City Politics Fever! Catch it!

Being a mayor is like racing a go-cart. You have to know your limitations.

One would think a relocation from a small town (for the lack of a better term) to a large metropolitan area, changes would be abound. In the big city, people do things differently than the small towns. It's a complete paradigm shift from closed-minded focus on a few menial facts to a large swath of complicated issues. With that thought ringing some truth, and the complexity of pleasing "approximately 1.2 million people" and 507,000 registered voters, the one-and-done bickering of the cosmetic issues do not raze my political curiosity anymore.

In the big city, my love/loathe/aggravation of local politics has been restored. Bless their crooked hearts, no matter what city you land in, the players try so hard to be relevant yet all of the other government constructs (state and federal) just make it a trickle-down action or a springboard to advance political stature. But they try. And sometimes they succeed. Cory Booker has made a second job out of finding common-sense improvements while every year upping the stakes for bigger, faster and stronger actions. Then again, I don't see either of the runoff candidates rolling out a night patrol in South Dallas.

It's down to two as David Kunkle and Mike Rawlings race to facilitate the wacky looking building that was used in Robocop. Lest we remember, it's Texas politics. And even though Dallas is 193 miles from the fracas--nay, fustercluck--of Austin, it is still Texas politics. The fun part about Texas politics is that you have to peel off the initial, shrink-wrapped layer to find out what the angle is. And yes, there is ALWAYS an angle.

Mike Rawlings had a $1.47 million layer to comb through...that's a lot of shrink-wrap. Along with being on the board of the Dallas Parks and Recreation department and Ace Cash Express and as a former CEO of Pizza Hut, it looks like his angle in to lure a Fortune 100 company to downtown, claim it as "business growth" and leave to serve as the that company's CEO or chairman. Or I could be wrong. He could be the agent of change that relocates the Rangers to South Dallas and boost their economy urging other neighborhoods to reconnect with South Dallas. At that point, he will vie for VP of player personnel. I'm sorry, I have my doubts with a guy that is a tad bit on the Kingfish side of politics.

David Kunkle is the former police chief during a down slope in crime within Dallas. Name recognition was his game as about 2/3 of the men in the city only really know of him through a poorly-planned interview on the Little Ticket. His name alone got him second place in the first mayoral election as he spent little to nothing on advertising. Seriously, his campaign banner looked like something out of a Microsoft Office template. But, the singular message of great neighborhoods equal a great city could push him over the top or push him to the wayside. His angle is that he is so bored that maintaining a city and 14 different egos every other Wednesday sounds more exciting that collecting a police pension. I'm sorry but I have my doubts about how one man can unify neighborhoods as distinctive as their citizens.

To continue the Debbie-Downerism, the city is broke. Just like the state is broke. Just like the US has raised the debt ceiling because they are in the red. How can you push pie-in-the-sky dreams when you can't afford the ready-made pie crust? Until a city representative (other than the City Manager) can come to grips with that reality, the rest of the talk is cheap. On the neighborhood front: you can't build great neighborhoods without fixing the street lights and paving the roads. On the business front: you can't lure a huge company to take over an empty skyscraper with the temptation of tax breaks. It's a chicken v. egg argument that I don't think either of these guys have come to grip.

And don't get me started on the "education" angle. Part of the $1.47 million within the Rawlings camp was devoted to television. It's a great message but when you see it next door to this commercial, it makes you cringe that some promises might be broken. At least Kunkle didn't burn money he didn't have to blow smoke up a lovely woman's skirt.

So, here we are again. I am stressing out about local politics with the writing on the walls. It's like I'm in Corpus again. But comparing Dr. Seuss with Homer is just not fair. Whomever the 13% (or less) of the registered voters select, I will be along for the ride...as I always am. And I wish the best for the victor. It's a monumental challenge. If my cynicism is killed by the new mayor's resolve and (more importantly) fulfillment of goals, then I will be the same citizen thankful that I had the right to vote. There's nothing wrong with the capability of being proven wrong.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Priorities, people...
2) I mean, c'mon! Priorities, people!
3) Every time I think about work and the job I do, I always have this movie in my head..."Good for you, it's a growth industry."

