Lord, I was born a South Carolina attorney man

Lest you have any doubts, observe us along with our current professors for Torts, Contracts, Property, and the Dean of the law school...









This next one may seem out of place. It's not. Professor Cross (below) showed up to the first day of class with a bowtie AND a seersucker suit. We can tell that we are gonna be friends. (After complimenting him on his outfit, he informed us that in fact he cannot tie the bowties himself but that his wife ties them for him. Further, if he ever shows up to class wearing a regular tie, its because he and his wife had some sort of "disagreement" and she didn't tie his tie for him that morning.) He showed up the following class with a bowtie, looked at us and winked and said "I'm wearing another bowtie. That's a good sign, right?"

College Football

From day one of orientation, the prevailing thought in the back of everyone's mind (besides "I hope I don't get called on in class") is football. Carolina Football.

While USC is not consistently in the top 25, and may not have the winning football tradition of a Tennessee, Alabama, Michigan, or Oklahoma, the preoccupation with our football team and the incredible spirit of loyalty surrounding the Gamecocks is one of the strongest and finest in the country. And that's not just me talking - that's a general consensus among other fans, coaches, and sports analysts.

However, we also happen to have a pretty dang good team of the other football variety - soccer.

True to my Covenant Scots roots, the first sporting event that I will attend while an official Gamecock law student is tomorrow night's season opener against Clemson. USC v. Clemson. Preseason #24 v. #5. 2005 Conf. USA Champs v. 2005 Final 4 Participant. In state rivals and bitter enemies.

This is like Covenant v. Bryan for your first game, only with immediate National ranking implications and statewide attention. Unlike Covenant v. Bryan, people outside of Lookout Mountain, GA and Dayton TN actually care about this. And I plan to be there, front and center, proudly wearing my Beat Clemson t-shirt.

Go Cocks.

Tales from USC law school

I composed most of the following during a Legal Writing class this week. In hindsight, the story was much funnier in person and probably not that entertaining on paper. But since I've already typed it up, and I have nothing else yet from this week, here it is.

Last night one of the student organizations in the University of South Carolina (henceforth and forevermore "USC") Law School hosted a social for the first year law students (which are generally referred to as 1L's). Free drinks at The Saloon in Five Points. I went, figuring it was a good chance to meet my classmates and if nothing else to get some free beer.

Upon entering The Saloon I felt about as out of place as a minister in a pioneer town bar. Apparently everybody else there had already made friends with each other, or knew most everybody from their undergraduate days. That, or they were just very adept at meeting people and making small talk in the traditional bar scene, something which I neither claim to be good at nor enjoy doing. With everybody already mingling in their groups of 3 or 4, I got a drink and found a corner with at TV and Monday Night Football.

Thankfully I ended up meeting a few guys that I had talked to earlier that day, and we ended up spending the entire evening chatting in that same corner. That is, until Neil arrived.

Neil is the quintessential southern frat boy/class clown/smarter than he acts but dumber than his opinionated personality would have you believe kind of guy. He's very friendly, energetic, a great story teller, and will probably do well in life either as a salesman or in politics. Or, if the saying around the law school is true, that A students will be professors, B students will be judges, and C students will be lawyers, then Neil will probably be a dang good lawyer someday. He's probably 6'2", about 225, is a diehard Carolina fan and drops the F bomb at least once every other sentence. Neil is the kind of guy I want to have on my side down the road.

After pointing out to us the 5 hottest girls in our class and explaining how the guys flocking to the beautiful 6'2" tall brunette didn't stand a chance against ol Neil himself, Neil then related a story that had taken place earlier that day.

In our lunchtime meetings with our advisors, Neil had ended up getting the yankee professor whom I had seen earlier that day and from across the room had easily pegged as a New Yorker. The prof is short, bald, and always has his arms crossed. I've never heard him speak, but it wasn't hard to imagine his whiny New York accent. You know the type, a cross between Danny Devito and George Costanza, only with the harsher legal professor side. Anyway, it got to the question portion of our advising, but none of the students seemed confident enough to ask a question. So Neil did.

Neil: Yeah, so I'm having a tough time understanding this Oregon v. Haley case that we've got to read.

Prof: Okay. Here's the gist of it. (He then launches into a lengthy verbal essay on the topic, complete with Latin phrases and other lengthy legal mumbo jumbo.

Neil’s commentating on the narrative: This was not helpful. I didn’t understand a word that MFer said. He just made things worse and more confusing. Of course nobody was gonna say otherwise, cuz they were too scared or nervous. I wouldn’t have said anything either, for fear that he’d start talking in that other language again.

