Dribbling Ink

Fiction: The Short Story Graveyard

2010-04-24T00:26:00.001-05:00

Apparently, the first sentence is the most important. (Pause..) Didn't seem very important to me. Did I lose you already, dear reader? Dang. This is tough. Should I start over with an attention-grabbing first sentence? Forget you read this...

Starting over. Take two: Have you ever attempted to write a short story, dear reader? No? What? You hate to write? Oh...

Take three: A priest and a rabbi walk into a bar...That's just lame, which was the point. But it still didn't work.

Do you know how difficult it is to start a blog? Well, whether you do or not, it's even more difficult to start a short story. Don't get me wrong: I write just as many crappy short stories as I do crappy blogs. The only difference is that you read the blogs. Sometimes, at least. No one will publish the stories -- not even sometimes. I can publish them on here, which I do infrequently, but it just feels cheap. It's like cheating. I mean, though they are still just as "unpublished" as before, they are at least doing something besides taking up space on my flash drive.

Anyway, like any writer (I think: I don't know because I'm not a real writer), I have a large collection of unfinished stories. And an even larger number of dead first lines. Therefore, I am going to share my favorite introductions to unfinished stories with you. I might even include a quick note after each.

Welcome to The Short Story Graveyard.

I spend most of my time in the bathroom. I don't think other people realize the possibilities. It's the first place I go when I get home. It's where I always go when I need to think. It's the safest place to be. There are no emotions in the bathroom. There is piss, crap, and toothpaste -- they don't threaten my sanity.

(Note: Wait, that dude read my mind.)

Winter's cold fingers took hold of the small village of Garth a week before the harvest festival. Many of the town's farmers had already taken their crops; others had not. For those souls who hesitated to harvest, their livelihoods were as fragile as the icicles which hung from the roofs of their huts.

(Note: My cousin and I were going to write a fantasy novel. He wrote this.)

The last time I saw you, all I could focus on was the back of my truck.

(Note: Dierks Bentley song? Maybe Taylor Swift? Who knows, because that's as far as I ever got.)

Hunched over, she scratched her legs just below the knee. Her milky pale limbs blended in with her light khaki shorts and white shirt; freckles spotted her face. I tried not to look while she scratched her legs, swatting away mosquitoes. She was always scratching them during the summer, but it never bothered me.

(Note: Curious.)

Scott Heritage still believed in God; though, without a doubt, he would deny it. But he knew, as he grumbled requests, now wasn't the time to get reacquainted.

(Note: Always liked this one.)

Anyway, I am trying to jump-start my imagination. Sorry that it has to be at your expense. Just don't steal my ideas -- I have too few ideas as it is. Post your own dead stories, if you want. We can bury them in the short story cemetery and hope they come back to life.

The Fish with No Name

2010-04-21T00:48:00.000-05:00

I have so much homework to do that the fact I've even typed this much (pause, consider just how little I have typed to this point) is ludicrous. Then consider that I am going to talk about my fish, and all hope for my future (a M.L.A. degree) is lost.

Look, I don't have time to charge my camera and take a picture right now, but I will later; however, I just don't understand my new fish. He is anorexic. Seriously. I've never seen him eat one food pellet. Periodically I drop a few pellets into his bowl just like the food container recommends. Every time, he goes through the same routine. He swims up to smell (do fish smell?)/ consider the food, pauses for a seconds, and swims away.

Scribbles, my last fish, would eat every pellet I dropped into his bowl. I mean, I could drop like six in there and he would eat every one of them. Of course, the container only recommends two to three pellets every few days. I think Scribbles might have died of gluttony.

My new fish doesn't have a name, but I'm not sure he is going to live long enough for it to matter.

Most. Pointless. Blog. Ever.

Anyway, back to the fishbowl of literary criticism.

Fiction: The Watch-Out

2010-04-17T21:06:00.003-05:00

I’m the watch-out, Simon thought, watching Jack Calvert glide across the gray puddles in the nearly empty parking lot as horizontal sheets of rain continued to fall. Here we go. The young cashier, who Simon knew sang karaoke at the local bar on Friday nights, stomped to the back as a white-bearded man in motorcycle chaps entered. It was the same disgusted look she had when Simon wandered in ten minutes before closing-time two nights ago. Simon and Jack had rehearsed the plan repeatedly since, but Simon still lacked faith.

“How long have you known me, Simon?” Jack asked before jumping out and following the bearded man inside. Simon didn’t want to appear faithless, but he knew Jack sensed his doubt. He’d barely known Jack five months, but he still trusted him enough for this. It was because Jack Calvert was the first person to console him after Callie left, Simon reasoned. But it didn’t really matter why, because he did.

The stealing had started small, a means of survival while Simon rebuilt his life. Luckily, the one thing Simon had left from his former life was a truck. Jack always paid for their gas and food, occasionally coming out of gas stations with a candy bar or book for Simon. He didn’t talk about himself much, but Simon knew Jack had never been married and had left home when he was fifteen to work on-and-off in construction, drifting around the Midwest. Sometimes they just drove aimlessly, shooting the shit, which comforted Simon because he could confess his feelings and wish Callie away to Never-Never-Land. Simon had questioned her loyalty before, usually feeling guilty afterwards because he never had any proof, but her abrupt departure had confirmed his assumptions: she was having an affair.

“Irreconcilable differences, my ass,” Simon would say, ceremoniously. “I should fight her for every penny in court.” His partner — that’s how Simon came to think of Jack — always listened, but Simon knew Jack wished he’d just forget it and move on. Jack Calvert didn’t like riding in cars much anyway. He didn’t have to say that. Simon could tell by the way Jack dazed out, especially when they were on the highway, and rubbed his temples like he had a migraine. Usually they drove down gravel roads because Jack loved to be in nature — that’s when Jack talked the most, and Simon learned what little he knew about his mysterious partner.

I’m just the watch-out Simon reminded himself, noting the neon-green 7:45 on the dash of his Ford Bronco. Most of the jobs they worked didn’t take more than ten minutes. Jack had them arriving in Missouri before 9:00 p.m. Drive around the block twice, pull-up to the storefront, and drive away. The plan was simple. Simon, though, worried about working a job in such a busy area of town — the store was one of many in two strip malls that formed an “L” with a movie theater at the top end — but his spirits were rising; his insides, however, were twitching like they always did before a big job. Secretly, he prayed this would hold them over long enough to find steady work; Simon didn’t really have the stomach for this line of work — he knew it and so did Jack. Simon wished they could find work together, maybe open up a mechanic shop or a fishing supply store, but he knew Jack would never settle down. Jack didn’t like to be attached. Halfway around the first lap, heading directly towards the movie theater, Simon noticed a nondescript black SUV. This was the kind of detail he was responsible for as the watch-out. He tried to visualize the plaza from the past two nights, but he couldn’t place the vehicle. If only I’d paid more attention instead of talking about Callie.

“Damn stupid, soon-to-be ex-wife,” he mumbled. Something wasn’t right about the SUV, but Simon decided to hold course until further aggression by the vehicle.

After the first pass, Hell’s bearded angel was still the only customer in the store, besides Jack, and stood alone at the cash register. Simon tried to picture Jack — the calm and quiet out-of-work carpenter, who named every bird and flower (cardinals, daffodils, irises, blue jays, ivory-billed woodpeckers) when they parked on a gravel road to unwind — convincing the cashier or her manager that he’d do something bad if they didn’t empty the registers. Simon suppressed a smile. Hell, if I get custody of Rachel, Jack Calvert is the first person I’ll visit. He’s harmless. Jack has everything under control. The storefront and the white-bearded man disappeared as Simon turned left and began his second lap across the bottom of the L-shaped plaza. The plan, the motorcycle man, and the black SUV were the farthest things from his mind.

Violence had been building inside of Simon the night Callie had left. He sipped on a whisky-soda, which he knew he wouldn’t be able to afford after the divorce, and tried to reason things out. He had worked for weeks putting together their daughter’s birthday party, calling family, friends and clowns. And to think she had the nerve to leave him after such an exhausting, emotional day, whispering lies about going on a journey like Peter Pan to their five-year old daughter. I’ll show her Never-Never-Land; I’ll send her to — that’s when a hand fell on his trembling shoulder.

“Don’t worry yourself too much. Tomorrow brings its own troubles,” Jack Calvert had said, calming the locomotion of disgust in Simon’s exhausted body. It was almost supernatural the way Jack had appeared, seemingly materializing behind him in the nearly empty bar. But that’s what Simon liked about Jack: the way he knew where to be and what to say; the feeling that Jack knew exactly what was needed in every situation.

Simon clenched his jaw as he slapped the steering wheel, but he was more upset with himself than his soon-to-be ex-wife: he hadn’t seen the signs. He would never admit that to Jack, but Simon suspected his partner knew more than he let on about these things. Life had been damn-near perfect. They had too many credit cards and a thirty-year mortgage, but they’d had each other. And Rachel. Simon told Jack everything he could about Rachel — the light scar on her left cheek from when he’d left the iron plugged in and she’d pulled it on her face (Callie had almost left him for that stunt, as she called it), the sandy brown hair she inherited from her mother, the pinky-pale skin that burned and peeled constantly during the summer, and even her difficultly pronouncing W’s and R’s that she inherited from him. Callie could go to Never-Never-Land with Peter Pan, but Simon wanted to be a part of his daughter’s life.

The rain began to pound the hood of the Bronco, imposing upon and muddling Simon’s thoughts. He hadn’t always lived up to Callie’s expectations, like dropping out of college after they were married to take a full-time job in a factory. They had needed insurance while she finished college. He’d done what had to be done. She hadn’t seen it that way, even after finding out she was pregnant with Rachel a few months later. The late hours put a strain on their marriage, but they lived through it. They’d even made it through other —

“What the — ” Simon shut his former life out of his thoughts; he couldn’t afford to drown out the present — Shit, you’re the watch-out, Simon, concentrate — and what he thought he’d heard. Simon quickly identified the rain beat on the roof, but could have sworn that he’d heard a distinct pop underneath the pitter-patter, like a muffled firecracker. Two. Three. Four seconds passed. Two more firecracker pops. Blue lights erupted from the dash of the black SUV at the movie theater. Aggression enough, Simon thought as he broke course and headed at a 45-degree angle across the L-shaped plaza, weaving in-and-out of parked vehicles. You’re always screwing things up, Callie. With a quick glance he calculated that he had about seven second head start to get in the store, find Jack, and make a getaway before the SUV arrived and whatever came with it.

The Bronco skidded to a stop beside the white-bearded man’s motorcycle. Simon jumped out of the truck, leaving the truck running and the door open, and splashed through the puddles inside. The front was empty: a pack of cigarettes and Gummy Bears lay on the checkout counter. He saw all this in a glance as he raced towards the back. Come on, Jack.

“Jack.”

He heard a small splash — for a second, Simon felt like he was sinking — and the smell of burnt flesh rammed his nostrils. He traced the puddle to the white-bearded man’s body on the other side of the middle-aisle shelf. Here, all kinds of liquids mixed into a black mess. There was a hole in the bearded man’s chest — his leather chap breast pocket read AVIDSON. Simon felt his lungs drop into his stomach. He nearly vomited.

(How long have you known me?)

“Jack!”

Simon staggered to the back, scanning each aisle, through the EMPLOYEES ONLY! Door into a foggy room filled with boxes and boxes. All the boxes and brand names — Kleenex, Reeses, TRESemme, Johnson & Johnson, Kosher — made him dizzy. Or maybe it was the sensation of sinking that he couldn’t shake. Simon dropped to his knees. Head spinning. I’m just the watch-out. He tried to focus. Where are you, Jack? Then two more bodies, lying perpendicular across one another, got caught in his peripheral vision. Simon recognized them immediately — the Karaoke Cashier and her manager.

“I’m right here, Simon,” Jack said, appearing from behind a mountain of boxes. “Don’t be afraid.”

Typical Jack. Always cool. Always on top of things.

“There’s an undercover cop, Jack. He was right behind me in a black SUV. I spotted him earlier, but—”

“—Come on. It’s OK.” Jack lifted Simon to his feet, guiding him back through the EMPLOYEES ONLY! Door. Blue light from the black SUV’s dash flooded the room as Jack ushered them towards the front. AVIDSON still lay by the middle shelf; Simon tried not to look, but the smell overpowered his senses. The front windows were fogged over — Simon imagined the stink of death choking the windows. Jack didn’t speak but continued to usher Simon along. Simon could hear sirens, shouting, slamming doors, and the pitter-patter of rain.

They stopped a few steps in front of AVIDSON. Simon heard the ole’ “Put down the weapon! And put your hands in the air!” charade, but his mind was too clouded to be sure. He imagined Clint Eastwood in his Dirty Harry outfit waiting outside, rain accentuating his clenched jaw.

“There goes my custody case—”

An arm clamped across his chest and the warm muzzle of a gun jammed into Simon’s back before he could finish. He could feel Jack’s breath against his neck. His body went rigid. He was too scared to react. He wanted to ask Jack the plan. Is there a plan? No one is going to fall for this.

I’m the watch-out.

“Who do you think I am, Simon?”

“Ja-Jack. Jack. Jack Calvert.” At first he couldn’t find his voice, but he finally

forced the words out. “My-my partner.”

“Yeah. Partner. Do you doubt me?”

Everything was happening too fast. Simon didn’t know if Jack was using him as a shield, as a ransom, as a diversion, as a sacrifice. Red and blue lights pulsated strobe-like across the shelves. The lights were getting brighter, the noises more intense; everything was muddling together…Simon heard a crack in the distance. And another. He felt something scrape down his back and right calf. White light exploded and engulfed everything.

---

“Jack?” Are we in prison?

“Who’s Jack?

“Ca-Callie?” Where am I?

“Yes.” He could hear her voice, but he couldn’t find her in the darkness. “What were you doing in there? You could have been killed.”

“Trying to help Jack.” Wait. Why do you care? Is Jack OK?

“There wasn’t anyone but you — alive, that is — in the store, Simon. They just ran photos of the victims on the news. No one named, uh, Jack.”

“Where’s Rachel?” Maybe I’m dreaming.

“I didn’t want her to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve been in a coma for three days. They didn’t know if you were going to make it.” This time he saw her through the snowy haze. “I didn’t want her to experience this, this — she’s too young.”

His head was spinning again. How long have you known me, Simon?

“Experience what? Where have you been? What has she been experiencing?”

“Forget it! I didn’t come here for this. I thought it might help you…you—”

“Then why did you come? I know it wasn’t to see me. Where’s the Lost Boys? Or Tinker Bell?”

“Simon, I’m not fighting anymore. I just wanted you to know you can see Rachel when you’re better.”

This caught him off guard. What did we do, Jack?

“I’m sorry, Cal.”

When she didn’t reply immediately, Simon concentrated on the two beats he could identify: the soft rhythm of the rain and the shrill buzzing of technology around him.

“That was brave, Simon.”

This time he didn’t reply but pretended to sink into sleep, or into a coma, or wherever he’d been before he’d woken up.

We Got that Wood Right Here!

2010-04-16T00:16:00.000-05:00

(Caption: Arkansas pwns LSU. This is the best caption. Ever. And it defeats the entire purpose of this blog.)

Sports, literature, Arkansas. These are the supposed topics of this blog. I've got the sports covered; however, I'm slacking in my literature and Arkansas material. (I have fiction to post, but I still get nervous about posting my creative writing). I guess you could consider the Conversations as concerning Arkansas since everyone I've interviewed is from the Natural State (minus the imaginary conversations).

Still, seeing as Dribbling Ink is the most followed blog concerning Arkansas (or at least pretending to be) on Networked Blogs, I feel I should write a blog about Arkansas -- or at least make an attempt to. Yeah, I am kind of a big deal in Arkansas, moving in on Scottie Pippen, Corliss Williamson, and Bill Clinton territory.

Note: I started this blog on Monday...it's now early Friday morning. Needless to say the flow is gone, but the links are still relevant (I think). Anyway, this is the perfect spot to say a few things. First, I don't want this blog to be full a self-promoting, annoying personal rant, which it flirts with becoming at times. Second, I know I spend more time saying what I am going to do rather than doing it. That all changes today. Third, thank you for reading.

As part of a way to focus on Arkansas, don't forget about Ashton Reely's blog (http://www.fabulousfamiliar.blogspot.com/), Meggie Hodge's clothing apparel business, or Kathryn Richey's photography business. Also, check out Jordan Jackson-Gross's blog (http://conversationtimewithjordan.blogspot.com/).We work together -- she's appeared numerous times in this blog as "co-worker," I think. Anyway, reading her blog will be well worth your time.

Time-warp: Back to the original blog...

Apparently the KFC buffet originated in Paragould, Arkansas, and I have proof. Of course, that is if you believe the Paragould Daily Press is a credible source. Which it is...I mean, no doubt. It isn't called the Daily Mess for nothing (double negative burn) -- it offers so much relevant information that it's hard to keep it all clear in your head. I kid the PDP. I ~~endured~~ enjoyed my four years there as a sports writer.

I'll be quiet and give you the link already: http://paragoulddailypress.com/articles/2010/04/11/local_news/doc4bc11ed3e1151748674505.txt

I also wrote a blog during my first graduate semester about the South, specifically Northeast Arkansas. It didn't turn out exactly as I planned: I overgeneralized without focusing on Northeast Arkansas as much as I had planned. As anything I do for school, it was an exercise in mediocrity.

If you want to torture yourself, here's where to go: http://southernidentity.blogspot.com/

Oh, here's a link for the title, if you need some context: http://www.tigerdroppings.com/rant/messagetopic.asp?p=6202276

Like most of my blogs, this isn't going anywhere. However, like most of my blogs (I say this often, eh?), I hope this blog will serve as a reminder and as inspiration for me to write more about Arkansas. Who knows, maybe I will try to incorporate some of the Southern Identity blog into this blog. I love Arkansas, which isn't a sentiment many fellow Arkansans I know seem to share; therefore, outside of writing about Arkansas sports, I hope to write more about the Natural State and its influence on my writing (vague and nonbinding, just how I like it).

If you, dear reader, have any suggestions or comments about Arkansas -- because I know the majority of my readers are from or live in Arkansas -- I'd love to hear from you. I will make this plea until someone actually leaves a useful comment. Dang non-participators.

Conversations: Kathryn Richey

2010-04-08T09:37:00.001-05:00

(Caption: Kathryn refused to let me use a picture of her. I guess this is effective.)

I write a lot of pointless blogs on Dribbling Ink; however, blogs like this make it worth it. It's always interesting to talk to other arists and creative people; it's even more exciting when you grew up with the person, which is this case with this week's interviewee -- Kathryn Richey.

I've known Kathryn since kindergarten. In fact, in elementary school, Kathryn, Daniel Vangilder, and I morphed ourselves into three Arkansas Razorback basketball players: Corey Beck, Corliss Williamson, and Scotty Thurman. It's been a long time since then, but Kathryn continues to utilize her creativity in new ways.

