Blah Blah Blog

Mid-February in southern North Carolina

2011-02-27T11:37:00.000-08:00

Took this while driving along Secrest Shortcut Rd. in Indian Trail, NC, halfway between my house and my office.

Chickens!

2009-10-14T16:43:00.000-07:00

Our chicks arrived today, safe and perky!

Dogwoods, Droughts, and Draughts (pronounced drafts, silly)

2009-08-29T19:27:00.000-07:00

It's hard to imagine, unless you've experienced it first-hand, the unmitigated anguish of watching your new lawn and treasured ornamental flowering trees wither away to dust. But I've experienced this. Twice. In just two years.

It's also hard to imagine, unless you're one of my neighbors watching disdainfully from a curtained window, a weary and wild-eyed forty-something dragging a lawn sprinkler and 200 feet of garden hose from tree to tree, adjusting the angle and velocity of the sprinkler head at each new location, delicately setting the appropriate radius of spray, then stepping back--just for a moment--to savor the sight of water seeping into cracker-dry earth.

This wouldn't be so unimaginable perhaps, except that most of the trees are not in the yard at all, but in the woods. For several weeks now, I've been watering the woods.

Am I insane?

Yes. Certifiably so.

But I like our white flowering dogwood trees. And I hate droughts. And for the second summer in three years drought conditions have plagued our homesite, claiming more than one cherished dogwood.

When we moved into the house in May of 2007, the previous owner, who had been here about 5 years, said the little creek that runs along the lot had never dried up, not even in summer. Well, that first summer it dried up completely, and this summer (cursed thing), only a few small puddles remain.

All this because we've had only 4 inches of rain since June. Three hot summer months and only one lousy rain shower. (You might think that 4 inches is a lot, but just try growing some 'maters in 90+ degree temperatures with only a single application of water).

The strangest part is that Charlotte and the surrounding region is not under any kind of drought restriction. Why? Because it's been raining EVERYWHERE but at our house. I'm not kidding. I watch satellite imagery incessantly, searching for any small inkblot that woul

d give the impression of impending rain. Oh, the dark clouds come. They well up and thunder all around us, dropping inches of rain at a time to the north in Charlotte, unloading tons of water to the south in Monroe and east in Waxhaw. But NEVER in Matthews. At least not at our house. I swear, we must be surrounded by some kind of invisible hoodoo water-repellant force field. There can be no other explanation for why rain falls north, south, east, and west of us, but NEVER at our house.

So I water. And I water. And I water. You do what you have to when you're desperate for a draught of water in a drought-stricken landscape. This is a photo of our dried up creek. Pathetic.

Tonight's forecast? 80% chance of rain. Think we'll get any? I've got a better chance of winning the Powerball jackpot. Twice. In two years.

ADDENDUM, 9:30 PM

See, I wasn't kidding! Below is an actual screen capture of tonight's rain event that had an 80% chance of hitting us. Notice the hole in the image RIGHT OVER MATTHEWS! This happens EVERY TIME!

Stump Grinding

2009-04-03T19:09:00.000-07:00

Episode 1 - Friday

I reserved a medium size stump grinder from Sun Belt Rental and towed it home this afternoon after leaving work. Before ever driving off the rental yard I could see that the cutting edges of the teeth were severely rounded over and in very bad shape. I ignored it because obviously people had been using this stump grinder, so how bad could it be?

Very bad. At home, I gave it a go on the nearest stump and the teeth not so much chewed out smooth chunks as it should, but bounced along the stump shredding it as it went. I could see right away this was not going to work. But no matter. Just at that moment the engine coughed and spit and spewed out an enormous blue cloud of smoke that made me jump back before I mustered courage to return and cut off the engine.

I had used the machine for a total of two minutes.

After dinner we loaded it back onto the trailer, and at dawn tomorrow (literally, at 7 AM) I will be at the rental store to return this beast.

