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I am living in Edgar Allen Poe's, Tell Tale Heart. And it's driving me similarly mad.  The only difference:  it isn't the beating of his hideous heart incessantly ringing in my ears.  There is a distinct yet soft "beep" in the kitchen.

The beep sounds intermittently but about every 20 minutes or so.  It has been beeping for months now.

I can't find it!

I don't know what it is!

It's driving me mad!

At first I thought it was the UPS for the iMac at the desk.  I replaced it and was shocked to hear the beep a while later.  No!

I've unplugged everything in the kitchen that requires electricity and that can be unplugged.  The beep continues to mock me.

If the refrigerator requires a change of a filter, I can find no documentation of it.  And I still hear the beep when I turn the refrigerator's sound feature off.

What makes the beep maddening is the imperceptibility of its location.  No matter where one stands when hearing it, it always sounds like its over there—even when you're standing "over there."

It is the beeping of his hideous heart!!

Today the long journey home begins—in about 45 minutes. Amazingly, the couple in the bungalow next door here at the Palm Garden Resort in Hoi An are from Atlanta, Georgia! In fact, they live in Morningside.

Can we say: small world!

Back in July of 2006, I escaped the craziness of the hustle, bustle, and heat of Atlanta, Georgia, to head for the Arctic Circle, to walk on a glacier in Trømso, Norway. During my first meal that far north on our planet, I heard Ray Charles singing, "Georgia On My Mind." I was horrified. I had travelled thousands of miles to get Georgia off of my mind.

In March, 2008, I traveled to Ykaterinberg—the third largest city in Russia. At 4:00AM, when the bar across the street was closing its doors, with those doors wide open to push the patrons out on to the street, I heard Cher bellowing, "Do You Believe in Life After Love?" blaring night after night. I guess it was their theme song at closing time.

And here in April, 2010, in the park in central Hanoi, Vietnam, directly across from Lake Hoan Kiem, thousands of Vietnamese are beginning their day with their routine Tai Chi exercises with the speakers blaring "It Was an Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini."

Is nothing sacred?!

As this phenomenon seems to only happen once on even numbered years, perhaps I'm safe for another two years!

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• Vietnam: Day Two - Hanoi (timtyson.us)
• Vietnam: Day One - Dinner (timtyson.us)

Yesterday was an interesting day for me—most days are, actually. But the planets seemed to be especially aligned, or maybe yesterday was a "rip, a hole in the time/space continuum" that "take us thru the event horizon." *

1. I got an email invitation to connect with another Tim Tyson on a social network site. What was particularly interesting is that I've been receiving emails for over a year, maybe two, intended for this guy. Apparently our email addresses at a particular email service provider are very similar, and people would type his incorrectly. Since we both have the same name, it's understandable.

At first I thought these were all some sort of junk mail. But they followed a pattern. Apparently he is a well respected videographer who travels the world filming special projects. Nice. (Maybe he's really me in another life?--hence my quotation above)

I'm not really sure how he figured out who I am or why he asked me to join his social network, but when I checked out his social network site (which talked about what he does for a living) along with his email address (which is almost identical to mine), I realized the connection. (You realize, of course, that this could only happen in a digital world with palm-sized, time-warping transporter devices, right?)

Even more amazingly, the "other" Tim Tyson recently finished projects with the British Council about Global Schools Partnerships. Amazingly, the last year I was a school principal, the Director of Bilateral Programmes from the British Council came to visit my school. She was interested in setting up partnerships between the UK and my school. And now the other Tim Tyson is shooting video about these projects?! What are the odds, I ask—even demand?!

The multi-year-long bizarre mystery of the Tim Tyson emails has been solved! But I save the best for last...

2. Imagine getting an unexpected email from a former student who writes this sentence: "I have come to realize that doing what is comfortable or popular tends to be far less rewarding than doing what is right." Now, this young man is only 18! He apparently has become somewhat of an activist for issues related to respect and social justice "for historically marginalized groups." His efforts have earned him national recognition, honors, and some significant opportunities.

My first encounter with younger students who felt a moral imperative to act on issues of social justice came during the Ronald Reagan years. (To cut big government spending, Reagan eliminated funding for homeless shelters thereby forcing the homeless to literally live on the streets.) Shortly thereafter, one of my 8th grade students first saw homeless people in downtown Atlanta. He was from an affluent home and had no idea such a thing could exist in our country. He was outraged, and, as an 8th grader, on his own, took it upon himself to launch a letter-writing campaign to the Georgia governor to have the issue addressed.

