Howdy, Bubba! Hey, if you're new around these parts, I just want to say how much I appreciate you dropping by! Oh, and you may want to subscribe to my feed. Thanks, and a tip o' the hat to ya!

OK; this first question is for you writers out there. (Don’t worry; if you’re not a writer, there’s another question for you a little farther down, so it’s OK to keep reading.)

Have you ever written a sortof half-serious, half whimsical article that, for some reason, unexpectedly garnered an inordinately large response? I know I have. What’s really fun is when it’s on some subject I know, er, nothing about. (But don’t expect me to point out which ones those were, though. Some things will just have to remain my little secret.)

Recently, my friend Karen Swim wrote a brief post with the somewhat eye-catching title of The Poop in the Road that seemed to generate quite a conversation, even earning her the coveted title of The Queen of Poop. Way to go, Karen - I can’t wait to see the Coat of Arms for that!

Amazing, isn’t it, how people respond to any mention of poop? I dunno; maybe it has something to do with the upcoming U.S. Presidential election. Or something.

Naaaah.

Anyway, dealing with a subject of a somewhat, er, delicate nature, as I said, this particular article somehow resonated with quite a few people, generating a rather lengthy (not to mention hilarious) string of comments. (Seriously, you really have to read it yourself. Don’t worry; I’ll still be here when you get back.)

It should come as no surprise to most of you that the mention of poop reminded me of an experience Mrs. MZM and I had. Hence this post. (As Karen put it: She was proud of the fact that her article was the, er, fertilizer for this one.)

Yes, Virginia; There Really Is A Kalamazoo

A few years back I took a job in Kalamazoo, Michigan (town motto: “Yes, there really IS a Kalamazoo!”) I’ve mentioned before in the article A Truly Close Call how we managed to dodge a frozen bullet (we escaped back to Texas before winter struck), but this incident happened in the early fall.

Right after moving there, Mrs. MZM and I did some exploring and found a decent apartment near the client’s facility. After purchasing a pair of bicycles at a garage sale, we set about exploring the area, quickly discovering what would become our favorite place, a nearby park.

Unlike Texas, the fall weather in Michigan is actually fairly pleasant. And, it wasn’t long before the leaves began their annual “changing of the guard”, if you know what I mean. We rode our bikes all over the area, enjoying the change in scenery from our usual Houston haunts (although it was a mite “hillier” than the flatlands we were used to).

The aforementioned park had a slow-moving creek that widened out in a few places, forming a string of small ponds the ducks (and the people, of course) really seemed to enjoy (not to mention creating a nifty set of water hazards for the nearby public golf course). Combined with the colorful trees it was quite a pleasant place to spend a weekend afternoon.

Until, that is, the geese arrived (sound of terrified screams - and honks).

Ground Zero

Now, before this, I’d never been around a bunch herd group lot of geese up close and personal like this. (The word is “gaggle”, but what’s the word for a larger group of geese - a “gaggle of gaggles”?).

Like most of us, I’ve seen plenty of geese flying in their distinctive V-formations like bombers on a secret mission (come to think of it, that’s not a bad analogy, either). But getting’ within spittin’ distance - well, it’s only happened rarely, and that was only a few geese at a time.

As it turned out, Kalamazoo happens to be on these particular geese’s migration route. Once they started, you know, migrating… I’m tellin’ ya; there were geese everywhere. And, they naturally congregated around any available pond or lake - particularly the ones in the parks.

Lemme just say this: I had no idea! It was like an invasion of short, fat, noisy, black & gray & white - er, poop machines. Yup; that’s what the man said, alright.

The fact is, if you’ve never been in the path of the annual Canada Goose poopfest migration, well Bubba, you just ain’t lived! There was goose poop all over the place: in the grass, on the sidewalks, in the ponds, on the handrails of the bridges across the ponds (one word: how?!) - it was awful!

I’m tellin’ ya; I don’t think there was one square inch of the park’s grounds that didn’t have some bit, or blob, or outright pile of goose poop on it. We couldn’t walk anywhere without collecting gobs of it on our shoes. Not to mention keeping a constant eye out for incoming and outgoing geese above as they flew into and out of the lakes like planes landing on a carrier deck.

Not even being off the ground on bicycles helped; in some ways, it was even worse. Not only did we never want to put our feet down (you just had to, sometimes - yuk!), but we also discovered our bicycle tires had the unfortunate tendency to, well, sorta fling it up into our nether regions, especially our backsides. It kinda left the impression of, er, skid marks, if you know what I mean. Blech!

