Women Drivers 1

If a single driver was put off by the sideshow, he's dumber than his brother Darryl and more naive than his other brother Darryl. Patrick may be a woman driver, not to mention a Sunday driver, but if anyone can save a sport leaking more red ink than oil, she's the one.

Around and around she went, taking the American public with her. Talk about drama. She led with 15 laps to go. She led with 10 laps to go. She led with eight laps to go. Finally, she conceded, no thanks to a perilously low fuel level that forced her to ease off the gas.

OK, so she didn't win. And for all we know, she'll never win at Indy. What's important is this: Next time she's out there, a whole lot of people will be watching.

- Jim Armstrong of the Denver Post, on AOL

Testing, 1 2 3

Well now - take a sneak peek at the News & Record's website redesign, and then tell them what you think here.

I think they're on the right track with the tab navigation, but right now it's quite the visual onslaught. The ads and sidebars are dominating. And please don't make me open a new page to Read More... please? How about opening the story I click on in a Master window, leaving the links beside it so I can switch between stories?

Oh wait - I'm posting this in the wrong place. Feedback...

I haven't done a thorough tour - that's just a very initial impression. They'll get it figured out. They're wicked smart, that group is.

To Hoggfests to Come

I've been searching all day for the right words to describe what happened at Hoggfest yesterday. Ed Cone found them first. David Wharton expresses the same with his photos, and Jay Ovittore and David Hoggard with their gratitude for the whole experience. Woody Cavenaugh sums it up nicely: "I can't think of a single time in my life I was surrounded by so many genuinely nice people as [I] was at HoggFest."

I had planned to go and help out for the afternoon. After being there a few hours, I soon realized that there was no better place to be in Greensboro yesterday than among that group at and around the Flatiron, gathered for the purpose of raising money and showing support for Jinni Hoggard 's trouncing of breast cancer. I stayed 'til the clock turned Monday.

Of all the great moments, great community vibes, great music and great food, perhaps the greatest single accomplishment of Hoggfest was one that won't be tangible for many years. It's the gift that we, a diverse, flawed, sometimes petty and selfish group of adults, gave a great group of kids.

You could see it in their eyes. When they left the basketball court, the balloon lady, or the moon bounce long enough to peruse the food table for another piece of chocolate or barbecue sandwich, they were an absolute mirror to what they saw going on around them. Carefully observing the adults laughing, socializing, teasing, and serving each other - fully immersed in it like a reef of little sponges - the kids instantly understood that this was a safe place, more family reunion than public gathering in a downtown park.

Someday, when those kids are adults, a friend or neighbor of theirs might need some help. By that time they may have forgotten Hoggfest 2005. But because they were there, the Hoggfest kids will instinctively know the right thing to do in that situation: circle the wagons, fire up the pig cooker, and wrap those friends and neighbors in a warm community embrace, assuring them they are not alone in this world -- that no matter what, they have friends who love them and who will not abide a loss of hope.

Late in the evening, the benefit's raison d'etre, Jinni Hoggard, was huggin' and kissin', bringing people drinks and making them feel welcome and wanted, as she had been doing all day long with unfathomable reserves of energy. She suddenly stopped smiling and approached a few of us sitting outside the Flatiron to share what was bothering her.

She had spotted a woman on the other side of the darkened street, pulling a battered suitcase behind her, probably looking for a safe place to sleep. Jinni wanted to make sure that that woman knew she was welcome to every bit of food we had left.

Here's to the Hoggfests of the future, whatever their name might be. Here's to the Hoggards, who live the example of a community with arms open to everyone. Here's to everyone who contributed - and that is everyone who was there. And here's to Greensboro, for being such a place where such a thing just seems to come naturally.

-------------------------

And a standing ovation to Roch Smith, Jr., whose tenacity and commitment slays the logistics dragon every time. You make it look easy, buddy.

Loser

Robby Gordon, it's a new world. Going forward, you'll need to understand that there are going to be times when you get beat by a girl.

What's that you say? That that's no faaaaiiir, because girls have a physical advantage over guys?

Can you hear me laughing over here?

Well, I'm not entirely unsympathetic - I even have a few suggestions for you.

1) Go on a diet. You could stand to lose a few. Lay off the Monster Burgers, and maybe you'll catch up.

2) Be a man and quit crying. You don't get PMS, so you have no excuse.

OR,

3) Be true to your word, and take your ball and go home. Tell your mommy. Let her feed you some cake and ice cream and cookies 'til Wittle Wobby feels alllll better.

