Source: Peacegiving Day

I’ve decided our world needs a new holiday. I’m calling it Peacegiving Day. I’m sick and tired of all the senseless violence. The hate.  The vile things human beings are doing to each other including the killing and the bombing and the migrations and the kidnappings and the abuse and the pain and the suffering and the discrimination and the hatred. ENOUGH is ENOUGH. We need a day of peace.

Peacegiving is about giving the gift of peace to your enemies for one, glorious, harmonious day. You know who I’m talking about – I’m talking about the slimy-assed bastards that are seemingly ruining your life causing you to think their demise is the only solution. The Republicans. The Democrats. The Jews. The Christians. The Muslims. The Buddhists. The Liberals. The Whites. The Blacks. The Yellows. The Reds. The Men. The Women. The Husbands. The Wives. The Kids. The Girlfriends. The Parents. The In-Laws. The Brothers. The Sisters. The Immigrants.  The Illegal Immigrants.  The Bosses. The co-Workers. The Homeless.  The Insured.  The Un-Insured.  The Teachers. The Counselors. The Coaches. The Teammates. The Fans. The Liberal Media. Fox News. The Dodgers.  The Lakers.  The Seahawks.  Everyone you despise on Peacegiving you are going to give them 1 peaceful day out of your precious 365.

Loving the people you hate.  What a concept!

We need you.  Yes, you, to stop the hate. For one day, you’re going to spread your peace. You’re going to accept your hated’s differences. You’re going to relax.  You’re going to enjoy a meal with your enemies or heaven forbid with the complete strangers you know nothing about yet hate with a passion beyond reason.  You’re not going to kill, maim, harass, tease, hurt, bomb, fight, ridicule, belittle.  You’re going to love like a 6-month old puppy loves – without discrimination.  Now this is how you affect change.  Starting with you and creating an environment of serenity, respect, and mutual interest of your evil twin.  How sweet this would be?

And Peacegiving will be a Global Holiday.  No work, only play.  No hate, only love.  No bad news on Television, in the Newspaper, or on the Internet.  Wouldn’t everyone on the planet like a day like that?

I know I would.  Aren’t you as fed up as I am at all the senseless violence?  There is no sense in violence.  I’m starting with the man in the mirror.  I’m calling my new holiday Peacegiving Day.  Spread the word.  You may think I’m a dreamer, but I can’t be the only one.

I love Halloween. I love dressing up in Halloween costumes. I love going to Halloween parties. I love putting my artistic talents to good use by carving a pumpkin with something other than triangles for eyes and nose.  I love buying the candy I’ll give out on Halloween night. My absolute favorite is seeing the little kids who are Trick or Treating for the very first time because mom or dad are usually the ones doing the asking. The babies are always adorable and I always give them an extra handful of chocolate.  What I can’t stomach is the scary movies which inevitably come out around this time year.  I have not seen a thriller in the movie theater or on television since Halloween came out in 1978.  Go ahead and call me a Halloweenie.  I admit it.  I don’t like being scared to death.

The Michael Myers character scared the fuck out of me.  Still does.  The movie haunted my dreams literally for years.  Debra Hill and John Carpenter, the authors of the screenplay, have fucked up imaginations.  I refused to watch any of the 9 sequels.  Yes, there are ten Halloween movies.  There must also be quite a few fucked up fans out there who enjoy this serial killer story for there to have been ten motion pictures.  The creepiest part of the original, if you can believe this, wasn’t all of the grisly murders of teenage girl babysitters.  It was the ending of the movie after Michael’s psychiatrist, Dr. Loomis, shoots him 6 times.  You think he’s finally dead but Michael’s body is missing from the front lawn, where he fell when Loomis shot him, and the movie ends.  Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck!  I still get chills thinking about this scene.  HE’S STILL OUT THERE!

Before Halloween came out, the only other movie which gave me the chills was Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds.  To this day, I get very nervous around birds.  I don’t like them and I don’t trust them.  I guess in some ridiculous way the plot seemed plausible to me – various species of birds attacking and killing people.  Somehow, this seemed like cosmic justice for our airborne creatures when all we humans do is kill them.  The only thing I like about birds is eating them.  So many foods taste like chicken because chicken is fucking delicious.  Take that you scary fowl!