Jacob Cooper: Recently, very recently, you started posting pictures that you've taken on Facebook -- professional-grade portraits, I guess (everyone posts pictures on Facebook). You also started a group/business, Kathryn Richey Photos. So, how long have you been interested in photography? I mean, I've known you my entire life and this seems to be something relatively new.

Kathryn Richey: I've been casually interested in photography since my senior year in high school. I enjoyed taking pictures of sunsets and spring flowers, playing with angles and action shots, but after Kyndall was born my casual interest evolved into a passion.

JC: Why is that? Do you just like taking pictures of your beautiful child? Or did she trigger something else? Or did something different inspire you?

KR: Am I taking the easy way out if I say a little bit of each? Of course I enjoy taking pictures of my beautiful child! Watching her play and grow reignited my tendency to see moments that would be beautiful frozen forever. The "something else" would have to be the feelings I had after taking her in for her first professional shoot. We were able to take her to a fantastic photographer whose studio is in her spare bedroom. The excitement of the session and the joy of seeing my daughter captured so beautifully were overwhelming. Paying for those beautiful pictures was overwhelming too, but not in the same positive way. Something in me was like, "I can do this myself."

(Caption: Kyndall, a bundle of inspiration.)

I researched photography, read articles, watched hours of how-to videos, and poured over studio sites from all over the country for inspiration. I tried to do some different shoots with Kyndall on my own, but my equipment wasn't high quality. After talking it all over with Kyle, and getting the encouragement I needed, I purchased the quality camera I needed.

JC: It seems to be a leap of faith from how-to videos to starting a business. So, what kind of reception have you received from the pictures you've posted on Facebook? Do you think Facebook is an invaluable tool for amateur artists like us (OK, maybe I shouldn't have included myself)?

KR: I've had very positive feedback on Facebook. I've scheduled shoots daily since posting examples of my work.

I think "invaluable" is a great way to describe Facebook for people like us. Since we're so old (editor’s note: she may be old, but I’m not) and able to remember life without Facebook, I know getting a photography business off the ground would have been expensive. I'd have all the time it takes to do shoots and edit photos like I do now, but then I'd have to pay to print proof books and books of examples to show prospective customers. My audience would only be those I could physically show the pictures to. It would be much more difficult to get my work noticed.

JC: This is probably a difficult question to answer, but what expectations do you have for your photos or photography business? Not to relate my blog to your photography, because the quality of your work is most likely superior, but I always have conflicted feelings about the work I put out for the public to see.

KR: After I post my final versions of pictures into customer's private albums on Facebook, I'm anxious beyond words to hear what they think. No matter how good I think I picture is, it's not about me. It's about what my customer's think about the images. Of course, it is about me to a point because I want them to like what I did. It's a nerve racking experience every time!

I'm actually avoiding expectations as much as possible. As soon as I start attaching expectations, I'll start getting disappointed. My plan is to do this on the side as much as I can. If it ever becomes a full-time thing, I guess that would be good, but I'm not sure. I don't really want photography to turn into something I have to do. Make sense?

Another red flag for me in doing this full time is my tendency to be compulsive about things. Once I get my mind on an activity (editing photos, generating business, researching new techniques), I can't think of anything else. It's not the best trait when added to my roles of mommy and wife.

JC: With the overwhelming availability of professional-level photography equipment to the amateur photographer, how does a new photographer make his or her mark? Or what do you think you bring to photography or approach that is unique?

KR: I invested in a quality beginner DSLR with the adjustable features I needed, such as aperture, exposure, flash compensation, and shutter length. For professional photographers, I'm sure my camera is a joke. For me, it's the second most important tool I have. What sets me apart and helps me make a mark, I would have to say, is creativity. My goal is to see shots other photographers may not see, to take pictures from angles that are anything but traditional, and to make my subjects feel as comfortable as possible. Poses are necessary at times, but natural, fun pictures are always the most meaningful. After my camera and creativity, I should mention that my access to a 400+ acre farm with hundreds of different scenes is my third most valuable asset!

Also, I strongly believe great photography doesn't have to be expensive. I keep my prices as low as I can so that I don't eliminate people based on income. That's a pretty big deal to me.

JC: I usually always ask this question, and since we grew up together it will be interesting to see what you have to say, but what impact does living in the South have on your work, if any?

Obviously, you already mentioned the influence of a 400-plus acre farm.

KR: Though my interest was not serious enough to take out a camera and capture scenes until high school, I've always looked at beautiful landscapes, moments with family, etc., and seen them as pictures, matted in a frame. The South, particularly Northeast Arkansas, has always fueled that inspiration. Arkansas is such a beautiful state. We get to experience all four seasons: watch leaves change and fall, sneeze through spring and still make snowmen and swim in rivers. The fact I, as a photographer, get to have that many backdrops is fantastic. Arkansas gets such a bad rap (don't get me started on that, I've written papers on what I call geographical stereotyping), but there is so much to inspire future artists of any kind.

JC: Thanks for taking some time out of your busy schedule to talk with me. I wish you the best of luck, and maybe I'll sign up for a family shoot or something someday.

KR: Thanks for picking my photography to blog about. I'm flattered to know my pictures are getting so much attention.

Kathryn is currently a photographer in the Northeast Arkansas area. She lives in Jonesboro, Arkansas, with her husband Kyle, who are self-proclaimed moving professionals, and their daughter Kyndall. She stays at home with her 21-month old daughter, who is her world. Kathryn holds a Bachelor of Arts in Social Sciences and plans to begin work on her Master of Theological Studies Degree in the Fall.

Attack of the Killer Lists: The Top Ten Habits to Break this Summer

2010-04-07T15:22:00.003-05:00

(Caption: OMGosh! It's a giant tomato rolling at breakneck speed! Uphill!)

Lists are dangerous. Write a list and the next thing you know it's the only thing you can do. I'm not much of a list person, especially "To-Do" lists. The most important lists to me are grocery lists. Of course, as my wife can attest to, food consumes me (Nope, not the other way around: "Food consumes me" is exactly the reason that studying English is useless. Any string of words makes perfect sense).

The only reason I'm saying this is because I have an insatiable desire to post another list. I just posted a list on Monday. See...it's unstoppable. It's like those killer tomatoes in Attack of the Killer Tomatoes -- they just roll over you and squash you--well, tomato you (I think I just made a vegetable joke. Dang, this blog is going downhill quickly...like those evil killer tomatoes!). Whatever. You get the point?

Next, I'll be trying to write my papers about the American West and literary criticism in list form. 1. Clint Eastwood is a boss (yes, he is actually relevant to my paper) 2. It's amazing that he can hit someone with a revolver from 200 yards away without aiming...blah, blah, blah -- like singers and rappers sometimes do, it's easier just to add a blah, blah, blah when you can't think of anything else to write. So blah. I'm not sure my blahs are having the same aesthetic effect, though.

Back to the lists (not the future -- these stupid pop culture references that no one cares about are getting out of control).List. List. List. I am now going to post the list (refer to the title). Oh, I know from working with college students every day that you've already either already forgotten the title, are too lazy to scroll back up, or just don't care.

The Top Ten Habits to Break this Summer. Of course, most of these will apply more to me than you, which means you can probably quit reading at this point. But feel free to take my advice or give your own.

10. Trying to steam clothes that I am wearing. Yeah, you probably don't do this; you probably don't even have a clothes steamer. Most people just use the iron or the dryer. Personally, I prefer the steamer; however, I've burnt myself numerous times trying for a quick press.

9. I

8. COULDN'T

7. THINK

6. OF ANYTHING ELSE.

(That could probably win some poetry awards. Note: Just to clear up this statement, I am not bashing poetry in any way. In fact, I can't tell you how much I admire someone who can write effective poetry. I was commenting more on all the crappy poetry available on the internet.)

5. Biting my fingernails. I blame my mother...and LeBron James. Both are habitual finger-biters.

4. Staying up too late. I haven't gone to bed before midnight (usually quite a bit after) in like three years. I just need to tweak my schedule so I can be more productive during the day and not be asleep until like 1:00. Sadly, I usually only stay up even later during the summer.

3. Slothfulness -- or, not exercising. I am getting to that point in my life where exercising is no longer an option, it's a must. The pounds are a lot harder to keep off these days, and I'm losing my athletic frame.

2. Procrastinating. It would be impossible for me to change this habit during the school year. Once I start off behind, I never catch up. That's just how college works. It's a proven fact. Trust me. I've been in school for like 20 years now.

1. Blogging. That is, I need to write more fiction, less crap.

Post-March Sadness/Gladness (Note the pun on Madness)

2010-04-05T15:16:00.004-05:00

(Caption: This may be lurking behind that greenish-yellow cloud of pollen.)

March Madness. Spring break. My birthday. There isn't a reason to dislike March. In fact, there's every reason to be sad at its departure.

Yup, it's that time of the year again. That time. The time we all hate. You know, that time? Oh, I mean that time. THAT time. If you're wondering, my wife would say this is how I talk about everything. But I'm not vague. IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR.

So, in honor of it being that time of the year again, I'm busting out a list. The top 10 reasons, in no particular order (ignore the numbering, it just makes it easier to read), to hate/love the post-March year.

Hate...

1) The greenish-yellow cloud of pollen hovering over the world -- or, at least, Arkadelphia. I'm waiting for those bat/pterodactyl-like things to burst out of the cloud like in Stephen King's novella/film The Mist.

2) Getting older. Yeah, I know: it's always happening. I guess this one is personal. After my birthday, I feel like I begin to decay (recently, that is). It's just a short trip to 25. Then 30. Before long I'll be old. Then dead. Optimistic, eh?

3) Baseball. America's sport -- whatever. My opinion was probably swayed by the four years I spent covering college, American Legion, high school, and little league baseball. It takes too long. However, sitting in the dugout with upper-level teams can be fun. Plus, baseball coaches/managers seem to be the least uptight of all coaches.

4) No more college basketball -- the madness turns to sadness. Yes, I know the Final Four and the NCAA Championship Game are in April, but it's still the end. At least it's going to be an exciting final game. Duke-Butler is the perfect championship matchup. The perennial powerhouse versus the newcomers. There seems to be an ongoing debate as to whether or not Butler is a Cinderella team. I'd have to say yes and no. Granted they've been ranked in the top ten the entire year (I think, or close), the Bulldogs aren't supposed to be here. Elite Eights and Final Fours are supposed to be the cemetery of mid-major dreams.

5) School. You think it's ending. You tell yourself, "If I can make it to Spring Break, I've made it." Then you realize that big paper or project you've put off the entire year is looming large. Not to mention finals. Why can't it be January again?

Love...

1) No school. It seems contradictory, I know. But, unless you're going to summer school (shoot me, because I will probably be one of those people), it's over for a few months. Freedom.

2) Summer attire. I actually hate summer clothes. I never wear shorts or cut-off T-shirts. I'd rather wear jeans and long-sleeve button-up shirts any day. Of course, maybe that's because I'm scrawny and pale. Winter obviously suits these traits best.

3) Golf. Sure, you can play golf year around; however, for amateurs like me, this is the best time of the year to play. It isn't too cold or hot. Of course, this doesn't help my score. I will probably slice off the tee for the rest of my life. Only playing a couple of times every year isn't helping either.

4) The lake. Refer back to number 2. Maybe I should start tanning. But that costs money and then people make fun of me. It's a cruel world.

5) Reading. More specifically, reading for fun. After school is over, there is so much time to read. Reading during the winter is fine, but there's nothing like reading at the lake or the beach or around a campfire or anywhere outside.

I can't really think of a conclusion. Stop reading this blog and go outside.

Conversations: April Fool's Day

2010-04-01T22:39:00.006-05:00

Yup, I am going to talk to a holiday. Maybe a more appropriate title would be A Discourse on April Fool's Day. Heck, I just keep forgetting to find someone to talk to on Thursdays. I always think about it at the beginning of the week, but then work and college consume my week. Today, one of my co-workers said that I always apologize and act like I don't want to write this blog. Pssh...I never make excuses or complain.

Well, according to Wikipedia -- yes, I said Wikipedia; I can hear all my English teachers weeping; I feel like I am sinning anytime I mention or read Wikipedia, even if it's for useless things like this; Mama said Wikipedia is the devil -- April Fool's Day is first mentioned in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. Who knew? Probably Dr. Atchley. (If you're reading this Dr. Atchley, which I know you aren't, but just in case, that is a compliment.)

Anyway, who cares about where it originated or why or anything like that. The point of this blog is that the holiday needs some revamping. I mean, seriously, what was the last good April Fool's Day prank that you heard of? I mean, the same co-worker who thinks I hate my blog apparently told her husband that she was pregnant again (they just had a baby a few [?] months ago). That's just cruel. I would have cried...happy tears, of course.

But, really, isn't April Fool's Day a little too forthcoming/obvious/forward/pushy? (Whatever. Word choice went out the window when I cited Wikipedia.) How are you supposed to pull a good prank when everyone in the world knows it's coming. I mean, I am skeptical of everything on April 1.

Let's consider the two best April Fool's Day jokes I read about this year. First, Google apparently changed its name to Topeka. Something about Topeka, Kansas, renamed itself Google in order to lock up some high-tech job or something; naturally, Google repaid the town by renaming the most used search engine in the world to Topeka in its honor. Blah, blah, blah. Who cares or believes this?

Next, Justin Bieber supposedly bought/took over/hacked/stole Will Ferrell's website Funny or Die and renamed it Bieber or Die. Man, that is so funny. I feel so cheated. I am so fooled. Justin Bieber is my hero. This pranks just fails.

In my opinion, April Fool's Day needs to be on a different day every year, like develop some complex system of the second Thursday one year and the third Saturday or the first Sunday and so on. Or, maybe it can be the first day of a different month ever year. Even making it a random day of the year is fine with me -- anything that makes it a little less predictable.

Now, of course, there's probably some significance to it being in April. If any anyone has any information regarding the history of April Fool's Day or any suggestions as to how to improve it, I'd love to hear from you.

Short blog. Watching Ocean's 11 with some friends. Great movie. See you on Saturday.

Guest Blogger: The Scoop on Jacob - Behind the Scenes with the Wifey (Plus, Jacob's Rebuttal)

2010-03-30T00:54:00.009-05:00

Hello. I am Jacob’s wife, and I will be writing this week’s Thursday blog three days early. I know, I know—this doesn’t make a lot of sense. I mean, this is his blog, and you read it because you are interested in the things he says. Well, unfortunately, he has neglected to tell you about his little problem. He is a procrastinator, and, therefore, will be writing about thirty pages worth of papers this week. I hated for this blog to disappoint again, so I decided I would make an attempt to please the masses with an early post instead of a skipped post.

(Of course this is my blog, and I am taking control. I'll be the voice of reason after each paragraph since she is a newbie blogger. First, Dribbling Ink never disappoints...because there are no masses to please. Just thought I'd clear that up.)

(Is it like sexist or something if I use a larger bolded font for my thoughts?)

I would like to point out, even though it was mentioned in previous blogs, my love for Kansas. I apologize on behalf of my beloved Jayhawks for screwing up everyone’s brackets; I promise you it wasn’t part of the plan. Sometimes crap happens (like that year Arkansas made it to the tournament). Crazy things go down that none of us could predict. But life’s craziness is no reason to be hating on the best team in the nation, so don’t put them down too much.

(I'm sticking with Butler the rest of the way. Formally a huge Gonzaga fan--I even tried to convince my parents to let me attend college there--I have to root for the mid-major.)

I would also like to take this opportunity to tell you a little about the way Jacob and I came to be a couple. Don’t worry, I am not a romantic, sappy girl. This isn’t boring. I just like to tell this story my way because it seems to drive Jacob nuts. See, back in the day Jacob was a bit of a stalker. Even though he had a girlfriend at the time, he used his sports reporter status to follow me around and take pictures of me at sporting events. He will deny all of this if asked, but I’ve seen the pictures. Anyways, in a creepy sounding ending, he added the little high school basketball player on facebook, got her hooked, married her, and then lived happily ever after.

(Deny, deny, deny.)

Now I understand why my husband has such a difficult time writing blogs with any sense of direction and meaning. Seriously, if you have never done this, you should try it. It’s definitely a challenge.

(The sad part is I think she has less grammatical mistakes than me. Of course, that's because I don't take three hours to write one post.)

Next, I hope to give you a little insight into Jacob’s love for all things sports, ESPN, NBA, NFL, PGA, NHL, MLB, NCAA, soccer, ping pong, bowling, tennis, tether ball, curling, figure skating, skateboarding, polo, track and field, boxing, kick-boxing, cricket, cliff diving, etc. Jacob was born to be a sports enthusiast, no matter how much he may try to ignore his calling. There is some profession out there that would be perfect for someone like him; he just has to find it. If you have any suggestions, leave them in the comments please. It would be greatly appreciated. Anyways, Jacob has played sports all his life. He played basketball from age zero through today. He played in peewee basketball, with the middle school traveling team, junior high and high school basketball, and community center league ball. Sorry, I can't find any embarrassing sports pics to attach and wouldn't know how if I did locate them. He also played junior high and high school football. He even had a year-long affair with baseball at some point around middle school, but his batting skills were a little lacking so the affair was cut short. He loves playing sports. Just the other day he looked at me with these despairing eyes and said, “I’m almost 24. I was supposed to be in the NBA or the NFL by now.” I was sincerely afraid he was going to cry.

(I almost did cry. It was the first time that I actually realized my dreams were dead. Yes, men can cry too. Only about sports, though. Not women.)

But, what he spent even more time on than playing sports was watching, reading, writing, and just loving sports. For this reason he can name Michael Jordan’s kids, Larry Bird’s wife, and LeBron James’s great-aunt’s cousin’s niece’s third pet fish (I haven’t quizzed him on it, but I’m almost sure he could even do that last one). All kinds of people claim to love sports, but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with a complex this drastic and serious. So, if you wonder how someone could write as much as he does about sports, and especially Arkansas, just imagine what it’s like to talk to him on a daily basis. And how much time he must spend every day thinking about nothing other than sports.

(Speaking of fish, we got a new fish, but he doesn't have a name yet. I'm still sad about Scribbles dying.)

Luckily, I don’t mind the enthusiast rants, except those about the Pigs. At least I understand the games, even if I don’t know every player. Besides, who doesn’t want to see someone they love being happy. By the way, if you know of an opening for an ESPN writer/photographer/reporter/anchor person, let me know. That would definitely make his life.

(I used to search the ESPN website for jobs. Though I'm not too old to give up on this dream yet, I'm not keeping my fingers crossed. That last sentence is really awkward--I'm not even sure it makes sense. Oh well.)

Anyway, maybe that will give you at least a slight idea of Jacob’s personality. I know all I told you about was his love for sports, but that’s about all there is to know. Oh, he does love to listen to extremely diverse, blaring music while thinking about sports.