Ya big fat baby.

Either bring it, or stay home. I haven't heard Danica complain about the fact that you have longer legs and stronger arms, and have never had to run a gauntlet of intimidation and hostility because of your gender.

May the best human win.

Worth a Thousand Words

There's a whole story behind these pics, but I don't have time to tell it right now, and that's frustrating.

Isn't there some wealthy benefactor out there who would like to see to it that I can blog all day, and still pay my bills?

YES! They got it right

I haven't quite figured out how the small staff of YES! Weekly manages to be everywhere at once in Greensboro, consistently turning out well-researched and in-depth articles on a production schedule of just 7 days. They came out strong and have only gotten better, and are a welcome addition to the free weekly scene here.

This week, I can't pretend to give an unbiased review of their cover story on local bloggers; after all, I'm featured, as are several of my blog buddies, who also happen to be some of my favorite voices in Greensboro.

Keep that in mind as you consider that I give Editor Brian Clarey and Photographer Lee Adams five out of five stars for parsing the story that is the Greensboro blogosphere. Clarey took a lot of information and backstory and made it make sense. He was also accurate and entertaining.

Now really -- where else can you get that kind of value for free??

Burlington Industries Implosion 3

This is the story of a building and a town.



Once upon a time, Burlington Industries brought the world to Greensboro. Its executives came and went from a helipad atop the corporate headquarters, an award-winning landmark of steel and glass on a corporate campus of stunning maple trees.

The company prospered; the town became a city.



The city grew; the world changed. Eventually, no one could find much use for a textile company's corporate world headquarters.

So on May 23, 2005, they brought it down.





With its facile erasure from the city's landscape, so went one of the last physical vestiges - but not entirely the memories - of the modern American textile industry, once so intricately woven in the city's fortunes and future.



The city will grow and grow and grow, enjoying the rich bounty of the world that textiles first brought to its doorstep.



But surely, she will never be the same.

Burlington Industries Implosion 2

My pictures.

Burlington Industries Implosion 1

I've referenced the work of Tom Lassiter before, particularly his QTVR photography at the Eyes Wide Open exhibit and other places.

Today, Lassiter comes through again: this time with a multi-angle movie, QTVR, and construction photos of the Burlington Industries corporate headquarters in Greensboro, which came down today in a controlled demolition by D.H. Griffin Wrecking Company.

Know Your Limits

I'm worried about Sheryl Crow. She's playing on Austin City Limits right now. What kind of starvation diet has Lance talked her into?? Does she have to pedal a bike to generate electricity in his house?

I'm going to bake her some brownies.

Thankfully, her voice is stronger than ever. She sounds nearly as great as when I saw her live at Alltel Pavilion a few years ago.

Disclaimer: By linking to lancearmstrong.com, I am no way endorsing visiting his site or even cheering for him in a race. If you want to wear a Livestrong armband, okay. But I still don't like the guy.

UPDATE: Eww. Lance just came out, gave her a guitar, and kissed her right before she launched into "My Favorite Mistake." Next song should be "Maybe God is Tryin' to Tell You Somethin'".

MORE: I really like Peter Stroud, not only because he's skilled, but also because he reminds me of a young Steve Clark.

Note to Paisley: Switch 625. Are you out there?

Logical Beings

You don't have to put your hair in cinnabuns to show your Star Wars geekdom. You can do like me, and watch the three-part miniseries The Science of Star Wars on Discovery Channel this weekend.

That way, you won't see yourself on the evening news: an adult, in costume, on a day that's not Halloween.

Alive and Well

It's Saturday... what am I doing? Why am I not at the new Star Wars movie? Or at the very least, outside while the sun is shining?

Gonna go mountain bike shopping. A real post will ensue, later.

On the Road Again

Travel day tomorrow. I probably won't make very good time with a U-Haul trailer. But, I got a sleeper sofa! I can cross that off a very old to-do list.

Get this: one of my friends placed #58 out of around 1,200 competitors in the Danskin triathlon. I know, I know, I said it wasn't about times. But c'mon, #58!!

To celebrate we went to MGM Studios - OK I'm skipping the part where we had wine and froofroo drinks by the pool at the Contemporary resort - but anyway, we went on Star Tours, the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, and Aerosmith's Rock 'n' Roller Coaster. This morning, after one of our group threw up and the rest of us had sore backs and necks, we all agreed that we were too old. I believe I called out for a defibrillator once the Tower of Terror found terra firma. Not very funny in retrospect, but I don't think I was being funny at the time, either.

