The Dax Files

The ending of a relationship is a very stressful moment. Some folks dread the break up so much that they never do it. They actually stay in the relationship. That would account for battered women. Anyway, I’ve gotten the “Dear John” letter, I’ve gotten the break up phone call, but I’ve never gotten the Break up Power Point demonstration. Just Damn! This is classic! Thanks Boortz.

Sometimes I have an idea for a post. Most times I don’t but throw up some crap anyway. I’ll sit down and pound out my idea and click the ole publish button. Then there’s what usually happens. I’ll have some inkling of an idea, sit down and think, “I‘ll read a few Blogs first.” Sometimes my surfing will help me formulate my ideas. However, if my idea remains a mish mash of mush, I’ll end up clicking here. Yes, the J-Walk Blog always has some very cool links to check out. Next thing I know, it’s been an hour or better, I’ve forgotten what I was going to post about, and it’s bed time. Last night was no exception. I clicked this link and spent hours goofing around. Just Damn!

Holey skid marks Batman! As I was rushing to get dressed, I pulled opened my sock and underwear drawer. It was more like tugged, pulled over the whole damned thing, shit, the drawer is stuck and then opened the drawer. Anyway, I found the mother load of socks and underwear bursting forth from the drawer. As it turns out, my wonderful wife bought me about twenty-eight pairs of shorts. They’re the good kind too, 100% cotton Fruit of the Loom. Evidently she found a deal, something like twelve pairs for two dollars. Just Damn!

The more I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever bought underwear. Like most other men, I’ll wear underwear slap out. Holes and skids, I don’t care. I think I have a few pairs left over from high school. They must be the ones held together by just a few threads and strands of elastic. Anyway, I’ve never bought any shorts. When I was a kid, my mom bought them. As I got older, my girlfriends bought them, and now my wife buys my shorts.

Anyway, I remember laundry days in Athens. I would do my laundry with my buddy Lance. Actually, I did my laundry more frequently than Lance did. Basically, Lance did his laundry just once a month. See before he left for college, his mom bought him thirty-one pairs of underwear. She sent him off to school with a one-month supply. She took a Sharpie marker and initialed each pair.

On this one particular day, I accompanied Lance to Peggy’s Laundry. Peggy’s was on Oconee Street, across from the Dairy Queen and Oldham’s Wrecker service. If you were so inclined, you could give the cute co-ed behind the counter your laundry. You could come back later and it would be washed and folded. We were too broke for that luxury service. Lance bought the washer cards for his month’s worth of nasty, foul smelling clothes. After sorting out this pile, he filled about four washers. One washer had jeans while the others held lights, darks, and one had this mass of thirty-one pairs of underwear.

After loading up these washing machines, we walked across the street to the Dairy Queen. We liked to sit in the booth and tease the guard dog at the wrecker yard while we ate our chicken and cheese sandwiches. We went to Dairy Queen a lot. That was before Locos Deli opened up in the little run down shack up the hill. Locos not only delivered food, but cigarettes too. I knew they were going to be big, but I digress. So after about twenty minutes, we walked back to Peggy’s for the drying cycle. Lance loaded up the dryer with the jeans, then another dryer with darks. When we got to the underwear washer, it was empty. Fucking empty! All thirty-one pairs of shorts were gone. Someone stole thirty-one pairs of old worn out L.C. marked Fruit on the Loom underwear. The counter girl didn’t see or know anything. There wasn’t a cart with wet soggy under shorts in it. They were simply gone in typical X-Files type fashion. We were no Fox Mulder or Dana Sculley. We were at a big loss, Lance more than I.

I laugh about the great underwear heist from time to time. I’ll never forget Lance’s face when he pulled opened that washer lid only to find nothing. I sometimes wonder what someone wanted with thirty-one pairs of used under shorts. My wife looked at me in that puzzled look she gives me when she isn’t in one the joke as I laughed when I found out that twenty years later I now have a months worth of underwear. Just Damn!

