A journey of my own...

Disclaimer: This blog is going to be different from the other posts that I've made. You might not laugh as much (or maybe you will), but I felt the need to get a few things off my chest.

As you can see, I haven't been keeping pace with Stewart, and I've been catching a lot of flack because of it. So here's the reasons why:

The first reason is that Stewart blogs about three times a day now and I just can't keep up. The second reason is that I've had a few issues in my personal life that have been demanding a lot of my time and attention.

I realize that most people have had to deal with divorce in some facet of their lives (be it personally, your parents, your friends' parents, Aunts, Uncles, Co-Workers, etc.), and up until this point I was no different. My biological parents have been divorced for twenty seven years. But, for a long time I've enjoyed the luxury of having been only one year old at the time of their divorce and I have no memory of my parents ever being married. That, coupled with the fact that both of my parents were re-married by the time I was five (to other people), meant that for most of my life I simply had two sets of parents.

My parents have lived less than five miles from each other for as long as I can remember and growing up I came and went as I pleased from both homes. Both of my parents are what I would consider "Upper-Middle Class", so it wasn't like I ever went without, emotionaly or financially. In fact, I probably had it better than most kids (two birthday parties, two Christmas', two summer vacations, FOUR sets of Grandparents to spoil me, etc.).

Well my luck has finally run out. My Father is currently going through a divorce from his second wife and it isn't pretty. Don't get me wrong, we're not talking Fatal Attraction here, but since my father has chosen me as his source for guidance and comfort through this ordeal, I've had a front row seat to the really unpleasant process of divorce. I don't mind being there for my Father, and I'm flattered that he's picked me to be his confidant, but the residual effects of listening to and counseling someone who's dealing with the overwhelming emotions that divorce brings, can really start to wear on your own outlook on life.... if you let it.

Also, my Grandmother (Mammy) has been in and out of the hospital for the past few months and she is fighting hard to stay alive. She was diagnosed with MS seventeen years ago, and they told her she had five years to live. Well, seventeen years later her strength, resolve and willingness to survive no matter what, is starting to fade. I can't describe to you how much of an effect this has had on my thoughts over the past few weeks.

Most people know that I have a really bad habit (or it could be a good habit if you think about it) of over analyzing everything. I can't help it, it's genetic. I get it from my Father. Which, now that I think about it, might explain why he's having such a tough time with his divorce. Anyway....whatever.

So, over the last few weeks in my analyzation of the issues in my personal life, along with some outside influences on my thoughts (like watching a close friend of mine lose his father to an unexpected heart attack and reading along with Abby Maddox's fascinating internal struggles after the loss of her Mother), I've come to a very troubling realization...

I'm no longer the "dependant" and I am inching ever closer to becoming the "depended on". I have reached the point in my life where my loved ones are beginning to depend on me more than I depend on them. And this is some really heavy stuff for a self-proclaimed over analyzer to deal with.

That realization, along with some of the books I've recently finished and being able to keep up with Stewart's journey of a lifetime, has in turn lead me to another realization:

I'm quickly running out of time to do the things that I've always dreamed of doing. Life moves on, whether you accomplish those things that make you complete as a person or not. You will die, that is inevitable. The question is, will you die having done all of those fantastic things that you've dreamed about, or will you die wishing you would have taken that chance when you had it?

Now I realize that the above statement is something that you've heard a million times before, from a million different people. But let me tell you, when the realness of that statement hits you across the head like a ton of bricks, you will know it. If it hasn't yet, your time is coming. If it has, then kudos to you, because that means you are somewhere right now having lived out that dream. I'm certain of that because, if it hits you like it hit me, there's no way to ignore it.

Having said all of that, I wanted to let everyone know that I am officially changing the name of this blog to "Keeping up with a dream.."

I will now be blogging about the life of a man who's tasked himself with making his dreams a reality. To get all of those things out of life that I've always wanted.

Now I'm not planning some year-long South American adventure (although I haven't ruled that out), but I'm currently working on a project that is going to change my life forever, good or bad. If it's good, it's going to be really good. If it's bad, so what. I'll figure it out when I get there.

For reason's that will be more clear at a later time, I can't share too much right now about the nature of the business, but those of you who know me well, know what I've always dreamed of doing and it's time to do it. For those of you who don't know me that well (or at all), stay tuned...