But we were glad we did it. Not because it was fun, but because it proved, for the umpteenth time in our extended adolescences, that we are not chicken. I bought the pictures they take at the most frightening moment of the ride as evidence. Our hair under those conditions is the most frightening thing of all.

You know you're getting old when you're just as thrilled by the quality of set decoration in the queue-up area as by the ride itself.

So I'm retiring from at least one Disney thrill ride - but at least my very last ride on Tower of Terror was a doozy. I'd say we took about 4 or 5 big plunges, and got weightless on the way up one time as well. Unbelievable.

If you've never been on the Rock 'n Roller Coaster, let me just say: start bracing as soon as you get in the car. Best to go ahead and put your head back against the headrest. Now that I've survived it, I read that it launches you from 0-60mph in 2.8 seconds, with the force of an F-14. This is information I was not provided in advance, probably with good reason.

You know how there's always one person in the group who says, "no, c'mon, it's not that bad, you have to do it"? And then, once you've stood in line for 20 minutes and are actually approaching the boarding area, said person suddenly starts to look a little queasy and says something like, "I don't know if this is such a good idea"?

Yeah. She was with me. I have the pictures to prove it.

I love my friends. We are far cooler and more bonded than any of those chicks in the silly chick movies. We don't go around saying Ya-Ya. We do tend to burp a lot in each others' presence, though, for reasons likely linked to Cooler Ranch Doritos and Starbucks Frappucino drinks.

It was 89 degrees in Orlando today. I'll try not to bring it back with me.

She who finishes the race

In a little more than 7 hours, five of my best friends will be competing in a triathlon, and I will be there to cheer them on (Official Title: Towel Girl).

It's the Danskin Women's Triathlon Series, an eight-city event that emphasizes fun, sisterhood and morale-building over times, ketosis, and Buns of Steel. Tomorrow is the official kick-off of this year's series, at Walt Disney World resort. A mini-sprint tri, this race consists of a 400 yard swim in the Seven Seas Lagoon, a 9-mile bike ride through the property and behind Animal Kingdom, and a two-mile run through the Magic Kingdom, past Cinderella's Castle and down Main Street USA.

Since the Series began in 1990, over 140,000 women have "tri"ed it. Last year I watched my friends stick their toes in the tri water at this same race. As a spectator, I learned much about the character of the event -- a humbling glimpse at how powerful women are when they decide to support each other.

Watching at the finish line as woman after woman completed her own mini-sprint journey in perseverance, I think I learned something by watching them learn about themselves. The Series' slogan is "The woman who starts the race is not the same woman who finishes the race." They might be amazed to learn that this holds true even for Towel Girls.

Never have I seen a mass of women (1,200 in tomorrow's race) behave so much like each other's mothers, best friends, and lifelines. There were a thousand little acts of generosity and compassion that would each merit an essay of their own: sharing water, shouting encouragement, slowing down to help someone who was struggling, and most of all, Team Survivor, a group of cancer survivors who complete the race together, hands raised and clasped together in victory. Dry eye at the finish line? Good luck.

Instead of standing in line at race registration all day today, Towel Girls have the privilege of being out in the world, catching glimpses of the future of our gender.

There was a little girl (9 or 10) on my nephew's soccer team. She was playing her heart out, not shying away from any 50/50 balls, even when the other 50 was a big boy with a big foot. Unfortunately he didn't back down either, and she took a full, close range soccer ball rocket in the mouth. I can tell you, this hurts even worse than it looks.

The little girl's father is the team's coach, and he rushed on to the field and carried her off. I thought that she must be crying, but as he gently dropped her onto the bench, I could see that a battle for resolve and composure was raging behind some tears. Some mothers came over, fussing with icebags. Her coach/father backed away and loitered a minute, then said, "Well, honey, you just let me know when you're ready to go back in, okay?"

"I'm ready now, Dad," she said in all seriousness. Then she shot him a winning grin and hopped up off the bench, just in case he didn't believe her. He stared at her, completely without words. Humbling, isn't it Dad, the awesome power of your little girl, who knows exactly what she's made of?

I'll be reminded of her tomorrow, as each of those women crosses the finish line. I won't have any words for it, either, other than the overwrought hip-hop twang of "you go, girl."

But you know, that's what I'll be thinking.

And when my friends cross the finish line, I am entirely likely to shout it instead.

