Flashback Friday - Revisiting the Roads of Tulsa!

Larissa over at Larissa's Bookish Life holds a feature every Friday called Flashback Friday. The concept is simple. Go back into your blog's archives and unearth a nugget for folks to read today. It's great fun so if you have a blog, jump in by clicking the badge at the end of this post and join in the retro fun.

Our biennial trip to Oklahoma and other locals in the great Midwest is coming up next week.

Two years ago I'd just had hernia surgery a week before we left so I wasn't in the best of shape. The roads of Tulsa are legendary for their poor condition. Let me tell you, it is a reputation well deserved. The following is a letter I wrote to the Oklahoma Department of Transportation. Enjoy.


Dear Sir or Madam (Or Y'all...whatever you prefer),

I am a 34 year old man who is in your state currently visiting in-laws. Yes I know that sounds painful and I thank you in advance for your commiserative wince, but there is something giving me much greater discomfort than that. It is something I have had to deal with on a daily basis. And it inspires a question, which is the purpose for this letter. Can I ask you just what the hell is up with the roads in Tulsa?

No really.

Riding in a van on these roads is like trying to drive over a recently demolished building. It is the vehicular equivalent of the bumper card ride at an amusement park. Do car dealerships in Tulsa sell cars with cup holders? It is a wasted feature if they do. Even the staunchest of cup holders cannot prevent the major spillage that occurs from a drive through town.

In all fairness and in the spirit of full disclosure, I should tell you that I had hernia surgery a little more than two weeks ago, so every bump and jolt carries more of a punch than it would otherwise. But even taking that into account, there can be no possible defense for the poor condition of the roads here. I've seen three dimensional maps of the Adirondack Mountains that looked flatter than the surfaces of some of the Tulsa streets I have ridden on.

Example. Driving down one stretch of Highway 169 I decided to count pot holes. I believe I gave up after ten. The surfaces of the "streets" around here are so pock-marked and uneven they rival the surface of the moon. I witnessed great cracked lines in the asphalt concrete that were filled in with tar that looked like it had been applied by a preschool age child with a penchant for coloring outside the lines. It would not surprise me in the least bit if I were to learn that Tulsa sells more shock absorbers per capita than any other American city. What do you people spend your money on around here? It sure as hell can't be on road upkeep.

Is there some reason the roads are so bad? Do the people who live in Tulsa enjoy this type of headache inducing driving? Is there some public official taking all the money that is supposed to be funneled for road maintenance and blowing it all at the casinos I see signs for every place I seem to turn? Is it an Oklahoma thing? I was in Kansas a few days ago and those roads were in far better shape. What's the story ODOT?

The roads in my home state of Delaware are by no means perfect but at least I don't have to worry about losing teeth when I drive over them. It is my humble suggestion that someone get up off their over sized haunches and fix this problem. Driving to Claude's for a burger should not feel like a contact sport.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I have to go take two Percosets because my daughter wants me to drive her to Sonic.

Respectfully (kind of),

Brian H.


Editor's note: The author of this letter does not want to give the impression that visiting his in laws is a hell so deep there is no escape from it. Nothing could be further from the truth. The author wants to state unequivocally that his in laws are fine upstanding Americans and that he enjoys their company very much. The line in the letter above about visiting them being painful was put in simply for comedic effect. May he be eternally cursed to drive the roads of Tulsa if he is lying.

You can find the original post HERE.

Teaser Tuesday 2

Second week of Teaser Tuesday for me. Spent a lot of time revising and polishing a short for submission. I do believe it is almost ready. It currently sits in the capable hands of a few beta readers. Here is a glimpse...as always, comments are not only appreciated but they are hoped for, prayed for, and lit candles for. The glimpse picks up about 3/4 of the way through...