I've known many such young people since then—all with an inner calling directing their efforts to make the world a better place. I celebrate all of these young people who, at a very early age, feel compelled to act for positive change.

Their lives color the world with hope.

* Yes, I stole that line from a tweet by Miles Kahn, a producer for The Daily Show. That's actually part of what he said about tonight's show. I laughed out loud when I read his tweet.

One of the things I truly love about extremists [insert the neocon whackos] : the rules never apply to them. They are the ultimate hypocrites. Yes, that's what enrages me about them: the garish hypocrisy they display.

Here's an example or two: Terminating a pregnancy is murder, not providing for the child's care (healthcare, daycare, education, etc.) after s/he is born is justified in every way. Murder is wrong, but killing tens of thousands of innocent people in Iraq at a mindless indefensible whim of an arrogant buffoon is the righteous installation of freedom. Being a responsible global citizen is left-wing socialist anti-American gun-hating liberalism, but torturing people against all international law is taloned patriotism soaring high.

And when you call the arrogant neocon hypocrite on the sheer vulgarity, even indecency, of their tightly held hypocrisy, they always don that tattered robe of "persecution." I guess I would find their ridiculous conduct mildly amusing if their behavior were not so nauseating.

Recent case in point: the "contradict myself in my answer in defense of marriage" Ms. California is taking a huge and deeply personal "stand for her beliefs" and her "integrity as a woman." And the little issue of her posing nude and then lying about it so she would not be disqualified from participating in the Ms. America pageant? How exactly does that fit in with her "integrity as a woman" and "her defending marriage?" Oh, I get it. She's being persecuted for her narrow minded beliefs.

Sheer tosh!

The 21-year-old Miss USA contestant has been the center of controversy since she declared her opposition to same-sex marriage in a response to a question on the pageant stage last month.

"That answer, and my commitment to stand by my beliefs, has since resulted in attacks on me and my integrity as a woman," Prejean said in a news release dated Tuesday.

[Source: Topless photo could cost Prejean pageant crown - CNN.com]

Something about living in glass houses... Maybe posing nude and lying about it wasn't such a good idea. Maybe that just smacks of having no integrity and does little to elevate the position of women or even "defend marriage."

This isn't really persecution. It's simply the light of day shining on hypocrisy--that's all. Get over yourself, Prejean.

synchronous at times! I mean, what are the odds?

I'm in Tokyo (yes pictures will appear on my blog sometime in October) at the moment. I've been here since Tuesday (which was Monday when I left San Francisco). My itinerary has been jammed packed full of amazing experiences in this wonderful country. Since I've been so busy, I haven't had the chance to publish anything to my blog or to a work blog project either. In fact, this is the first time I've had time to connect to the internet to catch up on emails.

So I check emails from work. In my inbox was an email from a father at my school whose child just returned from Paris and several cities in Germany and is doing a blog journal of her travels. When I replied to his email, I mentioned that I would expand further on his email when I returned from Japan. Two minutes later I had a reply email. He's here in Tokyo also--just a short drive from my hotel! We might get together briefly before the week's out.

How small. How synchronous.

BTW: It's almost 7PM here, despite what this post time may say.

Don't ever leave a single serving, sealed, plastic container of milk in the car.

I did.

It exploded.

I didn't find it for 24 hours.

Nothing smells worse!

On the way home from work, I was talking to my mother (hence the post that follows about her dog).  She was telling me that something was bad in the refrigerator.  She had taken everything out of it, cleaned it carefully, and still an odious stench persists.  She can't seem to isolate the source of what smells so bad.

She was talking to me from her sun-room in the back of her house in Florida and stated that she could smell the horrendous odor from the kitchen even out there.  I was driving down I-75 in Atlanta, and, believe it or not, I could smell the foul stink also!!  No, I'm serious!  I am not kidding!!

As I smelled the putrification, I was struck by how powerful the mind is.  I mean, here I was, some 300 miles away, with the very real, no, incredibly surreal sensory input of the vile smell of which she spoke.