The one cool thing about Dallas right now is that it is getting an awesome economic shot in the arm from the Mavs' deep dive into the playoffs. I have never been a Mavs fan, but the more money we can snake from those casino-loving sod dwellers north of the Red River, the happier I am. Mavs in seven! Talk later.

A Brave[r] New World

From Sunday morning to late night, nothing changed too drastically in the neighborhood...did it? (courtesy of Google Earth)

I will be honest (stupid phrase), I was going to attempt to write about the NFL draft. The Draft, seriously, was at the frontal lobe of my brain. An exercise so futile with unrealistic trajectories that gives one last polish of an ego that no 20-year-old can live up to...because he will soon get rocked by professionals that have been doing this football thing much longer than they have been getting kickbacks from alumni. Yeah, that was going to be brutal. Plus, it's all moot because there won't be an NFL season anyway. So, there.

No, I was saved (?...for lack of a better term) by a late-night presidential address. At 21:27 CDT, The Lovely sent me a text...

"Pres Obama is expected to make an important announcement shortly[.]"

Now, it's very difficult while I am at work for anyone to get the jump on me news-wise because we have a news feed (local and national) within the office and closed circuit television all around campus. So, when news breaks at work, we know. But The Lovely totally got the jump on me. That is rare.

Naturally, I kick it over to the national feed with CNN. Wolf Blitzer can probably tie a half-Windsor in his sleep. John King looked like he had a couple of cocktails before he rolled into the office. Ed Henry was hoarse from howling laughter at the Correspondent's Dinner the night before. They seemed like they didn't know what the hell was going on. Until someone--and I wonder who or what office--leaked the headline.

Osama bin Laden is dead.

Now, when it comes to news, there are very few times I react. The 2000 and 2008 election results solicited a reaction. But elections do that. And I wasn't in front of a feed during 9/11 because, interestingly enough, I was at work as well. I fortunately did not see that insanity when that was rolling live. Unfortunately, technology was matured enough to see replays and stuff you did not want to show on broadcasts.

But, at around 22:00 local, the haggard John King repeated: "bin Laden is dead...bin Laden is dead." Then it took about 40 minutes for POTUS to rally up an 11-minute speech that glossed the highlights like SportsCenter did with Celtics/Heat Game 1 of the East Semis.

It was a "where were you" moment when at the same time in Philadelphia, the crowd started checking their phones and read the same thing I heard, chanting following. With @KeithOlbermann tracking sources, @MrChuckD pissed off at the execution and @DonaldGlover tracking idiot celebrities not knowing what was happening, this was an event.

But that's exactly what it was...an event. Singular.

What now?

Granted, I am enjoying the news orgy where information is flying the moment it sees a clearing. From Navy leadership quarterbacking the op being a Texas Ex to recovered hard drives, computers and external media devices to Jon Stewart basking in the news as the Republican leadership invokes empty statements, this is a singular event that was anticipated but never predicted. That's why we have to be grown-ups and segregate the event to the strategy and the policy.

So, the head of the snake has been removed. Congratulations, you've made it. Now, what about the 21st century version of Vietnam? What about the millions of billions of dollars going to the failed state that harbored the head of the snake? What about Guantanamo? What about the shadow Guantanamo in Bagram? Hell, we haven't completely pulled out of Iraq? And don't get me started on air travel. The reasons are falling to the wayside as you have one singular event.

As everything is in the world we live in, it's complicated. We received intelligence from prisoners held at US-owned overseas locales. The argument of instability will be raised with Pakistan because Kashmir, Waziristan and Mumbai will tear that country a new orifice without support. And of course, some floppy argument about spreading democracy to Afghanistan via occupation will be thrown around, even though al Qaeda has flared out to other locations...but the Egypt, Tunisia and Syria counterargument will be ready for the parry-reposite.