The wagon was led to a bare spot in the field. A small crowd of people surrounded a freshly filled hole in the ground, many watching my slow progression in their direction. My cart was brought to a halt. The dusty man, no longer dusty but clean and dressed in a dark suit, his black hair slicked back from his forehead, approached a man who stood in the crowd. This man was lean and tall, with haggard features and deep dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed in rugged clothes, pants and a shirt that looked like they were no strangers to hard work. His jaw clenched as the dusty man approached, his eyes seeming to flinch with each approaching footstep. He was holding the hand of a woman who was sitting on the ground, her other hand resting atop the fresh surface of the filled cut in the ground. She did not look up as the dusty man approached. She stared at the mound of dirt, tears cascading unheeded down both cheeks. Many others stood around the couple in a tight, protective half circle.


The dusty man whispered a few words to the tall man and the tall man nodded. He let go of the woman's hand and started to approach my cart. Her hand hung in the air for several seconds, her eyes never leaving the mound of dirt, tears never stopping, as if the man was still standing there holding it. One of the women in the crowd reached forward and gently pushed the crying woman's hand down. It dropped slowly, like a feather dropped from a passing swallow, coming to rest next to her other hand on the dirt mound, the fingers caressing the soil.


The two men reached the cart where I lay. The tall man leaned forward. He stared at me for minutes which seemed like hours. He reached a trembling hand forward but stopped midway, hovering in the air between us. It stayed there for several seconds. Then his jaw clenched and his hand closed the gap between us and he touched me, running his thin fingers across the grooves in my surface, his lips moving as he read the inscription that had been created by the dusty man's tools. A single tear broke free from his dark eye, leaving a track of clean skin through the mask of dirt on his face. His lip quivered as he read the words once, twice, three times, each time using his fingers to touch the words. His fingers lingered on the raised image of the cross, on the kneeling girl.

A Daughter's Love

As our mini beach vacation draws to a close we are doing all we can to squeeze every drop of fun we can from what is left of it. This morning The Wife, The Peanut, and I were enjoying a dip in the cool, chlorinated waters of the pool. The Peanut is learning to swim and her latest self made goal is to swim from one side of the pool to the other using only one breath.

As we practiced and she coughed and sputtered her way through water up the nostrils, fluffy white cumulus clouds passed slowly overhead against the backdrop of a perfectly blue summer sky.

At one point, after almost making it across the distance, she floated over to me and put her arms around my neck. She stayed still for the space of a breath or two, the moment stretching on into forever in my mind.

I felt her head move as she looked up. She took in a quick breath, then let out a little giggle. She pulled back and looked me in the eye. She pointed to the sky over my shoulder and said, "Look Daddy...the sky knows how much I love you!"

I turned my head and this is what I saw...

Is there a better feeling than the reciprocated love of a child? I really don't think so.

Thrasher Fries - Their Grammar Sucks As Much As Their Product

Coming to you live from the beach today. The heat index yesterday was 110 degrees. I have no idea why the east coast all of the sudden thinks it is Death Valley but it did have the benefit of making an hours long romp in the ocean an enjoyable experience.

The temperature in the shade yesterday.

For those unfamiliar with Delaware beaches, there is an institution around here that sells nothing but french fries. Fresh cut potato slices fried in vats of peanut oil. Most Delaware gormandizers slather their Thrasher fries in vinegar.

I am in an admitted minority here in the First State. I can't stand Thrasher fries. And in Delaware to admit publicly that you do not like Thrasher Fries is akin to standing up in a Catholic church and suggesting that the Pope replace all copies of the Bible with the Da Vinci Code. An instant pariah maker. A modern day beach leper.

So when my friend Sarah posted the following pic on her Facebook page, it made me happy on the inside. Truly, Thrasher's grammar sucks as much as their product.

Yes, I said it.

I can't wait to see the kind of comments this post generates. Bring it on Delawareans!

An Award to Hang on My Fridge

Carly B from Writing From the Tub has graced us here at the Chalkboard with the Versatile Blogger Award. I attempted to track down the history of this award yet my efforts bore no fruit...just more time consumed surfing das internets.

This award comes with some rules and far be it from me to "refudiate" (thank you Sarah Palin) the rules so here goes.

Rule#1 - Thank the person crazy enough, I mean kind enough to bestow the award. Carly runs a great book blog with an awesome name. She posts great reviews and I have added a few books to my already substantially tall TBR pile. Go check her out. Thanks for the nod Carly!