Silence ensued.

Neil couldn’t stand the silence, so he thought he’d ask a little easier ice breaking question.

Neil: So what’s the deal with football tickets? We getting em or what?

Prof: (shocked that a law student would bother him with something so trivial) Hell if I know. I’ve been here 24 years, got really good season tickets the first year I was here and haven’t used them once since then.

Neil: (shocked that a USC season ticket holder would be so trivial about something so sacred) WHAT?!? Well maybe you and me can be like buddy buddy or something, you know, and I can help you use those tickets.

Prof: (somewhat perturbed) They’re already spoken for.

Neil’s narrative: More silence ensued. People had decided that this guy was a real jerk. I was nervous because I had already ticked off one of my profs, and it wasn’t even the end of the first day. Damn.

Prof: (rhetorically and hoping to bring up a teaching point) How many of you are GUARANTEED a job when you graduate?

Neil’s Narrative: Man, I’m in the military, so I know I got a job when I get out. I raised my hand and looked around, and damned if I wasn’t the only F-er raising my hand in our group.

Prof: (very sarcastically) Well maybe hot stuff here has got it all figured out and can manage to slack off in school and go to all the football games, but the rest of us are probably going to have to put in some hard work...

Neil’s Narrative: I was about to quit school right then. I mean, does it get any worse?

Jason’s MetaNarrative: I’m glad I’m not Neil. But I still think Neil is somebody I will want to know before it’s all said and done, even if that only means he may help me with something so trivial as football tickets.

MPC Roofing Tricks of the Trade: Tips 2 and 3

Tip 2: Don't expect to play golf or do cool things for your birthday when tractor trailers are scheduled to drop off thousands of tiles at your customer's house. Instead, decide to make a weekend of loading 3,000 lb. pallets of tiles on to a 25 ft. roof with a 25,000 lb. lull. This is called fun, MPC style.

Tip 3: Always refer to the 25,000 lb lull as a BFL (see previous entries re: a BFTV and a BFD and BFC.

On New Beginnings

In four days I will once again be moving, from south Florida to Columbia, SC. Though excited to be moving home, to be closer to family, and to finally begin my long anticipated goal of starting law school, I will not leave south Florida without some sadness - saying goodbye to friends (both new and old), retiring from one of the most trying and yet rewarding jobs of my life (running a small roofing business), and leaving the warm, cordial, hospitable and welcoming displaced Yankees that have overtaken every building department, municipal governments, neighborhood and construction related company in south Fla. Actually, no, I'll only miss the friends and Meyer's Pride.

I always look forward to fresh starts and new beginnings - they are sort of like life's version of a new year, a chance to wipe your slate clean and start afresh. Likewise, I generally approach these new experiences with new resolutions and goals - things I wish I had done in the chapter of life that just ended, and which I hope this new chapter will allow me to accomplish.

To continue with the "book of life" analogy, I often find myself thinking that the first few chapters of my book were solid - well written and full of promise for the later chapters. But the more recent "chapters" have lacked the quality that I had earlier anticipated, and i'm left hoping that the book gets better soon.

Apparently C. H. Spurgeon encountered similar sentiments, and today's Morning and Evening devotion is both reassuring, timely and challenging:

"Numbers of Christians can view the past with pleasure, but regard the present with dissatisfaction; they look back upon the days which they have passed in communing with the Lord as being the sweetest and the best they have ever known, but as to the present, it is clad in a sable garb of gloom and dreariness. Once they lived near to Jesus, but now they feel that they have wandered from him, and they say, “O that I were as in months past!” They complain that they have lost their evidences, or that they have not present peace of mind, or that they have no enjoyment in the means of grace, or that conscience is not so tender, or that they have not so much zeal for God’s glory. The causes of this mournful state of things are manifold. It may arise through a comparative neglect of prayer, for a neglected closet is the beginning of all spiritual decline. Or it may be the result of idolatry. The heart has been occupied with something else, more than with God; the affections have been set on the things of earth, instead of the things of heaven. A jealous God will not be content with a divided heart; he must be loved first and best. He will withdraw the sunshine of his presence from a cold, wandering heart. Or the cause may be found in self-confidence and self-righteousness. Pride is busy in the heart, and self is exalted instead of lying low at the foot of the cross. Christian, if you are not now as you “were in months past,” do not rest satisfied with wishing for a return of former happiness, but go at once to seek your Master, and tell him your sad state. Ask his grace and strength to help you to walk more closely with him; humble yourself before him, and he will lift you up, and give you yet again to enjoy the light of his countenance. Do not sit down to sigh and lament; while the beloved Physician lives there is hope, nay there is a certainty of recovery for the worst cases."

