Crunchy Thoughts

The clothes are in the washer, Renton has been bathed and is now sulking in a corner . . . it must be Thursday! Thursdays have become chore days around here recently since two out of three Fridays I’m bookin’ it to Auburn or Alabaster for the weekend. I’d rather get stuff done now so I don’t come home late on Sunday and think, ‘Oh my God, I’ve no clean clothes to wear! And what is that funky smell coming from the garbage?!” I speak from experience here.

Today was a rather amusing day. Mid-morning I got to visit a residential construction site in one of the nicer neighborhoods in town. The first story framing was up along with the floor for the second level, which we were able to walk upon. I felt like King of the Mountain; we were very high up and had a wide view. I tell ya, it’s not every job that you get the chance to walk to the edge of a level three stories up, look over, and have your stomach do a few gymnastic moves just to remind you that, yes, you will go ‘splat!’ if you fall off. It’ll wake you up in the morning, just like a double-shot of espresso.

Ooooh, I need coffee now.

Later on that day, I was surprised by my co-workers, who threw a surprise birthday lunch for me, complete with homemade barbecue and cake! It was tremendously cool for them to do that for me; I didn’t even think they knew my birthday was coming up. I feel so loved.

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I’ve only been surprised for my birthday once before; for my 19th back in college. Wow, that’s been almost five years now — I feel so old. It was near the end of my freshmen year when Jennifer Frank was my roommate and I was dating that other guy, M-something. I was going to M-something’s apartment for dinner that night and Jennifer was going to watch movies w/ some sax buddies, but when we get to M-something’s place and he opens the door, all these people jump out and yell, “Surprise!”

I truly wish I had seen the look on my face then. No one had ever done anything like that for me before. Sure, I’d had birthday parties and get-togethers, but no one had ever gone to so much trouble before. All the friends that I had made over that first year in school were there, mostly a mix of band and Prattville people. We had an absolute blast that night; dinner and movies for everybody; lots of fun.

And yeah, later on that month M-something and I broke up, and a year later Jennifer and I could barely stand each other, but I certainly don’t regret any of my friendships with them all. How could I? M-something was the first guy that liked me more than a friend-like; the first guy I kissed (not counting that guy in kindergarten), and Jennifer was the best girl friend outside my family that I ever had. After that first year, though, we all changed, as teenagers are wont to do.

It sorta sucks that we all could not stay the same, but oh well, shit happens, especially in college. Thankfully, most of my memories are of the ‘good shit’ kind.

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Stupid Foodland strikes again; they ruined my salad! I ran by there earlier today to pick up some vittles and they had their fresh chef salads out, which I had tried once before and was pleasantly satisfied. On today’s batch, the composition was much shoddier. First, they forgot my cheese, that good, squishier white cheese that melts in your mouth like M&M’s, just cheesier. Second, they used the nasty, cheap onions that leave a horrendous aftertaste in your mouth no matter how many gallons of Listerine you swish with later on. Last time they had the little round, green onion things which are actually pretty good. On this go they had used the decidedly stinkier, purple onions, chopped so small that I couldn’t snag them all to be hoisted outta my salad. Third, and what really sucks, is I didn’t notice the absence of cheese and low quality onions until I got home and began gnoshing away.

What a barfy two bucks to waste; I could’ve gone to the Peking Gourmet and gotten some white rice and an egg roll instead.

Even Renton didn’t want any.

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On a happier note, I get to go to two parties this weekend, woohoo! First, on the first, is my sister’s wedding tea. Second, on the second, is my birthday, so let the cake-eating commence! But not too much cake, I wanna fit into all those dresses I get to wear over the coming two months.

My Lord, who’d've ever thought there’d be a day when Carrie would say, “Ooooh, not too much cake for me, I’m watching my figure; I wanna fit into all my girly dresses and be frilly!”

