nephews. It was painstaking, but was awesome when we were done. We got rained on, experienced 30 mph winds, heard tornado sirens, and even got hailed on...a true HandyGraham adventure.
2. I ran about 9 miles on Saturday morning (betwixt my playhouse adventuring) and about 11 miles on Sunday. Tired.
3. I used a 40% off coupon @ Borders to purchase my second graphic novel. A month ago, I purchased "The Watchmen" to read before the movie came out and on Saturday, I bought "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Vol. 1." There were four people camped out reading in that section...I felt like they could see through me...like I wasn't "graphic novel" enough to be there. Am I a "graphic novel" guy now? Must I start dressing differently?
4. I had an AMAZING All Star Breakfast at Waffle House after Sunday's run.

Ok, I must end today's Morning Math and go do a lot of things...not the least of which is find a new table saw to replace mine that broke last week - sort of annoying, but sort of exciting too. I mean, It's TOOL SHOPPING.

Happy Monday!

oh c'mon - I've got time...(Morning Math)

2009-03-27T05:34:00.000-07:00

The title of this blog is a derivative of a quote from one of the most prolific philosophers of our time - Bob Parr (aka Mr. Incredible...shhhh...don't tell anybody).

I just finished my normal breakfast of Kroger brand Raisin Bran cereal and soy milk (my stomach doesn't seem too keen on dairy products right now). I spent this typical breakfast catching up on my good friend Annie Parsons' blog, which is always a pleasure. Two things that always happen when I indulge "said" blog are: 1. I feel guilty about being so remiss in my new blogging endeavor/commitment. 2. I get the urge to throw caution to the wind and log another entry no matter how late it makes me for whatever I'm to do next. This is a nice segue into this morning's pontification...

"Morning Math"

My dad is particularly bad about estimating how long something will take, or how long it'll be till he's home and dinner can start. Apparently genetics thought this was a good legacy to carry on and tried to pass it on to me...right now, genetics is winning.

"Morning Math" occurs during the time when your alarm clock first wakes you up to the time when you arrive at your first morning destination.

This term is a cousin of the term "Texas Math," which I learned from a road rep at a sales conference a few years back. Nobody in the room had a calculator, so he just quickly added up the numbers in his head and blurted out a number. Impressed, we all just stared at him in awe of his genius to which he responded, "It's just Texas Math," with the verbal swagger only a Texan can muster. Ten minutes and two subjects later, one of the other road reps who had taken the time to add the numbers on his phone pointed out that the Texas Math was rather "not even close." It was kind of a "you had to be there" moment, but the tension was amazing. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned...except maybe a Texan whose home state has been insulted. Another topic for another time...I digress...

Anyway, Morning Math - It's "Morning Math" that causes me to push that snooze button for a whole hour because it makes perfect logical sense that, in less than 15 minutes, I can do my whole morning regiment (hygiene, breakfast, reading Annie's blog, etc.) AND get to the other side of town during the morning rush hour.

Ironically, it's during this time of day that I also become oh-so-inspired. "Not only do I have the time for the routine, I've also got time to talk to my neighbor, BLOG, continue the search for the end of the Internet, watch the news, knock out a chapter of the book I'm reading, sit on the couch and ponder the area rug..." You get the point.

It's funny...it doesn't matter at all how early I get up. Somehow, I will still be 15 minutes late. Alas...any suggestions???

I do love the mornings though. I know I'll spend the rest of the day running around like a chicken with no head...why not just take a few extra minutes and enjoy the quiet peace of the morning? After all, what's the fun in being self-employed if you don't enjoy a somewhat loose schedule now and then?

I think I need a secretary...

The Point of No Return

2009-03-11T06:39:00.000-07:00

Busted - or not...
OK, honestly...did you just find yourself singing the Kansas song "Point of No Return" when you read that?!? Maybe I'm the only one who remembers that song. Whatever.

The 1/2 Marathon
Well, I've done it. I've officially signed up for my first 1/2 marathon, The "Tom King Classic," which I will be running this Saturday. The money is non-refundable, and I don't waste money, so I'm doing it!

I'm pretty excited and just a little nervous as you might imagine. I've actually been training for the Country Music 1/2 Marathon, which isn't for another month and a half or so, but for some reason, I felt like I wanted to run this one too, and here are some reasons why:

more casual...less pressure.
an opportunity to feel out a 1/2 marathon before I run the one "that counts" next month.
It was only like $45
You get a medal
You get to finish on the Jumbo-tron in the TN Titans stadium
You get a nice technical/running shirt...I've recently fallen in love w/ these shirts...OK, this is actually reason number 1. I'm fickle, I know.

My Feelings
I'm probably not as nervous as I'm sure a lot of first-timers are. I've already run this distance many times, over much worse terrain, and running it with a group of racers will make it easier. I was a pretty high-stakes hurdler in high school, so I'm familiar w/ racing tension...albeit I'm a bit rusty. Plus, I'm not trying to max out. I just want to finish respectably (and collect that sweet tech shirt...yessssss).

I am a little nervous about going out too quickly and wearing the appropriate clothing so I'm not too hot/cold...It's supposed to be around 50 with showers on Saturday. I'm still trying to get over a cold. My knees are also somewhat unreliable, so I'm hoping they behave themselves...especially in light of the less-than-helpful, projected barometric pressure.

In other news:
My washing machine crapped out yesterday. Seeing as I got it for free and will need a front load washer if I buy this other house, I figured I'd just bite the bullet and get a new washer. I got a pretty good deal on a nice Whirlpool front loader which was still far more than I'd hoped to spend this week...but it's so cool. It's energy efficient, it actually looks nice, and you can watch the wash cycle...I'd have spent the evening doing that had I not had company. Maybe tonight...

Gunshots or not? Pointless ponderings of Monday Morning

2009-03-09T08:23:00.000-07:00

I didn't get much sleep this weekend. I missed enough sleep, in fact, that springing forward one hour was laughable in juxtaposition. The only real difference now is that I'd just gotten my body to start waking up at 6 w/out an alarm clock, and now it's waking up at 7. Crap.

Naturally, after such an exhausting weekend - on top of lack of sleep, I've also got a cold and still ran about 14 miles between Saturday & Sunday - I justified a bit of sleeping in this morning. By about 7:30 I wasn't really falling back to sleep, but I didn't really feel like getting out of bed, either. So I laid there enjoying the sunlight streaming in through the window that I was able to leave open all night and also listening to the peaceful sounds of the morning.

After about 20 minutes of this, the morning peace was disturbed by something that sounded like a single gunshot from very close proximity. Not one who's easily shaken (especially when I'm in the comfort of my bed), I didn't actually move. Rather I stayed right where I was and pondered the absurdity of hearing a single gunshot in the broad daylight of 7:30 AM:

Typically gunshots are heard in a series, no? Not just one at a time. If only one shot were fired, it would certainly be followed by some sort of screaming/shouting and/or at least tires squealing, which wasn't the case.
Shootings usually take place at night, and if they take place in broad daylight, they don't usually take place at 7:30 AM. Nightlife is over by 5 AM and any respectable criminal would surely be asleep by 7:30 AM.

After I ruled out the probability of the disturbance actually being a gunshot, I moved on to thinking of what it actually could have been. This is where the story gets a little less interesting. My mind automatically went to that sound being an electric transformer blowing on the telephone pole behind my house. I automatically looked at my clock to see if my power was off and lo & behold, it was.

I must offer props to NES (Nashville Electric Service) for having my power up and running in less than an hour. I even got to stand at the back door and watch them do the repair, which was fun for a nerdy little handyman like myself.

You know what's interesting about this? My mind drew the above conclusions and landed on a solution in less than about 5 seconds. What an amazing creation, the human brain. We definitely take for granted the powers of deduction and problem-solving that are ingrained in each of our God-given minds.

You know what's funny about this? My brain expended its efforts on this deductive feat this morning, but to what end? What was I going to do about any of that? Now if only I could somehow channel my brain into thinking about things like work...hmmm...

Lent & New Years Resolutions...

2009-03-05T05:14:00.001-08:00

I know I'm a bit behind the ball on some of these things, but I guess you've got to trust that these things come to you when they're meant to.

Lent

For the first time that I can remember, I was actually encouraged by a pastor to give something up for Lent. I'm pretty busy with life right now, so the idea of trying to either manage cravings or even remember what it was I gave up is a bit cumbersome, but I figured I'd give it a shot anyway. I didn't realize that in some Lent tradition, the Sabbath day of rest actually extends to what you gave up for Lent as well. That made it seem less like martyring myself (which means nothing to God) and more like restricting myself throughout the week so I can actually use the Sabbath day to appreciate what the "Lord hath made."

So I gave up caffeine and carbonated beverages and sort of alcohol.

Caffeine:
I wouldn't say I'm addicted to caffeine, but I can be dependent on it at times. I did cheat and drink a cup of coffee on Thursday/Friday of our PA adventure since I was driving and I was carrying precious cargo. Nope, I don't feel bad about it. I assume there's caffeine in the fruit tea @ Baja Burrito & Chile Burrito, but it's just to offset the food coma that comes with Fish Taco Tuesday. Plus, fruit tea is all part of the experience and I'm not drinking carbonated beverages either, which eliminates the majority of the other choices at these fine establishments.

Carbonation:
This stuff is bad for you anyway. I figure if I won't take care of my body for myself, I may as well do it for God. Something tells me I won't miss it too badly.

Alcohol (sort of):
Caffeine is the big dog. Unfortunately, carbonation encompasses beer as well; a fact I neglected in my original Lent selections. As this wasn't my original intention, I don't feel obligated to abstain from beer as well. However, seeing as I do enjoy my beer, I'm going to limit myself on that as well so I may value again what the "Lord hath made." March is my birthday month, the keeper of St. Patricks day, and also the month of my annual college buddy lake trip. These are times of celebration. 8)

New Years Resolutions

Something about this Lent season seems to have inspired me, or maybe it's just the onset of the lovely Spring weather. So I've finally come up with some New Years Resolutions.

