I’m feelin’ jammy today. So plug in the headphones and dig this:

And I’m climbing up on a mountain – so, here’s my bro’s favorite Allman Brothers Song:

Another nice little jam that’s live:

Give this one a second to settle in, as the guy with the camera gets the levels right, but it’s a good recording:

And, boo-ya, in HD and super clean (with awesome light goodness, too):

… what a great recording! Awesome people of the world, take note!

After doing a little work at the house work tonight, I decided to start my vacation.

So, it’s official. I’m engaged to married, about to start a new job, and about round another decade.

When I do things, I like them to be big. And in threes. Not necessarily in that order.

These thoughts about the goings-on of day-to-day life folded into big commitments, new horizons and depth of love do bop around in my head, and none of the three make me nervous or anxious – as some others may profess in the medium of a blog. You know, because these are narcissistic spaces, after all.

Nope, all three are sources of challenge, satisfaction, hard work and happiness. You can’t have one without the other.

10 Words says: Woody Harrelson wants Twinkies, and whacks zombies with a banjo!

Hippies will be happy to know about my latest problem. Too much beer. Not an abundance of beer, but a plethora. And in this time of plenty, in one of my favorite holidays of the season, I feel that I’m simply playing my role in what should be good about a holiday. I’m keeping in season. See, after a little zombie flick this evening I stopped by the Harris Teeter for veggies, eggs and a big beer.

Zombieland is worth seeing in a theater. Especially if you live in Greensboro and are into a fun, mindless zombie flick. Like zombie movies should be. I’ll put it up there with Shaun of the Dead. Thanks, In 10 Words, for the Zombieland photo.

So lunch for Kathleen and I is done tomorrow – I’m going to make some fake pho: Sautee/soften Brussels Sprouts in a saucepan with carrots and garlic and a touch of butter. Pour in water, boil, add flavor packet from ramen Oriental flavor, a squirt or two of Siracha, noodles, top with bean sprouts. Filling for a rainy day and healthy if you don’t drink all the broth (too much sodium). Add a little smoked salmon.

I was quasi-inspired by the NPR story I heard the other day about instant ramen and what goes into it, how it was invented and what others put into ramen. Neato! New perspectives that aren’t from here! Exchanging ideas! Globalization is good!

Maybe I’ll surprise her for lunch, I think, while I’m shopping in Harris Teeter. As for the fakeness of the pho, I have no idea. A friend told me when he did it, now I’m telling you. So there. Pass it on. Teach somebody something today.

So I’m full of zombie love, and freshly finished with listening to a hot Phish set through my iphones while ishopped. I arrive home to put up the on-sale potatoes and some animal cookies and then to sick my Arrogant Bastard Ale in the beer fridge (this shows the household commitment to beer).

And see that my old sticker-covered college fridge nearly full! Brimming! Full of sweet, sweet love from Heaven! This is a good thing.

Because here’s what’s in it:

Wolaver’s Alta Gracia coffee porter.

Duck-Rabbit porter.

Cottonwood Pumpkin Ale.

Highland Cold Mountain (which has been cellared since 2008).

High Life.

PBR.

Samuel Adams Octoberfest.

Red Oak amber.

Oh, there are a few others, homemade wine and some Belgian outtake of some sort, but I’ll stop.

Now, we’re not drunks over here, but lately the house has begun to accumulate beer. Not that it’s a bad thing. Let’s dig into the list, though. See, half of those are from N.C. – and if you count High Life, which is brewed in Eden, most of those are N.C. beers.

Hot damn!

I chose to go with the Duck Rabbit Porter, which compliments the chocolate animal cookies that I bought nicely. The Arrogant Bastard kind of set me off, and I have options, so why not?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my vacation. Don’t expect too much of me over the next few days. I have some lounging to handle. And some beer sippin to do. Maybe a hike. Maybe a little book readin. Burn a CD or two. Whatever for the next three days or so.

You know, Zombieland got me thinking so much about zombies, I figured I’ll throw in some Shaun of the Dead for ya:

Because I’m listening to a live stream from a Panic show in Milwaukee.

Let’s do some journalism, as my colleauge and co-worker Don Patterson would say.

This morning I consumed journalism like a regular person, scanning headlines, looking at news online with my  copy of the News & Record (buy one, will ya?) next to me on the sofa.

I see a headline on my Yahoo! rss feed that talks of pirates, guns and attack. Well, I just gotta read this, I think. So I go to the link, and get this sentence:

Somali pirates attacked the Maersk Alabama on Wednesday for the second time in seven months, though private guards on board the U.S.-flagged ship repelled the attack with gunfire and a high-decibel noise device.