Not frilly, just older and a bit more sexier, or at least I try to be. The guy at J.C. Penney thought I was 16. That’s an eight year difference! (ratio = 1 : 1.5)

On my 18th birthday, the waiter at Olive Garden guessed that I was 13. (ratio = 1 : 1.38)

So, it seems that the older I get, the ratio of my age verses how old people think I am gets bigger. Every year adds 0.02 to the ratio. Therefore, at age 40, the ratio will be 1 : 1.98, and people will guess that I am almost 27. Oh, the gods are good.

Unless I have the despairingly bad luck of going prematurely grey. So far, so good, though.

Ohh, the fun with numbers, as long as it’s not a required practice. In algebra class, it’s much different.

Well, folks, I finally broke down and got a web domain and server space. I couldn’t do all that I wanted with freebie ad-encrusted web space, so I figured it was worth the eight bucks. Now I can bombard you with pictures, video, and crazy thoughts nonstop and ad-free! Long live the internet, and all that.

The new web site is at http://crunchythoughts.com. If you want, you can type in the ‘www,’ but it’s not necessary. It’s a work in progress, like most websites, so poke around and you might find new stuff every once in a while. The main thing on it right now are the image galleries that were actually quite easy to set up. That is most definitely a work in progress; I’m always getting new pictures.

That old Tripod site is still up, though I’ll probably get rid of it after a while. It’s pretty nasty. I’m keeping this blog here for right now as well, though later I just might move it. That would require a bit of an overhaul, but I’m sure I’ll do it eventually.

Anyhoo, visit and enjoy.

Lookie, lookie, I just made my first video edit extravaganza. Hope you like burping.

(give it a second to load, it’s about 12 MB . . . I’m working on that. That’s a whole lot better than the 154 MB that it was earlier, so ha.)

[EDIT: for those of you that saw the first one, this one is slightly different, and much better. Bit longer, too.]

Yesterday afternoon, with temperatures at a near-balmy 72 degrees, I was lamenting the end of my precious jacket weather. Nothing left for me but short sleeved shirts and sad times.

This afternoon, it was 39 degrees . . . and falling. Gotta love the spring yo-yo weather here in Alabama. I proudly donned my long coat as I left work, cold and happy. They’re even mentioning snow showers for tonight. Oh, it would be so lovely.

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I saw my parents and sister this afternoon; they were coming through Fort Payne on their way back from New York City and surrounding Yankee burgs. They brought me back my favorite present, too: rocks.

No, seriously. They brought me rocks, and I’m the happier for it. Rocks are another slight obsession of mine, along with books, jackets, and people named Hans . . . . . Anyway, I got a rock from Central Park, two from Little Round Top, one from Seminary Ridge, and one other, but I’ve forgotten and I don’t want to get up to go look; I’d rather explain my laziness.

I need to figure out what to do with all my rocks, especially the ones from neat places. I got a bunch from Europe when I went in 1999. I even have a piece of a brick from the hotel we stayed at in Florence. Ken pulled it out of the wall for me.

My most favorite rock from the Europe trip, though, is the one I pulled out of one of the foundations of an ancient Roman building. About the size of a finger, it was mixed with other bits of rock and stuff in a Roman cement that supported the weight of people like Cesar, Marcus Aurelius, and those lesser-famed Romans. For 2000 years it stayed there and watched the world go by, until I came along and picked it up that hot July day while our group rested in the shade, hearing about how a pagan temple still exists today because it was converted into a Christian church, thus saving it from destruction.

How cool is that rock? It sure beats any cheap naked Roman statuette that you could get at any kiosk in the city. Besides, I have a Roman God of a husband now that I can see at my leisure.

Yeah, baby.

I wonder what I should do with my menagerie of worldly rocks. My first thought is to get a nifty shadowbox-type thing and arrange them all specimen-like, with labels. That’s the scientist in me talking. The artist in me wonders if I should try something more elaborate, like carve the rocks into the shape of the place they came from and make a rocky map. But that sounds sorta hard. I’ll figure out something else.

Until then, I’ll stay on the lookout for more neat rocks, like that concave one I took from Little River Canyon even though that’s sorta not allowed. I’ll do something spectacular with them someday; maybe when I get a yard.

If you see a cool rock, bring it to me.