------------------------------------

Danskin Women's Triathlon Series
The eight-city Danskin Women's Triathlon Series is the largest and longest-running multi-sport Series in the world. Since its launch in 1990, the Series has played a major role in the growth of the sport of triathlon by providing more than 140,000 women with the opportunity to "tri" a triathlon, many for the first time, in a supportive environment where the emphasis is on accomplishment, fun and camaraderie.

Danskin is proud to support The Breast Cancer Research Foundation as the Official Charity of the Series. On behalf of the participants, Danskin will again donate 10% of all entry fees received throughout the 2005 season. A minimum of 85 cents of each dollar donated to BCRF goes directly to research and public awareness programs. BCRF continues to receive the highest ratings from Charity Navigator, four stars, and the American Institute of Philanthropy, an "A."

For more information about the Foundation and its work, please visit www.bcrfcure.org.

In its 11th year, Danskin Team Survivor provides a fitness opportunity for women cancer survivors to train and participate in their first triathlon in a supportive environment. Women in all stages of treatment, recovery, and survivorship are welcome. Training programs specifically for women cancer survivors are offered in various cities across the country.

Walking Teams available too!

For more information on Danskin Team Survivor training programs and events, visit us at www.teamsurvivor.org , call 800/452-9526 or e-mail cathy@teamsurvivor.org.

Hello, Dolly

Preparing for a yard sale can be murder. Just ask my friend here.



People always ask why I'm afraid of dolls. They think I'm exaggerating for humorous effect, overemphasizing a peccadillo, overstating the facts when I say I WILL NOT SLEEP in the same room with a doll. I do not care if said doll is antique, foreign, valuable, smiling, cute, wets herself, or belonged to an ancestor of mine. No bedroom is big enough for the two of us. The doll waits outside until my eyes are open again, and I can watch her like a hawk.

What I don't understand is why people don't understand why I'm afraid of dolls. Take a look at this little Chuckie-in-waiting, found crumpled in the corner of my childhood closet:

The question is, why aren't you afraid?

My fear can be traced to a specific day in history: the day my cousin told me that dolls come alive at night and kill little girls. She told me this because she knew that I, at the advanced age of 5, was to sleep in her room that night with all of her dolls on the shelf. Chalk it up to revenge, sharpened to a point by the innate cruelty that little girls elevate to a martial art.

The thing is -- I already knew that dolls come alive at night, that they hated me and wanted to kill me. I had figured that out all by myself, simply by gazing into their soulless plastic orbs. It wasn't difficult to see that the dolls were angry at the mobile, agile humans who picked them up and tossed them willy-nilly around the room. The doll tribe would take any opportunity for sweet vengeance that presented itself. The trick was, they couldn't strike until the humans were somehow incapacitated.

Sleep! Ah yes, that will do nicely. And will we prey on the big ones, who could tear us asunder, say the dolls? Oh, no. We go right for the throats of the little lambs, defenseless in their dreams.

This made perfect sense to me at 5, and it makes even more sense to me now that I am one of the big people. It's my job to protect the next generation.

That's why, as I helped the family rummage through closets and under beds for items to contribute to the yard sale, my eyes were peeled for plastic or porcelain horrors. I knew they were in there waiting for me.

Luckily, someone got to her before she could get to me or mine.

F-L-A

Why stay in one place when you can move about this great country? It only took me 9 1/2 hours to drive to Florida today. That's including two major traffic tie-ups, one in Charlotte (thanks to an Inmate Work Crew - grrr - they really didn't need a whole lane to themselves) and another in Jacksonville at rush hour. The Department of Homeland Security van that stealthily crept by me in Georgia didn't slow me up at all, but it did unnerve me a bit. Are Durangos on any kind of watchlist? They should tell you these things.

When my friend and I made this road trip in our college days, it always seemed to take 11 or 12 hours. I know we pushed her '86 Toyota Celica to its limits. Could it be I'm more a leadfoot in my old age?

Or could it be that, hyped up on Cherry Coke, McDonald's fries, Swiss Cake Rolls, and bad pop music like Big Country and Sinead O'Connor, talking a mile a minute from the time we left Greensboro to the moment we pulled into the first driveway in Orlando, we were too distracted to make good time? Perhaps we just plain forgot to press the accelerator pedal a great deal of the time. I could believe that.

And it could be that I'm simply more efficient, focused, and dedicated to task than my younger self. Instead of rotting my brain on sugar and MTV music, I learn things about the world on NPR (today: Conservative Christians and Why Birds Sing on the Diane Rehm Show), and I listen to books on tape (today: Primary Colors). Instead of futzing with a radar detector, I just maintain a sane speed 5-8mph over the limit.

