Today is the anniversary of the birth of Jesse Lee (Lex) Howard. Here is but a poor sampling of pictures of the times we have shared in recent years.

After beating that net!

In Clinton, Iowa on The Road Trip – 2006

With the World’s Largest Cheeto

Jesse’s Picture on The Friend Wall. Eating a Bob’s Dog – LeMars, Iowa

Wearing an Old Lady’s Hat

Before Jen and Derrick’s Wedding

With Lowell in Arizona

Hanging Out at Snookies after lobbying Tom Harkin’s staff.

With his Family

Disappointing Steve.

In the Denver airport.

With his Duke Burger

Enjoying the View of the Falls with Jackson, Faust and Jay.

In Mallard, Iowa

Failing to tickle me.

Of course there are many more pictures of Jesse in the Friends Album of the Snapshots Gallery. (Recently downsized)

Or you can click on the link below:

One more time, Happy Birthday Jesse!

Kelly’s salon recently had their Grand Re-opening after all of their remodeling.

I hadn’t put a picture up in Salon 908 since the remodeling, so I decided to do a window project for the salon.

For a closer look at Window Project #2, you will need to go to Salon 908.

Below is a closer look at the pictures for this project. It should be noted that the pictures below aren’t in the same proportions as they are presented in the window.

4 other pictures were under consideration for Window Project #2, but were rejected for various reasons. The rejected pictures:

I will be starting work on Window Project #3 possibly as early as in a couple of days. But most likely it will wait until the beginning of December. I do need to start giving some consideration to whether or not there will be a Photography 139 2010 calendar in the near future.

I was dreadfully unprepared for this year’s Halloween. Including not buying pumpkins and candy until Saturday morning, not running firmware updates on my Blu-Ray player until Saturday night and not doing any decorating at all. Truth is that the lack of decorating was a conscious decision that I plan on repeating for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Although I have a feeling that a Christmas tree is going to show up in my house when I am not home.

Although if I do ending up holding a Friendsmas-Thanksmas-Christgiving celebration between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it is possible that a small amount of decorating might transpire. But that is a pretty big if at this point in time. Mostly because I still need to convince myself that I won’t blow up the house while frying a turkey.

Despite the lack of preparation, Halloween went just fine.

I ended up with 46 trick-or-treaters. I think I would have been able to breach 60, but Jay turned off the light for about 15 minutes, causing a loss of who knows how many trick-or-treaters.

Despite getting a couple of garbage pumpkins, Jay still made two spectacular jack-o-lanterns.

A few pictures from the night…

Jay cleaning out a pumpkin.

The Davis Family. Holden was awesome in the respect that after every picture, he would come over and want to see it. Good thing I wasn’t using film.

Austin was not a fan of the hood part of his sweet giraffe costume.

Holden was a big fan of my front stoop. If he makes it to my birthday barbecue next year, I anticipate I will find him sitting in that exact spot on multiple occasions.

Austin was happier without the hood.

A Howard paying homage to a CBS television show?!?!? Shocker! Saydie is not wearing a wig. Taylan as Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Jay working on a pumpkin for my mom.

Jay’s 2009 Masterpiece!

I think I will have to schedule my social calendar lightly next October, so I can get into the spirit of things and maybe even visit a pumpkin patch. I didn’t get a chance to do that this year.

A few years back I lost the Howard family portrait account. This year, I got it back. Here are some images from the Howard Family Portrait Photo Shoot.

I think I might be caught up on all my photo editing. It might just be story time again.

Friday night was the big Jay home cooked meal extravaganza. Willy choose not to join his brothers for this meal. Even though a week earlier he begged me not to go to the Ames on the Half Shell Appreciation Party because he needed a home cooked meal.

Although I was moved by his pleas, I had already made a commitment to attend the party and I was looking forward to getting the sweet AOTHS calendar that Shannon had designed.

Because I could only make an appearance at FNSC on that Friday Jay and Willy held a weenie roast in Willy’s garage. I stayed at the weenie roast log enough to eat a couple dogs and clean the gutters of Willy’s garage because… well if you know Willy, you know why.

Let us just say that because the gutters were clogged, rainwater was pouring out of the gutter and nearly falling onto the grill.

