Adios, my friends.

This is the bad news.  I'm no longer going to blog here.  It's been too difficult to keep up as you can see the dates between posts so I've decided to shut this site down.

The good news is, I haven't stopped blogging.  I designed another site by myself, for myself and my friends.  It's almost been a year since I started and it's time to move on.

So update your links.  Hopefully this will be "one stop shopping" for you guys.

The main site isn't even close to opening for business but the blog has been moved and is up and running so go check it out and let me know what you think.

I'll give all the explanations over the next few blog posts over there but for now, just mess around the site and let me know if all the links work for you.  If you notice something is broken, let me know so I can fix it.

I SUCK at HTML language since I'm self taught so be gentle.

Here are the two sites you need.  You've been loyal to me here so I hope you follow me to my new dorm on the Internets.

http://www.downtheinkwell.com

http://www.cottinghamphotography.com

See you there.

This site is now officially shut down.

"Which way did he go, George?"

Again, not really a blog entry but a smidgen of info on where I've been and to tell my FB friends that I really didn't dump them.  I got a lot of hate mail wondering why I wasn't their friend anymore.

It was very tempting to hop back on to avoid confusion and just leave my profile where it was but I was so afraid that my Farm would be a landfill, my Mafia family would all be snuffed out, and I would lose 437 balloon fights.  So I decided to simply stay away.  I knew I'd be back and I knew you all wouldn't leave so off into the wild blue yonder I went.

After I hit the 6 month mark of retirement my mind did that funky thing that new SCUBA divers experience.  You find yourself in a completely unnatural state where your mind and body dig their collective heels in the ground making it near impossible to accomplish your mission.

As a new SCUBA diver, the first time you submerge your head and need to take that first "hit" from your regulator, your body say's "Fuck THAT"!  Breathing underwater is very, very unnatural as your body pretty much knows you're going to drown.  It's difficult to get used to but eventually your body figures it out and it becomes a great experience.

I got that same feeling about a month ago.  I started waking up feeling like "it was time to go back".  Go back where?  I felt like I had forgotten to return to work from vacation.  I forgot what I was supposed to do and where I was supposed to do it.  My mind simply would not accept the fact that employment wasn't in the picture anymore.  Every single day for weeks I woke up with the feeling like I needed to report somewhere.

Those friends of mine who are retired might know what I'm talking about.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I dislike retirement.  I'm just saying that there comes a point early on where your mind and body want to return to the state they were in for over 20 years.  When I was employed, my friends and I would see these people retire, only to come back 6 months later as contractors.  We never understood why.

Now I do.

I guess if you can push through this 6 month state of confusion and pop out the other side then you'll really begin to enjoy life without the worry of clocking in somewhere.

Anyway, I had lost my creativity.  My blog entries became sporadic, my inspiration was playing Hide and Seek, and I felt it was time to pause and let this feeling pass before I did something stupid like fill out a work application.

My Dad is a photographer (semi-professional but retired as well) and I decided that might be a good hobby for me.  The scenery here is beautiful and I needed to get outdoors and find purpose to get through the doldrums that had set in.

And, to be quite honest, I've been through medical hell and back which took a tremendous amount of time.  The medical community here is what I call "Hillbilly Medicine".  The networks here are ridiculous so I've spent an enormous amount of time trying to buck the system.

Anyway, after taking hundreds of photos and putting some on my little "Mac" site, I felt it was time to build a full fledged website where the pictures were much larger, better quality and I could control how things worked.  Plus I wanted to feature some of my Dad's work (which a lot of it is film so it might be awhile).  I'm trying to bring him up from his digital point and shoot into the land of DSLRs.

Also, most of you know I've been trying to build a different website for blogging and writing but this photo one took a front seat since it was quicker for me to build and now that it's basically set up and I've honed my HTML skills, I can now return to building the other site which I hope will feature more people than just myself.  It should just be a mish mash of blogging, opinions, editorials, cartoons, or whatever strikes our fancy.

So it's been a nice break but I really really miss my friends so I plan to return to FB by weeks end.  It's going to be a very subtle entry since some freak once accused me of grand entrances and exits.

I guess that's what you get when you're bigger than life.

Looking forward to chatting soon.

R

The long and winding road

Just and update, not a blog entry.

I'm returning to the land of the Internets.  After some time off to pursue a few things, I've now gotten caught up and will once again walk amongst my FaceBook friends.  I hope to be back up by Friday as I still have some work to do this week on one of my projects.

I'll finally have time for blog entries, FB chats and the things I enjoyed before this little sabbatical.

I've missed everyone and hope to reconnect by the weekend.

Dude, Where's My Car?

It's no secret that I'll happily admit. I'm a mall rat.

When all is quiet on the home front and I feel like a short drive, I head to the local mall to hang out. Not necessarily for the shopping, although it's nice when you have a quarter in your pocket, but I like to people watch.

I go grab a six pack of Starbucks, find a nice, comfy chair to sit in and watch the southerners shuffle about from store to store. Best of all, I love to see them get caught in that Tractor Beam that sucks them into those fucking kiosks to buy stupid shit. Especially the booth with the lotion bitches.

For the customers it's hot, it's humid, their skin glistens with sweat and these girls make them feel they need more crap on their skin.

It's not deodorant people. It's for dry, lizard skin. If you lived in Arizona that might be one thing. But you basically live in a rain forest. Natural oils protect your skin that really doesn't need to be ground away by Dead Sea salt.

Whatever. It's fun to watch when you're wired on Americanos.

Well, on this particular day I actually had a NEED to go to the mall and I couldn't get there fast enough. I was on a mission. A mission that required speed, agility and total focus.

My iPod took a dump.

For whatever reason it doesn't sync anymore and it skips when I play my tunes. Ever listen to the same songs every day for a month? For me it's summed up in one word.

Insanity.

I would rather my right foot get ground up in an escalator accident than be without my iPod. I listen to that thing every single day, all day long. Most of you know that music is my lifeblood and to be without it would cause me to shrivel up into a pale white dead looking guy who eventually drops to the floor in the fetal position and through pursed lips would utter, "do not resuscitate".

So the next day, I scurry off to the Apple store. Well, the lone store in the southern half of North Carolina happens to be south of Charlotte on the South Carolina border. So what. I'd drive to freakin' London if I had to. Impossible as that is, I'd give it one hell of a try.