Rule#2 - Share seven things about myself. This could be dangerous...

   1.  I am 36. There is life after thirty it seems, though for me it appears to be full of hernia operations and pain meds. And a slowly receding hairline...and now diabetes. But hey, whatever doesn't kill you makes your health insurance costs rise.


  2.  I am primarily Italian, Irish and Welsh. This means I am a bad tempered drunk who never rats on his friends and has a lovely singing voice.


  3.  My dream in life is to be a published writer. Don't need to be famous...just moderately successful. If fame should happen to get colossally drunk and look my way, well I won't kick her out of bed for eating crackers, but I would like to write something that could take people out of their worlds and into mine, for however short a time.


  4.I got a hernia from cleaning the bathtub. Yes...from cleaning. Not doing something masculine like re-grouting the tub, saving orphans from an out of control grease fire, or physically beating some sense into Mel Gibson. Nope.. Cleaning. Feel free to laugh at my expense.


  5.  I live in Delaware. **Insert joke about the size of Delaware here**


  6.  I like to take pictures. Now if I could only get the damn neighbors to drop the restraining order...


  7. I am blessed far more than I deserve with the love of a beautiful woman, a daughter who amazes me as much with her compassion as she does with her quirky sense of humor, a place to call home, a job I (mostly) love, and a family tree so full of nuts that Planters keeps trying to buy it from me.


Rule#3 - Pass the award onto fifteen bloggers I think are fantastic, amazing, and oh-so-groovy.

1. Always Home and Uncool

2. World of Weasels

3. Surprised Mom

4. A Blogger and a Father

5. The Busy Dad Blog

6. And Triplets Make Six

7. The Daddy Files

8. Babbling Flow

9. The Write Words

10. Warrior Writer

11. Cafe Lopez

12. Carol's Prints

13. Eyes 2 Page

14. Suburban Scrawl

15. Words a Plenty

I hope you go visit these blogs because they are all excellent.

Well I have to go pack for four relaxing days at the beach. Thanks for visiting, feel free to comment below.

    

Sweaty Meatloaf or My Daddy is a Pottymouthed Driver.

Delaware is crawling its way through a string of consecutive ninety plus degree days. It has been most unpleasant, the kind of weather where the seat belt buckles in the car burn your fingers when you try to buckle up. 

Yesterday The Peanut and I were out in the backyard. I was grilling up some burgers and she was chasing our psychotic beagle around the yard. I found myself becoming exhausted and overheated, losing electrolytes simply by standing there and watching the two of them run and jump around and on each other.

After about fifteen minutes the beagle loses interest and moves onto something infinitely more interesting, smelling her own behind. The Peanut trudges over to me and says "Whew daddy! It's so hot out here I'm sweating like a meatloaf!" 

After depositing that peculiarly curious simile on me she tips me a wink, gives me a thumbs up, and heads into the house. I have no idea where she picked up such a bizarre expression. The Wife says it is an ICarlyism, picked by The Peanut on one of her repeated viewings of the Nickelodeon show. I don't know about that for sure but I do know The Peanut, like most kids her age, is an absolute sponge when it comes to listening to people talk and having an elephant's memory in recalling what she hears, usually at really embarrassing times.

Case in point.

She was playing with a friend today at her grandmother's house. Apparently, after about an hour of play, The Peanut walked into the kitchen looking very unhappy. My step-mom reported to me that she asked The Peanut what was wrong. She replied that her friend had called her an asshole and she did not like how that made her feel.

After said friend was handed out the appropriate consequences, The Peanut reportedly turned to my step-mom and proceeded to thrown her father right under the unforgiving wheels of the proverbial bus. "That's a really bad word mom-mom. I know because that is what daddy calls all the bad drivers on the road who don't drive safe."

Ouch. 

I guess when she is listening to her music or playing her Leapster in the car on our morning commutes, and I think she is totally oblivious to everything else, her ears are still tuned into what I am saying (shouting).

Knowing that makes ME sweat like a meatloaf...