“What are we going to do about this?” was the question of the night. So I grabbed Willy’s ladder and unclogged his gutter and the weenie roast was saved.

I don’t like to brag, but the word hero was mentioned a couple times.

Jay rescheduled his home cooked meal for the next Friday. Willy decided he “needed” something else more than he needed the home cooked meal. He needed to race.

Well below is a very poor camera phone picture of what Wily missed.

You will have to trust me that it tasted much better than this picture makes it look.

Another highlight of the night was Auxiliary Member Jesse Howard’s presence. Plus Kelly, Kalista, Saydie and Taylan all became full Auxiliary Members. So despite the fact that Willy shafted his brethren, it was a successful evening.

As Shawn and I were called to perform our secondary duty of ushering, I handed my camera to Kelly. She took the following pictures before the battery on the camera gave out.

I was so completely drained from this wonderful day that I didn’t wake up until 1:30 on Sunday afternoon. It was probably a good thing that I limited my dancing at the reception. It is possible that I could still be sleeping.

I didn’t take many pictures from The Wedding of the Year because I was quite busy being a triple threat: Groomsman, Usher and Reader Guy. However, I did manage to snap off a few photos here and there.

I take many a memory away from an absolutely incredible day, but I’m going to keep those memories, joys, and highs for myself.

I’m not used to having an agenda when I’m dining with my friends. I like to keep things loose. Not on this day though. I was having lunch with Monica and I had an agenda. Monica is my matting expert. We were meeting to discuss the plans for Rebecca’s graduation “present”.

Rebecca is somebody that does not like to have her picture taken. It is not a family trait, but Nate also is afflicted by this condition. This is Rebecca’s senior year. When she needed somebody to take her Senior Pictures she asked me. I agreed to take her pictures, but I had to tell her I am not a portrait photographer. We may have to attempt this on a few different occasions due to my lack of skill. She accepted this deal because she was more comfortable with me taking her picture rather than a stranger.

It turned out that there was enough useful material from one photo shoot for her to pick a few different pictures out for gifts and to use as wallet sized pictures to hand out to her friends. What I wanted to do was make a giant picture out of one of those pictures. Then mat the picture with a black mat board. Then place everything in a silver frame. Then have people at her graduation party sign the mat board with a silver sharpie.

I had run this idea by Rebecca a few weeks ago and she thought the idea was fair to excellent. I told her I didn’t really know what she would be able to do with this picture after her graduation party.

She thought for a second and then said, “Maybe I’ll get into having really big pictures of myself.”

We picked out a suitable black and white photo and I thought about ordering it. I didn’t order it though. I waited.

At the same time I was also working on putting together a “photo book” for Kelly’s Salon. I also needed to order 20 5×7 pictures for June and Dean to give out to celebrate their 50th Wedding Anniversary.

I normally order all of my enlargements from Adorama. They are a company that is based out of New York City and they do an incredible job. They are fast on the turnaround and even with paying shipping I always save a tidy sum thanks to their low prices.

However, Adorama does not have very much to offer when it comes to gimmicky photo gifts, like a photo book. Instead, I decided to design and order my photo book through Sony Image Station. I figured that I might as well order everything through them. I knew this was a risk because I didn’t have any history with them. So I ordered everything a couple of weeks in advance and hoped that they would come through.

By the end of the first week, my photo book had arrived. The photos did not. It was now the Wednesday before Rebecca’s graduation. The photos still hadn’t arrived.

Monica met me at work for lunch. She gave me total control over where we ate because she said that she was “tired of making decisions”. This was fine with me, I hated the awkward moments of negotiating an eating place that we both didn’t hate, but that usually meant that neither of us loved it either.

I was having a hankering for the club sandwich from the West Street Deli. While my search for the best tenderloin in the state continues, my search for the world’s best club sandwich was completed earlier this year when I took my first bite into the pure goodness that is the West Street Deli club.

There is just one problem with the West Street Deli. There is never any parking. At least not during the day. So I brewed up a back up plan. If there was no parking at the West Street Deli, we would go to Chinese Homestyle Cooking, home of the 2nd best crab rangoons in existence and the best restaurant owners in existence.

