So, um, yeah....

So it's been about two weeks since embarking on this "blogging" endeavor. And I must admit, I haven't been doing a very good job of keeping up with it. School, work, gym, life. You know the drill. But in an effort to keep it going, I'm going to blog something totally unoriginal and short! Don't worry. I've got some ideas cooking. That is if I don't forget them between now and then.

Top 10 List: Things I love about the South

1 - The Characters. You can say a lot of things about Southerners, but you can't say we're boring people. Just come to one of my family dys-functions and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

2 - The Pace of Life. Yes. It's slow. If you haven't noticed it gets really hot in the South. We move slow, we talk slow, and sometimes we drive slow. But how else can you truly appreciate the small beauties in life unless you slow down and breathe them in?

3 - The Manners. Yes ma'am. No sir. Hi there. How are you? Little pleasantries that make day-to-day living more bearable. I speak kindly to the check out lady because she speaks kindly to me. We're not "fakin' it" as some in the North would like to believe. It's just the way we are. I couldn't imagine going through life being rude to everyone. I'm sorry it makes some of you uncomfortable, but I hope Southern hospitality is something we never surrender.

4 - Sweet Tea. Real sweet tea. Not flavored tea from a can. Sweet tea brewed on the stove or out in the sun. Yum, yum, yum.

5 - The Food. It's not five-star. It's not fancy. It's not fois gras or creme brule or toad eggs. It's hardy. It's fresh. It's from the earth. Give me fresh black-eyed peas and rice on New Year's Day or collard greens and ham on Easter. Nothing beats fried okra and squash with some mac and cheese or mashed potatoes. And I can eat boiled peanuts like my life depends on it.

6 - Outdoor activities. I can't imagine my life without fishing on the Suwannee or the St. John's Rivers, spending endless summer days at the beach, camping by the springs, scuba diving in the Keys...okay so this pertains more to Florida than the South in general. But I know everybody else who grew up below the Mason-Dixon line can relate.

7 - The Thunderstorms. Wicked. Wild. Random. You haven't experienced lightening until you sit out on the porch one night and feel it in every drop of rain.

8 - SEC Football. No need to elaborate here. That would take an entire blog on its own.

9 - Southern Rock. Kind of goes along with the outdoor activities. Great memories accompanied by great music. Give me two steps...

10 - The Silence. On most nights, you can open up the windows and listen to a symphony of crickets and owls and frogs, oh my. It beats racing cars, police sirens and loud talkers. And the moon and the stars. Someone once told me they never realized the sky until they moved "down here." Cityscapes, with all the excitement that lives within, tend to block out the heavens. Maybe that's why the people living in them seem to have so little faith.

From the 2007 "White Trash Beach Bash" (Kristi & Dana)

On tomorrow's agenda: Top-1o Things I hate about the South....stay tuned.

Something You Never Want to Hear

So, it's Monday night. I came home after boot camp and after a day of explosive...well, let's just say I had some questionable Indian food and leave it at that. Point is, I was drained.

But, the studious person that I am (still without a television) I sat down, opened up the computer and decided to get some school work done.

After I perused the Internet for the latest news.

And that's when I heard it. Screeching, screaming, doors slamming, opening. My little friend the stalker was getting her a## whooped by grandma Pat. Now, I've seen and heard this girl whig out and throw tantrums before, and it's obvious that she's troubled.

Refer back to my previous post when I talk about how she just walks into random people's houses (mine) without a care in the world.

But back to the drama.

No matter how crazy the kid is, you still don't want to hear what I heard. It was guttural and full of delusional rage. I had to get up and investigate. She kept running out on to her porch, wailing, slamming the door. And finally grandma came out there to set her straight.

I'm not sure what happened next. For all I know the kid was beating on grandma. She's a big girl. But grandma made this animal sound of her own before she gave the girl a beating. And it kind of made me sick.

I'm for spanking and other forms of physical punishment if used correctly. I mean I got the belt a few times as a young child, and it taught me to respect my parents.

Once, when I was five, I kept "testing" the folks by roller skating up my driveway and sticking one foot out in the street when they told me many times not too. So to emphasize their seriousness in keeping me safe they used the "do it again" line. And I did it.