This evening we went to The Home Depot and noticed they had the same model stump grinder, but with better teeth, and one-fourth the running hours, for about $70 less per day. I think that store will be my second stop in the morning.

Episode 2 - Saturday

Make that $101 less per day. I returned the stump grinder to Sun Belt without incident, got a full refund of $311 and rented the same machine, only newer, from The Home Depot, for $210. While Sun Belt offers Sunday free, the rental was for only 8 hours running time, tracked by a built-in timer dial in the casing of the stump grinder, but Depot didn't care how long I ran the machine, as long as I returned it in 24 hours. Or pay $32 for each additional hour. Sun Belt charges $24. So, renting from Depot turned out to be a huge savings. Besides, the engine is as loud as a locomotive so I really didn't want to run it on Sunday.

I didn't finish grinding all the stumps even though I worked for over 9 hours. The machine cuts very slowly and a 12-inch stump takes more than half an hour to shred. I think if the cutting teeth were new and sharp, it would take considerably less time. But you can't make the rental place put on new teeth for you. Undoubtedly they don't care about that.

Episode 3 - In pre-production

Looking around the yard it seems like I finished off about one-third of the stumps, so I'm taking a vacation day Thursday to go at it again. Hopefully I'm underestimating and can get most of the stumps done in one day because Friday I plan to have two large loads of topsoil delivered and rent a skid steer to move it with.

Thirty cubic yards of earth should occupy me for quite some time. Stop by with your shovel. Or your Tonka Truck.

Boys will be boys, Jeff will be MEAN!

2009-02-09T16:14:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago I was looking out back and saw several boys playing in and around the detention pond on the church property that adjoins our lot. They were using air soft guns and seemed to be having a pretty good time. When they finished their game, they walked along the back of the church property through the woods, into someone else's woods, and finally, down through my neighbor's yard, where lots of other kids cut between subdivisions.

The next day, the boys came to play again. They arrived the same way, and left in the same manner. No problem. Not my woods, and they're not doing any harm.

But I could guess what was eventually going to happen, and you can too.

The air soft gun battle soon spilled over onto our lot. Not very far into our lot, just a few yards, and it wasn't a big deal. The back end of our lot is woodsy: a few scattered trees, no grass, and a six foot high brush pile with a ramp to the top made from wood chips that I delivered by wheelbarrow over several months last year.

It didn't take long for those boys to discover the joys and triumphs of playing king of the brush pile. Once they discovered it, it immediately became the center of every game.

And you can probably guess what happened next.

No, they didn't light it on fire, although I wouldn't mind much if they had.

They got real comfortable in our yard. And bored with the long way home so they started using the driveway and walking past the garage and screen porch to get to the battleground.

Next thing, boys and guns are flowing down toward the house, where the boys discover the creek and our bridge over the creek, and the other bridge over the creek that goes right to the deck and along the house. And they couldn't have been more carefree if they'd been romping around Disneyland.

At this point I felt it was time to have a chat. I told them that it would have been nice if they'd knocked on the door and asked if they could play in the woods and cut up our driveway and through the yard (not to mention walking everywhere else). One guy was apologetic and courteous, but the others didn't have much to say. The courteous kid showed me how his gun worked, and when I asked, he let me take a couple shots. I told them to be careful, to use the driveway, and to stay WAY OUT BACK.

They didn't. Every day they'd end up hanging out near the house, playing in the creek, climbing up this leaning tree, and loitering on the far bridge.

What's more, the other day, two of them terrorized a squirrel along the driveway with their little plastic pellets. The squirrel was at the base of a small tree and the boys fired at it until it climbed as high as it could go, which was only about 30 feet. So, it leapt to the ground to escape. Thirty feet! I was a hundred feet away in the house and could hear the squirrel thump on the ground as it landed. It seemed to be okay and got away, and I realize it's just a squirrel, and that these are boys, but come on. Terrorize wildlife at your own house.

