Our story begins about 6 or 7 years ago when the sighting of the White Flash was first reported.  Wild eyed observers explain being blinded for about an hour by a light whiter than fresh milk.  The piercing vision, appearing only on the 3rd Friday and Saturday in August, shone brightly exactly 3 times within a 28-hour period.  The only evidence of it’s presence, a trail of road kill.

Today, the practice of “whiteflashgazing” includes gazing at the light for nourishment or as a spiritual practice.  Proponents of whiteflashgazing claim increased energy levels and decreased appetite.  Whiteflashgazing is also an alternative therapy to improve eyesight, increase testosterone and cure erectile dysfunction.

The White Flash has earned his reputation through the odor of his musk.  The repugnant odor lingers for days and can be nauseating.  Women report a strong, Honey Bucket-like odor.   While men afraid of getting called out (he who smelt it, dealt it) often question if there’s a sulphur plant nearby.

People detect a very wide range of White Flash sounds, from whooping to whooping cough.  From hoot to howl, whine to whistle, slap to slurp.

No one has ever tasted the White Flash but witnesses report a Halibut taste in their mouths.

The White Flash cannot be touched as evidenced by the numerous dead animals who cross his path and cry out to their van mates for help as this incredible foul-smelling, loud, dead fish passes them by.

#HTC13

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not the handiest guy around.  It’s not like I’m a complete tool  around the house, but I’m far from being a do-it-yourselfer.  In fact, I’m usually quite lame which often results in procrastination, a query, a fight with the better half, and then a call to a professional.  So, I’ve been thinking about some of the other value added services I might bring to the home.  I’m coming up with a pretty short list.

I’m an outstanding check writer.  Oh boy, when I finally get around to calling a plumber, electrician, landscaper, kitchen remodeler, about the best thing I do is write out a check.  My cursive is an art form.  Legible, perfectly laid out on the line, and a signature worth a million bucks.  Oh yeah, my checkbook is even balanced.

Since we don’t really believe in killing any of God’s creatures unless we’re going to eat it, another great benefit by having me around is to capture and release bugs.  Flies, bees, spiders, all get a 2nd chance with me around.  I’ve even snared and let out into the wild, a mouse – 3 times in one day.  I’m not kidding.  The bastard kept coming back until I realized I needed to go further than a city block.

I’m somewhat of a master barbecuer.  I don’t go for the quick and easy gas grill.  Oh no, I’m a charcoal or mesquite man through and through.  I don’t care about ashes or  the length of time it takes to get the coals just right.  I just think the food tastes better using ebony cinders presoaked in lighter fluid.  Primary specialities include steaks, chicken, sausages and corn on the cob.  I’m still vegetables challenged.

Mastermind of the retirement plan is not usually something my wife calls me but she should.  I’m a saver and it’s something I learned from my Uncle many moons ago.  He taught me the value of paying yourself first, then the bills, and then enjoy whatever is left over.  No regrets.  But, if we live to retirement age, we’ll be able to do what we want, see what we want, and enjoy the fruits of our years of labor.

I enjoy being the IT Help Desk for the house.  I can usually solve the problems by turning on the monitor, or opening the 2nd window, or simply restarting the computer.  These are challenging times for the not so tech savvy person.  Fortunately, I’m not afraid of technology.  I embrace it like I do my lame ass.

So, that’s it.  Not much there when you compare all of the things my wife does.  It’s a good thing she keeps me around.  I’m guessing it’s probably time for me to quit writing and call someone to stain the deck.

With apologies to John Lennon, given the events of the last 24 hours, I couldn’t help but restate the obvious.  All we need is love.  Is loving one another regardless or race, color, national origin, sexual orientation or creed really that difficult? 

I’ll never understand hatred.  It is one of the most despicable of all human traits.  And yet since Cain killed Abel, homo sapiens have killed their own kind.  Why?  If there is a heaven, it will be one of the first questions I ask the Almighty.  What is the point of killing another human being?