Well, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. The great state of Alabama now has an official state ‘spirit.’ ‘Spirit’ meaning ‘whiskey.’ Yes, that’s right, folks. The Alabama legislature overrode the governor’s veto this week to name Conecuh Ridge Fine Alabama Whiskey the official state spirit.

Pause for dumbfounded speechlessness.

Now let me get this straight. Alabama, which I’ve always known as a conservative state, is in effect endorsing an alcoholic beverage? And we’re not talking about some light beer here, this is hard liquor. A hard liquor product that was initially created by moonshiners, which last I checked was an illegal practice. Since I have been of voting age, my Alabama politicians have decided that lottery is immoral, higher taxes to pay for education is a waste of money, and liquor is an important, burning issue across the land.

Now, I’m not saying that liquor is all-evil and from the Devil. I do drink on occasion; not whiskey, though, but I’m getting off-track. No matter what one’s stand on alcohol is, doesn’t it seem rather odd to attach the name of the Alabama government to a commercial product? That’s the problem I’m having with the issue. One could also mention the potential for children to think, “Well, if the government says it’s good, I should go try some,” but we all hear the “Won’t somebody please think of the children!” mantra too much already. However, it does not bode well for what should be a non-biased institution.

Another amazing thing is the fact that the Senate used their power to overrule Governor Riley’s veto of the bill. Is having a state spirit that important? Did the legislature think that Riley was absolutely out of his gourd to think that some constituents might find this silly, uncalled for, or even offensive? Apparently not.

“I thought the resolution was harmless and humorous,” said Senator Pat Lindsey, who (sadly) is a Democrat. Harmless and humorous.

Harmless and humorous.

Then why was it an issue? The government’s objective is the collective welfare of the people. We do not pay them tax dollars to keep us amused, nor do we pay them to pass harmless little bills that are of no consequence. Isn’t there more important issues to handle? Don’t we have a budget to balance, bureaucratic loopholes to fix, or schools to fund? If not, then y’all quit convening and go home.

That will humor me.

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Ugg, all this soapbox preaching has worn me out. Anybody got a drink?

I am always incredibly amazed at how fast wonderful days skim by, and last week was no exception. In fact, the only slow part of last week was the Friday, Saturday, and Sunday before we all headed down to sunny Florida. Steven and I amused ourselves with repeated trips to Wal-Mart. I believe we set a new personal record for ourselves: four trips in three days. Quite scary, not to mention tortureous . . . except for the last trip when we went with our friends and I got a kooky straw hat.

The seven of us stayed at a wonderful beachhouse courtesy of Ande Like the Mint and her parents. I was extremely amused as I have always stayed at a condo for previous beachy trips. I’m afraid I’m ruined for life and will stay at beachhouses forevermore. This house was especially cool as there was an elevator installed. We mostly used it as an oversized dumb waiter for all our luggage. Below is Steven preparing to safeguard our loot for the long vertical trek.

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The house was across the street from the beach side (with the house itself located on the ‘bay side’), but the walk to the beach wasn’t bad at all as long as you were wearing shoes. I know this from experience. My feet took quite a beating on this trip, starting with my lack to lather the tops of my feet with suntan lotion. It was an interesting experience to walk around after that. Another morning, in my rush to get a picture of the sunrise, I walked out to the beach barefooted. The driveway to the house is defined by semi-crushed oyster shells, mind you. Walking back over that with ice-cold feet is a bit piercing. There also was an encounter with a rouge sand spur, of which I think there is still a little bit in my heel. Now I bet I could walk over hot coals or a bed of nails and not even flinch. Yeah.

I’m afraid to say that we all committed the terrible crime of trespassing while we were down there. The guy who has a house on beach side apparently does not want indentations of footprints to mar his sandy drive. We bit our thumb at him (who was out of town anyway) and walked on through. Eat our footprints.

