My hometown family got together for a lunch yesterday at Ruby Tuesday. It was a small group of just nine. (That’s small relative to how many we could have had at the table with all our spouses and children.) I was sitting at one end of the table, with an empty chair beside me, so I was sometimes disconnected from the conversations going around. I started looking around the restaurant and daydreaming a bit.

Someone noted how quiet I was, and suggested I was probably noticing something to blog about. (Hi Becky.) I was looking around and noticing things, but I hadn’t really considered anything there worth noting in a blog entry.

Among all the junk clutter on the walls, there were two 1977 Star Wars posters.

At one point, a waitress grabbed our waiter by the arm and dragged him over to a table with two girls the waiter’s age. I was too far away to hear the conversation, but it looked like the girls had asked the waitress to introduce the waiter to them. The look on the waiter’s face was funny: like he was surprised to be snatched along, and then pleased to be introduced to the cute girls.

At the far end of our table, my eldest step-brother and his wife were entertaining and feeding their 11-month old grandbaby (yes, my brother is a grandfather). It’s a totally selfish and dispicable thing to think, but I was relieved that I wasn’t having to entertain and feed a baby/child. I was able to sit quietly and daydream.

So I was just a bit lost in my own thoughts at the table rather than really being observant.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

The traffic on the highway last night was back up and stopped. I was at a slight turn in the road, so I could see up ahead. I counted at least four blue, flashing lights, and a set of bright roadwork lights. The congestion was about a mile long.

Eventually the traffic started moving, but it was so slow that my speedometer never registered above 0 mph. Traffic cones narrowed the two lanes going east to one lane, and a sign on the side of the road announced this was a DWI checkpoint. “Cool,” I thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever been through one of these before.”

I immediately looked around the interior of my car to see if I had anything out that would make me look stupid or maybe guilty of something. Funny how an expected encounter with law enforcement makes you nervous. I knew I was not guilty of anything I knew was wrong, but I wondered if I might be breaking some rule I didn’t know about. Like, is it okay that my laptop is out of its case, sitting open and running on my front seat? (I was letting some software install while I drove—it just needed time to run—I didn’t have to give it any attention.) Would a cop looking in my car think I was typing on my computer while driving? I closed the lid. While stopped for a minute, I slid the laptop into its case. No need to take a chance.

Traffic just inched along. I kept my foot on the break, letting the car move forward just on idle speed. There were cops on both sides of the road; I counted 10. Most were waving their flashlights to move traffic along, but there were a few talking with citizens outside their stopped vehicles. I could see their handcuffs and guns glinting in the headlights. (No, I wasn’t really that nervous—I just notice things like that.)

There was a civilian car pulled off on the left side of the road, and just a little further up, a civilian van on the right side. Two cops stopped me and one asked for my driver’s license.

I had already pulled out my wallet in anticipation of this, so I handed over my card.

The cop aimed his flashlight at the card and said, “You’re from City?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

“You still live on Road?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” He handed me my card and added, “Drive safe.”

That was kind of disappointing. I was expecting a test of some kind. You know, at least make me touch my nose or something. Maybe a lengthy conversation, and a flashlight poking around in my car. How could he tell whether I was sober or stoned with that little exchange? I thought I’d get an interesting experience in this checkpoint stop deal. But nope, just a couple mundane questions. Oh well. I went on my way.

I wonder how bad those drivers they had pulled over came across in such a short encounter? Were they just stupid and sloppy drunk or something?

In general, I don’t have a problem with DWI checkpoints. I think they can be a good idea in some places at some times. But on a highway at 10:00 at night, holding up traffic for a mile or more? That seems a little more bothersome than useful. Fortunately, I wasn’t in a hurry, so I won’t complain about it.

If they manage to actually catch some jackass driving drunk, good for us all. (Assuming the jackass actually gets some real punishment.)

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Well, although I haven’t gotten “sick,” this bug in my system has given me an aggravating cough and made me a bit hoarse. My voice is about an octave lower, and my wife calls me “Lou Rawls.” I feel fine other than the cough, but after four days with the voice of a soul singer, I decided to check in with a doctor. He prescribed me some antibiotics against bronchitis and pharyngitis, so my coughing should end and my throat should be back to normal in a few days. (But I’m starting to like the deeper voice.)

When I got in the doctor’s office, I signed a form at the reception window. I used a pen from the cup at the desk—there were four pens. Afterward, I went and sat down to wait. While waiting, four or five other patients came in and did their bit at the reception desk.

After maybe five minutes, the receptionist called me back up to go ahead and pay for the visit. I grabbed a pen from the cup—I grabbed the only pen. I mentioned to the receptionist, “There were four pens here just a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah,” she said knowingly, “they walk away quickly.”

Come on people! Three pens were taken in five minutes? No wonder banks have their pens attached to the tables. I can understand a pen occasionally getting taken by accident, but three pens in five minutes?

Of the four or five people that came in after me, three of them stole a pen. Or did just one person take all three? Really, that just damn pathetic.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy. I like most kinds of meat and I like most kinds of potatoes. When I was younger, like in high school and college, I was a pizza kind of guy. (I liked pizza with most kinds of meat.)

I was in late high school when Domino’s started delivering pizza in my small town. Domino’s had a very small area of delivery, so we’d have to actually get in our car and drive to meet the delivery guy half way. This concept makes me laugh, now.

When I went to college, I lived in an apartment closer to the center of the city, so Domino’s would bring their pizza all the way to my door. That was cool. Domino’s in that college town had a “Student Special”: medium one-topping pizza and two cans of Coke for $4.99. If I wasn’t really hungry, that medium pizza could make for two meals. I lived on that deal for a couple years.

So you see, I loved pizza. But I started to get a little tired of it. My taste moved up to steak. By the time we had our first son, I was pretty much off the pizza craving. (Although, I still absolutely love the pizza from a local shop in my home town; I still like and want that pizza.)

When our first son was still very young, he didn’t like meats. We tried several different kinds of meats, and we tried getting meats into him several different ways. We thought we had the trick with spaghetti, but he would spit out the hamburger in the sauce. I couldn’t understand how my son didn’t like meat.

The first meat we could get him to eat and swallow was pepperoni, on pizza. Both our boys love pizza. LOVE pizza! They would eat it every day if we’d let them. We try to keep it to no more than once a week—he can eat it every day when he goes to college. But now I’ve completely burned out on pizza (except for that one from my home town). I actually don’t like Domino’s and Pizza Hut pizza anymore. It’s sad.

Fortunately, my 6 year old (who wouldn’t eat any meat as late as 2 years ago) now likes steak. Last night we went to Outback for steak. We don’t go there very often, and even less often with the boys, but I was really hungry, and really wanted a steak. In the past, when we’ve gone to Outback as a family, we go through the drive through at McDonald’s to get the boys a Happy Meal to eat at the table with us. Tonight, though, we didn’t do that.

We got the 2 year old a bowl of mac-and-cheese, and the 6 year old actually asked for a steak—we got him the kid’s steak plate. He ate the entire 4-oz steak. If I hadn’t seen him do it, I don’t think I would have believed it. This is the kid that used to didn’t like meat at all, and now he’s eating a cut of sirloin. Wonder of wonders. That’s my boy.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com