MPC Roofing Tricks of the Trade: Tip 1

How to make your 16 foot ladder reach 24 feet.



A solid 30 points, if not a bit unsafe.

MPC Employee of the Week

We return today to our weekly spotlight on an MPC employee. Today's highlighted worker is one of our favorites, and an absolute must have on any roofing team. We would be lost without him.

Meet Jesus. Jesus Gutierrez.



Since we asked Jesus to come into our roofing crew, our jobs have been forever changed. Jesus is a reliable worker; he is always there for us, and we know we can count on him. Sometimes the rest of our roofers will pick on him, and cast insults at him, but he simply turns his cheek and continues to work his good on our roofs. These boys may ridicule, but as aspiring small business owners concerned about productivity and team leadership, we know that Real Men love Jesus. Despite teasing him, most of our crew actually admire Jesus a great deal - they trust him, and we have often seen them lean on him as they work near the edge of a roof. During the hot hours of the afternoon, Jesus will often bring the cooler up on the roof, and from every corner of the house the crews will come to Jesus for that living, refreshing water.

No nails? No Jesus. Know nails? Know Jesus.

We rejoice at the good work Jesus has done for us, and we continue to praise his efforts on roofs around the county. Thank you, Jesus. It's because of men like you that we can gladly proclaim, "Our boss is a roofer."

Sleuth TV

While mindlessly surfing the Direct TV channels tonight, Winston and I stumbled upon a station I had never noticed before.

Sleuth.

That's right, I now have my own tv station. Apparently this isn't a long hidden secret, but a brand new channel whose debut on Direct TV was only June 1 of this year. As you can guess from the name, this Disney channel is dedicated to all things detective, with mystery and crime type shows being the top viewing choices.

Although, when I sarcastically asked Winston what a tv channel called Sleuth would air, he responded in kind - "Anything that's slippery, I guess."



Of course, while it's great to get a tv station named after you, I kind of wish my nickname in college had been something a little more hip, like ESPN or Spike or The Weather. Then having a tv channel named after me would be even sweeter.

Dog Tired

There are some people to whom you’d rather not sell a roof. And there are some times that these people actually sign up with you, despite your best efforts. There are many tricks of the trade when it comes to avoiding undesirable work, like overpricing the job, telling the customer you’ll get back to them (and then don’t), or just being straightforward and telling them you won’t do it. Usually these tricks work. Sometimes they don’t.

It’s funny. Often, as soon as you see the house you know the job is not worth your time. Or sometimes it’s when you finally meet the customer that you realize this job is a no go. But as the great theologian Blues Traveler once quipped, “the hook brings you back.” In roofing, the hook = money. Just when you think you’ve managed to dodge a roofing nightmare, the cash brings you back. When you look at the bottom line and realize how much you’ll make, somehow the potential headaches are forgotten, if just long enough for you to make the mistake of signing the contract with the customer. Oops.

Brien recently secured one of these jobs.

The first red flag came when the woman answered the door. Accompanied by a gang of dogs. Brien made his way through the yapping herd and attempted to discuss the roof situation with the owner. It didn’t take long for him to get frustrated with the mongrels and he asked if they could move outside. The woman agreed and quickly laid out her plan of escape for Brien. “Go this way first,” she pointed, “and then quickly run back the other way and out that door over there. The dogs will think you’re going out the side and that will trick them just long enough for you to get out the back.”

The plan worked, although upon reaching the backyard Brien realized it housed as many dogs as the living room. The dogs were everywhere, and they tried to chase him as he scurried up the ladder. “I used to always swear that I would never have more than nine dogs, that I would never be one of those ‘double digit’ people with all the dogs,” the woman lamented out loud to Brien. He had no response for that.

Brien was ready to get the H out that place, and was making any excuse he could to leave when the woman pulled out her checkbook and asked him “How much do I owe you now?” Cha Ching! Now, no matter undesirable a job may be, when the customer appears to be eager to write checks willy nilly, its hard to say no to the easy cash flow. So Brien took it.

We may still regret this decision.