Organization:
I'm in the process of preparing my year-end income taxes, which is no easy task for a small business owner. I'm entering hundreds of receipts into excel spreadsheets, tallying up mileage, adding up money earned, finding all those 1099 forms. I've realized that I could have been doing this gradually throughout the year and it wouldn't be a nuissance now. So, I'm not stopping at December. I'll keep going right on up to present day and will have to change my habits to keep it all updated.

Fewer trips to the truck:
In my line of business, it's difficult to know what you're going to need for your work day. Because I drive a smaller (more fuel-efficient) truck, I don't have a huge toolbox and am limited to my skeletal tool selection. Some of the tools have to stay at my work shop during the day. I've also found myself making way too many trips back out to my truck once I start on something. This is mostly because I'm not thinking far enough ahead to anticipate what I should ALSO bring in from the truck on that trip. I've got to work smarter where I can.

Setting goals:
It's this simple. If I don't have any goals to shoot at, I can't fail, but I also never actually succeed. I'm going to start small, but it's time to get this thang in action.

I'm sure I'll think of others, but I'll mention them later.

Happy Thursday!

Twin Kegs: The Diamond in the Rough

2009-03-03T05:29:00.000-08:00

Many of you know that I've begun (and am now merely a part of it) a group called South Nashville Progressive. The idea of this group is to call all the 20, 30, and not-so-grown-up 40-somethings out of the woodwork to show that we are actually here in South Nashville. Though we're still in the early stages of this group, we've all committed (more or less) to one ideal thus far - AIM WITHIN THE SOUTH NASHVILLE COMMUNITY MAP

That means we try to:

shop within "the map"
hang out within "the map"
hang out with other people who live within "the map"
go out to eat within "the map"
bring people from outside "the map" to do these things within "the map"

You get the point. We're not nazis about it...South Nashville is still "Progressing" as it were, and we just don't have certain resources that other Nashville communities have...sometimes you have to get "off the map." We're just trying to take pride in our community.

Last night, we had our second official meeting, and in the interest of keeping to the "code," after the meeting we decided go to a bar/restaurant called "The Internationally Famous Twin Kegs." It's totally a divey little place at first glance, but I think I've found my new favorite hang-out. Awesome stuff about the IFTK:

Burgers - voted Best Burger in Nashville in the 2008 Tennessean Readers' Poll. I tried the "Big Bad Burger," a beautiful 3/4 lbs. burger...and I'm a bit of a burger connoisseur, if I do say so myself.
They've got a shuffleboard table. What a great bar game.
They've also got a pool table.
They've got karaoke 3 nights a week, trivia on Wednesdays, Poker night. I had NO IDEA!
They've got a pretty decent bottled beer selection, including Yuengling & Blue Moon...oddly enough, nothing on tap, despite the name: "Twin Kegs" 8)

I LOVE that place, and I'm pretty sure I'll be back again this week. If anybody'd like to join in, just let me know.

Twin Kegs....freakin' awesome...

No, I'm not dead...

2009-03-02T06:41:00.001-08:00

Hey everybody,

Just wanted to let you all know that I'm not dead, I'm just quite busy. I'm not washed-up in the blog world yet, I promise...I just need to streamline my schedule a little bit.

Why am I so busy?

I'm trying to be a good Handyman for a change...you know, actually working and stuff.
Apparently the first date I botched up so badly wasn't quite bad enough to scare her off. 8)
I'm dabbling in community organizing now with "South Nashville Progressive." (come find us on facebook)
I'm going to try & buy the house next to mine so I can own my first rental property.
I just returned from a whirlwind weekend roadtrip to Pennsylvania and back with Annie Parsons & Paul Zimmerman-Clayton.
I'm still training for the Nashville Country Music Half Marathon.
I just joined a new church
etc.

Anyway, these are all great things, so I'm certainly not complaining...just hope you'll forgive me for my recent silence. This is still one of my new years resolutions, so I'm not giving up so easily.

PA trip:
I'm still in a little "recovery" stage right now from my crazy weekend w/ Paul & Annie. I actually didn't even tell my parents that I was coming home for the weekend, so it was a lot of fun to see their surprise at my arrival. Apparently, I owe my little sister "big-time" now for covering for me though...I told her to put it on my tab.

I've gotta say, my favorite part of any road trip is usually the part when we're actually on the road. Yes, it was great to be home, but I've been home before, and I've been in Nashville before. I've even driven that exact (736-mile) route MANY times before. I've never, however, driven it w/ Paul and Annie. It was a much faster trip with good friends around - I hope next time I go up there, I'll be bringing friends again. Ahh, good times. Stay tuned - Annie documented a good portion of it on her trusty little camera and I'm sure the video will make its debut very soon.

Anyway - more to come. South Nashville Progressive is having our second meeting tonight - we ain't no joke! Now, if you'll please excuse me, I've got to go save the world one drywall patch at a time. 8)

thankful for you guys,

hg

"Eff-SD" (no, not South Dakota)

2009-02-11T05:00:00.000-08:00

Seasonal Depression:
I'd say that I suffer from mild seasonal depression during the months of January, February, and sometimes even a little bit into March. It seems as if life has left the area with the fallen leaves, it's cold, and it NEVER actually snows in this blasted city. It certainly doesn't stop schools from having snow days though. I could go throw a handful of powdered sugar at the local TV-News station and immediately schools would close, interstates would jam up with accidents, and people would run to the store for bread and milk. I'm not joking.

I went to visit my mom's brother (Uncle Ed) and his family near Boulder, CO last year at this time. I left my snowboard out there as collateral so that I'll actually pull the trigger and move out there myself. After returning to Nashville, I realized that I probably wouldn't miss it that much. I've used it one time here in the last 10 years.

Southern Snowboard Silliness
Some college friends and I went to Winterplace in West Virginia on MLK day weekend during our sophomore year to go skiing/snowboarding. Being with friends was a blast, but the "snow" experience was laughable. As it was MLK day weekend, every yahoo with a pair of a sticks within in a 300 mile radius was there. The slope was so short and the lift lines were so long, I literally could have walked to the top before the lift would have gotten me there. So ended my attempts at "southern snowboarding."

Umm...
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, seasonal depression. After Christmas is over, all the things that make winter worth it's while are absent. There's basically a 2-2.5 month lull till Spring swoops in gently to rescue us from the drear of winter. She does it so subtly that it's like she's trying to make us forget about Winter without insulting Winter himself. Very kind of her. Besides, without Winter, the world doesn't work right, and Spring doesn't feel anywhere near as good when she arrives.

Man, am I ever on the slippery slope of digression this morning...

The Point
In the past, during these first few months of the year, I feel like myself and all the people with whom I'm connected just seem to mope around. It's this constant, "What do you wanna do?" - "I dunno what do you wanna do?" thing. And when that magical first day of Spring rolls around, we are all of a sudden able to make decisions again.

Most of you know my buddy, Andy. He, a fellow sufferer of seasonal depression (SD...tired of typing that), and I spoke at length about SD during one of our Tuesday night brain-puke sessions. I decided that it'd be best to create a social calendar for myself and others to keep people moving and integrated within their society of friends during this volatile time. It seems to be the best medicine.

I started the year out strong, but don't remember making any more conscious effort to adhere to my master "Eff-SD" plan. I jokingly told a few people about my cure, but never really pushed it on anybody. Oddly enough, this year I've managed to book up almost every waking minute of my life between work and social events, and it seems as though I'm not the only one. I think all of my friends are just as busy, and you know what? I think my master plan is working. Although I can't really take any credit for people voluntarily filling up their schedules during these months, it seems they're all generally happier than those who haven't. To attribute to one of my recurring themes...just goes to show you how important it is to have your friends around. Example 1, Example 2

Anyway - "Second Star on the Right & Straight on till Morning!"

Dia del cajero

2009-02-09T12:34:00.000-08:00

I had the most fantastic Wal-Mart experience this afternoon.

So, I'd already spent more of this day driving around & doing errands, than I'd actually been able to spend working. It was a beautiful day - the windows were down, and the music was loud enough that I'd already missed 3 phone calls, so I'm not complaining. Driving around town, however, does make me more tired than actually working does though.

All that to say that around 2 or so this afternoon, I needed a pick-me-up, so I swung by my local neighborhood Wal-Mart for a twix bar & a Bolthouse fruit smoothie. At the check-out, my whole day changed.

I was standing in line behind somebody when I realized that check-out #2 was open, so I headed that way. This is when I encountered "James," with the flames on his lanyard. He was looking down when I arrived at his post, and I thought he was looking for something. Upon realizing that I was there, he straightened up and smiled at me. He wasn't looking for anything at all - he was actually amusing himself with some sort of cashier acrobatics and was not the least bit ashamed that I saw him doing it. I liked this guy already.

He began to ring up my Bolthouse Smoothie, my Twix bar, and a little Cherry Snack Pie I found on sale. (Don't judge me - I'm 6'3" & weigh 200 lbs...I need fuel). When I told him he could skip on the bag, he proceeded to make a little tower out of my items on the plastic bag lazy susan. After carefully topping the tower with the Cherry Pie, he exclaimed a quick "Woo Hoo," and went on to complete the transaction.

I was actually starting to chuckle to myself at this point, which is sort of uncommon. We got to that awkward part where I'd done my part, he'd done his part and we were waiting for the register to finish. He looked over and read the Cherry Pie package aloud, "No Sugar Added," to which he added, "Yeah Right! That's when they add ALL the sugar!" He looked at me and smiled, then looked with satisfaction back at his register knowing that he'd done his conspiracy-revealing duty for the day. I was at a loss for words, but mostly I was really starting to have to stifle my laughter. That statement and the manner in which it was presented was one of the funniest things I'd heard in years.

Finally the receipt printed and as he handed it to me he said, "I can stand a penny on top of a nickel. You know - on it's end."

Grinning ear-to-ear, I told him that I would definitely come back just to see that.

When I got to my car, I lost it. I could not stop laughing. I don't remember the last time I was by myself and had to try so hard to keep from laughing out loud. My favorite part is that I'm pretty sure James would have behaved exactly the same no matter who was at his register, or if there was no one there at all. So today, I salute you, "James S" at cashier station #2, for your overwhelmingly good spirit and sense of humor - and for sharing it with others.