Well today I'd had enough. They were getting loud and obnoxious, playing in the creek and all over the bridge. I wanted them to have fun, but I also wanted them to be considerate of our privacy, and our property.

So what pushed my red button today was when one kid took a 2-inch tree next to the bridge, a tree I specifically left in that place for aesthetics (not that he would have know this), bent it over, and positioned himself to stand on it. His intention clearly was to break it off. I worked many many months clearing the lot and deciding--very methodically--which trees to keep and which to cut.

So I threw open a window and yelled, "GET OFF THAT TREE, BOY!" And then, "WHY DON'T YOU GUYS CLEAR OUT OF HERE FOR A WHILE. YOU'RE GETTING A LITTLE TOO COMFORTABLE AROUND HERE!"

I felt kind of bad afterwards, but I was red hot. That destructive brat had no regard for our property, even if it was a just little tree in the "woods."

And what's more, these boys were over here three different times Saturday--several hours the third time and right up until dark. And then again Sunday morning, and Sunday afternoon until after dinner time. It was getting out of hand. I didn't think they would come around so often when I gave them the OK to use the back of the yard.

I have a feeling they won't be back for a while.

Addition Foundation

2008-08-02T17:37:00.000-07:00

After more than a year of planning and too many delays to remember or count we finally have a foundation for our addition. Our master mason, Chad Morrison, showed up this morning, Saturday, with his brother and two helpers and built all the piers and the entire curtain wall in about 5 hours. And the finished product is certifiable modern majestic masonry art! Chad has a few minor things to finish up tomorrow (yes he’s working on Sunday, bless his heathen heart), but the work is complete for all intents and purposes (um, that would be to hold up the actual addition).

Tuesday our HVAC (heating, ventilation, and cooling) contractor is scheduled to install the new air conditioning condenser, and after that the electrician will wire it up, and then Peidmont Natural Gas will come (hopefully) Friday to move the gas meter (which now is within the walls of the new addition) to the outside of the addition.

Dudes, we’re like, reeeeeeeeeeealy excited about all this. Things are finally happening. It’s very possible in fact, that the addition could be framed and dried-in (windows, sheathing, and roofing installed) within two weeks.

So, like, text us if you want to party down and celebrate this most momentous occasion with us.

Bring your skateboard, dudes (and dudettes).

Near Death Experience!

2008-05-25T07:38:00.000-07:00

Saturday Audry and I were moving rotted wood from the woods into the truck when I was stung on the right shoulder by what we think was a yellow jacket. The sting was just a slight pricking sensation for the first second or two, but quickly grew to be more painful and sting-like, so we went inside after about a minute to apply ice. But within 5 minutes—and over the span of only another 5 minutes—my arms, legs and feet were itching uncontrollably and breaking into serious hives. I was turning red all over.

Meantime Audry called a phone number to reach a triage center associated with my (lousy) health insurance to find out what was best to do for this sort of thing. I had never reacted this way from a bee sting before, and although I was seriously allergic to several bees when I was a kid, I’d been stung a couple times since and not had any more of reaction than a lump at the sting site followed by soreness and itching for a few days after.

But I was DEFINITELY having a reaction to this sting. So Audry hustled me to Matthews Urgent Care and, although there were a few patients ahead of us—including a small boy writhing on the floor and foaming from the mouth and nose—they took me in ahead of him. His problem could wait.

After the prerequisite medical questions: are you allergic to or taking any medications, no; any medical conditions, no; have you had any surgeries, no; do you want these three injections we’re about to stab you with, no; they stabbed me with the three injections anyway.

In the end I was glad for them. One shot of Epinephrine (EpiPen) to stop the reaction, one of Benadryl to continue stopping the reaction, and one steroid to—well—I don’t really know (but I have a prescription for that one). But they worked, and quickly. The itching stopped almost immediately, and the swelling and red skin faded almost entirely by the time we left the office about 45 minutes later.