In all, we have counted approximately 25 dogs at this house. For now, we refer to this job by the woman’s last name, although on occasion we have dubbed the project the Nice Bitch House – after all, she is nice, and she does have a lot of female dogs. The owner has some of the biggest acreage we’ve seen yet down here in south Florida – she purchased one house, outgrew it with her dog family and when the lot next door when up for sale she purchased that too so the dogs would have more space to roam.

So far, every time a member of MPC has stopped by the house, the Dog Lady is cooking some dinner for the canines in a big black cauldron on the stove. We’re not sure what it is that she’s cooking, but we fear it may be the crew members of the previous roofing company she had hired.

We recently received a check in the mail from the Dog Lady. A small dog smiled at us from the return address, and the envelope had a postmark right across the dog stamp. The check had dogs all over it, and I am convinced that the envelope was not sealed with human saliva.

Winston has taken over this project, and I will post more stories from him as they develop. Until then, be careful who you sell a roof to.

Monday's with Murray: 7 Minute Abs

Murray: You heard of this thing, the 8-Minute Abs?
Sleuth: Yeah, sure, 8-Minute Abs. Yeah, the exercise video.
Murray: Yeah, this is going to blow that right out of the water. Listen to this: 7... Minute... Abs.
Sleuth: Right. Yes. OK, alright. I see where you're going.
Murray: Think about it. You walk into a video store, you see 8-Minute Abs sittin' there, there's 7-Minute Abs right beside it. Which one are you gonna pick, man?
Sleuth: I would go for the 7.
Murray: Bingo, man, bingo. 7-Minute Abs. And we guarantee just as good a workout as the 8-minute folk.
Sleuth: You guarantee it? That's -- how do you do that?
Murray: If you're not happy with the first 7 minutes, we're gonna send you the extra minute free. You see? That's it. That's our motto. That's where we're comin' from. That's from "A" to "B".
Sleuth: That's right. That's -- that's good. That's good. Unless, of course, somebody comes up with 6-Minute Abs. Then you're in trouble, huh?
[Murray convulses]
Murray: No! No, no, not 6! I said 7. Nobody's comin' up with 6. Who works out in 6 minutes? You won't even get your heart goin, not even a mouse on a wheel.
Sleuth: That -- good point.
Murray: 7's the key number here. Think about it. 7-Elevens. 7 doors. 7, man, that's the number. 7 chipmunks twirlin' on a branch, eatin' lots of sunflowers on my uncle's ranch. You know that old children's tale from the sea. It's like you're dreamin' about Gorgonzola cheese when it's clearly Brie time, baby. Step into my office.
Sleuth: Why?
Murray: 'Cause you're frickin’ fired!

This makes pulling the fire alarm in Carter Hall look tame

Police: UCF Student Set Dorm Fire To Meet Women

A student at the University of Central Florida is accused of setting a fire on campus as a way to meet women, according to a Local 6 News report.

Police said Matthew Damsky admitted to lighting a couch on fire at the Academic Village Dorms last week.

Damsky told officers he hoped he would be able to meet women as the building was being evacuated.

He was arrested for arson and booked in to the Orange County Jail.

There were no injuries in connection with the fire.

MPC Employee of the Week

This week's employee spotlight shines on one of MPC's darker and more mysterious representatives. Our Project Manager, this employee was voted most likely to be a superhero, and has come to be affectionately known as the man of steel himself, James Winston Steele.

Winston hails from the northern section of the southern United States, a Virginian amphibian who spends as much time in water as he does on land. He is anything but colonial, however, and Winston brings a cutting edge fashion freakish flair to MPC, giving us a metrosexual side that Brien, Jason, and the rest of the boys are unable to provide. Winston loves water, whether drinking it or floating in it, he digs rap music, and would prefer not to tell you where he spends several of his hours every afternoon. Winston both lives and works with us, and we are glad to have such an energetic persoanility on our roofing team.


And now for a fun story with Winston.

Tired and frustrated from a long hard day of roofing, Winston cuddled up with a big 40 of Natural Ice while we all watched a movie last night. Winston was asleep long before the final credits. After cleaning up the kitchen and saying goodbye to our guests, our Man of Mystery was still sawing logs on the living room floor, sound asleep next to the box of peanut shells he had eated during the film.

Brien and I decided to have some fun.

The following pictures were taken over the course of about 15 minutes of goofing around, all the while Brien and I were giggling like little girls and beside ourselves with laughter at the fact that the Superhero Winston didn't wake up. I took about 25 pictures to document our actions - I have chosen only the best for this posting.

We began by putting a few peanut shells on Winston's cheek.

He didn't notice, so we added a few more.