Just for the record, I wasn't laughing AT James. I have an odd ability to adapt to the senses of humor of those who I'm around. It's great because I like to laugh...another reason my parents called me "Miller Time" when I was younger. What James was saying was only a little funny to him...just playful banter. If I'd have laughed out loud as hard as I was laughing on the inside, he might have thought that I was mocking him. It would be a terrible way to repay the guy who just made my day, to leave him with the thought that I might have been laughing AT him.

If you're ever at the Wal-Mart on the corner of Nolensville Rd. & Harding Pl. in Nashville, try to check out at the register of "James S." You won't regret it. I'm going to make sure I've got a nickel & a penny with me on my next trip.

Pillow-talk

2009-02-07T10:56:00.000-08:00

Mattress research

Well, let me start off by saying this isn't as scandalous as it sounds. I'm actually in the market for a new mattress. Here's the situation:

My junior year of college, my mom and I got me a queen-sized mattress. I was stoked because it was the first time in years I had a bed that actually fit me properly - I outgrew twin-size beds in about 9th grade. Well, it wasn't a very nice mattress to begin with, and after about eight years, it's much worse. I feel like it's time for me to get a big boy bed now...apparently, it's not normal to wake up an roll around 15 times a night.

Like with most big purchases, beginning the research process is a bit daunting. I keep having visions of those infomercials I used to see as a kid w/ the old people on the contorting bed-sets (& people think my Fu Manchu is creepy), or a glass of wine not spilling as somebody drops a bowling ball on the mattress next to it. I know it's hard to believe, but neither of those are huge enticements for me to purchase one of those particular mattresses.

The good thing about this situation is that I can't really lose by getting another mattress. The one I sleep on now reminds me of a big piece of stale, burnt toast wrapped in multiple layers of cardboard. It actually feels like you're sleeping in a bowl, or a hard hammock. I certainly doubt any new mattress could be worse. If by some crazy stroke of Providence, I end up married in the next few years, I'm sure the (lucky?) lady will already have a better bed than myself. I could just keep whatever I end up getting for a guest room - a.k.a. sleepy time-out for disobedient husbands.

So, here are the questions that seem most relevant to me:

Memory foam or "spring-loaded?"
Cushion or pillow-top mattresses - worth it or not?
Are there any beds that are actually proven to be more healthy for your body?
What sort of budget am I looking at for a decent (middle-of-the-road) bed?

Does anybody have any suggestions?

It would be fun to get a huge group of people together and go mattress-shopping. Partially because I wouldn't feel so silly testing mattresses out in a public store with other friends doing the same, but more so because knowing my friends, this would turn into some big ridiculous fiasco that would definitely end up being video-blog material. Oh man...gears are turning now...

Fu-Graham-Chu & "El Bigote"

2009-02-07T05:14:00.000-08:00

Once again, I have been remiss in my blogging responsibilities. Believe it or not, I've actually been so busy working lately that I haven't had a lot of time.

I'm watching my Saturday morning cartoons right now and getting ready to go to running club. Today, I'm actually going to run TO running club. It feels much more exciting to actually run TO a place rather than just running from a place only to return to it.

El Bigote

(FYI: "El Bigote" means "the mustache" in Spanish. It's what we refer to as a "false-cognate." It looks like the word "bigot" but means something beautiful as opposed to something terrible. This is MY blog - don't argue.)

I finally decided this week that it was time to shave the beard that I've been growing for a few months now. I've had a few ladies recently express their slight envy at the idea of guys being able to shave their faces and change their looks so severely. It's also low-risk in that if it isn't a nice change of pace, you can just shave it all off and start over again. Yep - it's awesome - no doubt about it.

That being said, it felt awfully wasteful to shave EVERYthing off all at once, so I did this:

As you may have guessed, I think it's TOTALLY AMAZING! Naturally, I immediately changed my profile picture on facebook to see what my friends thought, which incurred more responses than when I was voted Nashville's #1 Handyman in the Nashville Scene Readers' Poll.

The jury is still out and the polls seem to be split down the middle. There doesn't appear to be any middle ground at all. Everything looks either like this:

"That stash is frightening...."

or this:

"Amazing facial hair! Four thumbs up!"

For the record, the only negative responses I've gotten are from females. Why so negative ladies?

So, what's the verdict peoples?!? Shave or Save?!?!?

Just for giggles - my dad's old album cover. He's actually about my age in this picture.

It needs to be explained that the Stoner mustache is a rite of passage. Grampy Stoner, my dad's brothers, and my own dad all rock some version of a mustache, and they do it oh-so-well. So, it only took me 27+ years to reach manhood...I wonder what's in store next.

24 stuffs.

2009-01-26T15:33:00.000-08:00

Wowsers, it's been a while...sorry peoples - it seems I've been remiss in my "blogging responsibilities!" Sorry, I just needed to get all that punctuation out of my system. 8)

Succinct updates & thoughts:

I helped a guy break into his car today...it took me less than 2 minutes this time. Is that bad?
The HandyGraham officially sucks at first dates.
"Bangkok Dangerous" is the second worst movie I've ever seen.
"Wild Wild West" starring Will Smith is the worst.
I busted up an old commode today w/ a sledgehammer...it was awesome.
I ran 11.23 miles on Sunday.
I ran in Chattanooga w/ the "running club" this weekend.
Josh's mom taught us a recipe to make an omelet in a baggie...awesome too.
Family Wash makes GREAT shepherds pies...too bad they don't have Yuengling on tap.
Today I was in Michaels arts & crafts store & heard a Spice Girls song.
Sadly, I knew it was a Spice Girls song.
I used to drive a beat up old red work van in high school & listened to Spice Girls really loud to annoy all the ghetto kid wannabes.
No, I was not buying knitting supplies at Michaels.
I was talking to my friend Christina about an amazing Marvin Gaye song last night called "Got to Give it up."
I heard that song @ Home Depot this afternoon, and it made me smile.
Sometimes I want to just disappear and move to another country w/out telling anybody.
I started reading "The Glass Castle" today, and I'm already afraid to read the end.
I miss my dog.
Hip Hop music feels like the rain sometimes.
It can also feel like electricity.
For the first time in years, I actually needed some "alone time" this weekend.
I'm thankful for my buddy Paul Zimmerman-Clayton.
I'm making a roast in the oven right now...I think I might have screwed it up.
Nope - it turned out ok.

Guitar Lessons w/ the HandyGraham

2009-01-20T05:33:00.000-08:00

On Friday, I had the opportunity to participate in something absolutely amazing.

For quite a few months now, I've been working on switching out all the doors in one of my favorite clients' houses. One of the reasons that I enjoy handyman work is the reason that, most of the time, it offers a lot of variety in problem-solving, which thankfully keeps my brain occupied. As I near the end of my task, I'd be lying if I said that the monotony isn't getting to me just a little bit. (On Friday, I replaced doors 17, 18, & 19 out of 21.) If I weren't such a big fan of this client, I may even have tapped out already.

I was already having a less-than-joyous day as my truck is not running at 100% right now. It's just not a pleasant way to start your mornings. I spent the rest of the day working on these doors and was able to remain rather positive for most of it. My client's kids were home from school and their grandfather was there as well to keep an eye on them. My client's ten-year-old daughter had a friend over and they spent the day playing with the computer, making music videos and other fun activities. It reminded me of when my sister and I used to get to stay home from school at that age...we usually just fought over the Nintendo.

The day passed by a bit slowly...not as slowly as my sales-repping days @ the record company, mind you...that job almost did me in. I was finally onto my last adjustment for the day for which I had to interrupt one of the girls' music videos. I smiled when I saw that they were not dancing to the radio this time, but actually working around a guitar that one of them had gotten for Christmas. They both gave me a quick embarrassed smile, which passed almost immediately, and they wasted no time moving on to tell me they were putting together a band, but neither of them knew how to sing, play, or even tune the guitar. I told them I could at least tune the guitar for them, if not teach them a chord or two when I finished up the door and was encouraged by their immediate excitement.

They agreed to go grab some water while I made my final adjustments on the door, and while I did so, I took in the beauty of their excitement, their invincible hope, and maybe envied the learning potential they have as they're so young. It wasn't long before they returned - ready to rock. So, I tuned the guitar and played a riff or two to get their attention (a little trick I learned working with elementary school kids in college). I gave the guitar back and moved right into teaching them both the D chord. I only wish you all could have seen their face as they both individually cracked the code and the guitar made music in their hands for them the first time.

On the way to work that day, I was listening to NPR and heard an interesting story about Barack Obama's two years at Occidental College in Los Angeles. When one of President-elect Obama's former professors, Roger Boesche, was asked if he saw this kind of potential in Barack Obama, to which he replied:

"I cannot say that I looked across my class and said, 'Now that guy will even be in the Senate, much less the president,'" says Boesche. "But he stood out. He was very articulate."

This quote came back to me as I saw the look of joy on these girls' faces, and it made me think about the first chord I learned on the guitar. It was like I'd finally been able to harness the magic of something I'd only ever been able to watch and listen to in the past. Who knows the implications of the insignificant little nugget of information I shared with those girls.

If these young ladies get to enjoy music half as much as I do at some point in their life, it'll make me smile.

Music & Love: Create? Manipulate? Participate?

2009-01-15T06:24:00.000-08:00

Oh Brother Andy, what have you done? I told everybody I wouldn’t make a habit of talking about this stuff, but it seems the floodgates are open now.

What is the origin of Love?

Music Explains Love (I think)
My senior year in college, I decided to take “Introduction to Music” as an elective. Now those of you who know my background and how much I love music might find that odd…it was supposed to be a cakewalk class. Much to the contrary, I found myself digging into many deeper meanings of music and life because of this class. The most difficult internal debate I engaged was this: What is the origin of Music?

I’ve been making music since when my mom caught me whistling Axel F on the toilet when I was three. I’m a classically trained upright bassist, play guitar, a few other instruments and sing as well. I played in orchestra, band, jazz band, wind ensemble, marching band and a few of my own bands. Forgive what seems like boasting. I only put these cards on the table to illustrate how odd it is that I’d never thought to inquire as to the origins of something that has been such a huge part of my life and still is. To confuse this even more, I had also just begun to write my own music.