My wife did a horrible, awful, punishable by death, thing the other day. She broke my glass. It wasn’t just any glass. It was THE glass. She claims the dishwasher broke it. Maybe it happened the way she told it, but the fact remains. The glass is no more. It wasn’t an expensive glass. Actually, I got it for free. You see, it was my Bourbon glass. It came with a bottle of Jack Daniels (sour mash whiskey, not bourbon). I don’t drink Jack Daniels anymore, but that glass was perfect for my Wild Turkey. I knew exactly where to fill that glass with bourbon. It didn’t matter if I wanted three or four ice cubes. That glass had a sweet spot.

In an attempt to redeem her self, the wife went out and bought me a new glass. Yea, it holds bourbon all right. It has a nice weight also. It’s much classier than the old one too. I don’t know, I guess it will take a few bottles to get used to.

Just Damn!

When did this happen? Kelley gets a write up in the AJC today and was kind enough to give me a little mention. Just Damn! I have a feeling that this years Jawja Blogfest might just get really big. I’m not really sure how I found Suburban Blight in the B’sphere. I just knew she lived close to my old house in Norcross. I remember Emailing her and setting up a meeting with Adam, the Single Southern Guy, and Kelley. We met at a local Mexican eatery and hammered frozen margaritas. Later, we met again at the first annual Jawja Blogfest.

Lately, I’ve been so busy at work that I really haven’t been able to keep up with my B’roll like I used to. I guess my legendary antics have made some kind of mark. Just Damn!

I have a new pet. He hangs out above my front door. Yes, I have adopted a spider. It’s not like I have any affinity for spiders in particular. It’s just that this one seems pretty cool. He seems pretty smart too. He builds his web in the front door jamb, but on the hinge side. His web is also next to the outside light. He sits in his web and waits for bugs to fly into his web. On occasion, I throw a big moth into the web for him to feast upon. When I leave the house, I’m always careful not to tear down the web. Besides, I don’t like wearing webs. Everyone else is too short to break the web.

Back in my college days, I had a spider. He lived in the channel atop the mini blinds. He had spun a little web at the end of the blinds. I would occasionally toss a fly or moth into his web. He hung out there for at least the two years I lived in that tiny dorm room. That spider was a wolf spider. His eyes would glow in the dark. He freaked me out on more that one occasion.

Anyway, now I have this new spider hanging out. I need to identify his species and come up with a name for him. Maybe you can help me. Here are a few pictures.

Just Damn!

Yea, I know all about that book’s cover and judgment thing. The ole adage just doesn’t hold true when it comes to food, at least not for me. I need to pay a few extra bucks for some fancy packaging. I don’t need the fancy packaging for software. Software packaging accounts for the majority of the cost. However, when it comes to food, it just has to look good.

For example, my wife, the lovely and talented Priscilla, brought home some homemade pound cake. Pound cake is one of my favorites. This cake just wasn’t that good. Sure, it was sweet, moist, and rather tasty. Yet, it just seemed to lose something all wrapped up in aluminum foil and plastic wrap. It just didn’t look good, and the look affected the taste.

I don’t like leftovers either. The congealed grease floating around in the Tupperware just makes my stomach turn. As a food service professional, I would about know about such things. I just don’t care if it tastes like ambrosia. If it looks nasty, I ain’t eating it. Come to think about it, I’m better off not knowing. Just Damn!

Just Damn!

I’m sitting her having a glass of Apple juice. It just isn’t doing it for me. I love a good ole glass of sweet unprocessed Apple cider. Cider is good stuff. This swill I’m drinking ain’t even close.

Orange juice is good too. I like a frosty glass of O.J. in the morning. It’s thick and sweet and fresh squeezed is the best. My aunt used to live in Tampa. I remember those summer vacations at her house. My job was to go into the back yard and pick fresh oranges and grapefruit for breakfast. That fruit was the sweetest I’ve ever eaten. My aunt’s key lime pie was pretty good too. Just don’t brush your teeth and have a glass of orange juice. Yuck!

However, I think all-time favorite juice is grape juice. Not just any grape juice, but I like Welch’s grape juice. I’m not talking about white grape, or red grape, or grape drink; I like the sweet tartness of that purple Welch’s grape juice. Just Damn! That’s good stuff.

I hate thieves. I get thieves in my business from time to time. It’s just a fact of life. Tomorrow I get to fire them. I’m going to make a huge spectacle in front of my entire staff. I can’t recoup my loss, but I can berate and belittle the thieving sombitch. When costs go up and sales go down, figures don’t lie, something is afoot.