Whether you were for George Zimmerman or for Trayvon Martin is not relevant to me.  Black or white is not the issue.  The issue is someone’s son has been killed and he will never live the life he could have.  Shouldn’t this be the core at what we as a society should prevent from happening ever again no matter what the circumstances?

Who knows what Trayvon may have done with his life.  He could’ve been the person to cure cancer, end poverty, save the planet.  Now, we’ll never know.  It is tragedy beyond words.  Why did this have to happen?  Why?

Hatred of others was not born in America.  I’ve read from a PBS article on race where the identification of the Jews with the devil and witchcraft in the popular mind of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was perhaps the first sign of a racist view of the world. Official sanction for such attitudes came in sixteenth century Spain when Jews who had converted to Christianity and their descendents became the victims of a pattern of discrimination and exclusion.  Was this really the origin or simply the first recorded act of hatred.  Rodney King did say it best, why can’t we all just get along?

Why do some people think they are superior to others?  I can’t help but feel angry, ashamed, frustrated, defensive, ignorant, confused over the actions of others especially white people against people of color.  Is it so wrong to truly love your fellow man, woman or child?  When did being nice to others become such a bad thing?

Christianity is often built off of this foundation of love, yet the more Christians I meet, the more I realize this foundation is built on a house of cards.  Often, these so called Christians are the most hateful, judgemental people of all.  Some heartless Christians create such heinous acts like protesting at veterans funerals or killing other human beings all in the name of God.  Really?  Do you really think God would condone such behavior?

Love is universal.  Love is pure.  Love is an emotion that only dogs seem to get.  I’ve raised dogs.  I’ve trained dogs.  I’ve volunteered at pet shelters.  I know love at its most pure level and it is the love a canine has for a human being.  Black, White, Gay, Straight, Christian, Atheist, it doesn’t matter.  A dog’s love is a love we should all emulate.

I’m not here to spout pollyanic drival.  I’ve not been nice to people.  I’ve been mean.  Every act, every word, has after careful reflection, filled me with incredible regret.  But, I would never, ever, take the life of someone unless they threatened my life or the life of my loved ones.  Did Zimmerman truly feel threatened?  Not one of us will ever really know but there is one superior being who will judge him when his spirit has left this earth.  He had better hope that God has as much of a forgiving heart as the jury did in this case.

And in the end the love we take is equal to the love we make.

I have an obsession with sports.  I don’t deny it.  Sports saved my life, is my life, my being, my work and my love.  But, where did it all begin?  What sports have I played?  At what levels did I participate in sports during my life?  What professional sports teams do I follow?  How do I stay in shape?  These questions and more.  Tonight, in Charlie’s Amusing Journal.

My 1st year of organized team athletics was tee ball when I was a mere 8 years old.  We played our games at Harvey West Park ball field in Santa Cruz.  I don’t remember much about how my team did but I do remember hitting the baseball over the head of an outfielder for the 1st time.  I liked it.  I sometimes hit the tee and would get out.  I hated that.  I also learned I hated to lose.  I still do.

The list of sports I’ve participated in is nearly endless.  Badminton.  Baseball (still playing).  Basketball.  Bocce Ball.  Bowling.  Boxing.  Camping (considering how long it takes me to put up a tent, I consider this an endurance sport).  Cricket.  (American) Football – flag and tackle.  Cross country skiing.  (Modern and ballroom) Dancing.  Darts.  Downhill skiing.  Fishing.  Golf.  Hiking.  Horseshoes.  Hunting.  Ping Pong (table tennis).  Racquetball.  Rollerskating.  Running.  Sailing (though Bonnie and I needed to be rescued because I didn’t know how to tack).  Snow shoeing. Soccer (football).  Softball.  Swimming.  Tennis. Trapshooting.  Volleyball.

And I’ve played at all amateur levels.  City League Basketball, Flag Football and Softball.  Little League.  Pony League.  American Legion.  Jr. High School.  Pop Warner.  High School.  Junior College.  University.  Amateur Leagues.  I only wish I would’ve had the talent to play professionally.