Teaser Tuesday 1

Teaser Tuesday is a weekly meme that some writers I know throw up on their blogs each Tuesday. The basic gist is to take a small snippet from a current Work-In-Progress and throw it up on the blog, I have a few things I am working on right now so I figured I would throw my hat in the ring. This is a snip from a WIP that is currently without a title. I am over 10,000 words in and liking where it is going. Please feel free to comment below any thoughts or suggestions. The scene opens on a fifth grade teacher in the middle of leading a class discussion...


Connor was interrupted by a soft knock at the classroom door. He sighed loudly for effect, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. “Whew…saved!” The class laughed, not worried. They knew Mr. Billson and they knew that he would do something totally off the wall and crazy when he finished with whoever was at the door.


He walked over to the door and looked out the single pane of glass. Mrs. Moore, the school principal, stood on the other side looking pale and drawn. The smile on Connor’s face faltered a bit. Mrs. Moore always walked around the building with a perpetual grin on her face. For her to look like this, something must be wrong. Mrs. Freidman, the school counselor, stood next her not looking much better. Connor opened the door and stepped into the hallway.


“Rhonda, what’s the matter? Are you ok?” Connor asked.


Rhonda Moore swallowed. “I’m ok Connor, I’m ok. Can we walk down to my office for a second? Patti will watch your students. There is something we need to talk about.”


A fist of ice grabbed Connor’s heart. “What is it? Is it Michele? Megan? Chris? What happened?” he asked, attempting to keep the waves of panic he was feeling out of his voice.


Rhonda put her hand on Connor’s arm. “As far as I know Michele and the kids are just fine, this isn’t about them. Please Connor, just come with me. There are some people in my office who need to talk to you.”


Connor felt a degree of relief that whatever was wrong did not seem to involve his wife or children, but the looks on the faces of both women still scared him. “Ok, uh, Patti they are getting ready to read some pages in their social studies textbooks. The page numbers are already on the board.”


Patti laid a hand on his other arm and gently squeezed, her eyes full of what seemed to Connor to be a mix of sympathy and sadness. “I’ve got this Connor,” she said. “You go talk with Rhonda. I am sure everything will be ok.” Then she wiped her eyes and walked into his classroom.


Connor, his eyes wide, turned to Rhonda. “You have to tell me what is going on before I go anywhere. What’s happened?”


Rhonda looked at the floor for a second. Then she met Connor’s gaze. “There are two police officers and a detective in my office...”

For Jodi - A Slip of the Inappropriate Knife

My good friend Jodi just reminded me that today marks the one year anniversary of her unfortunate run in with a sharp knife and the unprotected flesh of her finger. In "honor" of that occasion I offer a reprint of the blog post I wrote that night. You see, not only was I concerned for my friend's health, I was also thrust deep into a moral and ethical dilemma that night.

This is one of my more popular posts. It had well over twenty comments...before I changed my domain name in June and lost every single comment I had up to that point. So whether you have read it before or not...you can always drop a nugget in the comment box! Enjoy...

Whose Grill Cover Have Your Tongs Been Under?

Cooking on another man's grill is like sleeping with his wife.

Strange thought? Allow me to explain.

We are in scenic Leesburg, Virginia as I write this, spending the weekend with great friends and their young son, one of The Peanut's three boyfriends. More on that preschool love triangle at another time.

Earlier tonight our lovely hostess was preparing a vat of guacamole for a delectable snack before dinner. She was using an extremely sharp knife to cut the avocados in half so she could remove their large pits. As she worked the kids were in the other room playing with Go Diego, Go dominoes. The Peanut suddenly (and loudly) experienced a moment of selfishness and needed some time alone. I escorted her upstairs where we had a rudimentary review on the concept of sharing. The conversation could not have lasted longer then a few minutes. When we had finished our little review ("But daddy, sometimes kids just don't want to share, that's how we are!") we went back downstairs to find our hostess on the floor clutching her left hand, wrapped in a towel, to her chest. Her skin was pale and her expression pained. Being the Sherlock Holmesean genius that I am I took in these facts, put them together with the knife and half cut avocado that sat discarded on the marbled counter top, and deduced that something very bad had happened while I as away.