I looked up ahead of me on the interstate to realize that only a few vehicles distanced me from a flatbed semi carrying 9 porta-potties!!  I mean, what are the odds??!!

I found this hard to believe! Today I was driving down a 5 lane road which is notorious for traffic congestion. Much to my disbelief, before my very eyes, I saw 3 guys pushing a car down the road. What was incomprehensible about this view?

• Not the fact that it was a relatively new American-engineered and built car (We expect those to break down.)...but the fact that:
• 2 men were pushing from behind while another man had the driver's door open and was steering with 1 hand while talking on his cell phone on the other!
• These guys could have pulled the car off of the road and into parking lots in at least 6 places, but the driver seemed to insist on their pushing it up the hill to the nearest gas station!
• They were holding up traffic behind them for blocks!

Conclusion? Idiots! Just plane idiots!

I gave several of my photographs as Christmas gifts. I had them blown up very large: 20 x 30. Two of them were recently framed by a rather expensive (!!) framer in Buckhead. Somehow I ended up with the assignment of going to pick them up. I was shocked! They were breathtaking.

The framer had one of them in his window display for everyone to see. When I arrived, he told the customer with whom he was working that I was the "professional photographer" of the picture in the window and the one behind us. (I am not a professional photographer!)

The window picture was one of my favorites from the pictures I took in the Rockies. The one behind us in the store was taken during my latest Paris trip. His customer asked where it had been taken--the River Sein. They truly are spectacular!

What I found most unexpected and very pleasing was that the framer wanted to purchase the picture from the Rockies. With his accent he said, "It is perfect. No. No it is not perfect. If you sign it in the bottom right corner with a shiny gold pen before it is framed, then it is perfect. I make good frame, but you take best picture. Artist sign his work."

I gave him my web address as he expressed interest in buying my photographs. What fun!

This morning, as I was leaving Evans, where I frequently have breakfast, I noticed some small white poodles in the van parked next to me. Upon closer examination, I realized that there were 15 of them loose in the van! How on earth could one drive?!

I was all decorated for Halloween. But enough is enough. There were 5 giant spider webs attached to my house and 1 to the mail box. I've already blogged about the huge spider. Well, it had a baby. However, junior spider, like mama spider, was also equally as huge.

I went to Publix to buy some spider nerve gas. I couldn't find any spider poison. I talked with the lady stocking the shelves. She was a hoot! She immediately knew I was talking about the huge yellow and black spiders. Her eyes grew as large as her hand animations when she told me that if they see your teeth, they will write you name in their web, and the next time you walk by the web they will leap onto your jugular vein, refusing to let go until you lie quivering dead on the ground!

I came home and forthwith nuked them all off of the face of the earth!

I am convinced that in all of my life I have never seen with my own eyes the number of fallen trees I have seen this summer, and I grew up on the hurricane beltway!

Tonight, on the way to dinner, a tree feel across the 5 lane road "smack dab" on top of a passing SUV! I just missed it! The force of the weight of the tree immediately stopped the vehicle. I can only imagine what an incomprehensible shock that must have been to the driver. The car behind the SUV smashed into the tree which, luckily I suppose, completely covered the SUV without crunching it flat. In fact, the SUV didn't look very damaged from what I could see through the branches.

People jumped out of their vehicles and rushed to the cars. I don't know if anyone was seriously injured.

When I came home from dinner, the wrecked car was removed and the SUV remained tucked away in its vegetative state. The power in the area was knocked out when the tree took down the power lines. Police cars were directing the traffic through the obstacle course. I suspect they will wait until morning so they can see how best to free the SUV.

It sounds like an activist's cry: "Free the SUV!"

I was sitting in Starbucks feverishly working away this evening on the new school web presence I am developing. I love those T-mobile hotspots!

This guy came in, sat behind me, and began talking on a cell phone. He was virtually arguing rather heatedly with the other person. I was becoming increasingly annoyed as he was laboriously going over and over the same things. If I had been the person on the other end of the call, I would have long since hung up.

His comments were grandiose, overstated, and indicative of a highly inflated sense of importance. He was angry that the person with whom he spoke had wrongly presumed to set policy in a meeting with civil rights leaders thus exceeding the authority he had been granted. He belabored his displeasure and admonitions.

After about a half hour of this never-ending phone call, the man relocated in the coffee shop and now sat directly across from me where I could see him. I had not turned around to look at him when he was behind me as I was trying to stay focused and productive.