Now that I've mostly eliminated Cherry Coke from my food pyramid, the stops are a lot less frequent, too.

But geez, wasn't it SOMETHING to be 19 years old, with all the windows rolled down, talking about Buddhism, the probability of an afterlife, and cute boys, giving each other shit and laughing until you snorted Cherry Coke out your nose?

Yes. Yes it was.

You need a new air filter, and by the way...

Overheard at the Battleground Avenue Jiffy Lube today:

Conversation #1:

"Back when I was in the Navy overseas, I had a Studebaker Spitfire, the kind with the rounded back, and you know what I used to pay for gas on the base? 6 cents a gallon. I had that car shipped back to the states, and when I got to New York I saw a sign that said gas was 25 cents a gallon. I told my honey, well, guess we won't be cruising around too much..."

Conversation #2:

"If they would just leave Bush alone and let him do what he needs to do, these gas prices wouldn't be so high. I mean, there's plenty of oil in America. Those people [um, Arabs? -ed.] are never going to lower prices. It won't hurt Alaska to drill there, there's not much there anyway. But these environmentalists, they say oh no, you can't do that there and you can't do this here. It's crazy. Bush is a good man, and I think he's doing a fine job. They ought to just leave him alone. And isn't his wife just the cutest thing?"

Conversation #3:

"I just don't understand people who watch Fox News Channel. I mean, Bill O'Reilly, he has guests on and he never lets them talk! He just tells them to shut up. I don't understand people who think Bush is such a wonderful man and he's doing such a great job, and this and that. They have to be brainwashed. He has made the biggest mess out of this country. I don't know how we're ever going to clean it up!"

Jiffy Lube: your hotbed of community discourse and non-OEM parts.

Tribute

I didn't write anything for Mother's Day about the best mother ever, mine.

However, Sue wrote something about the best mother ever, hers. And it's there I would send you now.

You can thank me later.

All in a Day's Work

One of the things I like best about living in North Carolina is that you can go from this

to this

in one day.

From here

to here

in less than an hour.

There's more photojournalism of the Green Valley Grill at the O'Henry Hotel and the Rockingham County Folk Festival at my Flickr site.

Click here for Green Valley Grill photos.
Click here for Rockingham County Folk Festival photos.

Just think, if I could blog for a living, both the wine and the scrip would be at least partially tax-deductible.

Shells

According to the turtles, today is officially the First Day of Summer in North Carolina.

Mothers' Day

On this, the day that we celebrate Mothers, it might be the right thing to do -- though it's certainly no fun -- to take a few minutes and rememember families that have been torn to shreds by the violence and conflict that rage in other parts of the world.

It's not pleasant, but it's just a sidetrip for you on an otherwise wonderful Sunday. These children are worthy of your attention for a few moments. For their sake, you might find you have some extra gratitude for your own family members today.

Instantly Orphaned• A photographer witnesses the devastating aftermath of six Iraqi children whose parents were shot before their eyes by U.S. troops.

That New Math

Someone recently said that driving to Virginia from Greensboro for cheaper gas was nuts, as you spend more in gas to get there than you save in the price difference.

Well, let's find out.

It's 36 miles from my house to the Exxon in Ridgeway, VA. My car can do better than 16mpg on the highway, but let's call it 16. With Plus gas in my neighborhood around $2.24/gallon, that means I spend approximately $10.08 in gas for a round trip to Virginia. So I'm $10.08 in the hole.

Filling up there at $1.99/gallon, I save $4.25 over Greensboro gas prices (for 17 gallons.) Now I'm only $5.83 in the hole.

Then, I turn in a scratch-off lottery ticket I've been carrying around in my wallet forever. Cha-ching! Another $1 -- only $4.83 in the hole.

I take that found money and another $3 to the scratch-off vending machine and buy two tickets. First one: nothing. Two: a winner! I get my $4 back.

Well let's face it, that $4 was long ago written out of my budget. Two more scratchies for Chewie. First one: nothing. Second one: $6! A 50% profit in less than 5 minutes. Status: $2.83 in the hole.

I don't know if you've heard, but the President is urging us to take control of investing our money. I oblige and buy two more MegaMillions QuickPicks with my winnings. Yes, I already bought five. OK, and five LottoSouth too -- but I used birthdays for those. Hey, quit looking at my Quicken. This is the part of the budget pie chart we call "Fun, dammit."

So for an investment of $10.08 in gas to Virginia, I saved $4.25, gained $1 from an old lottery ticket, and made $2 profit in scratch-offs. I spent $2.83 for the joyride.