Moments later our host whisked our hostess away to the ER to have her laceration evaluated. This left The Wife, The Peanut, The Peanut's Friend, and myself. Our hostess had already prepared the food for dinner before attempting finger removal surgery on herself, so all that was left for me to do was to cook it.

I wheeled the grill out of the garage and set up shop in the driveway. I went into my Pregrill-Start-Up procedure, a list I have honed over many years of trial and error. As I made my way through the list, preparing my host's grill for a symphony of outdoor cooking, a strange feeling began to overcome me. I felt weird, as if God himself were looking down upon me in sadness at a transgression I was making, however unintentional it might be. It took me several minutes to figure out what it was. Not until I had slapped the first naked hamburger patties on the grill did it hit me.

This wasn't my grill I was cooking on. This was another man's grill. The basic set up was the same, but in many ways his grill differs from mine. I suddenly felt myself cringing to adjust the dials that control the degree of the heat. I found myself stealing furtive glances over my shoulder as I cooked, as if waiting for someone to drop from the sky, pointing a finger at me in righteous anger, demanding to know why I was defiling the grill of another man when my own sat cold, lonely, and unused back in Delaware.

And that's when it hit me. Cooking on another man's grill is like sleeping with his wife. It is a shameful, forbidden act, even when you are granted permission to do the cooking. I felt soiled when I was finished, guilty. When I get home...how will I break the news to my grill? What do I say? That the Virginia grill meant nothing to me? That I thought of only my own grill the entire time?

Guys...what do you think? Is my comparison a fair one? Have you ever found yourself in a similar situation?

Girls...What do you think? Is your man as obsessive about his grill as I am or do you think I need some deep psychological help? Or maybe both...

Make a comment...please help me feel better about this unfortunate transgression.

My 100th Post - Fun With Diabetes

It will be a day long remembered when the symptoms began to pry themselves into my life. It was a lesson on the fourteenth amendment, standing in front of twenty-five fifth graders in various states of mind from rapt attention to glaze eyed stupor. Surely you recall from YOUR school days that the fourteenth amendment is what is known as one of the three reconstruction amendments. It is the amendment that blew a hole in the laughable Dred Scott decision that ruled that black men were not citizens of the United States, even if they had been born here. Teaching the reconstruction amendments is enjoyable because the kids are always so shocked at the way things used to be in this country. Some even look at me skeptically as if the facts are being made up simply to shock them. Teaching history is a lot of fun.

Anyway, there I was, just getting warmed up on the story of Dred Scott when my bladder, which is usually as silent as a character witness in a Lindsay Lohan trial, began to shoot urgent messages to my brain. In the span of three seconds I went from teaching history to struggling not to darken the front of my khaki pants in front of my students (imagine those conversations around the table at dinner time). I tried to talk through it but my bladder was screaming at me like it was filled with the urine equivalent of the Adriatic Sea. Fortunately for me there was another teacher in the room who could supervise the class while I broke loose the Hoover Dam.

This was only to be the beginning.

For the next several weeks my bladder continued its impersonation of a ninety year old man's. I was going to the bathroom once an hour, including waking up to go several times a night. I was starting to run a groove in the linoleum flooring between my classroom and the faculty bathroom.  I was drinking oceans of water yet my mouth remained as dry as a mummy's arm pit. My eyesight began to deteriorate. I began to go farsighted for the first time in my life. It got so bad that I had to purchase a pair of reading glasses from the local drugstore.

Being a reasonably intelligent guy, after several weeks of this I deduced that apparently, something was wrong. So I did what every reasonably intelligent guy does in the twenty-first century when he has a heatlh concern and wants a medically sound diagnosis. I logged onto Web MD. After inputting all the symptoms it spat back to me that I could potentially have any one of a number of conditions ranging from bladder cancer, to a urinary tract infection, to diabetes, to a rare Peruvian Tsetse Fly disorder (ok, I made that last one up). My mother, an RN, had suggested diabetes to me a few days earlier and wanted to test my blood sugar. She informed me that it runs in both sides of my family and wanted to test me. I refused but after consulting the great, and always totally dependable medical resource known as the world wide web, I agreed to let her test my blood sugar.