(See, I try to make this blog about more than sports, then a woman drops a bomb like this. Apparently, "that's about all there is to know" about me. If I never write another blog about sports, you know why, dear reader.)

Well, until Jacob has a chance to write a blog, happy reading and go Jayhawks!

(Kasa, you know they are sitting at home, right? There's nothing left to cheer for this season. Give it up.)

I Know What You Did This Spring Break

2010-03-26T21:51:00.001-05:00

If you're like me, you did nothing during your break. And you enjoyed every second of the nothingness. Of course, I'm sure I'll see plenty of pictures from the beach on Facebook for those lucky enough to get away. Good for you. Wait, even my wife went to San Francisco while I sat home. Whatever.

More importantly, I would do anything to avoid going back to school, but I have to no matter what. That's why I am just avoiding my homework instead. Do I actually have something to talk about? Of course not. But that's the beauty of Dribbling Ink: it never has a purpose (yeah, yeah, I know: I keep trying to give it one and it keeps failing), but it doesn't have to.

Here are a few quick links that I found while wasting time.

Butler's Too Big, Yo: http://www.midmajority.com/2010/03/too-big-yo.php
Leave it up to a mid-major college like Butler to predict its magical run to the Final Four in verse. Apparently, a few players recorded a rap during Spring Break right before the NCAA Tournament started. The best verse is Gordon Hayward's part around the 1:50 mark. That dude has lyrical talent.

Ryan Mallett is Riding Dirty: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mjv4vk6qKik
AYoutube user named LSUfreek posted a video of Ryan Mallett on some sort of weird scooter with "Ridin' Dirty" playing in the background. At least this way it doesn't seem very likely he will get a DUI or slice off part of his toe at a nightclub.

Davidson's "I Love College" Remix featuring Stephen Curry: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGQID66agH4
It's good to know that future NBA stars are real people. At least, that seems to be the case with Stephen Curry. In this video from college, he is rapping with his college friends. I like the Butler rap better, though. It's more original and cheesy.

Moving on...(I thought for about five seconds, couldn't find a transition, and decided to give up)

Kasa and I also decided to rearrange the apartment, mostly the living room and the bedroom, to help match the new season. The pictures are supposed to be from the same angle, though it's obviously impossible to replicate the exact angle by hand. Anyway, the picture on the left will be the most recent. Granted, there was a middle stage between these pictures, but I guess we never took pictures of that stage. The pictures on the right are from when we were moving into the apartment.

Kasa's section of the living room: As will become more evident, we've basically rearranged every piece of furniture we own. We also upgraded tables and electronics and added two bookshelves (one which is pictured). The new setup is much better. Ignore Kasa; I didn't want to ask her to move.

The Man Cave: Okay, this is the same corner; I just didn't do so well matching angles here. This is my side of the living room--the man side. There's the other bookshelf, the table and recliner switched sides, and our new TV is barely visible in the left side of the photo (more on that later). Much like with Kasa, I was too lazy to turn off the lamp.

The Man Cave II: Let's see: Would I rather stare at a curio cabinet or a flatscreen TV while sitting in my recliner? Personally, I think the table and cabinet work much better on Kasa's side of the room. However, don't get me wrong, I love the wedding souvenirs in the cabinet.

The bookshelf: I feel like this is some kind of game. Who can find the golden needle in the bookshelf? One of these is not like the other. Anyway...the biggest change is more junk and the addition of the digital antenna--my lifeline to local news, which I couldn't live without.

Now that I've wasted almost every second of the Saturday at the tail end of Spring Break, I need to get started on my homework. Good luck during the last part of the semester. Summer will be here soon enough.

Also, like I say every week, I will get back on track with the schedule for Dribbling Ink--I promise.

Fiction: My First Gymnastics Meet

2010-03-20T16:51:00.003-05:00

So, I am at a gymnastics meet at the Jack Stephens Center in Little Rock—this isn’t the first line of any fiction, unfortunately, but it is as creative as this post may get. Sorry. First observation from my first gymnastics meet ever: three year old boys that can talk and run don’t need pacifiers. I’m just saying.

On that note, I’ll switch to the little female robots doing gymnastics. My wife told me that some of the gyms her girls compete against practice twenty hours a week and are forced to have curly ponytails, even if it means wearing a hair piece. My wife’s team only practices nine hours a week, and they have ponytails, pigtails, and sheeptails (maybe I made up the last one).

Well, this is a great start to spring break. After this my wife is going to Cali and I’m going to Paragould. Even my dad is in Cali. Anyway, back to me, because this is my blog. I have so much work to do over break, but I am excited about my American West paper. I am writing about spaghetti westerns and the Western myth in film. Any reason to watch Clint Eastwood be a boss, I think.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to type a blog on a phone? Maybe if you’re one of those people who Facebook, email, and live through your phone it’s simple. But for simpletons like me, it’s pretty rough. Oh, before I forget, I had to pay $12 to get into this meet. Geez. I know this is an elitist sport, but some of us poor people are forced to come and ~~endure~~ enjoy. At least I brought a book. The same music playing over and over for every floor routine is a little distracting, though.

The drama in ABC’s Make It Or Break It doesn’t compare to this. I mean, this beats the NCAA Tournament any day. Little robots flipping around with prudish-looking old women sneering and critiquing their every move. This is where amazing happens.

Oh, a near miss as one of my wife’s girl’s hair comes unpigtailed (undoubtedly a word). I did get a pretty red smiley face for my money. It’s harder to edit on the phone or I would move this to its proper spot. Oh well. Also, the woman taking money tried to make me pay for a stray child who was wandering out front aimlessly. No thanks, woman. Not my child.

My bachelor cousin should try coming to a meet—maybe Kasa can introduce him to the legion of young female coaches. Of course, he is pretty lame and unmotivated by my suggestions usually. He doesn’t read my blog—unmotivated by me like I said—so I could say he has webbed feet or anything I wanted. Or call him Edwin.

When you are bigger than your coach and most of all the females in the gym, you probably are too old to compete with girls that are seven and eight. Not to be killing anyone’s confidence—everybody gets a trophy in America. Go ahead un-athletic girl, you rock. I bet Bela Karolyi didn’t give medals to all his girls. He just rammed their heads into phones if they ate too much, according to GQ’s story about the most despicable coaches ever.

A little girl in glasses just rocked the floor routine. Take that, four-eye stereotype and too-old girl. I am going to read for a bit before I say anything un-American, like not every one needs, deserves, or wants government-r

Heh. My phone cut me off before I could finish my thought. Either there are cap and trade type restrictions on the characters on my phone or the government hacked it and shut me down. Figures. Next I will have to pay the government to send an email or drink a soda; I’ll probably get shot for being too radically conservative on my non-political blog as well. I will quit there. I don’t know why I am so angry today.

I am jealous of these two kids and their Nintendo DS’s. They need to watch out or I might try to buy one from the on the discount. I still have the money leftover from the twenty I broke for admission.

(Insert a four hour break for eating and shopping.)

I lost the flow with that long break. Until next time. I still might post some fiction tomorrow, though. Or later tonight. Big thanks to my cousin for hooking me up with some internet at UALR.

My wife tried to make this more like an episode of Make It Or Break It by forgetting the music for one of her girl's floor routine. Needless to say, we all panicked, blamed each other, and eventually solved the problem with a little creativity. Actually, they just bummed some music from another gym.

Conversations: Final Four Picks

2010-03-17T18:59:00.000-05:00

AP Photo/Al Behrman -- Caption: It's like a rematch of the 1994 championship game on Friday: Arkansas versus Duke. Well, sort of.

(Written Wednesday night:) The NCAA Tournament is absolutely one of my favorite events of the year. When else can you wake up and watch basketball practically nonstop from Thursday to Sunday? In fact, I may skip class and work for the rest of the week and do nothing else but watch games in the student center. A fellow co-worker of mine used to save up his vacation to do this very thing (well, at his house)--hint: he works at the Jonesboro Sun now.

Anyway, I promised chats on Thursdays, and a chat I will deliver. Of course, this week I am going to do things a little differently. I will be talking to multiple people and the theme will be NCAA brackets. I know, I know: I said last week was my last basketball post, but I meant about Razorback basketball. This will be my last basketball post--unless something crazy happens like UAPB beating Duke.

(Skip to Thursday afternoon:) A lot has happened since I planned on posting all my friends' Final Four picks. First, I had to be at work at 8, which didn't work out too well because I didn't wake up until 7:45; next, I was stuck in class the rest of the morning, missing the start of the Tournament; last, my parents made a suprise visit, so I skipped my last class and hung out with them for a few hours. However, I'm back at work and back in black. Or something.

I'm going to skip all the comedy and wit (if there ever is any) and jump right to the picks. I sent a message to all my cousins and a few of my friends on Facebook asking for their picks -- needless to say, they are a bunch of non-participators. I ended up having to text almost everyone individually, so these replies aren't very in-depth. Oh well. I'm giving it to you just like they gave it to me.

Kasa: "KU, KState, Kentucky, and 'Nova." She bleeds blue. Don't ask me why. She has no connection to Kansas, but she loves her Jayhawks. I'm sure I'll get to see that bright blue KU shirt before the tournament is over.

Colby: "My Final Four picks are Kentucky, Villanova, Kansas, and Butler. Kentucky to win it all." -- I love the Butler pick; Colby always goes out on a limb, like only drafting one solid QB in a two-QB fantasy football league.

Tom: "Don't really remember which combo I did in our league, but Kansas, Syracuse, Villanova, and either West Virginia or Kentucky. Basically a lot of Big East. Final game I have Syracuse in both and winning in both my brackets--one against WVU and another against Kentucky." Oh, the multiple bracket guy. One day I am going to fill out a bracket that has every possible combination of games, which I am sure would be millions of brackets. However, I like to try to pick one bracket and stick to it, even though I did fill out two this year.

John: "Kansas, Kentucky, Syracuse, Duke. Kansas wins because they are a predatory bird, Otto the Orange is junk, I hate cats, and I don't like the devil. That sufficient?" He didn't want to pick because he doesn't really watch college basketball. Can you tell?

Justin: "I got Kansas, Kansas St., Kentucky, and Villanova. Kansas and Kentucky (in the finals), and Kansas wins." I've never been a 'Nova fan and there's no way they will make it to the Final Four--they proved that in the first round.

David: "Kentucky, Duke, Kansas, and Syracuse. Lol, yeah, it happens every year; I can't help it." I think he is referring to his uncanny ability to put all four No. 1 seeds in the Final Four. Or maybe he is saying that his bracket always stinks. Just kidding.

Me: Umm, I don't even really remember my Final Four. I have Kansas, Kansas St., Kentucky, and Duke, I think (pretty vanilla, I know). I picked Vandy to make it to the Elite Eight--that didn't work out. Anyway, I usually hate Duke, but I really think they have what it takes to make a deep run this year. I won't be too upset if they don't, though.

Short and sweet, like I said. Enjoy the basketball--skip work if you must. Pick an underdog, cheer, be merry. Just avoid writing crappy paragraphs like this one.

Razorback Wrap-Up (Last Basketball Post, Thankfully)

2010-03-14T15:18:00.000-05:00

Caption: The Big Nasty looks to add to his legacy in Arkansas as a coach.

I couldn’t make up my mind whether I wanted to write this blog or not, especially after last night’s failure. However, I feel better today, and it makes sense to write a wrap-up blog about the Arkansas basketball team now that the season is officially over.

(I intended to post this on Saturday; nevertheless, I didn’t get it finished in time and one of my many cousins came down to Arkadelphia for a visit.)

First, I’d like to start with a website I find amusing, and it’s actually relevant: http://firejohnpelphrey.com/

I guess it would be a stretch to think this is some sort of conspiracy by Pelphrey or Jeff Long to make a few extra bucks? I mean, with all the money the university is throwing at the football program, the basketball program has to keep up somehow, right? Of course, I am kidding, I think.

Anyway. I listen to a number of Arkansas sports shows daily and the hottest topic for the past month has been whether Pelphrey should be fired or not. I have mixed feelings about this, though. When I worked at the Daily Press, I wrote a column arguing that Stan Heath deserved another season. Why did I think that, you ask? Well, and this fact is even more evident now, Heath was an amazing recruiter. Coaching was another story—Heath struggled to turn nationally ranked recruiting classes into wins. Plus, he seemed devoid of any personality or passion. So I wasn’t overly upset when he was let go.

However, reality slapped Arkansas in the face when replacing Heath turned into a circus. Less than twenty-four hours after calling the Hogs and being hired as the new UA head coach, Dana Altman (approximately the Razorbacks’ sixth choice) changed his mind. The result was the hiring of John Pelphrey from South Alabama. To put that hiring into perspective, I interviewed Pelphrey when I worked for the Daily Press. Not to say I didn’t meet a few interesting people, such as Houston Nutt and Gene Stallings, but a coach that’s been interviewed by me probably isn’t the splash hire that Arkansas wanted.

With that said, Pelphrey is a nice change of pace from Heath—he displays plenty of passion, but he doesn’t seem to have a personality outside of those wicked scowls. Also, those scowls don’t seem produce any positive results from his players. Besides mentioning a few flaws, including his seeming weakness with X’s and O’s, I’m not going to speculate on his future. What I want to focus on are the graduating and returning players from this season.

Before I do a quick breakdown of graduating and returning players, I’d like to pass along one more note. Former Razorback Corliss Williamson was named the head coach at the University of Central Arkansas: http://www.arkansasbusiness.com/sports_article.asp?aID=120838.39409.132921&spID=5

Quick Player Breakdown:

Mike Washington, graduating: Thanks for a good three years, because your senior season was a waste. At least you showed up for the last game of the year, I guess. Sorry, needed to get that out. Washington was a huge disappointment this year, whether it was because of injury or apathy. I’ll take Marshawn Powell (more on him later) any day.

Stefan Welsh, graduating: Did you make some sort of pact with Washington? “Hey, Big Mike, if you don’t hustle, I won’t hustle.” Another wasted senior year, so I’m not going to waste my time talking about him.

The Golfer, graduating: I always forget this guy’s name. Something like Stephen King or Jeremy Cox or Phil Mickelson—oh, I don’t know. But when a former scholarship golfer earns a basketball scholarship as a walk-on, you know your program is struggling. Nothing against dudes that play golf.

Marcus Britt, Senior: Will be the only player with a full term of experience next season (see next two entries), but he isn’t an impact player. Yeah, he provides some height and athleticism to the guard position, but he isn’t a threat to score. He’s the type of player that needs to average around 8 points on junk baskets—back-cuts, offensive rebounds, and steals.

Jemal Farmer, Senior (junior college transfer): Had a great start to the season, scoring twenty-plus in his first game as a Razorback. SEC play was a different story: he seemed to have no confidence in his shot and he couldn’t get to the rim. I think he has a chance to contribute next season. He looks like he just needs another summer in the weight room and playing against better competition.

Delvon Johnson, Senior (junior college transfer): Probably the player with the lowest ceiling on the team. Not bad as a rotation player in the front court but will never make a difference. Sorry if that sounds too harsh. He’s just another body.

Courtney Fortson, Junior: Arkansas is obviously a better team when he plays—I won’t dispute that. But does he drive me crazy most of the time? Absolutely. He’s too unpredictable, which is strength at times. I question his maturity and desire to be a leader and not just the best player. In my opinion, he has to learn to be effective without dribbling so much, cut down on turnovers, improve his shooting, and stay out of trouble. I’m skeptical that he will improve in any of these areas, and the Hogs will just have live with the good and the bad.

Rotnei Clarke, Junior: Probably the purest shooter in the country, great range, and unbelievable heart; however, he isn’t a player that Arkansas can rely on to win the SEC. Look, I know people won’t like my opinion, but it’s the truth. I love Clarke as much as anyone—he gives all short white guys hope, but he can’t carry a team. He struggles to create his shot, he is a liability on defense, and he doesn’t make enough plays with the ball outside of scoring. He needs to find other ways to contribute besides shooting.

Michael Sanchez, Junior: (However, I think Arkansas is appealing to the NCAA for a medical hardship, which would make him a sophomore again): Frustrated me more than any player besides Courtney Fortson as freshman; he didn’t play enough this year for me to evaluate his growth; however, he continually struggled to finish around the rim and got pushed around in SEC play.

Jeff Peterson, Junior. A transfer from Iowa that sat out the entire season, Peterson will probably replace Julysses Nobles as the backup point guard and allow Fortson to play off the ball more, which is a look Pelphrey likes. I’m not sure another point guard will make the difference for the Hogs next season, though.

Marshawn Powell, Sophomore: Powell possess the most potential of any Razorback. Unlike Fortson, he seemingly has the character and attitude to be a leader. He has soft hands for a big man, finishes around the rim, and is able to step out and knock down a jumper. I just hope he isn’t forced to play out of position at center too often—he is clearly most effective as a forward.

Julysses Nobles, Sophomore: Played pretty well during the absence of Fortson. His play slipped as the season went on, even before Fortson returned, but I think he can be a solid backup option. He has super quick hands and shows some playmaking ability. He needs to improve his shooting and ability to finish around the rim.

Glenn Bryant, Sophomore: In an ideal situation, Bryant would not have had to play as a freshman. Unfortunately, he had to play immediately at Arkansas. He has plenty of athletic ability and raw skill, but he looks like a guy who may never reach his full potential or at least not until his junior or senior season. Players who rely solely on athletic ability are always a crapshoot. He needs to add some muscle in the offseason.

Ned Perme, Glenn Beck, and Wheel of Fortune

2010-03-11T18:31:00.000-06:00

Caption: My TV showing basketball and the John Pelphrey scowl.

So, I was watching the weather last night (Wednesday). 300,000 people lost power in Arkansas because of the storms, according to Ned Perme. Wait, 278,000 to be exact. Nevermind. Scratch that. Ned’s mistake: 300 people. Didn’t he actually mean 278? Whatever, that’s Arkansas local news for you.

Also, apparently “the only game in town” at 7:39 p.m. was in El Paso — I think he was referring to possible tornados. At least, all the games I know about have been in Hot Springs lately.

Anyway, why am I talking about local news? Better yet, why was I watching the weather last night? Wait, wait, wait. The biggest question is why am I writing about any of this?

Maybe it’s because I haven’t written a blog in a week; I have to write about something, right? Not to make excuses, but it’s been a busy week (yeah, that doesn’t explain why I skipped Saturday’s post, I know). To make matters worse, I think the weather report made me sick. I can’t remember the last time I threw up before last night. Maybe that part was unnecessary.

OK, this blog isn’t going anywhere. I hate pointless blogs. Of course, it wouldn’t be a stretch to argue that all my blogs are pointless; however, I almost always come prepared with a specific topic, excluding today. Let me channel Glenn Beck for a second: “Dear Reader, I’m going to shoot straight with you. I think I am wasting your time.” Granted, I’m not going to talk about men tickling or groping each other. I’d rather talk about vomiting.