There wasn’t a parking spot to be had anywhere near the West Street Deli, so I drove the two blocks to Chinese Homestyle Cooking. It was a compromise that I was willing to make because in the back of my mind I knew that I was going to get that club sandwich eventually.

As I turned into the small parking lot that is shared by Flying Burrito, CHC and some gas station, I realized that there wasn’t a parking spot to be had. I drove across the street and parked in the Taco Bell parking lot.

We got out of the car and I stared at a sign that said, “Taco Bell Customer Parking Only”. I thought about the time when I was running Campus and the store manager at Duff parked in our parking lot to go to a nearby bar. I had her car towed. When I think back at all the time I wasted with that organization that might be the best thing I ever did.

The Store Manager at Duff was the Owner and the Son-in-Law’s favorite, so they were pretty angry when they found out what I had done. It was still worth it. They hated me either way. It was better that they hated me for a reason.

They told me that I wasn’t allowed to tow cars any longer. Like everything else they told me, I ignored it. I continued to tow cars. It was my public service. I was keeping drunks from being behind the wheel. Plus, you can’t beat the entertainment of somebody coming in on Saturday or Sunday morning after they have sobered up and asking if I might tell them where they could find their car. It was the only thing that made working on weekends worthwhile to me.

I hoped karma wouldn’t come back and get me as we crossed the street. I hoped that my car was still there when we crossed this street again.

Once inside CHC I ordered pepper beef and an order of crab rangoons. Monica ordered mongolian beef. We sat down and waited for our food.

As we waited Monica began telling me some of the burdens of management. Although Monica loves her job it reminded me that I don’t really miss management. I don’t really miss “responsibility”. I have responsibility in my job, but at the end of the day I’m only responsible for myself. I don’t miss being responsible for other people. I don’t miss it at all. Every day when I leave my job, I don’t think about it again until the next time I show up for work. In actuality, so much of my job is clicking and waiting and busy work, I can go large chunks of my workday without thinking about my job. This is a tremendous luxury.

I listened to her stresses and gave her what comforting words I could muster, but I was really still thinking, I’m glad I’m not responsible for “Co-Worker X”. Explaining that person’s actions to my superior would sure be a painful process.

It was then that the food came. Monica asked the foolish question of whether or not she could have one of the crab rangoons.

“No, but you must have two.”

She laughed at this display of wit. Or it was the uneasy laughter of somebody who was just relieved that they weren’t going to have to watch me eat all four of these fantastic appetizers.

After she ate one she did agree with me that only the crab rangoons at New China in Boone are superior. Then we had an awkward interaction where we agreed that the flat rangoon is superior to the bunched up rangoon. Although we decided we knew what we were trying to say, we really weren’t very good at describing the physical appearance of the two known types of rangoons.

Monica then began picking at the white flaky things that were in her food.

“What are these?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not crazy about them.” She said and then began about the serious business of picking them all out of her meal.

I wondered how she could not enjoy every single aspect of CHC. I wondered what Mike (the man that turned me onto CHC) would think if he saw her do such a thing. I averted my eyes. I pretended I didn’t see what was going on. I concentrated on my plate of pepper beef and its inherent goodness. I hoped to just get out of here without any attention being drawn to what was going down on her side of the booth.

I decided to calm my nerves. I would just start the agenda.

“This is what I got planned. The picture is black and white. The picture is 20×30. The mat will be black. The frame will be 24×36. The frame will be silver. People will write on the mat with a silver sharpie. How do you think that will look?”

“I think that will look awesome.”

I knew Monica would like it. From the style of her paintings I know that she preferred a dark palette. I knew from experience that she hates pastels. HATES PASTELS!! Even though I always tried to convince her that it was silly to hate pastels because every color has its purpose, she has yet to admit to the validity of my point. She still hates pastels.

“Do you think this is something that we can pull off?”

“The picture is 20×30?”

“Correct.”

“The mat board will by 24×36?”

“Correct.”

“You need this done by when?”

“Graduation is Sunday, but I don’t know when I would be able to work on this because the picture has not arrived yet.”

“You want me to cut this?”

“I didn’t buy a mat board cutter for you not to cut mat boards for me.” This statement wasn’t actually true, I was hoping I would become skilled in the art of mat cutting and not need to rely so heavily on Monica or the area craft stores.

