Five seconds of fury

After thouroughly saturating our clothes with the delightful smell of woodsmoke, Lucas, Tony and I returned to our apartment in Simpson, a squat, concrete block structure built sometime in the mid-1950s. Tony and I felt right at home in Simpson, and Lucas quickly made himself at home, declaring that he was "done" for the night. He promptly got ready and went to bed--a wise move on his part, but one that left Tony and me at loose ends.

We eventually decided to try to find the Phi Mu Alpha (NOT the squatters Mu Alpha house, frickin' renegades) house and see what we could see. Here I have to digress down memory lane a bit. On one of my first nights at Hillsdale college, as a wide-eyed freshman, I remember wandering the streets of Hillsdale late at night, trying to find a means to extend my evening with seven or eight guys I hardly knew, several of which were falling down drunk. One of the strongest impressions of that night for me was the curious sense of bootless freedom that pervaded the air, as if anything and everything could happen on a fall night like this one.

Fast forward seven years, where Tony and I were in the same state, minus the inebriation, natch, but wandering the streets of Hillsdale looking to see what the town had to offer us. Unfortunately for us, and for you, my readers, we didn't find anything exciting, or even very interesting. After drifiting vaguely south, we located the house with little difficulty, entered, and were shown around by an extremely polite young man, one of the new Phi Mu Alpha brothers whose name escapes me.

And, since I'm at the limit of time, this "five seconds of fury" will have to be continued tomorrow!

Next: Five Seconds of Fury . . . Continued and A Day at the Game

A Ten-Foot Tall Fire

Apologies for the lateness of this post . . .

After dropping off our baggage at Simpson, with Lucas claiming the bed furthest from the door and me claiming the floor, we headed over to Whitley to pick up the rest of our entourage, only to be faced with the new house mother of Whitley, one Judith S., and her rapidly shrinking patience with her son, the Hon. J. We sorted out the fracas, and were greeted upon our exit with a vision--fireworks that were visible over the top of the Sage Center for the Arts. Hillsdale had certainly changed in the time I had been gone--they had never, ever had the wherewithal to launch fireworks before, not even when Arrrrrrn became pres. Surf and Turf in a giant tent on the quad, yes, but fireworks, no.

Instead of trying to get over to the field and see the 'works, we simply watched them from the lawn, then headed over when they were complete. What greeted us was a scene of well-organized chaos, with a crowd of folks who seemed like little children milling around a blaze that reached far up into the heavens. I could tell that I was getting old--the whole thing seemed loud and hot to me, rather than exciting and intimidating. After milling through the crowd several times, J and I managed to locate a cotton candy vendor, a young man who seemed more interested in chatting up the ladies at the popcorn next to us than getting us our free pink stuff.

After handing me a small stick, he turned once again to the popcorn ladies, putting the empty stick in his mouth in an attempt, no doubt, to look "cool." When J asked him for some cotton candy of his own, the young man took the stick out of his mouth , ran it around the inside of the machine several times, and handed it to J , never once stopping to look at us, acknowledge us--indeed, to even think about what he was doing.

J and I loooked at each other. "I can't believe I just saw that," I said. "Me either," said J , delicately taking a bite out of his candy. "I'll just eat the outside of this," J continued.

Re-rendesvouing with the group, Jacob decided that he wanted to sumo wrestle one of us. Always up to the challenge, I stepped into the dewey circle, only to be unceremoniously dumped on my kiester for the first fall. Must be that Samoan blood in Jacob--he was a deceptively strong wrestler! In the interests of full disclosure, I managed to take him down once or twice at the end, when he was tired--always a good strategy.

The party ended when the fire attendants began blasting the blaze with water, resulting in a pillar of smoke that would do the LORD proud. Tony finished up his interview with the Collegian, and we all headed back to our respective places, wondering what would happen next. Little did we realize the fury that awaited us. . .

Next: Five Seconds of Fury and A Day at the Game

Rolled Cigarettes

After a satisfying meal, and a couple of even more satisfying games of pool, slight confusion ensued as to what would be happening next. Things get a little fuzzy for me at this point--we ended up heading over to the local market in order to get refreshments for our night on the town, but Lucas, Kim and many of the other folks from the Hunt Club headed somewhere else, leaving me, Tony, J and Allie to pick through the offerings at Broad Street Market.

Feeling curiously overdressed in the market, I settled for a SoBe and a small bottle of Bicardi, as well as 2-liter of Coke (a decision that would later prove disatarous for Tony) and the others got their beverages of choice. The SoBe was a classic choice, recommended by J --I had to wipe a tear of nostalgia from my eye as we paid for our purchases. Oh, and after I expressed to Tony the fact that I had never seen a rolled cigarette before, he immediately picked up a pack of what looked like chewing tobacco and some papers. Of course, we both didn't think to pick up any filters, the end result of which when I woke the next morning, I ended up sounding like a scratchier, hoarser version of James Earl Jones--perfect for singing bass in the alumni choir the next day. Yikes.