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All the previous times I’ve vacationed at the beach, I did so with my immediate family. On this go I was quite amused by all the activities we did. Frisbees, flying kites, skimboarding, chasing after dolphins, all this was fascinating. All the pictures I took attest to this. If somebody moved, I snapped their picture. I was a triggerhappy Carrie with a new digital camera. I was probably the most annoying person on the trip in that respect, but I just couldn’t help myself. It was a great liberty to take picture after picture with no worries of film and development costs; knowing I could just run inside and scoot the picture over to the (rented) laptop and start anew. To be able to immediately look over my work to delete unfocused shots, check for under or overexposure, or just laugh until my sides hurt at the endearing goofiness of everyone . . . it’s just perfect. Ohhhh, the humor of it all.

And now to end this section with a totally inadequate picture of a game of frisbee.

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On the coldest day of the week (Wednesday) we all went into town to eat lunch and play putt-putt golf. I do enjoy the putt-putt, even though I suck horribly at it. I mostly amused myself by taking pictures of others. Here is Ande Like the Mint kicking ass with her kiddie putter.

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We went on quite a few beachwalks while we were down there. That was very refreshing; Lord knows I need the exercise. During these walks, I was surprised at all of the naturalness that was still around on the island. There were always at least a few dolphins just beyond the sand bar; there were sandpipers, seagulls (Mine?), and pelicans in land, sea, and air; and my Lord, there were so many seashells. A former marine biologist major’s heaven. I even saw a dead sea cucumber washed up on the beach. We found something new on every walk we embarked on.

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I mentioned earlier that I went out to get sunrise pictures, forgetting my shoes in the process. Remember? Well of course I had to include at least one of my hard-earned sunrise pictures. I got quite a few, of course, but this one amuses me because of the unknown individual with his hands in his pockets in the foreground. It was fascinating how fast the sun came up over the water and before you knew it, it was daytime and you were out of disk space. Click, click, click.

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I think that every trip needs that one specific moment that defines the entire experience. It is even better if this moment is captured in picture form. Even though not everyone that was there is in this picture, it still, I think, defines the whole week for everybody. It’s a fantastic picture, but goddamn it, Ken snapped it with my camera, not me.

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Skimboarding, though it looked amusing, was not something I was willing to try. I know I would have just fallen down and busted my ass on the hard, wet sand. So instead, I got pictures of other people doing exactly what I feared would happen.

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To a continue a tradition from last year, we created another Mer-Willis, except this time it was more gender-correct with Katie as the sandy creature. We were all rushing to create the sculpture and snap pictures before her boobs cracked.

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We laughed. We danced. We burned. We jumped for joy.

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Proof I was there. Proof that not only did I wear a swimsuit, it was of the bikini kind. Proof I probably shouldn’t. Proof that maybe in reality I don’t think I look that bad or else I would not feel the need to prove anything.

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The week went by incredibly fast, and before we knew it we were thinking, “we’re going back day after tomorrow.”

“Boogers upon heaps of boogers!” thought I. As we watched the clock seem to gain speed before our very eyes, Willis expresses his intense dissatisfaction.

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Before it seemed possible, we were to Saturday, the day before leaving. After a last hurrah at the beach and a scrumptious dinner with a parrot, we were inside eating the rest of the food, playing games, and avoiding the ardurous task of packing. Ken, Lisa, Steven and I sat down to a game of Scrabble. After Steven and I made the play that sealed the game for us, Ken and Lisa played this word.

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And then it was Sunday. Sunday on an island that barely sits in the Eastern Time Zone that has just switched to Daylight Savings Time. Us Central Time Zoners struggled endlessly with the concept. “When do you want to leave? Uhh, 9 am? Do you mean Central or Eastern time? Our time. Our time now, or our time in Central, or our time in yesterday’s Eastern, or the time that is Central now? No, no, our time.”

Though I don’t think we ever got it quite right, we ended up leaving at 9:30 Eastern, 8:30 Central. That’s in Daylight Savings Time for those of y’all who are still confused. And thus began my 12 hour journey across the great state of Alabama, with stops in Dothan, Auburn, and Birmingham until I reached Fort Payne with a sandy suitcase and a confused Renton wondering where his salmon went.

Sorry, Renton. Here in cold North Alabama all we serve is regular ol’ cat food.