Its Friday and the end of week two in the blog flogging. I'm not sure that anyone is reading this so to future generations, I have this bit of wisdom to share; There might not be any new frontiers left to storm, other than space, "The final Frontier" as stated by Captain James Tiberius Kirk, commander of the Starship Enterprise. The internet is making sure of that. Google maps appears to have found Atlantis, Noah's Ark, the island where Elvis and numerous other rich (but not deceased) celebrities are supposedly hiding out. Urban legendry at it's finest.

I remember so well when Elvis passed away. Rumor was he was so doped up and full of deep fried banana and peanut butter sandwiches he couldn't remember his own name. And that he died taking a dump. Now that would definitely be a bad way to be remembered but Elvis fans by the millions don't care. A former best friend's (mentioned earlier) mother was an original Elvis fan from the fifties and would make two visits a year with her patient husband in tow to see him in Las Vegas. Every time I'd come over to visit, and that was a lot, Elvis would be playing on the RCA Victor Console stereo like a sound track to our friendship. When his Mom and dad would return from their trips, she'd have a scarf with "The King's" sweat on it and a picture where he bent over to hand it to her with a smooch. She was quite the looker back then, and I'm sure her beauty attracted Elvis like a fly to a light bulb. She was a true fan. I remember the day I heard Elvis died and then going by my buddies house after school. His mom was in the floor, crying, in front of her giant Elvis poster hung inside her utility closet. She had all her memorabilia with her and she just sobbed for weeks.

I remember the first time I was officially in Memphis. Me and a few of my buddies went there to attend the NMCA (Nation Muscle Car Association) race-off for street cars. It was an interesting trip and one we'd all not forget. We had decided one day to find us some Memphis bar-b-que and to go by to see Graceland while we were in town, International home to the King, Elvis Aaron Presley himself. We rode around for a while thinking that all roads in Memphis eventually led back to Graceland, if you rode around long enough. We finally decided, unlike most dudes, to ask for directions. I was riding shotgun (front seat, passenger side for you Yankees) and I spotted a gentleman sitting at a bus stop, so I instructed my driving friend to whip it over and I'd ask how to get to the white folks' Rock and Roll Mecca.

I asked him, "Excuse me sir, I am not from here and I am trying to get to Graceland, could you give me directions?". The black gentleman said, "Yes, for a dollar..." I handed him a dollar and he said " It would be much better if it were in 'case' quarters", I'm guessing for the bus ride he was waiting on. It's a term I've heard all my life used by black folks, and it simply means one silver quarter. Not two dimes and a nickle, one dime/ three nickles, twenty five pennies...you get it. Just a plain old quarter. So we obliged him and here's what he said: " Awwrite, from here you do a U-ie and go right on the Biddy Gram Parkway go fo mies and then you get off on Eddie Preddie Bood-e-bard and Gray-lan will be on yo leff". Now again, this was when GPS, cell phones, and other devices of that nature we just "ain't no damn way" rumors.

We all had our windows down listening, and I said "Thanks Dude, we appreciate it." as we drove away. My three passengers all said simultaneously "What in the hell did he say?" with looks of confusion painted across their faces. I said, being the lone Jive speaker in the car with my "West-end" Atlanta origins coming in to play as the last white kid to leave the now notorious crime ridden area, and knowing it (Jive) as well as Mrs. Cleaver in "Airplane". It was my second language.

"Don't worry boys, I speak Jive".

He said, "Do a U-turn, then go right on the Billy Graham Parkway, go four miles then get off at Elvis Presley Boulevard, and Graceland will be on your left."

We followed his direction as interpreted by yours truly, and would have missed Graceland if not for the daily throngs of people standing outside the gates, leaving flowers and notes like Elvis might come out for a visit. I was shocked by three things. One, how rural an area Graceland was located in. Two, how many people were there, and according to a local, it was like that every day. And finally, how dang small the gates to Graceland actually are. If not for the thousand or so folks, we'd have missed it. Ida been wanting my four case quarters back.

The day will come when a generation doesn't know who Elvis is. I'm not sure when that generation will get here. It appears that Mr. Presley is worth considerably more dead than he ever was alive. I guess the internet has helped a great deal, and my generation still seems to have a love for him. I did notice this, however, the last time I was through Louisiana. The convenience stores were not stocking "Velvet" Elvis' any longer. That's a painting of Elvis at any stage in his career painted on Black Velvet. It was a staple of my generation, along with eight track tape players and double knit everything. Leisure suits in every color and High Karate cologne by the gallon. Maybe it's a sign.