I wanted to have the bastard arrested. Unfortunately, the local constabulary is weak kneed when it comes to cash register scams. They like cases where the perpetrator is shown on videotape, with gun in hand, taking cash. This minor embezzlement just doesn’t titillate the prosecutorial powers that be. All in all, the theft has been stopped, and life goes on. Just Damn!

Every passion play has its cast of minor characters. The minor characters are the ones who in their minor roles allow the stars to shine. The minor characters look up to the heavens to see shining stars, to wish upon them, and strive to reach them. Without the minor characters, the stars would cease to shine. After all, if a tree fell in the woods, yet no one was there to hear it, would it make a sound? Last night, I resumed my role as a minor character. Last night, I attended my 20th High School Reunion.

Surreal doesn’t quite describe my experience. The aged faces still haven’t really changed. Hell, the people still really haven’t changed. The guy I thought was jerk was still a jerk. The popular crowd was still hanging together. And the minor characters, those that chose to attend, flitted around the periphery. The only real difference is that everyone seemed a little more refined. The character traits weren’t quite so exaggerated.

Its funny how those four years out of a lifetime define us in so many ways. High School was not a great experience for me. I was not the Class President, the Captain of the football team, or very popular. I went to school, survived the torments and ridicule, and yet managed to receive an education. As disappointing as my experience may seem, it wasn’t that bad. I survived. I survived last night too. I said hello to most everyone, even the ones who I would never talk to while in school. We swapped a few remembrances and briefly updated each other on our life’s progress. Although, I don’t think anyone really believed I invented Post It Notes.

The only true disappointment I felt last night was in not seeing old friends who didn’t attend, the other minor characters that formed the vastness of the High School universe. Some couldn’t attend because of they were dead, a valid excuse. Others didn’t attend because of some reason or another. That seemed ok because someone knew of their non-attendance. It’s the people that couldn’t be found that disturbs me, the classmates that no one had any information about, the ones that seemed to have fallen off the face of the Earth. Those were the stories I wanted to hear. Just Damn!

It’s been a busy week around the Augusta wing of the Dax Montana ranch. A new store opening is just one event occupying my time. I’ve hosted marketing meetings, training seminars, and a job fair as of late. Then in true slacker fashion, I’ve taken up playing “hearts” on the Internet. It’s not as cathartic as Blogging, but it certainly is relaxing. Frankly, I don’t have to think as hard. A witty repartee is not a requirement. Anyway, I’ll use this post as a catalyst to get back in the habit of posting as erratic as usual. Besides, I’m tired of looking at that Zeus shit. Just Damn!

I guess it’s no secret that the Olympic games originated from festivals in ancient Greece. These festivals were held to honor the various pagan gods from Greek mythology. The Olympic games developed from these festivals because sporting events were featured at these festivals. Over time the sports took center stage and the festivals merged into one big festival called Olympiads. According to Greek mythology these gods resided on Mount Olympus, hence we get the Olympics.

The Olympic Games, held at Olympia in honour of Zeus, were the most prestigious of all the games in Ancient Greece.
They took place every four years, and were so important that their periodicity was the basis for contemporary chronology, with time counted in Olympiads and not by years, as today, since the birth of Christ was not yet a point of reference.
These Games brought together not just the best athletes, but also sculptors, poets, writers, speakers and politicians, who attended to make themselves known and meet others.
Olympia was the main sporting and cultural centre of Ancient Greece

Enough of the history, My point is that the Olympic games started out as a worship service to pagan gods and continues to be such to this day. Millions worship the splendor and spectacle of the Olympic Movement. The Olympic Movement is as much a religious movement today as are Billy Graham’s tent revivals. Sure, non- Zeus worshipers can enjoy the sporting events, but many pledge their souls to the Olympic Movement. I don’t partake in the Olympic Movement, nor do I watch the games. I do not worship the pagan god Zeus.