Back to the weather. When I was about five years old, my parents left my brother (who is six years older my elder) and me home alone to take care of ourselves for the first time during the summer. It started storming one day while I was folding the clothes, which would become my summer job for years (I used to cry when I had to fold clothes. It was without a doubt the worst punishment ever.). The wind got so violent that it blew open the front door, and it took both of us to get the door closed.

You don’t care? Yeah, well, it was cool to me when I was five.

Normally, I love March. Spring break. My birthday. March Madness. However, so far, not so good. Besides being sick, I don’t have cable/satellite/dish, which means I don’t get to watch college basketball. How am I watching the weather, you ask? That’s because I have a digital antenna, and I can pick up four channels: KHTV, RTV, AccuWx, and VTN. Or, if that isn’t enough information, that’s the Little Rock station, the Retro Television Network, a weather channel, and Arkansas’ Christian Connection. I know, I know: What more could I need?

Too sick to go to work today (Thursday), I decided to test my luck and watch some television with my extra time. To my surprise, the SEC Tournament was on KHTV. I was more than happy to watch the Tennessee-LSU game, despite the score being tied at 21 after the first half. It reminded me of the junior high girl’s games that I used to cover at the Daily Press. However, I almost threw my remote control at my TV when Wheel of Fortune interrupted the abysmal contest. I despise Wheel of Fortune—even though there was that epic episode with the drunk contestant when I was younger (I’ll leave this childhood memory at that, but I swear my cousins could vouch for me). Luckily, the interruption wasn’t permit. Now I am just hoping that I get to watch the Arkansas-Georgia game later tonight, even though it probably won’t help my stomach.

OK, I think I failed. Forgive me for a poor effort this time. I had another interview lined up before I got sick, and I at least tried to make something out of nothing. I’ll get back in the groove on Saturday. That is, unless I am mobbed by a group of tickling men.

Conversations: Meggie Hodge

2010-03-04T18:32:00.000-06:00

(Friday's Note: I'm sorry this conversation wasn't longer. I had a lot more questions I wanted to ask, but my week didn't slow down until today -- and I know Meggie is busy, too. Hopefully, I'll be able to catch up with Meggie again later and hash everything else out.)

When I first came up with the idea of conducting a weekly chat for Dribbling Ink, this week’s interviewee — Meggie Hodge — was one of the first people that came to mind. I would say I have a recreational interest in fashion and style. For what it’s worth, I check out GQ Online almost daily; whether my personal style benefits is questionable. That’s why I brought in an expert to talk fashion.

Just so you know, we both graduated from the same high school in the same year; we also lived on the same street (probably less than a mile apart) for a number of years. The only reason I bring this up is so I can sell my story someday when Meggie is famous.

Anyway, if you don’t know, Meggie is kind of a big deal in the fashion industry in California, and she was nice enough to spare some time to talk with the less fashionable (me and, probably, you, dear reader). Enjoy.

Jacob Cooper: First off, I am a fan of your group Meggie Claire on Facebook and always read your messages about specials and such--even though I am pretty sure the group isn't geared towards guys. However, for those readers who don't know, can you describe what it is you do and some of the products you have to offer?

Meggie Hodge: At Meggie Claire I design and produce custom apparel for individual customers. I specialize in wedding, evening, and cocktail dresses. Each design is based on the customer's inspiration. I ask for 5 colors and 5 or more inspirations (i.e. fashion, photography, artwork, architecture, etc.). Once they have given me this, I come up with a design based on their colors and inspirations and pitch the idea to them. Each customer has a say in each step of the process so that I can insure that the end result will be exactly what they want!

JC: Wow, there aren't too many places that I can think of--well, none actually--that would give me a say in how I want my clothes to look or fit. I think it's a neat idea.

However, is there anything you can make for guys? I mean, there has to be some guys like me that are picky about how their clothes fit and would like to have a say in the design of, say, a button-up shirt.

MH: As far as guy’s clothing goes, I can make them but I currently don't. Currently, I only create custom dresses for women.

JC: OK, but maybe if I can encourage enough guys, we can bring some guy's clothing options to Meggie Claire by popular demand. Of course, I know nothing about design, so I'm sure there are plenty of reasons why you don't design clothing for guys. (No explanation needed, heh).

(After reading over the conversation, I feel like I harped on the guy’s clothing a little much. However, since I am a guy, I’ll excuse myself.)

Anyway, what was your inspiration to get into apparel design? (Excuse me if I don't know all the jargon). Also, what would you say has the most influence on your personal style? Because we lived on the same road for a few years, did growing up in the South have any specific influence on your style?

MH: I have wanted to be a fashion designer for as long as I can remember. I remember when I was probably 3 years old, trying to make own Barbie clothes and drawing dresses on a Barbie fashion design set that I had. I think part of what led me to designing was watching my Mom in her interior design business when I was a kid. I went to a lot of appointments with her and was always watching what she did. I grew up in a very creative home and as a result was also very creative!

To be honest, I'm not really sure where my personal style comes from. I would say growing up in the South did have something to do with my style and also all of my travels abroad have influenced it. I have lived in Arkansas, Texas, and California and have also lived for short periods in Italy and Brazil. I would say that all of these places have been very influential to my style. Basically, I just wear what I like and design what I think is beautiful and never let myself think twice. I usually go with my first instinct and hope for the best!

JC: That's great you are following your dreams. I know you had plenty of support from your family, especially your mom; however, did you ever encounter any resistance? Anyone who thought you were crazy wanting to be a fashion designer?

MH: I have encountered a lot of resistance, especially since I moved to California. The fashion industry is a tough industry to be a part of. You deal with lots of people who shoot you down and lots of bad business people in this industry. Despite the rough times I've had since all of this started, I have found that if you stick with what you know is right you will advance slowly but surely.

JC: Also, it's interesting that you said you just go with your "first instinct and hope for the best." Do you think that some people just have an inherent eye for style? Because I know I have to plan out my outfits, and even then they don't always look good.

MH: I do believe that some people have an inherent eye for style because I can remember putting together outfits as a 3 year old before I even had any idea what fashion was. However, I do believe that fashion can be learned.

JC: OK, well, it’s been great talking to you, and I wish you the best of luck in with your business in the future. Thanks for taking the time to answer a few questions--I know you have a busy schedule.

MH: Thanks, Jacob.

If you are interested in having a custom dress made by Meggie Claire, you can contact Meggie at meggie@meggieclaire.com for more information and a free consultation!

Also, if you aren’t a fan, go join the Meggie Claire group on Facebook. And if you’re a guy, join the group and tell Meggie she should design some polos for guys, since that's my favorite style of shirt.

Fiction: The Only Family Left

2010-02-27T17:36:00.000-06:00

“Hi-dee.”

Avery puffed on his cigarette hunched over the trunk of the car with a seat cushion resting under his propped-up elbows. He tapped the ashes into an empty rust-colored Folgers coffee can. Sometimes he would urinate in the can if he really had to go without warning.

“Is Grandma inside?” It was a ridiculous question to ask. At eighty-five and never having a driver’s license, there wasn’t anywhere else she could be.

“Uh, yup. She was cookin’ sum’em earlier.”

I never had any illusions that Avery was my grandfather. I never met my grandfather, but I knew he wasn’t Avery. Avery never tried to be my grandpa anyway, which I was thankful for.

“It’s gettin’ chilly out here.”

“Hmph.”

He didn’t want my sympathy. Grandma wouldn’t let him smoke inside the house, which I’m thankful for for both of our health, so he rolled his green oxygen tank outside during the winter for a smoke. He had a faraway look in his eyes, matching the colorless gray sweats he always wore.

The familiar smell of grease and coffee rammed my nostrils as I entered the house. The dining room and kitchen were empty, except for the remnants of a meal—dishes, pots, pans, cups, and silverware littered the kitchen. A plate with a few biscuit crumbs sat on the bar, blankly watching the small kitchen TV that showed a black-and-white boxing match on mute. I turned into the living room half expecting to see my grandma’s smiling face in her peach recliner, instead an empty room greeted me. I could hear commotion from down the hall.

The living room was a shrine to heritage. There were pictures ranging in nearly a century around the room. I saw my mother, wearing a yellow tie that hung below her polka-dotted sun dress, smiling with innocence and love, surrounded by her brothers and sisters. I guessed she was around seven in the photograph, the second youngest of the bunch. It was like looking in a mirror, seeing her dark curly hair and green eyes with that coy smile staring back at me. On the wall to the right of the entryway hung pictures of the married grandchildren with their wives. My brother looked like a seventeen-year old unable to grow a beard instead of frozen at twenty-three. A wallet-sized photo sat in each corner of the hanging frame, one for each of my nieces. History and heritage are ever-changing and sometimes hard to keep up with, but there was an attempt at a flowing narrative in my grandma’s living room.

On the wall to the left was a group of photos much larger than the married section—the wall of graduates. Senior photos from four decades graced the wall, running three rows deep; with seven children having at least two children apiece and up to as many as four, Grandma reserved the biggest wall in the room for these. Like the marriage wall, small amendments had been made to the frames, mostly updated pictures from further academic achievements. A picture from medical school, an advertisement for a law practice (which I knew my cousin detested, but I’m sure my grandma insisted on cutting out and hanging), and photos of girlfriends, boyfriends, and fiancés. Most of the photos were classic portraits—the guys dressed in black suits and red ties, and the girls in dark, modest dresses. My picture sat in the middle, hanging on the second row in its gold frame. I hadn’t changed much, still the twin of my young mother.

My grandma’s empty recliner sat facing the walls, though closer to the one with the most grandchildren. I imagined her sitting in her recliner, staring at the pictures and saying her mumbled prayers for all of us daily. She prayed for us individually, petitioning God on our behalves by name, I have no doubt. Maybe she started in the morning and only took breaks to cook, methodically building a hedge around each of us. Or maybe she went down the line like a bricklayer, continually building upon each row throughout the day until she’d built a fort. Reclined with her socked feet up, head tilted to one side, a toothless grin spread wide across her face, admiring her family, thanking God for her blessings, she labored.

Silence didn’t suit the room, which was usually filled with three to four generations. It was easy to imagine aunts and cousins busying themselves with stories, jokes, and lies about the past. The room felt safe, secure. The sound of the screen door banging closed broke the silence. Avery would assume his hunched position at the bar—he never sat down because he wouldn’t be able to breathe; he even slept sitting up—watching the silent TV, until he needed another cigarette, the pillow trudging along for the endless journey.

The graduation wall turned into a hallway, the carpet giving way to tile. There were two intersections down the hallway. At the first, a bathroom opened to the left and an extra bedroom to the right. At the end of the hall, the master bedroom lay on the left and spare bedroom on the right. Avery slept his half-awake sleep in the master bedroom, which also had a half bath. Grandma slept in the extra bedroom across the hall. The front bedroom served as a small family room. When we were younger, it was where all the cousins would congregate during the holidays. It had the only other TV in the house, one quite a bit bigger than the boxy kitchen set. It was also where Grandma got her hair fixed every Sunday for church, which is why it has smelled like cheap hairspray and burnt hair since I can remember. There was never a shortage of bobby pins or hot rollers in the front room.

The tradition of hiding a $500 in a shoe, or anywhere out of sight for that matter, began in the family room—the world was conquered and life debated in those infinite hours of youth. Every autumn, America’s Team played on the TV, and we hoped to see the gunslinger from our neighboring state. We’ve watched the kid from Mississippi for the majority of our lives, some of us literally since the day we were born. My dad has an old black toolbox that reads “FAV 40.” We took it as a sign. We were proud to ride in the back of the truck with the toolbox on our Sunday fishing trips.

“Jesus.”

I stopped for a moment, probably assuming that tilted-head, eyes-squinted, toothless-grin look that we all attribute to Grandma. Her wiry white hair frizzled about everywhere, her pale scalp shining through in more places than not. She was slightly rocking, no doubt, wringing her hands in prayer. I couldn’t make out what she was saying because of the screaming TV evangelist, but I didn’t need to—I’d heard her prayers hundreds of times.

“Jesus,” she mumbled to herself. “Oh, Jesus, Jesus. Help us, Jesus.”

“Give me tha’ ole time power!”

She nodded her head at this. I knew that no matter how I went about this, I would startle her.

“Gran—"

“We need tha’ ole timed Holy Ghost!”

“Amen.”

“Grandma.” She hiccuped in her seat--jumping seems unlikely. For a second, a look of terror filled her face as she turned around. Some day I know that look will stay.

“Oh, hon. You scared Grandma. I had the TV so loud I didn’t hear nobody pull up. I’m gettin’ hard ‘a hearin’, I tell you. I have to turn the TV up so loud I can’t hear anything else in the house. Good thing Avery’s outside to watch, I guess.”

“It’s OK, Grandma.”

“Come give Grandma a—,” she started, but I was already on my way. A hug and a kiss on each cheek was everyone’s greeting from Grandma. “You look handsome, son.”

“Thanks,” I said, unable to withhold a smile—no matter how many times you heard it, even from Grandma, she found a way to make it genuine. It was pure love cured by time and tragedy, seasoned with loss and regret.

“We need a ree-viii-val. The world has gone on too long in its wickedness—”

“Let me turn down the TV, hon. I just love listening to him—he speaks the Word, the ole timey stuff.”

I nodded my head, smiling, and took a seat.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

“No, I just ate not—”

“Oh, I think I have some sweet tea or some orange soda in the fridge. Do you want me to go get—”

“No, I’m fine, Grandma.”

“Are you sure? There’s some cookies in there, too, if you’d like. Or I can make you something.”

“No, I’m all right, Grandma. I promise I just ate before I came.”

“All right. Grandma just don’t want you to go without. I don’t care if you eat all my food, just help yourself if you want.”

“I know.”

“How’s your mom and dad?

“Fine. Just working a lot.”
“Oh, I know. I hate it that they stay so busy. With your mom taking care of the girls and your daddy working and trying to build that house, they’ve got their hands full.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s school? Now, are you working, too?”

“Yeah, I work at the college, but just twenty hours a week. Even though it’s enough to keep me busy with my classes and homework.”

She only smiled and nodded, tilting her head to the right. Sometimes I knew she didn’t hear what I said—she zoned out, her eyes seemingly losing touch with reality in her stare, which penetrated you to the core. You knew she was appreciating your presence, savoring the time and clasping to the memory, but you couldn’t help but feel exposed under her glare. Every transgression bubbled into your conscience, making itself visible. If for the only time in my life, I felt sorry for my sins. The weight of my sins was enough to overburden the frail women in front of me, crushing her remaining life with its ferocity.

“Have I ever told you the story about when I was baptized?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She’d told me many stories, but I didn’t recall this one.

“Well, it was one of the first times I’d went to church with my older sister. I was a devil child—I’m ashamed of the way I acted looking now. Oh, looking back, I regret all the time I wasn’t in church. But I’d went to church with my sister when I was about twelve. I got under conviction and decided I needed to be baptized. Well, we were going to a Church of God church then so I was baptized in the Trinity, but I went under in the name of Jesus when I started going to the Pentecostal Church. Anyway, the preacher was handin’ out Bibles to those who got baptized, and I didn’t have a Bible of mine own, so I was excited. Now, Pastor knew my sister and my parents and he said, ‘Bernice, I know you’se chewing tobacco. Since you’se been baptized, you can’t do that nomore, you understand?’ He made me promise I’d quit chewing before he gave me that Bible.

“‘Lo and behold, you know the first thing that happened to me when I got home. I went and sat under a gumball tree to read my new Bible and the Devil started whisper’n in my ear: ‘Bernice, you know you’d enjoy that Bible more if you had a chew.’ It didn’t make no sense, but I thought, ‘Yeah, that sounds good.’ So I started chewing a wad while reading my new Bible under that tree. Oh, I don’t know why I listened to that Devil—son, he’s always deceiving, whisperin’ in your ear. Well, I’ll have you know, I got sicker ‘an a dog that afternoon. I went back to church ashamed and asked God for forgiveness. I told Pastor I wouldn’t ever chewing tobacco again, and I haven’t ‘til this day, Lord help me. Course, I’m too old to want to do those things anymore. I’ve come too far in my walk with the Lord.”

I only nodded my head, unable to picture my Grandma as a teenager chewing snuff. I couldn’t help but smirk a little.

“Oh, son, don’t ever let go of your faith. Nothing can replace the Pentecost experience. Nothing in the world worth losing eternity for.”

“I know, Grandma.” I glanced at my watch and checked my phone.

“Oh, am I holding you? I know you’re busy and have a lot of places to go since you don’t get to come home very often. Don’t let me hinder you.”

“You’re fine, Grandma. I just have to go in a few minutes. I need to start back home so I can finish some things before the week starts.”

“I know, I know you’re busy. I’m so glad you come to see me. I don’t know what I’m gonna to do with your brother or David or Grant if they don’t come see Grandma soon. And they only live a few minutes away.”

“Yeah, I don’t see them much either now, living so far away.”

We repeated the hug and kiss on each cheek. I helped her up and guided her down the hall—her slippers are slick on the cold tile—turning on the heat for her as we passed the thermostat. We passed the wall of smiling achievers, traveled through the cluttered kitchen, stopping at the front door.

“Come back and see me when you can.”

“I will.”

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too, Grandma.”

She balanced herself on the screen door handle, waving and watching me go like a small child, head tilted, eyes squinted, mouth spread wide.

Avery was outside again, propped up on the car, oblivious to the bite of the winter wind. The next time I saw him, he was as lifeless as his gray sweats. My brother, David, and Grant were even there—I arrived late this time, splashing through the puddles on my way to the blue tent to join in as the only family he had left.

Conversations: An Optimistic Razorback Fan

2010-02-26T15:42:00.001-06:00

Caption: Your optimistic dad cheering for the Razorbacks.

No offense to baby Chase, but the magic is gone. Yep, it’s time for another classic Arkansas drought. As an avid sports fan, I understand that there will always be ups and downs no matter how good the team is you are rooting for. As much as my wife would hate to admit it, even the Kansas Jayhawks have lost a game this season—the funny thing about that loss is it’s the only Kansas game we made a point to watch all year.

Luckily, Arkansas’ losing streak is exactly what An Optimistic Razorback Fan wanted to talk about in this week’s installment of the Dribbling Ink Conversation Series.

An Optimistic Razorback Fan: OK, since losing is a part of sports, I should be able to cope with the Razorbacks’ newest losing streak. Right? You win some, you lose some? Plus, we still have a chance of finishing .500 and going to the NIT.