A high-decibel nose device? What the hell is that? This makes no sense at all. What are we talking about here, a house alram-type thing, a siren, some kind of roach and vermin alarm? Who knows? You know why? Because the device, whatever it is, is poorly described. Yes, the news is there, and it’s interesting, but as soon as the reader has a question (my editors say), said reader is lost. And I gave up.

And then I found this, from the NYTimes:

The United States Navy Central Command said four suspected pirates in a skiff came within 300 yards of the Maersk Alabama at 6.30 a.m. Wednesday about 600 miles off the northeast coast of Somalia as it headed for the Kenyan port of Mombasa.

But a security team on board the Maersk Alabama responded with small-arms fire, long-range acoustical devices painful to the human ear and evasive maneuvers to thwart the attack, the navy said in a statement.

OK. There’s a substantial  difference beteeen the NYTimes and the AP. The AP has thousands of staff to tell breaking news. The story was even updated while I wrote this post to say that the pirate captain had died.

But a little thing, like the description of some deterrent tool, made a big difference in what the  story meant.

Detail, description. Show, don’t tell. I had that beaten into my head as an undergrad, and as I think about writing more and more, it’s coming back.

Just like basketball, or pretty much anything else requiring some parts of talent and skill, a solid base of fundamentals will carry you far.

If you want to go one further with the whole difference-between-two-news-outlets thing, here’s my story on mammograms in today’s paper, and the NYTimes piece.

I’m stealing a self-posed quiz from here, where one of my soon-to-be-bosses writes, and giving it a shot.

What is your name? Gerald Witt

What is your running goal? To find a way to manage my various ailments (namely, a hamstring pull that’s almost healed and existing Achilles tendinitis) and get up to running a 5K. This, incidentally is the same goal I’ve had for the last two years.

When did you first start running? When I was 15, to try to make the soccer team. I wasn’t talented enough with footskills and was cut. Instead I ran cross country and track until I was 18. It’s been intermittent since, but I’ve been more on the ball about a regular fitness regimen since about age 27.

Huh. That’s a pretty big gap, considering how old you are now. (keeping Margaret’s line here) Bite me.

What Bob Dylan song best describes your running style? Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues. “I do believe I’ve had enough.”

Who would you most like to run with? Not sure.

We don’t know, but Viggo Mortensen probably is. Complete non-sequiter, but good to know.

How about you pick someone real. It would be nice to go for a jog with anyone who’s read something interesting.

Doesn’t another of your high school friends run? Micah Owens, these days. I hear he’s going for miles on miles. I’d like to run with him, I guess.

What was the most annoying part of your run on Saturday? I didn’t run Saturday, but I did Sunday. I had a weird strain on the right hip flexor that made me walk on the treadmill at the Y. Which always makes me feel like an asshole. Though these days, I’m over feeling like an asshole for much anymore. Pretty soon, people will just make excuses for me and I won’t have to worry about that, either.

What was your favorite part? The TV above the treadmill that shows the football game.

When do you run again? Probably Thursday.

You don’t seem to like running. Then why the hell are you training for a half-marathon? I’m not training for much of anything really, but not opposed to it sometime. I guess I’m running because apparently smoking kills, and the two do not mix.

Insightful post from Tom Chandler:

An influential professor always told me that comfort is your enemy, which is why – every once in a while – we all need to pick up a brick and toss it through one of the plate glass windows which so neatly contain our lives.

In other words, if you want to grow, you sometimes need to make uncomfortable, life-altering choices.

Like that day in college when I realized words were cool things, and perhaps I could make a living arranging them for people.

Or the decades-later realization that my clients had email addresses, so maybe I could live near a good trout stream instead of the alternate universe known as the Silicon Valley.

Then there was the afternoon I realized life with a certain woman looked a more appealing than life without her, and that it was time to make this whole thing permanent.

Every one of those decisions seemed huge at the time – and each created its fair share of anxiety – but all worked out beautifully.

Time to pick up another brick.

And perhaps this, too:

I suspect I’m not entirely alone in this, but as parent-to-be, I’m already excellent at cycling between excitement and sheer terror.

One minute I’m convinced I’m going to be a great dad, teaching my daughter all the really cool, important stuff while driving her to her next athletic triumph (track/tennis/soccer/etc – I’m easy).