But I'm used to injections. When I was around twelve I was tested positive for several bee venoms and began getting bi-weekly allergy shots. I had to carry an EpiPen (self-injected hypodermic needle) with me EVERYWHERE to use in case I reacted to a bee sting. Happily, I escaped even a single sting for 20 years, evading the horrifying necessity to jab myself like a desperate junkie.

So now, after being needle-free for decades, I have to carry a new EpiPen everywhere I go.

Life could be worse.

Woodpile

2008-02-24T19:01:00.000-08:00

After weeks of cutting down trees, sawing them into exact 16-inch fireplace length, and wheelbarrowing them to a pile near the garage, enough wood had accumulated that we decided it was time to get rid of it. We have no immediate use for firewood so onto craigslist it went. We placed an ad on a Thursday night offering ‘Free unseasoned firewood’ and my cell phone rang all morning Friday, and several other people emailed looking for directions.

There wasn’t enough firewood for all of Charlotte, but the second man who called, Mike, came with his son the next day and took about three car loads of wood (he had a Volvo wagon). And since he cut up a large fallen tree for us, I agreed to deliver it to his house if he loaded it onto my truck.

So load the truck he did. I was practically riding a wheelie the entire five miles to Mike’s house, and then once there I had to drive diagonally down his ravine-like back yard to unload the truck exactly at his outdoor fire pit.

Once we had the truck unloaded, the bed-liner was covered with chunks of bark, saw dust, twigs, which I made a subtle reference to, but without even a twinge from Mike. I thought that since I had gone out of my way to deliver the wood, which I estimated had a market value of over $100—especially delivered this way—that the guy would have been courteous enough to offer me a free truck bed sweep. But he made me ask for it. He reluctantly went to his house and returned with a grass broom and swept the bed clean, or nearly so. Somehow he overlooked the tailgate, but I let it go. I thanked him, said no more deliveries, he thanked me in return and I got in my truck.

Since an unloaded pick-up does not do well in reverse up a muddy hillside, we agreed I should turn around and go up nose first. But this was not so easily done. After at least a thirty seven-point turn between clusters of trees and a swing set, I managed to get pointed in the right direction. Mike held up a limb that was blocking the way and I proceeded gently and steadily up the short hill trying my best not to spin the tires. Nevertheless, the rear wheels slipped—just a bit—and I caught myself snickering at the thought of the ruts I was leaving behind.

But what goes around comes around.

Since Mike had taken only a small fraction of the wood we had available we posted another firewood ad two weeks later. Again, instant interest. I arranged for the first two callers to come by, and they did, at exactly the same time Saturday morning. I was sure there’d be a fistfight in the driveway as two pick-ups and a customized van rolled up to the garage and drivers with their various helpers began spilling out into the yard and surrounded the woodpile. But ultimately everyone played nice and loaded their respective vehicles responsibly.

What did go awry is that the van driver, who had a funny oversized upper lip, and a belly to match, tried backing his tank around his buddy’s truck and got his wheels stuck in the mud in the culvert along the drive. All he had to do was wait for his pal to pull out and he could have stayed high and dry, but no, he had to plow his own path—through my yard no less—just to get out first. It was pointless. He had no reasonable objective and the only explanation is that the guy was one sandwich short of a picnic. He had a total disregard for our property, and lacked any kind of sense about driving into a low area after a recent heavy rain.

When he had spun the tires sufficiently to bury the van up to its frame he got out and lit a cigarette while his buddy connected a tow strap to the van’s trailer hitch and prepared to pull him out. And this is where it got interesting.

His pal starts pulling with his truck and the van guy puts one leg in the van and starts working the accelerator with his foot while the other foot is outside on the soggy earth. Bad idea. Meanwhile, the van isn’t going anywhere because the wheel was turned the wrong way. So I point this out to him and he straightens the wheel and the van instantly lurches backward and the guys eyes pop out of his head because he suddenly realizes that his van is moving and only 20 percent of him is in it. So he does this panicked one-legged back-stepping skip-hop, a newly lit cigarette bouncing between his lips, as he simultaneously tries to get into the van and steer it safely. But the van keeps moving higher toward the driveway and the guy is going deeper into the culvert losing his balance with each step.