Maybe it's a sign that Elvis has truly left the building.

Today I am using my I-phone to blog. I'm not a serious tekkie, but I'm chauffeuring my lovely bride around today, so a few things will be a bit different. First, she (and I emphasize she) is shopping at a few places that I'll not share with you. I tend to not care much for shopping unless it involves car parts or junkyards. I am simply the vehicle by which she is dropped at the front door and picked up from the same at the conclusion of her duties. Second, I'm typing this with my right index finger on my little-bitty phone, same one I use to pluck an occasional booger with (not the phone, the finger). That bit of info probably falls under the "need to know" law, and you probably didn't need to know...but now you do. Technology has come a few million miles since I matriculated in the late seventies to the early eighties, some good, some bad. The fact that you now know I have a booger pickin' finger, and admit it, is proof of that. Knowing I typed this whole thing with my right index finger really isn't a such a stretch, I type with both my index fingers if the keyboard is bigger...

I think the best part about technology is how you can keep up with friends and enemies, and all at a safe distance. I have a lot of friends from my past I have warm fuzzies about, but it is best that the fuzzies stay in place. I used the term enemies, and I might have a few. I haven't seen or spoke to any I can recall for a few years. I chose to not allow a-holes to rent space in my head for free. So I just don't think of them much, but I do wish them well. Facebook has been a great way to find out every detail of past friends, both good and bad. I will say that it is cool to see pictures of exotic places friends have visited. But I can assure you, technology was not created so everyone can know where you are currently making future turds. I do not care where someone is eating lunch locally. I'm certain the eggheads who created GPS on demand never dreamed that where someone is shopping or dining locally would ever matter to anyone with sense enough to get in out of the rain.

I guess my point is, I just do not care to know the minutiae (five dollar college word alert for minute details) of your daily comings and goings. Go buy stuff, eat out, just leave the pictures and descriptions for the locations a few hundred miles away that have inherently more interest than a burger with fries and a cold drink.  .

My bride just texted me while I was typing and asked me the dimensions of a queen sized bed. So I Googled (a verb) it. My answer was, in 2.3 seconds, 60 X 80 inches with no less than a few thousand entries listed for answers. Post 2.3 seconds plus the two minutes it took me to text her the answer, I'm back here blogging my pickin' finger off. Back in the day, it would have taken a few hours to find out that info off the cuff. You'd have to call somebody who loved you, with a tape measure, willing to go measure a queen sized bed, assuming they had one. All this while you called them from a pay phone with pen and paper in hand and the correct change. After you explained to them your request and answered all the "what the Hell are you doing" questions, you were set. So technology just simplified the complicated. Billion dollar technology cured the queen sized bed dimension dilemma in seconds. I'm not even sure I spelled dilemma correctly, but technology, via spell checker, fixed that problem too.

I'm keeping it short and sweet today. My typing finger is getting sore and I feel a booger coming on, so I'll need to end it here. I need to save a little finger strength for my nasal mining activities.You probably didn't care to know that either, did you? Technology made sure you did.

I'm not sure where I'll be eating lunch today, but you can bet your sweet ass it will involve meat, but the location? I'm keeping that to myself. I think you'll appreciate that.

Technology. Without it you'd never know.

Finishing up the "conversation" about my take on Relationships, and these are the cheesy ones. I can only give opinions from a dude perspective.

One of the most difficult tasks in life is removing someone from your heart.  I guess that might be true in some cases. I can assure you of this, if a dude comes home and finds all his stuff thrown out into the yard with folks rummaging through the same stuff because of a misunderstanding, then it's easy to remove some "someone’s" from your heart, life, bed, garage...you get the picture. I had a very close friend who had a woman that drove him crazy, he thought, but in a good way. He called me after a few months of dating to say he was going to ask her to marry him, even though she was missing something off her combination plate mentally. In the months they had been dating, she had pulled a knife on his ex-girlfriend at a bar (just to warn her that he was no longer available), had called the last three girls he had dated and threatened them all just on general purposes. She was gorgeous and as nutty as a big industrial sized bag of peanut M&M's. I warned him not to marry her or even think about maintaining the relationship much longer, which kinda pissed him off at me. That all changed when she was so overcome with jealousy that she stalked him at his work, "caught" him talking to another female co-worker and she went, as my dad puts it, "ape shit". Little did she know he was talking to the CFO of the company, and that the company employee manual stated that any employee having a fiancée who intrudes the work place and threatens a company officer meant a job loss for said employee(or something like that) even if you've been with the same company for fifteen years. When my buddy got home, his stuff was tossed in the yard too, at the house he owned, with complementary bullet holes shot in his TV, stereo, DVD player, clothes, and the rest of his dude accoutrement (fancy french word for his "stuff"). I assured him that any relationship is at a serious crossroads when guns (or knives) are utilized as a means of expressing ones displeasure, relationship wise. I also warned him that the next time the bullets of displeasure might come flying when his favorite shirt was still being worn by him.  It was east to remove her from his heart, but not any other aspect of his life. A restraining order and the local police on speed dial helped with the rest.