Moral of the story:

Carpe Diem....Indeed!

Just a note...

To Whom it May Concern,

I have writers block at the moment, and I have for about the past three weeks now. Please be patient as I overcome this mental juggernaut.

~Gonzo


Post Script:

Stewart,

What's with your obsession with Indiana Jones? You've made several references to him in your posts and it's starting to concern me. I swear to God, if you start wearing one of those leather fedora's I'll erase your number from my phone. And we aren't even going to discuss what's going to happen if you start carrying a whip...

Also, most of the readers of this blog will be excited to know that Stewart and I are planning a face to face meeting in Costa Rica in early April. This should make for some very good blog material on both sides...

Sepultura... Indeed.

First of all, Stewart, the correct spelling is Sepultura.

Confession: Not only have I heard of the band Sepultura, I'VE SEEN THEM LIVE!

That's right, it was the summer of 1997 and school was out. This meant a full schedule of social events that included camping at Little River Canyon, long days on the Coosa River and as many concerts in Birmingham at Oak Mountain Ampitheatre that I could afford. Going forward, please keep in mind that this was ten years ago so the details are a little hazy. I'll try to recall as much as I can.

I kicked the summer off strong by catching a DMB show. This was the show that I loosely credit with my ongoing addiction to live music. Say what you want to about modern day Dave Matthews, (and I'll be the first to admit that his most recent efforts have been weak and meaningless) but anyone who saw him perform live in the late 90's and says that it was anything less than Badass, is lying. Period. At the time, it met all of my pre-requisites for damn good music; It was live, it was loud and it was something that I had never heard before.

The next weekend was the "Pink Floyd Laser Light Show", which was absolutely laughable. Not only because it had nothing to do with Pink Floyd or music in general, but also the fact that the "Lasers" were more like moderately powerful flood lights that had been draped with various colors of saran wrap. Add to that the fact that the median age of attendees at this "concert" was 47. More than anything though, I think it was due to the fact that we smoked a joint that was roughly the size of my arm in the car on the drive down, and I spent half of the show sleeping off a "Schwag" buzz on the lawn of the amphitheatre.

After that, I seem to recall taking a couple of weeks off of the concert circuit to clear my head. I spent most of my days on the river, or working at Uncle Sam's Pizza and Submarine Sandwiches. After all, I had to have some sort of income to fund the $22.50 concert tickets, $7.50 half-cases of Bud Light, $1.79 packs of Marlboros and $1.09/Gallon gas (Keep in mind this was 1997) that it took to get me to the shows. But it wasn't long before I had saved up enough money to get back to business.

The next show I attended in my "Summer of Music" was The Allman Brothers. Now obviously this wasn't the original Allman Brothers, but take away the deceased Duane Allman and replace him with a young and exciting Derek Trucks, and you've still got yourself a pretty good band that was pumping out some seriously intense Southern Rock & Roll. This show was exactly what I needed to rebound from the previous debacle that had sidelined me temporarily.

I think there was a Bush concert after that, for their Glycerine tour, but I was on mushrooms for that one so I could be placing it in the wrong spot on the timeline. Regardless, my recollection of that concert is limited, at best, to the first 45 minutes of the drive down. At which point the drugs began to take hold.

Well, the summer was winding down and I was getting ready to start my senior year of High School. But I wasn't going back to school without closing out the summer with a bang. That could mean only one thing..... OZZFEST! For those of you who aren't familiar with the term "OZZFEST", it was a festival in the late 1990's that included modern day heavy metal bands and was built around one major headliner, none other than the (self proclaimed) "Prince of Darkness", Ozzy Osborne. To clarify, I've never been a fan of heavy metal, and I couldn't care less about the music that any of these bands put out, with the exception of a few of Ozzy's earlier songs. I did, however, have a strong feeling that this might be my one and only chance to see one of the legendary rockers of our time, so I bought the ticket.

As I recall, there were four of us that met up one afternoon to make the hour long drive from Gadsden to Birmingham. We had a fifth of Segram's Extra Dry Gin and about two cases of beer that would last us through the show and well into the evening afterwards. We arrived at Oak Mountain and made our way to a spot in the rear of a parking lot that was electrified by a crowd of drunk, redneck, metal-heads that seemed to have reached the Mecca of heavy metal after a long and strenuous pilgrimage that no doubt included several ex-wives, a handful of legal battles, at least a dozen minimum wage jobs and countless failed attempts at a crystal methamphetamine empire.