Monica thought for a second and said, “I have a better idea. How about I go pick out a mat board and we’ll have Hobby Lobby cut it for us.”

I was about to agree to this suggestion, with one caveat, but then the wife of the husband-wife team that owns CHC stopped by our table.

“How is everything?” She asked.

“Excellent.” I said.

Then she looked down at Monica’s plate. We were busted. Although I had no implicit guilt in the crime that had been committed, I felt like I was certainly an accessory to the crime.

“You don’t like the rice noodles?” She asked Monica.

“No not really, they’re kind of weird.”

This caused the Wife of the husband wife team launched into a long diatribe about how the rice noodles were made. She went into great detail about how when you started cooking them they were very small and they rapidly expanded while they were being cooked.

She was very passionate about the food. I felt bad that Monica didn’t like the rice noodles. Monica assured her that she loved everything but the rice noodles. The rice noodles were just too weird.

The Wife accepted this answer and gave Monica some suggestion about things she could order next time she came. Menu items that didn’t have weird stuff in it. Then she moved on to the next table.

“Where were we?” I started up the conversation again.

“I think this is a really big mat to cut. It would be really expensive to make a mistake on it. So I think we should take the mat to Hobby Lobby and have them cut it.”

“I can agree to that. Except I have one caveat.”

“And that is?”

“That you go to Hobby Lobby and do all of the talking.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t like Hobby Lobby employees.”

“What?”

“I don’t like Hobby Lobby employees.” I reiterated.

“Why not?”

“They aren’t interested in helping you and they are mean.”

Monica wanted me to provide examples and so I told her stories about one Hobby Lobby employee yelling at another Hobby Lobby employee just because the first Hobby Lobby employee was actually assisting Jesse. It got so heated that the manager had to step in and he sided with the second employee. When Jesse asked if he could get some help from any Hobby Lobby employee, the manager told him, “No. This department closes in half an hour and we have lots of work to do.”

I was not interested in experiencing this situation on my own. In my own experience I had found Hobby Lobby employees not interested in being helpful and not knowledgeable about nearly anything.

In addition to those facts, it seems that Hobby Lobby hates men. That would seem to be a facetious statement about a store that is clearly aimed towards women, but if you ever look at the types of things that they stock that are male specific you will see that they think that men are Neanderthals. Everything is the ugliest fishing, sports, or golf memorabilia. It is all hideous.

The men’s restroom is filled with terribly ugly golf course pictures. Everything is just so ugly.

When I do go to Hobby Lobby I try to get my stuff and get out as quickly as possible. This never turns out well for me because no matter how busy Hobby Lobby seems to be, they refuse to open up a second register and I always get in line behind the lady that is buying 100 glass objects that the cashier has to individually wrap.

Monica soaked in my points and agreed that after I dropped her off at her car she would go to Hobby Lobby and try to negotiate the mat board that I needed out of those people.

We finished up our meal and walked back across the street to Taco Bell. My car was still there. I had won this round.

About one hour after I dropped Monica off at her car, she returned with my mat board. It was cut perfectly. It was exactly what I wanted. It was a thing of beauty.

“How much do I owe you?”

“It was fourteen dollars.”

“I don’t carry cash; can I bring you money to your work tomorrow night?”

“That works.”

The Monica turned and was gone. Now all I needed was for the picture to show up.

This “Artist’s Notebook” is also about my more personal inspirations: My friends. So I should reveal what has been up with some of my friends. 

The biggest news about my friends would be that Derrick has become the man at his place of employment. I believe his previous job title was “Guitar god” or “Guitar Guy” or “Sales Consultant”. Now his job title is something like “General Manager” or “Store Manager” or “The Man” or “Mr. Man” or “HHIC”. 

It is a strange twist of fate that his S.O. Jen was once “The Man”. She hired Derrick on. Now it is a few years later and he is now “The Man”. 

There was a store manager in between them, but I fail to recall her name. I do know that the rulers of Derrick’s company did her in on Monday. They pulled the old switching the locks to the door trick. A classic of all passive-aggressive wieners that don’t have the testicular fortitude to do somebody in face to face. 