Can I actually “create” Music?
Can I actually “manipulate” Music? Or,
Do I merely get to “participate” in Music?

I’ll spare you the ping pong deliberations of my brain, and the semantics I fought through with a machete. Suffice it to say it wasn’t exactly cut & dry, but I’ll just skip to the point.

I concluded that we merely get to participate in Music. All the songs I’ve written just sort of came out. I often listen to the melodies that I’ve “composed” and wonder where they possibly could have come from.

I liken music-writing to this: The mood strikes me, and all of a sudden I’m walking into a melody store, the front of which looks a lot like the record store from “High Fidelity.” It looks tiny from the outside, but is vast, perhaps endless on the inside. Somehow, my feet know exactly where to go…a section meant just for me. I spend some time checking out different melodies until I come across one that actually makes my soul sing back. (It’s kind of like when you find the pitch that resonates perfectly in a big, tiled bathroom). My soul makes the decision for me and I take it to the cashier who’s an amiable guy w/ dreadlocks & a soul patch. He just smiles at me and says, “It’s on the house as usual, brother – see you next time!”

I’ve compared this to the involuntary vomiting of a song…though you may also remember that I don’t really believe in involuntary vomiting. 8)

What I have then is a musical representation (like a musical photograph) of just a little piece of my soul…what a precious gift. How could I ever take credit for that?

Back to Love
Is Love not the same way?

Participate: Love is a gift beyond logical explanation. It’s a supernatural phenomenon that’s out there for us to discover, experience, and ultimately enjoy – a precious gift that FAR exceeds even our wildest imagination.

Create: As the Bonnie Raitt song says, “I can’t make you love me, if you don’t.” (written by Mike Reid and Allen Shamblin). We can’t create love. We can come up with any recipe that we want, but it’ll never be able to take the place of the perfection that is love. Why on earth would we turn our noses at a free and perfect gift in search of manufacturing it on our own “filthy rag” version? We are silly, stubborn creatures, aren’t we?

Manipulate: I’ve alluded to the dangers of manipulation before. Manipulate Love? Talk about trying to harness the power of the Sun with your bare hands…its simply asinine. You can, however, manipulate people. I must say I feel badly for those whose relationships are built on some sort of manipulation. Both sides end up drowning in insecurity wondering all the while what is true and what isn’t.

Playing With Fire
Manipulating a person actually twists them into somebody they’re not. When you manipulate someone, it’s like taking Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” removing the texture and making it into a black and white postcard. They become like the animals in Narnia who can’t talk anymore. You’ve taken a flute and made it sound like banging a spoon on a table. They’ve been assimilated to your myopic imagination and confined to a cage. Gosh, it’s beginning to look like slavery. Congratulations, you are now dating, or worse, married to the walking dead…and YOU killed them. What an atrocity. I’m thinking bad words about you in my head right now, malicious manipulator. I wish I could say my hands were clean of this. They’re not. If I’d had any idea of what I was really doing at the time…quite sadly our stepping-stones come at others’ expense sometimes…it’s part of what makes us NEVER want to screw it up again.

Isn’t it so much better to let the other’s light shine? Let them be who they are. Let their song ring loud & true. The worst that can happen is that their song doesn’t prove harmonious with yours. I imagine when it actually does, the whole orchestra and chorus joins in behind you.

Those who find Love on Love’s schedule don’t have to rely on disillusionment. Experiencing Love on Loves terms is an exciting adventure through uncharted territories. There is so much amazing and colorful scenery along the way that you can’t ever fully take it in. Manufacturing “love” and manipulating it is just another trip through the quagmires, trapped in the confines of our own mind. As with all things, life is too short to spend it bound by our own skepticism and our limited capacities. I’d much rather be surprised by the endless possibilities God’s world has in store for us.

I think I might dig into why we attempt to manipulate tomorrow.

The "Perfect Seven" (significant others)

2009-01-13T21:00:00.000-08:00

Coffee with the Maverick
I had my weekly coffee tonight with my good buddy Andy Merrick at Fido here in Nashville. I would have made him meet me @ Créma, but they're not open that late yet. It's come to my attention that many of you have probably been reading Andy's series called "Why Guys Aren't Asking You Out."

I don't really do a lot of blog reading...mostly because I don't spend my days bored out of my skull in front of my computer anymore, looking for anything to keep me awake for when my supervisor actually looks at me. I'm usually too tired to enjoy blogs at the end of the day, and I rather prefer talking to people over reading. Andy's blog is one I actually try to follow, but I don't always read it for two reasons:

Andy handles more in most blogs than my attention span will usually allow me to ingest.
I spend Tuesday nights mentally sparring with this good fellow...which is WAY better than actually having to read something. 8)

That being said, I simply had to hear what all the hubbub was about, so I just finished reading the first four parts of Andy's series in one shot. I am now quite tired and am desperately longing for simplicity.

I haven't been on a date in well over a year, and I haven't been "dating somebody" in over two, and this is probably why. Seriously, how much harder could we POSSIBLY make this? Andy's working on at least a 5, maybe 7, maybe more, -part series on this with the thoroughness that only a computer programmer w/ creative tendencies could maintain. But, I guarantee you he won't cover it all.

I very much would like to get back on the dating horse, but if I try & concern myself with all that stuff, there is NO WAY I'll ever get back on. So rather, here's what I'm going to try & focus on (the sequence is intentional):

How would you like to go out some time?
I like you. Do you like me?
Analysis: Do we think this is working?
Conclusion:

If yes: Good let's keep this up and get married someday.
If no: Well, I'm really glad we tried. I guess this means there's a smarter match for both of us out there.

Should it not be so simple?!?

The Perfect Seven
I mentioned the other day that I try to see the beauty in everybody. I don't know if this is right, but this is the habit my brain is in right now: I see us all as "Perfect Seven's." Yes, you heard me right. Like in any judgment, we are scored in different categories. In this particular trial, the average of our score leaves us ALL with a "Perfect Seven." For example:

Outward Appearance - 6
Sense of Humor - 8
Bo Staff Skills - 7
etc...

Nobody is actually higher on the scale than anybody else, we all have our own "Criteria DNA" that when averaged out has the exact same value as that of everyone else. Andy might need to find a girl who is more intelligent than funny, whereas the opposite might work better for myself. Granted, all of my examples are GROSS oversimplifications, but do you see my point? (Besides, I can't complain about complexity and conjure a complicated conclusion).

This is what it means when we say, "I don't need to find the 'perfect boy/girl.' I need to find the 'perfect boy/girl' for me." The former simply does not exist, but I'm pretty sure sure the latter exists for the majority of us.

A key has teeth. A lock has a series of pins that rise & fall when a key is inserted. When the teeth properly match the formation of the pins inside the lock, something amazing happens. The key can turn and the lock opens. This analogy actually plays into my "reciprocation" role that I mentioned the other day...look to see more about that later.

Selling Love?!?
I was a sales rep for almost 3 years of my life and sold a variety of music to retail stores. I was pretty good at that job, but one thing I was never able to do was sell a Rap album by treating it as a Southern Gospel album. If we're a Rap album (& I'm pretty sure I am), why would we try & market ourselves for a tour with Bill & Gloria Gaither & Friends?

Like selling anything, we find our niche, and we ALL have at least one, and we work to exploit the niche. We can't all be the prettiest girl, or the hottest dude. It may be the quickest way to get immediate attention, but the lasting attention we're looking for comes from being confident in knowing who you are, and knowing who you are not. (please forgive my adaptive plagiarism)

"To know that we know what we know, and that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge."
-Confucius

We short-change ourselves by trusting so much on outward appearance. It can so easily hide more subtle and far more substantive things like: a good sense of humor, a kind heart, impressive dreams, witty banter, etc. THESE ARE ATTRACTIVE QUALITIES!!! And they're good, safe places to invest your confidence.

I'm sure I'll have some comments on Andy's blog if he can ever find a stopping point. That's certainly not a cut on Andy...it's a cut on our dating culture - and knowing just how thorough Andy thinks, I hope he doesn't drive himself batty trying to figure it all out. Ladies - you owe him one. Generally speaking (which is Andy's approach if I'm not mistaken) he's just about spot on. I love that guy...and I think I'm going to start Sub-titling like he does. Thanks buddy.

minus 20 questions...

2009-01-11T19:39:00.000-08:00

I'm rather bad at asking questions...or it should definitely seem so if we've ever had a conversation face-to-face. This is certainly something of which I'm hardly proud. I worry that it's indicative that I have poor listening skills.

However, I recently came to the conclusion that this may not be entirely true after I spent some time speculating on just why I don't ask a lot of questions. I happened upon 2 reasons I'd not previously realized, the first of which is rather complicated and the second of which is really quite simple.

Reason 1 goes a little something like this: I've spent a great deal of my life learning things by observation rather than asking questions - like gathering the meaning of a word I don't know from the context of a conversation. Much can be learned about any situation or person by simply watching/observing. I think I may have originally started doing this out of pride so I wouldn't look silly for asking simple questions, but it turns out it's a very useful skill.

(relevant sidebar) We are all judgmental to some degree...it's in our DNA. We discern things, and then we make judgments based upon our discernment. I don't really like the idea of "judging" people per se, but if we're ever to make any sort of progress in our lives, we have to make judgments. For example - Is this guy trustworthy? Is she lying to me? What do they really mean by that? I'm sure I do a poor job of it, but I try to judge as little as I must, and also try to keep my judgments to a horizontal scale rather than a vertical one. I think I naturally put myself at the top of the vertical one, and that's definitely not where I belong - whereas on a horizontal scale, the playing field is level. Judgement becomes a matter of "different" rather than "better vs. worse."(end sidebar)

When I encounter people, I immediately begin compiling data with regards to that person's character as there are no better criteria by which to make judgment. Over the years I've developed a pretty good "character barometer" and can usually tell within a matter of minutes of observing someone whether they'll become an acquaintance, a friend, or even a nemesis. (I don't really have any nemeses...it's just fun to say). We transmit a great many signals by our actions, body language, demeanor, verbage, etc.

