The Unauthorized Biography of Rosco P. Coltrane

When it's my moment in the sun, I won't forget that I am blessed, but every hero walks alone, thinking of more things to confess

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Location: Owensboro, Kentucky, United States

One Word: UNSTOPPABLE AWESOMENESS!!!

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Snot Rockets In Flight, Afternoon Delight

PICTURE DELETED BECAUSE, WELL, IT WAS REALLY NASTY AND IT ACCOMPLISHED THE PURPOSE OF MAKING PEOPLE ILL!!!

So I was in the big metropolis of Flippin, Arkansas yesterday afternoon.

(For the record, every time I write Flippin I always want to add an apostrophe.)

I went to use the restroom and found one of the strangest signs I have ever seen. It said simply this:

NASAL SECRETIONS DO NOT BELONG ON WALLS OR DOORS!!! PLEASE USE A TISSUE!!!

There are two things that disturb me:

1. They wouldn't have put a sign up prohibiting "nasal secretions" unless there was a problem. I made sure to wash my hand and not to touch anything or anyone.

2. The word "secretions" sounds so much more worse than snot. It sounds dirty. Kinda like when someone says someone "soiled themselves" instead of crapping their pants. Why does something that uses proper grammar sound so much more worse than slang?

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Nuts

This afternoon I got an instant message from Camp Liberty, Iraq.

SPC Pfuhl sent me an instant message to tell me that he is doing ok.

We talked for maybe thirty minutes. He said he got my email and was actually writing me an email when I popped onto AIM. I told him to go to my blog because I wanted to have Iraq on my sitemeter, but the network he was on popped up somewhere in New York.

We talked about the hurricane. He said the picture he has seen look a lot worse then things over there. Can you imagine that?

We talked about the war. He said things are pretty quiet over there for the most part, but sometimes things get a bit nuts. I asked him what his definition of nuts was. Artillery fire, mortars, stuff like that, he said. Evidently a few days ago he went to the bathroom and a nearby guard shack got hit pretty bad.

Evidently, his definition of nuts and mine are vastly different.

He said he is working a lot. He only gets about an hour of personal time each day. He said that tomorrow is his first day off in a while.

I asked him if he needed anything, he said no. But I finally told him that I would send him some new tunes. He said he really didn't really care what I sent him, just something new and good.

So anyone know any good songs for someone at war?

Someone I Want On My Fantasy Football Team

Nerdery: (Noun) (pronounced --Nur-Dur-Ree) 1. A small office or space where people congregate or work that involves computers and anything that involves fantasy games.

A week or so ago, my friends and I spent all night long in the nerdery. It is our fall ritual. We get a three-way call going for a couple of hours.

John is in North Carolina and thankfully his wife let's him have one night every fall when John can be in his football world. Adam, who now lives in Ohio, just tells his new wife, who is from another country, that it is a normal for American men to spend hours and hours pouring over stats and trying to find a nice running back pickup in the 10th round of a fantasy football draft.

I stay late at work, pickup some supper, and search through all the magazines and newspapers on my desk. We ask each other advice, which we always suspect, and trash talk each other.

For example, when John made the horrible decision to draft Fred Taylor, I told him I hoped that Taylor got some good yards for him those first 5 games before he got hurt.

Which if you are a fantasy football geek like me, that is a hilarious joke.

But two weeks after the draft, there is someone I wish I would have picked up on my team. Not because I think he will score touchdowns left and right. Not because he has long been one of my favorite player, the fact is I have always thought he was cocky, arrogant, and more trouble than he was worth.

But I wish I had Joe Horn on my team this year.

The reason why is because this morning I read an article in the sports page about Joe Horn and how he is helping out people that had to abandon their lives in New Orleans.

A few of the Saints players decided to surprise some former New Orleans citizens that are now finding shelter at a San Antonio Air Force Base. So the Saints had their bus driver pull in a local Wal-Mart and the players filled multiple carts with items to give away. Joe Horn filled his cart up with something I would have never thought of. In a time when we want to give the essential supplies, Joe Horn gave something that made people feel and see a little bit of beauty in the world again, if for only a short time.

From the USA Today:
Receiver Joe Horn filled two carts with bunches of roses and daises.

"Flowers for the ladies, to lift their spirits," he said...

Horn handed out flowers, and women quickly corralled bottles of water in which to display them.

I don't know how many fantasy points Joe Horn will put up this year. But if you have ever seen the look on a woman's face whenever she recieve some flowers, you know that he gained a lot of points in a lot of hearts yesterday.

Hot, Black, and Full of Booze


It is the punchline to a joke a friend told me once.