If you think Zeus worship isn’t practiced today you are wrong. As a matter of fact, Zeus worship is our national religion. That’s why there is such a fight to get God out of the Pledge of Allegiance and prayer out of schools. Symbols of Christian faith are being attacked in the courts. Secularism is on the rise and trying to crush any symbol of our Christian heritage. The Supreme Court of the United States supports the secular movement because it created it. The Court established the Zeus worship secular religion as the national religion in 1973 when Justice Blackmun used the Ancient Greek and Roman law, philosophy and religious thought when delivering the Court’s opinion in deciding Roe v. Wade.

Sure, the Roe v. Wade decision established a woman’s right to privacy and granted abortion rights. However, when the court reached their decision by using historical, pagan religious doctrine, it in essence created a national religion, a secular pagan religion. It’s no wonder our country is going to hell. Just Damn!

I’m driving down the street the other day. As I check the mirror, I see a police car with blue lights flashing coming up behind the car behind me. So, being the law abiding citizen that I am, I pull over to the right to allow the police to pass. Besides, my licence expired Saturday. I haven’t renewed it yet. The car behind me slows down and flashes their lights at me. The police cruiser just keeps on driving. What the Fuck? I pull back out onto the road and continue on my way. The car behind me just drives a little further then turns off onto a neighborhood street. The cop just keeps driving until he decides to pull into another neighborhood.

Only in Augusta. Maybe he forgot to turn his lights off. Just Damn!

Oh shit! I can’t believe it’s that time of year again. The Second Annual Jawja BlogFest is in the planning stages. As a founding member, it’s my duty and obligation to attend the drunk fest.

As far as I know, Acidman has been renting a cabin at Blood Mountain for about a hundred years. Each fall he heads out to Blood Mountain with a case of booze, several cartons of cigarettes, and his Martin D-28.

Anyway, a few years ago when Gut Rumbles was still on Blogger and no one read his shtick, I read about his Blood Mountain trek. Being drunk and stupid, I took a chance and went to surprise him. A word of advice, never sneak up on a drunken redneck. Anyway, I found the cabin, and drove up real slow. I saw this gray-headed old bastard hovering around a pickup truck. I asked this old coot if he knew where Squirrel Cabin was. Man, he locked into my gaze. He didn’t know whether to reach for his gun or pour another drink. Luckily, he decided to pour another round. He invited me in with that good ole southern hospitality. I spent the next twenty-four hours shooting the shit with Acidman and Recondo 32. Man that was a great weekend.

The next year, Acidman played host to what is now known as the Jawja Blogfest. Wow! Fifteen to twenty of us Jawja Bloggers got wasted! If it wasn’t for a few pictures, I don’t think I’d remember the event.

At least I have proof! Just Damn!

One of my favorite links out there is Neal’s News. It is the daily program notes from the Neal Boortz show. I can read the notes and follow along with the show. It seems to be a great deal because I can only listen to Boortz for brief segments. Anyway, Boortz has been a long time proponent of the Fair Tax, the National Retail Sales Tax.

I’ve also been studying about the Tax plan. I think I like it. At first, I didn’t like it. I have been a long time tax protester. I studied long and hard about ways to circumvent the I.R.S. After all, I believe that I own my own labor. Anything less is akin to slavery.
However, with the Sales Tax plan, I wouldn’t have any loopholes. After more consideration, I realized that there is a way to circumvent the sales tax. I just won’t buy anything. How cool is that? Bottom line, I’m a supporter now. My labor is not taxed, and I’m only taxed on what I buy.

Lately, talk radio has taken up this topic. I mean other than Boortz. However, the mainstream media has not. That doesn’t surprise me a bit. After all the liberal media is a wing of the Democratic Party, the party that maintains power by propagating class warfare. I.e. Tax the rich, and middle class tax cuts. The thing that actually does surprise me is the silence from the Blogosphere. Where are all the posts about how great the new system would be? Or the posts on how crappy the system would be? I’m sure there are Bloggers taking up the task. Where are they? I guess it’s time to expand my little corner of the Blog world. Just Damn!

I haven’t posted in a while now. I guess I need to set aside a few moments to update this Blog. My apologies to those few of you who click over to find that same old post.