I long to watch some of the classic, black and white, horror films of the 1930’s and 1940’s.  Dracula, Frankenstein, The Invisible Man, The Mummy, and The Wolf Man were some of my favorites until Hitchcock and Carpenter came along.  My dad introduced me to this old school movie genre and I enjoyed watching them.  These horror movies didn’t give me nightmares.  In fact, looking back, they were kind of funny.  The acting was campy and the costumes were simple.  I loved the makeup and would often dress up like one of these classic characters when I was a wee lad getting ready to go Trick or Treating.

My kind of movie is the parody of a classic scary movie.  There is none better than Young Frankenstein.  So many quotable moments in that film.  Whenever it’s playing, I will stop what I’m doing to watch.  The scene with Gene Hackman as the blind priest having dinner with the monster is my favorite of all time.  Now, this is what I call the perfect Halloween movie.

Laughter, giving out candy, wearing funny costumes, carving pumpkins.  This is what being a Halloweenie is all about.  It isn’t about getting so scared you can’t sleep or you can’t be comfortable around a flock of seagulls.  It’s about having fun and enjoying the celebration.  Wait a minute.

Holy shit, did you hear something in the closet?

If I owned the San Francisco 49ers, I’d fire CEO Jed York, GM Trent Baalke, and Head Coach Jim Tomsula and his entire coaching staff. The first thing I’d do is take over the GM position and offer the Head Coaching job to Stanford’s David Shaw. I’d let Coach Shaw lead the 49ers back to glory but not before I give him the best 49 players to put on the field.  I’ve won a few Fantasy Football Leagues in my day.  If I know anything, it’s how to put a team together.  The Niners need a fresh start with a coach who has been a head coach and someone who knows how to win.  I think the only thing Tomsula knows how to do is fart in a press conference and pretend it wasn’t him.  His, “he who to smelt it dealt it”, porn star mustachioed face is no longer needed in the 49er locker room.  Coach Shaw the job is yours.

The 49ers really do have some very good skill players on Offense.  I am a Kaepernick fan and I keep him at Quarterback.   I love Carlos Hyde and he stays at running back.  Jarryd Hayne becomes my fullback.  I think Anquan Boldin and Torrey Smith can be breakout wide receivers if Kap has enough time to get them the football.  Garrett Celek becomes the Tight End.  I trade Vernon Davis and Vance McDonald and my next 3 number two draft picks to pick up the best offensive lineman I can find, probably a Guard and a Center.  Alex Boone might be the only guy I keep on the Offensive Line.

The Niners are still pretty solid defensively.  I wouldn’t make a lot of changes except this – we need linebackers.  The defensive line and the defensive backs are pretty good.  I like to build the defense through the draft.  I recommend to Coach Shaw we go with a brand new 3-3-5 defensive scheme on every down.  That’s right, just 3 down lineman, 3 linebackers and 5 defensive backs.  We need men who are in excellent condition, who can defend the pass, and blitz the Quarterback.  This is a passing league.  The time is now for adaptation.  Bottom line, it’s Coach Shaw’s call, but I’m going to give him some new lineman and new linebackers.

Special Teams are in good shape and I wouldn’t change anything there.  Dawson and Pinion are a solid Kicker and Punter.  I’d only put maniacal linebackers and strong safeties on punt and kickoff teams.  Defensive backs and wide receivers on return teams.  Speed is the difference maker.

With the more than likely #1 in next year’s Draft, GM Charlie Baker, selects Scooby Wright, Arizona, Linebacker.  My #2 is Spencer Drango, Baylor, Offensive Tackle.  My #3 is Leonard Floyd, Georgia, Linebacker.  My #4 is Kyle Murphy, Offensive Tackle.  Can you feel me?  Linebacker, Offensive Lineman, Linebacker, Offensive Lineman.  I wouldn’t draft for another position.

Now we start coming back to forming the kind of team who competes for the Super Bowl, not the #1 Draft Choice, every year.  At 1-3 after 4 games, the 49ers aren’t going anywhere in 2015.  It’s time for a change and I’m willing to take on the GM role and lead the greatest team in the NFL back to glory.  All I’m asking for is the improbable chance.  It can’t be as improbable as the 49ers making the playoffs this year.

The beauty of sport is its unpredictability and yet, when you guess right, you feel invincible, a know it all.  In just a few short moments, you will experience my greatness. Get your wallets out.  Call your Bookie.  Buckle up.  Listen.  Bet with your head and not your heart and learn from the master.  After a disastrous start to the year, I know now what I’m writing about.  Go ahead.  Ask me the question.  Who do I think will win?

