Colonial Times

Not too long ago I mentioned that I wanted to buy an old theater in Bluefield. JMitch commented that she looked forward to reading that story. What follows is that story.

Once upon a time, I was living in a small city known as Bluefield. Now, it's easy to get confused as to where that may be. See, there are two Bluefields. And they exist side by side. On the Virginia side of the border, we have the town of Bluefield, home to Bluefield College, my alma mater. On the West Virginia side is the city of Bluefield, the place where I lived for a year after I graduated.

At the time, I was working for a small, local bank that was only a few blocks from my apartment. It was quite convenient when the weather got bad. And it was Bluefield, so it got bad. At the time, I knew that being a teller wasn't for me. Of course, that's a lesson I had to learn again, the hard way, later in my life. Anyway, I knew that working for that small, local bank was not going to be a long term gig. Therefore, if I wanted to stay in Bluefield beyond a year, I needed another reason to keep me there.

In all the time I spent in the Bluefields, I remember thinking it was a shame that the old Colonial theater sat in disrepair. The Colonial sat on the outskirts of downtown on the West Virginia side of the line. It was built in the early 20th century as a full theater, not just a cinema. In the 30s, the building was renovated to give the lobby an art deco style. It continued operating as a theater until 1979, at which point it closed down, never to show a film again.

I wanted to change that. Especially when I saw that the man who owned it planned to sell the place for only $35,000. In my eyes, that was kind of a steal. So I got in contact with the owner and arranged to meet and tour the ancient theater.

That's when I saw for myself exactly why he was only selling for 35 grand. This man had been using the space to house his junk. I'm sorry... He described himself as an "antiques dealer." Not having the trained eye of an Antiques Roadshow warrior, all I saw was junk. But that wasn't the real problem.

No, the true issue with the Colonial Theater was that it needed a new roof. It also needed new walls, new floors, new ceilings, new seats, a new stage, a new balcony... Basically, the place needed to be gutted and completely renovated. The antiques dealer said that he got an estimate for the repairs. To get the place in safe and working order would cost upwards of half a million dollars. $35,000 I was sure I could finance. $500,000? No way.

But I still saw so much potential in the place. My dream was to fix it all up, make it look the way it did when people actually bought tickets to sit in the dark and watch their favorite films. I wanted to transform the lobby into a coffee shop. We would have had sofas and overstuffed chairs and live music. Of course, we could have had live music for larger acts in the theater as well, once the stage was replaced with something that wouldn't collapse under more than 20 pounds of pressure.

Upstairs, behind the balcony, there was adequate room for an apartment. I could have lived there while I ran the place. It would have been amazing. But it was not meant to be.

Now, I didn't know a lot about Bluefield or its history, particularly the West Virginia side. During all my years there, even after graduation, I stuck pretty close to the college. I did go to some of the teachers in the business department to get their opinions. The overwhelming mutual opinion was that, most adults would not visit that part of downtown after dark. That would really cut into a movie theater's chances of making money if customers won't buy tickets to night shows.

Not long after, I was let go from the bank. I wasn't fired. They just decided not to keep me full-time after my annual allowance of part-time hours expired. I wasn't happy about it, but c'est la vie. I moved back to Roanoke and let the dream of owning my own movie theater die away. I still think it would be an awesome business to get into, but I don't see it happening any time in the near future. Not for me anyway.

The Two for One Special

Believe it or not, there was once a time when I liked chocolate. Now, I've never really had an overactive sweet tooth. More often than not, Halloween candy would sit in my closet to be thrown away a few weeks later the next year (like I ever cleaned out my closet). But I did enjoy the occasional slice of chocolate cream pie from the KDub (that's K&W for those not in the know). I also liked to have a Kit Kat or Twix every now and then.

And that's where we begin our story. With a Twix bar.

In those chocolate eating younger years, the Twix was probably my favorite candy bar. Chocolate and caramel with a cookie crunch. Not too shabby. And you got two of them. Pretty sweet deal if you ask me.

I'm not too sure how old I was when this story takes place. It was around that age when the baby molars are ready to fall out to make room for the permanent molars. See where this is going yet?

I was sitting in my room, eating a delicious caramel Twix bar. Suddenly I felt a strange sensation near the back of my mouth. One of those molars had gotten stuck in the caramel and popped out of the bottom gum. I spit the tooth out of my mouth, cleaned it off and got it ready for a visit from the tooth fairy that night.

I remember thinking it was odd that the tooth had come out. In the days leading to the Twix incident, the tooth had not felt loose. There was no wiggling. So I thought nothing more of the strange occurrence and continued eating my candy bar.

Then it happened. The molar on the opposite side of my mouth got stuck in the caramel and popped out, just like its twin had done only a few minutes earlier. Again, I cleaned off the chocolate and caramel, facing the reality of becoming two dollars richer, rather than just one.

I wasn't traumatized by losing two teeth on the same candy bar, and this isn't the story of how I came to hate chocolate. But I did make the decision to throw the rest of that Twix away that afternoon. Why take unnecessary chances?

The Good Old Days

Is there anyone out there like me? I'm sure there's not. I'm kind of unique. I mean, I know I have a doppelganger out there. I've met him. Looks just like me. It's off putting. But our personalities are extremely different.