I'm driving like I have to go to the bathroom really, really bad. Why, I'm not sure because once I get it, there's not going to be any music on it until I get home. Still, I need to feel it. I need the warmth in my hand. I want that familiar "clicking"sound to fall upon my ears.

Now I've only been to this particular mall about 3 times. It's quite nice, very upscale, and buried amongst some of the largest plantation type homes you'll ever see. So the beautiful drive makes it all the more worth it.

Once I get there, I park my car, grab my shit, and head on in. When I get to the glass doors there's a lady with a double stroller with two cute little girls in each seat. As a gentleman, I open the door for them and then the second one. A very polite "Thank you" later, I walk through the department store out to the mall.

Again, I've been here before so I knew where the Apple store was. I must have looked like a horse with blinders on or the Terminator because my eyes didn't leave the front of my path until I saw the giant, white Apple logo perched atop the brushed chrome exterior of the store.

Usually I'm greeted by no less than 11 employees asking me if I need any help. Any other day I would simply say, "just looking, thanks" (all the while in my head saying, "get the hell out of my face and leave me alone"). But today was different.

I walked in the store and the first Apple employee walked up to greet me and before they finished their little greeting, it came blurting out of my mouth.

"I want the most manly looking 16G Nano you have".

With a skip in my step I exit the store with my Hot Pink iPod.

As I'm leaving, in front of me was a mall directory. I wondered if they had a camera store I could peruse before leaving. This amateur photography hobby has me fascinated by all the lenses and gadgets that can be used with your camera.

To my surprise, they had a Wolf Camera store in the mall. That's a rarity since most camera stores have closed up shop as they simply can't compete with the online stores and prices. I locate the store on the map and make my way over.

The store is small but packed with lots of goodies. I spend about 15 minutes window shopping, find a lens that I would like to have, stare at it for a bit then decide it's time to leave.

As I exit the store and start walking back toward the Apple store it happened. I didn't even see it coming.

Every single brain cell fell out of my head, landed on the shiny mall floor and rolled around like marbles. Each step I took, more and more fell out until the needle in my skull was pegged on "E".

"I probably needed some of those", I say to myself as I'm now completely lost and have no idea where I am or where I'm parked. In fact I'm so lost that I can't find the Apple store. I walk over to the nearest mall directory, get my bearings and begin to try and retrace my steps.

Futile, frustrated and fucked. That's all that was left in my head. I walk down one arm of the mall to an anchor store and I don't recognize the area. Again, I look at the mall map and it doesn't look any different that the other one except the dot that says "You Are Here" had moved.

I begin to turn my head sideways to the right. Then I turn it to the left. Then I turn it upside down. Where the hell was I? The stores were clearly marked on the map but for the life of me I couldn't find them.

I walk back down the long hallway, turn and begin to walk down the next arm to another anchor store.

SHIT. There they were. The lotion bitches. I had to walk past them to get to the end so with my laser sights pointed straight ahead, I walked by as they shoved plastic cups that looked like urine samples in my face but I kept walking.

Nope. Not where I came in. Now I have to reverse course. Now you would think these ladies would remember they had already offered me their snake oil. Nope. For some reason I must have looked like I changed my clothes because they assaulted me again.

Passing the rest of Carnival Row, I make another turn toward a third anchor store. I get to the end and nothing looks familiar. I turn around, look at the map, and it looks the same as the other two.

Shit.

Now I'm frustrated so I sit down and think. As I'm pondering how to get the fuck out to my car I was reminded of a similar story that happened many years ago. It was the only other time I had lost my way to my car.

My good friend David who I worked with and has more Beatle knowledge than I will probably ever obtain, decided to take a trip to Las Vegas to see Paul McCartney. This was back in the day when we could fly for free so we booked the trip and headed down to see a Beatle.

Well, David was in charge of getting the rental car. He decides we're going balls out and rents a brand new, white Town Car. Yes, it was very cool, quite comfy, and came with all the amenities. A day later we drive out to the concert that we had been waiting to see for some time.

We get into the parking lot and proceed to our seats which were quite good. After the concert we exit the stadium and begin to walk back to our car.

So we think.

Somehow we didn't agree where we parked. It was dark out, the lot was dimly lit and worst of all; we were in Las Vegas. EVERYONE is Las Vegas drives a white Town Car. Needless to say, as we gaze across the lot, we see nothing but 200 white Town Cars. Long story short, it took us over an hour to find the car. And it was only because everyone else had pretty much left.

As my day dreaming ends, I get back up and continue on my quest. Another mall arm later, I find myself in a place I was in 15 minutes ago. Now I'm really turned around. No matter which way I went I was simply walking in circles. I must have passed the lotion bitches 5 times and each time they thought I was a brand new person. Either they thought I had a crush on them or they were just really fucking stupid.

After 25 minutes I decide the only thing to do is exit the mall and walk around the entire outside until I find the parking structure with the most familiarity. Bad call. As I begin to walk the outside I realize the perimeter is about 3 miles long.

Great. I don't have the stamina nor the patience to do this so back in the mall I go. By the grace of God I finally find the Apple store. The problem was, which way did I go in? To the right or to the left? I turned around to see if I could remember but all I saw were my brain cells still rolling around on the ground.

I picked a direction and, of course, it was not the correct one. As I'm walking I decide to swear off all corn mazes for the rest of my life.

Finally I decide I'm just going to walk into one of the anchor store to see if anything looks familiar. Nope. They all have perfume counters, shoe departments, women's undies and ladies now trying to get me to sample the latest men's fragrance. I walk to the back where the glass door is and there's no parking.

I turn around and start to walk back out when I notice there are two side doors to the right and to the left. I look down at one of them and recognize the door handles. It's the only thing I remembered when I help the mother with her ducklings inside the store. They were curvy, ornate and one side had a handicapped door.

I walk down to one of them and surprisingly there was a parking structure. I walk outside and there it was. My car.

"FUCK", I said as I look at my watch that said 45 minutes had passed.

I couldn't believe that I never paid attention to the store I had entered when I first walked in. I was so pre-occupied with helping someone that it never dawned on me to take note of where I was.

Now panic set in as I thought I was going to be late picking Alex up from school as I pretty much wasted all my time memorizing the entire mall.

Driving like I had to pee again I make it in time to pick up my kid after which we headed home so I could load my new purchase. I was still steamed that I made such a veteran mistake not to mention that some stupid person was going to find my brain cells on the floor and use them. Luckily they'd be of no use to them as most of them were fried.