So, How Do YOU Handle Poop?

What provided the most entertainment value, though, was watching the various techniques folks used to negotiate the gooey, sticky mess. Some moved very slowly, carefully evaluating each and every piece of ground prior to placing their feet. (Honestly, it didn’t matter; it was everywhere.) The result was a sortof slow-motion walk, not unlike that of a chicken in a barnyard.

Others walked as if they didn’t have a care in the world, completely oblivious to the fact that their shoes (and sometimes the lower parts of their clothes) were getting soiled big-time by the ubiquitous brownish-green slime. Although… they did tend to stay on the sidewalks (which, because of the sun, were generally “drier” than the stuff in the grass, if you get my meanin’.

On the other hand, kids, for the most part, couldn’t have cared less. They played, ran, fell down, got up, and generally did their kid things without any thought at all of the gradually deteriorating condition of their clothing. (The growing disgust on their mothers’ faces, though, said volumes.)

Believe it or not, I even saw a couple of barefooted people out there, too. What were they thinking? Yuk! Even the thought makes the corner of my lip curl up in disgust.

As Karen pointed out in her article, it’s pretty much a truism that, in life, as in this park, sometimes poop just… happens. The question before the jury, however, is this: How do YOU handle it?

Needless to say, there were some very insightful (albeit hilarious) responses from the Words for Hire community. So I thought it would be fun to put the question out to the MZM community, too.

When, as is inevitable, “poop happens”, how do YOU handle it?

Leave your feedback in the comment box. Believe me; on this one, we’re all dyin’ to know.

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Canadian Geese at Sunset, by tinyfroglet

I Believe I Just Stepped in Some, by Gossamer1013

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You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

Sometimes life just hands you a pleasant and unexpected surprise every now and then, doesn’t it? The word for it is serendipity, and when it happens, well, life is good.

It Was the Best of Days…

It’s second grade (flash of lightning; clap of thunder; sound of terrified children screaming). We’re sitting in our classroom, which is in one of those plain wooden so-called “temporary” buildings you often see out next to the school football field.

You know the buildings I’m talkin’ about, right? The ones that end up redefining the word temporary from “not permanent” to “permanent”. (Another reason to hate them: for some reason they’re usually painted a revolting shade of “baby-puke tan”, or something similarly awful. But I digress.)

It was a beautiful fall day, and still early in the school year (which started in September). We were just getting into the rhythm of school again (after summer’s nirvana-like break). Christmas was still a bit too far away to be dreaming about just yet (although I did have my eye on that really neat slot-car racing set).

In the classroom, we’re all pretty much goofing around reading, drawing pictures, or whatever it is second-graders do when they’re not actively being directed by the teacher. Knowing me, I was probably on one of many exciting (but alas, imaginary) adventures exploring outer space. (Probably racing a Moon crawler across the floor of Tycho crater on a dramatic rescue. Or something.)

Along about the time I had just found traces of the missing spacemen (who were no doubt running out of air about now), my friend poked me in the arm and said in a hushed but excited voice, “Do you see what I see?”

Something Unexpected

Unseen while I had been distracted with my imaginary adventure, our teacher had removed all the block letter cards from above the blackboard (you know, those cards that show Aa Bb Cc, etc). I happened to look up just in time to see her begin replacing them with cards illustrating - get this - script letters!

Our eyes grew wide and our hearts raced as we realized the sensational stupendousness of what was about to happen: we were going to learn handwriting! I’m tellin’ ya, my friend and I were so excited we could hardly sit still.

Now, you may wonder how such a mundane thing as writing (as opposed to printing) could possibly excite two 8-year old boys like that. But I’m tellin’ ya; it wasn’t just us. Within minutes, all gum chewing, secret conversations, and note-passing pretty much dribbled to a stop as the attention of the entire class was riveted on what was happening up at the front.

Ever seen a cat watch a ping pong game? You know; the way their head follows the ball like they’re physically connected? It was like that. We held our collective breath as, slowly and deliberately, each card was pinned, one by one, along the top of the blackboard.

Finally, it was finished. She turned and went back to her desk. She sat down. (As a lesson in building excitement, I’m tellin’ ya, this was a hum-dinger!) About now we’re all literally on the edges of our little chairs, just waitin’ for it.