And some more.

And some more.

And more.


The face wasn't enough, so we strategically placed some shells elsewhere on his person.

Still no response.

By the time Winston's face was covered with peanut shells, Brien decided to up the ante. He disappeared into the kitchen, returning soon thereafter with a can of garlic. He scooped out a large dip of garlic with an empty peanut shell, then proceeded to stuff the shell into one of Winston's nostrils. Nothing.



I was about to wet myself from stifling the laughter, but I mustered enough strength to get my own tormenting tool. Some lemon juice. I stood over Winston's face, dropping lemon juice on his nose from 3 feet up.

He didn't even flinch.

For a while we sat there, waiting with video camera in hand for Winston to wake up, hoping to capture on film the moment that Winston would awake, startled and suprised to find a use for peanuts that even George Washington Carver never imagined. We waited in vain.



Both tired, Brien and I finally decided that even better than having Winston wake up with the peanuts on his face would be to take the peanuts off, only to tell him the next day what had happened. Sure not to believe us, we would then show him the pictures, and we'd all get a good laugh. So, one by one, we removed each peanut shell from his face until they were all gone.


We've yet to tell him, and my hope is that the first time he hears of this will be when he next checks out the blog, or when one of you blog readers asks him about the peanut shells.

Until then, Superhero Winston will never know what us villians did last night.

Readings from Morning and Evening by C.H. Spurgeon

“Sanctify them through thy truth.”
John 17:17

Sanctification begins in regeneration. The Spirit of God infuses into man that new living principle by which he becomes “a new creature” in Christ Jesus.

This work, which begins in the new birth, is carried on in two ways—mortification, whereby the lusts of the flesh are subdued and kept under; and vivification, by which the life which God has put within us is made to be a well of water springing up unto everlasting life. This is carried on every day in what is called “perseverance,” by which the Christian is preserved and continued in a gracious state, and is made to abound in good works unto the praise and glory of God; and it culminates or comes to perfection, in “glory,” when the soul, being thoroughly purged, is caught up to dwell with holy beings at the right hand of the Majesty on high.

But while the Spirit of God is thus the author of sanctification, yet there is a visible agency employed which must not be forgotten. “Sanctify them,” said Jesus, “through thy truth: thy word is truth.” The passages of Scripture which prove that the instrument of our sanctification is the Word of God are very many. The Spirit of God brings to our minds the precepts and doctrines of truth, and applies them with power. These are heard in the ear, and being received in the heart, they work in us to will and to do of God’s good pleasure. The truth is the sanctifier, and if we do not hear or read the truth, we shall not grow in sanctification. We only progress in sound living as we progress in sound understanding. “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” Do not say of any error, “It is a mere matter of opinion.” No man indulges an error of judgment, without sooner or later tolerating an error in practice.

Hold fast the truth, for by so holding the truth shall you be sanctified by the Spirit of God.

SP's Wedding

With a face like that, how can I not consider the outstanding offer of betrothel?


This picture is eerily similar to the "Amazing Race" photo of Elena holding a Mexican flag out of the sun roof in the Mini...


The newlyweds

More from SP's Wedding

The last eligible Strawbridge, for whom I saved the last dance (per her and her fathers request).


At little Mexican dance


Manville takes a turn with Elena...

Strawbridge's Wedding

Me and Jennifer (a co-worker of Stephen at his new accounting firm and my marvelous date to the wedding)


The bachelors after some soccer


Our rental ride - we roll in the H2


Elena's Mariachi Band


The Wedding Crashers - it didn't take long for these bachelors to move in on the bridesmaids

Meyer's Pride Construction, LLC's Employee of the Week

Since we are currently in the process of becoming a Home Depot preferred contractor, the folks at the orange home improvement place have required us to submit information, along with pictures, for all of our employees at MPC.

This allows a perfect opportunity for me to introduce you to some of our favorite people at MPC.


This weeks's MPC employee of the week is Hugo Salgado.



Hugo is 22 years old and moved to south Florida from Texas. He speaks very little English, so most of our communications are through body language and my small knowledge of the Spanish dialect.

Hugo is always smiling, and his favorite American phrase is "Hey Jason!" He enjoys futbol, and would prefer not to do fascia work on roofs.

From my Spanish interrogations, I have learned that Hugo is single, never been married, and is not even looking for a girlfriend. Did I mention that he smiles a lot?

MPC thanks Hugo for his hard work and dedication, and we are glad he is a part of our roofing team.

