The Journey to Boston

In little more than 4 weeks, we will be visiting Jonesboro, my home town.  As has been my habit since dad died, when in town, I will go out to the cemetery with some bourbon, and have a drink with dad.  Mom is there now, as are Coachie and Miss Dot.  This will be a tough visit.  Dad's been gone for 13 years, Mom for 3, Miss Dot for 11, and Coachie for 2.  I have to have a drink with each, and stop and visit with Dr. Mckee too.  Scott's mom and Frank are near Coachie and Miss Dot, so we share a drink too.  Usually, when I visit, I am meloncoly.  I miss them all so very, very much, and I have to have a designated driver for the visit.

On this visit, I'm not going to be depressed.  I have good news to share.

On May 17th, 1986, in St. Bernards hospital, a little girl was born.  She screamed bloody murder, and began a journey.  None of us are are born the person we will be.  We are all the product of our mentors, our experiences, our decisions, and our determination.   She left everything she knew in Wynne Arkansas for Australia when she was a junior in high school.  On her return from Austraila, she moved to New Jersey.  After spending half a year studying beer and wine in Austrailia, she dropped mid year into a pointy headed intellectual school in New Jersey, and took up Soccer.  She excelled.  With each challenge she found, she found greater strength, and more resolve.  Daddy Doc would have been so proud.

She was accepted into Mount Holyoke.  It's a womens Ivy League school.  Two generations from the cotton fields in Mississippi, this girl is Ivy.  She's Ivy not because she's a legacy.  She's not Ivy because of a big donation or ethinic advantage.  She's Ivy because someone on the Admissions committee said 'holy shit, look at this kid'.

So, as with every kid, there was a idealistic streak that had to be massaged via a year teaching Spanish in an inner city school in New Orleans.  She left New Orleans still idealistic, just a more worldly and knowledgable idealist, and began Law School.

She went to law school at night, and worked as a cheese monger first, and later as para-legal by day.  She played Rugby on weekends, and tormented both her sister and her brother at every opportunity.  Buckwheat loved her more than can be said, but that true also for Dixie, Chaunti and especially for Tony Perez....and for most folks who have known her.  Landi and I count ourselves as being lucky to know many of her friends, some dating back to high school.  One, a doctor in the making, is like another daughter to us, and her father is one of the few people on this earth in whom I have absolute trust.  She has just a good a taste in friends as she does in dogs.

Tomorrow, my journey to Boston will be a short one.  South Plainfield to Boston isn't long or hard.  It's 4 lane all the way.  Her journey began in the rice fields of Arkansas.  It went through Australia, Jamica, Spain, and Bolivia.  It was a journey of academic and self discovery.  She has triumphs that only the birds saw, and failures that only she percieved, struggles where no one knew, and success. 

Strenght isn't succeeding when everyone cheers for you.  Strength is when you prevail when no one knows you are struggling.  She made every thing look easy.

She get's her license to practice law in Massachutsetts tomorrow.

If you cross her, give you soul to Jesus because your ass his hers.

My Bachelor's Party

Come April 30, I will have been married for 20 years.  It's been an interesting 20 years.   Landi and I lived in sin for about 9 months before we married because we just didn't see the reason to have two apartments.  Unfortunately, the preacher at the church we were being married in saw fit to preach an entire sermon at me about the evils of shacking up.  He did everything but point at me during the sermon.  Little did I know this would be but the first preacher I was going to have issues with.  I did get the last laugh, though.  About 3 weeks after our wedding, the preacher was arrested for soliciting a prostitute in Allentown.

So, as we begin the countdown to the 20th celebration, my thoughts go back to those days in 1994 when we were preparing for our wedding.   Landi was working out daily on a stepper and getting in pretty good shape.  That was the winter of 17 snowstorms, and I spent the winter drinking beer and shoveling snow from around the cars of every woman in the condo complex.   Everytime I would see a snowflake, I would get depressed.  We had 17 snowstorms of over 6 inches.  As we skidded out of winter and into spring, I noticed that Landi was looking very, very shapely.  I didn't want people to wonder why this beautiful young woman was marrying a fat slob, so I started working out and running.  In just a few weeks, I was running 5 miles a day, was down to a 30 inch waist, and feeling good about the big day.  It was looking good right up until my bachelor's party.