Now before you get all uncomfortable when you meet me, just know that this kind of thinking comes with a price. I can't help but assume that others hold me under the exact same scrutiny, so I'm probably a great deal more uncomfortable than you, whether I show it or not.

So, long story short, I substitute observing for question-asking. My biggest regret about this is that people might get the impression that I'm not actually invested/interested in them, but the truth is that I've already unintentionally invested in them by observing them. It plays into another trait of mine I call "reciprocation," which is another blog for another time.

Reason 2 weighs far less guiltily on my heart and goes like this: I spend much of my time alone. I live alone and work alone. Seeing as I've, most often, already silently learned much about my company by observation, I often know what I want to know about them and don't have further questions. So rather than them questions, I blabber excitedly. Why? Because I'm literally just so excited to be in their presence that I get wound up. I know that sounds dumb, but it's really true. Sometimes, if I'm with a particularly close friend, I just won't say anything because their presence calms me and I'm so comfortable I needn't say a thing.

So if you've ever been offended by my constant jabbering and pontificating, or my enigmatic silence, will you please forgive me? Apparently I actually am quite concerned with you and have a poor way of showing it. I'm not one for composure, and I'm afraid you probably won't catch me asking questions of someone just to make them feel invested in. That seems patronizing if you ask me.

So, my new quest is this. Come up with questions whose answers I actually desire to know. Start asking them of people and get better at SHOWING the fact that I'm interested in them.

Cheers & Brownies!!!

2009-01-08T06:29:00.000-08:00

During my end of day evaluation last night, I realized that I had a really good day yesterday, and I simply must share.

I grew up as a pretty big fish in a small pond. I hope none of you at home are offended by that...actually a LOT of us were big fish in that little pond. One of my favorite things about that was the fact that everybody knew my name for reasons like my high school sports career, or maybe because they caught me throwing rocks in their pool when I was ten. Either way, I can rarely go anywhere back home without seeing a face I know...literally a place where "everybody knows your na me."

My home town of Palmyra, PA has a population of 7,000 people. Nashville, TN (where I live now) is about one Palmyra, PA short of 600,000 people. That makes Nashville just over 85 times the size of Palmyra, which, in comparison, makes Nashville a "big pond." Quite often, I find myself really missing that small town vibe.

I realized something yesterday though:
-My first stop of the morning was to the best coffee shop in Nashville: Créma (It IS the best - argument is futile). The first thing that happened was Rachel, Créma's co-owner w/ her husband, greeted me by my name. This isn't abnormal - I'd consider she & Ben friends of mine.
-My second stop of the morning was my favorite bank in all Nashville...the USBank on Fessler's Lane...home of the sweetest bank teller women/ladies/girls you'll ever meet. It happened again. I was greeted by my first name. I still didn't think much of it, but it made me smile just the same.
-My third stop of the morning was Kroger, and wouldn't you know, it happened a third time at the self-checkout of all places. I do frequent Kroger, and almost always go through self-checkout, so I've had quite a few conversations with the woman there as well.
-Later in the day, I went to take care of a few things for a church in Green Hills, and was kindly and personally welcomed by the church staff as I always am...once again by my name.

Dale Carnegie, author of "How to Win Friends & Influence People" once said this:
"If you want to win friends, make it a point to remember them. If you remember my name, you pay me a subtle compliment; you indicate that I have made an impression on you. Remember my name and you add to my feeling of importance."

So simple and true, and so easily forgotten. (This is a fantastic book if you ever get the chance to read it. I read it in 8th grade and it changed the way I think about relationships entirely).

After work yesterday, I found a package on my back porch - I never get packages unless I order them from Amazon. I was excited to see that it came from my cousins the Kimberlys who live close to Cleveland, OH. My cousin Mary attended Vanderbilt University here in Nashville last year, and it afforded me an opportunity to spend some (non family reunion) time with these only-slightly-less-immediate family members - an opportunity for which I'm quite thankful.

Naturally, like any grown-up, I dropped everything and tore into the box only to find another package wrapped in Christmas paper with a note from my cousin Hannah, the "baby" of the Kimberly family. Now Hannah & I have had a special relationship since the beginning. I distinctly remember being her own personal jungle gym at a family reunion maybe 8-10 years ago...I'm a little over 12 years older than she is. After not having seen her for some time, I was shocked to see her this summer, a blossoming teen with every ounce of sassy sarcasm that goes with teen-hood. Well, don't get to be her jungle gym anymore, but now she makes me laugh with the wit that only high schoolers are capable of.

After I read the note a few times, I carefully took the paper off and found a whole box full of brownies. And they weren't just brownies, but FUDGY chocolate brownies with powdered sugar on top. Oh man...those won't last a minute in this house. Isn't it funny how something so simple as brownies, if sent to the right person, can mean so VERY much?

Anyway, after a great run with my Wednesday night running group and some dinner w/ good friends at Calypso Cafe, I headed home and found the day's retrospect an absolute joy.

Nightmare about Mary Tyler Moore?!?

2009-01-08T05:50:00.000-08:00

I have a very vivid imagination. Last night I had a nightmare. The two for me are not a good combination. My nightmares always involve something supernaturally evil. Bad dreams without that particular element are basically just “bad,” or rather “negative” dreams. I think it’s similar to the way I view life. For example:

In my dreams, I’m not really afraid of mortal enemies with guns, swords or any other weapons. I merely play my part whether that’s soldier, citizen, general, protector or hero – win or lose. I usually only ever fear for the lives of others and it’s not so much that I have disregard for mine, but maybe I feel invincible?

When it comes to supernatural evil, on the other hand, the mood is different and I’m terrified. It’s totally the same in real life. If I were at gunpoint, I’m pretty sure I’d constantly be thinking of a way to disarm my assailant. Were I to come in contact with a ghost, I think I’d have to search DEEP to find courage.

It seems I have a fear of things I can’t go toe-to-toe with and have a fair fight.

What I remember of my dream last night was this: I was in a facility like a nursing home, and though others were present, the only other characters I can remember were Mary Tyler Moore (MTM) who was oldish and cenile, and a vampire/werewolf hybrid of sorts…all black and young. MTM was a fox when she had her own TV show back in the 70’s, but she was no such thing in my dream. The vampire seemed to be young and on the brink of death. Deep down, I knew I needed to kill it, and MTM was trying to convince me that she agreed. I was about to strike the deathblow when MTM came at me with a letter opener and the last thing I remember was fighting with the crazed MTM and trying to wrest the letter opener from her grip. She reminded me a little of Renfield from the book “Dracula” by Bram Stoker. (sidebar: "Dracula" is simply spectacular...read it if you can). It was then that I awoke.

I woke in a sweat, and of course, I felt the need to use the bathroom. I was groggy, still a bit out of sorts from MTM trying to kill me with a letter opener, not to mention worried that I might run into that vampire creature, so I was in no hurry to leave the safety of my covers. Totally ridiculous, and had the lights been on, it would have been a different story.

When I find myself in fear my mind goes right to the character Iorek Byrnison (the beloved Polar bear) from the book/movie the Golden Compass. In one instance, the main character, Lyra, asks him if he’s afraid, to which he replies, “No, and when I am, I will master my fear.”

In the second instance, he is on his way to rescue Lyra from a situation where he’s outnumbered 100’s to one by enemies who loathe him. His friend Lee Scoresby is trying to talk him out of it by trying to convince him that this is a silly suicide mission to which Iorek replies, “I know that I would be ashamed to show less courage than that child.”

What a great hero – seriously. He's hardcore to the bone...gotta love it. The Golden Compass is totally worth seeing if for nothing other than the bear fight. Upon hearing those words in my head, I stepped out of bed to face my foolish fears, and quickly proved that they were indeed foolish.

I don’t know why I fear the supernatural so. Ghost stories/movies literally freak me out enough that I can’t sleep. Never once in my lifetime have I ever seen a ghost or any sort of reasonable facsimile - I really have no reason to even believe they exist.

Perhaps I’ll dig more on that later…for now, I’m tired. Off to bed.

p.s. this post is actually from 1/7/09, but I couldn't get online to post it.

Bratter-Scained...

2009-01-06T19:44:00.000-08:00

Blah - that is my word for today. I couldn't seem to find any cohesive sort of focus today, so I don't see why I need to try and find one right now...here comes a disjointed entry.

Tack 1: This morning I had to stop by Home Depot to grab some shims so I could level a toilet. Upon entering, I saw that my friend/acquaintance, Blair, was working in the paint department. I was about to say hello when this happened:

A guy was about 15 feet in front of me and detoured into the paint section towards Blair. It looked like he was going to ask for some assistance, so I decided not to say hello just yet and started moving towards Roger & Steven in the "millwork" department to get my shims. Before passing out of view, for some reason, I decided to watch this guy...maybe I had an idea of what he was going to do. Instead of talking to Blair, he walked right behind her, "checked her out," and walked out of the section. I chuckled to myself a little bit as I went to find my shims. I mean, Blair's a pretty girl, and members of the opposite sex are supposed to be attracted to each other...it's in our nature. This dude was just so crassly uncouth it was totally amusing.

After my trip to millwork for my shims, I swung back by the paint department to recount the story to Blair, and we had a laugh over it. I realized after the fact (as my less-than-quick wit usually does) that it would have been pretty funny to shout "Hey Blair!" just as that dude was checking her out, but that's the kind of thing that bar fights are started over.

Tack 2: Today, 2 things happened/are happening in my kitchen that have NEVER happened in this kitchen in the 80-90 years my house has been standing. I used my new garbage disposal and am washing dishes in a dishwasher for the first time in Castle Stoner history.

I installed both of these on New Years Eve before I went out to ring in the new year with my friends. I actually didn't finish until about 10 pm on NYE, but it was totally worth the wait. Despite my catch-all kitchen table that is covered with items that only barely made into the house via the back door, my laundry hanging from curtain rods and other various make-shift "hooks", and my shop-vac which is currently the kitchen centerpiece, it's starting to feel like a functional kitchen. Exciting!

