'Tis The Season...And All That Jazz

It's that time of year again. Everywhere you go, there is evidence the world has hit the Holiday season in full stride. Anything that can be adorned with fir and bows and lights is fair game. Retail stores have had decorations up since Halloween. Which probably lulled some unwitting turkeys into a false sense of security, thinking we were going to skip right over the Thanksgiving holiday and let them live to see another year. Radio stations have begun to play holiday music ad nauseum. How very appropriate, since it's not even the middle of December and I swear I will vomit my freshly baked gingerbread cookies if I hear another song of the season. This weekend I have been invited to four holiday galas. If I go to all four of them, I think I will have filled my social quotient for the next two months. Not to mention, probably (hopefully) end up having dizzy spells on Monday at the mere mention of the word 'eggnog'!

So this is the time of year when everyone is supposed to give, give, give. You see it everywhere you go. It was in that spirit that people were literally trampled at early morning sales on the day after Thanksgiving. Who cares if you stepped on someone's grandmother, or nearly ran down an entire family in the parking lot in your haste to get that parking spot. By God you got that last Bratz doll for little Susie.

A friend took her son to see Santa at the mall, with another woman and her child. Cost her a small fortune, too. She got the pictures, the video, and the joy of hearing her child tell one of Santa's helpers that 'Mommy has an outfit just like that for when she and daddy play dress up'. I bet you could cut the silence on the ride home a machete.

Before we know it, a new year will be upon us. Time to make resolutions we won't keep, and refresh bad habits we will keep. But that's another story. Right now, I need to go explain to this lady outside that the roof rack of her SUV has enough lights to be considered a landing strip by the FAA....

Laissez Le Bon Temps Rouleau?

Well, it finally happened. New Orleans is underwater. Hurricane Katrina blew through and caused levee collapses. The city that was built below sea level is soaked. The streets of N'awlins, normally not considered the cleanest, are now a cesspool of waste. Including dead bodies. Thousands have died, still more thousands have been displaced. There is talk that it will be weeks, even months before power all the water is pumped out of the city and power is restored. It has been a disaster like none other our country has seen. Granted, the lack of response from our lovely government has been to blame for part of it. Can someone please explain to me how every news reporter this side of Europe was able to get down there the day after, but no relief or support from our government was able to for almost a week? And what about those looters? The news showed a man with a microwave on his back, swimming across a flooded street! Nevermind that there is no power and no food. Guess that fool thought FEMA would be handing out frozen dinners, along with generators for everyone. And, believe it or not, here are still people in that city that are refusing to evacuate, perhaps under the delusion that they will survive. No food, no potable water, no power. Maybe it's just me, but a flooded street with a corpse floating by is not the sort of waterfront property I would be interested in keeping. Of course, I did see one interview with the owner of some establishment on the infamous Bourbon Street (it was supposedly a hotel, and from the looks of both her and the building, I'd venture to guess is was an hourly sort of place...if you get my drift) . She kept saying how they were the lucky ones, that the damage had been minimal and that she would reopen for business soon. Um, not to dampen her spirits, but who exactly does she think she is opening her business to? I don't think watching her do 'the dance of the twin tassels' is exactly on anyone's mind. Unless she has a 'Will Dance for Relief Funds' sign out front...

Now if you'll excuse me, I am gotta go get dressed for my one-man Katrina Relief Concert...

Let's Get Soaking Wet!!!

Ok, so we have been having some downright crazy weather lately. Hurricane season just started, and already we have had three tropical storms. Being landlocked in Atlanta, one would think that we wouldn't be all that affected by them. Guess again!!!! For what seems like the past month, it has rained nearly every day. Sometimes all day long. There have been people flooded out of their homes due to creeks breaching their borders and spewing forth. People who did not have flood insurance. Who would have thought they would need it. Of course, the people they show on the news that have suffered this tragedy look one step away from a trailer park. Sort of like the people you always see interviewed after a tornado has uprooted their double-wide. And then there are the fools that try to drive through the mess. Picture it: Atlanta 2005, remnants of Hurricane Dennis have dumped a mass amount of God's tears on our city. Trees are down, power is out, streets have flooded. You are approaching an intersection that is clearly underwater, indicated by the Mini Cooper you see floating by. It's decision time. Do you go for it, assuring yourself that if you gun it you will pass through Lake Ponce De Leon with minimal water damage to your vehicle? Or do you do the sensible thing and pick an alternative route? The number of people that choose option one simply amazes me. I watched a taxi attempt to cross a flooded intersection, only to stall out in the middle of it. Water was up to the middle of the doors. I wish I could have seen the look on the face of the passenger in the cab. Surely, this was not what he bargained for.

Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go watch this bus float by...

Boys Will Be Boys....

So in a few months, I will turn the grand old age of 36. I know, I can't believe it either. I mean look at me. I could easily pass for a decade younger. It absolutely thrills me to death when I go out someplace and order and drink and get carded. And even more so when I get the 'Are you really that old?' question. But there are a few drawbacks to being so youthful looking. One in particular that happens all the friggin time! I am constantly getting hit on by younger guys. Now I know, this may seem like a good problem to have. And sometimes it can be. But when there is a difference between someone a few years younger and someone over a decade younger. And no matter what they say, a 23 year old is only so mature. I know how I was at that age. I thought I knew what I wanted, and all the jazz. Sure, at 23 I would have told you I wanted to date an older man. Older, but not more than 30 or so. Hell, back then I thought 36 was one step away from a retirement home. And try as I may (actually, I never have tried), I just don't fit in with the whole Abercrombie crowd. Flip-flops were made for the beach, not the bar. I haven't worn a polo shirt since my private school days. And I have never had a 'man-bag'. As flattered as I am to have young guys hit on me and what not, I think I'll stick to the 30+ crowd. At least that way, hopefully they will have outgrown some of those youthful indiscretions we are all guilty of.

Now if you will excuse me, there is a 60 year old somewhere looking for love in all the wrong places that I need to go flirt with...

There She Is...

So it's that time again...Pageant week. I am the choreographer for the Miss Georgia Competition. 53 contestants, whittled down to one lady chosen to represent our state in the Miss America Competiton. And I have to teach them everything, from how to walk to how to stand to how to step-touch in a production number. In three and a half days. Not an easy task. As you can imagine, there are those that think they are 'the one' and walk around with an air of diva. There are the ones who could care less about being Miss Georgia, much less about Miss America. There is catty-ness, back stabbing, and all around bitching...and that's just from the male dancers. Including myself, there are six. Two of them are fresh out of high school, and are eager little beavers, willing to take direction and do as I ask. But a couple of them have gotten on my last nerve. Do these guys not realize that I can make life as a dancer difficult for them? I love the look on their faces when they try to grovel to get back into my good graces. After the first preliminary competition tonight, two different people approached us and asked if we would be available to perform for some other events. I oh-so-politely told them we would be more than happy, as long as I got to choose which of the dancers would be asked to perform. Shoot yourself in the foot, you won't dance anymore. Simple as that. Keep it up and they may not be dancing for the televised finals on Saturday. I love having power like that.

Now, I have some ladies I need to teach to walk in heels...

Beat It...Just Beat It

Not that I really care about these things, but the verdict went down (how appropriate) yesterday for Michael Jackson. Not guilty on all counts. No surprise there. The man has more money than Oprah. I am not saying he did it, but they don't call him Jacko for nothing. Sorry, I had to go there. I have no proof whatsoever that he did anything that he was accused of. No one really knows but the kids who stayed in his home at Neverland. THERE is the true crime. The parents that let their children stay there, even after earlier accusations of 'inappropriate behavior', they are the ones that should be on trial. Of course, it's not a crime to be stupid. I say their sentence should be having to spend the night with MJ themselves. That would be infinitely worse than years in the pokey with someone named Bubba calling you 'honey'. Then again, it would be the perfect place to learn some new make-up tips. Maybe his next endeavor will be the Michael Jackson School of Cosmetology. Specializing in cover-up for those unsightly pimples that occur with the onset of puberty. Give the gals at the Clinique counter a run for their money.

Now if I can just find my silver glove, I have some moonwalking to do....