Later on that night after making a few new playlists and loading the pod I see an ad for the iPhone on TV. It's talking about the 1 million apps you can now load on your phone for just about anything. At the end of the ad came the punch line.

"You can even download an app that will show you where you parked your car".

I looked at my iPhone sitting next to me and had the urge to flush it down the toilet. I didn't, though, because it's now officially my new brain.

FIRE in the hole !!!

I've been in North Carolina now since April of this year. Allison and the boys have been here for a few months, though it seems longer. I think it's safe to say we've all finally found our groove and routine to the point that we have grown comfortable venturing outside the city limits and exploring other parts of the state.

I've taken my little day trips here and there while everyone has been at school but normally I don't travel very far. My new found hobby of photography has gotten me out of the house and on to little back roads looking for interesting subjects other than freaky bugs and funny things that describe my life, all of which are sad but true.

Lately I've had a string a weekends that entailed trips to "hippie-ville", mall hopping, rug cleaning and overall just run of the mill errands, so yesterday and today were sort of marked as lazy days where Allison and I decided not to make any real plans.

Yesterday it rained all day so we set out locally to look for photographic subjects and ended up just enjoying the rain. I didn't take one picture but we found ourselves at some very interesting towns and little roadside stores.

Today was little nicer outside but we decided to do the same thing before the NASCAR race later in the afternoon. I was determined to take some pictures to practice and see if I couldn't refine my artistic eye which isn't easy when you start out like Marty Feldman.

So off we went. Armed with coffee and camera we set sail into the beautiful surrounding areas. As the day progressed I discovered something about taking pictures. It's an extremely dangerous hobby. If anyone can find cruel and unusual punishment in a serene sport such as photography it's yours truly.

Always.

First stop was at a farm that we passed on the side of the road. It was filled with pumpkins, flowers, beans and other dying crops. I got out of the car, threw darts at the camera setting and started snapping photos of the food farm.

After taking some pictures of pumpkins that looked like deformed celebrities, I made my way over to the other side of the farm. There I found what appeared to be freakishly large green beans. They looked as if they were irrigated with nuclear waste as most of them were discolored, lifeless, and as big as a Chiquita banana.

As I'm twisting myself into weird yoga poses to get just the right shot, a cop pulls up in the form of a bitch in a grey Buick. She has a few words with Allison who was waiting by the car then turns around and peels out of the gravel driveway.

When I finished with the python looking beans, I walked over and asked Allison what that was all about.

"This lady pulls up and says we shouldn't be on the driveway of this farm like we own the place. She said if we wanted to take pictures we should ask for permission first before engaging in our peaceful stop."

First of all, if a stranger walked up to me and asked if I was the owner of 10 acres of dead farm in front of me I would have started laughing. Second, there was no way in hell I was going to drive up the quarter mile gravel driveway to the dilapidated house at the end and blindly knock on the door.

What if some fat, scruffy dude in his underwear, bed head and Ding Dong crumbs sprinkled on his tank top undershirt answered the door with a Pabst Blue Ribbon in one hand and a football game in the background answered the door and just stared at me through a ripped screen door? There was no way I was going to ask him if I could take a picture of his pumpkin and large bean.

Photo op number one cut short. We got in the car, laughed and bitched a bit while searching for our next subject.

A few miles later, Allison slams on the brakes, makes a U-turn and heads back to a sign that said "Cemetary" with an arrow pointing down another driveway.

"Cool", I thought to myself. More dead people.

As we weaved our way back into the cemetery it looked like a well groomed resting place with evenly spaced headstones and fairly fresh flowers at each one. Not quite what I was expecting but at least this time I could pass off my trespassing by crying and telling a fake story about a made up relative buried in some random grave.

We parked under some large trees, got out of the car and started walking the grounds. At first it looked like it was going to be somewhat boring until we noticed something. The cemetery was surrounded by a dense looking rain forest. Well, inside the jungle were more headstones. Old ones with no pattern of placement and a creepiness as they appeared to be hiding among the trees.

That's more like it.

We left the lush lawn area and made our way into the jungle that was filled with vine twisted trees and soft ground that was covered in a ton of vegetation. Scarier than the headstones was the fact that you couldn't see below the foliage that covered every inch of the ground.

Our minds began to wander simultaneously. What if we were going to step on snakes, huge bugs, deadly reptiles or big, furry spiders? It was a chance we were willing to take as we made our way back into the trees.

Odd shaped headstones that were hidden behind rocks and covered in vines were scattered throughout the area. I found some cool ones that I stopped at to take pictures as Allison walked ahead.

Once again, I contorted my body like I was in some drunken game of Twister to get a shot I wanted of one particular headstone when it happened.

I apparently had eaten too many waffles as my feet began to sink below me in the soft ground. In the view finder I saw the gravestone start to tilt when I realized I was in the process of toppling over.

Sure enough, I fell on my ass, then my back, and proceeded to wallow around in the leaves, vines and wet dirt like a dog trying to get the smell of a skunk off my body. Allison turned around and asked if I fell? Kind of obvious as all she could see was my arm in the air holding the camera. The rest of me was trying to roll to a flat spot where I could stand up.

Nice.

First thought: there was no doubt in my mind that I probably buried myself in poison ivy. If so, then I was fucked. I'll know tomorrow if I wake up and look like a giant marshmallow.

I finally got my footing back and resumed walking the forest being careful not to step in some snake pit or pool of quicksand.

I got some cool shots, read some interesting stones and popped out the other side of the jungle with dirt on my ass and shit on my shoes. Good thing it was fun as hell. We saw some very old stones hidden off the beaten path and that's the kind of subjects I like taking pictures of.

We got back in the car and continued our quest. A few miles later we crossed some train tracks. As we were crossing over the top, I looked down the length of the track and saw that the rails disappeared into a cool grove a trees.

"Stop here", I said. "I want to take some pictures down the train tracks".

The street was busy and narrow with no real place to walk let alone park a car so I told Allison to drop me off on the tracks and go park across the street. After the U-turn she stopped shy of the rails and I got out of the car. She continued a couple hundred yards, turned around and parked the car.

I got off the skinny road and on to the train tracks. I turned and faced the direction that I saw the shot that I wanted. I bent down, fiddled with my camera settings and started surveying what I wanted. The problem was, I got extremely distracted.

