blog/sprite.jpgI grew up in a small town north of Philly. Quakertown in the 80’s was the center of the known universe for everything muscle car and heavy metal music. There wasn’t a day that passed I didn’t see some “primer gray” Chevelle sporting chrome rims on the rear wheels and the factory steel wheels up front. The driver invariably had a mullet, smoked, and wore the black and white 3/4 length concert shirt.

Ah, the classic “townie” hoodlum. As a youth there really isn’t much to do in Quakertown except pass the time. Said activity usually consisting of trouble with the townsfolk.

This morning my father woke up to this wonderful image….
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I was gone four days and had a stack of mail about 3 inches thick. Pay this, file that, sit this on the desk because you’ve got to deal with it soon enough, and finally put that on the floor because you just don’t want to deal with it at all.

I’ve tried electronic billing statements in the past then found some get caught in the ether and never make it. That’s a great way to improve your credit score.

Verdict on Dallas: nice city, lots to offer in the way of affordable and luxury housing. Will I buy property there? Absolutely. Would I move? No, it’s too damn hot and you can’t do much but stay indoors or risk dying from exposure.

It’s hot. Not the convection oven called Phoenix but the oh-so-slightly-humid thing reminiscent of New Jersey in the peak of summer.

The people are really friendly. Go into a fast-food joint (Chik-Fil-A is everywhere) and you get a nice smile, hello, and how are you doing like they really mean it.

Gunracks? No. Big cowboy hats? No. Thick southern draws? No.
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I have been tantilzed for weeks about Junior’s kicking ability in the womb. Not only from the wife but our also-pregnant house guest. Undoubtedly I’m called over “to feel the kick” while doing the dishes, mentally engaged in another activity, or about to run errands.

I was excited the first few times but got no satisfaction. In my mind it turned into a game where Junior would push out a leg and he’d hear mom mumble something about “come over and feel this!” and just as he felt a different hand he’d contract into a tight ball and lay motionless. Chuckling probably.

Thankfully, I didn’t give up.
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Last month I received one of those dreaded red envelopes from LA county. Written across the front: JUROR. The county must be expanding its jury selection program because a number of people I know got these troublesome things. I figured I could weasel out of it by claiming “finanacial hardship” as an upstanding, self-employed, taxpayer.

Not so. They’ve thought of everything on that mailer. Every excuse, every answer, even some levity about the meager pay.
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