Then she smiled at our eager faces and said, very calmly, “OK; it’s time.”

I kid you not - we actually cheered!

A Rite of Passage

Although I didn’t realize it at the time (hey, what did we know? We were, you know, eight!), I’ve come to realize that day marked the beginning of one of many rites of passage.

You know what I mean, don’t you? It’s when something happens that sorta puts a whole new spin on life (including the universe and everything). It makes what happens from then on, well, different somehow from all that’s gone on before, you know? Sorta like the day I got my driver’s license, or the day I got my first kiss. (Or something really momentous: the blessed day I discovered Blue Bell Banana Pudding Ice Cream.)

The very idea of finally learning to communicate, not with the simple block letters of our *ahem* long-lost childhood but with cursive script the way grown-ups did - well, it was a memorable moment.

But here’s the thing. It’s wasn’t as if we were, you know, counting the days until we could finally learn to write cursive script. Unlike learning to drive (a day all teenagers know is coming sooner or later, Heaven help us), we had no agenda or timetable listing all the stuff we were supposed to learn that year - and when.

Hey, when you’re a second-grader, you pretty much go with the flow, if you know what I mean. When they said, “Open a book” - we opened our books. When they said, “Stand over there”, well, we stood over there. If they said, “Wear this” - our usual response was, “Aww, man!” - but we wore it anyway. That’s just the way life was, you know?

So when we realized that school had reached a whole new level, well, it was a truly Great Moment, I’ll tell ya.

And Now, Back to You

I love it when those serendipitous moments come, don’t you? You know; when something wonderful happens, and life is suddenly just… better. It’s like when you were a kid, and after a hard day of playing outside, you ask your Mom for a glass of water - and she gives you Kool-aid for the first time. You never wanna go back!

When was the last time you were pleasantly surprised with something that pretty much changed the way you look at life? Or, maybe not your whole life, but maybe it changed only a single relationship? Care to share it in the comment box? Perhaps you’d care to tell your own story? Hey, go for it, my friends!

Don’t worry; I’ll leave the light on.

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

Well!

Mrs. MZM forgot to lock the door to the Zone’s Inner Sanctum again, and I managed to loosen my chains and escape (sound of angry mob, sirens, bloodhounds, and helicopters).

Hey, this time I managed to get as far as Chicago before they caught me. Profuse thanks to my good buddy Brad Shorr; I’m guest posting at Word Sell Blog today. (I’ve always wondered… is it called the Windy City because of the weather, or because there are so many bloggers there? Never mind.)

Since Brad’s blog is related to business writing, sales and marketing, I decided to throw caution to the winds and talk about something I actually know very little about: sales (but don’t tell Brad, ‘K?). However, despite the fact that I’m no salesman, I think I actually can contribute somethin’ valuable that applies not only to sales - but to life.

So why don’t you click on this cute little link here and read The One Key to Success in Sales - and Life. Leave a comment, if you like. Heck, rant and rave if you’re so inclined! Just don’t forget to come back, y’hear?

And don’t worry; I’m feelin’ much better now.

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

If you dropped by today expecting find out what the topic for next week’s What I Learned From… groupwrite project was, hey, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but this month I’ve decided to move it back one week.

Work is pretty busy right now (yes, I’m a cube dweller), I’ve got an out-of-office experience coming up next week, and there are, after all, (count ‘em) 5 Mondays in September (shouldn’t that be against the law or somethin’?), so we still have plenty of time, right?

So if you’ll just *ahem* bear with me, folks, the next WILF is comin’ soon!

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photo: Bear With Me, by digitalART2

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You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

Howdy y’all!

Hey, help me out with a little somethin’ today, won’t you?

The purpose of this here post is to send a big ol’ tip o’ the Middle Zone Stetson to a red-haired Scottish lass, my good blogging friend and one of my favorite people, Joanna Young, the proprietor and confident mind behind the website Confident Writing.

Why, you may ask? Well, why not?

Hey, she’s been under a lot of strain lately, the little darlin’. I mean, what with selling off her former home, living in temporary quarters for a few months, and now moving into a new one and all. Plus, she finally came to her senses and moved her blogs from Typepad to Wordpress (a task that would probably cause even the new, improved Terminator to sweat little silvery metal droplets).

