Tuesday, August 18, 2009


Woke up at 1:25 this morning to a rumble of thunder. Finding it odd that there was thunder because, being a well-aware meteorological-centric West Texan, I didn't really believe there was much of a chance of rain at the time I went to bed. Surprised, I did my typical get up and walk the house briefly. Making sure everything's cool.

I hop back in bed and turn over as the lightning became more rampant and the thunder louder. Not but about five minutes later, the sound that could really only be described as a "deafening boom of nuclear proportions" dropped on our house. I mean it shook the house. The power leaves the house immediately. The hum of the fan silenced. My lovely wife finally wakes up in an absolute panic. I tell her we lost power. Thinking that certainly our house got struck, I grab the flashlight near the bed and begin to inspect the ceilings. I walk into the kitchen where Tux and Jax have completely shat themselves. Tucker's eyes are the size of sand dollars and Jackson's tail is wagging furiously. It's like their lives passed before them.

I open the gate and let them roam the house. Tucker begins circling the house madly. He's not well. The lightning continues providing me brief glimpses of my surroundings. I hop back in bed and await the power to return. Dead air is sleep's enemy. I mean, when there's no air moving in a house, sleep cannot exist.

Tucker jumps up into my arms. He's shaking uncontrollably. I stroke his back in hopes to calm him down. It took about an hour for him to calm when he just fell asleep. I go outside to inspect the exterior of the house for any damage. Nothing. Close, but not a direct hit. I go in and call the energy company to report the outage. The man says that he's got a couple of calls of the outage and currently there are 160 homes without power. During the call, he explains that initially he thought it to be repaired by 5:45, but then states that power should be restored by 3:00. No problem. I can deal.

I go and lay back down and attempt to sleep. An hour passes. Then, two hours pass. I hop up and decide to go check on the status outside. It's a dead calm. Nothing's happening. I hop in my car and decide to drive around the block and see if I can find anything going from the energy company. Nothing. I call them back.

This time, I'm told that it's going to be 5:45. I explain that I was told that it was going to be 3:00 before after it was initially reported to be 5:45. Being that it was now 3:30, I was pretty sure that 3:00 wasn't going to happen. And, I figure that now that it's 5:45, I'm pretty much kissing a good night's sleep away. That's wake-up for me.

I stir until about 4:15 and, in a loss of sleep and moving air, I decide to take matter into my own hands and create my own moving air by simply moving through air...as in going outside and squeezing in my scheduled four-mile outing. I was practically sleepjogging. I laced up my Nike Lunarlites which are perfect for running at night because, well, these shoes are so bright they're day.

I had some James Brown on the iPod. Good thing. Something incredibly eerie about running in a darkened neighborhood at a naturally dark hour. The shadows move around you. The JBs kept my pace up. Another thunderstorm was rolling in from the west. The lightning lit up the sky and the streets around me. It was beautiful.

I get back to the house which is dark and still. I fall down into the chair in the bedroom and kick off my Nikes. It was the most comfortable I had been all night. I started thinking about the milk in the fridge and before I could give it a second thought, I pass out.

The next three hours were much a blur. All I remember was never getting the power back and somehow crawling into work late just in time for my 9:30 meeting.

Long day to say the least where, somehow I managed to squeeze a visit to the dude who is going to perform a root canal (not to be confused with a Root Down which is much iller) on my pathetic ass. He said it's not as bad as people make it out to be. In fact, he tells me that he's had three (as he chomps his teeth to prove that they still work). Worst part, though was their sensitivity test where they tapped on my teeth and then pressed a cold piece of metal into the tops of my teeth and then had me bite down on some sort of gauze. It was hell. Hopefully it only goes up from there because that absolutely sucked.

Another storm is rolling in as I type this behind a half empty (half full) pale ale. Yummy. Here's the radar. Tell me our chances of avoiding this puppy.

Got the marathon design finalized. It's important business. It'll be our flag that, on race day, we'll wave for everyone to see. Unified in the insanity that is a 26.2 mile run. I'm going to probably hit up a limited run which will include 20 tees and probably a couple of hoodies with the design huge on the back. Also, I'm looking into printing tech shirts in hopes that we can wear them on race day. Remember to lube up those nipples. You don't want blood on your new Root Down shirt. So, here it is. We abandoned the RUN TRD look for RUN ROC with "roc" obviously meaning "White Rock" which is the lake that eats up a clean nine miles of the marathon with the super ill "TEAM ROOT DOWN" banner at the bottom. Likely, I'll inverse the black so that we can print up on dark shirts. We'll start with mediums and print up to a couple of double XLs for the bigboys.

Koolz wanted the Metallica logo because I think he's afraid that no one will get the logo. He just grew up that way. He probably wouldn't know Run DMC from Liberace. No offense, homie. You just kinda missed out on the '84 hip hop fun. Here's a photo for you to reference. Don't worry. People will recognize it.
Heading to Boston and NYC in a couple of days. Can't wait. I need a vacation so bad. Saturday we'll chill around Boston. Probably hit up some stores. Maybe pick up some sneakers to feed my habit. Yankees are in town so I imagine finding a bar to watch the game at is assumed. Sunday we'll travel up the coastline to Portland, Maine. Check out some lighthouses and property where we'll build our summer home (or just home). Monday we go see the Sox play the other Sox. Damn good tickets. Tuesday, we take a train to Manhattan. Spend some time in the Village. Wednesday we head downtown and Lady Liberty. Thursday is Broadway. Friday is Brooklyn. Saturday is back to reality. We don't vacate. We sport. Give me a week and see what I'll fit into it. Gonna be a great time. You won't hear from me because I don't love you that much. We'll have pictures o'plenty when we return. I might hit up Facebook with a couple of updates but really just to let you know how cool my vacation is and how much yours sucks.
I'm getting grumpy and mad tired. I'll finish Side D of this record and then retire. Eyes are getting heavy. Daniel, shave your head, son. Your bald spot is not quite as obvious.

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