I know from my extensive firing experiences that it takes a man to look somebody in the face and tell them: “Get out of here kid. You’re no good. You don’t have a future”. Of course my extensive fire experience includes firing not a single person. 

You see I was once “The Man”. Not with the same company where Derrick is currently “The Man”. Yet, I was the man for a couple of years in a quickly failing restaurant. It was hard to be “The Man” at this place because the owner of the restaurant wanted it to fail. They were begging their understanding of God for it to fail. 

I ran what in the politically correct vernacular would be known as a “quick service restaurant” in Campustown. The large overhead of such a business and poor location spelled doom for the restaurant. 

While I was captain of this sinking vessel I did not have to fire anybody. I soon realized that most people fired themselves. You set up standards for people. You communicated these standards to the people. You set up consequences for not reaching these standards. You communicated these consequences to the people. When people knew that they weren’t reaching the established standards, they would pretty much quit on their own. 

I should point out that I wasn’t exactly setting the bar high either. My minions consisted of High School and College Students. This wasn’t a career stop for them. This was a little bit of spending scratch so they could booze it up on the weekend or go to that Dave Matthews concert or for some it was to pay for their textbooks or their rent. 

The good ones already cared about their job, not because they cared about the job. They cared about their job because they were the type of people that did well because what they were doing was what they were doing. In less convoluted terms, anything that they did they were going to do well because the result was a reflection of them. It wasn’t what the job consisted of that was important. Whatever it was, they were going to do it well. 

Then there were the employees that failed under my regime. They really failed of their own accord. At least they left of their own accord. Which the majority of them left because their time at Iowa State had concluded or they realized that they could get paid much better doing a much easier job some place else. However I am not typing words out about the people who just moved on to better things. This is about people who theoretically could have been fired. The failures. 

My standards were not that high. It isn’t that they were low. It is that when you are stuck working in corporation there are about 1 trillion incredibly dumb rules about every single insignificant aspect of how to do every single mundane job. In huge multilevel corporations like the one that employed me, you will find people that memorize and dream about every single one of these stupid little rules that have nothing at all to do with the success of a business. In fact the enforcement of these rules is a waste of time. Concentrating on the mindnumbing minutia that is the “Proper way to pull eggs from the grill” is allowing insignificance to control the significant aspects of the business. 

There were really only a handful of things that I cared about. I never spelled this out, wrote it down, posted it, or handed it out on cards. But if you were to really spell out my rules of management they were simple: 

1. Serve the customer, in a fast, friendly manner with a good product.
2. Keep the store clean.
3. Maintain the equipment.
4. Don’t get me in trouble. 

People who couldn’t do these things usually phased themselves right out of the business. 

WOW! I never meant to drone on and on and on and on and on about it. 

Willy had oral surgery last Thursday. It must have went well. He was up and back on the dance floor by Friday night. He even attended the largest Friday Night Supper Club in history. There were 6 people there. Including 3 people that had never made it to a Friday Night Supper Club function before. Jen, Derrick, and Sara now have FNSC Auxillary Member Status. 

Jesse did not make it to Friday Night Supper Club because he had his nose broken Friday morning. It was on purpose. It wasn’t like he had lipped off to some dude and got regulated. A doctor busted him up good and attempted to rearrange some of the nose parts so that he can breathe better and make him a little bit softer on the eyes. 

I got the pleasure of hanging out in the Ambulatory Waiting Room with Kelly and Mary while the doctors were working him over. It was through a conversation with Kelly that I learned more about his lying, scheming ways. Also I got more ammunition for the Bandwagoner side of the Jesse Howard: Bandwagoner or Innovator debate. Wives sometimes talk too much. 

Kelly also regaled me a tale that I will file in my memory banks under the “Great Easter War”. I will not retell the tale at this time, but it might make its way into a short story collection in a bookstore near you. 

Last night after work I headed to a park to test out my new camera bag. Once I got to the park I realized I couldn’t test my new bag out because the only thing I had brought with me was my camera and the new bag. I hadn’t brought my old bag that was full of goodies. I was looking forward to doing some bird photography, but that dream was effectively snuffed out by the fact that I had left my telephoto lens in my old camera bag. Therefore I was stuck with only my 50mm lens to try to capture images. The 50mm is a great lens, but birds are known cowards. I believe that they are the first known draft dodgers. 