Much to my shock, he was not on the phone at all. While seated in front of me, he began another vigorous conversation with an imaginary person. I thought that he perhaps had a tiny wireless bluetooth headset for his cell phone. No, he was having yet another conversation with no one.

This conversation was on a completely different topic. He would gesture to the imaginary person, lean forward speaking in greater earnest, pause as if the person were replying to him and then respond to the imaginary reply, he even looked directly into the imaginary person's eyes as if in an attempt to discern some true or deeper meaning as he spoke.

At this point, I was becoming very annoyed by him. He was talking a little bit too loudly for me to tune him out. So, out came the iPod headphones, which I plugged into my laptop and cranked up the volume. I could now easily ignore the poor man.

This was very sad. After about an hour, he left. Who takes care of this man? What caused his problem? What exactly was his problem? He was rather educated in that his vocabulary was sophisticated and was at times highly specialized: medicine, military operations, and the civil rights movement.

Sad indeed.

HELP! I need HELP! I think the tribal gods are all upset with me somehow!

As it turns out, my little knife incident last Sunday night slightly cut my arm. (Read my post about how the bad karma all started.) I didn't discover it until Monday morning when I took my shower.

Monday evening, at the gym, I got off of the elliptical, and while turning around while getting off, banged the very devil himself out of my shin. Tuesday morning I notice a large, stinging, deep scrape and bruise on my shin.

Tuesday night (or more accurately Wednesday morning at 5:30AM) I had a seriously low blood sugar. En-route to the kitchen, stumbling through my dark home office, I slammed my little toe against the desk chair. It hurt like hell! I am certain that I broke it. The slightest suggestion of any pressure within 20 yards of the swollen toe is excruciating! I can barely walk on the foot. Seldom has something so little hurt so big.

What have I done to madden the deities? Is there some sort of naked dance my readers need to start doing to protect me from these horrid evil spirits?! I need someone to do something to rid this bad karma!

Sometimes life just has a strange energy. Tonight at dinner, I proved to be a danger to myself and others. When I finished giving myself my insulin injection, somehow I lost control of the syringe. In the process of flailing about trying to catch the syringe in the air, I stabbed myself in the hand. Before the incident was over and all flying objects at rest, the needle was completely bent and the syringe rested on the floor.

About 30 minutes later, while attempting to cut my steak with a knife, somehow I lost control of the knife. It went flying through the air and landed about five feet from the table. Fortunately, no one was in the path of the flying knife. I still have no idea how any of this happened.

I mentioned I had the lamp in my office repaired. One couldn't tell at all that the lamp had ever been damaged. I took my lamp to the office this morning. On the way in to the office, on the last turn into the parking lot, the lamp, which had been carefully wedged between the front and back seats of Big Bird, my car, slid over and broke in the same spot!

I was beside myself!

So was Aaron when I took it back to him. He had that look on his face, you know, the “I can't believe my customer is such an idiot” look. But he was ever so gracious.

Several weeks ago one of my colleagues at work, JM, hit the blog of the husband of another colleague with whom we both work, DK.  He had written on his blog, which is incredibly fun reading by the way, that the 1,000,000th person to hit his blog would win a brand new top of the line Mercedes Benz!  JM was viewer 999,999!  The blog counter apparently would only count her the first time she hit the blog because she kept hitting refresh so she could win, but the counter continually registered 999,999!  In order to claim the prize, you had to take a picture of the screen saying 1,000,000 and email it in.

Immediately I hit his blog, and yes!, I was the 1,000,000th person to view it.  I jumped up, grabbed my digital camera.  Snap!!  I had just won the new Mercedes Benz!!  JM, who was sitting next to me, was, naturally, outraged that she had found out about this but that I had won.  Indignantly I told her, “Hey, I won fair and square.  I was visitor 1,000,000 and have the picture to prove it!”

DK, the wife, with whom JM and I work, of the owner of the blog came in the next day excited that I had won but dismayed that our mutual colleague, JM, was all upset.  She was unsure as to whether or not her husband would give us both a top of the line Mercedes Benz.