Road Rage...Vengeance Is Mine

Ok, some national poll just came out that listed Atlanta as the number one city for bad traffic. Which is really nothing new to me. As an Atlanta native (yes, there are a few of us still around), I am quite used to dealing with traffic snarls. Half a decade ago there was urban sprawl, and now there is a resurgence to move back into the city. Either way, at any given point in time in the past decade, I guarantee that there has been construction on at least one major highway in our fair city. And there's always an accident on one highway that causes a trickle down effect and snags up other arteries as well. I always try to leave a little early when I go someplace, just in case. Prudence suggests it. What gets me is all these idiot drivers out there who think they are the only ones on the road. We are all stuck in the same traffic. No one is going anywhere. But by birth right, they are evidently allowed to circumnavigate the mess. Case in point. Yesterday evening there was an accident that had three lanes closed on GA 400 south. So one person decides they are going to drive down the emergency lane, I assume to get to the next exit, which is over a mile down the highway. And like cattle, cars started pulling off, one after the other, and doing the same thing. I sat there getting more and more ticked off. What emergency did these people have? I didn't see anyone in any of the vehicles that passed that looked like they were in the throes of childbirth or spurting blood from a dismembered appendage. So I decided to exact my own personal traffic justice. When there was a gap in the flow of those who were so blatantly disobeying the law, I edged my vehicle into the emergency lane just enough as to impede anyone from passing without going four-wheeling in the median. Evil, I know. But someone needed to make a stand. I mean, I was headed to the same exit. And if I was going to wait in traffic to get there, then by God, so was everyone else. As you can imagine, this did not go over well with those behind me. The guy in the car immediately behind me decided to lay on his horn. My response, I just turned up the radio and blocked it out. Nothing like listening to the soundtrack from 'The Lion King' at full volume. Who knew I could make my car vibrate like that. Eventually, there were several cars behind me, all agitated I am sure at the fact that I was not allowing them to pass. We inched along with other traffic, slowly making our way towards the freedom that the exit promised. Funny thing, cars in the next lane over would pass, and I swear that every one of them looked over at me and waved or gave a thumbs up. The fear that someone behind was going to pull out a bazooka and kill me for my act of defiance was soon surpassed by the outpouring of support I had received from my fellow law-abiding citizens. And the powers that be must have looked favorably on my action as well. For when we finally reached the exit, I was able to catch the light at just the right time, able to leave those that I had so cunningly snared waiting at the red light!!!! I didn't have to actually see any of them drive past me and pop a finger up or try to run me off the road. I made it home safely, and lived to face another day.

Friday traffic is always fun. Maybe I'll get in the center lane this evening and do 55...

Mashed or Baked...Potato, Po-TAH-to...

Ok, I think it is official. I have turned into a couch potato. This was one of the rare weekends when I had absolutely nothing I HAD to do. Did not have to teach, polo practice is cancelled for Sunday morning....no plans at all. So I thought I would have a productive weekend of running errands, maybe enjoying some quality time outdoors, catch up with some friends. I got up yesterday and went to the gym and had a good workout, came home and showered, and decided to check out what was on the television. BIG mistake!!! I proceeded to sit on the couch for the next 7 or 8 hours, flipping channels, and generally stuffing my face. I watched reruns of several bad 80s sitcoms, pretended to be hetero and watched some sports whilst consuming beer, reversed the effects of that by watching the Home & Garden channel (you should see...what's on HGTV!!!...that jingle is very addictive), watched a couple of movies, and rounded out the day with an hour and a half of CNN Headline news. Sure, it's basically the same stories every half an hour. But after that much television, it took three times for any of it to sink in. Over the course of all this viewing, I ate two bowls of cereal, a snickers bar, some sour cream and onion potato chips, some hickory barbecue potato chips, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, some ice cream, and the a gyro.

I am amazed at several things. First, my brain didn't spontaneously turn to mush as my parents had led me to believe would happen from too much tv. Second, my cat is a pig and will eat anything. Third, beer makes any sport better.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think there is a movie marathon about to start on Lifetime tv...

Reality Bytes....

You know, a couple of years ago, the closest thing we had to 'reality tv' was The Real World on MTV. And that was even 'scripted', if you will, by the producers. But in the past couple of years we have been assaulted by numerous such shows, in an attempt at either driving up ratings or driving the masses out of their collective mind. A few have been able to sustain themselves, most of which amaze me. 'Survivor', the kingpin of reality tv these days, is entertaining, if for no other reason than watching people stab their so called alliances in the back. 'American Idol' brings out the shower singer in all of us. 'The Apprentice' is proof that ugly people can make it big in the business world. 'The Bachelor' and 'The Bachelorette' are nothing more than extended versions of 'The Dating Game'. And now we have a whole new smorgasbord of shows for the summer. There is 'Hell's Kitchen', yet another restaurant reality show. You want some culinary terror, let me cook for you. 'Hit Me Baby 1 More Time' pits now defunct bands and pop stars against each other. Trying to reel in the 'stuck in the 80s' crowd, I imagine. And how about 'I Want To Be A Hilton'? Um, last time I checked, anyone with a video camera could be a Hilton, if you know what I mean. Soon we'll be seeing shows like ' I Married My Mother', which will follow the life of some poor inbred who didn't know any better. And how about a show titled 'Road Rage', where idiotic drivers are forced to drive in the slow lane behind the 'Where's the beef lady'? Who knows what they will think of next...

Now if you will excuse me, I have to go send in my audition tape for 'So You Think You Can Dance'...