Thus fortified, we headed over to Niedfelt and Simpson to continue our journey back in time, and to see if Lucas would be joining us on our "fogies night out."

Next time: A Ten-Foot Tall Bonfire and Five Seconds . . . of Fury

Hunt Club Memories

After a short journey through the rolling fields of Angola ("I promise guys, this way is faster than going through Coldwater!"), we arrived at downtown Hillsdale, ready to tuck in and enjoy a nice meal with other alums at the Hunt Club, a lcoal bar and grill. Actually, I've probably seen at least six or seven other Hunt Clubs since my time at Hillsdale (no affiliation with the Hillsdale one, by the way), and every time, I want to go into it and see if they have a giant stuffed fox over the bar and a sandwich called "The Dagwood."

Our little soiree turned out to be quite an affair. Lucas had managed to secure the entire upstairs of the little bar and grill for Hillsdale alumni, setting up two long tables facing the windows which looked out over the city square. Presiding at one of the tables was none other than the Reverend Dr. Reist, a character if I've ever met one and someone whom I wish had a blog of his own, even if it would primarily consist of weird quacks, photos of the various weddings he's attended/presided at, and serious discussion on the merits of Catholic theology and the evils of Catholic priestly celibacy. But I digress . . .

Fantastic as it was to see the good Doctor, because of our late arrival, Jacob, Tony and I were placed at the foot of the table in our own little corner. Various other Hillsdale alumni were there--if you want names and faces, you'll have to visit my good friend Lucas' blog. After ordering a pitcher of beer or two, our little group turned quite merry, eventually ending up with Tony, J, Jacob, and I playing pool while Lucas tried hard to stay awake and keep his supper down. The man did not look well, and he blamed it all on no sleep and a spotty cappucino. (Sorry for the bad spelling, but hey, I've only got five minutes to do this thing).

Next time: Rolled Cigarettes and a Ten-Foot Tall Bonfire

Five minutes of fame

Ok, I've promised myself I'll spend five minutes a day updating this little blog, and see where it gets me. The clock is ticking . . .

Hope you like the new look. I've had to upgrade to keep up with the "Tonys" and "Lucases" of the world. If you don't like it, drop me a comment or something and I'll get busy ignoring you right away! Seriously though, if you see something egregious on this site (besides the delay in posting!) let me know and I'll try to make it better.

Ok, when I left you last year, I was promising an update about the Homecoming experience, version 2006. Well, after I eagerly packed up all of the stuff I would need for Homecoming (read: an extra shirt and pants, because you never know what Tony's going to borrow), I waited on the front porch to see which of my friends would be picking me up to cart me up to Hillsdale. Lo and behold, a battered little car with Massachusetts plates pulled up, carrying not one, not two, but three very good friends from college--albeit one of them was laying down in the back seat so I couldn't see him.

Yep, J, Tony and Jacob had arrived. After a quick tour of our house (still new to us, at that point), and after Tony made instant friends with my daughter by making weird faces at her and being really loud (little girls love Tony--insert your own joke here), we were off on a funky adventure, one that promised to be interesting, at worst, and downright criminal, at best.

Of course, as the people in the car had collectively already driven for the equivalent of at least 24 hours straight, I drove.

Next time: Hunt Club Memories and Rolled Cigarettes

New post coming soon

Imagine a little man with a construction shovel working here. I'll have a new post, titled "Homecoming Adventures: The Billy Gray Story" in this space tonight or tomorrow.

Thanks for your patience.

*sigh*

Too much writing these days. Too much by half.

Apologies to my three faithful fans about letting this little blog choke to death under a dusty pile of indifference. Not much has been going on in my life, at least not much worth reporting. That was my thought, initially, when I sat down to type this little missive. And yet, when I look back on the (yikes!) 2 months since I last posted, a lot has happened.

First, an Evie update for all of you family and friends--she's moved from the sitting up on her own, to the crawling, to the cruising (walking with the help of a (hopefully!) immovable object) stage. She still crawls a bunch--she's a fast little bugger--but she can get around quite well on her own two feet as well. Today (and this is the main reason for this little post) she took a little half step, on her own, for the first time ever. Wow! It's not going to be long before we're all chucking the frisbee at each other as a little family.

Oh, and she has two bottom teeth, smiles a whole bunch, and generally keeps Megan's life at home interesting. Speaking of the Megster, she's doing well. She's been reading a bunch, watching Evie, and generally taking great care of both her and me. What a wonderful gal.