Well, naturally, I'm taking some artistic license here.  I was visitor 5,000 I think--oops, no, that was 10,000!.  And the prize was not specified by DK's husband.  As it turns out, her husband emailed us both a gift certificate to the iTunes store.  Oops!  I didn't know this and am horrified to tell them that I deleted it thinking it was some junk mail about how to get a certificate to the iTunes store.

You may notice that I have passed the 5,000 hit mark on my own blog. Not to be outdone, I am excited to tell you that the 5,000th viewer to my blog received an all expenses paid trip around the world [wink]!  Mercedes Benz are just so yesterday!  :o)

I am feeling much better but still sound like an alien life form.  I decided to venture out for a late breakfast this morning.  The weather outside is gorgeous:  a cloudless blue sky with a brightly light world of brisk winter starkness.  So I bundled up tight and, naturally, went to my favorite little restaurant, Evans.

Margaret, my favorite breakfast time waitress, said she was wondering where I had been.  I was seated across from a table of 4 ladies I had never seen before.  While I was eating and working (I took my computer), they were talking with such excitement.  There could be no question:  they were all deeply involved in the PTSAs of their childrens' schools.

When they got up to leave, I told them who I was.  O my!  They all sat back down, and we talked for a good 20 minutes.  I told them how I appreciated their enthusiastic support of what they described as “urban schools facing some significant challenges.”

One lady stayed back as the others left.  She told me she thought that her sister might have children, who she described as “very at risk students,” at my school and asked if I knew them.  In fact, I do know these children well.  I think her initial surprise at this fact turned into almost horror as she then appeared to want to quickly distance herself from her sister, saying, “Well, you know we are just very different people.  I spend all of my time working at the school.  I don't think she has ever been in her kids schools.”  I tried to reassure her, telling her how I and my sister were both good people but as different as night and day. 

What she doesn't know, and I couldn't say, is that I almost always root for the underdog.  I like these kids and want the best for them.  What are the odds?

President Nixon departed on his historic trip to China.  I was a kid. To commemorate this historic event, I started calling our siamese cat, who was officially named Sassy, her new nickname: Mao Tse-tung.  It stuck.  Eventually everyone was calling her Mao Tse-tung.

Sassy was one of my family's favorite pets.  She lived to be almost 20 years old!  She really was much more like a dog than a cat.  She would do many crazy things:

• retrieve paper wads when you threw them
• meet me and my sister at the front door everyday when we got home from school.  Come to think of it, she would meet my father when he got home from work as well.
• leap out of nowhere and grab on to your ankles with her paws forcing you to stop and pick her up or drag her along as you continued to walk
• leap out of nowhere and grab on to your ankles with her paws and start gnawing on the back of your ankle as if bringing down her prey in the wilderness
• unexpectedly leap from the floor up to your shoulders so she could ride around the house on your shoulders
• the above appeared to bring her much joy in life as it seemed to be her daily ritual.  You would find Sassy on someone's shoulder as often as you would see her walking on the floor.
• always jump up and sit in your lap the minute you sat down
• sit in very high places: on top of the refrigerator, on top of  the curtain rods (OMG), on the back of the sofa
• if you put your opened hand up over her face (the same gesture one makes when reaching to pet a cat's head) she would put her ears back, show her teeth with quivering lips, hiss viciously, and then attack you.  The closer the open hand to her face the more vigorous and dramatic her display.  You really thought she was going to take your hand off!
• the above “attack” was always in good fun as she never was trying to hurt anyone.  However, unsuspecting house guests were duly terrified.  She, like a dog, loved a good tussle with a human.
• She would “gallop” as heavily as a horse around the house when she got in some bizarre mood.

Sassy had several names throughout her lifetime.  Daddy called her “Fraz” a derivative of “Sassafras”--a take off on Sassy, which she was!  She would carry on lengthy conversations with you.  All you had to do was meow back, and she was ready to talk.  Mother called her “Fuss Box.”  I also called her “The Beast of the Ungodly”--who knows why.  And then there was the period of time I called her Ozimandious, for the obvious reasons.

I learned later in life that Sassy was not your typical siamese cat.  She was so incredibly personable and sociable, always wanting to be with people.  She died of old age curled up in my mothers lap with mom petting her.

Sassy sitting up high
(Click to enlarge)

And all of this came to mind because Richard Nixon went off to China in 1972.