Anyway, our mutual friend Brad Shorr instigated a little something for today called, appropriately enough, Project Confident Friendship. Co-conspirators Karen Swim, Daniel Smith (who built the image you see here), along with yours truly and a whole herd of fun-lovin’ folk secretly spread word across the blogosphere to give her a big ol’ shout out today (sound of millions of friendly shouts), just to let her know her friends are thinking of her.

So if you’re a reader of Confident Writing (and if you’re not, you should be!), a friend of Joanna’s - or maybe would like to be - why not drop by her place today and give her a big ol’ Texas “Howdy!”

The following is a personal note to the Lady herself from Yours Truly:

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Dear Joanna:

I’m plum tickled to say how much I appreciate your contribution to the writing, and yes, the lives of those of us who know you. You’ve enriched us with your insights, your writing tips, and of course your unbounded confidence, even as you yourself struck out into unknown territory. We admire your sense of adventure and love of life, and encourage you to always reach for just one more star.

I think one of my favorite posts of yours was a fairly recent one, What I Learned From Watching Ferry Boats. The images you painted reminded me of one of my own favorite childhood memories, and even prompted a post of my own, (insert gratuitous link here) Limitations and Opportunities: What I Learned From a Ferry Ride.

That’s what I enjoy about your writing, Joanna; you help me recover memories I may never have remembered on my own (the little grey cells being what they are and everything). By watching you grow, you’ve inspired a confidence in my own writing I never knew was there.

Thank you, my friend!

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We tried to pass the word to as many bloggers as we could, but if you didn’t hear about it, and would like to write a post for Joanna, it’s NOT TOO LATE! Project Confident Friendship will stay open as long as anyone wants to join in!

OK, now that the mushy part of this post is over, let’s move on to something with far more earth-shattering consequences: How to Eat Pizza.

(In case you’re wondering, this is a direct result of an astonishing, and slightly disturbing observation I made when I first met Joanna in Chicago at SOBCon08. Hey, I’m just sayin’.)

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

I've been gettin' a bit, er, behind...

I’ve been busy this week, folks, so I’m sorry but my writing has gotten a bit behind.

But I just wanted to let you know, there’s big doin’s coming next Monday. Not only is there going to be a special surprise, but it’s also the day I announce the topic for the next What I Learned From… groupwrite project. [Note from the proprietor: On second thought, due to my current work load, I'm going to delay our next groupwrite project for an extra week. But don't worry; it's coming!]

Then on Tuesday I have the honor of guest posting (for the first of hopefully many times - assuming he never reads what I write while I’m there) over at Brad Shorr’s Word Sell.

So have a great weekend, y’all, and come back on Monday for Something Special!

Cheers!

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

The Olympics have been pretty inspiring, haven’t they? All that jumping, running, swinging and vaulting… especially the vaulting. I’m tellin’ ya; I break into a sweat just thinkin’ about all the training these incredible athletes put into their respective specialties.

However, the gymnastics reminded of a memorable vault I did once.

Well, it’s not quite the same kind of vault you see Olympic gymnasts perform. No, this is where you sorta leap over an obstacle, usually a wall or something, while using one or both arms as a pivot to lever yourself over. It’s an easy way to cross a relatively low barrier without having to clamber over it. One leap and you’re done - easy!

‘Course, it’s usually a good idea to know what’s on the other side of the wall…

“Go Play on the Freeway”

In the city of Houston, Loop 610 is the inner loop around town. It’s been there so long most people don’t think about it, but I remember when it was being built. In fact, when I was a kid, my friends and I used to ride our bikes on it.

(Remember all those jokes about going out and playing on the freeway? Well, we used to do that all the time. At least, until they ruined everything and opened it up to traffic. Ah well.)

Anyway, near my house the construction crews were in the process of building an overpass, and needless to say were huge piles of dirt everywhere. Although they hadn’t gotten around to the actual over-the-road part yet, some of the concrete retaining wall had already been built.

One fine day (this was during the summertime school break, so we had lots of time to explore) my friends and I strolled across the feeder road to see what was new. Like any typical road construction project, there was always plenty of cool stuff three young criminally insane hooligans teenage boys could find to keep themselves entertained.

As we approached the construction site, though, I noticed the new aforementioned retaining wall. From where we stood, we could see there was still some dirt piled up against it. In the meantime, on the other side (where the eventual concrete surface would go) dump trucks had obviously been busy building up the dirt foundation.