Jacob Cooper: Wrong. Let’s look at Kansas’ loss to Tennessee earlier in the year. Since the Jayhawks were (and are once again) the top-ranked team in the nation, a loss for them should be difficult to explain. However, it’s rather simple: Four Volunteers were arrested for guns and drugs, with a couple of players getting kicked off the team. A few days later, Kansas rolled into Knoxville. Naturally, the home crowd was in a frenzy, and the team had an “us against the world” mentality. I’m sure Bruce Pearl told his Vols, “Everyone thinks this team is going to fold. Your season is over, and Kansas is going to dig your grave tonight.” Oddly enough, these things seem to work in sports. Almost predictably, Tennessee played its best game of the year and won.

AORF: So if the best team in the nation loses games then I shouldn’t feel bad about Arkansas’ losses. Thanks, Jacob.

JC: No, no, no. Wait. You aren’t listening. Kansas had a legitimate reason why it lost. Give me one good reason why Arkansas has lost three of its last four games?

AORF: Well, their last three losses did come on the road. It’s always tough to win on the road—just look at your Kansas example.

JC: Good point. However, the Hogs’ last three losses have come at the hands of Alabama, Auburn, and LSU—all teams that they beat the first time around. Furthermore, these teams are a combined 9-30 in the SEC. Sadly, three of those nine wins are against Arkansas.

AORF: Yeah, but we beat South Carolina in the middle of those bad losses. Doesn’t that count for something?

JC: The South Carolina game sums up all my frustration with the Hogs. After a five-game win streak allowed Arkansas to surge into first place in the SEC West, the Hogs lost a highly contested game in Alabama. After amassing a double-digit lead in the first half, the loss to the Crimson Tide was disappointing. After five weeks of great basketball, it’s like they flipped the switch—except they flipped it back off. There’s no logical explanation. They just reverted back to a team with no confidence or ability to make routine plays. But what do they do next week for an encore? They beat a talented (underachieving) South Carolina team that is the only team to beat Kentucky all year. Boom—hope is back. Seven days later, hope is diminished again with an unexplainable loss to Auburn.

AORF: It’s not like they played terrible, though. I mean, they had a chance to win both games. That’s all you can ask for as a fan.

JC: Sure, even at this point, I still had hope. Arkansas had just made winning the West a bit tougher. They were tied with Mississippi State but, most importantly, held the tiebreaker. However, it all fell apart. Let’s not drag this out. Even if the game was in Baton Rouge, you expected the Razorbacks to win. LSU hasn’t—well, hadn’t—won a SEC game all year, 0-12. The Hogs had just plastered them by 35 points exactly two weeks ago. Then they only manage 18 points…18 measly points…less than one point a minute…one made-shot every 1:48…in the first half the second time against LSU.

AORF: Oh, that’s bad.

JC: And how do we explain this loss? LSU didn’t just have four players kicked off the team, and the Tigers definitely didn’t have a crowd in a frenzy. In fact, there were approximately 65 people there—and only that many because they thought it was a gymnastics meet.

AORF: There’s nothing wrong with gymnastics. Arkansas is ranked eighth in the country in gymnastics.

JC: I give up.

Obviously, this conversation is made-up. However, it served a number of purposes: I published a weekly interview as promised (though a day late), I wrote about the Razorbacks, and I vented. Next week I will get back to talking to real people, even if it is my mother, whose house I still live in and sleep under the red satin sheets with the miniature table and tea set at the bedside (you have to read the previous blog for that to make sense).

Home, 257 Miles Away

2010-02-19T18:28:00.000-06:00

Go ahead, ask: Where are these pictures from and why are they important? Easy. My parents' new house and...because they are of my parents' new house. OK, easy enough for me, but you're still wondering why they are important to you or, at least, why you should bother wasting your time looking at them. The only answer I have is because we are all products of environment, whether it's our house or our hometown.

There are three things that have undoubtedly shaped me: family, Arkansas, and "home." The first is easy enough to understand. When I say Arkansas, I am specifically referring to Paragould, Arkansas, and more generally to the South. However, in this blog I'd like to talk about "home," in which case I am referring both to a physical dwelling and the environment I grew up in.

The pictures featured below are taken from my parents' sixth new house, the first since I moved out a few years ago (of course, I only lived in the fifth house a few months before moving to Arkadelphia). Nevertheless, the majority of my life has been spent moving and building -- between new houses there were rent houses. Though I don't fully understand its impact, the process of building a new house and moving has always been a part of my life. However, despite this continual movement, I never felt alienated from a house.

Someday I hope to collect pictures of all the houses I've lived in, especially those my parents built. The point of this blog is still largely unclear, I know; however, it serves as a means of documenting a brief time period of my life, if nothing else.

Yes, I still have a room at my parents' house. Maybe it's because they miss me so much, or because they love me the most, or because I'm the youngest (yup, I'm the "baby"), but it's probably because I'm the only child who lives in an apartment four hours away. Yeah, that's it. I love the modern colors in this room.

There wasn't a good angle to take a picture of the living room, but this will have to work. My dad hates the red chairs flanking the fireplace -- he thinks the furniture is too modern. Also, my mom added the iron on top of the pictures. I'm undecided on both.

My nieces' room. Yeah, I know what you're thinking, this is really my room and I just don't want to admit it. However, despite the pretty red bedroom suit, that bed is as hard as a frozen mud. The miniature table with the tea set on the left side of the bed adds a nice touch to the room.

My parents always made us eat at the table for every meal, but the dining room has always seemed pointless to me. At least there isn't a formal dining room as well in this house. If the walls are clear enough in the picture, note the beautiful faux finish my mom and brother added to the paint (unfortunately, I think the dining room is the only room I didn't paint).

My mom's favorite feature of the house. Barry Shelton in Paragould built it -- I'm pretty sure he's going to feature it in Premeire Magazine. I have to admit, it looks much better than the white or brick mantles they've had in the past. I've never been a fan of cherry wood, but I think it's growing on me.

Always the most important room in any house, the kitchen. I really like the island that doubles as a bar; it beats the bar table my parents had in their last house.

My parents built their "final house" beside my grandparents' house (above). Yes, the muddy spot between the houses is reserved for the garden.

Horses and saw horses. The view is definitely a plus.

Fiction: Honey, I have a Story

2010-02-19T17:59:00.000-06:00

“Honey, I’m proud of you,” Krissy said. She reached across the pile of magazines and newspapers, shifting her weight forward, and took her husband’s hands in her own.

“Thanks.” Richard didn’t want to tell her; the truth would have to wait. For now he’d celebrate the occasion with her and be proud of his accomplishment.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said, standing. “Run down to the store and pick up some champagne, and I’ll cook something special.”

She was excited, she meant well.

But so had he.
--
The vinyl seats were cold, but Richard didn’t mind; he welcomed the frigid air and its unshakeable reality. He lit a cigarette for the first time in months. He was going to take his time.

He imagined his wife rushing around the kitchen, scrounging up food she thought he liked because he had received the best news of his life: a $500 check made out to Richard Mealer. Attached was a brief note of congratulations.

He recalled the gaiety of his wife as she burst through the screen door with the half-opened manila envelope: “You finally did it!” He grabbed the envelope in ignorance. He smiled, scanning the acceptance letter, and a wave of accomplishment rolled over him. Only then had it hit him.

It’s amazing the problems $500 can solve, Richard thought. Before the check, their marriage had stalled: they had stopped making love and ignored each other. Krissy threatened for a divorce monthly, but Richard knew she couldn’t stomach being alone. Instead, she worked full-time as a waitress in a local coffee shop; to make ends meet, he laid ceramic floor tile. He pulled into the parking lot, stomping his cigarette out on the way inside.

Despite the past, he feared letting her down. He had taken the vow of ‘for richer, for poorer…until death do us part’ and meant it. He’d proven that, Richard convinced himself as he grabbed the cheapest bottle of champagne he could find. She’d never know the difference.
--
Richard parked under the covered porch, prepared. He wanted another smoke, but he couldn’t do that to Krissy.

The smell of spaghetti and garlic bread greeted him when he opened the door. His wife had changed into a black silk dress that better suited her curves a few years earlier.

“Whadda ya think?"

“Swell.”

"The spaghetti’s done.”

“I’m gonna change,” Richard said, setting down the bottle.

He changed out of his tattered jeans into a wrinkled pair of khakis. He knew he must tell his wife; the illusion wouldn’t last forever.

“Honey, I have a story,” Richard said as he walked into the kitchen and took his wife’s out-of-shape body into his hands in disgust.

Conversations: Ashton Reely

2010-02-18T15:27:00.001-06:00

As promised I sat down (virtually) for my first chat with fellow writer and Arkansan Ashton Reely. We both grew up in Northeast Arkansas and graduated from the same high school. Ashton is one of those friends who makes Facebook statuses worth enduring the typical “takin a shower txt it at your bestie bff love hugs peace” messages. She also writes a blog and does freelance writing work in Searcy, Arkansas. Anyway, what follows is the complete and unedited version of our chat. Enjoy.

Jacob Cooper: Honestly, I've never done anything like this before, unless you count the four years I worked as a sports reporter; however, this seems different than interviewing a coach or a player. I guess it's easier for me when I feel like I'm in complete control of the story or column. I've never really sat down (virtually, I guess) with another writer and tried to work through inspiration or the creative process. However, because I know that you've also worked as a journalist before and you write your own blog, I guess my first question would be how do you classify yourself as a writer? Do you consider yourself a journalist, a creative writer, a blogger, or something completely different?

Ashton Reely: I think being a writer is such a great gift because of its versatility. I am able, on a daily basis, to show my serious side and then turn right around and write a humorous piece that makes others laugh.

Journalism is my passion because I love to meet people and tell their stories. My niche in that field would be "human interest" stories. I would rather have one in-depth interview and write a heart-warming article from it than drive all over the place confirming facts.

Above all other things, I would classify myself as a journalist because I feel like I can have the most impact that way. I love to participate in creative writing and keep up with my blog as well, but those are just avenues of personal expression.

JC: I think it's interesting that you mentioned the "versatility" of writing, and you are absolutely right. The possibilities are seemingly infinite. However, what do you think about websites like Facebook and Twitter? Obviously they are great ways for people to (mis)communicate facts and ideas, but do you think any part of the language is sacrificed because of these sites?

AR: Though I do sometimes cringe at the mistakes and grammar problems that Facebook and Twitter encourage, I almost have to bite my tongue a little bit because it is also a catalyst to get kids going on expressing their feelings through writing. Facebook notes and shared links are easily becoming a way for people who wouldn't normally consider themselves to be "writers" to delve into our world. There was one teenager from my church back home who would write me and say, "Did you read my Facebook post? What did you think?" He wanted to get his thoughts and opinions out there; he just didn't really know how before new technology opened doors.

JC: Because I stumbled into my first job as a journalist, it's only fitting that I ask how you became interested in journalism? Also, are you majoring in journalism or a related field in college? If so, or if not, what do you want to do after you graduate?

AR: From a very early age, I always knew I loved to write and that it somehow had to be a part of my future career. I considered being an English major at first, but soon realized that I would be writing essays and reading classic literature rather than meeting people and talking about what they were doing. After I narrowed down what I wanted to write about, print journalism seemed like a natural fit.

I graduated in May 2009 with a degree in Print Journalism from Harding University. I am now pursuing my MBA in Business. I am working for a Teen Christian magazine here in Searcy and I freelance for some other publications as well. The MBA may seem like a random direction (and it kind of was) but I felt like it would strengthen my future career endeavors and allow me to one day own my own magazine or perhaps be a Communication director for a non-profit organization. Those are the two goals I am shooting for right now.

JC: Since you do both creative writing and journalism, what do you see as the fundamental difference between the two?

AR: I feel like journalism has a method; a template; a style that you have to get down. You are forced to be objective and sometimes cover topics that you don't agree with or aren't necessarily interested in. Creative writing, for me, was an escape from all that. It was a chance for me to momentarily get away from writing about the oil companies in Searcy and cover what I wanted to cover. Creative writing is therapeutic to me in a sense. I guess the fundamental difference, to me, would be control. You don't always have control over what beat you are covering in journalism or what has occurred that needs to be written about; with creative writing, however, you are the author and perfecter of your own world.

JC: Like I am the author and perfecter of this interview? Probably not, eh.

Okay, last round of questions.

Your father, Trey Reely, has published a few books (two, three, four?). How has he impacted you as a writer? Do you ever ask him for tips?

AR: My dad just published his fourth book, I believe it is up to now. He is also delving into the world of children's literature. He wrote a children's book and is working on getting that published as well. He has definitely been a source of encouragement and a good example to follow. I am inspired by the fact that he is always learning new things; he is never complacent and is always pushing himself to try a different style of writing or cover something he has never tried before. It's easy, as a writer, to get stuck in a rut and repeat the same thing over and over; he isn't afraid to make mistakes or get turned down. He keeps plugging!

The opinions of my mother and others mean a lot to me, but in the back of my mind I know that it is kind of their duty to cry and say, "Ashton, sweetheart, that was the best article you have ever written!" My dad is always willing to give me tips and ideas on how to tweak my writing. Because of this, when he raves about an article I have written, I know it truly means something and I am overcome with joy. I welcome his advice, and I hope to write a book someday--which I'm sure will elicit more of his viewpoints.

JC: Finally, how has growing up in the South--Arkansas, specifically--influenced you as a writer? This really wasn't something I gave much thought to concerning my own writing until I took a class about southern identity last year, and I think it's a great topic to explore with a fellow southerner.

AR: I have never lived anywhere but the South so I am not an expert on the differences, but I feel like it has definitely molded me as a writer. I feel like, depending on where you live, priorities are different; what people want to hear about is different; and your interactions with people are going to be different. As a journalist, this very much affects your job. While misspelling Johnny Boy's name in the local newspaper may not be the end of the world to you, to his friends and family who have been anxiously awaiting this day, it is a big deal. High school football is epic.

I used to sometimes get discouraged and be like, "Really? We're going to put a picture of the county pie-eating contest on the front page?" I soon realized, however, that it is our job as journalists to be story-tellers. Everyone has a story. It just varies--from region to region--what stories touch the people in that area.

On a lighter note, living in the South comes with that constant contradiction of "writing better than you talk." When people hear me talk and sometimes throw out the occasional double-negative or "ain't," it is hard for them to immediately connect that with the girl who wrote an article in the local magazine. Ha!

JC: Haha, you are dead on about "writing better than you talk." I am very self-conscious about the way I talk--granted, I had to go to speech until like the sixth grade. It's a real challenge because people hear my accent and immediately think it's impossible for me to write well, and it doesn't help that I make many of the same errors you mentioned.

It's been a real pleasure talking with you. Good luck in the future with your writing and your education.

Ashton Reely is a 23-year-old grad student at Harding University. She graduated with her print journalism degree in 2009 and is currently pursuing her MBA. In the meantime, she is a staff writer for TC Magazine in Searcy, AR and freelances for Searcy Living Magazine, "The Bison" campus newspaper and other local publications.

She is originally from Paragould, AR but now lives in Searcy with two good friends. She enjoys playing sports, working out, and hanging out with friends and family. She is also an avid karaoke fan. She is known for her quirky sense of humor and enthusiasm for life.

She aspires to own her own magazine someday or work for a non-profit organization as the coordinator of their communications. Her ideal career would be rewarding and enable her to make a difference in the lives of others.

Arkansas-South Carolina Diary

2010-02-18T00:10:00.001-06:00

Photo by Wesley Hitt

7:18: In case you didn’t know, I am old school: I listen to the Razorbacks’ games on the radio. Why? (Wait, be right back—my fried rice is burning)…Anyway, I don’t have cable or satellite. If you read Dribbling Ink the first time around, you know that I am too poor for cable, even though I am doing better economically than a few months ago. My wife says getting cable would make finishing homework impossible, which is probably true. I have enough trouble doing my homework with nothing else to do.

7:25: The Arkansas-South Carolina game tips off in about forty minutes. I forgot to mention that tonight’s game is the point of this running diary. The Hogs can’t afford to drop tonight’s home game after losing to Alabama over the weekend. Not to say it’s a must-win, but the Hogs won’t win the SEC West if they lose this game.

7:28: My research paper topic is due tomorrow in my American West class. I’m guessing that when my professor says he is open to almost any topic about the West he wouldn’t be too happy if I submitted a paper about Arkansas’ former dominance of the SEC West in basketball. Oh well, I still have approximately fifteen hours or so before class.

7:37: Got the pregame show cranked up and ready to roll. The Gamecocks are 1-8 on the road this season. Encouraging. However, if you think the Hogs have a good point guard in Courtney Fortson, SC counters with 5-9 senior Devan Downey, who leads the SEC in scoring at 22.8 ppg on the year. Should be a good battle on the perimeter.

7:40: My wife, who is a poser Kansas fan, is home and ready to eat. Quick break before the tip.

8:01: Ate the fried rice I cooked while my wife got me caught up on season 2 of Merlin. The starting lineups are being announced. I’m thinking it’s time for Rotnei Clarke to have a big game; he hasn’t lit up the scoreboard in a few weeks. I’m calling at least three 3-pointers.

8:04: Marshawn Powell scores the first points of the game. We need to make sure and get the ball in the paint for the entire game, especially in the second half. He’s now scored the first four points of the game for the Hogs.

8:06: Great, Powell leaves after taking a shot to the head and SC scores five quick points and takes its first lead at 7-6.

8:11: Mike Washington picks up two quick fouls. Not good. He makes all the hustle plays and is the team’s best rebounder. SEC officials seem to have a beef with Washington; he’s always on the wrong end of calls.

8:13: Clarke hits a deep 3-point basket (the 702^nd game in a row the Hogs have hit a 3-pointer, which dates back to 1989—yeah, the random facts on the radio are the best), bringing the Hogs back within one, 12-11.

8:15: Clarke hits his second 3-pointer in a row. He’s going to make me look like a genius. I promise that I’m not going to keep writing at this pace, but Clarke reminds me of a younger me. Yeah, I could shoot like that. I’m kind of a big deal.

8:17: Well, if the Gamecocks continue to shoot 50 percent (4-8) from the 3-point line, the Hogs will struggle to keep pace. We need to defend the perimeter better. Yes, I am Captain Obvious, too. But isn’t that what coaches do? Just point on the obvious and mix in some motivation?

8:25: With 8:53 to go the Gamecocks are forced to take a thirty-second timeout after the Hogs sprint back ahead, 27-25, thanks to a 6-0 run. I’m not sure how I feel about a barn-burner—the offense is usually shaky down the stretch. I love Fortson, but the other players have a tendency to just stand around and expect him to make all the plays. Fortson needs to try to get everyone involved in the offense.

8:32: Powell is dominating the game with 16 early points with 3:18 left in the first half. The graduation of Washington will be a big loss, but I think Powell can easily fill the void. The question is whether Glenn Bryant or Delvon Johnson can step up their games. Johnson has made a few solid hustle plays so far, but it seems like the kid can’t catch. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard Rick Schaeffer say, “Johnson can’t control the rebound as it goes off his hands out of bounds.” He also has a patch of gray hair on top of his head. I have one of those, but it’s more in the back around my neck. Good information, I know.