Every time I would bend down for the picture, I'd stand back up and look behind me. I must have done this 3 or 4 times. Visions of my back turned on some train hauling up my ass and busting me and my camera into oblivion preoccupied my desire to take the picture.

Once I convinced myself that everything was cool, I got down and took a few pictures down the tracks that faded around a corner and disappeared into the trees. The lower I stooped, the cooler the shot looked.

After standing up, turning around and hoping I didn't see a big ass Amtrak logo about to smash me on it's windshield I began to approach the narrow street. As I got back out to the edge I thought it would be cool to take a picture of the red crossing lights that warned drivers not to get stuck under the descending sticks.

I stood on the side of the road in the grass as cars were passing me within a few feet, but I had nowhere to go so I was careful to stay as far away from the cement as I possible could.

As I aimed the camera at the lights, they didn't fit in the finder. I had my zoom lens attached to the camera and I was too close. Not taking the camera off my face I began to back up until the lights fit inside the glass box.

Once I was in place I began to try and get the lights in focus, all the while being distracted by passing cars, all of which probably thought I was a huge pain in the ass since I was basically standing in the street.

While focusing, I felt weeds brush up against the back of my legs. With the camera still stuck to my face I swatted at them while still facing the lights and took another step or two back. Again, those fucking weeds were tickling my calves and distracting me until I took the camera away from my face at which point must have looked like I saw a ghost because out of my mouth it came.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

My legs were on FIRE. I started dancing in place like I had to pee really, really bad. Then it really started to fucking hurt.

I glanced down at me feet to find I was standing right on top of an ant hill. Fire ants. And they were biting the living shit out of me.

After watching what was going on, I turned and started running down the side of the road all the while yelling, dancing, swearing and looking like I was about to jump into the middle of the street at any minute. Needless to say cars were freaking out but not as much as I was.

Once I saw the street was clear both ways, I jumped out into the middle of the road, took my shoes off so fast I didn't give a shit how hot the pavement was. I slapped them together about 59 times to ensure I got every little red fucker out. Meanwhile, down on my legs, a hundred more were feeding off John Lennon and continued to enjoy their lunch break.

I threw my shoes down, tossed the camera into the grass and began swatting at my legs like they had just burst into flames. But here came the cars again so back in the grass I had to go.

FUCK!

The more I slapped them off my legs the farther up my body they got. Once they entered the inner thighs it was time to grab my shoes, the camera and run across the street to where Allison was parked. There was no way I was going to stand on the side of the small street with my hands down my pants smacking myself in the crotch.

When I got to the car, I only had a few left to get off my stinging body. We both inspected my shoes and gave them the OK before tossing them in the back of the car. I removed my shirt and Allison made sure that none were headed for my nipples.

All clear.

I felt no movement in my shorts so I put my shirt back on, got in the car, threw the camera in the back seat, turned to Allison and said, "We can go to Lowe's now".

I was done. That was it. Busted by a bitch, taking a header in a grave filled forest and serving up my legs as lunch for 2000 fire ants was enough to suck the desire to continue my photographic quest.

My body was throbbing as we drove toward Lowe's. Even a stop at Starbucks didn't cure the pain on my legs and arms. Weeds, my ass. I would have been better off getting creamed by a train.

So much for my peaceful, photography practice day. It's definitely a lot more dangerous than it looks.

I won't really be able to assess the damage until tomorrow morning. Again, if I wake up the size of the Michelin Man and I'm covered in red welts I'm going to need some hard core ointment. And if the only place to get it is WalMart then I'll say this:

No FUCKING way.

I'll go outside and let the mosquitos suck me down to normal size.

Maybe I can get Riley to take a picture.

**********UPDATE********

The morning after.

Fucking Fire Ants......

Super Freak!...It's Super Freaky, Yow.

Over the months I've written some rather weird things about my life. I've have had to shed my modesty in order for things to be real and paint a visual picture for you guys. Some like it. Some don't. Some don't like the content. Some do. But remember, I'm writing this for me. I just happened to let my friends in and you've had nothing but kind things to say. One thing I've never mentioned, and probably should because I'm not used to writing for other people is;

I should probably have forewarned people that I tend to use "colorful" language (sparingly, but not always) and may say things that might offend people.

So I apologize for not making that clear up front. A lot of people have a problem with foul language and for that, I'm sorry. I use it in my everyday life (sadly enough) and my blog is just an extension of my personality.

OK, with that out of the way.....

This entry will clearly not be your typical entry. And it's definitely not a typical day in the life of Randy "The Freak".

In the past few days I've been experimenting with photography as mentioned in the other blog. I'm learning the settings on the camera, what they mean and what they do (which I figured out is to simply put everything out of focus), and then I head out into the wooded areas of North Carolina in search of subjects I might find interesting.

Well, last week I showed you a church on B2. It's a gorgeous church that's just up the road from my house and it's the one that has the cemetery on the grounds. On B2, the church is the top photo and the cemetery is right below it.

The cemetery is fairly small compared to some in the area but it has some of the oldest gravestones I've ever seen.

Allison and I parked one day to check some out and they date way back to the early 1800s. The civil war took place between 1861 and 1865 so a lot of people buried here were more than likely part of the war.

A few days later, while Allison and the boys were at school, I decided I wanted to go back and take some close up shots of some of the stones just to show people how old this graveyard was. Some stones were completely unreadable and some weathered pretty well over over 2 centuries. Others were recently replaced with new stones.

Now, North Carolina did not secede from the Union until May 20, 1861 and was the second to last state to secede with Tennessee being the last.

With camera in hand, a couple of lenses and some filters, I set off to take some pictures of the gravestones that sprinkled about an acre or two of land on the left hand side of the church.

At first, I wandered aimlessly looking for dates, names of people I recognized in the Kannapolis area, and the poor infant stones that were quite large in number. Most of the infant stones indicated the child died the same day it was born. Whether a stillbirth or infection, no family would ever want to bury a child. Back then, though, that's exactly what they did. They were scattered throughout the older adult stones and I couldn't help but have a heavy heart for the small little granite carvings that stood no more than a foot tall.

After surveying the site I decided to start at the top of the field and work my way down looking at the dates on each stone to see if I could find the oldest one in the cemetery. I was fiddling with my camera at the same time so I was walking rather slow trying to futilely figure out the settings I needed to take some cool pictures.