The next minute I imagine falling prey to one of my absent-minded fogs, forgetting to feed my daughter, wandering off, then coming home to find her swilling drain cleaner from the bottle I left on the floor next to the gasoline-soaked rags piled on the accidentally left-on stove.

Clearly, anticipation is a two-edged sword.

Stepping beyond the glass window that defines the limits of your “normal” life means picking up a brick and creating a little chaos.

You throw the brick, life changes, and then you sweep up the broken glass – and notice the view is clearer, plus you’ve got more room to grow than before.

Things may be challenging for a while, but you remember that’s the way things are supposed to be, and you can’t really complain.

I mean, it’s what you asked for when you picked up the brick in the first place.

Well done. Well said.

Just read.

Go hug your hunny today, or your baby, whichever:

And dig on this tune, not that I’m traveling today or anything:

By the way, Woody Guthrie wrote that song, but the performance that you’re hearing is by Old Crow Medicine Show. Interesting in how this has had quite a resurgence in recent years in the circles of folk and newgrass. Not that I’m complaining. Frankly, I didn’t know much about this tune before a couple years ago. So, for that, thanks Old Crow Medicine Show.

And here’s some Ween for y’all to freak out on, from 2005 in D.C.

Some years ago, I used to make time to look forward to Frank on Friday from WNCW. And when I moved out of the listening area a few years ago, I wasn’t able to get it online.

For some reason the inter-web broadcast is illegal. I dunno. I think it has something to do with Zappa’s estate, which is persnickety about his stuff being out in the world.

Whoa! Wait! I found this! And it wasn’t even difficult to track down. Oh, inter-webs, you make everything better. Are you good on toast, inter-webs? Of course not. You’re better on an English muffin.

As I said a while back ago, I don’t know what Peaches in Regalia are, but I can imagine what they look like. A bunch of peaches walking down the aisle with doctoral caps and gowns. Hee hee.

I think that peaches may be one of the smartest fruits out there. Except, maybe avocados, which would probably be in the psych and philosophy departments. Peaches are more English, prelaw, com, rhetoric and letters types. Apples, for irony’s sake, are not in the education department (too literal) but are science profs.

Bananas? Anthropology.

Oranges are all business.

Limes teach Spanish.

Cherries are math and stats.

Pineapple – architecture.

Well. I’m glad we have that  settled. But I’m having trouble deciding which fruit would teach engineering courses. Suggestions?

ps – here’s one more!

“Wear your blouse

undone to here

and your skirt split

up to there…”

And one more, for good measure:

http://www.homebrewersassociation.org/

Sweet

Here’s Pete’s site.

Purchase something, will ya?

I really enjoy the sound of dry fallen leaves leaves crushed and swept underfoot during a late night stroll in early November.

Crunch, swish. Crunch, swish. And a bare smell of leaf deterioration that’s about to happen.

There was an election tonight in Greensboro, and I chose to unwind with a walk around the neighborhood after leaving the newsroom. About midnight.

For a while there on my walk I thought I was lost in hoity-toity neighborhoods that tend to vote conservative.

Unless the neighborhood is filled with professors. Because professors near most liberal arts colleges – and a town such as Greensboro is packed with those – also tend to vote less conservatively. That is to say, more progressive.

Odd bits from the day pinged around and I got into the rhythm of breath and stroll. My pace matched the air.

Those with older money want to protect it. And I can’t blame them. The term old money is a nice way of saying that someone is rich, but didn’t work too hard on earning all that moolah because the way in which they got rich happened so long ago that they actually afford to do other things or nothing at all except play tennis, operate foundations, compulsively go on vacation or learn about art.

These people have a useful place in our society. So do folks with new money, who are trying to infiltrate the ranks of those with old money. Some folks with old money resent this.

Most of the rest of the people of the world, moneyed or otherwise, don’t notice this particular struggle all that much.

Maybe because they’re watching this. (Be sure to watch at least to 1 min in, the scene of “the Nickelodeon show ‘Rae Rae’s Mystery Garage’.”)

On another note, I should sign up for cable because of my upcoming job in the sports department at the N&R.

I am excited to soon be among those who can digitally record and watch shows. I’m also looking forward to the new job. Don’t ask when it starts, because I don’t know. Soon?

E-mail me if you want to learn more about the gig. I’m not that hard to find. Contact info for me isn’t any big secret or anything.

Nor is Neil Patrick Harris (who, psst, is out of the closet):

Who also has shoes, “to score a goal or ride a foal”:

Of course, you may want to take Cleveland with you if you go shoe shopping: