Third letter, few cuts

That first one seemed kinda long ...

Folks –

Spent the last three days moping around, after watching Tech go down in the Cotton. It’s with bitter irony that the Segrists had to watch the Raiders of Red get beaten by a kick so bad that the ball should have refused to go through the uprights as a matter of principal.

But I can’t complain too much, for I can tell my children and grandchildren -- in passing decades hence -- that I lived in the era when Doug Flutie brought back the drop kick.

Anyway, it’s good to say howdy to folks during times like these, and by “times like these” I mean the time spent waiting for the Black-Eyed Pea video “My Humps” to download.

The job is OK. For review, I’m working the graveyard shift at a retirement center in Stephenville. The place is a bit weird, in that the owners used to be in the antique business, and they apparently moved all of their leftovers in the home to decorate, most of the leftovers are Victorian-imitation art of paintings or marble statues. You can imagine that, in the dead of night, when you’re tired and over-caffeinated, there are times when you almost have to ask the creepy marble bust of the ugly lady to quit looking at you.

It got freaky at Christmas. The place had a large nativity scene with two life-sized mannequins dressed up as wise men … One problem -- they were obviously women mannequins, down to the pouty lips, eye makeup and teased-out hair. Yeah, an absolutely fabulous time was had at the birth of our Lord.

Random thoughts on 281:
Highway 281 connects Hico to Stephenville and is a 25-minute stretch of road that I spend a lot of time on. Thing is, I only drive after dark at night and before sunrise in the morning, so there’s not a lot of scenery for distraction. This causes my mind to ramble:

-- I found a good barbecue place in Stephenville. What bugs me is the atmosphere of cutesiness throughout the joint, from the pastel scenery paintings to the “Homemade ‘Nana Pudding” on the menu. So, I’m wondering: Great barbecue places generally eschew cute decoration, but, if the cute decoration is not eschewed, does the barbecue itself suffer? Doesn’t really matter, the place in Hico can’t do brisket for shit.

-- A lot of fat raccoons like to sleep along this road.

-- Listening to JACK FM, I’ve discovered I’m a real sucker for women singing light-alternative rock songs:

If you want to,
I can save you.
I can take you away from here.
So lonely inside,
So busy out there,
And all you wanted was somebody who caaieeer-eee-yairs.

Awwwwwh … that’s so sweet!

Note: This post brought me my first hate mail, with Jenn angry for the quotation of Michelle Branch. Really, I don't know these people's names. Just found it catchy.

Job found, not starving

This is the second letter I sent out. Haven't been able to find for some reason. Actually, the reason is probably that I didn't save it. I'll post it later if I come across it somewheres.
Anyway, I wrote this after I moved out here and managed to find a job.

Folks:

Getting ready for the Thanksgiving holiday, which I will observe with a traditional day of work. I’m not complaining – it’s work. Thank God.

Money was getting so tight I was eating leftover backpacking food. I’m a graveyard shift attendant at an assisted living center 20 miles away in Stephenville. I’ve been struggling with attempting to change my body’s schedule and sleep through the day.

Obviously, I’ve never been happier.

My first visitor at the farm in Hico was my buddy Scott. Scott got married earlier in the year and was taking a rare man-only break to the farm. We celebrated by opening a bottle of “Old Kentucky Tavern” bourbon I found among my late Aunt Raine’s stuff. Oldest whiskey I’ve ever drank. And the best. It was so good, I felt guilty about drinking it. I’ll probably finish it off when I throw my first party out here.

After raising the three sheets to a stiff breeze, me and Scott spent our time talking (as I told Meredith) about football. Only football. We didn’t even discuss specific teams, just the rules surrounding the game, with an hour-long discussion on the football itself and how they tie those laces.

Last weekend, Oklahoma buddy Jeremy passed through with a friend on a tour of Texas road trip. (Yeah, two straight weekends of socialization is pretty much an overwhelming event to me now.)

Cowen told me something I hadn’t thought of: I have moved “Off the grid”, a quote used often by the paranoid character on “King of the Hill.” It means that you’ve pretty much become untraceable by civilized society. That got me to thinking of all the ways I no longer leave tracks …

- If your permanent address is “Two or three buildings in and around Hico” …

Dude! You’re off the grid!

- If the vast majority of people you work with are either asleep or can’t remember your name …

Dude! You’re off the grid!

- If you have to take a 30-minute drive in order to use your cell, which will soon go off the air anyway …

Dude! You’re off the grid!

- If you look up your house on Map Quest and it’s off by miles …

Dude! You’re off the grid!

- If getting a hold of you is a two- to three-day process …

Dude! You’re off the grid!

- If bill collectors are sending you past due notices addressed to “Samuel Segrist or survivors” …

Dude! You’re off the grid!

Yeah, I made up the last one.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Sandy

Sign of the month: Seen in Chalk Mountain, Texas, which consists of 7 empty buildings and a Mason’s lodge.

“Chalk Mountain Mason’s Lodge
100 years of brotherhood
The lodge that wouldn’t die”

Unlike, of course, the vast majority of Masons.

From the telegraph ...

First line is being put down. How many people do you think begin their posting with "Watson, come here, you moron," and then go away smirking, never to post again?