I Am Easily Entertained...

Me and my friend Kolby in Spokane.

Haunted By The Hound...

This past weekend I drove over to Gonzaga with a good friend. I thought he needed company on the road trip. My plan was to fly home early the next morning on Horizon Airlines (as I usually do). But I waited until the last second and the price shot up dramatically. So I was left without a car or airplane to get back. The next option: Greyhound. Let’s just say my six hour bus ride between Spokane and Seattle will be my last. The first part was not so bad. I arrived at the bus station in Spokane about an hour in advance. The employees and customers seemed normal enough (key word is seemed). It even looked as if the bus would be half empty so I would get my own seat (key word is looked).

However, right before boarding a rush of last-minute folks gathered in line. I knew this would be a full ride. As anyone does, I picked out the people I hoped I didn’t have to sit next to. Of course, I ended up sitting next to them ALL once we boarded. Across the row from me: a woman in her late 20’s who had been released from prison a few hours earlier. Her crime? Theft and drug trafficking. She spent the entire trip screaming about how much she wanted a baggy of crack or just a small supply of weed. Every other word was four letters and most of them began with an F and ended with K. Directly behind her was a man from Montana without teeth who complained how much he hated his parole officer. By this time the bus smelled not only of cigarettes and body odor, but also of well, human feces. Note to self: do not sit ANYWHERE near the bathroom. Anyway, our trip continued across Eastern Washington. I’m pretty sure I was the only person without a seat mate. I tried to avoid the chaos by taking a nap. I fell asleep but woke up a few minutes later to a lady with no teeth shaking my seat. She screamed “sweetie, sweetie, wake up. I need to sit next to you.” I quickly obliged and moved my backpack. The remainder of the road trip consisted of her coughing on me and then falling asleep and snoring louder than my dad (which is saying something). I was offered drugs, asked for drugs, asked for money. Some people brought i-Pods with speakers and listened to their music out loud. One man in particular had a liking for heavy metal music. It’s too bad no one else on the bus shared in his joy. I could go on and on and continue to write about the trip. But basically it continued much of the same. People talked about prison, theft, a lack of jobs. It was an interesting trip and the SECOND I got to the bus station in Seattle I darted to the front and got the heck out of there. While I wouldn’t necessarily recommend taking a Greyhound trip, I would say it made for an interesting experience. Perhaps Eric Slocum should venture from Metro Transit to Greyhound for a day or two. I’m just glad I made it alive.

Thankful-The Day After...

I might be a day late, but I'm still thankful. I'm thankful for a house and food. I'm thankful for friends, family, and my relationship with Jesus. I'm thankful there is more to life than material posession. I'm thankful the most important thing in life cannot be seen or touched. I'm thankful that despite economic troubles, my hope is not in America or even this world. I'm thankful for the ability to work. I'm thankful that you continue to read my blog even though I continually suck at updating it. I am thankful that somehow I have been blessed with excess. Sometimes I wonder why? Why have I been so blessed? Why am I allowed to live the way I do when almost 30-thousand children die each day around the world from a lack of food, water, and medicine. But I know the answer. I have been blessed so I can give back. I am blessed so I can be thankful. I am blessed so I can make a difference. Not just one day a year, but everyday. Thankfulness. Its a great thing.

Call Me Intern

I did an internship once. It involved getting up at 3:00 in the morning. It was my freshman year of college. I got paid nothing. But it was great experience. Today I am going back into the world as an intern, but this time in a new field. I have been offered an internship in the public relations department of the architecture firm NBBJ. The firm is responsible for designing some of the most famous landmarks in Seattle and around the world (think the new Federal Courthouse, the new terminal A at Sea-Tac Airport, and the new Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation building near Seattle Center). NBBJ is based in Seattle but has offices across the United States as well as in Dubai, Moscow, Beijing and London to name a few. The great news: this is a paid internship...and its not minimum wage. The internship starts at three months, with the option to extend it to six months. I will call tomorrow to officially accept the position.

Nickel Creek

My friends from South Carolina, Tennessee, and Texas rave about Nickel Creek. I have been listening to them for a few months now and I really like them. So far my favorite song is "Speak." Great words, melody etc. I'm not usually a fan of bluegrass or country-type music. But their music is relaxing. It invokes fantasy. I imagine myself on a rope swing, jumping into a slow-moving river. I imagine sitting on a porch drinking sweet tea during a warm summer night. Anyway, if you want to check out some of their music head over to Pandora.com and type them in. You will get a few songs by them as well as some artists that have similar sounds.

Quantum Of Solace

Brittany and I went to see QOS opening day on Friday. Initial response, I don't really like it. Its not bad per say, but its no Casino Royale. I won't spoil the plot, but it seemed to have too much action. Now I love the sweet car chasing scenes as much as the next dude, but it just seems over the top for me this time around. What does everyone else think?

Car Trouble at Midnight

I’m driving down I-5 in the dead of night. All of a sudden, my high beams go to low beams and then to no beams. I try to open my windows—no luck. Then the noise: sputter, jerk, sputter, kick, bam. My car stops on an off-ramp near Sea-Tac. Out goes my Triple-A card and about 45 minutes later the tow-truck arrives. The driver is a character. He jumps out of his seat about eight feet off the ground and walks over to my car in a swagger—cigarette hanging out his mouth. He says it appears I’m having car trouble. I think to myself “tell me something I don’t know.” He turns out to be an interesting guy. I jump into the cab with him as we head toward the auto shop in Gig Harbor. Inside the cab: cigarettes, Chexmix, Red Bull, pain pills, several cell phones, and some trash in the back. He tips the medicine bottle up to his mouth and chews a few pills, washing it back with some Red Bull. Hopefully I won’t die. After all, it is around midnight and the truck driver is getting toasted. Our conversation is friendly. He tells me about his four kids. I tell him about my adventures in the Middle East. We connect on one point. His daughter is involved in Young Life, an organization I am involved with as well. He tells me about living in Montana and the decision to move to Seattle. No surprise, there are a lot more cars in Seattle than there are in Missoula—which means a lot more business for him. After 45 minutes, we drive across the Narrows Bridge and soon we are at Graff’s Automotive. I get out of the car. Dad picks me up. I say goodbye to the truck driver and we head our separate ways. Oh the stories of the open road.