I credit my Grandmother for taking me to my first professional sporting event.  It was a baseball game between ironically the Los Angeles Dodgers vs. Montreal Expos.  It was the 1st year the Expos were in Major League baseball and the Dodgers won handily.  Ironic, because I hate the Dodgers.  When we moved to the San Francisco Bay Area,  the Giants became my team.  Then came the San Francisco 49ers and a decade of losing that was only cured by my father’s obsession that one day they would be winners and he was right.  The Golden State Warriors won their only NBA title and it didn’t take me long to get hooked.  Even the 1st year of the San Jose Sharks made me feel like I had to root for a 4th team.  I’ve watched these teams on television, listened on the radio, read their results and their stories on the Internet or in the newspaper.  These are my teams.  I live and die based on whether they win or lose.  I can’t understand a sports fan who can’t commit to their hometown team or any team for that matter.  If you can’t commit to a favorite team, you can’t make a commitment.

Never will I live a sedentary life.  Sure, I’m not as strong as I used to be, not as fast as I used to be.  I don’t see as well.  I’m heavier and not as flexible.  But, in order to continue to play sports, I have to exercise regularly and I do.  Running, stretching and weight lifting are as much a part of my daily routine as eating and sleeping.

I don’t know where I would’ve ended up without sports.  I certainly wouldn’t have ended up here in Portland working for NIKE.  My dream job.  Working with some incredibly smart, dedicated, sports nuts like me.  Say what you will about one of the greatest brands in the world, but the employees are amazing.  Perhaps one of my favorite NIKE quotes aptly describes us, “We’re a bunch of ordinary people doing extraordinary things.”  I like that.

I’ve been out of sorts all week.  I’ve been sick with a head cold.  I put my best friend down on Tuesday night.  I haven’t worked out.  I haven’t written.  I haven’t wanted to do anything but sit around and sulk.  I miss my Hazel, but I’ve already written a blog about her and I really have nothing more to say about my best pal.  I miss her and that’s that.  It’s time for me to write but I’m out of words.  So, I give you all that’s on my mind right now.  Forgive the interruption.

It’s not like me to feel sorry for myself and deep down I really don’t feel sorry for myself.  I’m pretty damn proud of what I’ve accomplished so far.  I just get into this funk sometimes when the reality of life punches me in the gut.  I’ll snap out of it, but it’s probably just a sign I need to rest, recharge and attack life.  I know I’ll be all right.  We will be all right.  It was time for my Hazel girl.  We had to do the one last act of kindness in her life.  She could no longer stand up.  She was losing control of her bowels.  Blind and deaf and unable to walk without assistance.  It was no life for a dog.  She needed to go and we said goodbye with heartfelt tears, kisses, and prayers.

It isn’t just Hazel that’s got me down.  I haven’t felt like my old, affable, self.  Why do we human beings go through these ups and downs?  Is it simply part of our DNA?  The weird part in all of this is, in time, I know I’ll return to my nutty self.  I’ll soon be full of wit and wine and looking to kick the living shit out of my competition.  Will my friends be ready or will they have gone on to more important things in their lives?

I jump started my writing based on feedback from friends they found my Facebook posts hilarious.  They wanted more.  Am I still making you laugh?  I just don’t know anymore.  I’m feeling underwhelming and I don’t like it.  Do you?

I’m usually the guy who talks a lot of smack about himself.  The guy with self-confidence.  The card.  THAT Guy.  But, I am aloof right now.  I’ve lost focus.  I’m not sure what it’s going to take to get me back on track but I ask you to bear with me.  I’ll get it back together. I simply need to believe there is a purpose to all this.  Sickness, disease, death.  Why God?  Why?  What’s the point of making people or animals suffer?  Is there a purpose to this life that I simply don’t understand?  Is it so hard to make ’em laugh, make ’em laugh, make ’em laugh?  Or live forever?

I guess, yes, yes it is.