The first act to take the stage was a band by the name of Type-O Negative. Anyone out there who's never heard this band play, congratulations. It's something that I will never forget. While most of my time was spent in the bathroom, taking shot's of Gin and chasing it with Dr. Pepper, I do have brief memories of some of the set, and it wasn't pretty. It was so bad that I just gagged a little bit while recalling it....seriously.

It only got worse from there. A few other low rate acts followed until the two headliners had done enough drugs back stage to come out and perform. Again I can't tell you much about these bands because most of this time was spent dodging "Fight Pits" on my way to the concession stand where I would try and convince some thirty-something redneck with a sleeveless Ozzfest shirt, jeans shorts and a power-mullet to buy me a 64 oz. guitar shaped Budweiser.

The warm up act for Ozzy was the aforementioned Sepultura. I honestly don't remember any of their music. I certainly don't remember the "Orgasmatron" that Stewart mentioned seeing in their video. I vaguely remember the lead singer wearing this hideous mask that made him look like an evil character from a comic book and it made me laugh out loud. I also remember looking at the people around me (the few that weren't involved in a huge fight) and thinking to myself, "There is no way these people are really enjoying this crap!". But, they honestly did seem to be having a good time and most people by this point were really into the music. They would even cheer really loud for certain songs as soon as they struck the first note, like bama fans do at the first indication of Sweet Home Alabama.

Just to give you an idea of what I'm talking about, this is Sepultura.

WARNING: You will not be able to listen to more than ten seconds of this video.



Finally, all of the warm up acts were finished and it was time for the main event... Ozzy. After about an hour of stage preparations, and chants from the crowd of OZZY...OZZY...OZZY, he took the stage. The place went nuts, including me. I was genuinely excited to see him perform. There weren't any outrageous antics. He didn't kill a bird on stage or anything like that, he just stumbled out and stood there in front of the microphone. First, he played about 1:33 of "Ironman" until he forgot the words, at which point he simply staggered around the stage until it was over. All in all, Ozzy played about five songs, gave his trademark "I love you all" to the crowd and then left the stage. Given his age, and the fact that Oak Mountain isn't exactly the type of venue that gets performers pumped up to blow out an amazing show, I guess I should have seen that coming. Regardless, I felt good about being able to put him on my list of famous acts that I have seen live.

Moral of the story:

You don't have to travel half way around the world to experience really bad music. You can do that right here in Sweet Home Alabama..... and the bammers go crazy.

Romance..

Lately I've been thinking a lot about romance. With Stewart's most recent Latin adventure and the rash of weddings that I've attended over the last year, I can't avoid it. (Over the past year or so I've been a groomsman for three of my closest friends, and have attended probably a dozen other weddings in various parts of the country.) Given my age, it's not really that unusual I guess. But I can't help but wonder why it is that I haven't gotten to that point in my own life.

Now, most of you would probably say that I need to look no further than my own blog for the explanation. (Who in their right mind would want to marry a guy that barely finished High School, took seven years to graduate college and is a self-proclaimed under-achiever?) But I think there's more to it than that.

I'd like to think that I'm a pretty fun person to be around. I mean sure, I like to have a drink or twelve every now and again(Who doesn't?), but it's not something that I consider an issue. Hell, I've even been engaged before! (Given, I was 19 at the time and the girl turned out to be more of a solid drinking partner than a soul-mate. But it was an engagement, nonetheless.) I've never really had a problem getting dates, but I've only had a handful of what I would consider "serious" relationships.

Keisha:

I was six years old and she was seven, and at the time I went to a public school in Gadsden that was about 99% African American (The one percent was made up of myself, my brother and a healthy little Latino girl that moved away after the first grade). Keisha and I held hands on the playground, laid side by side at nap time and rode the bus home from school together (We lived on the same street).

Everything was moving along quite nicely until one day on the bus, all of the older kids started chanting "Brass Honkey". (This was right around the time that the Beastie Boys song "Brass Monkey" hit the airways, so it was really a pretty easy remix.) I tried to play it off like they weren't talking to me. But in hindsight, since I was the only white kid on the bus, that was a pretty lame defense strategy. It wasn't long before Keisha stopped holding my hand on the playground, stopped taking naps beside me and stopped sitting with me on the bus.