Three hundred seventy-six. Normal blood sugar levels after a meal range from eighty-five to one hundred ten. To put it lightly, I was surprised. I had always thought diabetes was a disease that only fat or lazy people got. Unfortunately this is a perception many people have and it is incorrect. I knew nothing about it. I have had to change my entire diet. After a week of completely changing EVERYTHING, my blood sugar was back down to an average of one hundred. I have taken up regular exercise, changed my diet, and have read everything I can about diabetes.

It has been almost two months since my diagnosis. I have lost 23 pounds and I feel great. I have more energy on a daily basis than I have had since I was in college. My eyesight has completely returned to normal and my bladder is once again under control. My docs have not put me on any medication. I am controlling this thing completely with diet and exercise.

It really has been a blessing in disguise. To call my diet before diagnosis simply 'bad' would be like saying Mel Gibson is just a little bit grumpy. My diet was an abomination. I have no doubt that I was on the fast track for a heart attack by forty-five. I think I can safely say that diabetes has helped add years to my life.

I'm not saying I am wearing a t-shirt that says I HEART DIABETES...but the silver lining is pretty big.

The Glowing Beast in the Living Room

I was poking around some new blogs (new to me, not new to the world) and I came across an image I had to share. I found it at Cleverly Inked.Com. How awesome is this?

No, I am not anti-television. I just happen to be of the opinion that the old adage "everything in moderation" is especially true when it comes to the boob tube. I watch. My two favorite shows on television right now are Justified on FX and Bored To Death on HBO (yes, I realize the two shows could not be any more different but that's me...a study in contrasts). I love the History Channel and the Discovery Channel. And of course the idiot box brings my Philly sports teams right into my living room...where they often cut out my heart, stomp on it, and set fire to the pieces...but that's another blog post.

My wish is that the statistics generated from studies like this, and this, and this, and all of these were not true. Eight hours a day with the TV on? 

Really? 

TURN IT OFF! 

Read a book. Use your mind. Go for a walk. Crochet a quilt. Build a tree house. Go for a hike. Swim. Read a book. Plant a garden. Take up Bocce. Fly a kite. Mow the lawn. Read a book. Go fishing. Take up Geocaching. Play chess with an elderly person. Go see some excellent live theater. Take a sketch pad to the park and project 'trendy, starving artist'. Knock on a neighbor's door and surprise them with random conversation. Teach a child to skateboard. Have a child teach you to skateboard. Read a book...the list is endless.

I plan to make copies of this awesome picture to hang all over my classroom.

I am not suggesting we slay the beast know as the television, just that we don't have to let it hump our leg all the time.

Blog Hop - On Jasper Fforde

What book am I dying to get my hands on? That's easy.

I am a huge fan of Jasper Fforde. His series with Thursday Next and her adventures in the bureau of Jurisfiction, the bureau that upholds the law within all published fiction, is fantastic. The next Thursday Next novel is due to come out in March of 2011. It has been pushed back twice. I miss Thursday...it has been way too long. If you like literature, clever word play, puns, and side splitting humor, you MUST read Fforde today.

Start with the Eyre Affair, the first Thursday Next novel. I promise, you will not be disappointed and you will want to read all of his other novels. The Nursery Crime series is also awesome.

That is the book I cannot wait to get my hands on. I am sure there are others but Thursday Next cannot get back to me soon enough.

Thanks for hopping on in. Stay a while...look around. Drop me a comment so I know where to hop myself.

Happy reading!

Oteka - The Strong One

In my mind's eye I still see him as I knew him. The dirty blonde hair, the dimpled smile, the mischievous eyes. Laughing in the sunday school room, playing games on the lawn at VBS. That is how I remember Nathan Henn, I in my late teens, early twenties, he a child who made everyone around him smile. When he sent me a friend request on facebook a few months ago and told me about the money he was raising so he could go to Africa it was a cool opportunity to see what he had been up to since those early years so long ago. I followed his status updates as he raised the funds for his trip to Africa and was happy for him when he finally achieved his goal and left the shores of the United States to spend time furthering the cause he believed so passionately in.