I've never had an experience quite like it!  If ever a blackmail picture existed of me, this would be it.  Amazingly, this charcoal masque shrinks the skin big time!  I had to pull my eyeballs out of my ears when I washed it off!

(Click to enlarge)

Here are a few pictures of the latest episode of Tim's Towering Inferno which mostly featured melted candles and dead house plants:

(Click to enlarge)

I was too wired to sleep last night, after all of the unexpected excitement. So I went to a 10:00pm movie, The Motorcycle Diaries–a good movie. Just before leaving, I turned off the attic fan and closed all of the windows except for the one in my bedroom which I left opened about 1 inch. The thermostat read 75º. When I returned from the movie, the temperature in the house had gone up to 78º!

When I got up this morning, the thermostat in the house, without a heater all night long, and with a slightly opened bedroom window, read 73º. I spent most of the night sleeping on top of the covers. It was just too hot. This morning at 7:00am, when I left the house for breakfast, the thermostat in the car read 29º outside. I guess the walls of the house absorbed a tremendous amount of heat over the last several days. After all, they were literally hot to the touch.

Wow!! Unbelievable! 108º

I spent the last several days in the North Carolina mountains (where it was in the teens) and on the coast of Florida (where it courted freezing). I had a wonderful, cool Christmas time. Today I drove back to Atlanta under a cloudless sky with temperatures in the 50s.

While in Florida, I went to show my mother my Christmas music internet broadcast from my home computer in Atlanta, which I have written about before. The broadcast wasn't working. I was mildly concerned that my home computer had something wrong with it. But, it's a Mac. It hardly ever has problems. Did someone break in to my house and steal my computer? I was a little worried.

When I arrived home and unlocked the door, I reached for the door nob. It was hot, very, very hot to the touch. When I opened the door, I was blasted with a tremendous, all but roaring, heat wave. I was immediately confused, shocked, and puzzled, trying to figure out what was causing this thick, heavy, breath-taking heat.

When I entered the house, it was sweltering! I went straight to the HVAC thermostat. It said the inside temperature was 61º. The inside temperature was certainly not 61º. I tried to check the thermostat's setting. I had left it on 64º, where it stays almost all of the time during the winter. The computerized, touch sensitive thermostat would not respond. When you touch it, it should then show what the thermostat is set at and should offer up and down "buttons" so you can raise or lower what you set the HVAC system at. No response. 61º! I was puzzled. I decided to press the reset button. The whole thermostat seemed to go completely blank.

I turned it off completely--fortunately a manual switch on the underside. I then immediately went to every window in the house that opens and opened them all the way and turned the attic fan on high. I fully opened the front and back doors. I then called 911.

I was concerned that if I opened up the crawl space under the house, where the HVAC system is, a rush of air to the heater might cause it to explode. I walked downstairs thinking about switching the electricity to the heater off because heat was still gushing from the heater vent by the thermostat. I decided that this was not a wise idea. The heater may have turned off when I switched the thermostat completely off and might need the air circulating through it to cool down the heater unit itself. Shutting off the air might cause the already exceedingly hot unit to overheat and explode into flames.

When I came back upstairs where thermostat now read 108º!! Unbelievable! As I walked around, I started noticing some of the damage the heat had already done. My computer, which resides in an already warm enclosure in the desk (designed specifically for computers), was repeatedly turning itself on, over and over again. The live plants in the house were all dead and wilted. I have dozens of candles around the house. Almost all of them were in various states of "meltedness." The two on the dining room table were in pools of running wax. The kitchen floor was horribly buckled and wavy. One of the melted candles knocked over a very nice (expensive) vase when it leaned over while melting, breaking the vase to bits and smearing wax on the frame to a picture on the wall. The florescent lights in the laundry area and in my closet will not turn on.

When the firemen arrived I briefed them at the end of my driveway as they approached my home. The temperature of the house was now about 105º. They went to the basement and went under the house to check out the furnace. It had indeed shut off but was still running the fan in an effort to reduce the heat in the furnace system. The firemen speculated that "the cheapest part of the system caused the system failure"--the thermostat. They walked about the house. One commented on how hot the walls of the house were near the ceiling. They shut the electricity and the gas off to the furnace just in case the unit itself is faulty. They advised that I contact my HVAC service man in the morning.