In this instance, I'm wondering if anyone is like me in the sense that we all miss old school Disney cartoons. You know what I'm talking about, right? Old animated shorts starring Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Goofy, Pluto, Chip and Dale. These were some of the cartoons I grew up on.

Of course, these were old school 'toons even in the 80s. These were cartoons that were created throughout the 30s & 40s, maybe the 50s too. They're classics. And what do we get today? 3D computer animation. And they aren't just fun anymore. No, they have to teach something.

During my North Carolina years, I spent plenty of time watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with Gabby. She was a toddler, so she pretty much got to watch whatever she wanted. MMC was not my first choice.

But I watched plenty of episodes. I didn't exactly get invested in the storylines. I mostly just got annoyed. Mickey & Co. were all the time breaking the fourth wall. Why do creators constantly think this is okay? Dora the Explorer does it too. I get that they want the kids watching to feel like they're contributing to the adventure. But, really, they're falsely teaching kids that the people in the TV can hear them. Believe me, that's not the case.

I don't know how many innocent girls I've tried to warn that the masked killer was right behind them. Those girls always end up dead. They can't hear me at all. The fourth wall is there for a reason. Unless you're Zack Morris or Ferris Bueller, do you really think you have the right to break it?

And here's one of those classics. It was one of my favorites when I was a kid. "Who gets stuck with all the bad luck? No one but Donald Duck!"


My favorite part is where Dale finds the needle in the haystack. He looks so proud of himself. This may be one of the only instances where Donald actually wears pants. Also, after watching it, that final scene is pretty racially insensitive. Ah, different time, 1952.

Snowy Memories

Right now, the area in which I live is expecting unseasonably warm weather in the coming days. The expected high during this coming weekend will be in the 70s. This is not what January is supposed to feel like. January should have us bundled up with heavy coats, knit hats, gloves and scarves. Now, I'm not much of a scarf wearer and when I've tried, I've basically failed at it. But I'd be willing to give it another shot if it meant that we could get some actual cold weather.

Working in an elementary school, I hear a lot of people longing for some snow days. And when I say people, I don't just mean the kids who want a day off from school. Teachers seem to want the days off as much as, if not more than, the students they teach. I know we've only been back in school for three days since the Christmas vacation, but I'm sure each faculty and staff member would enjoy a day to sleep in again.

But those snow days are not coming any time soon. After last winter's mild climate, I'm not optimistic about receiving any significant snowfall. There are a lot of people who suffer from seasonal affective disorder in the winter due to a lack of sunlight. I think I'm suffering from the disorder due to a lack of snow. So I'm allowing my mind to carry me back to colder days; days when the snow fell freely from the skies over Bluefield College.

Before I began my education at Bluefield College, I was told that the town of Bluefield, Virginia experienced a total of two seasons: winter and August. This report came from people who lived in the area that has also been described as Four Seasons Country. So is it four or two?

Okay, after living there for five years myself, I can say that Bluefield does experience four seasons. But winter tends to last a little bit longer and summer doesn't seem to start as soon as it does in a lot of other places. I've seen snow arrive as early as September and fall again as late as May. That latter snow made for an interesting graduation ceremony in the spring of 2002.

When the snow fell heavily, it meant good times at Bluefield College. It meant snowball fights. It meant sledding at one's own risk down the treacherous Rish Hall hill. It meant a gorgeous blanket of white that laid out neatly across an already beautiful campus.

I remember being playfully attacked by a group of girls during a heavy snowfall my freshman year. At least, I hope it was a playful attack. My face was buried in the snow more than once that night. It may have been more brutal than I choose to remember. I've been told my sarcasm would get me punched in the face before. May have been my sarcasm got me shoved into the snow and ice on that fateful night.

Each year I took advantage of that treacherous hill behind Rish Hall. How could I not? It was steep and slick. Now, I did try to avoid any ramps that had been built in the snow. I'm no daredevil. And after seeing a kid on a snowboard attempt a back flip and land on his head, I avoided ramps at all costs. I will say this: going down was wicked fun, but the walk back up was a pain. It's not easy walking up that steep hill when it's covered in dry grass. Two feet of snow doesn't help in the slightest.

And then there's the view. I'm sure not everyone feels that Bluefield is as beautiful as I consider it. But that's how I think of it. Throughout most of my years living in the dorm, I was able to look out the window at the sight of East River Mountain rising on the not too distant horizon. Time after time, I could see the clouds literally rolling in over the mountains and seemingly falling into the town. Seeing the trees on that mountain covered with snow is nearly as breathtaking as a sunrise over the Atlantic.

I remember the excitement of walking around campus at night. The excitement came not just because there was already a foot of snow on the ground, but because the snow was still falling. It was incredible seeing those big flakes falling past the lamps throughout the campus. And you know the way the new fallen snow tends to muffle the sounds around you? Even that lack of noise caused me to get excited. That kind of snow usually meant that classes would be cancelled the next day. Snow days at Bluefield College certainly did not come that often. So we didn't take them for granted. We slept in. We got bundled up. We played in the snow like we would if we had been 1st graders enjoying a day off from school.

Book Fair

When I was driving to work this morning I passed by a local middle school that had signs out front advertising a book fair. Those signs got me kind of nostalgic.