I had to follow my dad back to the bedroom, watch him get a leather belt out of the dresser drawer, and then I cried more from shame as he whacked my precious five-year-old bottom with it. He wasn't angry. He was just concerned for my saftey.

The second, and I believe the last, time in my life I got "the belt" was when my parents had company over. They were all eating dinner when I decided it was time to be the center of attention. I turned on the stereo and began playing music...but like all little kids I kept turning the volume up and down and then finally way up! I got beat that night basically because I annoyed the hell out of everybody. But my parents kept telling me to leave the stereo alone, and I kept pushing.

I learned one very basic yet important lesson through this process: my parents meant what they said.

And look at me. I think I turned out okay!



But seriously. What should I have done here? This girl has some serious behavioral problems. It wasn't like I heard her get beaten with a wire hanger or something, and the tantrum only lasted about 5 minutes or so.

Still, it begs the question: when is the right time to "get involved?"

I had a friend who recently had her purse stolen in Super Walmart. She screamed, made a scene and was ignored by everybody - including store employees. So she decided to chase the thief down and get her stuff back. Thankfully the thief didn't make it out of the store. When her husband returned to the store to question their lack of empathy they responded by saying "yeah, whatever, it happens in here all the time." When did we stop caring about each other?

A few years back some friends and I were sitting on a stoop on a brownstone in downtown Chicago waiting for a cab. Across the street, a woman comes running out of her house carrying her limp child in her arms, screaming with terror. "We've got to get to the hospital, we've got to get to the hospital, we've got to get to the hospital!" I looked at my one friend, who's a physician, and said, "aren't you going to go over there and help?" "Nope," she said, "our malpractice insurance is too high as it is. I don't need to get sued. The hospital is right around the corner."

She probably wouldn't have been able to do anything. And the hospital was right around the corner. But it's a sad day in our society when we're afriad to help a mother and child whatever the reasons may be.

We've been conditioned to look the other way while something awful is happening for fear of what? Fear of the unknown, fear of making a mistake, fear of getting sued, fear of being nosey? We've been conditioned by fear for so long to ignore our surroundings. Get in, get out. Don't look when somebody cries for help. But there's got to be a line drawn in the sand somewhere. A line between being caringly and decidely human and watching helplessly while our insides turn to stone.

Beat It Kid

I experienced something disturbing today, something I fear may become a habit if I don't take care of it immediately.


Let me digress for a minute. About a month after I moved in I noticed this little girl always loitering on her bicycle in our parking lot. I'll call her Arianna for the sake of keeping it real. Arianna is very talkative and is really like the unofficial mayor of building 12. She asks a lot of questions. I don't like 9-year-olds who ask a lot of questions.



Anyway, Arianna spends a lot of time in her garage playing, drawing, eating boogers. Whatever dirty little kids do by themselves these days. When she sees you drive by, bam, she's on her bike and by your side before you can open your car door. She's always asking questions. Always.


Arianna - "Did you just move in?"

Me - "No."

Arianna - "Have you moved all of your stuff in? Can I help you bring anything up the stairs?"
Me - "No. I'm good."



And so it goes.



This has gone on for about two weeks now. She's told me all about the people who live around me. She's told me about her mother (also named Dana). She's told me she lives with her grandma. She's told me she's a Christian. She's told me she has to play outside after school which, I infer, means that she annoys the hell out of grandma and is forced to stay outside until the sun goes down.



Arianna - "Ken and Trish downstairs, they're really nice. They're Christians. I'm a Christian. Are you a Christian?"

Me - "I don't know. I guess so."



And so it goes.



Well, tonight I turned into my parking lot and saw the garage was up. So, instead of driving past the garage and parking where I normally park, I whipped into an open spot before the garage. After all, I figured she'd be distracted with the guy who pulled up in the black Honda Civic. She was already on her bike and after him. That's when she spotted me. Stared me down. Dared me to get out of my car. What was I supposed to do? I had to go inside at some point.



So I open the car door trying desperately to avoid eye contact. She wheels on up anyway.



Arianna - "We're always running into each other."
Me - "Oh yeah?"

Arianna - "Are you all moved in? Did you get everything out of your mom's van?"