Speaking of same old posts. I read Blogs everyday. Sometimes I get off track from my thoughts. Other times posts enhance my thoughts. Anyway, while reading from others’ Blogrolls, I’ve noticed that most every Blogroll has a few Blogs that just… suck. I often times wonder why they made the Blogger’s roll. Maybe they left a great comment at one time. Maybe it is a reciprocal link expressing loyalty to the reader. Maybe it’s a friend’s Blog who just isn’t into the whole Blogging thing. Only the Blogger knows for sure. I know I have a few crappy Blogs on my roll. Just as certainly as the Dax Files is the crappy Blog on someone else’s Blogroll.

Although much is written about Blogging and links, I noticed this topic is almost never discussed. Why is that? Just calling it as I see it. Just Damn!

So here I am. I’m standing in the kitchen looking for a little breakfast. Then the thought occurs to me…Toast. Awesome, I get excited about the golden browned bread, slathered in butter, and then topped with homemade strawberry preserves. I got the coffee brewing and the bread in the toaster. Pop. The bread comes up. Damn! It’s white and just a little dry. I push the plunger down again. Instantaneously it pops back up. Down, up, down, up, fucking piece of shit. That damned toaster won’t toast.

All I wanted was a piece of toast. All I got was dried crap. This must be my third or fourth toaster. They all do the same thing. Why can’t these toaster fuckers make a toaster that fucking works? I think I’ve tried them all, Hamilton Beech, Sunbeam, Black and Decker, they all suck. Why don’t they sell the good toasters like Waffle House has? Is that too much to ask?

I ended up using the Elwood Blues method, the hot plate and coat hanger method. Worked like a charm. At least I spent enough time dicking around with the bread to allow the butter to soften up. I hate it when the butter tears a hole in the bread. I should invent a toaster that has a built in butter softener.

If I could just have five minutes with a toaster designer, I swear, I’ll take a claw hammer to their skull. After cracking open their fat melon head, I’ll stuff my cock into their gelatinous gray matter and skull fuck that son of a bitch. Bastards! All this pent up frustration over a piece of fucking toast. Ruined breakfast, ruined day, Just Damn!

Somebody somewhere asked me a question I never really thought too much about. If you own property, do you own the property to the Earth’s core? My initial answer would be, “yes.” Of course, then there’s the issue of property rights. I don’t own property. I actually own real estate. The government actually owns the property then leases it to me. That concept becomes crystal clear should you ever become delinquent on your “property taxes.” Anyway, I’m sure my neighbors would try to stop me from building an oil rig, or coal mine on my half-acre in the heart of suburbia. Nonetheless, should I happen to find some buried treasure on my property, I’m sure I’d own it to the center of the Earth.

I wrote a few posts ago about hanging out in Florida with my Grandfather. One of the places we would go was Mexico Beach. While all the older spring break hooligans would trash Panama City Beach, we would enjoy a nice relaxing weekend in a cottage on Mexico Beach. The little beach house had a screened in deck and a short stair that lead right down to the beach. It was an awesome place to hang out.

While strolling the beach one afternoon, I found this barnacle-laden pillar sticking up out of the sand. I asked my Grandfather, “What happened to the pier?” He smiled real big, shook his head and answered, “What pier?” I looked again at that sea worn post and realized, “Holy Shit! That post is all that was left of a house.” Anyway, my Grandfather told me that his beach house used to be across the street from the beach. There used to be a row of little beach houses and a little road there. Over time, the sea had reclaimed that portion of the land. Needless to say, that little house grew in value.

Now back to what I was thinking. Do the people that owned that house, that property, still own it? It might not be worth anything, but do they still have a claim on it? Just Damn!

Well here it is, early August, and school has already started. Just Damn! I remember back in the day when school started after Socialist Labor Day and lasted until Memorial Day. Summer used to last three full months. Then again, I remember when stores actually closed. Stores are opened twenty-four hours and holidays, so it’s no surprise that schools are moving toward a year ‘round system as well.

I guess the lazy days of summer are over. In today’s high speed, fast access world, young minds full of mush need that extra time in schools to stay competitive. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about my kids’ summer vacation. They need to spend more time in school.

Although I’m for year ‘round school, it’s more out of necessity than anything else. If the schools today were like the schools of yesterday, kids wouldn’t need year ‘round school. The local school boards, county, state, and federal governments keep throwing money at schools and the education is piss poor at best. Year round school won’t solve anything, but at least it will make me feel a little better. Just Damn!