 The bane of every businessperson is the business trip.  It is the sole reason I haven’t written a new post this week.  It seems so glamourous to leave the office for a few days and visit exotic places like Junction City, KS.  But, once you’ve done it a half dozen times or so you realize this is still work and you don’t get to sleep in your own bed and you’re away from your family and your daily routine is all screwed up.  Plus, you get to travel with colleagues – some who you like and others you can’t stand – and learn more about them then you ever really cared to know about.  Fun.

I flew out of Portland on Monday morning.  Changed planes in Minneapolis and arrived in Kansas City on Monday afternoon.  After a 3-hour drive West from the airport through farmland, the state capital, and Fort Riley, I quickly realized I had discovered a place where I will never live.  Remarkably, there was a winery along I-70, but I wasn’t about to ruin my Napa-influenced taste buds on Kansas’s finest swill.  Sorry, but the Agricultural Museum is not on my bucket list.  Even the one Adult Entertainment center just outside of Topeka looked like a converted barn.  I didn’t even want to imagine the Heifers inside.

We ate dinner at a surprisingly swanky downtown Manhattan, Kansas restaurant.  The only one in town and certain to pull in only out of town guests or the local rich.  The building was erected in 1914 and the architecture had all of the character of the last century especially the wood paneling, limestone staircase, and antiquated light fixtures.  The bathrooms had black and white photos above the urinals of Kansas State football players tackling each other with leather helmets and heavy wool uniforms. All white, they looked small and slow.  High top cleats and padless shoulders made me think of Johnny Unitas lookalikes playing Rugby.  After dinner, we did a quick drive bye of the Kansas State campus but made sure to visit the Football Stadium, which was undergoing a massive renovation on the West Side, and the baseball stadium.  Ironically, Oregon State was playing Kansas State that night back in Corvallis.  A game I would most certainly watch despite the 2-hour time difference.

The weather was hot 40 degrees hotter than what we left behind in Portland.  After checking in to our hotel and aligning on when to meet the next morning, there wasn’t much else to do but unpack, change clothes and go on a run.  The college baseball game wouldn’t start for another 30 minutes.  I ran 3 miles and sweated out the Rib Eye, mashed potatoes, and Maker’s Mark I had ingested just a few hours earlier.  Returning to my room, I watched college baseball and read, processed and replied to about 200 e-mail’s.  Sitting in my boxer shorts, sweat pouring out of my pores, drinking a $3.00 bottle of water, I was quite a sight.  Not one my team could even imagine…or want to.  It was 2:30 AM before I finally turned off the laptop and went to sleep.

Up at 6:30 AM meant just a brief nap, shower, breakfast and visits to a customer and several vendors in Kansas and Missouri.  Returning to Kansas City yesterday afternoon, the highlight of the trip was going to Kaufmann Stadium to watch the Royals vs. the Tigers.  Dinner was all American – a hot dog, peanuts, Cracker Jack, and 3 beers.  Sweltering in the 98 degree heat, I sure wished I’d packed shorts.  I snapped pictures of MIguel Cabrera and imagined what it must be like to win the Triple Crown.  Returning to the hotel after the game at 11:30 PM, one would hope my body would crave rest and it did, but mentally I just couldn’t pull it off.  Sleep wouldn’t come.  I lay down on the bed overwhelmed with concern over what might await in my Inbox.  Back to the work.  Another 175 new messages read, processed, responded to.  Another night of 4 hours sleep.

More meetings today, then to the airport, BBQ ribs and french fries lunch.  Through Security and we pushed on to the gate for our 1st leg back to the Twin Cities.  In Minneapolis, we raced from B to G gates (about 1 mile) to barely catch our return flight to Portland.  Take off was uneventful and here I sit now 30,000 feet about the ground.  Writing.  Writing because I’m now a writer.  Writing because you, my fans, want another blog.  I can hear you chanting, clamouring for my attention, just like my work e-mail.

I’m an athlete first, a businessman second, and a writer third.  It sucks that I wasn’t able to work out but once on this trip.  The work, while necessary and good and had to be done, messed me all up for the rest of the week.  Can you say, catch up?