Another one bites the dust

Strawbridge is now married. The Halfway House, our name for our matchmaking Home which for years now has had a way of getting its inhabitants married off (c.f. Sheldon, Bulthuis, Nedelisky, Bintz, Borger, Rayburn, etc.) has now worked its matrimonial magic on its very own co-founder. The fellowship has been broken, even while a new one has been formed. We will do our best to continue the tradition of the Halfway House without the aid of our long time associate, Mr. Strawbridge, although fate has given us quite the challenge as our current project (i.e. Manville roommate) is Murray. Tough draw. We think the US had better chances of success in Group E this World Cup.

We are still enroute from Denver back to sunny yankee land, so we will post some pictures from the wedding upon our return. In the meantime, here is this Wedding Weekend in Numbers:

315 - the width in milimeters of the tires on the SUV we rented while in Denver.

109 - songs handpicked by Macey and us (at the request of Stephen and Elena) which were supposed to be the playlist used by the DJ at the wedding reception.

6 - songs that the DJ actually played from our list. This confirmed our distrust and dislike for most wedding DJ's.

8 - members of the mariachi band that played during the wedding ceremony. The music was very festive, and it made for a very unique wedding.

20 - dollars for the ticket that one of the Strawbridge uncles got for parking on the side of the road near the park where we played soccer. There were about 18 of us playing soccer, plus another 15 or so sitting under a tree watching. The suburban was right next to the tree. The officer offered no warning or a chance to relocate the car - he just walked up and wrote the ticket.

3 - times that we made the 45 minute drive to the airport in a span of 8 hours on Saturday night/Sunday morning.

4 - people that it took to eat one order of the apple pancakes at the Original Pancake House.

12 - Slurpies from the 7-11 after two days of playing soccer.

1 - woman who is as energetic, passionate, and quirky as Stephen. He found her. And we celebrated.

You Too, Part Two

I had another great "You too" moment today.

The Home Depot lady finished ringing up my order of metal drip edge and handed me my receipt.

Me: Thank ya ma'am.

Home Depot Lady: You too.

America's Most Wanted

1. Usama Bin Laden

2. LARRIONDA Jorge


Nationality: Uruguay
Role: Referee
Date of birth: 9 March 1968
Height: 176 (cm)
Weight: 74 (kg)
Referee since: 1 January 1998
First international : Chile v Bolivia (20 June 1999)
Place of residence: MONTEVIDEO
Country of residence: Uruguay
Mother language: Spanish
Other languages: English
Occupation: Clerk
General interests: Breeding animals (birds, dogs, parrots, etc)
Best memory: FIFA Confederations Cup France 2003 semi-final: France v Turkey; 2004 Olympic Football Tournament Bronze Medal Match: Italy v Iraq


Worst Officiated Game: USA v. Italy, 2006 World Cup

I've been there once, I think.

A common theme you may see running through this blog are the ways that I (and Brien) have discovered that South Florida is anything but the South. From the accents to the incredible number of Yankee and/or Red Sox car flags to the fact that we have to keep a short list of restaurants that serve sweet tea, one quickly realizes that the greater Fort Lauderdale area is not a member of the greater southeastern culture.

I have decided that "The South" for most people down here is the place they fly over to get to and from Florida to their homes/families up in the northeast, a place they have heard of, maybe even tried to imagine based on lyrical descriptions they hear from the country radio stations, but have never really ventured into.

A recent post by gillikin reminded me of a brief conversation I had recently with a parent of one of my baseball kids, which illustrates the above observation:


The mom: Thanks for coming to the tournament this weekend, Coach. The boys love having you.

Me: Sure thing, Mrs. X, I wouldn't have missed. The boys played well.

The Mom (noticing my Georgia license plate): Oh, are you from Walker, Georgia? (she said it in an excited, nostalgic kind of way, as if that was where she had grown up)

Me: Sort of, I went to school in north Georgia and lived there for a few years after college. Are you from there?

(I expected her to tell me that she had gone to high school in Rossville or Dalton or some coincidental connection like that. I was excited, my mind already imagining the southern hospitality that might result from this meeting - the family would have me over for grits sometime, and we sit together and work on our southern drawls and talk about college football and state's rights, etc.)

The Mom: No, I stayed in Alabama once.

Me: Oh.

At that moment I think I realized how many internationals must feel around us stupid Americans. They visit our church or social group, and we try to be relevant and establish commonality and act as if we understand the Ukrainian because we visited Moscow, or north German life because we flew through Frankfurt. Please.