When I was eight, I left the city and moved out to the country. This meant that I now had the option of attending the city school system or the (predominately Caucasian) county school system. This is North Alabama's own little way of hanging on to segregation. You see, In most other parts of the state, parents would have to pay thousands of dollars a year to send their children to private schools in order to guarantee they have a safe and productive learning environment. Well, in North Alabama, if you live within the city limits, you're required to attend a city school. If you live outside the city limits, you have the option of attending a city school OR a county school.

Well, as you might imagine, the overwhelming majority of African Americans lived within the city limits (i.e. public housing, low income housing, apartments, etc...). This meant that the county school systems we're made up of mostly Caucasians. Of course, I wasn't aware of this at the time but now that I look at it, it's a pretty sneaky little trick. The county school system is where I met my next girlfriend.

Amanda:

Amanda came into the picture when I was in the third grade, but we didn't start "going" together until the fifth grade. Our relationship was pretty solid. We both liked the same music (Randy Travis, Hank Jr., etc...), we shared many of the same values and we both we're about as stubborn as they come. (The "stubborn" part of my personality will be a recurring theme in this post.)

Ultimately, the demise of our relationship lays on my shoulders. You see, for Christmas one year I bought Amanda a necklace. It was a nice little gold chain with a clear, heart shaped pendant attached to it with the letter A carved into the center. I told her it was a real diamond. She obviously new that it wasn't.

Nevermind the fact that I had bought the necklace at the jewelry counter at K-mart, or the fact that, had it been real, it would have cost approximately $3 million dollars. I told her it was real, and I was sticking to my story. Even when another girl at our school came in wearing the exact same necklace, (and openly admitted to purchasing it at K-mart) I wouldn't budge.

Eventually, I think Amanda grew tired of the game. So, she dumped me.

(In my defense, if I had $3 Million dollars, I would have bought her a real one.)

Fast forward through Middle School, where the scene was way too intense to be thinking about a girlfriend. (I would equate the pressure and social anxiety that I experienced in Middle School to what, I imagine, it would have felt like to be standing in the exact three foot area of downtown Hiroshima that the atomic bomb landed on.)

Once I reached High school, things started to level out. I had actually started to realize a little bit about who I was as a person and I worried a little less about what other people thought about that person. That was when I got involved in my first "Grown Up" relationship.

Jill:

I was 16 and she was 15. Jill was the most beautiful girl I had ever talked to, much less dated. Obviously, the fact that I was older than her and owned a car had a serious influence on her willingness to date me. Jill and I dated for quite a while, almost two years, I think. We had a very volatile relationship. In other words, we fought a lot. That's not that unusual for kids our age, but it starts to wear on you after a while. One day, I was at work and I just decided to break up with her.

I was going into the summer before my senior year and the last thing I wanted was a girlfriend to fight with all summer long. I called her up, and picked a fight with her for no reason. For the record, this is the meanest thing I've ever done to another person in my life. The fight was totally bogus and I don't even remember what it was about. It lasted about an hour and then I broke up with her. She begged me to get back together for about a month and I wouldn't give her the time of day. That is, until I found out that she was dating one of my older brothers friends, and I begged her to take me back for the next two months....she didn't.

I was single for about a year after that, and it was great. This year included several trips to Panama City Beach, and a countless number of High School, House Party, make-out sessions that ended at 11:30 (Because I had to be home by Midnight). After graduation we all headed to Panama City Beach for senior week. That's where things really started to heat up between me and my future "EX-fiance'".

Hillary:

Hillary and I met in Gadsden. Her younger sister was dating one of my best friends and we all went to a party together. We hit it off from the start, mainly because she was running at about the same speed as I was at the time. By that, I mean we were both heavily involved in multiple social scenes and there was never a dull moment. We had a blast all summer, on the river, at the beach, camping in the mountains and kicking it by the pool.

The fall came and it was time for her to move to Auburn. I was staying in Gadsden for a year because I had a really good summer job and I wasn't quite ready to give it up yet. I also wanted to take a few of my core classes as Gadsden State (AKA: Harvard on the Hill).

We made it through her first semester, and got engaged over the Christmas break. We had started to fight here and there but for the most part, things were good....until she moved home for the summer.