8:48: Marcus Britt makes a huge play at the end of the first half, stealing the ball from Downey for an easy 2-point bucket to give the Hogs a 40-33 lead.

Halftime: Made a batch of no-bake cookies with my wife before she left to study her cat.

9:05: Clarke hits his third 3-pointer of the game to open the second half. Sometimes I think I am clairvoyant. Hopefully he will double my prediction.

9:08: Powell continues to play like a seasoned veteran. Powell and Clarke have combined for 29 of the Hogs’ 47 points.

9:10: Looks like the refs don’t want Washington to play in this game. Already picked up his third foul. He doesn’t seem to get any respect from the officials for trying to take charges. It has to be deflating as a defender to do everything right and be hit with a foul.

9:11: Powell’s one-hand dunk via Fortson’s lob pass prompts SC to burn a full timeout. Hogs lead 51-39. Now matter how crappy the beginning of the year was, Razorback fans have to be excited about the future with Fortson, Clarke, and Powell as the nucleus for the next two and a half years. Powell has scored in double figures in 20 of 26 games this season.

9:15: Fortson has absolutely taken the game over. Two quick assists to Powell and Johnson for dunks and a scoop shot to give Arkansas a 57-39 lead. The crowd erupts into a boisterous Hog call as the Gamecocks burn their second timeout in last minute. Woo Pig Sooie! Add a deep 3-pointer for Fortson, who is flirting with a triple-double (9 points, 7 assists, 6 rebounds so far).

9:23: Downey hits two quick 3-pointers. Here comes a run. The Gamecocks are being very aggressive on defense and trapping. My interest is waning, though—I’ve started reading for my literary criticism class during the commercial breaks. I’m getting dangerously close to mailing this game in already as a fan. I should know better as a Razorback fan.

9:28: Washington becomes only the fourth Razorback to score 1000 points, grab 600 rebounds, and block 100 shots in a career. I feel confident in saying that Powell will be the fifth Arkansas player to accomplish this, if he stays healthy for four years.

9:55: The game is moving too slowly. SC continues to rain in 3-pointers and foul the Hogs quickly. I love how players like Sam Muldrow, who shoots 23 percent from the 3-point line for the year, is 4-6 against Arkansas. Happens every game. Like the player from Alabama who was like 11-12 from the free-throw line but had only made like 5-25 coming into the game. I don’t know if it’s our defense or if we are just unlucky.

10:05: The Hogs finish off an impressive 92-79 win over South Carolina and regain sole possession of the SEC West. Powell carried the team offensively, and Johnson recorded his first career double-digit rebounding game, picking up the slack in the absence of Washington.

It’s almost impossible to imagine that Arkansas is in the driver’s seat of the SEC West with only five games remaining after a horrendous start to the year. I’m cautiously optimistic about their chances of winning their division, which would almost assure them a berth in the NCAA tournament, in my opinion, as long as they win a couple of games in the SEC tournament. However, things get tough with Vanderbilt and Tennessee looming. Winning three of the remaining games is a must, which is doable, but even that doesn’t guarantee them anything but the NIT. Don’t get me wrong: I’d take the NIT—it would be an improvement over last year and something to build on for the future.

11:47: Bad news: Arkansas quarterback Ryan Mallett suffered a foot injury in practice on Wednesday and will reportedly miss three to four months.

Does this Blog have a Purpose?

2010-02-17T14:31:00.000-06:00

I love to write, I really do; however, often I find myself unable to write a new blog entry or a short story. Don’t ask me about the creative process. I am the least qualified person (who attempts, as halfhearted as it may be, to write creatively) to answer that question. All I know is that it just happens—that was the first thought that popped into my head, but it isn’t necessarily true. Imagination may just happen (wait, does it?), but writing takes dedication and practice. You can imagine and write great pieces of literature in your head all day, which I do, but it’s useless unless you write it down. Right? I keep making all these statements only to question their validity. There is some worth to merely imagining things. For me, it’s the only way to stay sane and (cliché ahead) escape the real world. Of course, is that to assume what we imagine is somehow less real and important than the life we live? Anyway, the point is that I procrastinate. No, bad word choice. I am lazy.

(I apologize for all the parentheticals. I get carried away [“by the look, by the light in your eyes”] at times.)

Therefore, more for my benefit than your own, which I could probably say about Dribbling Ink in general, I am trying to create a schedule of blog entries—any kind of structure that will help me stay on task and write consistently. Plus, if you detest sports, maybe you’ll find something you can read weekly this way.

Here’s my idea. I will sporadically write blogs about sports—mostly about the Arkansas Razorbacks and the Arkansas State Red Wolves—which is the entire premise for Dribbling Ink at the present. However, as I noted in my first blog of the year, I’d like to expand beyond sports. The most natural area to move into would be literature. At least, it seems that way as I finish my Master’s of Liberal Arts in English.

Admitting that I get nervous about people reading my writing seems absurd, especially to those who have been forced to reject my Dribbling Ink invitations on Facebook multiple times, but it’s true. I work with and know more talented writers, and bad writing is the easiest way to make yourself look like a fool (with your pants on the ground!—what a crappy pop culture reference, I know; honestly, I don’t understand the American Idol obsession). Nevertheless, hopefully I can post an original piece of literature, like a short story or poem, every Saturday. This can serve a number of purposes: appeal to a new audience, help me stay motivated to write fiction, and give those more talented writers a good laugh.

I’m also considering a few more ideas, trying to branch out into areas that I don’t know much about but that I am interested in, such as fashion, gaming, cooking, and architecture. Possibly, I might post some personal interviews (on Thursdays maybe?) with people who interest me or who I think are better writers than myself. Of course, I’ll also blog about my own life, post random pictures, and talk about Arkansas (that is, being a Southerner).

Well, Dribbling Ink is still as purposeless as before, but at least you know what to expect (tentatively) on Thursdays and Saturdays now. Suggestions are always welcome, whether you’re one of those more talented writers or just a dedicated reader (yes, I know my mom is probably the only person who reads my blog). Since you’ve made it this far, I’ll let you know that the first personal interview will be posted at some point tomorrow or Friday.

Dribbles

2010-02-12T16:10:00.001-06:00

For awhile I thought I wasn't going to see a single snowflake the entire winter. Yes, I know it's been snowing practically everywhere -- except where I've been, that is. Over Christmas break we went home to Paragould and it snowed in Arkadelphia. After returning to a snow-free southern Arkansas, it snowed in Paragould. You get the idea -- the pattern kept up until this week. Our apartment looks better at night, highlighted by snow.

Someone made a snowman for me on my truck. I'm guessing it was a Henderson student (we live right beside the dorms). At least my vehicle wasn't pelted by snowballs. My wife swears she was bombarded by snowballs during a two-minute drive through the OBU campus.

Kasa making snow cream. We are so poor that we have to wait on snow to make something sweet to eat -- thus the happy face. Or maybe she was so happy because we watched Merlin after this (yes, we have odd taste in TV shows; of course, we don't even have cable, so we watch what we can online).

A True Fan: A Bed, a Baby, and a Bracket

2010-02-11T16:01:00.000-06:00

A baby-sized caption: The Razorbacks' lucky charm, Chase Gross.

First, I have an admission to make. After eating supper, watching some Smallville (yes, I know I am the only person over thirteen that still watches this show), and saying goodbye to my wife (who left to dissect a cat or something), I had one thing on my mind: watching the Arkansas-LSU basketball game. However, after a stressful day at work, which consisted of sitting in an empty computer lab for over three hours, I was exhausted. Blah, blah, blah: I feel asleep in the recliner. I woke up around ten and checked my phone, which showed the usual pre-midnight text: “Wanna play some COD (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 for PS3 for my non-gaming readers)?” I needed to do homework, intended to watch the game, and wanted to play COD; nevertheless, I crawled into bed and slept. And Wednesday ended.

I am a terrible fan, I know. But it’s the first thing I thought about Thursday morning. I opened Firefox with anxiety. For a moment, I considered not checking the score. Why? The Hogs have been on such a hot streak and I didn’t want it to end. Of course, reason prevailed: the outcome was set whether I checked the score or not. Luckily, I was flabbergasted by their success and not a letdown. A 35-point win, even against a Tigers’ team that is winless in conference play (9-15, 0-10 SEC), is impressive. Granted this isn’t the same LSU that went 13-3 and won the SEC last year, but they still have enough talented players, like Tasmin Mitchell, to pose a threat to Arkansas.

Heck, I’ll sleep through every Arkansas game if it will help them win by 35 points. Wait? Would I? Which leads me to the inspiration for this blog: What is the true nature of being a fan? Would a true fan rather sleep through every game and have his team win by double-digits OR does a true fan watch every game intently and live with the ups and downs of winning and defeat? It’s an interesting question. Is the team’s success or the fan’s enjoyment more important?

If it wasn’t my sleep that propelled the Hogs to victory then it was my co-worker’s newborn. The basketball Razorbacks haven’t dropped a game since Chase Gross was born. In fact, he was born at halftime of the Mississippi State in which the Hogs trailed by 13 points. After Chase’s birth, Fortson scored 33 points in the second half to carry Arkansas to victory and the team hasn’t let up since. Chase is already a Hog legend in my book.

Back in Northeast Arkansas at my alma mater, Arkansas State is matching if not surpassing the success of the Hogs. Currently, the Red Wolves are 9-3 in league play and sit alone atop the Sun Belt Conference. John Brady was a great hire for ASU, and the program will only continue to get better under his guidance. I’m just not sure ASU will have the money required to pay Brady when it comes time. However, even Joe Lunardi, resident bracketologist at ESPN, has taken notice of the Red Wolves’ winning ways. In his latest projections, he has ASU as the 15^th seed in South Region with a first-round date against Duke (you can check out the projections here, dear reader: http://sports.espn.go.com/ncb/bracketology).

Since I can’t sleep during the day, I guess I’ll just have to rely on Boss Hog Chase to carry the Razorbacks to victory on Saturday. Or, maybe I’ll start a new superstition and take my wife out to dinner for Valentine’s Day instead of watching the game. I mean, I know I don’t have to ask what’s more important, being a spouse or being a fan. Right?

Guess Who's Back?

2010-02-07T16:30:00.000-06:00

Not to get sentimental, but I was recently reminded of the joys of writing a blog. So, I logged into Dribbling Ink to see my past failed attempt at a blog. A number of things immediately struck me. My last post was dated Monday, December 1, 2008, which was just a short video of the immediate celebration after the Miracle on Markham II. Seriously? I went an entire year without writing a single blog entry. Naturally, I asked myself what happened.

The answer is simple. Life happened. I started blogging because I didn’t have anything better to do. I had just gotten married and moved to Arkadelphia, where I failed to find a job for a few months. Tell me a better way to waste your time than to write blogs that nobody reads? After Christmas I started graduate school at Henderson State University. During the fall, I began working as a graduate assistant in the HSU Writing Center. (I also spent a few torturous months as a substitute teacher.) Essentially, I didn’t have a reason to write a blog anymore. I had life to do.

Except that’s not how it works.

I’ve had plenty of time and thoughts since my last post; I just needed to be reminded that I love to write. A co-worker of mine in the writing center always jokes that I should write my thesis about sports because it is the only thing I know and care enough about to crank out 100 pages worth of information concerning, which is a fair enough assessment. I spent all four years as an undergraduate covering local sports in Greene County for the Paragould Daily Press.

However, I’d like to think that I can talk about more than just sports. Therefore, though Dribbling Ink was created nearly six years ago as a sports column in the Paragould Daily Press, it’s time to expand. To what? I don’t know. But I do know the three things that dominate my life: sports, literature, and Arkansas. The first two are pretty obvious, but the last one may be the most important. Arkansas encompasses a lot more than just its physical boundaries. It’s about family, growing up, identity, and the future.

I like to think of myself as a realist, though most people that know me don’t hesitate to call me a pessimist. Sure, I’ll probably forget about Dribbling Ink again—I certainly don’t expect to be writing it a decade from now—but there’s a joy that comes with writing a blog. With writing, in general. Life will assuredly happen again, and Dribbling Ink will probably disappear from my thoughts completely the next time; however, there’s still plenty of time in-between school, work, and home to contribute a few more blogs to the annals of writing that nobody will ever read.

Maybe I will see (or blog about) you along the way.

Miracle on Markham II

2008-12-01T22:55:00.000-06:00

(The video is of Colt David's hopeless, last-second field goal attempt and the celebration that ensued.)

First off, thanks to my wife for buying me a ticket to the Arkansas-LSU game. (She just felt guilty because she is always leaving me for days at a time to go on basketball trips.)

Next, what a game. Besides being rained on for a few hours, everything was great, from the Whole Hog Cafe BBQ to Casey Dick's last throw as a Razorback. The worst part was the contingency of LSU fans. Oh well, the purple-and-gold hush after London Crawford's catch was beautiful.

Anyway, since this post is going nowhere, too bad the Hogs didn't take care of busniess the week before against Miss. St.; however, hopefully they can carry this win over into next year and build on it. There's plenty of talent for Bobby Petrino to exceed expectations next year: D.J. Williams, Joe Adams, Dennis Johnson, etc.

Woo Pig Sooie for the football Hogs one last time. Now it's basketball season. And time to endure another freshmen-laden squad that will make you say, "Wow," some games and tear your heart our the next.

OBU vs. Central Baptist College

2008-11-19T00:25:00.000-06:00

(I always love art with writing; however, this will be a challenge for my coverage (?) of the OBU Lady Tigers. Since it was a monumental night for OBU head coach Garry Crowder, this will have to suffice.)

Ok, as promised, here is the first Dribbling Ink post about the Ouachita Lady Tigers’ basketball team. Before we get into any specifics, I’d like to layout how this will work. After every game I attend, which will mostly be home games, I will write up a quick reaction to all the action. I will break each post into four parts: 1) The Dirty Details, which will list all the essentials in case you aren’t interested in my ramblings; 2) Dribbling Ink’s Recap (let’s call it DI’s Recap), a.k.a. my random, almost-journalistic thoughts on the game; 3) The Wife Update, a quick glimpse of Kasa Cooper’s role in the game; 4) the Dribbling Ink Made-Up Quote of the Game (does DIMUQOTG work?), where I attribute a quote to Coach Crowder that he didn’t say but could, should, or may have said afterwards; finally, 5) the Random Fact, which will be a random fact. Also, if you want to check out the official story from OBU's SID, Brian Howard, check out the link in the Dirty Details.

Dirty Details:
OBU vs. Central Baptist College
6:00 PM CT, Nov. 18, 2008
Bill Vining Arena
Arkadelphia, AR
OBU 111--CBC 51
http://www.obutigers.com/story_page.asp?ID=2431

DI’s Recap:
Honestly, before I get into any specifics—though details will be scarce since I’m going straight from memory and not from a reporter’s notepad or a play-by-play stat sheet that most college SID’s provide—I’ve never witnessed a women’s basketball team score so many points. 111?!

(Dribbling Ink Disclaimer: Since I have no official stats or comments on the game, please do not be offended if I mess something up. In fact, who cares? This is a blog post, not a newspaper article—I can screw up and be as biased as I want.)

For example, it was clear that CBC wasn’t on OBU’s level—talent-, conditioning-, or athletic-wise. The Lady Tigers imposed their will upon CBC, controlling the tempo by speeding past the Lady Mustangs on offense and creating a slew of turnovers on defense.

I bet CBC had more turnovers than attempted field goals. After the game, my wife said CBC committed 37 turnovers. Microwave recipe for losing by 60 points: commit almost as many turnovers as points scored.

With every player but one scoring for OBU, and all 14 players logging significant minutes, it’s clear the Lady Tigers and Coach Crowder are a unselfish bunch. Instead of announcing starters, the OBU players ran through the cheerleader gauntlet as a team.

As rare as 111 points might be in women’s basketball, a group of 14 individuals coming together unequivocally as a team is harder to come by. When it happens, it’s fun to watch, and the results can be dazzling. If OBU can keep up this team chemistry throughout the season, I think the Lady Tigers have the talent to win a lot of games.

Wife Update:
In her first career collegiate game, my wife made her first shot—a 3-pointer—kicked a ball, got a rebound, committed a foul and notched a few steals.

Ball-kicking note: If someone asked me to bet $100 on the one thing that my wife would do in, say, five minutes of playing, here’s my top three: 1) kick the ball, 2) commit a foul, 3) make a three. I proposed the same situation to her and she said definitely kick the ball.

Bottom three (for fun): 1) be assessed a technical foul, 2) call a timeout, 3) roll on the floor like she’s hurt and jump up and jog off the court a minute later.

DIMUQOTG (Dribbling Ink’s Made-Up Quote of the Game):
“I thought tonight was a real team effort,” Coach Crowder said afterwards. “But we still have to go back to work tomorrow and continue getting better. We can’t be satisfied with this one.”

Random Fact (DIRF? Dribbling Ink’s Random Fact):
The win marked Coach Crowder’s 200th at OBU.

Lady Tigers

2008-11-17T09:54:00.000-06:00

This is largely a precautionary post. I've mentioned that my wife plays for the Ouachita Baptist Lady Tiger basketball team a number of times; however, I wouldn't be surprised if A) you didn't believe me or B) you didn't pay attention. I just wanted to post a quick link (or you can just click on the title of this blog post) to the roster so you can check out the team: http://www.obutigers.com/wbasketball/2008-09roster.asp

Anyway, since I'll be around for most of the home games, it seems I should keep a running commentary about the team. I mean, I'm so used to watching sports with the eye of the journalist that sometimes it's hard to just enjoy for pure entertainment value. This way maybe I can satisfy a little of both cravings.

Quick OBU Lady Tiger rundown (at least from my limited prospective): Last year, the Lady Tigers had a few internal problems which forced them to clean house of many of their upperclassmen. Therefore, there are only two seniors and three juniors on this year's squad, leaving underclassmen to populate a majority of the roster, including returning the Gulf South Conference West Division Freshman of the Year in Gabby Coleman.

Though they have a few players around the six-foot mark, the Lady Tigers lack any real presence inside. OBU will have to rely on a guard-oriented, perimeter attack that will feature plenty of slashing, driving, and kick-outs for three-pointers.

As of now, Coach Crowder looks like he will play a rotation of at least ten, with frequent substitutions due to the fast-paced tempo that his team will employ.

The Lady Tigers were picked seventh in the Gulf South Conference Preaseason Coaches' Poll, according to the OBU SID Brian Howard. However, I think the Lady Tigers have enough talent to surprise some people. Granted, I don't know much about the GSC, I'd be willing to bet OBU will finish above seventh.

The Lady Tigers will begin the regular season on Tuesday at Bill Vining Arena against Central Baptist. I'll be there and I'll let you know what I think sometime. Or, maybe if I'm lucky, I can get my wife to write an insightful piece about the game from a Lady Tiger's prospective (don't bet on it).