I know I've said in my About Me facts that I love to read, but that that love didn't develop until after college, when required reading became a thing of the past, and reading for pleasure was actually something I could enjoy. But I remember being a kid and being so excited when the book fair was coming to our school. I remember more from the elementary school book fairs than the ones we had in middle school. And really, the memories I do have are faded at best.

My mind pictures something like a traveling book store that showed up in the school library for a couple days. I know I always begged my parents for some money that I could bring with me so I could buy a few new books. And it isn't as if the books offered were deep or anything. They were children's books. The novels that you'd find were generally around 100 pages long. Though, these days, I'm sure you'd have more of the books aimed at the Harry Potter audience.

The book fairs are what introduced me to Alvin Schwartz's Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark series of books. I loved reading those stories over and over again. Also, in those days, for some reason, I was into Garfield comic strips. So the book fair usually gave me the chance to buy whatever the latest collection of strips was. These days, Garfield just doesn't do it for me anymore. I mean, come on. He pushed Odie off the table. Didn't see that coming. It just keeps on getting funnier every time.

I also have a vague memory of buying a book about a substitute teacher that turned out to be an alien. I think the alien may have been an early arrival of part of a future invading force. Why would anyone try to take over the world beginning with some random 3rd grade classroom? Now that I really think about it, the plot of that book is kind of pathetic. If anyone knows the book I'm talking about, back me up here. I think the title had something to do with the teacher glowing in the dark. Like one of those Cocoon aliens, only not as nice or floaty.

So let's come back from that tangent. I think book fairs are cool. I just don't think I'd get as excited about them if one came to the bank where I work. They would probably only offer boring books about finance and statistics. I think I'm better off just browsing Amazon these days.

Where Were You?

There are certain events in history that trigger the question, "Where were you?" The question is asked in relation to hearing the news that something terrible has happened. For my grandparents' generation, the question can pertain to the bombing of Pearl Harbor. For my parents' generation, it can mean the assassination of JFK. For me, I can think of two such events: 9/11 and the explosion of the Challenger space shuttle.

Yesterday marked the 25th anniversary of the Challenger disaster. And this was the question that my assistant manager at work asked us all. He and I are close in age, so our answers were similar. We were in school, watching the launch live on CNN. Students in classes across the country were watching as the Challenger lifted off because, for the first time, a civilian, a teacher, was being taken into orbit. I was in kindergarten, so I honestly don't remember much in regards to my reaction or the reactions of the kids and teachers around me. I remember shock. And I remember not understanding what we had seen.

So, if you're old enough to remember, where were you?

Dude Suite

I had a lot of roommates in college. Freshman year saw the awkward random placement. I was paired with a guy that I had nothing in common with, other than the fact we were both freshmen. That lasted one semester. Then I was moved into a room with a senior who had nothing with him. Our room was pretty empty, except for the pathetic furniture the college provided us that year.

Sophomore year was a little different. I had gotten to know some people and was able to choose a roommate. Really, I didn't choose. I was kind of chosen. Phillip asked me if I'd want to room with him, and I said sure. After the awkwardness that was freshman year, anything had to be better. At least I knew this guy. To our surprise, when the semester started, we were placed in a three person room with a third roommate. Neither of us knew Ronchez very well, but we got to know him, and it turned out to be a pretty good year.

Junior year, I arranged to share a room with Dave. He had transferred in the previous year and I got to know him through BSU and the fact that we had a lot of the same classes. He was almost as big a geek as I was, so it worked out well. And then I introduced him to the girl that would eventually be his wife. I didn't see him much after that.

Now we come to my first senior year. That's right, I said first. I graduated in five years. But I got two degrees, so try not to judge too harshly. During the course of the junior year, Dave decided that for his senior year, he wanted to move down to a different dorm, the one with single rooms. This wasn't a reflection on me. In fact, I think he wanted me to move down there and live on the other side, share the suite as it were. But I opted out of that one.

Instead, I made a plan with three guys that had started at Bluefield that year. One was a freshman, the other two transferred in as juniors. So, for Mark, Brandon, and myself, it was our senior year. For Dereck, it was his sophomore year. The plan we made was pretty awesome, I'm not gonna lie.

The four of us were about as good a friends as you can find at a small Baptist college. We worked it out to where the four of us would share a suite on the first floor of Rish Hall, which, at the time, was the men's dorm. This isn't the awesome part of the plan.

The awesome part is what we decided to do with the rooms. Instead of the standard two of us in one room and two in the other with a bathroom in the middle, we decided to move all the beds into one side of the suite and convert the other side into a living room. That's right, we moved in couches and a big TV. Area rugs and a coffee table and a larger than the average dorm room refrigerator. Feel free to bask in the awesomeness.

Unfortunately, I only lasted for one semester. A free room opened up down the hall and I was able to get a room by myself. It wasn't that I didn't like living with those guys. It just turned into one of those things where I enjoyed my alone time. Living with three other guys in close quarters like that, you just don't get alone time. Though for a while, I did create a cave in the bottom bunk. I hung a big blanket down from Mark's top bunk and it effectively closed off my bed from the rest of the room. It was the closest thing to an isolation chamber as I could come up with. It helped out since I usually tried to fall asleep before the other guys. This way they could still stay up with the lights on and it woudln't bother me.

I look back and read that and you know, I was kind of selfish. I had an awesome time with those guys. And I had to get away to be alone. What an idiot. If I could do it over again, I'd have stayed the whole year.

Homecoming

I spent the weekend in Bluefield, the home of Bluefield College, my great alma mater. While I've visited the town now and then, I've managed to avoid Homecoming. It's not because I have anything against the event itself. It's just that, generally, not too many folks from my generation make the trip back. It's nice to see the few folks that still live in Bluefield, but it's nicer to see them when there isn't so much going on.

This time, however, I was drawn back to the school to participate in this year's alumni choir. The big draw for me was the fact that Chris Sheppard was returning to direct the choir. Dr. Sheppard was the director of Bluefield Singers for my first two years, and director of the audition choir, Variations, during my junior and senior years. At the end of that fourth year, he broke the news that he was leaving Bluefield for Wisconsin to begin work on his doctorate.

My first experience with Dr. Sheppard wasn't necessarily a good one. During my sophomore year I decided to join Bluefield Singers. Early in the semester, during a rehearsal, Clint (a fellow tenor) and I were joking around while Dr. Sheppard was trying to conduct. As the choir continued singing (as we should have been), Dr. Sheppard walked around and told us that he intended for everyone to be singing. I felt pretty bad about that for quite some time.

But it was never bad after that. Chris Sheppard was the kind of professor that grew, for many of us, from a teacher to a friend. There are many memories and stories that I could share, but I'll save those for another time. Needless to say, the chance to sing in a choir under his leadership once again was impossible to pass up.

I arrived in town Friday evening in time for our first rehearsal. These alumni choir get togethers are something of a crash course. Current students have little trouble picking up the music, as their current conductors are no doubt having them learn it in advance. But many times, the alumni who return are seeing this music for the first time in many years, maybe for the first time ever.

Thankfully, we were given music selections that we had performed during my time in Variations. It was exciting to see several others from my time. At the same time, it was disappointing to find out that there were those who couldn't make it. But that certainly didn't stop us from having a great time.

Friday night, after everything had calmed down a bit, a group of us went to Macado's. Back in the day, this was a very popular restaurant for hungry students at Bluefield. Part of that reasoning was because it was the only realistic choice, unless one wanted to drive 20 minutes away to eat in Princeton. These days, Bluefield has its own Applebee's and Bob Evans, as well as a plethora of other choices. The Macado's that once was is no more. Things have gone down hill. I could continue to complain about the service at the once great restaurant, but that would make it sound, again, like we didn't have a great time.

Saturday morning led to another rehearsal, which prepared us for that night's performance at the alumni dinner/dance. As a group, we flocked to another traditional restaurant, Bellacino's. While we were there, we were joined by Andy and his family. I rode back to the campus with Andy, where Mark gave us a tour of the new dorm, East River Hall. As impressive as the building is, I gotta say, it kinda looks like a hospital. Mark was disappointed that I wasn't more excited about the new building. I'm glad that Bluefield College is doing well enough to need a new dormitory, but being inside the building just didn't excite me. I think it's because there are no memories for me there, no nostalgia. And it looks like a hospital. Sure would've been nice to have air conditioned rooms back in the day though.

Finally we came to the event that we had been building up to: the alumni dinner/dance. The first song we sang was the school song, and it was somewhat moving to see the older generations stand to their feet and sing along. Overall, I think our performance went pretty well. For me, it wasn't so much about perfecting these songs, it was about singing along with voices that I hadn't sung with in years. I miss those days. Not enough to want to go back and relive them, but it's nice when opportunities like this arise and we're able to reminisce with old friends.

Free Cable

I was never privy to a first-hand account of the following story. But it's a funny one and comes from my good friend Mark.

Back in the Bluefield days, there was a guy who, upon entering his freshman year, was excited to find out that cable came as a part of our room and board. So, this freshman decided one day to go to the Dean of Students office in order to inquire about the free cable. Apparently he wanted to know what he had to do to get it.

From time to time, this story comes up and we debate over what the best sarcastic response would be. Obviously, all he had to do was get a cable and connect it from the wall to his TV. But it would have been nice to make a naive kid think that there were certain hoops he had to jump through.

Mark, thus far, has come up with the best possibly fake scenario for this situation:
"Well, the first thing you need to do, in order to receive the free cable, is to make a monthly list of everything you plan on watching. Once we approve your viewing choices, then we'll have the cable to your room turned on. Now, we get a report from Comcast once a month letting us know what's being watched in each dorm room. If it comes to our attention that you have deviated from your list or are watching something inappropriate, we will not only have your cable shut off, but we will confiscate your television. Now here's a TV Guide. Go nuts."

That's a pretty good one. And, to a gullible kid who's just starting out at a Baptist college, it may just work on him. Okay, I'm gonna go watch something inappropriate on the TV.

Carp Dime

For awhile now, there have been several people suggesting that I change the title of my blog. For three years it has been titled "The Single Guy." Simply put, I titled it that because as my friends were getting engaged and married, I remained single. So, in starting this blog, I went into it with a single guy's mentality. Originally I had planned to comment on life as a twenty-something single man in the early 21st century.

But if you've been reading my blog in the last year, you'll notice that there's not a lot of mention of the trials and tribulations of the single guy. I don't date, so I can't do a lot of writing about those particular pitfalls. I don't really emote too often, so love doesn't really enter the equation either. So what have I been writing about? Day-to-day life.