When she came home for the summer, it was all downhill. We fought like crazy, night and day, no matter what the situation. We couldn't get in the car to go the grocery without having an all out yelling match. We struggled our way through the entire summer and that fall I moved to Auburn. Our relationship lasted about a week after that. I didn't see or talk to her, in Auburn or Gadsden, for the next three years.

The next three years are basically a blur. As I've mentioned before, I was in, what my mom likes to call, my "experimental" stage. I was way more interested in Band Parties, Keg Parties, House Parties, Block Parties, Tailgate Parties, Road Trips, and Drugs to worry about a serious girlfriend. I did date a girl off and on during this period, but we never really labeled ourselves as "Boyfriend and Girlfriend". For that reason, she will be spared from this list.

One night I had hopped the fence from the Sigma Nu house to go see some friends of mine that were Sigma Chi's. It was at the Sigma Chi house that night, that I met my next long term girlfriend.

Hillary "The 2nd Time":

That's right. For the first time in three years, Hillary and I were standing face to face. Surprisingly, it wasn't as awkward as you might think. Most of the people there were from the same social circle that we had been so heavily involved in when we first met. We started talking, and before you know it we were back at her house and back into a serious relationship.

We dated for about a year and things were good. I was pretty sure I was going to marry her, but I was determined not to rush it. We weren't quite as crazy as we were the first time, but we still maintained a pretty fast pace. She was getting ready to graduate, and she took a job in Atlanta. I was nowhere near graduating.

After she moved to Atlanta, it started to slip again. She was having a really hard time adjusting to life in the real world and I definitely couldn't relate. Most of the time, I was trying to get off the phone with her so I could go to drink specials at Bodega's, get bombed and sleep until eleven the next day.

It wasn't long before she got tired of her new job, tired of Atlanta and tired of me. It was mutual. By mutual I mean, she broke up with me and after about two weeks I realized that it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't mean that as an insult to Hillary. We are just two very different people who were on two very different wavelengths.

For the last three years I haven't dated anyone seriously. I graduated college and took a job in Baton Rouge. After about a year, I was transferred to Montgomery. After a little over a year there, I was transferred to Atlanta. I have wanted to concentrate on my career and I just didn't have time to get involved with someone.

Once I got settled in Atlanta, I began to open myself up to the idea of getting back into a relationship. I wasn't actively looking for one, but I wasn't totally against the idea either. That's when I met my current girlfriend. I'm not going to mention her name, because I'm not sure how she would react. She's said, on more than one occasion, that she doesn't mind, but I don't want to chance it. Mainly because I like her... a lot.

This is the method I'm using to win her over....

My Normal Day....

It's great to see Stewart getting settled into a routine, mixing it up with the ladies and working hard to have a positive impact on the lives of those around him. Since Stewart has given an account of his daily routine, I feel obligated to give an account of mine...

Typical Weekday:

06:00AM - My alarm goes off (If I wasn't too drunk the night before to remember to set it).

(I hit the snooze)

06:09AM - My alarm goes off again.

(I hit the snooze)

06:18AM - My alarm goes off again.

(I hit the snooze)

06:23AM - I get up before my alarm goes off again (with a false sense of accomplishment because I managed to get up before the alarm went off).

06:24AM - I'm in the shower, and my alarm goes off again. (Because I forgot to turn it off when I got up earlier).

06:48AM - Out of the shower and getting dressed. I try to find one of the four Brooks Brothers Oxfords that I own, and haven't worn yet that week. (I have more than four shirts, it's just that these are wrinkle resistant and so it saves me about 4 minutes of ironing time.)

07:00AM - I take my dog out so he can go to the bathroom. I also wave to my carpool partners who have arrived promptly at 7:00.

07:07AM - My dog takes a crap. I pick it up with a "complimentary" disposable bag that my condo provides. (Do these assholes really think I would pay for a paper bag to pick my dogs shit up with if they didn't provide one for me?)

07:11AM - I finally make it to the car and settle in for the twenty five minute ride to work where I may or may not participate in the group conversation, depending on the topic. (If someones talking about a good band they saw the night before, I participate. If the group is discussing what happened last night on Grey's Anatomy, I sit quietly and think of ways to kill myself and then come back to life twenty five minutes later. Stewart, please advise of any methods you may know of to accomplish this).