The shock of reading on the CNN main page about his sudden death at the hands of faceless cowards stole the breath from my body.

This man, who had dedicated two years of his life to being the "hands and feet" of his God for little or no pay, at a time when most people his age were out seeking their fortunes, is a model for us all. At a time when strong belief in a cause is at best treated with eyebrow raised indifference and at worst treated as fodder for Saturday Night Live comedians, Nate showed us how to do it right. In his facebook requests for help to fund his trip to Africa, there was never any hint of self-righteous pretension, no 700 Club style panhandling. Just the sincere heart of a man who knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, where he was meant to be, where he WOULD be, and what he was meant to be doing.

For reasons known only to God, Nate is no longer with us. As one person put it on the Invisible Children Blog memorial for Nate, "...pray for us for we live in a confusing world." We do indeed live in a confusing world. But I thank God that we have people like Nathan Henn who we can look to, even in their untimely absence, to see the sure footed, uncompromising steps they take in the walk to accomplish what they know in their hearts to be the path that God has chosen for them. It isn't a metaphysical exercise, a coffeehouse conversation for people like Nate. It is a life lived the only way they know how, a life lived with devotion, perseverance, and faith.

Oteka is a man who used his strength to fight for those who could not fight for themselves, and he did so not for fame, fortune, or prestige. He did so simply because he knew it was the right thing to do. I thank him for his shining example and I know that because of "The Strong One", and the God that he serves, more good will rise from the rubble of this mindless violence than ill.

We Love You Nate - a page to give to further the legacy of Nate Henn.

When a Five Year Old Harumphs.

The In-Laws were over for dinner last night. I realize that in some households those nine words are akin to the raising of the trumpets in advance of an attack by a Mongolian Horde, but I am a lucky guy. When my In-Laws visit they bring wine and good company. The Wife's grandmother is visiting from Tulsa, the land of  eternal pot holes (if you are wondering what I mean, see my letter to the Oklahoma Department of Transportation) and we grilled some steaks, drank some wine, and played copious amounts of Rock Band.

The Peanut, who is five and a half, is not a fan of steak. When I ask her why, her reply is simple and leaves little room for argument. She shrugs her tiny shoulders, cocks her head to the side, makes full eye contact and says, "Daddy, steak just doesn't agree with me." How do I argue with that?

Our normal parental policy is what we have for dinner IS what we are having for dinner. But, once a week, The Peanut is allowed to use a "Get-Out-Of-A-Dinner-That-Won't-Agree-With-Me" card. Basically we will let her choose her dinner, within reason, when she uses the privilege. The other six nights she eats what we eat or else breakfast will be her next meal. She chose to play her card last night and instead of delicious steak she opted for macaroni and cheese with slices of tomato and green beans.

Blog Hopping...Sharing the Love!

Got myself involved in another "Blog Hop" again this week. The concept works just like Twitter's Follow Friday. You surf around the blogs on the list, looking to meet and follow new folks and likewise, get followers in return.

The Blog Hop question of the week is about favorite authors, who mine are and why I designate them so. There is a running list of my favorite authors to your immediate left. I won't cover all of them here, just a few, in no particular order.

1. Lois Lowry. I put her on this list because I have really enjoyed most of what she has written but even if I didn't, she gets on the list for one book, The Giver. An absolutely amazing novel, my favorite of all time. I don't want to start talking about The Giver right now because once I get started, I cannot stop. If you wanna chat about The Giver, take it to the blog comments below and I will talk your ear off. Or I guess eyes would be the better word choice for this format...

2. Neil Gaiman. Why Neil? American Gods, Stardust, Coraline, The Graveyard Book, Neverwhere...do I have to keep going? Gaiman is a genius, who maintains a pretty awesome blog as well. A writer I would love to just sit down with over a beer and just talk writing.

The DADvocate Project - A Guest Post by Kevin Metzger.

Happy Thursday everybody! I don't know about you but I think my daughter has shrunk a few inches from all the sweating she has been doing with this heat wave we are experiencing on the east coast. Two straight days of temps at 100. Humans were not meant to live in such conditions.