This brings me to the new title for the blog. "Carp Dime." Don't worry, I'll explain.

Back when I was keeping a blog on MySpace, I did explain the origins of the phrase "carp dime." But I have yet to tell that tale here. It all begins in Bluefield, Virginia, where three young college students had a craving for Chinese buffet. Mark, Andy and myself piled into my little green Escort, we'll call her Jade, and headed to the Mercer Mall. On the road, we noticed our friend Cassie in her car behind us. We met up in the mall parking lot and invited Cassie to join us for some sweet and sour chicken, but she was jonesing for some Chick-Fil-A. So we just told her to sneak her food into the restaurant and hang out with us anyway.

We took a booth in the Chinese restaurant and were greeted by a strange sight. This is something that I had never experienced, and have never again witnessed, in a Chinese restaurant. Our waitress was a crazy, old white woman. Her hair was an odd mass that looked like it could have housed any number of rodents. She had a long scar that stretched from her left ear down her neck, then disappeared behind her shirt. She had one of those creepy cackles that you imagine old cat ladies having. The only thing that would make this image complete for me is if she lived in one of those houses that kids cross the street to avoid. The kind of house with a front door that the bad kids dare the good kids to run up and knock on. Happily, I have no idea where this woman lived.

Our little group here had recently returned from a Baptist Student Union retreat at Eagle Eyrie in Lynchburg. While there, Mark had interacted with a cute girl from JMU. Naturally, our dinner conversation drifted toward Mark's thoughts on this young lady, and what he planned to do. For awhile, he considered driving up to see her during an upcoming break. Being the supportive friends that we were, we tried to encourage him to do so.

Our crazy, old cat lady overheard our conversation and decided to throw in her two cents. Eventually she turned her attention solely to Mark, while the rest of us continued on our own. Mark is the kind of guy that's too nice to stop someone when they're rambling, so she kept on for some time. When she wrapped things up, she said something that caught everyone's attention. "Carp dime!"

At this point we were all confused. We decided that she was attempting to say carpe diem, but carp dime was what came out. That crazy, old cat lady had just given us a catchphrase that would stay with us through college and beyond. Those two words hold no meaning to anyone who didn't finish their days at Bluefield College, but to people like me, they mean so much.

If she, in fact, meant to say carpe diem, then it means to seize the day. But it could very well mean 10-cent fish. Perhaps she was trying to sell a special on the menu at the Chinese buffet.

Whatever its meaning, it is now the title for this blog. The blog isn't about some guy that just happens to check single on his W-2. It's about what that guy observes as he's out there attempting to seize the fish.

Exclusive Club

It should be said that my adopted family is taking a trip to Orlando, Florida next week. They're going to spend a week and a half in Walt Disney World. They're taking Jen and Coach Gordon. They are not taking me.

I am not bitter, nor am I heartbroken. You know what? I don't even like Disney World anyway. "Happiest place on Earth?" More like crappiest place on Earth. Yeah. Mickey Mouse is stupid. And he talks like a girl. Donald Duck never wears any pants, but when he gets out of the shower he wraps a towel around his waist. What's that all about?

What the heck is up with taking Jen anyway? I get taking Gordon. He's from Scotland. They don't have a Disney park there. The closest one is in France and I'm pretty sure Disney can't even pay people to go to that park. Jen lives in LA. She's right next door to Disneyland. She could have brunch with Disney princesses any time she wants. I never realized they rebuilt the Mickey Mouse Club and included a new rule. No Aaron allowed.

I guess I shouldn't complain. Disney World is so lame awesome. Last time I went, I was there with my college choir while we were on tour in Florida. We got stuck on It's a Small World in South America for half an hour. A friend threw up on my shoes after riding the Tea Cups. Pirates of the Caribbean broke down and the pirates started attacking all the tourists. Luckily the animatronics shorted out whenever we knocked them into the water. But it was touch and go for awhile. They were just looting and pillaging all over the place. And lets not even talk about what happened to Cassie in the Haunted Mansion. I still have nightmares to this day.

So go on. Take your trip to Disney World. I'll stay here and take care of your pets. Me and Bailey and Maggie and Onya and Queen Battle, we're gonna have a grand old time. And I'll drive Nicole's car all over town. We'll see who has more fun. Oh yes, we will see.

Really I'm just trying to talk myself out of being disappointed that I can't go. I tell myself that it's not because they don't want me there. It's because there's just not enough room. Plus I've got my education to consider (PSSSH). And then there's also the importance of my job to think of (double PSSSH). I'm just deluding myself. Disney World is awesome. And lame. So very lame.

For the Fun of It

My recent adventure in miniature golf got me thinking about going to Putt-Putt when I was a kid in Roanoke. It's not something we would do often, maybe once or twice each summer. But I remember getting really excited about going and getting to choose which color ball I wanted to have. We got to pick from blue, red, green, or yellow. I usually went with blue, but that's not important.

What was important was which light was on when you got a hole-in-one. See, over the cash register was a set of four colored lights. If the light corresponding with the color of your ball was on and you got a hole-in-one, you could exchange your ball for an orange one.

I'm not sure what was so special about the orange ball, but I know it was like this huge rush when you knocked your green ball in, then looked up and saw the green light on. It's not like getting the orange ball gave you extra points or endowed you with any kind of super-powers that helped your accuracy. I guess you just got bragging rights with your little sister.