Resentment hurts you, not them. Resentment can be used constructively or destructively,  depending on the need, to get someone out of your life permanently. Sometimes a good old fashioned dose of resentment helps get much needed distance between you and whomever you are resenting. Remember the life-long friend I told you about, the one who told me after two years in the hospital, the "You shoulda known I was your friend because I wasn't hitting on your wife while you were in the hospital"friend? He resented the fact that I terminated our friendship after 21 years plus the two years he resisted propositioning my lovely bride. He actually thought he was doing me a favor! It made me realize one undeniable truth. Some friendships are like tires...they just wear out. 

Silence and a half smile can hide a lot of pain from the world. I guess this works from a female's take on life. Most dudes can't and don't hide the fact that they are pissed off about something. On the rare occasions I do get pissed, I know that I don't. Someone pisses me off? I give them a lot of time and space to think things over. I've heard that silence is a form of abuse, and that was obviously written by a liberal or a woman. It takes a lot to get on my bad side, but when you finally arrive, there is a bed and breakfast awaiting you. You might as well make yourself comfortable because when your train has pulled into the "pissed me off" station, you'd have better brought a lot of outfits because you are going to be there a while. I'm a forgiving soul and I cherish my friendships, but do not cross that line with me. I've been around a while and know when I'm getting played, used, lied to or abused. After fifty plus years of making friends and losing friends, my true friends know not to, and I give them the same courtesy in return. Have you ever heard the term "I'm a people person!"...well I am too, but don't piss me off. I'm my own best company.I can turn a dick-weed personality off like a cheap 100 watt light bulb burning at midnight, and besides, life is too short to be pissed off all the time. So, hey, let’s be friends! Can I get a witness?

True love comes when manipulation stops. Really? Tell that to a kid. Kids are the biggest manipulators on the planet. I guess it's in the natural order of things but it still stinks. Kids will tell their parents "I'm an outcast because I don't wear Abercrombie and Fitch clothes, or I don't have an I-Phone, and I don't drive a BMW", and parents actually fall for this shit! I'm going to give a "when I was in school speech" right here and now. When I was in school, any car was a cool car. Two door, four door, station wagon, grandma's old ride, smoking tail pipes, busted muffler, no air-conditioning, bald tires, it didn't matter. Every car, if it ran, was a cool car. It was even cooler if you had and eight track tape player or picked up FM radio. Clothes consisted of Levi's, tee-shirts and Chuck Taylor specials or P.F. Flyers. Playing sports was a privilege, you didn't date any of your buddies ex-girlfriends, ever, and if a dude had his zipper down, you tell him "Dude law states I have to tell you your zipper is down" and it was cool. It is indeed different times we find ourselves in. Remember, manipulative kids become manipulative grown-ups. And nobody like getting played.

Even the best relationships don’t last forever. I guess the last installment is as true as true gets. Death comes to everything. Friendships, marriages, pets, cars, jobs, homes, kids....everything. Not physical death mind you, that's an inevitable truth we'll all face unless science comes up with something only rich folk can afford. Who would want to live forever any way. When I was younger, I thought technology would be a great thing. But look at what it has done. Kids don't like to play outside any more. When I was a kid a punishment worse than death was to be kept indoors for a dastardly deed one committed, intentional or not. Now? A kid will call DFACS or the ACLU (on the new I-phone you bought them) if he or she is sent outside "to play". Too much information has made the kid fatter, made him less sociable, and more manipulative. You parents who won't make your kid go outside every day to play? Get your Abercrombie and Fitch credit card handy, your I-Phone store mapped out on the free GPS 'app', and brush up on your German, because BMW has a four-tired cure-all for your child's social shortcomings. But remember not to clutter up your basement with too much of his or her old stuff. He or she will need a place to live for the next twenty years. Oh, and be prepared to take the blame for not "making" them get out and get a life.