I’d love to say he fell on his rump, but he somehow managed to stay upright. The van stopped, the guy takes a drag from his cigarette, and hops right in. No reaction at all.

Just another day in Loonyville for this character.

What irked me was that he left a 10-inch trench in my grass with hardly a word about it. I think he said, as he was driving away with $100 of my hard-earned wood, “Oh, sorry about the mess.”

Right. You offer people something of value for free, and they squish your generosity into the mud as they leave. What’s worse is that those guys will probably sell that wood for a hundred bucks, too.

But no real harm was done, I got rid of a lot of excess green wood, and got a good chuckle from watching that guy shuffle in the culvert.

The Bird Man of Matthews

2007-10-21T06:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was refilling the gas tank on the wood chipper and looked up to see an eastern phoebe (a flycatcher) had landed on a small limb about ten feet away. This was pretty unusual, I thought, especially considering all the racket I had made with the chipper just moments earlier. I watched the bird for a minute and before long it swooped toward me to catch a bug, then landed on the hopper of the wood chipper, just three feet away! I stood very still, not sure if the phoebe was somehow unaware of my presence, completely unwary of humans, or was rabid and about to peck my eyeballs out.

Moments later I found out. It WAS rabid. It flew right at my face and when I ducked my head back, it fluttered around for a moment in front of my face, but then settled back to its perch on the chipper.

So I decided it wasn’t rabid after all and was uninhibited. Seeing how tame it was I slowly stretched my hand toward it, got within six inches, and amazingly, it flew up and perched on my index finger!

About this time Audry came out to see why I was standing so still staring at the chipper and as she approached I turned toward her, my arm still outstretched, to present my new friend. Imagine her face to see me standing in the woods with a wild bird on my finger! I could have eaten this bird like Golum if I’d wanted to, he was so friendly.

He swooped to get another bug and landed on a limb, but not long after that, he flew up to Audry and landed right on her head! I guess that’s what he (or she) was trying to do when it flew toward my face earlier. So, it stood on Audry’s head for a minute (fortunately didn’t poop) swooped for a bug, then perched on my arm for a while before heading to a limb again.

A funny thing is that this phoebe would not leave us. For ten or fifteen minutes, until we finally went inside, he hadn’t flown more than a few feet away. He was swooping and diving in between us, always perching within just a few feet.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. At the apartment I had Carolina wrens eating lunch with me in the living room, anoles and skinks eating from my hand, and now an eastern phoebe finds me in the woods and wants to be pals.

Just call me Jeffrey Doolittle.

That’s Doctor Doolittle, please.

Yuck

2007-10-08T15:35:00.000-07:00

So, the first day of class is over, I'm in my hotel room at the Hampton Inn waiting for the clock to turn seven so I can meet a few collagues for dinner. Meanwhile, someone is changing my bed. When I sat on the bed I noticed several (many severals actually)long dark hairs on the white comforter. Ok, not the worst sanitation offense in history, but, when I turned the comforter down to hide the hair while I waited for the front desk to send up fresh bedding, I saw (I hope you've eaten your dinner) a blood stain on the sheet! Not a drop, but a stain about 2-inches in diameter.

This is not acceptable. Obviously nobody changed the bedding after the last occupant checked out. And by the looks of the stain they may have checked out in more ways than one.

It took the young Asain man who just left my room about 10 minutes to change the bedding, but he was good-natured and appologetic so all's forgiven.

I just hope I can forget the image of my bed before appetizers arrive.