Tack 3: I wear flip-flops a lot. I've had my current pair for a few years now. They're the kind w/ the foam bottom and the rubber thong. I've worn these on the beach, around the house, to play frisbee, to church, to the grocery store, in Scotland, to soccer and flag football games...really, to most of the places I've been in the last few years. On Sunday, however, tragedy struck. The right thong on my right flip-flop, which has been clinging by a thread for at least a year now, finally broke.

My dilemma is this - it's very difficult to find a new pair of flip-flops in January, so I've been limping around in this pair for the last few days. I say limping because unless I drag my foot, the flip-flip will just start turning clockwise anywhere from 90-180 degrees. As you can imagine, this makes walking slightly cumbersome. Never fear though...my good buddy Hunter who works in a fantastic store called REI (you might have heard of it) tells me they've got some flip flops for sale. At least I know where to go when I finally get frustrated enough with these that I recognize my need for a new pair.

Phew - I hope my thought process is a little more controlled tomorrow.

Rain Rain, it's OK. We can work some other day.

2009-01-05T17:13:00.000-08:00

The day has finally arrived. The holidays have officially passed and we have run out of excuses to put off getting back to work. Except...well...it was kind of rainy today. 8)

I really love rain. Sadly, my least favorite kind of rain is Winter rain - simply enough because during the Winter, rain should always be snow. Summer rain brings a nice reprieve from the heat, but ultimately leaves things muggy. Fall rain is frustrating because I'm usually trying to get as many motorcycle rides in as I can before it gets so cold that motorcycling becomes more pragmatic than enjoyable.

As you may have guessed, Spring rain is my favorite. Spring rain's main job is to breathe new life into the Earth, who has been starved for life since the last of Fall's beauty handed the baton off to Winter's icy grip. You can walk in the rain anytime, but it feels best in Spring. In Pennsylvania, where I grew up, Spring rain also washes away the dregs of the dirty and unsightly snow that somehow missed the memo about Winter being over.

I think I started appreciating the rain in high school when I came to this realization. Rain affects us all...no one is invulnerable. I may have first noticed this during track season. My competition all seemed to lose confidence as soon as the rain hit and this did naught but bolster mine. I won some great races by some pretty large margins thanks to the effects of the rain.

I'm not really involved in a lot of competition anymore - I mostly compete against myself - so the rain seems to have taken on a new role in my life. I'm not sure I can articulate this, but the rain has become a source of comfort now. It has a way of numbing the pain of loneliness. It has a way of saying, "take it easy, man - it'll be all right." It has a way of making a run feel less like obligated training and more like an adventure. I especially love how it has a way of washing away distorted expectations (both good & bad) that we have of all things, so that for just a moment we have an uninhibited glimpse of reality...I could go on.

I have an aluminum roof over the patio right outside my bedroom window. There are few things as soothing as falling asleep to the peaceful sound of a steady, gentle rain falling right outside your window. It sort of makes me feel like I can just keep exhaling all night without ever having to suffer even the slight inconvenience of inhaling.

And isn't there something about the rain that makes it seem like none of us should actually be at work, but rather at home, in our sweats, on the couch, with a significant other (or even just the dog or cat), maybe a candle or two burning, watching as many hours of our favorite DVD's as will fit before we drift off into that peaceful slumber only the rain can induce?

Perhaps you've taken a trip somewhere on a plane and left on a rainy day. You take off in an atmosphere of gloom. After a steep ascent of a few thousand feet, all of a sudden visibility from your window dwindles so much you can't even see the wing anymore, but maybe the intermittent blink of one of the lights on it. But then, just as you're about to lose interest in looking out the window because you can't actually see anything, something glorious happens. In the blink of an eye, the plane bursts through the cloud cover and you see the sun smiling down on its friends the rain clouds. We get myopic so quickly during bouts of rain that we forget the rain is good, and the sun is right behind the clouds perfectly content with sharing the sky's center stage.

*sigh* (one of relaxation...not frustration) No point to this I guess, or moral to the story. Maybe you've found that we have something in common, or maybe better yet, you get to see the brighter side of the rain.

Now, back to work for REAL...although, they're calling for more rain tomorrow. 8)

The HandyGraham vs. Charlie Brown

2009-01-04T09:39:00.000-08:00

Well well well, it's been some time now...between the hubbub of the hectic holidays and a concise season of sinister stomach sickness, I'm officially back in the game here.

After being sick for the majority of what many who aren't self-employed so affectionately call winter break, I daresay, I wasn't thrilled per se about working on Friday. But, a combination of not having been able to work for some time, and the fact that I am fond of my clientele convinced me otherwise. It quickly turned into one of those days, however, when the weather is beautiful everywhere except the 5-foot diameter circle that surrounds you, in which it does nothing but rain all day. I've heard from a quite a few people lately that Charlie Brown is a very depressing guy...the reason is that he always has days like the one I'm about to describe.

The issue was this: from the electric breaker box, there were two electrical circuit runs that were not run with heavy enough wire to meet code standards.

One run had an easy solution which involved no more than switching out a 20amp breaker for a 15amp breaker to allow less current through the circuit - a 10 minute operation at most.

The second run was not so simple. It was actually a short run in the same room, but I'd already ruled out the possibility of going through the attic. Upon assessing the crawl space, the clouds darkened slightly as I realized that even a mouse would have trouble getting into the space where I needed to go. I was left with no other option but cutting into drywall - STRIKE 1

So I picked up supplies at Home Depot, then got to work. Everything was going great...drywall came out in one piece, I found a clear path from the breaker box to the outlet, etc. After drilling holes through the studs I found that the friction from my drill had pushed through the wire insulation and exposed copper on a BIG wire - NOT GOOD. Sadly, even the most careful of us even make mistakes...how embarrassing...not to mention I'm lucky I didn't fry myself.

I called Dad to brainstorm and we ruled out all the simple solutions leaving me with no other option than to replace the damaged section with more THICK wire. After waiting in a completely non-moving line for far too long at Burger King, and reading the disgruntled faces of those waiting in line in front of me, I decided to skip lunch (which is heart-breaking if you know how much I like to eat). In lunch's stead, I decided to go to Home Depot to get replacement pieces I'd need to repair my blunder - and they weren't cheap.

I headed back to start my 2.5 hour unpaid, and far more frustrating detour to fix what didn't originally need fixing in the first place. After fighting tooth and nail (quite literally) with those belligerently non-pliable wires, I was finally able to get back to my original project around about 4 in the afternoon. STRIKE 2 (& 3 if you count missing lunch...I know I do).

Finally back on track, I had no more difficult hurdles to clear - I was back on the clock and running like clockwork. I finished up, put the wall back together, and tested all the wiring which responded with perfect results. After cleaning up my tools, my client was kind enough to let me borrow his shop-vac (as I'd brilliantly left mine at home). I bent over and vacuumed up all the mess I'd made, but was much dismayed when I turned around. Apparently something was not secured properly on the vacuum and I'd just filled the back half of the house with a cloud of drywall dust. STEEEE-RIIIIKE 3 (or 4)!!! You're outta there. I'd quite literally inflicted others with the same dark cloud I'd been in all day.

Ugh...

To put the icing on the cake, the day was January 2 and it was like 65 outside and sunny. Perfect motorcycle weather and I missed all of it.

Well, I apologized profusely, and my clients were more than gracious. I'm so thankful that they'd already seen my normal, non-rain cloud work and knew this isn't the norm. I still left feeling totally defeated though.

I was hesitant to blog about this, and if my daily protocol were typically riddled with such disaster, I don't think I would have. But this is me - what you see is what you get. If you're perfect, by all means, feel free to throw stones.

So what's to be learned from all of this?

-No matter how hard we try, we all still make mistakes. A true test of a man is how he handles his mistakes. I've learned to own my mistakes and am constantly learning to handle them with integrity and dignity. It's also important to learn not to make the mistake again.

-Hurdles look like hurdles at first glance, but upon closer analysis, we find they're actually character-building stepping stones. When I'm working, and nobody can see me, I like to pretend I'm being video-taped to remind me to work hard and behave respectably no matter who's watching. That means keeping a cool head when things go wrong.

-Accursed days like this one should remind us to stop and appreciate the good days. How many good days have I had where everything goes as it should? How many times do I ever stop to be thankful for those?

-Drill chucks are more abrasive than you might think...keep them away from wires.

-Some days just suck, but EVERYBODY has those days...not just me.

-We can ALWAYS be learning. ALWAYS.

I'm glad to say that the day had a happy ending. I had the pleasure of grilling out in the company of good friends and was blessed with a great many reasons to smile despite my preceding disaster of a day. The power of positive thinking cannot rest on one's shoulders alone...in good company, it manifests and sustains itself.

I just wish I could share my friends with Charlie Brown for a couple days, or maybe donate one of my many good days to him. Lord knows he could use it.

not so productive Monday....or was it?

2008-12-29T21:27:00.000-08:00

I was a little frustrated this morning. I went to my morning appointment, and after an assessment, decided to reschedule on account of still not feeling so great. On Sunday night, I was so excited not to feel like total garbage, that I went to get some tacos, rice & beans...perhaps slightly overzealous on my part.

By 10 this morning, I was already in danger of wasting my day...something I don't like to do. I decided to go home and try to get some sleep in hopes it would make me feel better - and it did.

Mom and Dad are still in town for Christmas and are coming up to spend time with me tomorrow...Dad's actually going to assist young Handygraham with installing a dishwasher, and perhaps a garbage disposal as well, depending on time and the Handygraham's wallet. That being said, some things needed to be done in preparation.

It was of dire importance that I fix my record player so we could listen to some killer vinyl while we delve into the wonderful word of sub-sink plumbing. After taking it apart and almost breaking it to find where that "blasted hum" was coming from, I managed to figure out that it was actually coming from a loose connection on the cartridge (needle). Well, at least I had fun taking it apart...putting it back together is still lame though. I can't tell you how excited I am to listen to Crosby, Stills & Nash, Steely Dan, and Yes on vinyl again.

I'll be needing to run electricity to both the dishwasher & the garbage disposal. I daresay I was slightly jealous of the astoundingly immaculate organization I found in the electric box at my morning appointment - It was so beautifully-ordered, it was almost poetic. Mine is a bit more intimidating and perhaps slightly less orderly, as you'll see from the picture, and for the record, this is not my work.