You have a good day now, ya hear? 

So, today we'll continue on my take on Relationships. Remember, I'll take the "no whiner" route here. If you need a hug, you've come to the wrong place. Maybe more shrugs would fix it. As one of my football coaches said one time, "Chew on a Rolaids if it hurts bad, chew two if it hurts really bad... your Momma ain't out here!"

Harsh words can hurt a person more than physical pain.  Really? If you've ever been run over by a car, you'd know that physical pain does indeed hurt worse than words. I recall a line from the movie "Aliens" (plural-the second one) when the Interstellar Marines were told they couldn't use armor piercing bullets on the acid blooded critters looking to lay eggs in every human walking, just have them explode out of the chest of the host at birth. The platoon leader said "store your bullets, they might pierce the hull of the nuclear reactor". One of the Marines replied "Whatcha want us to use, harsh language?" Now understand, I'm against berating kids into disobedience and despair, but grown ups? Chew on a Rolaids. If it's really harsh words, chew on two.

A mistake is an accident.  Cheating and lying are not mistakes. Cheating and lying are in the eyes of the one on the receiving end. Every successful business man I have ever heard be described by at least five people will have one say he is/was a liar and a cheat. It's just the nature of humans. I will admit, there are true liars and cheats, and the majority of them have a cushy government job in Washington. They are called politicians, and I'm sure there is a Greek or Hebrew translation that has an equivalent word mentioning "Legal liar and cheat" in it's origin. A mistake is locking your keys in the car, not appropriating millions of dollars for your brother in law to build a bridge to no where. I will quote another movie here, "The Hunt for Red October" when Jack is debriefing the Joint Chiefs concerning the submarine piloted by Sean Connery's character, Marco Ramius. After the debrief, the lone politician tells Jack, "Look, I'm a politician. When I'm not kissing babies, I'm stealing the lollipop out of their hands when their parents aren't looking." The mistake was looking away. Be wary of anyone who sez they are helping you...for free. 

Excessive jealousy doesn’t tell someone how much you love them. I've never been the jealous type. I guess it's written in the genetic code of every person and I'm not endowed with that particular gene. I've been to class reunions with my still lovely bride of thirty years, and had dudes tell me (her classmates) how they wished they had asked her out on a date. I tell em, "Look, I've been married to her for a long time and have three kids by her. Take your best shot." I love her and would die for her, but I'd understand if she up and decided she has had her fill of me. I'm amazed every morning when I wake up and look over and she's still there. It says so much more about her than it ever could about me. She is just a great human being and the greatest blessing I have ever gotten. I have pledged to her, however, that if she ever decides to leave me, I'm going with her. 

When people get nasty with you, it’s usually best to walk away.  I think the best way to handle this situation is to just stay away from nasty people. Walking away is obviously a female trait, seeings dudes I know would just soon fight it out than turn tail and run. I have noticed that people are much braver on the internet or in their SUV. I've seen many a diminutive loudmouth carry a bigger stick on the interstate and on the information super highway. Hulk Hogan in a Miata has met his superior in a dwarf driving a Hummer. I do believe that diplomacy has it's place, but most times when two dudes are screaming insults about the others Mom and how many legs she walks on, it's too late. 

People will treat you the way you let them treat you. I guess there is a lot of truth in that statement. If you let people treat you like a doormat, don't complain about the boot prints on your welcome sign. Treat folks with dignity and respect until they no longer deserve it. I once heard a comedian say; "Be nice to the dorky kids in school, you may be asking them for a job someday." 

My wise father told me once, "I'll give anyone my undying loyalty until they prove they are no longer worthy of it."

I like that.

We'll finish the relationship thing up tomorrow. 

Today we will (if there is indeed a WE) talk about relationships. Complicated thing, relationships, but it bares at least a page or two, so here we go.

Some relationships will be blessings, others will serve as lessons. Remember, for every kid your mom warned you about, there were at least five kids who's Moms were warning them about staying away from you. I had a cousin tell me one time, "My mom (this is my dad's sister we're talking about) said if we weren't related she wouldn't let me hang around with you at the family reunions..." with emphasis on FAMILY REUNION.  And he was a relative...and she was my aunt.

Life is full of fake people. Duuuh! I'm not talking about stripper women with boob jobs and face lifts and implants of every sort. I'm talking straight up, no good lying SOB's who'd sell tickets in advance to screw over a friend or relative. You know the type, they are totally devoid of any form of ethical standard until someone sticks it to them, then ethics was the standard by which they were raised. We've all met them, and if you read number one on this list, someone might think you are that person.