Charge of the Light Brigade

Since I was still, you know, young and full of energy back then (ah, sweet bird of youth! *sigh*), I naturally said to myself, “Self, I think I’ll charge up there and vault that wall!” (As you are no doubt aware, one drawback to the ol’ sweet bird of youth is a somewhat distressing inability to, er, “think things through”, if you get my meanin’.)

Anyway, I left my friends in the dust as I charged up to the wall like the Allies storming Normandy Beach. It was a sight to behold, I’ll tell ya! In the annals of history, never was there a more perfectly executed and Olympian-quality vault ever performed. It was a thing of grace and beauty, and a joy to the eye of the beholder.

I’d already determined this was to be the ultimate of all vaults, the one-hander. My eyes had already zeroed in on the proper spot to place my hand. I scanned the ground for proper foot placement, and angled my body such that I could smoothly execute the leap as I arrived at the wall. It was an amazing moment; I could literally hear the crowd roar (score: 9.5, 9.6, 9.8 - and an 8.3 from the East German judge) as my feet left the ground and let the laws of physics and gravity took over.

The Pit of Despair

Unfortunately, I had concentrated so much on the mechanics of the thing, I… well, uh, er… sorta forgot to check out what was on the other side of the wall. As luck would have it, there was nothin’ but a big hole on the other side, about 10 feet deep and maybe 15 feet wide, gaping like a giant yawning Pit of Despair.

I’m sure you’ll have no trouble picturing my face as I went from triumph to panic. Suddenly it was like being in one of those martial arts flicks, where time itself momentarily slowed to a crawl and everything is in slow motion. I quickly searched for options, but unfortunately there was only one thing I could think of: to quickly review my accumulated knowledge of the fine art of levitation.

My hand, initially just resting on the wall, immediately attempted to grip the top in a panic as I instantly brought the other hand around to do the same. Unfortunately, the wall was too wide to grip, so needless to say that didn’t work out too well. I did manage to touch the wall with my other arm on the way over, but the only reward for that effort was a largish scrape.

In the meantime, my attempt at levitation met with pretty much zero success and thus began the long, slow motion plummet to the bottom of the Pit. About the only thing I had time for was a quick scan of the landing zone: mud, a few pieces of discarded wood, and about a foot of water. I utilized the remaining 237 milliseconds or so to position my feet as best I could and -

- sound of splat -

Well, it wasn’t pretty, I’ll tell ya. When it was over, I spent the first few seconds reviewing the State of Affairs.

To my amazement, there was nothing broken, twisted or sprained; I’d landed perfectly upright and on my feet (I “stuck” the landing so beautifully it would have garnered at least a 9.692 score). That was a bit of luck because those few milliseconds of awareness had allowed me to just miss impalement on a rather sharp piece of wood. (Obviously, my team of guardian angels was working overtime that day.)

In the meantime I was standing well over knee-deep in water, my feet buried in the mud at the bottom of the depression. Added to that was the fact that I was almost completely covered in mud from the backsplash (particularly in the, er, nether regions, if you know what I mean).

Naturally, my sympathetic and supportive friends were doubled over on the ground, they were laughing so hard. So, no sympathy there. After a few seconds of supreme effort, I managed to pull my feet out of the mud (insert loud sucking sound here). After a few minutes, I somehow managed to climb out of the Pit, caked with mud and dripping wet.

Looking Before Leaping

Now, before you promptly respond with, “Hey, I would never do something goofy like that!” check out this story I ran across the other day: “… and this is me on Facebook”. Don’t worry; I’ll wait.

It’s amazing how many time folks do things like this without thinking things through, isn’t it? Like the Olympic basketball team that had themselves photographed while pulling their eyes into a slant, or Bill Clinton “not having sex with that woman”, you’d think stuff like this would hardly ever happen.

Alas, the human condition is chock full of evidence the other way, I’m afraid. All I can say is, I hope ya don’t have to experience life’s lessons more than once! It’s OK to make a mistake; hey, we all do it. No, it’s when you have to repeat a lesson that’ll kick ya in the, er, regional areas, if you know what I mean.

OK; rather than bore you with a list of obvious points about the relative, er, pitfalls of leaping before looking, let’s turn this conversation over to you guys.

When was the last time you leaped without looking first? How’d that work out for ya? Are you the type that does it on purpose? Are there positive merits of leaping without looking first? Would you care to share your own experiences here? Or, write a post about your experience and link it back here.

We’d love to hear ‘em! Hey, we’re all friends here…

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