So much for the grits.

My visit to the Readers Digest Large Print Edition Retirement Neighborhood

In case you couldn't read the numbers on the mailbox...

Why I can't stand the New York Times

We begin with a confession: we get the New York Times emailed to our inbox everyday. Part of our early morning ritual is to read through the headlines, including those of the Times, just to get a feel for the worldwide "office vibe." We don't think we need to explain what a longstanding and incredible reputation the Times has as an American media source, and we admit that they often have some interesting stuff in the art section and even in the sports section.

But when it comes to news and opinion, the Times sucks. Reading it makes us gag.

Case in point: Yesterday the U.S. bombed and killed the most feared terrorist in Iraq and, outside of Bin Laden, the most wanted Al Quaeda leader. This is huge. Probably the biggest thing since capturing Hussein. A major victory for the military, for the US, and for the war against terror.

Yesterday, good triumphed over evil. Yesterday, the world was reminded that people who kill for the sake of killing, who oppress their own countrymen and terrorize the citizens of other nations, who seek to oppose freedom, will not succeed.

You would not know it from reading the Times.

You don't even have to listen very hard to hear the pessimistic, whining, anti-Bush anti-America anti-success in this war negativity that oozes from just the article headlines in today's edition of the Times:


"After a Long Hunt, U.S. Bombs the Leader of Al Qaeda in Iraq" - i.e. It took us long enough, and in the end we just dropped some bombs (such a brutal way to go about things, we could have used diplomacy talks or something) like barbarians

"How Surveillance and Betrayal Led to a Hunt's End" - i.e. America may have gotten Zarqawi, but we had to lie and decieve to do it.

"Hatred He Bred Is Sure to Survive Terrorist's Death" - i.e. Killing Zarqawi didn't help things at all. It's no victory.

"Zarqawi Is Dead, but Weary Iraqis Fear the Violence Won't Subside" - i.e. Again, this is no victory at all. You, Bush and America, have just made it worse.

"Death of a Terroris: As Americans discovered earlier, it will take far more than the elimination of iconic leaders to stem the tide of the Iraqi insurgency and reverse the country's slide into civil war."

"Zarqawi's Life After Death: The decapitation of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi's terrorist network may indeed diminish its effectiveness, but we should not get our hopes too high."


That's why we can't stand the New York Times.



Footnote: For some positive opinions of yesterday's victory, check these out:

Zarqawi’s death is particularly welcome because it comes at such a distressing time in Iraq.

Killing Zarqawi is the equivalent of averting a Haditha every other day in Iraq, indefinitely

It would be underestimating the impact of Zarqawi’s death to say it is a major blow to al Qaeda in Iraq.

Complete coverage of Zarqawi's death

A Moral Victory
The meaning of Zarqawi's death.

World Cup Watch, Part 4

Among the players to watch on the US Men's National Team is one Clint Dempsey, an attacking midfielder who could (and should) play a major role in the US team's success in Germany. Some suggest that Dempsey (who played college ball in the great state of SC) has become such a success because of his "caprice," and his creative, sometimes "fluff," style of play is reminiscent of another US midfield, Clint Mathis (who also played college ball in the great state of SC - for the Gamecocks).

We, however, think Dempsey is the midfielder US opponents should fear because of his superhero alter-ego as the gangsta rapper Deuce. If you don't believe us, check it out here.


Don't be all treadin up on his pitch. Bee-otch.



Speaking of Gamecocks, how bout ol' Deuce giving us a shout out? Pretty clever lyrics, really, "more game than a gamecock." Sounds like it was written by a Clemson Tiger.

HD Monday's with Murray

Do not dissapoint, World Cup. Entertain the world, Germany. Play well, US Men's National Team. Be beautiful, soccer.

We are watching. In High Definition.

Meyer's Pride Construction - This week in numbers

800.72 – dollars worth of nails that Brien and I purchased at 9:30 Tuesday night. Apparently this is what roofing contractors do in your spare time once the season of American Idol has ended. 1¼” ring shank coil nails have been in short supply in Broward County for the last 3 weeks, even from the roofing supply companies, so when one of our roofing buddies called us last night and told us Lowes had just gotten a load in, Brien and I rushed over there and bought as many boxes as we could before Lowes closed. We left just enough for the other roofers to discover in the morning and be frustrated that there weren’t more.

3 – customers that have been drunk when I met with them.

4 – hours is all it took for Dave Page to change his mind from not being able to fly to Ft. Lauderdale for Memorial Day to calling us mid afternoon on Friday to let us know that he was in fact in the airport on his way here.