Chatting..It's Not Just For Breakfast Anymore

You know, I think it's time for a little soap box action. In today's dot.com world, internet chatrooms are everywhere. They are used for networking, for hook-ups (don't act like you don't know what I am talking about), and for passing the time amongst friends. I, myself, use it as a way to make the clock tick tock a little faster on days when things are slow at the office (so it's been a few months of slowness...shoot me). And it still never ceases to amaze me how some people act in a chatroom. In my room of choice, there are probably only a handful of people that I have actually met face to face with and become friends. And there are several people in there that I would consider 'chat friends'. People that I talk to on a daily basis, exchange banter with, and generally get along with. Sure, there are differences of opinion, but for the most part things are always amicable. Topics are discussed and debated, and things can get feisty. Occasionally, someone will make a statement that is completely offensive, yet they don't seem to think so. I don't understand why someone would feel that they could say something in a chatroom that they would never say face to face with a person. Someone once called me the 'N' word, and could not understand why I was pissed about it. That's just plain ignorant. And have you ever noticed that there is always that one person that thinks they are the end authority on every subject out there. I love it when they get all high and mighty. They can never be wrong, and always have the last word. Yet when you make a valid point or argue with them over it, they choose to do the immature thing and put you on 'ignore'. As if that validates their assumption. Ever notice that when said people ask 'who wants to go get something eat?', the room gets quieter than a hooker in a nunnery? Get real people. Stop taking yourself so seriously. It's a 'chat' room. People are going to have different views than you. You are not always going to be right. No matter what you think, you will not always be the most intelligent person in there. Learn to laugh. Have some fun. Better yet, go outside. Do something productive. Get off your butt and stop complaining about a lack of a social life. Live a little...

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back in the room and see what's really going on in the world...

Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

As if I needed more proof to my parents that I am slightly insane, this Saturday I went skydiving. That's right, I went and voluntarily jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. Hopped out at 14,000 feet and plummeted towards terra firma. I did a tandem dive, and I can't even begin to explain the feeling. I wasn't really nervous about it at all. I had mentally prepared myself. Though the plane ride itself was a little unnerving. We were sitting on the floor of this little propeller plane. Crammed in there like sardines. I was the only person on board who had never done it before, so of course the others there tried everything they could do rattle my gourd. And then the door opened and people just starting jumping out like the plane was going to be shot down. Next thing I know, we are in the doorway and it was time. The instructor that I was strapped to was at least twice my size, so I really didn't have a choice in the matter. When he said go , we went. I can't even begin to explain the thrill of freefall. I was expecting to have that feeling like being on a rollercoaster. But it was nothing like that. Just the rush of the air (which was very cold). And the parachute ride itself was totally awesome. We could see for miles, and the instructor gave me the handles and let me fly it myself. Mind you, he also had a set of controls too, so I couldn't get all kamikaze on him and go into a death spiral or anything. The landing was damn near perfect. What a rush!!

Here's a funny little sidebar. I was at diving practice on Sunday afternoon, and stood at the top of the 3 meter board asking myself what I was doing up there. And just how did I think I was going to get down. That water was going to hurt if I didn't go in the right way. I could hit the board and be paralyzed for life. I could do a bellyflop. I could go in feet first and risk damaging the family jewels. Anything could happen. Never mind the fact that not 24 hours earlier I willingly looked possible death in the eye and said 'HA! I am Tim, hear me roar!!'. I can't wait to do it again.

Now if I can just get my mother to stop trying to have me committed to a looney bin...

The Curse...

I work in an office of predominantly women. Other than my boss, I am the only guy here most of the time, and I usually spend my day listening to man-bashing, baby stories, the latest drama on 'Desperate Housewives', and all kinds of things I do not NEED to be hearing about their sex lives, or lack thereof. And I can tell you exactly when each one of them starts. Yes, that's right, I am talking about their menstrual cycles.

Now here is the scary part. They know exactly when mine starts as well. I am a firm believer that men have a 'cycle' as well. Just without the cramps and that awful, um, staining. I know that at least once a month, I am going to have a couple of days where I am going to turn into mega bitch. Anyone who even looks at me the wrong way is going to get a mouthful of expletives and walk away feeling battered and abused. Or else I will be sitting at home watching tv and have a total cathartic breakdown over an episode of 'Extreme Home Makeover' (don't laugh, you know you have all been there). My hormones go into overdrive, I have dreams about Marky Mark, and I wake up wishing I had someone special that I could do all kinds of unmentionable things to.