07:45AM - I arrive at my cubicle, and die a little inside.

07:50AM - I get on the Internet and check my e-mail. (If I'm lucky, my Internet girlfriend, Juanita, is online and we g-chat for about an hour.) Then I check my online banking to see how much my bar tab was the night before. (Surprise, it was a lot.) Then I check my fantasy football team and discover that three of my best players have been injured and they're out for the rest of the season.

09:00AM - Morning Logistics Meeting. I sit in a conference room full of people who are unbelievably ignorant about any number of topics. (Seriously, if I were the boss, I would fire every person in the room.)


10:00AM - I do a little work, make a few calls and maybe go to my bosses office with a problem that I already have the solution to. I sit, in agony, as he goes over every possible scenario that may fix the problem. Finally I say, "Hey, like you were saying earlier, why don't we try this?" (even though he had never mentioned anything about what I had just suggested.) He says: "Yeah, I've thought about it, and that's the only solution that I can come up with. Let me know how it works out"

12:00PM - I go to lunch. I'm supposed to get an hour for lunch but I usually stay gone for about an hour and a half. I just walk around downtown and spend money to avoid having to go back to the office. (Although, recently I've been staying at my desk during lunch because my online relationship with Juanita has really begun to heat up, and we g-chat more often than we once did.)

1:30PM - I get back to my desk and die a little more inside.

2:00PM - I return a few phone calls, send a few e-mails and swing by me bosses office to let him know that "His" idea worked great, and tell him how much I appreciate his help.

3:30PM - I leave. I just get up and walk out. I walk around the building a couple of times, thinking about how Bad Ass I would be if I just got in my car and never came back. Drain the savings account, empty out the 401(K) and break out the backpack (that I haven't gotten to use in three months because I work all the time).

4:30PM - I get back to my desk, where I sit for the next fifteen to thirty minutes until my boss leaves..... then I leave.

5:15PM - I arrive at the car and wait for my over-achieving carpool partners to arrive back at the car.

5:40PM - I get home and take my dog out to play. (If I were still in college, this is the point where I would self-medicate with pot, or pain pills, or any number of benzodiazepines.)

6:30PM - I am about four beers into a six pack when I decide to go get more beer.

After that, everything gets a little fuzzy...

and then Beep, Beep, Beep,..... it's 06:00AM - My alarm goes off.(I hit the snooze)

What's with the Spanish?

Stewart, I want to address the issue of Spanish titles on your blog. I realize you're in a Spanish speaking country (that doesn't eat Burritos?) and part of the reason that you're there is to learn conversational Spanish, but I can see this heading towards full Spanish posts and I'm not comfortable with that.

Just to clarify; I'm not one of those people that raise hell about ATM machines having a Spanish option on them or having to press one for English when calling customer service, but I do take issue with Non-English correspondence. I don't necessarily think that it's a good thing that a majority of the people who entered this country without signing the guest book, speak Spanish as their native tongue and haven't bothered to learn English...but it's not a deal breaker for me. In fact, I enjoy the Spanish culture. I eat Burritos at least once a week. I've put forth a half-ass effort to learn Spanish for some time now, and I plan to master it at some point. But, when I sit down in the comfort of my own cubicle to catch up on my friends South American adventures, I need to see The Kings English.

My first attempt to tackle Spanish was at Southside High School. Southside is a public school in North Alabama (home of the Crimson Panthers, some monumental rednecks and several pot-heads). I'm not sure how most people's high school diploma program is set up but at Southside it was broken down like this:

Advanced Diploma: This degree was designed for over-achievers like Stewart who were still under the impression that your "Permanent Record" actually existed and that it played a serious role in your ability to go to college.

Technical Diploma: This degree was designed for the tradesmen of the class (Mechanics, Carpenters, Blacksmiths, etc...). These were mostly second or third generation skilled laborers that had a job (probably with the family business) waiting on them when they graduated, and they just wanted to finish school with the least amount of effort possible.

Standard Diploma: This degree was well suited for a wide range of people. On one end of the spectrum you had rural Alabamians who had hopes of becoming the first person in their family to graduate high School (see the aforementioned "Monumental Rednecks"). On the other end you had the spoiled, lazy and unmotivated under-achievers like myself. I finished 167 out of 169 in my graduating class (Despite scoring a 29 on the ACT without cracking the cover of the study guide). The two people who finished below me were a guy that I only know as "Skinny Pimp" and another guy who is currently on tour with Widespread Panic.