As I attempt to stay frosty, huddled around the cool, air conditioned air the way I would huddle around a camp fire on a chilly November evening, I am pleased to welcome my first ever guest blogger here at The Chalkboard.

His name is Kevin Metzger and he writes at two locations, My Spelling Sucks and the DADvocate project. After you read his post go check him out, he is good people.

Hello, I’m Kevin (@TheDADvocate) and I’d like to start off this post by thanking Brian here at Dad at the Chalkboard for giving me the opportunity to guest post on his site and providing me the opportunity to tell you, the readers, about The DADvocate Project.

There Be Zombies Herein...Beware!

Greetings from the beach!

I have recently joined an AWESOME community of writers over at Chuck Palahniuk.net.

Soon after joining, I took a self assignment. This self assignment entailed being given ONE WORD and then writing a quick 1,000 word story based on said word. My given word was REGISTRATION. I was watching the movie Zombieland as I thought it over and that lead me to the theme of my story.

**EDIT** - I have since reworked it a few times and I am now clearly over the 1,000 word limit. I had intended to use this just as a short assignment but now I think it is going to go further. How much further? Time will tell...

If you are so inclined I would LOVE any honest feedback you could give me.

A word of caution...the entry IS about zombies and it is pretty gross. If such things offend, I would recommend you pass. But if zombies are right down your alley then please read, then let me know in the comments section what you think. Thanks, I appreciate it.

REGISTRATION

1

Dragging my ass into work every day for a job I dread is difficult. I know there are a lot of people who dislike the way they make a living for one reason or another. It might be a salary, or lack thereof, issue. Maybe they have co-workers they can't stand or a boss that drives them crazy. Perhaps they have a horrible commute through dense traffic or their chosen career may have turned out to be too much/not enough work for them to handle. These are all valid reasons to wake up in the morning and want to take a blow torch to the alarm clock. I know that feeling, more than most I think. I know it because everyday my job puts me into very uncomfortable proximity with the walking undead and all the delightful smells and bodily fluids that accompany them. I have been working for the U.S. Department of Zombie Affairs since its inception four years ago and let me tell you, it is no picnic. But considering how much the world has changed in the last five years things could be worse...much worse.

Pixar: Pure Imagination

I have already documented here how much I love Pixar Animation Studios.

I have been a huge fan since the first time I sat in a theater to be amazed by the original Toy Story. So, for Fatherhood Friday, I offer this montage created over on You Tube.

Enjoy!

I'm a Bad Person...Turn Away Now!

I am a bad person.

We aren't talking Hannibal Lecter bad, Michael Vick bad, Mel Gibson bad, or even Tiger Woods bad, yet all the same, my personality suffers a major, embarrassing flaw. A flaw that reared its ragged head once more again today. If you hold me in high esteem I encourage you to turn off your computer now for you will never look at me the same way again. It's like finding out that Pee Wee Herman was a big pervert (yet different...very different) and never being able to enjoy Pee Wee's Playhouse ever again.

You staying? Well then...read on...just don't say I didn't warn you.

On my way home from a stimulating morning teaching summer school math (no, two times seven is NOT nine) my phone buzzed to life with a text message from The Wife. She asked me if I could stop at the Acme on the way and pick up some flour. Since my diabetes diagnosis she has slowly stockpiled a small library of excellent recipes that won't shoot my blood sugar as high as Lindsey Lohan's last Saturday morning drug test. The Wife wanted to make a friendly fruit and cream desert and she needed me to pick up some all-purpose flour. I happily agreed.

Wordless Wednesday...It's a "boar"

The Peanut rubs the Boar Fountain's nose for good luck as we prepare to leave the Delaware Natural History Museum after a successful daddy-daughter date of museum touring and Geocaching (Found two on the property!).

The plaque on the fountain invites patrons to rub the boar's nose for "good fortune".

Naturally, The Peanut rubbed it for a good two minutes. I guess better safe than sorry...

 

This post is a part of Dad-Blogs Wordless Wednesday.