I think the $34 mil from MegaMillions, or even the $2 mil from LottoSouth, should take care of that quite neatly.

Plus, it's a pretty drive.

Meanwhile, on the Titanic

Question re: the occasional compulsive need to rearrange all the furniture in one's house. Is it:

a) a desperate attempt to impose control on a chaotic universe;
b) a fist raised in the air in the face of the unrelenting march towards one's eventual demise;
c) a sign of adult ADD;
d) a charming character trait, attributable to high intelligence, love of sensory extravagance, and fun;
e) all of the above?

It's Friday

Oh sure it's funny to you. But how do you think my ass feels?

If your favorite blogger is in Nashville, you're bored, and you need something to do, visit The Oops List over there in 5 Good Reads. You're sure to find something you like and haven't seen before.

The Trickle-Up Phenomenon

Mostly the kind of financial pressure that we hear the middle class suffering under these days isn't because they're trying to buy Prada handbags. Mainly it's just trying to keep up with mortgage payments on a house that's beyond their reach.

Said Robert Frank, Cornell University Professor of Economics and Management, to WBUR's Dick Gordon on today's Connection show, titled "That Love of Luxury."

Frank is the author of Luxury Fever: Money and Happiness in an Era of Excess.

He continues:

Before 1970, the three decades after WWII, everybody up and down the line saw their incomes grow at about 3% a year. What changed after that was that virtually all the income growth has been occurring at the very top of the income ladder.

The trend is this: If you're at the bottom of the group, you're not doing too well. You're doing maybe even worse in absolute terms than you were doing 25 years ago. If you're in the middle, you've had some moderate income gains, but really not much. It's really the people in the top 5th of every group that have had the gains. And then if we look within that group, we see the same pattern there too. So it's the people at the very top of the top 5th who have gotten most of the gains.

"But isn't all that wealth supposed to trickle down?" asked Gordon.

I think what we see now is that there's even more of a trickle-up phenomenon going on than a trickle-down phenomenon. So if you look at what happens when somebody gets a big new pay increase who's already got a lot of money, where does that money go? At one time, it might have trickled down in the form of hiring a lot of extra servants, or buying goods that were manufactured with manual labor... car manufacturers that employed skilled and unskilled laborers to produce the kinds of things that people at the top with extra money might buy.

What we're seeing more and more now is that people at the top are buying specialty items, items whose demand actually increases the skewness in income distribution that brought it about in the first place. So you go to cosmetic surgeons, you go to specialty designers, you go to a whole phalanx of people where the dollars you spend are going to be going primarily not to lower income people but to the people who direct those new enterprises.

Chewie has her own Economic Indicators, and they are down this week.

Our office toll-free number is just one transposed digit away from the number for Florida's Department of Children and Families. Until I learned to check the Caller ID area code before answering, I was talking to at least 3 or 4 distraught women a day who were looking for their Food Stamps, wondering when their Medicaid was going to kick in, or pleading for a review of their case. Now, I let the Florida calls go to voice mail. At the end of the day I have to listen to all their messages. They're often confused and/or angry, with a stifled hint of desperation. I wish I knew how to forward these messages directly to the residential wing of the White House.

This week, Florida is calling 9 or 10 times a day. Sometimes I answer. Most of the time, I have to let it go.

I hope that they realize they haven't reached someone who can help them, and that they will keep trying, no matter what.

Rhapsody in Blue

Oh blue,
I miss you.
The sun beats down,
And you're not around.

I hope your owner treats you
The way I used to do.
The Sunday topless cruises,
The endless stoplight schmoozes.

We owned this town --
They couldn't turn us down.
You're probably at the coast
But remember who loves you most.

I simply can't fandango
In a Dodge Durango.
But, friend, we had our time;
Knowing that, I end this rhyme.

Where'd he go?

My link to Mathew Gross' blog has gone kapooey. Did I miss something? Anyone? Bueller?

UPDATE: Silly Chewie. He's right here. Update your links.

Those Foxy Bloggers

Nice work, Lenslinger! I bet we all owe some of our hit count to you in the next few days.

I don't know how you did it, but you managed to hit the most salient points within a teeny timeframe: blogs fulfilling the promise of the web; reading blogs for quality, not quantity; blogs as a means for transmitting information, independent of social and geographical boundaries; Greensboro's place in the greater blogosphere.

A longer piece is warranted, and I'm sure it will happen someday. When it does, I hope you're behind the lens and in the edit chair.

The necessities

Bob Evans, will you marry me?