My writing is like therapy, the job pays the bills and the sports keeps me sexy.  The business trips aren’t really good for anything other than to meet new people, understand current processes, and to help solve problems now or in the future.  All in all, this wasn’t really a bad trip.  In fact, the colleagues I was traveling with weren’t bad companions at all.  The point is there is no glamour.  I’m away from home.  Away from family.  Away from routine exercise.  Away from sleep.  Away from writing.  I’m just away.  This is what global business, instantaneous communication, and air travel has done to our way of life.  I’m not complaining, mind you, I just need to not be away.  I need some sleep.

I can only stomach about 5 minutes of the TV show, “The Bachelorette” or “The Bachelor.”  I swear to God, if I watch only a little more than the previews, I get queasy.  It feels like my testicles are eroding away into the couch.  The producers select the most attractive, dysfunctional people to participate in this show, who I find it quite impossible that they can’t find themselves a nice man or a nice woman to settle down and have a nice life with.  I’m repulsed by the insincere words spoken and crazy selection process that takes place on national television.  It makes for great TV, but I would never, ever, go on this show except to be a total jackass.  Unless, I could go on , as a happily married man, with the complete and total understanding from my lovely, dear wife, this would be all in good fun and I could do whatever I wanted and she’d still love me in the end.  ABC would also have to keep my marital status secret until the last episode.  Pow!  So, what would I do?

Marriage really isn’t all about sex.  Dog women in, cat women out.  Women owning other pets would be given due consideration.  Acceptable animals include horses, white Tigers, non-lethal snakes.  Birds, Hamsters, and Gerbils are a definite no-no.  You need a canine to keep the wife company when you’re out with your buddies on the golf course.

She’d have to like sports and preferably my favorite sports teams.  Dodgers, Lakers, Rams, and Kings fans will be walking home.  Non-sports fans women will be sent home faster than a Matt Cain fastball.  If she doesn’t know who Matt Cain is, she should start packing her bags now.

Vegans out.  Meat lovers in.  Non-drinkers out.  Drinkers in.  Athletes in, non-athletes need not unpack.  Favorite foods must include chocolate, champagne, and sausages.

Intelligence earns you points, dumbassery loses you points.  A good sense of humor wins the day, while sour pusses are guaranteed an early exit.  Crying for anything but a family member or friend dying may result in immediate departures.

Cooking skills appreciated but not expected.  Living to eat must be more important than eating to live.  An appreciation of art is a minimum requirement.  Any woman who doesn’t know Monet, Diego Rivera, or Frida Kahlo may be asked to leave on the spot.

Dates would mostly be about attending sporting events, going out to eat, wine tasting, going to comedy clubs or working out.  Shopping will not be allowed.

But, the bombshell would drop on the finale, as I had but one rose to give and two, almost perfect, women to give it to.  When, BAM!  My wife would enter the room and I’d hand the rose to her.  OMG, am I genius or what?

I just hope ABC doesn’t steal my idea.

Here in the United States of America, this weekend we remember and honor the men and women who have served and are serving in the US Military.  I’m not about to talk politics here.  I learned long ago never to discuss politics with family or friends.  No one wins that argument.  What you can’t argue with, however, is the incredible bravery of these men and women.

Watching a documentary, I was captivated to discover the CIA’s decades long tracking of Osama bin Laden and the US Navy Seals who completed the ultimate mission to kill him.  The pain staking research that lead to the discovery of his location and the subsequent actions to take him out are more than just great planning and execution.  Heroic.  Success for the men and women on the ground was all about training, discipline, and doing a job well.  Anything could’ve gone wrong, but little did.

I enjoy playing a computer game or two mostly shoot ’em up World War II strategy games like “Battlefield.”  I imagine myself participating in these infamous battles at Utah Beach, Berlin, or Iwo Jima.  From my living room, it seems like it must have for so many Generals and Admirals far from the battlefield to position your troops, to lose some (or many) here and there along the way, only to change your strategy and add more men.  To do whatever it takes to win.