(Of course, the opinions expressed here are not those of any member of the OBU Lady Tiger coaching staff. Just one man's educated, biased opinions.)

Joe the Plumber

2008-11-09T18:56:00.000-06:00

( Caption: So Samuel Joseph Wurzelbacher, better known as "Joe the Plumber", can't win an election for you. But I bet he can plunge your toliet, right?)

A lot of responsibility comes with marriage, such as taking care of your wife when she’s sick like mine is right now. However, to me that’s an easy one. I can make chicken noodle soup, hot chocolate, and Jell-O. The challenging part of being married, for me, is the Tim-Allen home improvement gig.

Growing up, my dad took care of all those things: changing the oil in the vehicles, patching holes in the wall, replacing chipped tiles, repairing damaged furniture, and unclogging toilets and sinks. To this day there isn’t a problem that my dad can’t solve. It’s his calling. A fixing-up vision I didn’t inherit.

Last week, the toilet in our apartment started acting up, such as not flushing with full velocity and taking a minute to drain and refill. Eventually, it stopped working at all. Oh, if there isn’t anything more inhumane than a toilet that won’t flush, I declare. So, naturally, I did the husbandly thing and bought a plunger. Heck, I’ve seen my dad do this plenty of times. Stick the plunger in there, plunge a few good rounds, and flush it away.

If only it could be that simple for me.

Well, I plunged and I plunged and I plunged. Like ole Naaman, I dipped and I dipped and I dipped, but nothing happened. When I flushed the toilet, the bowl filled up to the brink of overflowing, then slowly drained away over the next few minutes. Like any man worth a wooden nickel, when my first rounds of plunging didn’t work, I plunged harder.

I plunged until my Wal-Mart plunger ripped in half. Honestly. After a few hours of plunging, I had a still stopped-up toilet and a ripped plunger to show for my efforts. Now that’s efficiency.

So, for the next two days, when I needed to use the bathroom I drove to the OBU science building. It’s the only building I’m remotely familiar with because my wife lives in there, whether it’s labs, study groups, or watering her beans. I mean, it’s half acceptable that I can’t find a good job—I am in Arkadelphia—however, a real man can plunge a toilet whether it’s in Arkadelphia, Hong Kong (maybe, or do they use bidets?), or New York City.

Finally, I got fed up and went to Fred’s and bought me a real plunger. One of those with a wooden handle and a red plunger—just like the one my dad uses. This time, motivated and a little pissed off, it only took me a few good pumps to get the toilet back in working order.

Heck, I may open up a plumbing business of my own. Or, I saw in the newspaper where a plumbing store in Arkadelphia needed a branch manage. Whadda ya say, I think I’m their man?

Ghost Hunting

2008-10-29T16:38:00.000-05:00

Honestly, maybe I should take up a job as a Ghostbuster. After graduating college and finally getting away from The Paragould Daily Press--or The Daily Mess, as it's more affectionately known to its readers--I swore to myself that I would never work in the newspaper business again.

Heh. Well, you see, desperate times make you do desperate things. I've been looking for a job for over two months, which has included rounds and rounds of interviews and assessments. Therefore, when I saw an opening for a job at The Gurdon Times, I had no choice but to apply. Of course the call came for the interview--heck, I have years of experience, awards, accolades, and an applicable degree. What could go wrong? Besides working for $7.50 an hour at a weekly newspaper in Gurdon, Arkansas.

Needless to say, the interview went well--in fact, I'm convinced I know more about the newspaper business than the woman who interviewed me. But let's jump to the point: I didn't get the job. They loved me, and all that Workspeak crap, but they hired someone more "local"--or, the girl from Gurdon who interviewed before me and knew the woman doing the hiring. I heard all this because The Gurdon Times only has one room, so there isn't really anywhere to stash people for interviews.

Maybe I'll just take up looking for the Gurdon Light. Or hunting ghosts. Heck, hunting ghosts seems to be more fathomable than me getting a job anytime soon.

Halloween

2008-10-28T19:29:00.001-05:00

I figured my wife would appreciate this picture. In case some people get worried, this picture was taken at Pumpkin Hollow last year. I just always found it creepy because she looks so pale--and that smile.

The Best Things About Going Home

2008-10-23T16:00:00.001-05:00

Woo, if there's such a thing as a list writer, I'm in. In fact, I'm available for work right away. Maybe I lose all literary credit by writing this blog, but it's sure a lot easier to write in lists than it is in complete thoughts.

Since the wife and I are going to Paragould this weekend, here's a list of the best things about going home:

1) Family.
2) Free food.
3) Mom's free, home-cooked food.
4) Four solid hours of driving. Not.
5) Cable.
5a) NFL.
5b) College football.
5c) ESPN.
5d) Nancy Grace--wait, that's my Mom's list.
6) Cousins. Yeah, I know they are family, but they are more friends. That's supposed to be a compliment, but it doesn't seem that way when I read it. Oh well.
7) Sweets. Though Kasa did make some good no-bake, oatmeal cookies this week.
8) Mom-washed laundry. Heh.
9) Living out of a suitcase. Love it.
10) I don't have to worry about not having a job.

Peace. Enjoy your weekend if we don't meet here again.

Caption (I love having to write captions like this): This is what we'll miss out on in Arkadelphia. It's a shame, I tell you.

10 Things I've Learned in the First Two Months of Married Life

2008-10-16T23:57:00.001-05:00

Because I’ve been lazy lately, and there haven’t been any random strangers wandering into the apartment, it’s time to break out another list.

Things I’ve learned since I got married:

1) I’ll eat cheese cake with strawberries on top (after years of avoiding this topping, making my mother prepare all food “plain” my entire life, my wife forced me to try it—it’s not so bad).

2) I’ll eat vegetables, namely corn not on the cob, which I’ve never liked before.

3) Supreme pizzas are actually quite tasteful.

4) Being “overqualified” for a job is actually Coachspeak—or maybe Workspeak, in this case—for “Yes, you have a degree, which does make you more formally educated than everyone else that applied; however, your degree is a B.A. in English and we’re not sure that it’s practical in any way to the business environment. Good luck serving up White Chocolate Mochas at Starbucks, hippie.”

5) Eating chicken wasn’t just a childhood fad of mine. It’s a lifetime commitment.

6) I think about food more than the average person (my wife just scanned my list and totally “agrees” with this one).

7) I’m addicted to fantasy football (insert last-place team comment here: Grr…it’s like beating a dead horse, so I’ll withstand the urge…ah!).

8) I hate being touched/glanced/kicked/poked/pinched/bear-hugged/breathed on/tickled while sleeping (my wife put it in layman terms [she’s been studying nomenclature too much]: “[your] bubble pops, with a loud noise, very easily at the slightest touch, causing mass hypertension/hyperventilating”).

9) You don’t get paid to write a blog that nobody reads.

10) “Misplacing” your wedding ring is a lot more severe than all those other things you told your mom you “misplaced” when you were little.

Edit: Quickly, a few more things I've learned: hair falls out more rapidly, frozen pizzas taste just as good (if not better) as before, "through thick and thin" translates into "helping her through Chemistry/Botany" (I tell her if the otherside of the flashcard is indeed what she said), washing dishes is a fulltime job, being OCD isn't enjoyable when you sit home all day, you can only play Madden so many times (though I'm not quite there yet), life without cable is possible, NetFlix is amazing, Clark and Lana need to end this relationship (I'm only on season 5 of Smallville, don't spoil it for me), I picked a bad time to enter the workforce, and garbage stinks if you don't take it out in time.

Falling Down

2008-10-16T12:29:00.001-05:00

That about sums up how I've felt lately.

Someone Finally Visits

2008-10-08T19:15:00.000-05:00

On Thursday, I’ve been married for two months. See, I am a good husband; I remembered my anniversary—I bet my wife isn’t even aware of this, since she’s always busy with stupid science study groups (that’s an alliteration for my literary friends), which is where I’m at right now. Woo…anyway.

In those two months since we’ve moved to Arkadelphia—for those familiar with my former hometown, think Goobertown on steroids, really, really cheap steroids—we’ve received exactly two visits from the outside world: my parents and her parents. My friends and cousins have abandoned me, but who can blame them? I wouldn’t drive four hours either for an old married couple, a rundown apartment, and some critters.

However, we finally welcomed our first visitor this week. Well, we didn’t exactly welcome him, but we did have a foreign mass enter our domain. Here’s how the visit went down. I was playing Madden 09 on Wii online and my wife was doing homework on the couch. It’s about ten o’clock, I'm minding my own business, relaxing before bed (actually probably screaming at the top of my lungs—my wife says I morph when I play Madden), when I hear the doorknob rattling. Honestly, I thought the door was locked, my wife says it wasn’t, but the next thing I know I hear the door open and slam close. I paused my game, looked over at my wife—we just sat there. I could see a warped mass in a white shirt in our glass oven door.

"Hello."

At this point, I’m getting visions of Jack Nicholson splintering the door with an axe, sticking his face through the fractured panel and saying, “Here’s Johnny.” (If you don’t pick up on that reference, YouTube “Here’s Johnny.”) Anyway without a knife/baseball bat/pistol/large blunt object to bludgeon the “Hello” Guy with, I just continue listening and waiting for him to make the first move. One…two…three seconds pass, and the door opens and closes, again. With the intruder safely gone, I’m not frozen to my seat anymore, so I rush to the door and watch the “Hello" Guy nonchalantly stride ten feet across the hall and enter the adjacent apartment.

OK…well, I really didn’t and still don’t know what to say. My wife suggests that maybe he was drunk (at a Christian college?!). Maybe he was being funny (or ignorant). Who knows. I can deduce the same amount of reason of the “Hello" Guy as I can going with my wife to water her beans. Yeah…

Monday Night Football: Saints-Vikings

2008-10-06T20:04:00.001-05:00

Caption (since I don't get that option): this picture is an understatement for what's been happening to AP (28) against the Saints on MNF.

Before MNF starts, I have a quick prediction: the Saints will score 14 points so fast in the first quarter that Adrian Peterson won't get more than 15 carries.

1:04 (1st Qtr): I don't even have cable and I can see the Saints swarming Peterson so far. Four carries for 5 yards. Woo.

End of 1st Qtr: So besides owning AP on my last-place fantasy football team, I also have Lance Moore. Yeah, I guess his Knights-Of-The-Roundtable name isn't getting him any love tonight. One catch for 1 yard. I'm on a roll so far.

Score: Vikings 10-Saints 10

Commerical break: Well, all I see is a blank virtual field. I hear a clock ticking...To think this is how I have to entertain myself. "I'm a grown man!"

Start of 2nd Qtr: Brees throws an INT, setting the Vikings and Peterson up nicely for me a TD. But what's this! Chester Taylor pops up onto my little black screen. Curses.

This conversation ensuses on MSN:
Jacob says:
AP is dead isnt he?
John says:
got hurt
John says:
he ran to the right for about a yard and the trainers ran out
John says:
took him to locker room
Jacob says:
...
Jacob says:
?
John says:
?
Jacob says:
no way?
John says:
yeah, and moore had seizure on the sidelines so they escorted him to the locker room too

Yeah, yeah. Chester Taylor has a better chance of throwing a touchdown before that happens...
Kill me. Just do it. Now.

Score: Vikings 17-Saints 10

10:59 (2nd Qtr): According to ESPN.com NFL Gamecast, Reggie Bush just passed the ball to himself. Translation: fumble, I think.

9:30 (2nd Qtr): Vikings punting again. Apparently Gus Frerotte and Philip Rivers have turned into Steve Smith and Troy Aikman, because LT and AP aren't getting the ball the past few weeks.

NFL Gamecast idea: They should have little ads pop up when the TV audience goes to its commercial break, because I have no idea if it's commercial or what. I just stare and stare and stare...

Usually I'm all for throwing it to the white guy, but not when Mark Campbell (who the heck?) is leaching receptions from Sir (sounds better) Lance Moore. Campbell has 2 catches for 39 yards. Sheesh.

7:14 (2nd Qtr): OK, Vikings getting the ball back again. If AP doesn't do anything this drive, I'm giving up on this game. I could be washing dishes, making tea, folding clothes, writing pointless blogs...Nevermind, NFL Gamecast has a nice way of going from 4th down for the Saints back to first down without explaining.

6:16 (2nd Qtr): My man Sir Lance Moore just got a -10-yard reception. I think NFL Gamecast is conspiring against me with John.

1:11 (2nd Qtr): Peterson fumble under review. Yes, negative points here I come. At this rate I'll get to 0 total points before the season is over. Well, ruled not a fumble, via John.

End of 1st half: AP finishes with 11 rushes for 17 yards. Moore has 2 catches for like 10 yards. What a half.

FF note: Roethlisberger, Palmer, TJ, Driver, Calvin Johnson, Witten, LT, AP, Tenn defense and Nate Kaeding--I would draft that team any day of the year and put 100 bucks on it. And I'm in last place.
I have the highest scoring TE and defense so far, arguably the two best RBs in the NFL, two above average QBs, viable WRs, and a good kicker and that equals last place

I Hate...

2008-10-05T20:54:00.001-05:00

1) The fact that Alex Tejada has apparently gone Rick Ankiel/Mark Wohlers/Chuck Knoblauch.
2) My fantasy football team, which is in last place (I'm blaming my co-manager/wife).
3) 12 carries for LT (only 18 last week).
4) Philip Rivers' passing.
5) Carson Palmer (because I never know when to play him).
6) Driving from Arkadelphia to Paragould.
7) Losing to my cousin on Madden 09 because I missed a field goal.
8) The MLB regular season (but it's the playoffs now, so it's OK).
9) The Miami Dolphins running the Wildcat.
10) Casey Dick holding the ball too long.
11) Job interviews.
12) USC.
13) "Manny being Manny."
14) Henderson State University.
15) Writing lists because I'm too tired to put together a coherent blog.

16) Having 0 followers.

17) Chad Ocho Cinco.

18) The fact that I have Brian Griese, Marvin Harrison, and Torry Holt on my fantasy football team--talk about washed-up has-beens.

19) That I can't quit adding to this list.

20) Eating too much at IHOP.

21) Damian Williams as a Trojan (310 yards and 4 TDs in four games).

22) The Bailout Bill.

23) The WNBA.

24) My internet, which is so unreliable I can't play Madden online.

25) IT people.

A Date with Al Davis...Or, My Inability to Get a Job

2008-10-02T21:08:00.000-05:00

Henderson State University is the Oakland Raiders of American colleges, and I’m their Lane Kiffin. Actually, the Reddies just turned me down for a job—again—which makes this a poor analogy. But I don’t care, because obviously a B.A. in English doesn’t qualify you to examine documents—or form sound analogies, in my case. At least I made it to the face-to-face interview this time. HSU rejection notice: Graduate school applications are due soon; I’ll keep you posted.

Anyway, the interviews have been pouring in this week, which is a positive after nearly a month of applying to three jobs every day without a response. So, I didn’t have too much time to be depressed about the HSU job (which, honestly, I really wanted because graduate school would have cost me one-tenth of regular tuition), because I had an interview with the AT&T Call Center in Little Rock on Thursday. However, talking on the phone for a mandatory seven and a half hours a day isn’t exactly what I’m looking for in a job. I kind of like to communicate through writing—sometimes my social skills suffer, which is probably why I haven’t made a single friend in Arkadelphia in over a month, except for the random girls from my wife’s basketball team that she brings over once every two weeks so she can do all their homework (they really aren’t my friends either, but I like to pretend).

Friday morning though, before I make a return trip home to watch Paragould play Batesville for Homecoming (my wife’s idea), I have an interview at a bank. I wish I knew what I was interviewing for, though; when you apply for every job you can find online, it’s hard to keep track of all the details. But, being in Arkadelphia (five minutes from the apartment compared to like an hour and a half to Little Rock) and hopefully not requiring seven and a half hours of phone talk every day, I think I’d rather be some sort of banker. Or teller. Or maintenance man at the bank.

Oh, but the interviews don’t stop there. Up next, if HSU is able to block my hiring from AT&T and the bank (I sense a conspiracy here, like Al Davis refusing to pay coaches he fires, a la Kiffin and Mike Shanahan), I still have an interview with a law firm in Arkadelphia for a legal assistant opening. That’s still a week away, though. I’m sure I’ll apply to another five jobs by then.

If all that rejection isn’t enough, I’m still waiting to hear back from a writing contest that I entered last month. The results are supposed to be mailed this month. When all that fails, I’ll probably see if I can hock Dribbling Ink for a few bucks. In fact, I’ll even offer to continue writing it and let the new owner take all the girls that it attracts…yeah, it’s a magnet, fellas.

The Slothful Laundry Bandit and Noise

2008-09-29T17:02:00.000-05:00

Honestly, I’m uptight about a lot of things; however, usually I don’t meddle into people’s personal lives. For instance, if you want to smoke pot in your apartment room, play with Barbie Dolls, listen to Creed, play Mario 64 (like my wife), support the Obama-Biden ticket (whose ticket of “Change” is flimsier than the Razorbacks’ defense), or read Patricia Cornwell/David Baldacci/Sandra Brown, or do any other useless things like that, be my guest (I’d say more up-to-date/hip things, but I don’t have cable, so I’m out of the cultural loop). Hey, I’ve watched the first three seasons of Smallville—only two discs away from finishing the fourth season (actually, since I started writing this, we’ve watched the rest of Season 4; if anyone would like to loan Season 5 just send it to OBU Box 3047, thanks)—during my short stay in Arkadelphia; I understand how desperate a person can get for entertainment in Clark County.

But…BUT, there are certain things that my fellow OBU apartment residents can do that I don’t approve of, and both happened this weekend, which wasn’t the first time and surely won’t be the last: 1) Leaving unwashed clothes in both washers for an entire day and 2) playing the drums/DDR/MMA/bowling/dance party/whatever-the-heck-the-people-above-us-seem-to-do-that-sounds-like-a-herd-of-elephants-every-weekend.

Ah, the laundry room/outhouse/dungeon is bad enough to visit without finding that some half-wit has left his unwashed clothes in the washers—no, wasting one washer wasn’t good enough apparently. I first tried to wash clothes at around four p.m. on Saturday only to find everything occupied. Needless to say, I went about the rest of my day and forgot about the clothes; however, because all my, umm, underclothes (I’m very congenial) were dirty, I had to wash clothes before church on Sunday. I went back around nine p.m. only to find the same clothes still in the washer. Normally I wouldn’t do something this rash—my wife thinks my agreeableness is my Kryptonite—but I took out all the clothes and pitched them on top of the dryers. Thanks to the Slothful Laundry Bandit I didn’t finish clothes until after midnight.