Regular readers of my blog remember my first post of 2015 on the very first day of the year.  It was a tongue in cheek piece of artistry where I predicted the outcome of 12 diverse sporting events.  I promised a quarterly review of what actually happened versus my outlandish predictions and so far I have not disappointed.  Two unashamed reviews and now we have the third summary of actual performance.  The first 6 months of 2015 resulted in a disastrous oh for six.  Not one Sports prediction right.  Oh, but Quarter 3, came to Papa.  I am the God of Hell Fire.

Let us start with July, shall we?  I predicted the United States of America would win the most medals in the Pan American Games and I was 100% correct.  Yeah!  The 265 Medals (103 Gold) earned by the USA outdistanced Canada by 48 Medals and almost doubled 3rd Place Brazil’s measly 141 Medals.  I was so proud of the correctness of my prediction I sadly realized not one American gave a shit, just as I also predicted.   No parades.  No coverage on ESPN.  No nothing.  The Pan American Games are the world’s third largest international multi-sport Games; they are only surpassed in size and scope by the Olympic Summer Games and the Asian Games.  The Pan American Games have been held since 1951.  Did you know that?  Why doesn’t the USA care?  I have no idea but it is what it is.  So, I’ll say I was spot on with this one despite my wish for more Pan Am Games coverage.

The Australian Netball Diamonds were honoured with a Victory Ceremony in Sydney after winning their third-consecutive World Title in August.  Oh yeah, I got that one correct too because I’m a fucking sports genius.  I even predicted a public reception and Victory Ceremony.   Right and right! The Honourable Mike Baird MP, hosted a public reception for the Netball World Cup Sydney 2015 Champions, with Stuart Ayres MP, Minister for Trade, Tourism, Major Events and Sport, also in attendance.  The Diamonds capped off a dream tournament for the host nation, clinching a three-goal victory over New Zealand’s Silver Ferns in front of a World Record crowd of 16,849 at Allphones Arena, in the first time netball’s pinnacle tournament has been held on Australian soil in 24 years.  Seriously?  You didn’t watch the Diamonds vs. the Ferns? Are you not a sports fan?  OK, I admit, I copied and pasted the results right off the Netball World Cup website.  I’m not proud.  I’m just right.  Again.  I don’t have a freaking clue what Netball is but I predicted the World Cup Champion.  Uh huh.  Uh huh.  Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh!

Which brings me to this glorious of all Q3 months.  September.  I knew Russia’s Yana Kudryavtseva was something special.  Kudryavtseva, the reigning two-time World champion, claimed the series All-around Rhythmic Gymnastics title.  And it’s a good thing.  Back home, Yana, the 17-year-old Muscovite, faced a life of mandatory military service if she landed anywhere but in first.  Now, she can avoid the potato farms and drink Vodka like it were water.  Just like me.  I have created my own Rhythmic Gymnastic moves which seem only to get better with alcohol but I better stop there.

I’m three for three this Quarter.  I should go play the Lottery.

Have you ever known someone who liked to tell the most outlandish stories? I have and he was one of the best baseball players I ever played ball with. It was such an odd thing really because he was such a good athlete and he ended up getting a scholarship out of Junior College to a Division I school. He was a pitcher and threw a great slider. He also was a tough out at the plate. He had even played in the 1974 Little League World Series as a kid as his California team made an improbable run to Williamsport, PA. He was also the biggest bull shitter I ever met.  Out of respect, I won’t reveal his name in this blog.

He would tell stories in the dugout, in the locker room, on the team bus, walking to class.  These stories defied imagination like the one about his uncle Max playing “Jethro” on the Beverly Hillbillies TV show. I remember looking at him when he started on this one and ended up just nodding my head and mumbling, “Oh, OK.”

The thing is I really liked him. He was a great teammate and played the game the way it was meant to be played. When he pitched, he threw strikes and got outs.  I wanted to make the plays behind him. We often did win when he pitched and he was usually the guy called upon most to put us in the best position to win a big game like the time we faced Butte College in the 1st round of the playoffs in the then called Golden Valley Conference.  We didn’t win but it wasn’t because of my tall tale telling friend.