I am not a big coffee drinker, I usually only drink coffee when it is cold or I don't feel to good.

And this past weekend, I was over at my friends Kent and Kristen's house and Kent asked me how I liked my coffee. I stole my friend's joke.

I like my coffee like I like my women, Hot, Black and Full of Booze.

We all laughed.

But Saturday night, I thought of my friend, Jack.

If you are trying to think who in the world Jack is, stop trying to figure it out. Because you don't know Jack. I barely knew him, and until this writing, I have never talked about Jack to anyone.

Jack was a homeless man that used to frequent a sidewalk near Brown University on College Hill Avenue in Providence, Rhode Island. He was pretty young, somewhere in his late 20's with a blue sock cap and an old black coat.

He never said he was homeless, he always would call himself a "vendor." He sold little trinkets that he had found in the trash. He also sold newspapers called "The Homeless Times" that various organizations would hand out so people would not be cited for pan-handling.

I would stop by and talk with Jack for a while. I would always buy a paper from him and then run across the street and get him a cup of coffee. Man, that was such a cold winter.

And every time I gave him his cup of coffee, he would always tell me his joke about how he liked his coffee.

I found out after many cups of coffee that he was originally from South Carolina. He had ran away from home when he was a teenager. He evidently have a very good relationship with his Dad, who was pretty strict, religious, and had a pretty good mean streak. They argued a lot, and one day he just left. He had spent some time in Virginia and eventually made his way up to Rhode Island.

He asked me what I did one day. I told him that I worked with troubled kids. He smiled and then looked at me very seriously. He grabbed my wrist and said, "Make sure they know that they can end up on the streets like me. Tell them it isn't worth it."

I asked him if he remembered the story from Sunday School about the prodigal son. He said he did, but it was too late. I asked him if he wanted me to help him out, find a place to stay. He refused. I offered him some money, he refused that too. He said he appreciated the coffee each week. He said the people that ran the shop didn't want him to come in. We slurped our coffee and sat in the cold, I am sure we were both thinking of warmer places.

I brought Jack coffee whenever I was down on College Hill at the bookstore. We would joke around. He would ask me about the book I had just bought. Somehow, I hoped that it made him feel a little bit good, a little bit regular. All the smart kids walking around dumb and numb to the fact that there were people on the streets that needed help, at least maybe one person cared.

Then one day he wasn't there. I asked around, but no one pays much attention to bums. I looked for him every time I was hanging around Providence, but I never saw Jack again.

I don't know what happened. Maybe he decided that it wasn't too late. Maybe he somehow found his way back to South Carolina and forgiveness.

But wherever he is, I hope he is warm and has a hot cup of coffee in his hand.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Helping Out Part Two

Sarah alerted me that the best way to help out those displaced from the hurricane that are now in Siloam Springs is to sign-up to volunteer at The Katrina/Siloam Sing-up

Monday, September 05, 2005

Last Chance To Wear White For 6 Months!

I have always heard these strange sayings from women I know like...

(INSERT COLOR) is the new pink.

You should never wear white after Labor Day.

Blah Blah Blah, by this time I usually stop listening. I usually try to wrinkle my brow as though I am listening, but I am really trying to arrange my fantasy football team line-up so that I can capitalize on the Baltimore Ravens playing the San Francisco 49er's while still making audible noises so that it sounds as though I really care about anything related to fashion.

So what am I trying to say, I don't know. I guess what I am trying to say that there is a difference between men and women and what they like to talk about. And I am sure that women do the same thing when men start to talk about their favorite team's play calling on 3rd and long. They don't want to listen to talk about fuel injection, so their minds must stray too.

So why do men and women still try to talk about these things to each other? Does anyone really listen both?

Well there is one man, my best friend, John Pelphrey.

Whenever I talk to him we always talk about football. But there was this one time a few years back we went to a football game and later that night had drinks with some old friends. John starts to talk to this girl about her purse. Here is a quick excerpt of the conversation at Steak N Shake one late night.

John to Unidentified Woman: Is that Louis Vutton?

Me to both: Where is he at, I sure do miss that guy?

John to me: What are you talking about?

Me to John: Louie, yeah I remember him, he used to sit behind me in Calculus. Where's he at?

John and Unidentified Woman: Louis Vutton makes purses.

Me: Oh, where did you learn about that?

John: Fashion Channel.

Me: Does your wife know you watch that?

John: Yeah we watch it together.

Me: Oh.

Long Pause

Me: Do you think I should start Marshall Faulk this weekend?

It's a good thing he is married or I would kid him unmercifully about his fashion knowledge. Oh, who am I kidding, I do it anyway...