Oh, but the Slothful Laundry Bandit wasn’t the only problem on Saturday. At one point, the noise from above was enjoyable—it sounded like three people with drumsticks playing some insane beats and double-bass stuff on our ceiling. However, when it reached the point of shaking our entire apartment, my wife, who doesn’t have the same problem with agreeableness as I do, grabbed the broom and started beating the ceiling. To my surprise, three Emo guys in trench coats didn’t appear at our door, wielding drumsticks and hair gel.

Please, just wash your clothes within at least three hours of putting them in the washer and buy Rock Band if you have an overwhelming desire to beat on things in a very small apartment complex. At least that way the noise will sound a little closer to music, which I don’t mind nearly as much as a tornado.

The Reebok Curse

2008-09-24T19:50:00.000-05:00

We all know about the Madden Cover Curse and the Sports Illustrated Cover Curse, so I’ll introduce you to the latest football curse: the Reebok Fantasy Files Curse. Apparently, Reebok went out of its way to feature some of its players in short videos, performing bizarre football tricks, to promote Reebok and fantasy football on NFL.com. However, little did they know that they were also cursing the players in the process, ruining their fantasy value. Let’s break down all the videos by position.

Quarterback:
Chris Simms (Ten): He can throw into garbage cans—even moving ones—but obviously he can’t hit an open receiver, because he just got back into the league, thanks to Vince Young’s breakdown. Just one Longhorn looking out for another. Hook ‘em Horns! On the bench.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVG6FFWykH4&feature=related

Marc Bulger (StL): I’m surprised Bulger didn’t get sacked by a blitzing linebacker in this video—that’s the only time all year he’s thrown four consecutive passes standing upright. To add insult to injury, Bulger has been benched in favor of Trent Green, as if that will fix the Rams’ problems.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjViNFZgpgw&feature=related

Jason Campbell (Was): Actually one of the few bright spots for Reebok, Campbell is tenth in fantasy scoring among quarterbacks. The third-year quarterback from Auburn has thrown for nearly 650 yards and four scores while avoiding a single turnover.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoYbevFvWg8&feature=related

Wide Receiver: If any one position has been affected the most by this curse, it’s been the wide receivers. Three of last years elite receivers have flopped in 2008 after their superhuman feats in their respective Reebok spots. Andre Johnson, Braylon Edwards, and Marques Colston have combined for 230 yards and zero scores.

Andre Johnson (Hou): 141 yards.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZsL_Jjx_E8&feature=related

Braylon Edwards (Cle): 73 yards.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nrk9I1jhJ9U&feature=related

Marques Colston (No): 26 yards.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYeQbcSQ8CU&feature=related

Chris Chambers (SD): Then there’s Chambers, whose 154 yards and four touchdowns dwarves the combined performances of the three previous guys. I get the video now: Chambers is catching a football each for Johnson, Edwards, and Colston, because they’ve combined for more drops than catches this year.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5QuqtYF5Ag

Running Back:
Laurence Maroney (NE): Fifty-three running backs have run for more yards this year than Maroney. There’s not a lot more to say. Oh, yeah, Tom Brady is out for the year. The Dolphins just blasted the Patriots, too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F2d7M4Lbmw&NR=1

Tight End:
Chris Cooley (Was): After only catching one pass for seven yards in week one, Cooley has turned in back-to-back 72-yard games; however, he still hasn’t found the end zone, which is where a tight end has to feast if he’s going to be an elite fantasy player.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWztdK2ZeLM

Kicker:
Mason Crosby (GB): After leading the league in scoring last year as a rookie, Crosby’s encore performance has been solid: 6-of-7 on FGs and good on all 10 PATs.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sI7vFv9REI&feature=related

Mike Nugent (NYJ): Brett Favre hasn’t fixed everything for the J-E-T-S. Nugent’s missed the last two games with a thigh injury after missing his only field goal attempt of the year in week one.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFPKQaXAdL4&feature=related

Neil Rackers (Ari): With the Warner taking his skills back a decade, Rackers hasn’t had much work with the Cardinals this year. He’s only attempted six field goals on the year—four of which came in week one.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZghatdM8mo&NR=1

David Akers (Phi): Akers has seen plenty of work with the rejuvenated Eagles’ offense, thanks to Donovan McNabb and Brian Westbrook being healthy (well, at least for three weeks). The kicker has connected on all six field goals and all 10 PATs.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=meZZPDVJOog&feature=related

Losers: If the first videos weren’t bad enough, check out Sean Driggers' and Tyler O’Quin’s outtakes. These guys make me proud to be from Arkansas. Where’s “Chad” From Arkadelphia when you need him to tell you somebody sucks.

Sean Driggers: Driggers mumbles something about hand on the ground, ball, hands, something, all the while barely catching passes lobbed his way. Apparently this guy thought he was going to be a star for Harding University in Searcy. Right…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvNo6ZEOqsM&feature=related

Tyler O’Quin (HU): At least this guy’s actually on Harding’s roster. But, at nearly 200 pounds and from the look of his gut in this video, I think he should think about putting his hand on the ground.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rgOT4cGpLc&feature=related
http://www.hardingsports.com/roster.asp?playerid=794&sport=8

Here's a real Harding stud:

Reddie Or Not?

2008-09-23T17:19:00.000-05:00

Hallelujah!

And that’s not for this newest blog entry. Quick blog note: I abandoned Dribbling Ink last week because I’ve been searching desperately for a job. The honeymoon is officially over, I guess you could say. They’ve even started sending bills, ah!

Also, my wife and I made a trip to Paragould this weekend and I didn’t take my laptop. Why? Because I got to watch the Razorbacks, live, moving pictures, streaming audio, Casey Dick interceptions…and now I almost understand people like “Chad” From Arkadelphia. Wait…no, I take that back. We’re still going to beat Texas; I’m just going to avoid a TV this time, because I don’t want to hear my wife’s “I Told You So” speech (Alabama predictions: 28-0, Kasa; 31-28, Jacob).

(Arkansas-Alabama note: The game was so bad that, as an avid fan who hasn’t watched any sort of sports for over a month, listened to every radiocast, and defended the young Hogs to countless people [mainly my wife], I left after the first quarter to play football with my cousins. I can’t wait for 2010!)

I even got to watch some NFL, too. However, let’s not tackle that just now—I’m already obsessed with my fantasy football team, which is barely hovering above last place. But, as a future NFL General Manager, I’m pulling a Steve Kerr. Say hello to this year’s fantasy football’s Ned Yost (you need some current sports knowledge for those). Of course, that’s why I made my wife my co-manager in my Yahoo league, so she can take the fall and I can fire her to rally the players around mid-season. I told you I take this too serious.

Anyway, back to the hallelujah. Honestly, after interviewing for a job to ride on a bus with pre-school children and applying at Express Personnel, I was cursing everywhere that I’d sent an application without a reply. Until today. After nearly ranting about Henderson State’s lack of appreciation for people with college degrees, HSU called about an interview. Thank you, Reddie.

Of course, there’s still a chance that I’ll have to defile the HSU logo. Let’s hope not.

(Want to know what a Reddie is? [Look at my promotion skills; they need me.] Go here: http://www.hsu.edu/content.aspx?id=25 )

B.A. Degree in English: The Timeless Pursuit of Fulfillment

2008-09-12T17:36:00.000-05:00

Watch this before you read today’s blog:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4GwrEuULwY
Pause. Deep breath. Commend yourself for your (insert degree).
Now you’re ready to read.

I’ve never been the kind of guy to plan out my entire life. In fact, though I am organized and a little OCD about my living quarters, my future has never been something that I’ve bothered to give much though to…so I got a B.A. degree in English. Why? Well, because it’s what I enjoy: I love to read and I love to write. Isn’t that what life is about? Finding that something you love and exploiting it for all its worth?

People used to ask me—they don’t now because the only organism I mingle with, besides a iguana that runs around in the halls, is my wife –“What are you going to do with that degree?” Then they’d smirk and drum their fingers on the table, thinking Checkmate! I always cringed at this question, because I didn’t know—I still don’t know—but I always had an answer: non-traditional teaching licensure…graduate school…newspaper…blah, blah, blah. (Secretly, and only inside—like typing this sentence in parentheses and hoping everyone will skip over it—I told myself: Write. Write for a living. Shakespeare. Hemingway. Heck, Mike McKinney.

Maybe I finished my B.A. in English because I subscribed to people like my parents, cousins, and friends, who always told me, “Well, just get a degree. That’s all that matters. Most people don’t even care what your degree is just as long as you’ve got one.” (I’m not nearly as bitter as that reads, family.)

Sounded good to me then; makes me want to throw things now. That’s like telling a kid who wants to play professional basketball, “Just go to college and play sports. That’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter if it’s intramural football, golf, croquet, hockey—just play.” Obviously, it’s worked before, just look at Antonio Gates (except it’s easy to do nothing and randomly pick up football than basketball when you’re 6’7’’ and can run), but it’s not the ideal plan.
If the rest of the blog doesn’t flow now, it’s because I stopped to read a few pieces on ESPN.com…trying not to write anything too irrational. Not that anyone reads this cra—wait. I just figured out why I got a B.A. in English.

(These are actual comments, from actual people, I should stress.
http://myespn.go.com/blogs/nfceast/0-3-72/What-s-in-Mosley-s-Mailbag-.html)

“strause27” said:
i am not an eagles or a cowboys fan but i can say that cowboys choke every year...and well eagles look like they can keep up with dallas...now i think dallas will win they always have a good regular season...dallas will just go into the playoffs like every year being and nfc favorite and then screw up. Romo's mistakes have made me laugh every year and i am excited to see another

“got five rings” replied:
strause your an idiot a 5 year old is smarter than you and all you haters out there. im going to have to slow it down and rewind it for you so you can understand.this goes to all the haters to by the way. ROMO HAS STARTED TWO PLAYOFF GAMES ONLY OK, ONLY HAS ONE FULL YEAR AS QB. BE PAIENT ELWAY DIDNT WIN A SB UNTIL HE WAS OLDER THAN MY GRANDPA. TOOK P MANNING OVER HALF HIS CAREER TO WIN ONE. ITS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BE PATIENT ROMO WILL SHOW THE WORLD WITH HIS ONE FULL SEASON AT QB. NOW MCNABB HES NOT CUTTING IT SURE HES GOTTEN TO THE SB , NFC CHAMPIONSHIP GAME. HES THE TRUE MR. CHOKER AND GAG ARTIST.HIS CAREER IS ALMOST OVER AND HASNT WON THE BIG GAME. JUST ANOTHER MARINO HOLD UP WAIT A MINUTE I CANNOT BELIEVE IM COMPARING THE TWO.LOL

I may not have a job, but I feel a lot better now.
Thanks, ESPN.com Comments.

"Chad" From Arkadelphia

2008-09-09T17:29:00.000-05:00

While listening to Sports Talk with Bo Mattingly, driving home on Arkansas Scenic 7 Byway after another unsuccessful job hunt in Hot Springs, “Chad” from Arkadelphia called into the show. Not that I have any affiliation with Arkadelphia, besides recently moving here so my wife could attend Ouachita Baptist University, but it’s always interesting when someone from “home” calls in to a radio show because it’s like they are representing the town’s opinions—maybe not so much if it’s a huge city like Chicago, New York, or even Little Rock.

“Chad” had this message for Razorback fans: “Arkansas sucks! Hook ‘em Horns!” Click.

Well, “Chad,” if you read this—and I hope you do (someone please direct “Chad” to this blog if you know him)—here are my thoughts: (see picture)

Of course, after absorbing the message, it didn’t surprise me that someone from Arkadelphia would say that. In fact, that’s probably how 40% percent of this town feels. I say that because everywhere I have gone on the OBU campus with my wife, I’ve seen almost as many Texas license plates as Arkansas ones, which is because it’s only 80 miles to Texas. As if I needed another reason to dislike this town.

The Season of Love

2008-09-07T23:29:00.000-05:00

My friend, let’s call him Jared, has a problem. It’s a simple problem: Jared has two girls in his life and he can’t decide which one he wants. Let’s call these two girls Kelly and Sarah. Kelly is hot and always has been. Sarah, on the other hand, has more subtle beauty and hasn’t always had that. But, lately, Jared has realized that he has feelings for both of them. In order to make the right decision, Jared told me the story.

Jared fell in love with Kelly the first time he saw her on the playground in third grade. Long, flowing, blonde hair. Blue eyes. Always knew how to handle herself. In high school, of course, Kelly was captain of the cheerleading squad, Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen, Best Looking, Best Dressed, Best Smile, Best Legs, Biggest Flirt; the girl everyone wanted to date. However, Jared was the lucky boy who stole Kelly’s heart with a roll of SweeTarts on Valentine’s Day in fifth grade. Throughout middle school, junior high, high school, there was no doubt in Jared’s mind that Kelly was the one.

Then the unexpected happened. Kelly decided she was going to move away for college. Jared, who wanted to stay close to his family, decided to attend the local university. They vowed to stay together, stay in love, stay in touch. Surely four years would pass in no time, Jared thought.

For the first couple of years, Jared continued to love Kelly from afar. She was hotter than ever. He admired her crazy party pictures on Facebook and listened to the wild stories about her from his friends who had vowed to keep an eye on her at college. Kelly was the hottest thing on campus but still his. When they saw each other on the weekends, they renewed their promises about the future.

By their final year of college, however, Kelly hardly came home on the weekends and rarely returned Jared’s calls or texts. That’s when Jared met Sarah at the local university. She introduced herself in the library one day: “You probably don’t remember me?” Sure didn’t. Nevertheless, Jared was curious to find out why—“Oh, maybe the name Sarah will help?”—would seek him out in the library. Sarah…then it hit him. Sarah had moved into the school district in junior high, but she’d definitely changed since then. She still had glasses, minus the oversized lenses; the braces were gone, and her frizzy hair was more tame. Before he could ask Sarah anything, she surprised him: “Are you still seeing Kelly?” Yeah, he was; everything was great; they were still together after all this time.

During his senior year, Jared spent more and more time with Sarah, usually in the library, studying. Occasionally, he’d hear from Kelly, who would reassure him about the future. He knew, from the pictures and his friends, she still hadn’t slowed down, but being away just made Jared want Kelly more and more. To confuse matters, Sarah had tried to kiss him while in the library one day. He apologized for her: he still loved Kelly.

Finally, graduation. Now, it was Jared’s time to move away. Jared had taken a job in another state, about four hours away from his hometown. However, as a going-away present, Sarah surprised him and took him dancing with a bunch of their friends. For the first time, Jared realized how pretty Sarah actually was. He was tempted to give in to her advances but had to meet Kelly the next day. He said his goodbyes to Sarah and thanked her for a good time.

After hours of driving, unable to push Sarah completely out of his mind, Jared finally made it to his four-year-in-the-making rendezvous with Kelly. However, it wasn’t the same Kelly he’d fallen in love with. She was still hot, but she looked older, tired. Jared could see the four years of partying and late nights written all over her face; he hoped she couldn’t see the disappointment on his face. After all these years, she told him, she finally realized that she needed him. Today was the day.

But Jared still couldn’t get Sarah out of his head. How she’d surprised him the night before and the emotions she stirred inside of him. He told Kelly that they would stay in touch; he needed more time to think about the future. When he got back in his car to finish his drive to his new apartment, Jared got a text from Sarah: “I know you love Kelly, but I’ll always be here if you change your mind.”

Now imagine that you’re Jared, who would you pick?

…Or, imagine that you’re Jared, an avid Arkansas football fan, and Kelly is the University of Arkansas football team, your first crush; Sarah is your alma mater, Arkansas State, seducing you and surprising you every week. Now who would you pick? I don’t’ know either.

The Laundry Room/Outhouse/Dungeon

2008-09-04T16:47:00.001-05:00

There are many advantages to living in Ouachita Baptist University’s apartments, like the fact that my wife’s scholarship leaves us with only a $93 housing bill at the end of the month (of course, without a job that still means giving up cable [see yesterday’s blog]), we conserve gas without having to commute, and OBU provides free internet (like hotels provide “free breakfast”). OBU even provides clothes washers and dryers. That is, if you don’t mind dodging traffic in the parking lot, sprinting in the rain, or trudging through mud, all while toting your dirty underwear over your shoulder to the laundry room.

Even then, say you defy all odds and reach the laundry room as clean as you left, your clothes won’t. The laundry room/outhouse/dungeon is last place you’d want to wash clothes that you actually have to wear. There’s usually an inch of water on the floor—I haven’t decided if it’s from improper use of the washing machines or sewage backup— and all the apparatuses (two washers, two dyers, and a table) are covered in at least ten years of grime.

The most dangerous part of the laundry room is the exchange. Back home, I haphazardly tossed clothes from the washer to the dryer because it was safe (like Daunte Culpepper throwing passes to Randy Moss in triple-coverage in Minnesota, circa 2004). In the OBU laundry room/outhouse/dungeon, such inaccuracies result in instant sterilization or cremation (like Culpepper’s career without Moss).

But, hey, if they put a TV in the laundry room/outhouse/dungeon with NFL Sunday Ticket or ESPN Gameplan on it, I’d be happy to brave the perils and do laundry more than once a week.

My New Life

2008-09-03T20:15:00.000-05:00

No ESPN. No college football/NFL. No cable.

How does a sports fanatic reach this point? you ask...It's simple really:
In August I graduated from Arkansas State University in Jonesboro, AR, with a B.A. degree in English. A week later, I got married. Now, I've moved to Arkadelphia, AR, so my wife can attend Ouachita Baptist University--where she will walk-on the basketball team--while I look for a career. Or a job. Or anything that will pay (unlike this blog).

I've written or recited the above paragraph to any would-be employer so many times that it’s lost its emotional sting (of course, I wasn’t so heavy with the lamenting).
Three weeks later, I still haven’t found a job. Thus, a simple recipe for a life without sports: four cups of a B.A. degree in English, mix in a pinch of marriage, chop up half a head of “small college town” and serve it with a slab of cold unemployment.

When all else failed, of course, I turned to the internet. Even without cable I could read ESPN.com, watch live gamecasts on ESPN360.com, and listen to live radio, right? Well, theoretically--except for the fact that the campus’ wireless internet is as reliable as a Houston Nutt passing offense.

(Note: Will someone please investigate Pat Forde’s man crush on Houston Nutt-- http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/columns/story?columnist=forde_pat&page=dash0801&sportCat=ncf)

Naturally, being a native of Arkansas (Paragould), I am a huge Razorback fan; therefore, I have plenty to say about Bobby Petrino’s debut…except, remember, I didn’t see any of it (No, there isn’t a single restaurant in town with a TV—no, no friends either…sad, I know). I listened to parts of the game on 103.7 The Buzz and read the follow-ups, but it’s hard to get a feel for a team you haven’t seen. I did see the uniforms, and I’m still holding off judgment.

Anyway, aside from living the first three weeks of my adult life without sports, I’m the happiest unemployed, married, college graduate/novice blogger in the South (No, my wife did not type this sentence).