In those days, I still programmed.  I wrote code for an application called Cimpro which was a MRPII system for process manufacturing.  Yeah...blah blah blah.  Anyway, I hung out with about 3 other guys who were likewise 'Cimpro' guys.  We were the dream team of process manufacturing.   Jeff weighed about 400 lbs, and was the erstwhile leader of the group.  Frank had spent too much time in Texas to ever be comfortable or happy in Jersey again.  Snoopy was a brilliant coder and a high functioning manic depressive given to frequent disappearances.

Jeff arranged the bachelors party.  We all collected at Jeff's house, and piled into his car.  It was a small car, but we all wedged in and took off for the bar.  When I asked where we were going, Jeff's answer was evasive.  I was concerned that we were going to a titty bar.  I don't have anything against titty bars, but we are in Jersey and Jersey titty bars are not very good.  I grew up near Memphis.  Memphis has great titty bars.  Jersy, not so much.  If we were going to a Jersey titty bar, I didn't want to waste my time.  Anyway, finally, Jeff said we were going to a biker bar. 

I looked around the car.  It was me, a 36 year old computer geek.  Jeff, a 400 lbs nerd who talked like Hulk Hogan.  Frank who was lanky and could piss off a statue, and Snoopy, who who might disappear at any moment.  We were going to a biker bar. Oh shit.

No, I'm not going to a biker bar with this crowd, I insisted.  I pointed out that either Frank or Jeff was going to piss someone off, Snoopy was going to wig out, Jeff would have a heart attack and I was going to wind up in jail.  Nope, not going, I insisted.

I was wrong.  Despite all my protestations, we went to the biker bar.  Jeff led the way and we entered.  I expected the worst.  It was better lit that I expected, and I looked around.  My eyes stopped at the bar.  Standing at the bar, looking at us, were the bikers.  They were a filthy bunch.  Apparently they had just finished their ride.  Standing there in their stretch shorts, wearing their funny little hats, about a dozen bikers stood there stared at us staring at them.  No one blinked, but I may have snickered.  I realized that when Jeff said 'biker', he ment ten speed bike, as opposed to me, when I said 'biker' I ment Harley.

I was relieved.  We were clearly the roughest bunch in the bar.  We claimed a table, ordered drinks and began having a good time.  That's 'code' for getting drunk and talking computer crap.  Jeff was a very good programmer, but Snoopy was an amazing programmer.  He was probably the finest coder I have ever met.  We all drank beer, and discussed our on going projects.  Someone order tequila shots, and we continued to talk tech stuff because thats what nerds do when we get drunk.  More beer, and more tequila, and Jeff and Snoopy began to argue over the most efficient way to recalcualate a multi-demensial array without having to resort to 'cheap programming tricks'.  The argument got heated when they disagreed as to what actually constituted a 'cheap programming trick' as opposed to a really cool technique, and Frank and I just watched.  More tequila was ordered.  The waitress,when she brought the shots over and placed them on the table, cautioned Jeff to lower his voice and to quit refereing to Snoopy as 'Dickless' .  As she was walking away, Frank lit his cigarette and tossed the lit match towards the ash tray in the center of the table.  At that moment, Snoopy, having become frusterated with Jeff's argument, slams his fist on the table and shouts something which I can't remember, spashing tequila all over the table, and into the ash tray and onto the lit match.

The entire table burst into flames.  The bikes all froze in shock.  The bar tender grabbed a fire extinguisher, rushed over, and extinguished the blaze.  Frank took the brunt of the extuinguisher, and was pretty heavily covered in the 'powder' from the fire extinguisher.  Jeff and Snoopy looked at Frank as if this were a result of something he had done.  I was already wondering if Landi would bail me out of jail, and I had come to the conclusion that I would be spending the night in jail.

The bartender slowly looked around the table and made deliberate and angry eye contact with each of us.  "Set the table on fire one more time, and you guys are out of here!", he snarled.

We ordered more tequila.  The night was young.