Once I had the camera set to what I thought would work, I began my regular pace. Behind me, I heard the grounds keeper. Allison and I had seen him a few days prior and I figured he was going to ask me some questions. I turned around to say "Hi" and saw absolutely nothing. Hmmmmm.

After a short pause I turned back around and continued on my path. This time, not only did I sense the person behind me but I could here the shuffling in the dead grass. Once again, I turned around to find nothing. I began to retrace my steps back to the top to see if it was a snake or a squirrel but no animals were to be found. I had a wave a calm sort of wash over me as I turned around and kept walking.

You know that sense when you're out in public and you can literally "feel" someone following you? I had that exact same feeling.

I found a couple of really cool, old tombstones that I wanted pictures of. As I came to a stop and stooped down to take a picture, the air got cold. It was 90 degrees out but all of a sudden it felt like it was 60. The grass had just started dying off. Actually, most of the field was changing and the ground was crispy enough to make noise when you walked.

I know I'm being followed. I can feel it. I can sense it. But I can't see it.

As I continued my quest the through the field, the footsteps got closer and louder I turned around AGAIN. Still nothing. No snakes, no animals, no midgets fucking with me, nothing. Again, I retrace my steps and find no living creatures. Grass wash crunching behind me. Was it a man? Was it a woman? Was it a child? Was it even a presence?

I ruled out a child simply because the footsteps were too heavy. I figured it was a man, pehaps one who died in the war, looking to see if I stumbled across his grave. Like I said, I felt very calm. I didn't feel the need to drop my camera and haul ass to my car, fumbling with my keys all to have this thing manifest itself inside my car. At that point I'd have no choice. I'd run inside the church, rip a cross off the wall, look for anything resembling holy water or salt (because that always seems to work) and then I'd be safe.

What if all he wanted to do was listen to my iPod?

Fine, take it. Get the fuck out of my car so I can get the hell out of there.

But I didn't get that sensation whatsoever. It was calming to the point I felt a bit sad. Each grave I stopped at for a picture, the hot, humid air dropped in temperature even though the entire site was covered in sunlight. There wasn't one shadow to be found.

I walked to the end of the graveyard taking what pictures I could, all the while hearing the grass crunching about 15 feet behind me. An occasional glance over my shoulder, hoping to finally see something, yielded nothing.

After taking my last picture I returned to my car. I put the camera on the seat and sat for a bit, staring at the graves wondering who was interested in following me. I saw no shadows, no white wisps of anything odd, and not a person nor animal in sight. A few moments later, I left.

I came home later that night and downloaded the pictures from my camera. The stones came out nice but none of the pictures caught anything peculiar.

What happened? Who followed me? Why the temperature change? Why the sense of calm and sadness?

I have no explanation. But something does.

Today, I was on the road that passed the same church. I always glance over because it's such a beautiful place. But what I saw as I passed by gave me the chills. As I slowed down to look at the graveyard I saw a murder of crows. No less than 15, each sitting on a headstone. Stoic and unflinching they sat as if they were guarding something.

Wanting to stop and take a picture, I couldn't bring myself to do it. One odd experience was enough for awhile. I'll go there again someday but not until I read up on some history of the grave site.

But in case that little fucker got a hold of my iPod, the first thing he would have heard blaring out of my speakers would have been Highway to Hell by AC/DC.

Perhaps that's better than salt?

Here's an address to larger pictures if they're easier to see:

http://web.mac.com/randycottingham/iWeb/Site/

We don't need no education

It was the anthem of the 80s. Those of us who graduated between 1980 and 1984, referred to as "Generation X" were probably the first group of rebellious students since the 60s. Pink Floyd hit the nail on the head as most of us believed we were smarter than the average bear and didn't need no eduction.

Young and stupid. That's what we were. But we didn't care. We had a song that said so.

Fast forward many years later when Gen X started having kids. Education became more and more important as anything less than a Bachelor's degree would find you asking if "you'd like fries with that"?

Now, even farther down the road, a Bachelor's degree today will barely get you an entry level job at some piss ant firm for a tad above minimum wage. The song still resonates in our heads and brings back those memories of rebellion. Having fun was more important than AP homework and the music scene was seeing a revival like never before. But now we're putting education at the forefront for our children since the school masters decided to take back the authority we flippantly blew off.

As I reconnect with more and more of my friends I find a lot of them returning to school to finish their education or going on to get their Master's degree. After that they're almost guaranteed to get their own cubicle.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived in North Carolina was how important education was. TONS of money is dumped into the school systems here where California wasn't even giving students pencils yet requiring them to take ridiculous exams that even the teachers didn't agree with. Well without a pencil, how the fuck were the kids supposed to take the test? All the school supplies were put on the backs of their parents. And the sad thing is, it wasn't limited to just pencils. You pretty much had to outfit your child with everything they needed in their arsenal to even have a shot at succeeding. I'm not sure where giant glue sticks and dry erase markers fit into the equation since the teacher is usually the one writing on the board. Makes you wonder if you're subsidizing the teacher as well or if they're simply having your children sniff the pens when things get a little rowdy.

Idiots.

Here in NC, at least in the High Schools, each child receives a laptop to use in the classroom. The transportation system is absolutely amazing. They have a fleet of no less than 100 buses carting students to and from school where in California they had one bus that had no brakes, no lights, a door that would stick shut and had only 3 bus stops for the entire city requiring your kid to walk 4 miles to the bus when the school wasn't more than 2 miles away. Plus, the only people they could interest in being employed as a bus driver were usually the ones that only had to be on some sort of registry list.

There were a lot of things, though, that really pissed me off when we began to register our two boys for school here. First off they had a dress code. A DRESS CODE! I remember going to work in jeans, shorts, t-shirts, athletic shoes and whatever you could dig out of the hamper at 3 in the morning even if it didn't match. You couldn't see in the dark anyway so what did it matter? But a few years back the FAA decided to impose a dress code that upset 15,000 people because we were supposed to look presentable for the public and instill confidence in the air traffic system.

What made them think that if I wore a collared shirt that I was less likely to slam your ass into a mountain than if I was wearing a Van Halen tour shirt? Of all the people on the planet you want to be comfortable it's people in the air traffic business. The more comfortable they were, the more relaxed they were. The more relaxed they were the more they paid attention to their job as opposed to obsessing over their feet because they were wearing the "cruel shoes".