As for me, I've been busy as well. Last week may have been a new record in terms of hours worked on a project--I think I averaged 11 to 12 hour days for four out of five days last week. Thankfully, the push to finish the project has been completed, and I'm more free to do other things, like post to my blog, for example. I've also managed to get some work published in Play magazine, a newsstand and online magazine covering video games, anime, and other assorted things that nerds love. If you'd like to read one of my articles, pick up the mag, or you can just click on the link if you're in Japan like Tony--or if you're just lazy or cheap.

http://www.playmagazine.com/index.php?fuseaction=SiteMain.showAnimePage&Anime_ID=125

I'll post other reviews as I get them approved by my editor for your reading pleasure.

Ok, next post--a brief history of the adventures at Hillsdale homecoming. Don't worry--it'll just be another month or so before that story gets told.

PS--I did finish that short story--let me get it edited and I'll put it up on the blog.

Hmm, Two weeks was generous

I hate missing deadlines. And I use "hate" in the strongest possible terms, here. But unfortunately, I missed one--the deadline for that short story contest described in the last post. But, never fear! I will finish my story and you, my loyal reader (all six of you, seven now that MM's reading), will be the first ones to read it--I will publish it on my blog.

Until then, here's what you really want to see--pictures of my daughter, Evie!

She had her first solid food yesterday, cream of rice made with Similac formula. And guess what? It tastes as good as it sounds! Seriously though, you should see the picture after she took her first bite--she wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Eventually, she was able to eat, but she still licks the spoon's tip as though she were sucking it out of something.

Enjoy the pics!

BillG

Two weeks? Really?!?

Has it really been two weeks since my last post? Ah well, I better put one up now, just so that I can continue to read my own writing. The last two weeks have been busy week--the battle of the bug, a flurry of paper, and getting stumped on a short story are the highlights.

The battle of the bug was more "bug" than "battle," actually. Last Saturday, as we were finishing up getting ready for bed, I was done with my toilette and was lying on the bed reading, while my wife was finishing up. Suddenly, I was jerked out of the world of George R.R. Martin by a loud gasp (I get the feeling it would have been a scream if our daughter weren't asleep upstairs). Sitting up immediately, I asked Megan what was wrong.

"Oh, just sit up and look," she said, stage left. I did so, and saw what could only be described as a hockey puck moving slowly across our carpeted floor. Thankfully, it was moving very slowly, and so my brain immediately realized that it couldn't be a cockroach. I approached the piece of sporting equipment carefully, a glass in hand. It was a bug, a black beetle with exceptionally long legs and a hard carapace. Moving nonchalantly across our rug, he seemed to be heading toward our closet--no doubt to commit suicide by hiding in a pair of my shoes (ok, they don't smell that bad, but still). We slipped a thin calendar under him, and placed him, and the glass, on our countertop to be dealt with on Sunday morning. That night, I couldn't get up without thinking I would step on something crunchy . . .

As for the flurry of paper, we purchased a new desk--actually a convertible sofa table that folds out into a sort of writing desk. Transferring our mail to the sofa table has resulted in small piles of paper where you least expect them--on the couch, on bookcases, ottomans, and elsewhere. Of course, we don't put any paper on the floor, because our daughter loves, I repeat loves, paper. Or more specifically, the taste of paper. So we're careful about what we let drop.

And the short story--it's for a contest where I can win, if chosen, the fabulous prize of $50, and the only requirement is that it start with the phrase "It was a small box, but . . . " And so I ask you, dear readers, what sort of story would you tell that began with a phrase like that?

BillG

Freelancing

So I took a class on writing last Saturday.

Well, not really "writing" writing, as in how to use the language to get people to feel something or experience an emotion. No, this class was designed to teach you How to Be a Writer, or how to write for a living, which is something that, more and more, I think I might just try to accomplish. All of the updates from my friend Brent, and my experiences with a friend here at work, Steve, have helped me to believe that this is something that I not only would be halfway decent at, but also something that I could make a halfway decent living at. (How's that for a budding writer's sentence!)

The class itself was an eminently practical excercise. From 9 a.m. to 4 p.m., Mr. Dennis E. Hensley, published author and director of a local writing program, instructed me and seven others on the finer points of writing novels and short stories. What was interesting about him was how compelling he was as a salesman, an ability he used in order to illustrate his points in a captivating and memorable way. It made me wonder if all writers had to be like him, because if that was the case, it certainly wasn't for me.

Of course, that was only if you listen to how he was saying it. If, as I did, you listened to what he was actually saying, you came away with more hope than that. With the proliferation of media has come a proportionate proliferation of publishing houses and presses, making it even more possible to get published someplace. The thing that gave me the most hope? Mr. Hensley talked about how one of the things writers must do is to continue to read, both the classics and modern works, esp. in your chosen genre. Reading? Now that's something I know I can do.

I'll keep you, my faithful and loyal readers (all six of you) posted on how this little odyssey turns out.

BillG