In the interest of efficiency & long-term planning, I decided I'd trace out every circuit in the whole house. So, I turned on every light, radio, TV, etc. in the house and went for it. After about an hour or so of running up and down the stairs writing down what turned off at every breaker switch, I'm happy to say that I've got it allllll figured out.

I decided I'd better eat earlier tonight, so I headed off to Burger King - I know, but it just sounded sooo good. I met with my friend Jamie Wilson there who was very much responsible for me winning Nashville's #1 Handyman award. Jamie manages a website called hearitfirst.com.

Now, I've been spending a lot of time in East Nashville lately, and East Nashville has a very well-defined, quirky and fun community - something I covet. "The South Nashville Community needs their own sort of definition," I've been telling myself. "Why doesn't somebody make that happen?" Well, I'm going to.
BTW - if you live south of the Zoo, you live South OF Nashville...not in South Nashville. Check out the map - it doesn't lie. Get your own name. 8)

Seeing as Jamie's already proven her metal in spades with regards to this area of expertise, she was the first to come to mind for recruitment...especially since she lives in the "South Nashville Community" as well. So, tonight we started a group called "South Nashville Progressive" and it's gonna be AWESOME!!! If you live or work in the map, come join us on facebook! Maybe I'll run for mayor next election, or something.

Hmmm...I guess the day wasn't a wash after all.

Sick for Christmas...

2008-12-27T15:39:00.000-08:00

A few blogs back I mentioned that I'd like to hear more of "the unadulterated thoughts of my heart." One of the best ways to hear/view these is to be in a place of helplessness...being sick is a REALLY good testing ground for this sort of analysis.

I don't get sick very often...never really have...I ususally attribute that to the fact that I'm constantly on the move. When I do get sick, however, I REALLY get sick...sort of like payback for not letting the little germies in earlier. Like any rational human being, I take getting sick as a personal attack on my health.

For contrast sake (and maybe just a little bit of bragging rights) let me offer this. Earlier this year, I broke my first bone that wasn't on my hand or foot...guess I was getting a bit too big for my breeches. I cracked/broke my rib playing flag football. The bragging rights come from staying in the game with my busted rib & catching the game-winning touchdown...c'mon...you'd have mentioned it too. 8) You know what though, I don't regret any second of that or the next 2 months of recovery...I'd totally do it again. Why? No pain, no gain.

So what's the contrast?

During that football game, I went toe-to-toe with my limitations & lost. With being sick this week, no such fight took place. The cowardly germs snuck in like a thief in the night when none of us were paying attention. I didn't even get to roll the dice or anything. I can't tell you how angry that makes me...I mean c'mon out & fight me like men you little freaking pansies...AAAAAHHHH!!!!! Sorry.

I spent three hours of Christmas morning literally writhing on the floor in pain, which is sort of customary when I get bugs like this...I guess my body's really succeptible to these kinds of aches. I just can't seem to get comforatble, so I obviously can't sleep either. Honestly, I'd take the worst of my cracked rib over the least of that achey rubbish. I think that's what makes me so angry about these bugs being so cowardly.

My sister & nephew spent the night vomiting. I refused. If I'm going to ralph, I'm going to ralph on my own time...and I did. I waited till I was good and ready and showed that bug that it can't run my life. I locked the door to the bathroom so that my brief moment of weakness wouldn't inspire weakness for anybody else.

I think being sick made me a little more emotional than usual. I'm not a cryer. I don't actually remember the last time I cried. I teared-up (not cried, mind you) 3 times on Christmas though.
Time #1: During the Muppets Christmas Carol. Something about the classic Dickens tale really got me this time...particularly the part where Scrooge turns his life around and realizes the value of friends.
Time #2: During my 3 hours of writhing. I was so angry that I couldn't do anything about my situation - these would have been tears of frustration.
Time #3: When I'd finally gotten home, I had the pleasure of receiving an email about Copper. I was over-joyed to hear that he's doing REALLY well in his new home setting. That was great news to hear at the end of a rough day.

Well, that ought to make for some fun psycho-analysis, which I'm too worn out to do right now. Ideas anybody?!?

Miller Time, Baby!!! My true calling?!?

2008-12-23T07:05:00.000-08:00

When I was youngling (not to be confused with Yuengling), I had a slew of nicknames. Quite literally so many that it was almost weird for my parents to actually call me Graham...in fact, that still feels a bit awkward. I'll save digging into that for another blog, and maybe a trip to counseling. One of the names I'm most proud of, however, is: "Miller Time - The Original Party Guy," which was actually one of my first nicknames...like pre-speech.

Now you may think it odd giving one's son a nickname born out of a marketing campaign for a beer company (and there may be sides of this story I don't know) but it may actually be the most appropriate nickname of all of them. The story I was told is that I was dubbed "Miller Time" because I was always smiling, laughing, and maybe just a little bit crazy when two or more were gathered. Let's do a quick case study:

Take a look at some of these pictures. Ok, you're probably thinking "nice work showing off the cute pictures of you as a kid, 'Rico Suave.'" Don't get me wrong...I'm devilishly cute in ALL my little kid pictures. However, I'd like you to look a little more closely at the smiles in these pictures. If you've read some of my other blogs, you may have gathered that I place HUGE amount of value on sincerity. The smiles in these pictures are smiles of joy/elation/jubilation/etc. Now, you can fake happy, but you can't fake joy. Do you see my point?

I'm especially glad and maybe a bit relieved to say that smile's been on my face a lot lately - more than it's been in years. There are a lot of variables that play into that: holidays, parties, umm - Christmas parties, visits home... But once again, I'm going to attribute it mostly to spending so much time in the good company of good friends.

All that to say that "The Original Party Guy" is BACK! A few weeks back, we were having a tacky Christmas sweater party at my buddies' house. This is the third party of theirs I've been to in 2 months that eventually turned into a dance party (which has been attributed to my doing by more than one person now). I was DJing this one until our good friends the police showed up...oops. 8) It was just a little too late to be cranking everything up to "11" I guess. The best part about it was that it was just good clean fun. Nobody was "hooking up." Nobody was driving home drunk. No fights or animosity. It was just a bunch of people hanging out and enjoying each others' presence. So, my face wasn't the only one with the sloppy grin on it. Good times indeed.

Last night I joined a group of people and we helped Hooten Annie Parsons move to her new place of residence. I'm pretty sure I set a new record for how much can be fit in the back of an S10 pick up truck. We celebrated with the staple moving meal (pizza and beer) and hung out just a little too late for a Monday night...and you know what? It was GREAT!

It's times like this when I realize that no matter how much stuff sucks, there are reasons to be joyful...and if you can't think of any, I might suggest starting here: Perhaps it's time to reconnect with old friends, enjoy present friends and maybe even discover new friends.

Ahhh Christmas!

A perfect Saturday

2008-12-21T20:11:00.000-08:00

As you may have gathered, I had a FANTASTIC Saturday.

The day had finally come. I'd found a home for Copper, my stray of the month, and they were coming to pick him up at 8 am. If you've read "the copper-topper," then you know that only a small part of me was looking forward to this moment, while rest of me was worried about seeing him go. It was short and sweet like pulling off a Band-aid, and before I knew it, he was gone. I went back to my Saturday morning cartoons (my normal Saturday morning activity) and prepared to move on. I proceeded to put my shoes on for the first time in a month without being pestered somebody "wookin' pa nub."

As Providence would have it, right as I was about to start feeling the void, it was time for me to hustle out the door to meet my Saturday morning running club. Running club is comprised of some of my newest friends, who are quickly becoming some of my favorite people in Nashville. We usually go run a few miles, then spend the rest of the morning having a nice family breakfast.

It was a nice run...good pace, sunny and not too cold. I spent much of breakfast listening to Steely Dan (a treat anytime, but it's perfect Saturday music) and discussing it with Paul, who is about 4 years my junior, a fine musician himself, and comes from central PA like me. To round things out nicely, my friend Melissa played us an excerpt from a Rachmaninoff piece on the piano. There are few things as beautiful as hearing something like that in person. I was slightly disappointed when she was too embarrassed/modest to go on, but was quite thankful for what I'd heard.

After running club, I went home and made a playlist on pandora using "through the fire & flames" by dragon force so that I would be able to clean my house with super-human capacity. It worked. My afternoon task was to prepare my house for a Christmas Movie Marathon that evening.

The movie marathon was comprised of many friends who I simply love being around. They helped me put up my tree, decorate it, and decorate my house as well. People were doing last-minute present wrapping on the floor, making presents in the kitchen, backing cookies in my oven, playing carols on my piano, and surrounding me with smiles. It was nothing special - we just watched movies and ordered some pizza - but it was special.

To put the cherry on top, we all jumped in cars and headed out to Opryland Hotel to see the Christmas lights...it's an annual Nashville tradition. I don't think I've missed a year since I moved here almost 10 years ago. I won't even try to describe it...just check it out if you haven't already.

It was certainly an action-packed Saturday, but the best part was spending it around good friends. That sounds so cliché, I know, but it really is so true.

To add "awesome" to "already awesome," my day was filled with so many proactive, healthy, energizing people/activities that I didn't even have a chance to dwell on missing Copper. Now he's in a happy new home playing with his new puppy brother, and I can enjoy the peace of having that weigh pleasantly on my conscience.

Anyway, be on the lookout for a blog coming soon on the importance of surrounding yourself with good friends and keeping it like that.

Just a little more than 3 days till Christmas!!!

ok...ladies, I guess.

2008-12-18T19:17:00.000-08:00

You know, I'm sitting here right now, and honestly, I've got ladies on the brain. I'm reluctant to even touch this subject for SO many reasons. I was at least hoping to make it a month into this blogging thing before I even mentioned ladies, but I can't seem to redirect my thoughts this evening. I promise not to make this a habit.