The funny part was we worked in a cave, visitors weren't allowed in the building and out on our own time, no one knew what we did for a living anyway. It was ludicrous. Needless to say the word "Dress Code" leaves a very sour taste in my mouth. So when I found out my kids had a dress code for school I got pissed.

What the hell? I can understand private schools but the public schools? Even in the poverty stricken areas that could barely afford thrift store clothing were now forced to buy certain colors for their students. I completely disagreed with the whole concept but I also needed my kids in school so I had to succumb to them suffering through the same shit I did.

In California, though, the attitude was "anything goes". As long as the girls didn't wear tight shorts giving young boys those peaks at the camel toe and tube tops that squished their boobs down to their belly button everything else was fair game.

After all, back in the day we were decked out in parachute pants, neon colors, leg warmers, lace, Dolphin shorts and belly shirts. The closest anyone got to seeing skin was if a girl was wearing one of those belly shirts and had a top locker. When she reached up to the top of the locker, the bottoms of the "girls" would be exposed for a short period of time. A nice treat but that was about it.

As my kids entered school in Brentwood there wasn't any organized transportation system. Parents were left to pick up their kids when school let out. The area where the kids came out was a small street that at 2PM looked like a Grateful Dead concert. Soccer Mom's facing all kinds of directions, double parked like they were passing joints between cars and refused to move until little Johnny waddled 10 minutes to the car that inevitably gridlocked the entire street. But the Moms didn't give a shit. They were stoned, Floyd was cranked and they just sat there tripping out in their minivan that was parked in the most random of positions.

Bitches.

It took me awhile to figure out how and where to park so I could navigate that shit but it was still frustrating as hell. Everyday I thought some kid was going to get t-boned by some Durango who was in a race to get to Safeway before everyone else took off.

Here, however, in NC, it's very structured and organized. The first day of school, I escorted Alex to his class. We weren't in the hallway 90 seconds before he got busted for not having his shirt tucked in and he was lacking a belt. You've GOT to be kidding me. As I said before, I was going to give that freakin' hall monitor a big old slap but Alex complied and I remember feeling really bad for him.

When I picked Alex up after school I avoided that ridiculous roundabout and parked on the street. Moments later, Alex walks up to the car escorted by some lady who lectured me about parking on the street and how unsafe it was for Alex to come out to the car this way. I had to use the roundabout or pick him up in a helicopter.

Shitheads.

So the next day I got in the massive line of cars and waited my turn to get through the circle to pick up my kid. Surprisingly it went very quickly. The school actually had it down to a science. It was safe, convenient and didn't involve an altered state of mind to retrieve your child. All of a sudden I began to appreciate the organization the school offered and within weeks I was sold on the concept.

Then I had another revelation I never thought I'd have. I seemed to appreciate the dress code. Why? Because the 5th graders have two colors of shirts they can wear. The 6th graders also have two colors to choose from but the colors were different. What stood out was when you saw a student walk through the hall or out in the courtyard you could immediately tell what grade they were in by the color of their shirt and what hallway they should be walking through. Now that started to make sense to me.

So maybe North Carolina really does know what it's doing when it comes to eduction. After all, they're trying real hard to dilute the gene pool here so they've really stepped up their program. Is it going to make my kid smarter? Probably not. Will he eventually learn to appreciate looking nice? No. He lives in Tie Dye (good boy) outside of school and when they're on their own time they're allowed to express themselves and not have to follow the rules imposed upon them the 5 days a week when present in their institution.

On the weekends, though, they're welcome to cruise the mall in their tube tops, tight short shorts and sport their camel toes should they desire to do so. The boys still wear their pants down below their ass and I'm sure the day is coming where they're just going to give up on pants all together. What's the point? The only way to really show off your boxers is to just let it all hang out. I'm not sure how the girls would appreciate the guys "boys" swaying back and forth but since the hormones are running rampant I don't think either sex gives a shit. Free walking porn. It's a teenagers dream.

Needless to say the educations systems between the two states are in stark contrast. And as much as I support individualism and expression, I suppose there's something to be said for structure. I still firmly believe clothes don't make a person but I understand the school's concept.

To be honest, I'm the one who feels stupid and out of place when I walk to the office in my tank-top, brandishing my tattoos and try to hold a serious, parental discussion.

Then again, I'm not the one who needs no education.

Expanded Blogging

Within weeks of my impending retirement I began thinking about the first thing I wanted to do when I was no longer tethered to a job. I wanted to do something with my free time which more than quadrupled when I became unemployed.

After deliberating for a bit, I decided I wanted to start a blog. The purpose of the blog was solely for me to learn how to write creatively. While I still feel I haven't achieved that goal, I feel it would be safe to say that I'm making progress.

The blog was never meant to be read by other people and it's purpose was simply a playground for me to write things down and try to make it interesting in case one day I decided I wanted a few friends to critique my entries.

I started my blog and made my first entry on December 26th, 2008. A little over 8 months later I've managed to write more entries than I ever imagined I would. Why? Because I did what I said I was going to do. Once I had a few entries under my belt I asked 2 friends to read what I had written and looked for constructive criticism. Not only did they offer their opinions but they thought the entries were of "pro" caliber.

I scoffed because I thought they were simply appeasing me. I continued to make entries but the blog morphed into personal stories rather than updates for my friends back in California. The feedback continued to be positive but being the perfectionist I am, I still felt I had a long way to go to make things interesting.

Awhile later I decided I would dip my toes into FaceBook. It turned out that I've reconnected with so many friends that I felt FB was a great decision and spend a great deal of my time there each day.

After I had more posts added to the blog, I went out on a limb and decided to put the link in my profile. It was at that point that word spread quickly the blog was definitely worth reading. I got more and more positive feedback that embarrassed me more than it encouraged me. But I continued to write due to the outpouring of support my friends gave me.

I remain very critical of my writing and still get embarrassed but I'm still encouraged after every post I add. Some are winners, some are losers but several more people said I should write professionally. I'm just not good enough for that. As entertaining as the posts are to my friends, I'm afraid that strangers may not find it so entertaining.

Lately I've had a lot to say but none of what's on my mind really fits this blog's format. I don't want to use this place as a pulpit for opinions on people, current events, new items or anything of the sort.