Oh yeah, and then there was this guy...


Seriously, I went to High School with this kid and he just got signed by Sony Records. He's actually a really nice guy.

Well, when I started High School I was convinced that the Advanced Diploma was the way to go. Coming from a large Auburn family, I knew that's where I wanted to go to college and I knew I needed an Advanced Diploma to get in. Mainly because I was still buying in to the whole "Permanent Record" theory and I knew that I had pulled enough shit in Elementary and Middle School to keep me out of Phoenix Online University, never mind a fine institution like Auburn. As you might imagine, the Advanced Diploma required four years of Math & Science and two years of a foreign language. Keep in mind we're in Southside, AL so no one spoke French or German....Spanish was your only option.

My first year of High School, everything was great. Alabama hadn't switched to the semester system yet, so you attended the same class year round. I breezed through Algebra and Life Science without a hitch and was excelling at JV Basketball and Football. Then my sophomore year came, and along with it came the semester system and my first encounter with Spanish.

My Spanish teachers name was Mrs. Garrison. She was a mean little Senorita that stood about 5' 1" and had some serious scaring on her face from an apparent childhood acne problem. She knew that I was more interested in the girls sitting next to me than I was in conjugating verbs, and I think she resented me a little bit for that. I also think she knew that I couldn't have been less interested in her class if it were a four hour lecture on the history of door knobs.

I had a million different things on my mind other than Spanish. For starters, I had a birthday coming up and my parents had informed me that I would be required to put up 75% of the funds necessary to purchase my first vehicle (Given that I had about $16.00 pesos in my junior checking account at Amsouth Bank and no job, this was a problem). Also, I had a girlfriend and I was so close to getting her to have sex with me that I spent most of my day thinking of ways to "close the deal".

Well as you can imagine, I failed the first semester of Spanish miserably (I think I finished with an average somewhere around Trienta Y Nueve). Me being the mediocre student that I have always been, I refused to give up after just one half-ass effort. So the next semester, I re-enrolled in Mrs. Garrison's class for another half-ass effort. I Buckled down, and failed again. At that point, I accepted the reality that the Advanced Diploma wasn't going to happen. I also began to loose faith in my ability to overcome the mountain of offenses that had been recorded in my "Permanent Record" (Which, by this time, was probably more like a "Permanent Filing Cabinet"). This is, to the best of my recollection, the exact moment that my academic career began to go down the proverbial crapper. (As bad as it sounds, thanks to a pretty good score on the ACT and some connections in the admissions office at Auburn, I got in and eventually graduated with a 3.0)

After switching to the Standard Diploma, I was no longer required to take the two years of Spanish or the four years of Math & Science. That's right, for the next three years it would be a steady dose of Environmental Sciences, Business Math(better known as "how to operate a cash register") and a full regiment of electives (P.E., Home EC., Shop, etc...). This obviously meant that I had a little more free time on my hands outside the classroom and it wasn't long before I decided that athletics weren't really that important either. Well, that, and the fact that I wasn't that good at basketball and I really didn't have the dedication that it took in the weight room to keep up in football.

Next thing you know, I'm a senior in high school that had absolutely no interest in being there. People talk about how great their senior year was and how they wish they could go back....I'm not one of those people. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time my senior year. I went to Prom, I came to school everyday and I even went on a field trip to New Orleans with one of my Environmental Science classes. I was actually voted a Senior Notable by my teachers and classmates(how that happened perplexes me to this day... I think it may have had something to do with the Vice Principle's slightly disturbing infatuation with my married mother).

When it came to class though, I was a permanently absent. Hell, I almost failed Business Math because I refused to do the homework. I aced every test and passed with a D (because the tests represented 60% of our grade). This was something that would later haunt me in college when I failed Business Cal. SIX TIMES! This was the only class that I failed in college and again I think it was because I refused to do the homework, and that tiny bit about me not knowing how to do Algebra as a direct result of three years of High School "Cash Register Math". After the fifth attempt at Business Cal. "my way", I got a tutor and basically had to teach myself Algebra. I blame all of this on Spanish.