I know it was welcome news for a grand amount of people. This symbolizes closure. It closes a loop--a story arch--if you will. But we are now two days separated from the pop of the story and the drop of the jaw. If this is going to be a braver new world for the States, we are going to have to put on our big boy pants and make some decision. By the way, the meter is running.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) You know, as much bagging I do on Microsoft products, at least they are doing something right...or not wrong, as illustrated by the PlayStation Network hack.
2) Come on people, let's quit being naïve. Before the GPS technology was installed, it was still A PHONE! Has no one heard of triangulation? No one cares about your location unless you are cheating on a spouse or if you are a criminal.
3) I can probably go another thirty years before another time waste like this. Thanks for all the useless information, American media.

If petrol would drop about 20 cents and schools can be funded without firing teachers and compromising quality...now that's a news cycle that is on a roll. A guy can dream, can't he? I will try to find a softball for next time. Until then, talk later.

And what's the deal with dinner parties?

Dinner parties: a tradition unlike any other. Or the other.

Without trying to be Seinfeldian, I do wonder what the deal is with dinner parties. Sure, it's a great excuse to bring people over that 1) don't live in the neighborhood, 2) show off some culinary mastery and 3) yet another excuse to overeat...as if we don't have enough of those excuses lying around. But why in the hell would we (the collective I) need a reason to wash four times as many dishes as we usually do for one orchestral event?

I will contend that there is a nature versus nurture element to the reason behind dinner parties. The nature part is personified beautifully by The Lovely. The nurture part is clumsily portrayed by me. I always love a showdown especially since we won't have pro football this year.

The Lovely, as not to be her fault, was born into a social construct that always--ALWAYS--had a reason to party. Whether it be professional, family or the gray parts in between, her parent's house was ground-zero for any event you can imagine, except circuses. The Lovely's mom prepared all the food for nearly every event that was held at the homestead (save for the 30-35 party and our wedding, she was the cook).

On a recent trip back to Corpus, we scanned through volumes of cook books to find various softball dishes we could prepare without too much hassle. While scanning these cook books, The Lovely's mom had detailed, specific notes in the back of every cook book used and annotated dishes prepared and attempted, volume of ingredients and people hosted for every categorized party executed for the purpose of historical context .

For example [paraphrased]:
Uncle Joe's birthday
Invited: 100, attended: 94
Korean Steak x 7
No vegetarians
Dessert - cream pie, needed 4 gallons extra milk

The detail of these notes were astounding, like she was studying for med school and needed to know immediately where the insertion point of the latissimus dorsi was. It was as if Mom's innate skills and savvy was easily transferred to a double-helix of The Lovely's DNA. So, for The Lovely, it was in her nature to throw dinner parties.

I, on the other hand, needed to be trained for this like some rescued mutt from the animal shelter. I no longer mess on the rug, thankyouverymuch. Aside from the random birthday party I was rarely invited to, possibly because I messed up so many rugs, my learned sensibilities with dinner parties started just like it started with a lot of kids...at lunch time.

Granted, Styrofoam trays are not the wedding-gifted china and haphazardly-opened 1/2 pint milk cartons are not the glassware. However, you have to crawl before you can walk. Hell, you have to faceplant a couple of times before crawling is a viable option. You have to learn to sit still and enjoy pleasantries, like "I love pizza day" and "math is hard". But you learn that eating and sitting with people is not mutually exclusive. Later on in junior high and high school, the conversation [somewhat] evolves to where...hey, I like having discussions with people I [somewhat] chose to hang out with while eating food I normally don't eat! Victory. Somewhat.

Let's face it, I like dinner parties so I can hang out with people. The Lovely likes dinner parties because she wants to show off how kick-ass her ninja skills in the kitchen are. And just like a dinner party, we don't do this every day. So, we add a couple of bottles of wine, extend the serving time another two hours and go from there. It's in her nature and my nurture to have a party involving dinner every once in a while.