Years later what I admired more than his athletic ability was his skill in telling theses crazy stories. As outlandish as they were (he was related to Jimmy Carter AND Ronald Reagan), he told them with such ease and conviction the effort was as smooth as his fastball.  His face and chest were chiseled and his voice was monotone and serious.  He stood about 6’2″ and had long, hairy arms and big hands.  You took him seriously until he opened his mouth.  Every couple of weeks when I sit down at my computer to write a new blog it’s a painstaking affair. I want to write something funny, memorable, and I want to embellish my words with unforgettable prose like my friend the Story Teller did.  I can’t.

I toss and turn at night sometimes thinking about what I’m going to write about next.  On blog writing day, I play computer games.  I read news articles.   I play Sudoko.  Ideas pop in and out of my brain but I get paralyzed in fear of producing something no one wants to read.  That’s the thing, my friend told his stories without fear of ridicule, of judgment, and the crazier they were, the better.  When Mount St. Helens erupted, he would say things like his Grandparents had died because they refused to leave their mountainside cabin and he expected you to believe it.

After college, I lost touch with my friend.  Like so many friendships, we went our separate ways and I found out years later he died of cirrhosis before he had reached the age of 40. I guess we all partied quite a bit back in the 80’s.  My pathologicaly lying friend just never stopped. I wondered what happened in his later years if he got ridiculed by family and friends and co-workers about how he took tennis lessons from Arthur Ashe or how his Great Grandfather died on the Titanic or maybe his magical imagination just dried up.

I admire storytellers.  They make life interesting because in the end their imagination is all they have.

Do you ever spend time thinking about what’s next? You know what I mean don’t you? Not the Hollywood version. Not the “White Light” people with near death experiences see. I’m talking about the place, wherever that is, where souls go after a person passes.

If no one close to you has ever died, you have no idea what I’m writing about. After death, the spirit somehow leaves the body and goes somewhere. In the next few paragraphs I’d like to ponder where and perhaps fear the consequences.

Can you imagine if your Grandmother really was looking down on you and seeing all of the crazy shit you were doing? What about your father in-law? Holy crap! I’ll bet he’d probably want to punch me in the mouth the day I dropped in on him in the afterlife.  Still, I’d like to sit down and talk to him.  I’d want to know what he’s been up to all of these years.  I’d like to see what he did during his life before I knew him.  I’d want to know how he grew up and what it was like to fight in World War II.  I’d want him to know I’m doing my best with the years I have left on this earth.

Do you think we’ll all be together again?  I’m talking about all of the people you’ve known in your life-like your family and your friends and even your one night acquaintances? Do they count?  You know, the people you meet on the street or at a bar or someone you went to high school with and never saw again.

I’d love it if we had the chance to go back and trace our family’s heritage and see how we evolved from Adam and Eve.  I’d love to know the back story about how I became who I became. I believe in Darwinism. I believe each succeeding generation had to have been pretty goddamn tough to survive the times of their day.  Survival of the fittest isn’t just a phrase, at least not to me.

It would be so great to have the opportunity in the next life to meet the famous people like Gandhi, Lincoln, Jefferson, Churchill, Jackie Robinson, Martin Luther King, Jr. Imagine how cool it would be to just have a chat or to have a catch to discuss politics or simply values.  Would they have done anything differently.  That would be one of the first questions I would ask.  What about you?

When I saw the animated movie, “The Book of Life” last year, when Manolo visits The Land of the Remembered, it got me to thinking.  I hope such a place really does exist.  I remember all of the loved ones I’ve lost like my father in law, my Grandparents, my half-brother, my sister, neighbors, friends, parents of friends and my two Labrador Retrievers.  I think about them often.  I think about how they’re doing.  I do hope I do get to see them again.  I can’t believe the end really is the end.

With newly released evidence Bill Cosby has admitted and defended his extra marital affairs, I can’t help but ask the question, where are all of our heroes?

Yes, I looked up to Bill. His stand up comedy without the use of 4-letter words was hilarious and admirable at a time when Richard Pryor’s use of the f-bomb was the norm.  Mr. Cosby could be funny without swearing.  That takes a lot of skill and a command of what makes people laugh. The characters he played on TV were fatherly, sympathetic, heroic and wise. As the truth comes out about him and his pathetic chase for younger women, sadly, once again, we were duped.  Mr. Cosby didn’t live up to his seemingly flawless reputation.