I have taken many pictures to document the destruction. Here some 2 to 3 hours later, the house is still warm at 75º. I had a list of things to do this week on vacation. Funny how plans can unexpectedly change in a heartbeat. In the morning I will call an attorney friend of mine, my insurance company, and the HVAC service people I use. If the furnace checks out to be OK, as I suspect it will, then the manufacturer of the faulty thermostat, which I know was not working properly when I entered the house and it read 61º as the inside temperature, and the vendor who sells them will have to make good on this mess.

My gas bill is already too insanely high, and I'll be damned if I'm paying for all the of the gas the furnace burned because of this faulty thermostat!

Thank god my house didn't burn to the ground while I was away! Good God Almighty! I've never had such an experience.

Here I sit having my car detailed.  It's filthy.  I brought my mac with me to work and blog while I wait.  I planned to save the blog posts and post the entries later.  Much to my shock, I sat down, opened my computer, and it asked me if I wanted to join the open wireless high speed network.  I said “Sure.”–a special dialogue box only available on the mac.  :o)

Here I sit blogging, posting, and surfing the web.  Whoever would have thought that the car detail and oil change place would have 2 high speed wireless networks.  Or maybe, it's someone else?  Cool none the less.

Confirmation:  the owner likes wireless DSL.  He said all of the coffee places have wireless networks (which you have to pay for might I add!), why shouldn't he?!  I told him he should advertise this to increase his business!  Great idea!

Consistent with my “people not corporations” mentality is the fact that I love to eat at locally owned and operated restaurants. I have about a half dozen favorites in Atlanta. One of the ones I frequent near my house is Evans. Mike and Pete, brothers, own and operate the restaurant. Their dad helps them out on the weekends and some mornings.

This is a local hangout with a very stable clientele, many of whom have been eating at Evans for years. The only thing I don't like about the restaurant is election time when all the local politicians hang out talking politics there. They're just trying to solicit votes. But, like many others, especially those from the nearby retirement homes and Emory University, Evans has virtually been “my kitchen” for many, many meals now.

In places like this, you tend to get to know people. The waitresses know what I always order, what I do for a living, etc. I know about their families and other jobs. The little children run around the restaurant talking to everyone while their parents take a few minutes to enjoy relaxing. It's very casual and pretty connected.

This morning I was running later than usual for a Saturday breakfast. The restaurant was packed with a long line of folks waiting. Just after I was seated and Mike brought me my routine Diet Coke (I like my morning caffeine cold.) the unexpected happened. An elderly man came up to the booth in which I sat and asked if he could join me for breakfast! Well, casual indeed!

Frankly, I must admit I was a bit caught off guard, but he seemed nice enough, so I said, “Sure.” I must admit to being a little relieved when Mike's dad came up and said, “Mr. Herbert, will it be your usual?” Ok, so I was with someone everyone knew. I could deal with that.

Well, as it turns out, Mr. Herbert's full name is Herbert Evans, as in Evans Fine Foods Restaurant. He and his 2 older brothers started the restaurant in 1946 and sold it to Mike and Pete in the 1980s. I had a delightful breakfast talking with Mr. Herbert. When his brothers died he sold the 4 restaurants and the 800 Peachtree Building (all of which he owned) and retired in a retirement home just down the street–near my home actually. He said he was the accountant, or “pencil pusher” as he called it, and had no business trying to run the restaurants after his brothers passed away. His oldest brother had overseen the commissaries when he was in the military. When he would place an order for the commissaries, he would order for the restaurant.

When I was paying my bill, the cashier, Louis, who has worked at Evans far longer than I have been eating there, asked me how I enjoyed my breakfast guest this morning. I told him I would be glad to eat with Mr. Herbert anytime. He told me that he thought I wouldn't mind eating with him this morning so he told Mr. Herbert to go sit with me rather than stand in the cold at the door waiting for a table to become available. I suppose this is one of the many reasons I like eating in local establishments.

Only in Atlanta...  Only at the American Roadhouse where a rather diverse and eccentric crowd of people meet to eat...

She was sitting with her friend at the booth across from us.  She recently had been to New Mexico. 

On that trip, she lost time, 24 hours to be exact.  She hadn't just had too much too drink or some mind altering drug(s).  This fact could be verified, she said, by another friend who was with her and lost 24 hours as well.

She had what appeared to be prematurely white hair, solid white, which was just above her shoulders.  Her eyes were narrow and lit with fire. 

