Letter to Adam

When I moved into my apartment, I had access to a carport behind it. The place has since been sold to Adam, the son of the people from which I originally rented. I like Adam just fine, but he does have a love of working on cars, thus wave bye bye to the use of the carport for Dan. I have noticed he has started parking his truck on the street. This is important because he said I could still use the carport during cold months. I just sent Adam a letter asking if I could use the carport, and I took a screen shot of the EXACT letter (plus one edit as noted in the pic). Now, how can you say no to this? :) (note, if you are reading this from the blog itself and not from facebook, you can click on the letter and see a larger, higher resolution version)

The force be with me

In part two of stories from my past, I'm going to share probably the stupidest thing I've ever done. A few years ago (yes I had graduated college), I was home alone at my parents house on a day when mom and dad were at work. I was kind of board and going through drawers in the kitchen looking for something to do, when I saw something I thought was super cool; a Star Wars Light saber spoon that you could turn on and the spoon would glow! Had there ever been a cooler toy to come out of a cereal box? I think not! I quickly looked around for a dark place in the house I in which I could gaze on this wonderful object, but dark places were hard to come by seeing that it was close to the middle of the day and I was a grown man at home. I needed to find a room without windows, and I had the "bright" idea to go into the coat closet next to the kitchen. This closet is not big by any stretch of the imagination, and as I was stuffing myself into it, I thought that terrorists would have a hard time shoving me into such a small space without me preventing it. As soon as I was in, I closed the closet door and turned on the light in the spoon (of course I made the light saber turning on sound effect). I waved the spoon around, completely fixated by it, making whooshing sounds though the air as I did. When I was satisfied, I reached for the door knob of the closet to let myself out, and it was then I realized this door's knob only worked from the outside. I had effectively locked myself in the coat closet on the account of a star wars light up spoon. There I stood alone in the closet with no cell phone or no way to call for help. I ended up standing there for about twenty or thirty minutes until my mom came home from lunch and let me out. When my dad was told the story, I saw him laugh harder than I have ever seen him laugh. He said he would have given $100 to have been the one to come home first. What can be learned from this? Beware of the dark side of the force.

The art of the midnight snack

I am staying at my parents house right now, and one of the things I always marveled at is how much food they keep in the house. It is easy for me to be impressed by this since my fridge usually only contains an empty soda box, an empty milk jug, and a box of baking soda long past overdue (I should give that thing a stir at least). My mother gets tired of me opening the fridge and gazing into it, but what she doesn't realize is looking at all this food for a single man is more entertaining and unique than whatever happens to be on television. She also doesn't realize that while I may not be making anything at that moment with the ingredients in the fridge, I'm scouting it for what is one of the most time honored food traditions; the midnight snack. After an evening out with friends, there are few things I enjoy more than being able to have something to eat before I retire for the evening. My favorite of these is the coveted turkey sandwich. Knowing the ingredients are there but not wanting to wake the parents, I start up the stairs slowly as the Mission Impossible theme is playing in my head. I'm a veteran of this house, and I know all the spots in the floor to avoid stepping on that squeak (otherwise known as parent wake alarms). I make my way up the staircase and slip into the kitchen. I must be getting better at this because it has been quite some time since my mother commented on thinking she heard a reindeer coming up the stairs in the middle of the night. Using only the light from the fridge, I construct my turkey with Miracle Whip sandwich and place it on the small plate that looks like it was born to serve such a meal. Making sure to get all the Miracle Whip off the knife because my mom asked my nicely to do so one time, I then make my way back down the stairs, then out to the garage to the soda fridge we keep and I get myself a tasty cafeinated treat (always a great idea before bedtime). Let me tell you, it was a good sandwich, and a great way to finish off a night. This experience, duplicated hundreds of times before, is something I'll always associate with being home.