People can easily be buttholes with their words. Well, no shit Sherlock Holmes. 'Scuse the french, but seriously. Women are the worst at it. My example is this: A table full of women are in a bar and a beautiful woman comes walking in. What do the women say? "Look at that Bitch". Men are in the same bar and Brad Pitt or George Clooney walks in..."Dude! You are the man! Snatch master!" with high fives and cold brews all around. Men just get it.

The less you associate with some people, the more your life will improve. Some folks are just sandpaper when it comes to relationships. There are folks I'd give my left arm (or other parts only a man can give, and it's a left side part too) to help. Then there are some I'd not take a good foamy piss on if they were on fire. I've learned to just keep my distance and fool myself into believing that they were good people at some point, I'm just not sure at what point they were good. I also accept that fact that to some folks, I'm the person on fire, in need of a human fire department, but hey that's life.  My dad said "If a person can't be friends with me, they have bad taste. I can be friends with anybody." I feel the same way.

When times get tough, some people will leave you. I can attest to that truth. Waaay back in 1990 when I got my cornfield plowed under by a kid driving a Jeep, a lot of my "friends" disappeared like a single-wide trailer in a tornado. One in particular, was a life-long friend who I considered to be my best friend and one I had been acquainted with since I was in the single digits (below ten years old). I was thirty at the time and we'd been friends for 21 years, and the most recent 21 years at that. I spent two years laid up in the hospital and didn't see him once. When I finally got out at age 32, I asked him where the hell had he been. His answer: "You shoulda known I was your friend 'cause I wasn't hitting on your wife while you were gone." My wife warned me of him the first time she met him, and she was right. I hear he now lives in his parent’s basement and is a de-facto relationship expert. He's been divorced five times, so he's got to be an authority on divorce, seeing marriage obviously isn't his thing.

We'll do more on this subject tomorrow.

I shared this on father's day but it's a thought worthy of any day. It is something I think about every day and a measure of how good a dad I was or might be remembered as by my own children.

I must reflect on an incident that happened many years ago and bears sharing now. I attended a meeting of Promise Keepers the first year it was held in the Georgia Dome with 57,000 in attendance. One of the exercises was to circle up with ten men you didn't know (easy for me as I went last minute with a group of men from Orange Baptist church). The men in the circle was assigned this task: to act as if their Dad were going to introduce them to the group. The guy to the left of me started as we stood in the circle, all men with arms over each others shoulders, interlocked in friendship. Little did I know the configuration would serve more as a means of actually holding each man up in just a few short minutes. 

One by one, each man told their tale as if their father were introducing them to the world. 

"My father told me I was a loser"...

"My Dad told me I'd never amount to anything" ...

"My dad said he hated me"...

"My dad disappeared when I was five and left us, I never saw him again" 

"My dad was an abusive drunk and beat my mother"...

and on and on until it got to me. 

Every man was weeping from sadness, and I was inconsolable. The men in that circle were reminding me that I was where I could share my thoughts about how my dad would introduce me to the men standing in that circle.

I began: "My Dad has always told me I was a good son. He always told me I'd be something great. He told me he was proud of me, even when I didn't deserve it. He loved me unconditionally and has affirmed me as a man and a father, I just didn't know how rare that is/was till just now." 

I thought everyone had a father like mine.I was changed forever about my Dad and being a dad.

I thought I might be able to throw something funny in here to soften the blow. I'll give that a shot Monday. 

I guess its a good thing to not name days after three days of attempting to talk to the great unknown. I see that no one is currently reading these words right now...other than the first day I posted up the fact that I might even start a blog. So here goes day three.

I'm an outgoing dude who is trapped in an injured body. My left knee and ankle were severely busted up 23 years ago when I was hit head on by a jeep whilst riding a ten speed bike. And I mean bicycle...as in  "I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike...." bicycle. I won't go into detail other than to tell you it was the reason I got to stay in the hospital for two years. But I'll talk on that later when I feel like it.

Some days it causes me to wonder if I have been mentally effected by the whole incident...I mean, I am making one tenth of the living I used to, mostly by laying it all out on the line financially in 2008 and getting my butt kicked in as a net result of the banking world going away. If anyone gives a shart and not that it matters now, I have always been conservative in my approach to building wealth. My business partner and I carefully built our company over fifteen years to have it all  crumble down in a sea of apologies and bankruptcy for everyone we knew in the business we were in. I have a hard time reconciling with the now long term effects of my physical injuries, but the loss of all we worked hard to carefully build still stings after five years. Not whining, just a grown man stating facts.