Away for the week

2007-10-07T17:09:00.000-07:00

When I started my new job with Union County it was understood that after about a year I would have to start taking classes to enhance my skills as a tax assessor. But because of scheduling issues, I think, my department has me going away to Chapel Hill—after just four months—for a week of training starting on Monday. The class is called Judo-Yoga and the Art of Tax Payer Dispatch. Okay, no it isn’t. It’s called Property Tax Listing and Assessing, but I like the sound of the Judo-Yoga class much better.

The class runs four days, Monday through Thursday, and there’s a test Friday morning (how dare they) at nine, and then I’ll come home right afterward, which is nice of course, because I’ll get back by mid-afternoon making for a somewhat abbreviated work day. That’s right, a workday. Just because I’m eating eggs benedict on the County, copying answers for the test from the geek next to me, and charging a Starbucks to the county for the drive home doesn’t mean I’m not working.

Incidentally, I’m not a big fan of overnight travel for work-related purposes, especially trips that require several consecutive nights away from home. But I've been fortunate up to this point in my life to not EVER spend a night away for business. Of course, a good number of my vocational years I spent in self-employment, but that’s not the point.

The point is I don’t want to be away from home unless I'm with Audry (I can hear your heart-felt sobs). In five years of marriage we’ve been lucky not to have been apart on more than two occasions, and for only two nights both times. The first time is when Audry stayed with her friend Jennifer to attend an architecture seminar in Boston, and the second is that time early in our marriage when I neglected to change my socks for several days straight and had to sleep in the tool shed until I promised to submit to regular hygiene inspections.

But those days are over. Thank goodness for all of us.

Anyway, that’s the sad state of my (and Audry’s) life this week. So do your health a favor and give Audry a buzz this week. Or I’ll mail my dirty socks to your front door.

Biting, stinging ants

2007-08-26T03:05:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning while cutting the grass I was bitten on the ankle and leg by several small brown ants that became agitated after I rolled the mower over their nest and then accidentally stepped on them. I can't say that I blame them for getting angry, but these little buggers attacked me with, I believe, the purpose of bringing me down and dragging me to their queen as a kind of peculiar trophy. Fortunately I sensed the attack early and kicked off my shoes before the 20 or 30 ants swarming over them reached my legs.

These aren't fire ants or carpenter ants but look like the small brown ones that you see on sidewalks or surrounding a potato chip you left behind on the picnic table.

But apparently they eat people too. And now I'm up very early Sunday morning with swollen itching bite sites and a mild case of nausea. Although conceivably the nausea is a result of being up so darned early on a Sunday. Or too many potato chips.

Anyway, this is not the first time this has happened. Two weeks ago I was bitten on my ankles in 3 places--just at the top of my sock line (these ants don't waste time crawling any higher than necessary to find your flesh)--after mowing over nests (yes I know, you'd think I'd have learned) and the bites itched for a full 10 days afterwards.

Evidently there are plenty of biting and stinging ants besides fire ants, and some of these smaller ants bite you and then spray (spit actually) acid on the bite. Talk about rubbing salt into a wound. These tiny villains are merciless! Much worse even than mosquitoes.

Unfortunately there are several nests of these people-eaters hidden in the grass of our front yard, and since I don’t have a riding mower I suppose I’ll have to be extremely careful from now on each time I mow.

Or, I could ask that loud-mouthed chubby kid down the street if he’d like to earn a couple bucks cutting my grass.

Charles, any thoughts on these ants? Or chubby kids?

Facebooger

2007-08-21T18:32:00.000-07:00

After spending more time trying to navigate around Facebook's website than actually doing anything useful or fun, I've decided to cancel my account. So don't look there for me any more. Not only is the site difficult to get around, but it posts questions on the user's behalf without any authority to do it. I just don't like it, and I have better things to do.

Like stand in the driveway after dark filling buckets with water from a hose to carry to a magnolia tree suffering from the drought. This a much more useful way for anyone to spend their evening. Unless you're going out for ice cream.