This isn’t the first time a man I’ve looked up to has let me down. My own father disappointed me when he left my mom on the day after Christmas when I was a Senior in high school.  There have been so many others who I have admired until they’ve fallen spectacularly from grace:  O.J. Simpson, Kirby Puckett, Pete Rose, Tiger Woods, Mike Tyson, Lance Armstrong, Steve McNair.  To name but a few.

What is it about being an honest, upstanding, person that has become so difficult? Maybe this ideal never existed but in the minds of Hollywood scriptwriters and innocent, hopeful, young boys like me. Perhaps, knowing the sordid details of our imperfect role models wasn’t so prevalent for generations past because there didn’t exist the advent of the Freedom of Information Act, the Internet, or social media.  Maybe it was swept under the rug as a sign of respect by the media to keep these imperfect men’s reputations intact.  Not any more.  You can’t even flatulate in public without someone tweeting about it.

If you believe everything you read on your smartphone, it’s not cool or popular to be a good guy. Good guys finish last. Women fall in love with bad boys, not good ones. Is the temptation of being a dickhead just too compelling?  Certainly, no one wants to read a feel good story about a guy who loves his wife and volunteers and loves his fellow man and tries to set a good example.  What the hell?

I don’t know what it is. I don’t mean in the slightest to say I’m perfect. I’m not. I’m sure I’ve disappointed someone who may have looked up to me.  Yet, I do find it interesting this phenomenon of the people who we most trust and look up to – our parents, our priests, our entertainers, our athletes, our politicians, our coaches, our teachers, our brothers – continue to lead us down a path of disappointment. Yes, of course, I know we are all human. I know not every mentor is bent on self destruction and embarrassment.  Still, what, or more appropriately who, constitutes a hero today?

Is it a soldier who dies for a noble cause like a Pat Tillman?

Is it the men who try to do the right thing only to be ostracized for being too good?

Is it the ultra religious?

Is it our most successful athletes?  Our politicians?  Our transgender population?  Our parents?  Our teachers?

Who?

As Michael Jackson said, “It all starts with the man in the mirror.”  So, I guess I should look no further and be that change.

On New Year’s Day, when I wrote my Sports Predictions for 2015 blog, I didn’t expect to arrive at this the year’s halfway point with not one correct pick. On March 28th, I wrote a quarterly update blog about being Oh for Three.  It was mostly light hearted fare.  I figured in Quarter 2 I’d get at least one pick right.  The result? It’s been another lousy quarter for my sports prognostications.  I’m now oh for six and looking for a bloop single in Q3.  There’s still time to salvage my year.  It’s getting serious now.  Let’s review my predictions and the outcomes for the last 3 months.

No, Tiger Woods didn’t win the Master’s Tournament in April. Damn it!  With a -5 score for the tournament, Tiger finished in a tie for 17th place.  Not too bad for most golfers but not for Tiger.  Who could’ve predicted Jordan Spieth would win his first major? With his score of -18 Spieth tied the 72-hole record set by Tiger Woods in 1997 and became the second youngest to win the Masters, behind Woods. And, what makes this even worse is Spieth is sponsored by UA. Boo!

In May, I was just as mistaken. No, Circassian didn’t win the Kentucky Derby. She didn’t even make the 19 horse field. I missed the mark so much I couldn’t find hay if I fell into a barn. Not only did American Pharoah win the Kentucky Derby, he went on to win the Preakness and Belmont too. He is the first American Triple Crown winner since Affirmed in 1978 and only the twelfth in history.  Obviously, I’m not in the know about Thoroughbreds.

How could I have picked against my own team?  I know.  Never bet against the USA.  It’s just, I thought the #1 ranked team in Women’s Football was going all the way.  Oh Scheisse! On the last day of June, the USA National Team beat my pick 2-0 to make it to the Final of this year’s Women’s World Cup.  The blonde haired, blue eyed, fraulines from Germany let me down!  The USA now will face their arch rival from the last World Cup, Japan.  Yes, of course, NOW I’m predicting the red, white, and blue!

Well, this just goes to show you about the beauty of sport.  It’s unpredictability is why you play the games.  There really are never any guarantees in a sports contest.  Of anyone, I should know.  I’ve built my life around sports.  I’ve literally been playing ball since I was 5 years old and have never stopped.  I played high school and intercollegiate football and baseball.  I work at NIKE.  If a news item isn’t on Sports Center, I don’t know about it.  My favorite TV program is any game.  I have 15 Sports Apps on my mobile phone.  I love sports.  I know sports. I’m not only connected, I live for sports.  I just can’t predict the outcomes and neither can you.  Isn’t it glorious?