Come to think of it, is that how it really worked? I don't remember my Dad ever getting an orange ball, and he scored holes-in-one all the time. Maybe it was just an extra way to make kids feel special. Kind of like how they give out 8th place trophies today.

JenStock 2008: Day 4

The year was A.D. 2000. The flying cars and jet packs that we had been promised so many years earlier had yet to appear. That disappointment was setting in. But my spirits were raised with the meeting of Jennifer Hamilton.

That summer she and I were both "leaders" at SuperWeek, a church youth camp held (at the time) at Bridgewater College. I'm not sure when she deemed me a worthy adversary/partner in crime. I could have been when I tricked her into leaving her table at one of the meals and then turning her drink into a gel.

Sidebar: I had this stuff that bought at a magic shop. It was this powder that turned any liquid into a gel. I bet the folks doing dishes had a blast with that.

Anyway, about mid-way through the week, Jen and I came up with the idea of making a farewell video for Todd Brock. He was our youth minister, who would soon be leaving for Montana to start a new church. So there we were, two kids in a small town with just a camera and a dream.

Our first, and thus far only, production consisted of documentary style interviews with the kids in our youth group, a few killer action shots, and of course, an ending musical number.

It was a rousing success. The short film was shown in a youth room and a sanctuary across the North (Roanoke Baptist Church). I'll be bringing a video camera with me to Los Angeles when I go visit her in a few weeks. Just to see if we can recreate that movie-making magic in documenting my first trip to the west coast. So Jen, scout out some locations.

JenStock 2008: Day 1

My family began going to North Roanoke Baptist Church in the fall of 1997. Very quickly the parents became friends with the Hamilton/Greene clan. I got to know the youngest Hamilton, Ryan, through youth group activities. If you're keeping up that's three Hamilton kids: Nicole, Jen, and Ryan. By this point in history, Nicole and Kevin were already married, hence the inclusion of the Greenes above.

I digress. I don't actually remember meeting Jen until a few years later. See, at the time we joined the church, Jen was away at Virginia Tech. So while her entire family had the pleasure of my wit and wisdom, she was wasting away in the academic world. It wasn't until the summer of 2000, after she had graduated from college, that she finally got that opportunity.

My first real memory of Jen was at her house. Her parents were having a cook-out/party celebrating Jen's graduation from college and Ryan's graduation from high school. Up to this point I wasn't sure that the elusive third Hamilton kid even existed. But there she was. Live and in person.

If it were her telling the story, she'd probably say I was awestruck at first glance. But I was less than impressed. But let me tell you why before you jump to conclusions. As everyone lined up in the Hamiltons' kitchen to get burgers and dogs, she complained of a headache. As she was getting ready to take an Advil LiquiGel, a friend of hers dared her to break it open and just swallow the liquid without the shell.

Never one to back down from a dare, Jen did it. She broke it open and swallowed the liquid pain killers. Soon after she complained about it burning her throat. I really didn't want to make a rush judgment about the intelligence of someone I had just met, but part of me just couldn't help it.

But being who I am, quiet until you really get to know me, I merely shook my head and laughed. I mean, it was kind of funny. And hey, no harm done. No one had to be taken to the emergency room for a quick tracheotomy. There was no breakthrough in laser surgery that night. Just good times and good food. I assume the food was good. It's hard to remember the food from a specific cook-out 8 years ago.

That may not have actually been the first time I met Jen. But if there was another, I couldn't tell you about it. That's my first real memory of her and I think it makes a pretty good story. Little did I know that our adventures that summer were just beginning.

Epilogue to a Reunion

In the past I've refrained from using people's full names to maintain some form of anonymity. Anonymity is a joke. Besides, I keep saying I want lots of people to read this thing. So from now on, whenever I speak well of someone, and it's appropriate to use the full name, I'm gonna do so. That way, if someone wants to Google themselves, they might make their way to my little corner of the internet. But, uh, you know, if I have something not-so-flattering to say about someone I'll just use their first name. Or a fake name. 'Cause I'd hate to be sued for defamation of character or something like that.

I arrived fashionably on time, way abnormal for me. Generally, I show up to things chronically early. But when I got to Roanoke yesterday I went to my grandmother's to visit with her and Mom and April for a while. Before I knew it, it was 6:30. That's when registration was scheduled to begin. I got there just before 7, when the actual event was supposed to start.

The first people I saw, of course, were Jessica Smith and Allison Mease. These two ladies pretty much put the whole thing together. Gotta say, I was impressed. There's a lot of work that goes into planning an event such as this, and they've spent the last 12 months getting the class of '98 ready for this thing. Job well done.

I made my way into the reunion area and had a hard time recognizing anyone. Part of it could have been that 10 years have passed and some people look different. Part of it could be that 10 years have passed and I can't remember a lot of people. Part of it could be that I was crawling back into that shell that I mentioned yesterday.

After about five minutes of feeling and probably looking awkward, I recognized Eric Orange. I thought this part of the reunion would be weird. See, he's Jessica's ex-husband. And while I've maintained a good friendship with her, I haven't seen or talked to him since they split up. I guess she got me in the divorce settlement. It really wasn't that strange though. We spent a few minutes getting caught up. And then I moved on.