Busy busy busy

2007-06-11T18:37:00.000-07:00

By now everyone probably knows that I haven't made a recent post because the new house has been keeping me VERY busy. But I'm leaving this very brief note just to say that my blog won't be idle forever, so keep checking back every five minutes or so, like I know you've been doing, and soon there'll be real hot topics to read about.

Well, all right, luke warm topics at best.

Ciao for now.

Birds in my Belfry

2007-05-09T09:45:00.000-07:00

Here’s something fun to try when you’re sitting around at home all day and happen to have 500 mealworms on hand which your bearded dragon has turned his snout up at: make friends with wrens. A pair of Carolina wrens outside our apartment has been feeding their young brood for a couple of weeks so I’ve been tossing worms to them on the patio. I’m doing this chiefly to make their hectic little lives simpler, but also in part, I have to confess, to make my own simple life more fulfilling.

Two days ago I left the sliding screen door open after I “wormed” the birds, and while I was back at my computer I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. One of the wrens had come into the apartment and was hopping around on the living room carpet, presumably looking for more worms.

But as I watched this bird closely, I noticed a certain look of malcontent growing in its bead-like eye. A chill crawled up my spine.

These visits went on for a while and eventually I got tired of these fearsome birds harassing me so I just gave them the whole worm container out on the patio and, of course, it didn’t take either of these wormmongers long to figure out what was inside.

Then yesterday I decided to test our friendship again. I put the container on the carpet, opened the screen several inches and, just after the noon hour, ate lunch—although somewhat reluctantly—with the wrens.

Different lunches of course.

But after some time of this, when I felt my guests had crossed the line of appreciation and fallen into greed, I spoke to them. I wanted to know if they intended to finish off every single worm in one sitting, and if they would require tea afterward. But I got quite a surprise in return. One of them, the larger malcontented one, turned slowly toward me and said, “Beak quiet!”

Can you imagine? And after all I’ve done for their little ones.

Aerial view of house

2007-04-29T17:27:00.000-07:00

Here's a satellite veiw of the house we're buying. We stopped at the house today after church and met the sellers who were very willing to show us around a bit and tell us more about the home. Tuesday afternoon is the inspection and both Audry and I will be there going around with the inspector to learn all we can about the various mechanical systems and general condition of the house. We don't anticipate any problems but the inspection is ordered by the mortgage lender before they will issue the financing. Plus, it would be really stupid not to get an inspection.

JOB!

2007-04-27T12:34:00.000-07:00

Well, the heading says it all, I got the job we wanted with Union County. What a day! Soon I'll be roaming the countryside collecting information about houses, mostly new ones initially, for the tax assessment division of the tax administration department. Kind of a mouthful, but you wanted to know because here you are reading about it. I'll have a car to use, I think it's a Ferrari, and I'll use it to drive back and forth to work. 90% of my time will be spent in the field, in new home developments mostly, and the rest will be in the office drinking coffee.

Not really, the Ferrari is equipped with a European double boiler espresso machine. Self-cleaning.

Anyway, now we'll actually be able to afford the house we just contracted to buy, and Audry can rest peacefully again at night knowing I have a job and that I'm not sitting around all day long talking to our lizard and catching dust in the sunbeams.

Poor little guy. He'll soon be very lonely.

First Blah

2007-04-24T04:22:00.000-07:00

You'd think with my interest in writing that I'd have started a blog a long time ago, but what's kept me from doing it until now is my impression that blogs are, for the most part, a forum for narcissistic wind bags who have either run out of minutes on their cell phones, or thrive pathetically on the comments others post about them and their menial endeavors.

But my impression is changing. And I really don't want to be left behind. After all, I wouldn't be hip (blah blah blah) if I didn't have a blah blah blog.

I'm sure you don't believe that any more than I do, and I really am interested in hearing from you, despite my cynical ramblings and meanspirited cat-kicking nature.

Anyone want to talk about stocks? The advatages of living in the Charlotte metro area instead of wherever it is you happen to live? Why it's illegal for landscape contractors to hire American workers?

:)