And now, just like The Lovely's parents, we seem to have a rotation going. Just as long as I don't backslide in to trading someone's side dish for double dessert, I think I will have the decorum down. Because I am still learning, you know.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) So, you have to have more of an athletic stance over the ball to where your hands will be directly over your chin. When your back is straight, you can rotate your shoulders naturally to where the weight of your body is balanced on the follow through. Then the ball will naturally straighten.
2) Gas prices will stay high until they are off the commodities market. No speculators, no problem.
3) So, the orange-infused vodka needed another day or so. Formula number 2 is not a total fail, it's just weaker in flavor than I imagined.

Well, April is quickly ending, just like the scenic views at PK Lake (ooh, too soon?). But there is one more cool thing that happens in April...The Draft...no, the other The Draft. Talk later.

Thank God, it's baseball season

Roman is ready. I am ready. Red is ready to taste orange Gatorade for the first time. (from Aug 2010)

I'll admit. I was not and never have been a part of the Communist party. I have also never been a life-long, gung-ho baseball fan.

As most brainwashing--err--fandom starts, it starts young. My youth was introduced to baseball as many 6-10 year-olds trot onto a little league field. But my distaste started when I was positioned in right field. Now, if you are playing any outfield position on the 5-6 year-old team, that basically means you have zero hand-eye coordination to prevent a baseball from hitting you in the face. If there was a baseball card for my stats, it would include zero errors (due to zero balls driven past the infield dirt) and a few HBP from other dads (during coach-pitch ball). I better served the team and the league pulling weeds from the outfield. Hey, keeping up those fields was a team effort.

I stuck it out for two years, if you can call it that. It's wasn't my finest hour quitting "the great game". But it just wasn't my bag. I was going to take my talents to PE and score a Presidential Physical Education award by being a prepubescent gym rat (amazing that it's still around today). Two days a week of dodge ball, two days a week of some goofy volleyball hybrid that wasn't volleyball and one mean game of wall ball a week with pull-ups, push-ups and wind sprints in between. So, I was essentially giving an underdeveloped middle finger to baseball.

So, aside from stealing glances at my older brother's and younger brother's baseball card collection, I had a limited engagement with baseball aside from the annual "hey, you wanna go to an Astros game?" conundrum. Pre-strike, it wasn't so bad when they played at the Astrodome. But later, well after the strike, it was a beating to drive to "downtown" Houston to watch lethargic NL Central baseball. Also, they play in a venue with the dimensions of a little league field, with a "berm" in center field. Ha! Enron Field.

So, to recap, the high school and college time frame was nearly absent of any baseball conscientiousness. Which is sad.

Then, I roll up into Dallas. If there is one thing Dallas is starved for is a champion in the 00's. The town was spoiled in the early nineties with the Cowboys as all of the teams got better and better. The Stars won the friggin' Cup in '99 while half the fans didn't know what a blue line was. Hell, even the Mavericks showed up as a NBA team of reckoning. Then there were the Rangers...the lowly, lowly Rangers.

They are still paying ARod (he was still a financial consideration during the sale of the Rangers in 2010). They had a dysfunctional series of owners and team management that somehow looked better after they ruined a baseball team. It was literally an ugly stepchild that was stowed away in the back upstairs bedroom when dinner guests arrived. During the Hicks stewardship, there were Dallasites disowning the Rangers like a daughter marrying the wrong guy.

But then something happened...to me and to the fine folks of North Texas (and likewise the remote Ranger fans that have been long suffering). The Rangers started winning. Within all of the turmoil of the team sale and the skeletons in the closet coming out, the Rangers were playing solid baseball under the radar. Their June and July of the 2010 season was so torrid, they locked up the division as early as in previous years they were eliminated from any playoff contention. The DFW area was talking about significant baseball in August as opposed to following the circus of Cowboy training camp. It was a complete mental shift that no one was prepared for but was totally prepared for.