I made my way around the room, trying to find a table to sit at. One where I wouldn't feel like I didn't know anyone. Unfortunately, at first, that didn't happen. But then Beth Farmer invited me to come sit with her and her friend Karen. I remembered Beth, but I had completely forgotten that she and I were in the same group for our Decades project. We did the 1960s. Good times. So I had now established a place to plant myself for the evening.

And then you'll never guess who came over to talk to me. Tara Cronin! I know! She's like, one of the most popular kids in school! Seriously, cheerleaders never used to just walk up to me and begin a conversation. And, can I just say, 10 years ago, she was a cute girl. I was in school with her from first grade on. I won't lie, there was a slight crush there. And somewhere in the last 10 years, she went from cute to full-on gorgeous. I mean... wow. And, uh, what does it mean when a hot girl says you look really good? Twice? In the same conversation? Yeah, I didn't think it meant anything either. I just thought I'd ask.

Soon after, the buffet line began. Then came the slideshow of pictures from high school. I was surprised to see myself in a few of the pictures. Shocked is probably a more accurate description of how I felt about that. I'm the guy that only shows up on 1/16 of a page in his own senior yearbook. And then, there I was, sitting outside the Planet Hollywood in my Superman t-shirt. Good times.

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful. Jessica forced me to dance with her while Strawberry Wine played. I have a totally unrelated story regarding that song involving Dereck and Andy in a wig. I'll have to share that one sometime. Anyway, while we danced, we talked. I'm not sure if it was the wine or what in our conversation led to her question of "who's the most beautiful girl you know?" And even at that moment, I knew she wanted me to say her, but I just had to blurt out, "Honestly, right now, I gotta say Tara Cronin. Seriously, how hot did she get?" I don't think I really hurt Jessica's feelings, but she acted like I did. So I gave her a hug and said I was just kidding. But I wasn't really kidding. I mean, did you even see Tara last night? I mean... wow.

Guess that's it kids. See you at the 20. Maybe.

Prologue to a Reunion

In a few short minutes, I will be in my car on my way back to Roanoke for the first time since January. The reason for this quick trip to the homeland? My ten-year high school reunion.

Now, before you chide me for participating in some sort of nostalgic nonsense, listen to why I'm going. First, I paid fifty dollars in the registration fee. That's not exactly money I can get back. Second, I made a promise to my oldest friend. And if I don't go, that would be going back on my word. And that's not what I'm about. Not now, not EVER!

And the Daytime Emmy goes to...

So I've got the pre-reunion jitters. I think I've come a long way in the last 10 years. I'm certainly not the person I was back in 1998. And I don't think of myself as 10 years older. I like to think of myself as 10 years more awesome.

But here's my fear: What if, when I get around these people who knew me in high school (or didn't know me for that matter), and I become that person again? Most of you don't know who I'm talking about. That person was the shy kid who sat in class, took his notes, never spoke up, and didn't get involved in anything. It's a persona that I shed once I got to college. Then I became (eventually) the person that I am today. I got out of my shell about midway through my freshman year. It's not a shell that I want to get back into. Even if it's for just one evening.

And what if she's there? You know who I'm talking about. That girl that the geeky kid had a crush on for four years but never had the stomach to do anything about it. I'm not saying I'd want to do anything about it now, but I don't think that would help in my not crawling back into my shell.

I guess before I go, I should just determine not to become that person. I should determine not to forget how to speak when confronted with the people who intimidated me 10 years ago. I'll be back tomorrow to let you know how it went.

Carpetland

Long ago, back in my college years, a few of us were presented with an interesting opportunity. The few were myself, Clint, Sarah, and Cassie. All of us sang together in a couple different groups in those days. When I've written about singing in college and claimed that I got to sing with some of the most talented people I've heard, those three are some of the ones I'm talking about.

One day after Variations rehearsal, Chris Sheppard, our director, pulled the four of us aside. He mentioned that he had received a phone call from the owner of a local business. This Bluefield business owner was in need of four singers to perform a jingle for an upcoming commercial. So Mr. Sheppard gave the guy our names.

We got in touch with the owners of Carpetland in Bluefield and set up a time when we would come and record the jingle. On the phone, the owner told me he'd pay us $50.00 each. To a college student, that's a fortune. And for anyone, that's a lot of money for what promised to be about an hour of work.

The four of us arrived at Carpetland on the appointed day with very few expectations, except for that 50 bucks of course. We had yet to hear any music or receive any lyrics to learn. On site, we were given a tune and the words and placed in front of a microphone. Not the most professional set up we'd be in front of, but hey, it was Bluefield.

My memory is a bit foggy when it comes to remembering the actual song we sang. Each of us sang one line, then we all harmonized in the last half of the song, which told potential customers to "come to Carpetland." During the ordeal, something happened that seemed to irritate us and the owner of the store. At one point he and his cronies went off to discuss something, leaving us to entertain ourselves for a bit. Once they came back, we did a final recording and left. We were told he would be in touch with us if we needed to re-record anything and for payment.

A few days passed and we hadn't heard from Carpetland. So I called them. I called the number that Mr. Sheppard gave me and also called the store's listed number. I got no answer. I left messages, but got no return calls. This went on for several weeks. In the end, we just made peace with the fact that we wouldn't get any money for this less-than-professional gig.