I want this blog to remain fun. It's where I cut my teeth and I want to continue to learn to write creatively. I've received nothing but wonderful feedback from my FaceBook friends and you guys have no idea how good that makes me feel. It encourages me to continue writing during a time where I thought I might hang it up for awhile. It's not that I want to stop but I seem to have dried up creatively.

Those of you who write realize it's an art. And artists require inspiration. I'll know when the time is right to continue but other things are consuming my mind right now. One example is the small Beatles CD review I posted this morning. It doesn't really fit the format of this blog and neither do the other things I think about from time to time.

So to preserve the overall feel of this blog I've decided to start another one. A new one. A place where I can throw my opinions on the wall in a somewhat reckless format. The new blog is in addition to this one. I will continue to keep this blog light and hopefully entertaining.

The new blog is going to be the antithesis of this one. I'm sure I will still put my writing style into my opinions as that's just my personality but the topics will cover every facet of life. In fact, one of the first posts is the short review I did on the new Beatle's CDs. But trust me. I have a LOT to say on a lot of issues.

Now comes the kicker. The blog is locked. It has come to my attention that things have been stolen off this blog, even though I'm protected by copyright laws. What's funny is my own content was used against me, unsuccessfully I might add, and it didn't get the response it wanted.

In fact, the person who contacted me and I had a good chuckle about it and they even complimented me on my entries. Funny how things didn't work out for it.

So to protect my content, my opinions and the right to remain uncensored I have chosen to lock the new blog and make it available to people who choose to respond and respect what I have to say in an intelligent manner. I don't mind debate or criticism but dragging a third party into a blog entry is just idiotic. We can have fun, debate as adults and like the television, if you don't like it: turn it off.

All you need to do is email me privately and I will send you an invitation. It's easy and it's simple. Yeah, it's an extra step but it allows me no-holds barred opportunities to express myself on issues that don't fit here.

Write me at spacenacho@gmail.com for the invitation. Be sure to give me the email address you want the invite sent to. Some people use different addresses for different things.

I hope it's as interesting as this one. But one never knows what or who will show up over there. Again, it's really just a place for me just to brain dump random thoughts. Some days it will be a one liner. Other days it will be a novel. One thing's for sure, nothing is off limits there. Here, I try and make the subject matter appeal to the masses as a lot of people have grown to love this blog, which is humbling and flattering. But the new blog isn't going to be all warm and fuzzy.

And because what I write is my own opinion in my own words, you'll be seeing a LOT of this:

© R. Cottingham, 2009.

It's sad to have to do crap like that but since one idiot tried to make me eat my own blog, I'm left with no choice but to protect that site from some of the things that will be said.

Anyway, sorry for a buzzkill post in the middle of a light hearted blog. I look forward to the fun I'll have on the other one and hopefully you will too.

The new stomping ground

This won't be your typical entry so don't expect anything very interesting.

As most of you know, when I lived in CA my two regular stomping grounds were Berkeley and Haight Ashbury. I felt very much at home in both places. They were my people. They were my environment. They were my home away from home.

Since moving to North Carolina I had scoured most of the state looking for a similar place to get my hippie fix. I went to most of the local college campuses which usually have an eclectic area of shops and cafes but so far, no luck. It's a relatively conservative state and there didn't appear to be a lot of individuality.

Until today.

Allison had read about a fun store up in a town called Asheville which is in the very western portion of North Carolina at the base of the Smokey Mountains. We decided to take a day trip there and it turns out it was the best thing we could have ever done.

Jackpot!

We found it. The home away from home. The Embassy for all people like Al and myself.

My description on FaceBook was this: If Berkeley and Haight Ashbury got married, had a wedding cake packed with steroids and the union was sprinkled with the absolute beauty of Victoria, BC then welcome to Asheville, North Carolina.

It's a place to experience, not visit. It's eclectic shops, quaint cafes, odd ball people, and personality span about 13 city square blocks. It's my new "place". It's my new "fix". It's the final puzzle piece I needed to snap into place to truly feel at home.

In one of the shops, I was looking at some of the things in the front window when I heard Allison laughing in the back. I walked toward her to see what was so funny and she showed me this button. I began to laugh and said, "I HAVE to have this".

I have a feeling Asheville and The Hippie will get along just fine.

The Birds and the Valium

There are two things in retirement a person should NEVER have. A job and another kid.

If you find yourself in another job and think to yourself, “Man, what was I THINKING?”, you can always quit and re-retire. If you find yourself with another kid, there’s really only one thing to say.

FUCK!

As most of you know I’m 43 and retired. I’ve toyed with the idea of re-entering the workforce, specifically in the NASCAR community, but I won’t entertain anything beyond that. Life is too short and if you can retire young, do it. Take it from someone who’s there. It gives you so much freedom and so many options. You can pursue your dream job where you’re 100 percent in control or you can sit on your ass with a bag of Salt and Vinegar Lays potato chips watching Hollywood Squares for 6 months before flipping through the yellow pages looking for a gym.

I can honestly say I have NOT toyed with the idea of having another child. That is simply NOT an option. Nor will it give me anything resembling freedom. If I ended up with one I think I’d throw myself down the stairs.

Several times.

So there’s really only one option. Well, two if count crossing your fingers. Get the “procedure”. At 43 I opted for the latter. If I find myself in another dead end job then I quit. Not so easy with a kid. So having this vasectomy done prevents that momentary lapse of reason that could easily come tomorrow or when I’m 70 and have no idea what the hell I’m thinking.

Needless to say, in this moment of clarity, while I have all my faculties, I’m essentially saving myself should I even THINK about another child. I guess you could say I’m slapping myself in the head right now for something I’m going to do in the future.

Pretzle logic. Powerful.

So first comes the easy part. The consultation with the Doctor. When Allison and I walked in with the Doctor I can honestly say he was the nicest person I’ve ever met in my life. He had this way through his southern drawl of making you feel extremely comfortable and at ease. We chatted a bit, not even talking about the procedure and then he said he’d schedule me for an appointment.

It must have been the look on our faces that said, “The hell with more kids”, because he didn’t even give us the “Are you sure”? speech.

The two easy parts were now complete. The decision to do it and the consultation where I thought I'd have to write a 10 page essay of why it's not smart for me to have more children.

Now the process got a little more difficult. First off, the prep work. Shaving. I experimented once waxing my chest and that didn't go so well. I don't know how girls do it in their bikini area just so a little hair doesn't sneak out from underneath their bottom half but there was no way in hell hot wax was going to touch the boys so I had to do it the old fashion way. Razor and shaving cream.