And I was sucked in. I was caught in the vacuum of awesomeness that reignited the reason why I wanted to play little league baseball in the first place...because baseball is exactly what you need when you need it.

I wanted to be part of a new town. I needed a common thread. A baseball team that had absolutely nothing to lose brought a town and a region together every damn day they took the field. Downtown was a hub with the traveling fans and the hometown revelry that brought everyone together, including me. I fell in love with the story. It was a rag-tag bunch with a survivor of addiction, a statesman of the game, a kid primed for greatness and a traveler that showed up at the right time. They were all meshed with a modern-day zen master that isn't the perfect zen master, but a zen master of the passion that found him.

C'mon, at that point, who wouldn't fall in love.

So, the Rangers are back. The configuration and the love affair might be different and matured, but it's still there. And just like I needed it to facilitate the geo-social identity, I need it again today. My mind is everywhere. This has been one hell of a month and a more-intense past two weeks. Sometimes you need to see how an inning is built or falls apart to get away from things that are falling and constructing in your life. Sometimes watching the challenge of pitcher and batter puts your challenges in perspective. Sometimes you need a break. And as much complaining there is of the 162-game schedule, for my mental and physical health, I am certainly glad it is there. To boot, it's another cool thing Dad and I can talk about. So, the love affair is back. And it doesn't matter about balls and strikes, it's about the escape that is sometimes desperately needed.

So, go Rangers. Yay, baseball. And Yankees suck. Welcome back, past time.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) So, that's how it happened, huh? Okay, then.
2) That's a pretty creative name, Longhorn Network. Did you think of it 15 seconds ago?
3) If you don't know how to convert your time zone from GMT, "I bid you no points and may God have mercy on your soul".

So, now that one fixture has been re-established, there seems to be a new-coming fixture that is close to installation. More on that next week. Until then, talk later.

OPERATION: Homebody...part two?

Well boys, you get your wish...you get to see more of your daddy.

Addicts call it "rock bottom". It's the absolute lowest level before the self-realization or assisted proclamation that help is needed and their current state is unsustainable. Granted, my problems are no where near as detrimental as a clinically-deemed addict, but I did need some help in something I have been struggling with for a while.

I know, I know, we have been through this before with varying results. But I was in Corpus where I could make the excuse to be a homebody (or not). But this is Dallas. This is a town where they build stuff on top of stuff to exercise boredom. This is a town that blows up stuff that used to be fun, because they thought is was a good idea. But there is a true reason for the operation reboot. And I don't think I have a choice in the matter.

So, there are these things called taxes. Apparently, you are supposed to do them every year. But I am not sure if you are supposed to pay them in the amount and frequency we have done in the couple of years in Dallas. I don't know if The Lovely wants me to divulge the amount paid from our last two submissions. But I will say that the grand total could finance a small counterinsurgency in an unstable region overseas.

Last year was a bit different because we actually had a war chest ready to use for the huge number changeover we were going to experience. And yes, your hand shakes whenever you write a check with five significant digits for the first time. But this year, we are in a bit of a pinch. So, what do responsible adults do when they are in a pinch?

No, seriously, what do we do?

We -- more in tune to the situation, I -- know exactly what to do. OPERATION: Homebody 2 has to work. If it doesn't, that's all I need to compound a situation...tax issues. It's really not a big deal. I either pair down the optional living expenses and throw money at the problem or I arrange a payment plan and get worked over by simple interest to pay this off. It's not a big deal. It has to be done. And I'm sure it will go to a good cause.

It sucks. My outings and my schedules will now be affected. Hell, The Lovely is skipping one of the four weddings to save some money. My social schedule will be altered by trying to load balance other things to do in the saving effort. No more drunken nights of random iTunes purchasing binges. No more kickass dinners where we shrug at triple-digit tabs. No, all the spare change we have goes to Uncle Sam. Blogs will consist of reading back issue magazine articles and supplanting delayed opinions as opposed to comparing which restaurant has the better short ribs (Bolsa has the Shiner Bock marinade as Craft just slow roasts the hell out of them). That might be an accidental benefit from the op reboot. And I can cancel that miniature giraffe order.