But, for the men who actually did fight in these battles, it was no game – their lives were scarred forever.  Seeing their friends and comrades blown to bits and die, there was no restart button to bring them back.  These men were killing or were killed.  This wasn’t time wasting activity.  This was a fight to the death so that knuckleheads like me could sit on their ass and work and play without tyranny.

When I was younger, my father scared me away from joining the military.  I was a child who enjoyed playing ball and his horror stories of boot camp kept me far away from even the thought of enlisting.  He was too young to serve in WWII, instead sailing for 2 years in the Navy during the Korean War conflict.  He never saw combat.  I simply couldn’t imagine my dad firing upon another human being.  He’s afraid of urinating in a public restroom.  But, does anyone ever really know what they would do unless they’re thrust into that situation?  This is why you train repeatedly for weeks on end before the actual event occurs.  In other documentaries, I’ve heard men say they prayed to God, not so much to live, but to have the guts to complete their missions.

Guts.  Are you kidding me?  The most dangerous thing I do each day is drive.  It saddens me to learn US fighting men and women are returning from battlefields and committing suicide at higher rates then ever.  I want to reach out to them and want them to know their lives are worth living.

When I see a man or woman in uniform, I want to salute.  I want to show my respect.  I sometimes thank them for their service to my country.  I know I haven’t said it every time, so today and every day, in my heart and in my mind, I pay my respects.  I’m not worthy of your protection, but you all are.

You have loved ones.  You have family and friends.  I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.  But, whatever it is, it’s not worth taking your own life.  Get back here and as difficult as it is to resume a ‘normal’ life, you’ve fought tougher battles and won.  You can win this one too, back at home.  Get back and stick around.  Tell your stories.  Help us all learn about the horrors of war so that it’s not repeated again and again and again.

Thank you for your service.  I salute you.

It’s hard to believe a week has gone by since I was at Menlo College watching my nephew graduate with this Bachelor of Science degree in Business Management.  Last Saturday afternoon, as I sat in the sun soaking in the Vitamin D, just prior to the ceremony, the president of the college, Dr. James J. Kelly, walked by and offered up sunscreen to those of us pale-faces.  I covered the back of my neck and ears and seemed satisfied with the coverage only to find out a few hours later I had missed some vitals like my forehead, nose and cheeks.  So, as the day wore on my pure ivory soap face turned ever darker shades of red.  By the time I made it to my brother’s house that night for dinner, you couldn’t distinguish the color of my face from a lobster’s shell.

Later, after I said my congrats to my nephew and goodbyes to my brother and his wife, I returned to my hotel room exhausted and decided to take a shower before bed.  The hot water on my face hurt as if each drop of water was a pin and my face was a cushion.  The lotion I applied to my skin was absorbed almost as quickly as I applied it.

Sunday, Mother’s Day, was no better.  I took my lovely wife and her mother out to breakfast and my face looked liked I had spent too much time on the grill.  Face down.  It was a deeper shade of scarlet then the day before, neon-like, and I felt as if I could glow in the dark.  I was quite the contrast to the lovely  ladies who accompanied me.  I wondered how my face would look if it were brown.

By Monday, my co-workers were saying it looked like I had gotten some sun over the weekend.  No, I joked, I’m just embarrassed.

I looked like Goldmember by Tuesday.  Talking to a colleague I itched my scalp and a chuck of dead skin the size of a dime dropped to the carpet. I think she probably barfed a little in her mouth.  Oh, it was awesome.  I’m just glad I didn’t try to eat it.

On Wednesday, lotion was no longer an option.  I itched and scratched every dead patch I could put my nails on.  I looked like I had psoriasis.  It isn’t so fly to be a white guy when your face is peeling off on your clothes.

Toward the end of the week, my metamorphosis was complete.  White – red – scarlet – pink – dead – white.  Was this the face that could launch a thousand ships?  No, this was the face that should’ve used more sunscreen from Dr. Kelly.  D’oh!