A few years back, in my dark cubicle, I was told something very scary by a good friend of mine. She said, "Graham, girls ALWAYS know what they're doing." My initial reaction was, "well that simply doesn't compute at all within the 'sugar, spice & everything nice' parameters." Now, however, I do believe her. Growing up, I thought it was only the cruel gents who manipulated the ladies, and clearly it seems two can play at this game. (I'm kind of glad ladies can fight back, but sad they should have reason to)

I'm not sure I have a point here other than to say that I think I'm scared of ladies. For so long I believed they could do no wrong, and now I don't. There is a little piece of my heart that still holds on to the idea of a lady I don't have to fear because she's not playing me like a fiddle...it's but a glimpse of Heaven I keep in a place only God can get to.

Ladies, please don't hear me wrong...you're not the enemy. We are not as we were meant to be - men and women alike. I've studied the female species for a long time and have heard enough "what I want in a man" lists to concoct a guy most women could swoon over. The thing is...no matter how I conduct myself on the outside, I'm not that guy...not at all...and I never will be. Sadly, like all men with such knowledge, I still (foolishly) try to be that guy at times, I guess when I'm feeling insecure about myself. I've often wondered who I'd be if I hadn't ever been told anything of what women "want to hear," or had never had the expectations of others voiced to me. I bet I'd screw a lot more stuff up than I do now, but at least I'd be genuine. I also bet I'd like that Graham a lot better than the one I know.

I was talking to my friend Andy the other day about my fear of breaking up/hurting somebody, and I blurted this out in frustration: "I don't want to have the right words for that situation." I smiled immediately after saying this. It's one of the most beautiful things I've said in years!!! Why? Because my heart actually said it before my brain could edit it. This came from the sincere/childlike/innocent part of my heart that I've been afraid didn't even exist anymore. Quite literally, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to speak directly and sincerely from the heart. It seems my brain has put a filter on everything my heart wants to say so as to protect me from vulnerability - the cost of which FAR outweighs the benefits...I assure you.

Well, it seems I've got a new mission. I want to hear more of the unadulterated thoughts of my heart. So, watch out gang, it's time for some shooting from the hip.

Thanks for tolerating some girl thoughts. I know I'm not spot on...life is a learning process after all. Something different tomorrow, I promise...Freestyle Friday?!?

they're more like guidelines really

2008-12-17T20:31:00.000-08:00

I came to the conclusion this morning that I'm a natural rule-breaker, but not the "Mommy-told-me-not-to" type that you're probably picturing when I say that. I think it's more complex. Let's see if I can even figure it out.

So what sparked this revelation? This morning, I knowingly broke grocery shopping rule #1: Don't go grocery shopping when you're hungry. I actually love breaking this rule...LOVE IT. Going to the grocery store hungry is like going to a restaurant where you can literally order almost ANYthing you might be craving. I want pizza - I get pizza. I want seafood - I get seafood. I want yogurt & pickles...you get the point. Granted, you have to put a little more effort into preparation, but it's cheaper in the long run, or if you count the cost of time, I guess it's a wash.

Sidebar: While I was at Kroger this morning, at 8am mind you, I decided I might as well grab lunch while I replenished the cereal/milk stash (not to be confused w/ a "milk stache"), so I bought some red leaf lettuce & salad dressing. All of a sudden, I found myself desperately craving a salad for breakfast. If I weren't trying to be kind to my stomach with some sort of regular eating, I would totally have gone for it. Another day, perhaps. When I worked at the record company, I remember getting cravings for hot dogs at like 9 in the morning at least once a week...weird.

Anyway, back to the rules. I guess we'll think of it as "the rules don't apply to me" rather than "rule-breaking." Rule-breakers are merely reacting to the rules, and are therefore bound by them. Those to whom the rules don't apply are marching to their own drum/conscience so to speak - a more out-of-the-box approach.

For example, I consistenly drive 5 mph over the speed limit. I used to drive a lot faster not because I wanted to break the rules (ok, maybe a few times), but because I knew I was in control of my vehicle. Famous last words, right? Seriously though, one of the reasons I've slowed down is that I've realized that my reaction time is not what it was when I was in high school. Call me crazy, but I think I may have been a better driver then.

Other examples: I don't mind using clichés if I really mean them. I don't mind a low-voltage electric shock every once in a while. There are some Britney Spears songs I really do like. Why not go to the store in pajama pants?

Now I'm asking myself: What gives me the right? I guess nothing really. I think it's very important, however, to proceed w/ wisdom, discernment, and moderation. We know what's right and wrong deep in our hearts. I know full well I shouldn't speed if it endangers somebody's life. I know I shouldn't try and see how many Rock Star drinks I can put down in an hour. On the other hand, it seems silly to deprive myself of a song that I enjoy just because I know that musically it sucks. I mean, what would we do without B movies?

Well, I could go into the safeguards that go into healthy rule-breaking, but I think I'll just stop here for the night. 8)

the copper-topper

2008-12-16T16:54:00.000-08:00

About a month ago, I woke up and got ready to go about my business as usual. I had places to go, people to see, and things to do. I went out to my truck to load a few things into the front seat that I'd be needing that day, and when I turned back around, there was happy little red dog who had been sleeping by the fence behind my truck. He sauntered over to me with a look that said something to the effect of, "Oh, you're up. So, what's a guy gotta do to get some food around this place anyway?"

Something tells me there's a conspiracy in the dog world. I have a feeling that Copper (umm, yeah not only did I take him in, but I named him as well...yeah, I know.) As I was saying...I have a feeling that Copper talked to the dogs in my neighborhood who all told him to look for the house with the little white pick-up truck because the dude who lives there's a total sucker.

Of course after a short internal debate (which I lost) I became a foster puppy parent again (yes, again). As you may have gathered, after a month of searching, I don't think I'll be finding Copper's original home, so I'm on to finding him a new home. I'm happy to say that I've got a handful of candidates who would provide a good home for him, but I'm presented w/ a new predicament...letting go.

As history has taught me not to name something you don't intend to keep, I fought the battle long and hard. I called him ridiculous things like widow-maker, death-dealer, junkyard, etc. in hopes of keeping our friendship casual. But, those of you who've trained dogs before know that if they don't have consistency (including their name) you can't teach them anything, so I dubbed him Copper for his color, but also because he was sleeping on a pile of old wire when I found him.

Since moving in, Copper has put a hole or two in my couch, chewed up a pair of work shoes, a hat I've had since college, countless cardboard boxes, his own water/food dishes, and he almost worked his way into some weed killer the other day. It's certainly my fault for not being able to spend more time with him...he's only acting out to get my attention. Even after all that, however, it still is nice to see him when I get home...unless he goes after my motorcycle seat...that's a deal-breaker.

Well, I'm pretty sure Copper will be in a new home by the end of this week. I know full well I can't keep him because I can't give him the attention he deserves - it's the same reason I had to give my dog Petey away earlier this year.

Alas, sometimes it really is hard to do what you know to be right.

Knitting with Ultra Magnus

2008-12-15T17:47:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I had dinner w/ my good friend Maggie, who I also affectionately call "Ultra Magnus." For those of you who are a little less nerdy than myself, Ultra Magnus was Optimus Prime's successor in the 1987 animated classic (yes, classic) movie "Transformers: The Movie." With Maggie's unassuming, yet oh-so-intimidating 4'10" frame, I decided she deserved a more powerful-sounding name - hence, Ultra Magnus. But, I digress.

Maggie & I met in 2003 while we were working at Borders in Brentwood, TN. It was a fun gig for a while, but the majority of us found ourselves slightly bored after a little while. After all, you can only read so many books.

One day, however, one of the girls showed up with knitting needles. All of a sudden, we found ourselves hooked. I know, it's not very manly, but you have to admit it's pretty cool to start out w/ a useless ball of yarn and some needles that eventually turn into a pair of gloves, a scarf, a hat. Naturally, my "take-everything-apart-to-see-how-it-works" brain simply had to know. Besides, I couldn't be outdone by the girls. I found it quite amusing walking in one of those days with a hat I'd made. One of the girls asked me what pattern I used. I smiled at her and simply said, "Pattern? Why, whatever do you mean?" To make things more exciting, I made my knitting needles out of chop sticks with the help of a pencil sharpener & some sand paper...much cheaper than what you'd get at the store, and just as good.

It really is quite fascinating. I obsessed over it till I could master the fundamentals...sort of a habit of mine. A few of the others took things quite a bit further, and Maggie, who's one of my more artistic friends, is one of them. But don't take my word for it.

When I worked at the record company, I was part of a group who made scarves for orphans in Muldova. One day, I found some of my work on display at the front desk...talk about a blow to your street cred. A few years back, I made a santa hat & matching scarf. One time, my cousin forgot his hat, so in the two-hour trip to the ski slopes, I whipped one up for him.
As you can imagine, I've taken a bit of heat over the years for this short-lived addiction. Eventually, I started telling people that I learned to knit during anger management classes while I was in the clink.

While there is a nice rhythm to knit-knit-pearl, I think I'll stick with the whrrrr of my table saw, the pop of my nail gun, and the smell of fresh-cut wood.

The Adventure Begins...

2008-12-15T08:57:00.000-08:00

Good Peoples of the world,

My name is Graham Stoner, and you have just stumbled upon the Adventures of HandyGraham!

That's right - the adventure begins here.

In May of 2007, I left my comfy (though not really fulfilling) job at a record company to look life in the eye and say, "whatta you got fo me, sucka?!?" Life responded in kind to be sure. After all kinds of fun "finding myself" activities, I eventually ended up starting my own handyman company.

You may be thinking, "wow Graham...WAY exciting," as you roll your eyes, and I wouldn't blame you. However, handygraham has taken me into all kinds of places I'd never have found otherwise: Climbing on rooftops, hanging out of trees by climbing harnesses & makeshift safety rope systems, finding black widows where I was right about to put my hand, running my thumb over w/ a belt sander, fire...oh, the fire stories, winning Nashville's #1 handyman award in the 2008 "Nashville Scene Readers' Poll," learning new home improvement tricks, duct tape & drywall screws, etc. etc. I also have some amazing clientele who I will talk about on here as long as they're cool w/ it.

So, I'm going to begin chronicling this, if for no other reason that I can look back and be thankful for what has transpired in my life. Another reason is this...if I find myself running out of fun things to blog about, it's my reminder to take things to the next level.

Buckle in - Here we go...