She spoke of mystery. 

She whispered of alien abduction.

This story is actually true, but the “names” have been changed...

Many speculated it was not natural causes but that she had been murdered by her 3rd husband, if not directly and intentionally (although this was most likely), without doubt because of a lack basic and critically needed medical attention. Her heart condition was extremely serious and getting progressively worse. Any thinking person would not have left someone who could not even sit up in bed alone in the house all day long without access to food and water and without the cordless phone which was found down the hall and in another room. But her 3rd husband did just that after he had spent everything she owned and had re-mortgaged the equity in her house. She died in bed that day. He lost the cash quickly at the casinos in Mississippi. He continued to live in the house until her son got out of prison and hitch-hiked back to town from California. No one ever knew why her son had been in prison.

After a big fight (literally) and threatening to kill the 3rd husband if he ever saw him again, the son took possession of his late mother's house. No job and no prospects for any type of gainful employment, the neighbors speculated (with good reason, but we won't go into those details) that drugs were being manufactured and sold in the house. Drunkenness and riotous behavior were the norm. The police visited frequently. He was seen on more than one occasion walking down the center of the street swearing at all of the cars that had to dodge hitting and killing him. He seemed to especially enjoy sitting in the middle of the road in a folding lawn chair during thunder storms (usually at night) until the police would come and remove him. Through the front window, one of his neighbors just happened to see the fire in his kitchen which he didn't notice until the firemen had put it out. He failed to notice because he was passed out on the kitchen floor.

He stalled the inevitable by renting rooms in the house to passers by. A neighborhood church fixed the leaking roof, paid the electric bill a few times, and tried to help with food several times. For several months toward the end, there was no electricity to the house. Finally the bank took possession of the house, and everyone was evicted, including the son of the woman who originally owned the house before her 3rd husband... The bank sold the house unbelievably below market value to a person who lived in town but chose not to occupy the house.

Recently the neighbors all noticed someone appearing to hide around the back of the house. In fact, two people were frequently seen around the house. Then the two people were spotted climbing out of a broken window on the side of the house. After a week of this, one of the neighbors' sons finally called the police.

The two people who had been living in the house told the police they had rented the house from “some man” named, oh, let's say George. Yes, they were renting the house from the man whose mother had originally owned the place, who had been evicted from the house many months back before the house was sold. They claimed that George told them he had accidentally locked the key inside the house so they broke the window to get in and find the key.

Too bizarre and too strange? ... yep, and also the sad truth. What will happen next? Time will continue to tell this story.

I was saddened today when I learned of Christopher Reeves' death over the weekend. I had the unexpected pleasure of meeting Mr. Reeves many years ago when I was in my 20's. One evening, while I was visiting my home in Pensacola, I was walking from my car to the entrance of Albertsons. The very tall man was coming toward me, having just left the store. I thought to myself, “This man looks exactly like Christopher Reeves.” When we were about to pass each other, he said in a very pleasant voice, “Hi, how are you this evening?” My god, it was Christopher Reeves. I was caught of guard as I stammer god knows what. I had seen Superman! (or Clark Kent as it were)

When I recounted my encounter to my family and friends in Pensacola, I appeared to be the only person for whom it was not common knowledge that Mr. Reeves was from Pensacola and had family still living there. I admired his courage in the face of extreme adversity and prayed for substantive progress in helping all who suffer from nerve injury.

The past couple of days I've been sick as a dog. Those who know me know I don't keep any food in the house. So yesterday I had to drag myself to the grocery store when I had a terrible fever, hadn't shaved, and generally felt like death warmed over. On top of feeling so bad, I was traumatized by trying to find easy food requiring minimal preparation in this grand and colorful maze of “stuff.”

When I was in the check out line, just wanting to be back home in bed, the girl at the check out said, “We now offer a senior citizen's discount for our customers 60 and over. Would that apply to you?” I was certain I had misunderstood because she spoke very, very fast and I was functioning very, very slow. I said, “I'm sorry?” She repeated herself. I had not misunderstood.

Now granted, I am sure I looked like...well, bad. But good god almighty! I do not, on even a reeeeeeally bad day look 60 years old!! No way! I was outraged and told her so!

Do you see how this reinforces my dislike for eating at home?! :o)