But in the back of my mind, I hate this. I wish I was one of those crooked bastards that gets away from all of this fiscal responsibility. I could stare and bold-face lie to some sap to protect my secret millions. But I'm sure there are some pitfalls with that as well.

Or I could fix my W-4 like a normal person.

So, for all my social connections, I will be in hiding for the next four months. I may sneak away for a rebound of the fun life. Hopefully, my debt to the nation will be paid sooner rather than later. I'm sure I can generate some action while at home, but we will see. I have this thing called a PS3...I wonder what it does other than Blu-Ray and Netflix?

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) C'mon, admit it, VCU and Butler in the Final Four is kinda cool. However, you will never make me love the bracket of 68. Make it an even 96 and move on.
2) So many hacks...so...many...hacks.
3) Welp, I have lost another dozen brain cells. Eh, it happens. Catchy. At least it's not that damn "Saturday" song.

Seriously, this homebody thing has to work. If anyone has any suggestions or assistance, don't hesitate to comment. I may need the comments to read to pass the time. Lameness. Talk later.

Wedding Blog, Pt. I - Dunes are different from the beach

Congrats to Derica and Patrick, looking lovely on the most important St. Patrick's Day of their lives.

In my ongoing quest to turn this blog into a series of telenovelas, I now present the first part in my four-part series on weddings and why anyone would invite me to them. Within this ongoing series, I will unfairly and unjustly compare everyone's wedding to my wedding. I know, it's not a fair fight because I had the best wedding, ever (everyone should be so biased). Also, as the convention of this blog, I will attest to the mature nature of this very important ceremony simultaneously with the immature hypothesis that we don't need all this pomp and circumstance to be with the ones we love. The adult in me loves the stability, while the kid in me just wants to eat wedding cake.

First up, the lovely daytime nuptials of Derica Shipley (not related to the footballer Shipley family) and Patrick Griffin (not related to the Griffin's from TV's "Family Guy"...because he is not animated).

Last Thursday was a very good day to get married on the coast. Yeah, you read it correctly...last Thursday, as in St. Patrick's Day...as in the first REAL day of The Tournament. Yeah, that last Thursday. Speaking of the kid in me, the spoiled brat in me was throwing a hissy fit. A personal lesson to me would be that love does not care what your schedule looks like or what holiday it collides into. Of course, this is the second time I have been scolded with this harsh reality. My younger brother was married on New Year's Eve. Of course, he got his feelings hurt when I left a shade before midnight. So, St. Patty's Day should not have set me crooked, right? Right?

See, this is what I expect on St. Patty's...and that's it! Say hi to Amber...

God bless this lovely couple, but if you were told only these four things about a wedding:
March 17th
5 PM
Corpus Christi, TX
Padre Balli Park
...what would come to mind?

In my simple, panicked mind, I am thinking, "okay, a beach wedding during spring break on one of the drunkest days of the year." What could go wrong?

My doomsday scenario was nowhere close to being realized. Balli Park is probably the best possible location to avoid drunken beach sunburned zombies as the pavilions ask for the cash deposit before anyone shows up near those buildings. All of my fears were quelled. Even the weather cooperated with my sports jacket and heavy slacks as the sea breeze was comfortable and somewhat calming.

As the wedding ceremony goes, I also expected a very heavy catholic tilt even with the neutral ceremony site in between the dunes separating the tides with Park Road 22. No dice, with the unknown association to clergy from the officiator of the wedding, the ceremony lasted, maybe, 15 minutes with very few religious overtones. The wedding procession of seven groomsmen, seven bridesmaids, the proud parents, a ring bearer and bagpipes(!!!), the walking portion of the wedding nearly eclipsed the ceremony running time (Lessons Learned sidebar: I need to have a stop watch to measure how long these ceremonies last if I am going to blog about it).

"It's easy to grin, when your ship has come in, and you've got the stock market beat..."