Looking back, it may have something to do with the fact that, while the owner and cronies were away and we were entertaining ourselves, one of us made a sarcastic comment about the shabby condition of the store we were in. I don't remember if it was me or Clint that made the remark, really it could've been either of us. All of us laughed. And they must have been in earshot.

I never personally saw the commercial that used our jingle, but I heard from other friends at various times in the following months that the ad did air. A year later, Carpetland filed bankruptcy and closed its doors to the public forever. One word: karma.

Stumbling

Last week I discovered something pretty cool. It's a website called Stumble Upon. It's this place where you go and register, download a toolbar, and decide what types of websites you may be interested in. In this brand new toolbar, you get a button that simply says "Stumble." When you click there, you are taken to a random website that you may enjoy based on your interests. I've come across some interesting websites, but last night, I found one that topped them all.

When I clicked the stumble button, I was taken to an internet jukebox. It automatically began playing Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up. And while I don't hate that song, I was more interested in seeing how extensive the music selection was in this "jukebox." I used the search feature and looked for Rainbow Connection, I figured that would be an easy one. Many different versions were presented in list form.

So then I wondered if they had any Christian music. So I searched for Newsong's Arise My Love. This is the part where I geeked out. Not because they had the song I searched for, but because they had a song that I never expected to see or hear on the internet. There on the list of possible matches for "Arise My Love" was a song by Bluefield College Praise Singers called Arise, Shine.

Backstory: During my two senior years, I was a member of the Bluefield College Praise Singers. In that time I got the chance to sing beside some of the best singers I've ever heard. I'm not just saying that because they were my friends. It really blew me away how much talent Bluefield College housed for such a small school. Anyway, in that second year of Praise Singers, we recorded a CD. This CD, which I have since lost after numerous moves, contained the song mentioned above. And in that song mentioned above, I've got a solo.

So, imagine my surprise in stumbling upon myself on the internet. What are the odds? I kinda geeked out when I heard it. Even though I don't like listening to recordings of myself. You know that scene in That Thing You Do when the Oneders first heard themselves on the radio? That's kind of how I felt. I didn't run down the streets or jump up and down screaming. At least not externally.

At the same time, I was talking to Jen through AIM. I shared the site with her, but I don't think she was excited as I was. When I told her I would be blogging about it, she said that was egotistical. But you know what? I don't care. I'm singing on the internet now and she's not!

I used to think I would have to become one of Blogger's blogs of note or have an article written about me in Wikipedia to have arrived. But now I know, all I needed was to hear myself singing on an internet jukebox. I kid, I'm really not that egotistical.

Seriously though, check out the songs. Do a search for Bluefield College to hear others. I suggest So Good featuring my friend Cassie, and Order My Steps which was done by Praise Singers after I graduated.

On the Way Back from Brazil

On the way back from Brazil one time, I volunteered to carry a friend's souvenir. But first, a little background.

During Spring Break of my first senior year, I went with a group of BSU students to Brazil for a mission trip. While there we had the chance to go into the public schools in a town called Rio Negrinho. We also worked with a Baptist church in the city, leading them in worship and leading a Vacation Bible School-like activity for kids. It was a lot of fun and a very rewarding experience. I even learned a little Portuguese, which I use to this day. I mean, very little. We're talking the extent of "good morning" and "thank you."

Anyway, at one point during the trip, my friend Shannon bought a pitcher (I think) that she would soon use in her new home after she got married. Unfortunately for her, this caused her to have a third carry-on item. See, at that point, the airline we were flying with had a two carry-on policy. Since I only had one carry-on with me, I volunteered to carry it for her. By the time we reached our third layover in Atlanta, I was tired of carrying this ceramic pitcher (it was in a box, in case you were wondering).

I looked over at Kelly and asked why I was still carrying this thing. She replied, "Because you're nice. And stupid."

The Whistler

Back when I was in high school, I did some volunteer work for the Raleigh Court Public Library. While I was there working in the afternoons, I came in contact with a man who would come to be known as The Whistler. If you're from Roanoke and have lived in the Raleigh Court/Grandin Road area of the city, you may, in fact, know The Whistler.

Upon first impression, you may just see a somewhat disheveled elderly gentleman. One you may choose to ignore. One you may give sideways glances to, just to make sure he's staying on his side of the room. One you might think was a little odd. And I'll admit, for a long time, whenever I saw him, that was how I felt.

I never had a conversation with the man. I never introduced myself or even let him know I knew he was there. In fact, the most contact I personally had with him was a nod or a hello while I was at the library. Often he'd come in and read the daily newspaper, and then he'd walk back to his home, whistling all the way.

I think if I had taken the time to get to know this man, I would have discovered a kind man who probably just kept to himself for one reason or another. A story I heard from a teacher illustrates a bit of what may have been under the unkempt surface. This teacher had a roommate that was training for a 10k run and did so by running through The Whistler's neighborhood. Day after day the roommate would run by The Whistler's house while the man worked in his yard. One day, when The Whistler saw the roommate coming down the road, he began whistling Chariots of Fire. Maybe that was his way of encouraging the roommate without really saying anything.

So just remember when you pass one of those creepy houses in the neighborhood, think about who lives there. Everyone has their reasons for being the people they are. There may be times when it appears they're not reaching out to us, but maybe they are. Or maybe they're just waiting for one of us to do the reaching.