Moral of the story:

Spanish can have a devastating effect on your life if your not careful. So, always be mindful of those that speak Spanish as their native tongue...

Be Safe Stewart,
~Gonzo

Big trouble in little Venezuela..

Let me get this straight; Stewart got fired from a volunteer job?

I'd like to get my hands on that sorry piece of Central American shit that kicked Stewart out of his house. What kind of worthless prick kicks a volunteer doctor from another country out of his house? If I was Stewart, I would have done that nasty bastard a favor and burned his house to the ground as I stood in the street singing a Spanish version of "We Didn't Start The Fire" by Billy Joel, while all of his worldly possessions went up in flames. (Stewart on the other hand, probably made his bed and left them $100 on the table.)

I was almost evicted once, in college. I was living in a house across the street from The Supper Club in Auburn and I paid $375.00 a month. It was a tiny 2 bedroom 1 bath SHIT-HOLE. I'm not talking about one of those cute, hip, nostalgic, old houses like you find on Samford or Glenn Av., I'm talking about a true to life pile of shit that wasn't worth a dollar, much less $375...

The one advantage to this place was that there was ample parking and the den (Which had been an addition to the house several years after it's original construction) was gigantic. This meant it was the optimal location for "pledge kegs". For those of you who aren't familiar with the term "Pledge Keg", these are parties that the pledge's at a fraternity are expected to host several times a week so the "Brothers" can come get wasted for free and try to pick up the girls that the pledge's have spent all week convincing that "The Hunch Punch isn't that strong!".

I was about three months behind on my rent and we had just hosted a "fish fry social" with one of the sororities. Well to prepare for this fish fry, we bought several bails of hay and placed them in a semi-circle in the front yard, roughly 200 pounds of fish, hush puppies and french fries. Also, three kegs, 6 cases of wine, three handles of Jim Beam, 18 bottles of Everclear, various chopped fruits, and some Hawaiian Punch. We also went to the local rental center and got a huge, trailer mounted, portable deep fryer. Needless to say, the party was a huge success. I would estimate approximately 300 people were there at the peak of the evening (Plus or Minus 100).

That night, after the kegs were dry and the hunch punch was gone, a couple of my pledge brothers and I went out looking for some trouble.... we found it.

You see, a couple of months after moving to Auburn I met a gentleman that for the sake of anonymity, I will call "Dreddy Patrick". Well DP introduced me to the wonderful world of psychedelic mushrooms (and countless other interesting and highly illegal methods of mind alteration). I remembered him telling me about a field where the mushrooms grew naturally on the outskirts of town and tonight felt like the perfect night to scout it out. Our trip was successful and we returned to my house at about 2:30 in the morning with the bounty of or midnight harvest. I cooked the mushrooms up in a tea/kool-aid concoction, just as DP had taught me and we settled in for one hell of a ride....

My recollection of the events that immediately followed is limited at best, but the next morning I awoke on one of the hay bails in the front yard wearing nothing but a towel and some make-up that probably belonged to the girl on the ground beside me. I gathered my composure and began to survey the area.

The trailer mounted deep fryer was jack-knifed into the side of one of my pledge brothers Tahoe, and that same Tahoe was planted firmly into the rear end of a Volkswagen Passat that, again, probably belonged to the girl laying on the ground beside me.

Just as I realized that the toilet from my bathroom was sitting on the front porch in several pieces, a car entered the driveway. As you can probably guess by now, my landlord had just pulled up on what can only be described as a "93-Octane Freak Show" and the front yard of his rental property was center ring.

I'll spare you the gory details of the next twenty five minutes of my life, but I was able to work out a deal that included paying all three months of back rent (This was something that I resisted vigorously in the beginning, but it was non-negotiable. Truthfully, even if it had been negotiable, I probably wouldn't have been too successful considering all I had on was a towel and some "deep maroon" lip-stick).

Collecting the delinquent rent was really all the man came for. Once I made good on the promise to write him a check (a valid check that actually drew funds from an active bank account) he was on his way and I was left to clean up the aftermath of the Armageddon that had taken place at my house the night before..

That was the last time I ever experimented with any sort of psychedelic drug. That's also the last time I ate fish or drank hunch punch...

Moral of the story;

It takes A LOT to get evicted from a house...way to go Stewart!