Call it a testosterone spike, call it 'the visitor', call it 'manopause' for the over 40 set. I don't care what you call it. There is no use denying, it happens to us all. Just depends on how we handle it. You can take it in stride and realize that in a day or two you will be back to normal. Or you can do as I do (and as I suspect women have always done) and use it as an excuse to act even more nuts than usual. Now, after I eat this cheese danish and down this Mountain Dew, I think I'll go put a sign on my office door that says 'The Bitch is Back...Enter At Your Own Risk'.

Give, Give, Give...

Has anyone other than me noticed that nowadays there is a fundraiser or a charity for just about anything? Granted, they are for very worthy causes. There is the Relay For Life, the AIDS Walk, and the UNCF telethon. Local public broadcasting stations have annual membership drives to raise funds. Children's Health Care of Atlanta has a series of radio spots that are designed to make you feel this big (teensy weensy) if you don't help support them. You can even donate your time and help Habitat for Humanity build a new home for a deserving family.

Well this weekend there are two of these events happening, and I am torn. The first is Yogathon. This second annual event will benefit Kashi Atlanta's community service programs. Three hours of doing 'sun salutations' out at the park. Translation: three hours of trying to become one with your inner being, while twisting your body into positions that my cat can't achieve. And in public, too. Nothing like having strangers watch you realize just how old you really are. The second is Shimmy-a-thon, a benefit for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. You guessed it...bellydancing. You can go and cheer on your favorite bellydancer and help them raise money by donating to them. If you can do a knee shimmy (moving just the knees back and forth so that the hips shimmy), you can be a part of a guiness world record attempt. If you are brave enough you can even perform in their Belly Dance show.

Decisions, decisions... I better get my veil and belly chain and start practicing. Namaste!

The Good, The Bad, and the Downright Scary

Yesterday was Mother's Day. A day where we honor those who brought us into this world. So I did what I have done for the past two Mother's days...I went to Six Flags Over Geaorgia!!! It's the perfect day for it. I mean, who takes their mom to Six Flags for Mother's Day?? Actually, you'd be surprised, but even so, the place is nearly deserted. Compared to the crowds that are normally there on a sunny summer day. With the exception of two rides, we didn't wait in line more than 4 or 5 minutes for anything. And by the end of the afternoon, we were walking up and hopping on rides. We looped and dropped and screamed and laughed, and on a couple of rides made a promise to start attending church regularly if we survived. All in all, it was a great day. But that is not what I wanted to discuss.

If you ever need an ego boost, a little shot in the arm that even though you aren't Tyra Banks or Markus Schenkenberg you still look pretty decent, just spend an afternoon at the Flags. As one of my buddies said while we were standing in line, YIKES!!!!!! I understand that people come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and varying states of tooth decay. But it never ceases to amaze me that people will go out in public looking the way that they do. We saw women in outfits that were so skimpy they wouldn't fit around my thigh. Men with no shirts that had more hair than a Yeti. Little kids (4 or 5 years old) running around in bikini swimsuits. I saw more fake hair and gold teeth than at an Old Dirty Bastard concert. And every time I turned around, there was someone with a gaping hole where one (or several) of their teeth had once been.

And just the Saturday before, I had been complaining to a friend that I had been slack about going to the gym and was starting to let myself go. Sort of makes me fell silly...

A Current Affair...

I haven't blogged in a week. I haven't been inspired about anything. So in an effort to appease the masses, let's talk about some events that have made headlines in the last week.

By now you have all heard about the 'Runaway Bride'. Seems she got cold feet and planned an elaborate hoax in an effort to reconsider her pending nuptials. Nevermind the trauma she put her family through, the time and effort spent by law enforcement and volunteers looking for her. Nevermind that she covered her head with a towel when she came home, even though by then her face has been plastered on billboards and we all had seen that permanent deer-in-headlights look she has. What gets me about the entire situation is that her soon-to-be husband doesn't seemed phased by any of it. He hasn't called off the wedding, just postponed it. Come on, your fiancee goes across the country and tells people she was kidnapped in order to escape getting married to you. Get the hint, buddy. Or at least invest in a good pair of track shoes. You'll need them the next time she tales off...

Corey Clark, ousted American Idol contestant, claimed this week on national television that he had an affair with Paula Abdul. Blech, blech, and double blech!!!! Such a shameless attempt at self promotion. Let's see, Paula has somehow managed to keep her job despite numerous 'difficulties', and you think you will be the one to bring her down? Get real, kiddo. Or at least get a new manager. They played some clips from the forthcoming album. Looks like William Hung's record sales are about to go up....

And speaking of American Idol, it finally happened. Scott 'I am gonna kill you, sucka' got the boot. I was worried there for a minute. Could you imagine if he had won? They'd have to put a parental advisory on the album cover...Warning: Satan's minion has arrived.

Ok, that ought to do it for the day...

I Don't Want To Grow Up

Have you ever felt like you needed a laugh track for your life? Maybe it's just me, but I find that on an almost daily basis, someone says or does something that just calls for a guffaw or two. Of course, that someone is usually me. As I go though my routine at the office, I find more and more that I seem to have lost several marbles somewhere along the journey of my life. I mean, when was the last time you saw a 35 year old man skip down a hallway whistling the theme from The Smurfs? Yes, I actually caught myself doing that for a moment. What's worse is that several of my coworkers observed this curious behavior as well. I cannot tell you what caused me to bound through the office in such a manner. Or that choice of a song. As I sat back down at my desk, I started to think about the numerous things of this nature I had done today and I was astounded. Not an hour before, I had been sitting here lip sync-ing 'Dancing Queen', complete with a Sharpie for a microphone. I seem to have a pet name for everyone in the office....Aquanetta, Miss Girl, and Playboy, to name a few. I got to the office first this morning, and when my boss arrived he asked me if I was having 'Club Tim' because I had music blaring out of my computer and was playing with the lights. And yesterday the son of a coworker was here, and I damn near destroyed two copiers and a fax machine trying to teach him how to stand on his head.

Something is clearly wrong here. Or is it? Sure, at times it probably seems that I may be a candidate for a padded room and adult incontinence undergarments. And there are those that will argue that Pampers would be a better choice, since I am so in tune with my inner child. I say, don't knock it until you've tried it. The next time you are outside (or as the case may be, in a hallway), try a cartwheel. If you get through it without breaking any bones, it can be quite a spirit booster. And never underestimate the power of spontaneously bursting forth in song. Sure, you may alienate a few people (or a few hundred if you are in a mall). Add little shuffle-ball-change in there and you might even earn a few coins in the process. Now if I can just find my Big Wheel, I am going to see if I can jump the handicapped ramp in front of my building...

To Sleep...Perchance to Dream

I have never had a problem falling asleep. Usually, within minutes of hitting the pillow, I drift off to the wonderful land of Slumber. I sleep like a corpse, except of course when Jack decides it is playtime at 3:48 am. And I have never needed an alarm clock to wake up; you could set Eastern Standard time by my biological clock. I normally do not recall most of my dreams, though lately I have been awakened in the morning thinking 'what the sam hell was that all about?'. Those in the know will tell you that remembering your dreams depends on whether or not you wake up in the midst of one. Or that the context of your dreams is dependent on daily factors that influence your life. Have a stressful job, you will dream about work. I have even been told that your dreams can be effected by eating before you go to sleep. Now I realize that having that bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream with chocolate sauce, pecans, and whipped cream is a sure fire way to get a less than perfect night of sleep. All that sugar at 10 pm is bound to keep you wired. But come on, I don't think it induced the dream I had a couple of nights ago (when said bowl of ice cream was devoured). It was all still a little fuzzy when I woke up, but in the dream I was being chased by a woman with a butcher knife who for some reason thought I was holding her cat ransom. And when she caught up with me and proceeded to get down on one knee and propose to me in the middle of this city square with all these people looking on. I woke up with this image, and I may have discerned it's origins. Before I went to bed the previous night (and after the ice cream), I started reading a book a friend gave me, 'Husband Hunting Made Easy' (a feeble attempt by a concerned friend to get me settled down, but I will go into that soap opera at a later date). And I was awakened the next morning by my kitten Jack, who so lovingly had decided to use my nose as a chew toy. No amount of psycho-babble in the world will convince me that is was anything other than those two factors that converged to form that dream....the book and my cat. And perhaps an overactive imagination..

Did I forget to mention that the deranged lunatic that was chasing me was driving a Carvel Ice Cream truck???

The Blind Leading The Blind

I have a friend. Well, really, just an acquaintance. Ok, so we have only actually met once. She is a woman at a law firm that I correspond with daily through email for work. But we have developed quite the e-friendship, and I do consider her a friend. She is very insightful, and usually manages to have me in tears at least once a day, either through some touching story from her life or through some completely inappropriate remark about my lack of a sex life because I am single and her lack of a sex life because she is married. Well, she has decided to set me up on a date. sort of. She has a friend who has a friend who is supposedly just fabulous, and the two of them are in cahoots to get he and I together. Nevermind that my friend has never actually seen this guy. And she knows nothing about him. Just that he is gay, which, evidently, is the only deciding factor in this whole matchmaking scheme. So she gave him my email and me his and said go for it.

I figured I would at least say hello since she had gone to so much trouble to sort of introduce us. We have exchanged a few pleasantries, and he seems like a nice person as far as I can tell. We even got past the obligatory 'So tell me about yourself..what do you look like?' phase. We've been emailing back and forth about a week now. And the other shoe finally dropped. Just when I was thinking about suggesting that the four of us (yes, he and I and the two friends who set us up) meet for a friendly cup of java or perhaps something stronger, he informs me that he lives in South Carolina! It seems this little fact was left out of the equation when those two gals decided to play Cupid. And my friend knew it and didn't tell me. She thought it wouldn't matter. I suppose it shouldn't really, but it nonetheless does. I am not trying to end up on an episode of Ricky Lake entitled "My Long-Distance Carrier Ruined My Love Life'. Sheesh...

It's A Boy?

So yesterday I spent the day with my family. One of my sister's has a three year old son and a 9 month old daughter, and the two of them were baptized yesterday morning. My mom came in town, as did my younger sister, and all the extended family (you know, all those people who were 'aunts and uncles' when you were growing up) were there as well. It was a beautiful service, albeit a bit long. I am glad to have just survived. I had a sneaky suspicion that the church was going to go up in flames and consume my entire family as soon as I set foot in it. But I get ahead of myself.

I rode with my mother from my sister's house to the church. She was very much in 'grandma' mode, and just babble incessantly about how the two little ones had grown since she last saw them a month and a half ago. And then she said the eight words that brought the conversation to a screeching halt..."It's time for you to have a child". I couldn't even respond. I just sat staring straight ahead, surely with a look on my face that could only be read as 'what the hell????'. I thought she was making a funny, surely she couldn't have been serious. But she was. And proceeded to tell me about how she and my sisters had discussed it the night before and all were in agreement that I am going to make a great father. Nevermind the fact that I don't feel emotionally, mentally, or financially responsible to play daddy (no comments from the peanut gallery, please). She just kept gushing about how good I am with my niece and nephew and how I have always been good with kids, etc. Her response when I told her that I was not ready to have a child was that no one is 'ready'. Which I suppose is true to some extent. But I am too selfish right now to have that kind of responsibility. I enjoy being able to come and go as I please. That's why I got a kitty, hehe. I have a hard enough time trying to remember to clean out his litter box every day. And to see me do it, you'd think I was handling toxic waste. So you can imagine how I am around poopy diapers. I don't know if they ever have caught on, but in all the times I have babysat in the past three years, I have only had to change one messy diaper. Of course, I think that is really more due to sheer luck than anything. Or perhaps the little ones just want their parents to be able to share in their movements. Whatever the case, parenthood is not in the near future for me. I'll just stick to being Uncle Tim. I can spoil them rotten and let them do anything they want, and at the end of the day I can give them back to mom and dad.

And, if I am so ready to be a parent, why was I not asked to be a God-parent? Hmm...

Gezundheit!

Who would have ever thought that a two syllable word could render a grown man helpless? One moment I am enjoying a wonderful spring afternoon; the next I am reduced to a snivelling, snot-nosed phlegm factory. That's right...Pollen! Every spring we get doused with the yellow stuff. Last weekend was absolutely beautiful. Except for the thin layer of dust from the devil that covered everything in sight. I even called upon some friends upstairs and did a little rain dance, but it was too little, too late. The yellow marauders of my nasal nightmare had already stormed the castle, and taken up residence. What should have been couple of days of itchy eyes and runny nose has developed into hay fever. So here it is a week later, and I have taken every type of sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy headed, fever, so you can rest medicine there is out there. I have had Sudaphed induced crack dreams and technicolor expectorations courtesy of Vicks 44. I have had more than my share of chicken soup for my soul and enough vitamin C to keep the Florida Citrus Growers in tanning oil and flip flops for years to come. All is not lost though. During my sinus-imposed incarceration today, I have watched my 6 month old kitten, Jack, turn over two plants, try to strangle himself in the blinds, accidentally flush the toilet, and talk to himself in the mirror in the bedroom. Now I know what he does all day while I am out. And I watched a REALLY bad Charles Bronson movie, that had but one redeeming quality. But that's another blog entirely....

Too Legit To Quit???

Ok, so Atlanta's professional sports teams haven't really been known as a serious contender in the past couple of years. Well, maybe the Falcons are an exception. They just need to learn how to carry the momentum and not fall through in the clutch. But I will leave them alone...for now. Let's talk about the Atlanta Hawks.