Me - "I think so. Yeah."

Arianna - "Oh there's my grandma, grandma this is the girl I was telling you about. Her name's Dana."
Pam - "Oh hi Dana."
Me - "Nice to meet you."


Grandma Pam continues on the path to the trash compactor leaving me with the annoying little kid.



Arianna - "I bet your place is really nice isn't it?"
Me - "It's getting there."
Arianna - "Is it just like Ken and Trish's?"
Me - "Probably."
Arianna - "I bet it's really pretty. Can I come up and see?"
Me - "I guess so."


Now at this point I'm fully annoyed. Who walks into a stranger's house like this? Hasn't this kid seen the after school specials? Jesus. And just like that, Arianna is inside my house rubbing her dirty hands all over my couch, my walls, my pictures. That's when I grab my phone and send out a mass text, a cry for help, to which everyone chuckled I'm sure.



Arianna - "This is really pretty. Did you paint this yourself?"
Me - "Yup."
Arianna - "I wish I could paint my room. This reminds me of a watermelon. So you actually OWN this place?"
Me - "Uh huh."
Arianna - "Wow. So that's really cool. You look just like my mom. Just like my mom."

Me - "Really? Don't say that. I don't have any kids!"

Arianna - "So, you don't want kids huh?"
Me - "I didn't say that. I just said I don't have any kids!" (I break eye contact as I reach down for the phone one more time.)
Arianna - "You want me to go don't you."
Me - (Now I feel guilty.) "Well, you don't have to, but I've got to get some studying done!"

Arianna - "Okay. I'll go. I'll see ya later."

Me - "Yup."



I feel bad for her. I really do. I don't know what her story is or why she lives with her grandma. It's obvious she just wants a little attention. But she's asking the wrong girl. I don't have time to be someone's surrogate mommy. I barely have time to take care of myself. They have programs for this kid, programs like Big Brothers/Big Sisters. Check into that.


Speaking of checking into something...I think this is pretty weird.


My downstairs neighbors seem really nice. I've now officially met Ken and Trish. They have a screen door which is always open. You can look directly into their place every time you walk up the stairs to mine.

It's a little awkward. But I have now mastered the art of being able to walk up the stairs without looking to my right. I usually have to distract myself with a phone call or text message. But it works.


Anyway. I learned the other day that they were checking up on me. Last Saturday was the River Run race in downtown Jacksonville. I left the house around 6:30 to make the 8:30 start. Fast forward to Sunday. I can't walk but want to get out to see the space shuttle Discover take off (which was awesome.) Kim comes and brings the pooch who is afraid to go upstairs. Somehow he makes it up the first flight but just can't make the turn up to my place. Kim is stuck on the second floor with the nosey neighbors. Like all good dog people, Ken and Trish let their mutt out to meet Kim's mutt. Kiss, kiss, sniff, sniff, whatever.



Ken sees me hobbling around and asks me, "So, did you run the race yesterday?"

Me - "Yup. Sure did."

Ken - "My wife mentioned that you left at like 6am. And when I saw you come back I told her, honey, I know why she left at 6am...she ran the race."

Me - "Yup. Sure did."



Am I wrong to be bothered by this? Ken and Trish keeping tabs on my whereabouts? I guess it's part of the neighborhood watch program and all, but gee whiz. They didn't even have their glass screen door open when I left. How the hell did she know I left the house so early? And why do they care?


I guess it doesn't matter. At least if I get hacked to death I won't be missing in my apartment for too many days. Ken and Trish will call the police before I start to stink the place up.

To Infinity and Beyond

So, here it is. The day has finally come. People have been telling me to "blog" for years now because, apparently, I have some sort of talent for the written word. We'll see about that.

I'm not sure that what I have to say is important enough to throw out into cyberspace for all the universe to read, or not read, as the case may be.

I've been trying to keep a written journal for quite some time but that really hasn't worked out so well. Maybe this will be easier to do in random places like...work. Or in the airport. Or on a train. Wait, I don't take trains.

Whatever. You get the point.

So here goes nothing. My maiden voyage into the great unknown parts of my brain. Hopefully my dive into the grey matter doesn't scare you.