Sports have been around since the very existence of human life.  There are cave paintings from 17,300 years ago depicting sprinting and wrestling.  You can’t tell me way back then the cavemen and cavewomen watching those events weren’t trying to predict the winner of those games and getting just as frustrated as I am today most of their guesses were wrong.  And yet, 1,730 decades later, we’re still playing and we’re still guessing incorrectly.

I’ve been incredibly fortunate in my 30 year business career. My first real job working as a Documentation Clerk for a major international shipping company typing up bills of lading is hardly something to write home about but I stuck with it.  After a few years, I moved into Sales, changed companies, crisscrossed the country from the Bay Area to Boston and back to California, got laid off, was rehired by an old boss as a consultant, and ultimately landed my dream job at NIKE. I love working at the Swoosh and will ultimately retire from the company based in Beaverton, OR. While the journey has had its ups and downs when I do embark on the last big journey of my life – retirement – what I think  I’m going to miss the most is the business trips.

There is something about the business trip which just invite story creation.  I don’t even know where to begin.  There are just so many.  Hardly a trip goes by where something happens and everyone recognizes this was not on the official itinerary and whatever the situation generates a laugh and a retelling usually starting with, “Remember that time we traveled to…”  I guess nothing beats the most recent example.

Last week, I traveled with 3 other work colleagues to Toronto, Ontario, Canada for 2 days of meetings.  The meetings were informative, productive, and we were able to drive our business relationship forward with a key customer.  Thanks to the miracle of GPS we never got lost.  We stuck to the agenda.  The presentations were well understood, never boring because of the lively interaction between all of us, and we ran on time.  The meals and 3 facility tours were outstanding.  We even had a chance to go to a Blue Jays vs. Marlins game where Edwin Encarnacion hit a walk off 2-run home run in the bottom of the 9th.  A perfect ending to a perfect business engagement.  But, that’s not the story.

The story is one of the people who works for me and I were driving on Monday night from the Pearson International airport to our hotel when my colleague, who is female, says to me, “Hey, there’s a guy next to us in a truck waving at us like something’s wrong.”  I looked around and didn’t see anything unusual.  I was driving so I slowed down to get a better look at the guy.  She continues, “Do you think we have the gas tank open or there’s something wrong with the tires?”  I shook my head.  My colleague is an average looking woman who colors her hair like it’s a Lincoln penny.  She has two sons who are grown men and she recently became a Grandmother for the first time.  She proudly has on her desktop a picture of her baby granddaughter.  She’s probably less than 10 years away from retirement and an invaluable member of my team because of her many years of experience.  We stop at a red light and the fellow pulls his truck into the lane next to us and motions to my colleague to roll down her window. The guy looked like Mr. Magoo with a bulbous nose that looked like a light bulb, squinty eyes, and a round, puffy red face, like a beach ball.  He was driving a Chevy pickup truck with a big metal toolbox in the back.  His face had a days growth on it.  His forearm rested on the drivers side window.  The arm was thick, hairless and deeply tanned like a man who worked all his life outside.  My colleague asks him, “Is there a problem?”  He winked at my colleague and asked, “Where are you going, Good looking.”  She laughed nervously.  I looked over and Magoo says to me, “Way to go, Buddy, you’ve got yourself a real looker there, eh?  Great job.”  He gave me the thumbs up sign and winked again.  My subordinate says, “He’s not my husband.  He’s my boss!”  Magoo’s face lights up at this news as if he’s got a chance she’s going to jump out of the rental car and join him.  This whole interaction took about 30 seconds.  The light changed and we zoomed ahead of him.  After a few blocks, he turned off the road we were on and we never saw him again. My colleague and I looked at each other and burst out laughing like little kids.  She asked what just happened?  We told the story to our co-workers and customer all week and joked about it on the long flight back to Portland.

Yet another classic road trip story.  You can’t make this up. Stories never happen on your way to work or the grocery store or the gym.  You need to get out on the road and experience the great big world out there to meet the countless characters.  I’m so lucky I’ve had a chance to do that and meet Mr. Magoo in the process.