117 – minutes for me to remove and replace 40 feet of fascia boards along the back of a house we are roofing. This was physically the hardest I worked all week. I was dripping with sweat, covered in sawdust and roofing granules, and looking like I just survived WWIII.

5 – minutes drive between completion of said fascia work and beginning a round of golf with Brien and Jamey for Brien’s birthday. Exhausted, my goal was for my golf score to be lower than the number of minutes I had just spent doing fascia work. It was close.

50 – inches diagonally from one corner to the other on our new Panasonic Plasma HD TV. World Cup, we are ready for you.

7 – remote controls that now lie around our house, including 2 Direct TV, television, VCR, DVD, receiver, and the CD player,

6 – security cameras on the house that Dave Page and I estimated on Saturday. Dave is convinced that it was a drug house, given the neighborhood, the inhabitants, and the interesting “trinkets” inside the house.

0 – people that have waved at me when I wave at them while driving. Back home, everybody raises a hand from the steering wheel to greet an oncoming car or a pedestrian. Especially if you’re in a truck. Here, you wave at a guy walking in his neighborhood as you drive by, and he just stares at you with a bit of a scowl, as if he’s just seen an obnoxious alien or something.

93.1 – a local rock station that offered me $1000 dollars if I tune in to 93 Rock, get the song of the day, and then be the 9th caller after that song is played. A usual radio station gimmick, only this one I discovered because I received a telemarketing call at 8 a.m. from a woman (presumably from the station) bringing all of these exciting details to my attention. I’ve never, in my 26 years, received a sales call from a radio station asking me to listening to listen in. Whatever happened to just playing good music that people want to hear?

1,000,000 – times that Brien and I have wanted to cuss out, shoot, etc. the Pembroke Pines building department staff. They are the epitome of government bureaucracy that is slow and apathetic about, yes even hostile toward, customer service. They are inefficient and have made numerous mistakes on what should have been easy shingle jobs. They do not accept responsibility, but instead blame it on us, and being full of grace and mercy as Meyer’s Pride is want to be, we have numerous times swallowed our "pride", taken the hit and corrected their mistakes ourselves. We have paid fines for failing inspections we didn’t call for, rescheduled inspections that had previously been passed but didn’t get recorded in their records, fixed problems they had previously said were okay, and dealt mercifully with the snotty, condescending, make-one-comment-and-I’ll-pop-an-attitude-with-you ladies that make you want to pop a knot on their head big enough for a camel to suck. We will never do a job in Pembroke Pines again. Pembroke Pines is a municipality very much under the domain of the Prince of Darkness.

1 – lady sitting next to me in the Tamarac Bldg. Dept. who told me the little goalkeeper glove attached to my key chain was cute. The tiny replica goalie glove key chain came with the last pair of keeper gloves I bought. It is not cute. Roofing contractors are not cute. I have removed the glove from my key chain.

2 – times I laughed out loud at the ignoramus who took charge in one of the building department lines the other day. He had taken the clip board on which everyone signed in when arriving at the permit counter and was trying to figure out who was next in line. Ignoramus came to the Asian man sitting next to me, whose head was bowed and had apparently fallen asleep, and asked if this was him. The man was asleep, and didn’t respond. Ignoramus tried again. Still no response. This frustrated Ignoramus shoved the clipboard in the man’s face, literally 2 inches from his nose, and yelled “Si Senor is this you mi amigo?” The Asian man awoke, clearly startled at the loud voice, the clipboard in his face, and the fact that someone was speaking to him in his “native tongue.” He shook his head, looked at me (as I was laughing out loud) and shrugged his shoulders, and went back to sleep.

363 – miles driven. This does not include Murray’s Mileage, half of which was spent driving back and forth to Hell to visit with the Devil (see Pembroke Pines).

11 - inches from chin to the tip of the beard on the Jewish engineer that came to inspect a roof I am working to have replaced for a customer. A rather large man, with a digital camera hanging from a string around his neck and wearing some sort of Jewish looking garb, he had a very quiet, very raspy voice and said very little. As he walked along the ridge of the roof, I couldn't help but picture him with a violin, dancing lightly from one roof to another fiddling happily while the rest of the town sang along. I asked him if roof inspecting engineers made a lot of money. He didn't answer. I asked what he would do if he were a rich man. Either he didn't get the joke or hadn't thought about being a rich man as much as Tevye the Milkman. Oh well. La Kayim.