I keep thinking it (the injuries) is going to get better. And my financial condition. And the way I feel about the world and what kind of parent I was to my now grown children. I hope and pray that at least one of my kids know I have always wanted the best for them. I disciplined them out of love and because I cared. I always felt like our job as parents was to raise merciful warriors. Their Mom taught them mercy and I taught them how to be a warrior. Not about lopping heads off whenever crossed mind you, but that the world is a mean place for those without common sense. I've seen the world eat a lot of stupid people, and a few reasonably smart conservative ones too.

Now that the task of "parenting" is over, and their mother and I move into "mentor and friend" mode, I wonder if it was all worth it.And it gives me pause. It makes me wonder about the whole"circle of life" issue....

It makes me wonder if the whole game of life is rigged from the git-go.

It makes me wonder about other things too...like who invented liquid soap and why. And...cheese in an aerosol can. And...terms like "Government Intelligence"...

I told you I got hit head-on by a Jeep didn't I? 

So, here we are, day 2 of the blog floggin and here's where it gets interesting. I had a friend from New Jersey tell me, "It's all about being consistent" when it comes to blogging. Now there's a word that takes on new meaning when you are trying to do something, anything long term. I've studied on that word and have a few thoughts on what I do consistently that unites me with other folk I know.

I go to bed at a reasonable hour.
I wake up at a reasonable hour.
I spend my day toiling, by in large, like most folks do.
I eat three squares a day.
I watch some TV, but ditched cable after it miraculously went from $29.99/mo to $119.99/mo.
I use the internet a lot.
I have dreams about the future that a winning lottery ticket will fix, and not much more.

What separates me from other folk I know:

I try to see or find humor in every situation I come across.
I have both of my parents with me.
I truly understand that life is too short.
I had a stay in the Hospital that lasted two years.
I've written two books, one published and one awaiting a publisher.
I've been with my bride for 30 years now.
I have no debt other than my mortgage.
My retirement plan is a 26 acre plot of mountain land in North Carolina and a cemetery plot.
I believe that Life is good and it is a gift from God.

That's about it.

My wise father told me once, "Life consists of doing repetitious things with renewed enthusiasm".

That's work, writing, marriage, everything.

I think Pop is right about that.

Floggin' your Blog Day 1

So, this is the first day of my journey into the bloggosphere. I'm starting this blog for a number of reasons, some of which I'll share with you, some I'll forget. Seems that these days, if you start a blog, you are somehow more legitimate. I'm an ex-bank employee meaning I was laid off a few months before the FDIC closed the hometown bank I worked for. I chose that bank over a larger National Bank thinking it was good to be back in my small town I called home since 1969. Well, like many decisions I'd like to get a "do-over" on, like my Dad telling me about a company named Microsoft way back in my college days and how I might ought to buy a few shares, to passing on the bigger more national bank as a means of employment. Little did I know that was the end of my twenty-five year banking career. There's a whole lot that happened between 2008 and now, a lot of challenges my bride and I overcame (overcomed just doesn't sound right) and maybe later I'll get around to sharing some of that. Maybe not, nobody likes a whiner.

I can assure you of this. You will find some things written here funny. That's my nature. Life is just to dang short to be pissed all the time. The beer guys really nailed it when they did the commercials. "You only go around once" and 'Grab the Gusto"...you get the picture. I'm certainly not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I'm certain (based on the current party running the country) I'm not the dullest either. Maybe that's not completely true...maybe I am the dullest college graduate over fifty on this planet.

Maybe.

I should mention that my previous financial standing vanished like a fart in a hurricane. Being broke makes every thing taste better, smell different, fit different and cost more to obtain. I've been challenged wallet wise for five years now. I've learned to live with it but I will confess I don't like it much. I've not stopped looking for a newer, better means of making a living, but I'm still in persuit of that opportunity. I'm still looking for the job of millionaire. As my favorite author Mark Twain said "I am opposed to millionaires, but it would be dangerous to offer me the position." our only disagreement is I'm not opposed to them.

We'll talk about everything from cars to life experiences. It should be a "Gusto" (defined as "vigorous enjoyment, zest") defined trip, and I'm not a dictator, so, let's hear what you have to say.