First off, when I put on the shaving cream I couldn't see what the hell I was doing. Everything was covered up in white lather so I had to guess. Luckily I was slow and methodical as I made my way down ensuring every little hair was gone. I really didn't want to go in with a wiener mohawk so I took my time and was very proud that I was successful. One little nick would have sent me through the roof or at least crashing into the bathroom mirror.

The second thing I was proud of was the fact that I learned my lesson from the chest session. Absolutely NO aftershave for the razor burn. So I got into my big old bathtub to wash off the area of the session with warm water.

I would have been better off with the aftershave. SHIT that burned. I didn't have any raised razor burn but my pores didn't appreciate the water either. Maybe aloe would have been better but I wasn't about to make another mess to clean up so I dealt with it.

Well, today was the big day. I showed up promptly, coffee in hand and valium in my pocket so I'd lay still and act cool.

It was almost time for me to go in so I popped a pill (ok, several) just as the nurse called me in. I've been poked and prodded so many times with my back that nothing really scared me. This was probably going to be an easier procedure so I had that going for me.

We entered the "panic room" where the nurse proceeded to take my blood pressure, weight and height. What any of that had to do with a vasectomy puzzled me but I guess it's easier to get the information ready for the coroner when you finally decide death is a better option.

She threw a gown on the table and said, "go ahead and change out of your clothes and put on the gown. The doctor will be in shortly". Nurse exits the room.

Now guys, I'm going to apologize for letting the women in on a little secret. It's basically kryptonite to men that will get us every single time so forgive me.

Hand a man something he has to tie behind his back and he's screwed. I spent the better part of 10 minutes trying to tie this fucking gown and my arms were behind my back and weren't coming out front until I got the damn chore done. It was kind of like putting a banana in a coconut and handing it to a monkey. Once their hand is in the coconut hole with banana in hand, they absolutely will not let go of the banana basically trapping them with a coconut hand.

Their was a knock on the door while I was futzing with the gown and he said, "Aw, don't worry about that. Just hop up on the table, lay on your back in a position where you're comfortable. Thank God. That gown thing just wasn't going to happen.

I was so happy to see him because, again, he was the nicest person on the planet. We chatted a bit while he got his little tray set up. I'm trying not to look at any of the instruments and the valium starts to kick in so my heart rate slows and now I'm very comfortable. This is going to be way easier than I thought.

He told me it's only going to take about 15 minutes and I'd be on my way. Cool. I've had worse 15 minute experiences in my life so I knew I could hack this.

In the middle of our chatting there's another knock at the door. I'm on my back, I turn my head, and in walks this extremely pretty nurse. So I thought.

"This is Doctor so-and-so and she wanted to see how the procedure is done since she's never seen one. You don't mind, right"?

Pregnant pause.

"No, I don't mind at all" as the word SHIT enters my mind about 32 times. As she walks down toward my legs my balls crawl all the way up to my stomach. Good luck finding the boys now, doc. I wasn't prepared for an audience and a pretty one at that. Had I known, perhaps I would have put some cologne down there.

"OK, I'm going to expose your modesty so just relax", the Doctor says as he pulls up my gown exposing my freshly shaved crotch. Thank GOD I didn't hear a giggle.

We get started. The Doctor explains every single step to me before doing it so I know what to expect. How courteous. First he tells me he's going to insert a needle and I'll feel a burning sensation. That's the numbing agent. All the while he's talking to me, he's explaining to miss cute Doctor what he's doing and what she's going to have to do. It's all medical speak and I'm closing my ears with my mind.

Didn't work.

In goes the needle. In my head goes FUCK! Needle my ass. What the hell are you doing putting a crow bar in my nuts? Yes it burned but I tried desperately not to wince. I didn't want miss cute Doctor to think I was a puss. He pulls the needle out and the area finally goes numb.

Cool. Now he can do whatever he wants because I can't feel a thing. He tells me I might feel a little tugging sensation while he's yanking everything through this little pinhole he just made.

What? You're getting all of that out of THAT little hole? Now I know how women feel when the have a 9lb baby about to crawl out of their Va-jay-jay. A new found respect washes over me.

He does his little "procedure" on one side, all the while giving the instructions to cute Doctor. After he cuts the portion out that he needs I feel a pinching sensation as he clamps both sides with a titanium clip. This apparently prevents mother nature from trying to rejoin the vas.

Side one finished. Whew. Not too bad. Still no giggling and the valium is letting the boys drop a little farther south. Time for the other side. Same deal, same feeling, same instructions and same 32 SHIT!'s go through my head.

As he's working on this side he comments to cute Doctor, "wow, this one is really slippery", like it's a fucking trout or something. He keeps trying to get ahold of it and I'm praying to GOD that she doesn't decide to "help".

He finally gets the vas out, snips out a larger chunk and impresses cute Doctor as he tells her that the more you can get, the better success you'll have. Two titanium clips later, gauze on the boys and the experience is over.

"We're finished", he said. "Do you have any questions? You did a great job. You didn't even move once. Most guys wiggle around and I can't get it done".

"Are those titanium clips going to set off the detector at the airport"?, I ask.

"No, I don't think so. I've never heard a story of that happening".

Nice. My luck BLOWS so I guarantee that when I go to the airport I'm going to set it off. I'll be pulled aside by some asshole TSA agent, they'll wand me and it will beep right in front of my balls. I won't know what to tell them but if they put their hands down my pants I'm going to pee on them.

"OK, you can hop off the table, get dressed and check out. Nice job"! Again, SUPER nice guy. Asshole for bringing in a chick but I quickly forgive him as she thanks me for allowing her to "observe". Personally I think she just wanted to see a weenie as I never heard a peep out of her but whatever. Not like she hasn't seen one.

I did see a camera flash go off, though.

That or it was my life passing before my eyes.

I hopped down, removed that freakin' evil gown and got dressed. Tender but not bad. Not swollen, not bruised, just some gauze stuffed in there so now I look pretty damn manly as I walk out. Too bad the waiting room was full of people over the age of 70.

I process out, waddle to my car, gingerly get in and off I go. I'm home within an hour. I feel pretty good until the numbness starts to wear off. Now I know why the ice comes in. He said just to put a bag of frozen peas on the boys to prevent the swelling.

Peas.

Oh, the irony.