Picture it...Atlanta, Georgia, 1996 (said in my best Sophia Patrillo voice...hehe). The Autumn air is crisp, the leaves have all turned, and it's basketball season once again. I was hired to perform as a member of the Atlanta Hawks Dance Team. It was truly groundbreaking. We were the first dance team in the NBA to have male dancers, and we were out to make a name for ourselves. Yeah sure, there were a few odd looks and jeers at the first couple of games, but once people got used to the idea we were well accepted. As a child (back in the days of Spud Webb and Dominic), my father used to take my sisters and I to a couple of games each season. But this was my first up close and personal experience with the NBA. I mean, there I was, sitting on the sidelines, rooting on my team. Having players jump over me trying to get a rebound, mugging for the camera (which usually meant getting cheesy with one of the female dance team members because all the photographers just wanted T & A shots!), and even walking out of the old Omni Arena next to Michael Jordan. The basketball team faired decently that season, and made it to the second round of the play-offs. The next couple of seasons the team did so-so, and there was a big transition as the team played at the Georgia World Congress Center and at the GA Tech auditorium during the construction of their current home, Phillips Arena. The 1998-1999 season was the last that I danced for them, but I have managed to keep up with the team.

Now, take a BIG step forward, and picture April 2005. The Hawks have faired less than notably for a couple of seasons. And attendance at home games is down. Once again, tomorrow night it's time for that sure-fire way to pack the house...Fan Appreciation Night!! Special ticket packages, lots of hotdogs, pretzels and Chik Fil-A to be had, and the Hawks are playing the Bulls. Not that the game would have the same draw as back in the days of Air Jordan, but surely there will be some warm bodies in the seats. And just to be sure, the powers-that-be have planned an after game concert.

The one....the only...MC Hammer! Need I say anything more? At a normal game, once the clock gets down to about 5 minutes left in the game, people start filing out, trying to beat the traffic rush. And I can't blame them. It's not very often that a game nowadays is a nail-biter and the outcome determined in those final moments. I don't know which will cause them to leave sooner tomorrow night, the failing play of the basketball team, or the thought of seeing Mr Hammer jumping around like he's stomping an ant hill. I know that 80's and early 90's music are trying to make a comeback, but come on. The man was on that MTV show 'The Surreal Life'. That's pretty much an admission that your career has hit rock bottom. If it weren't for that show, half the people at tomorrow night's Hawks game probably will probably be too young to even be able to tell you what he sang. This trip down Nostalgia Lane is sure to include such hits as 'U Can't Touch This', 'Turn This Mutha Out', and 'Too Legit To Quit'. Do we really need to see multi-color balloon striped pants, gold chains, and someone dancing so fast that the paramedics mistake it for a grande mal seizure?

Please, Hammer...Don't Hurt 'Em!!!

It's All Rigged!!!!

That's it!!! I am officially done with American Idol. I know, I know, there are much more important things in life to reflect on. Hey, it's my blog, so deal with it! Not that I watch it diligently and call in and vote for people (I like to at least PRETEND that I have a life). But I have caught it enough to know who the better performers are. And there is no way on God's green earth that Scott 'future serial killer' Savol and Bo 'I wanna be a hair model' Bice should have beaten Nadia Turner out last night. Granted, Nadia probably made some poor song choices in singing some songs that middle America isn't that familiar with. But that shouldn't matter. It's a TALENT competition folks, not a popularity contest. Of course, I don't know why I act shocked. It's not as if the best contestant won on any of the previous seasons of the show. And most likely, Miss Turner (the younger) will be able to go ahead and get started on her career, rather than being trapped in a contract by the heathens that run American Idol. Hey wait!!! This is a good thing. Good job, America. Thanks for setting Nadia free...

Say cheese!!!!

I am ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille! This is me. A headshot I had taken about a year ago.

In The Beginning...

Oh dear me, what have I done? This is truly going to be what best can be desribed as an experiment in sheer terror for some, utter confusion for others, and most likely, comic relief for most of you. I am sure the early stages of this will be quite the bore for those of you that know me, but perhaps a little background is neccesary for the masses. I will try to add an entry every day or so, but the way my crazy life goes, that may not always happen!

So what to say, what to say...

As I sit in here in front of my laptop, a little later in the afternoon, it dawns on me that I should be working on something for class for tonight. Yes I have started teaching again, this time at the Atlanta Ballet; teaching an adult advanced jazz class. It's only been a couple of weeks, but I think this will be a good place for me to be. Teaching new students, I can't get away with my old tricks; got to be a little more prepared. This will be a good thing....