With all timing and sequencing analysis aside, there is one constant that remains...everyone looked beautiful. The bride was beautiful, the groom looked slick with the all-black. The green of the bridesmaids' dresses offset the groomsmen's highlighted accessories brilliantly. The sun-kissed blue sky was the ultimate backdrop as the rows of waves behind us came with five rows at three feet. The only natural element that was a bit of a bear was the cloudless glare of the sun...but that was the witnesses' problem that a pair of sunglasses could easily solve.

To the happy couple, thank you for the invite. I apologize for the mumbling as this was not what I expected. I appreciate being surprised in a good way. No disrespect, but my wedding was cooler. Literally, we had central air when we were inside. Good luck to the both of you.

Wedding Blog series disclaimer - I am going to be a jerk about your wedding because my wedding was the best. See paragraph one.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) If Corpus could pull off nights like last Thursday, they would have to worry about their image because the tourists would just be pouring in enjoying themselves. Quit over-thinking and just be a city by a sea.
2) If Austin was the size of Dallas, locals would probably not bitch all the time about visitors invading their city. It's SXSW. What the hell did you guys expect (see: ComiCon)? Blessing and a curse...
3) If Dallas wanted to be more like Austin, they should have asked this guy to come north. Ah, the North Texas identity crisis continues post-80's TV show. Wait, what?

Unlike the Costa Rica series, the "goin' to the chapel" series will be a bit more spread out. We double-down in June as April and May are sans ceremonies. July through September are also quiet for reporting as we finish up the ego-trip in October for the event of the season. Then and there, we will see how these bums stumble out of the blocks on day one. If trash-talking weddings are wrong, then I don't want to be right. Talk later.

Stealing Words

Being thirty-two, I am years from my college English courses. English majors learn to think and write, but in a way, unless you are creatively writing (the thought of which always completely terrified me), you're just putting your ever-growing internal vocabulary list to work in order to analyze and explicate someone else's words in some meaningful way. However, I've come to realize that even just doing that is better than not using your words at all.

So, after being urged by a friend to write, I find myself making an attempt. This is not the first time someone has suggested I do this, but it is the first time I've taken anyone up on it. It's strange how people have told me before that I would be a good writer, never even having read two words I've attempted to put together outside of a Facebook status update. The fear of proving these people wrong has kept me from this for a long time. But, I think I'm ready to get some words down on a page (or screen).

What to write about? How about words themselves? I love words. I own an extensive collection of magnetic poetry, I love to play Scrabble, and I am the owner of three books about vocabulary building. As much as I do love words, I sometimes have a hard time putting them all together on a page and shuffling them around to find that perfect mix that will completely express a thought with all the subtleties and shades that might be required. I used to collect quotations and song lyrics because I thought that there was nothing that I could say about anything that had not already been said better by someone else. I mean, we are limited by the finite number of words that exist, and I thought that it was best left to the professionals to combine them in appropriate ways. Don't get me wrong I understand that new words are coined every day. There is a continuous need to describe or explain new technologies or to find different ways to communicate complex (or not-so complex) ideas with our thumbs. But there is something magical about the most simple combination of everyday words, when their interaction manages to completely capture a single true emotion.

Simple words are often overlooked. I once had a conversation with a person who was able to appreciate my usage of the word "trite." He commented on its infrequent usage, ironically showing that it has become a word that is in itself the opposite of its own meaning. I appreciated his appreciation. Then, I smugly commented that one need not be sesquipedalian in their expressions to convey an important idea. And yes...at that point I was just showing off. I just really enjoyed the fact that we could have an entire conversation about the very words we choose to converse with.

So, back to putting words together...I think I'm ready to try it. I'm sure I will be regurgitating words already learned and known. And I will most certainly be leaning upon the crutches of my thesaurus, my extensive collection of magnetic poetry and the most intriguing work ever to be published by the London Philological Society. Yes, the words will all be stolen, but the ideas will be my very own.