Due to their well documented cowardice (sometimes known as migration but really draft dodging) it is difficult to get close to them with out them taking off. So below are the best pictures I could muster out of the experience. They are failures. I know this fact. 

This is going to sound slightly harsh, but it was nice to see a collection of deer without injuries. There is quite an assortment of deer that live in the woods behind my current place of employment. Almost all of them suffer from at least one injured leg.  

I have had difficulty in getting back in my mode to finish up this mostly uninteresting tale. It has been over a week since most of this stuff has transpired. My memory of the events may be more than a little bit foggy. I’ll do my best recollect these events because in the last few weeks I have received the following comments to my face:

“See. I really do read your blog.”

“Kelly thought your commentary about Jay was spot on.”

“I can’t wait to hear about your lunch with Bill W.”

“I didn’t say ‘let’s go get a salad’!”

I’m not entirely sure that I’ve been able to get back into my mode. Once I’m out of my mode I can’t force myself back. All I can do is create conditions that are conducive to getting my mode back into effect. So I’m listening to a little Otis Redding and I’m typing away. If that doesn’t help me get back to my mode, it might be gone forever.

I believe the last time I took keyboard in hand in a creative direction I had just concluded my Oscar analysis. The Oscar analysis that moved people so much that not a single person decided to offer an opinion on what the most tragic ending to the movie “Blood Diamond” would be. This can mean only one of a few things.

#1. Nobody actually made it to the bottom of Part II.

#2. After getting to the end of Part II everybody was so emotionally exhausted that they couldn’t bring themselves to offer an opinion to a simple multiple choice question.

#3. Nobody thinks that what happens with conflict diamonds is tragic. Perhaps the real tragedy in their minds is that not enough innocents are murdered and enslaved.

I don’t know. I’ll just accept that despite the claims of some to the contrary, these writings exist in a vacuum.

I’ll just get back to the business of this writing, which is to weave the tale of my existence and recent exploits. Although, I’m sure there is somebody out there with a dictionary right now claiming that the events that have passed through my experience lately can hardly be considered exploits. More than anything they are a monument to a culture of consumerism and an attitude of narcissism. Except for making soap, that was certainly an accomplishment. Eating shrimp at the Oscar party was also an accomplishment. I’m telling you, these things were massive.

We left the formal Oscar party and made our way back to Jen and Derrick’s homestead. I believe we reached their front door pretty close to midnight. I entered the living room to see Jen’s first completed project from her stained glass class. She had made a stepping stone. I knew that this was the first project and I was always a little bit suspicious. How do you make something for stepping on out of stained glass?

She brought it up from the basement where it had been curing. Curiously this was the second time this weekend I had heard about something being left in the basement to cure. This time I did not see an activity known as “catproofing” though.

It was pretty amazing. I’m a stained glass man from way back and I was impressed. The stained glass was placed in concrete. The design was a butterfly. This is a particularly difficult design because it is symmetrical. This meant that for every piece of glass that Jen cut she had to also cut an identical piece for the opposite side. She did an amazing job. I am eager for the future stained glass night where we make our own coasters. Although I confess not being sure that I am up to the challenge.

There was one other curious thing about this stepping stone. The concrete was extremely smooth. Maybe I’m impressed by strange things, but there isn’t a trick to making the concrete turn out so smooth. You don’t sand it. That is the way it hardens. It is naturally that smooth.

I went home and crashed, not anticipating much of consequence to transpire on the following day.

I woke up on Monday and headed into the computer mine. My only hope was to make it through yet another day of arduous labor without developing the dreaded Silicon Lung. Jesse approached me and delivered some good news. Bill W. would be joining us for lunch.

Let me stop and make a point here. I’m not calling this man Bill W. because that is his name. I do not wish to be forthcoming with his actual identity because I might in my haste of writing this thing, blurt out some private information. You see Bill W. had stopped in Ames on his way home from the Twin Cities where he had a date with a lady friend. I will be coy with his true identity because he may or not be on the prowl with this lady.  There is a nearly infinitesimally small chance that she might happen upon this blog and read some of the things I’m about to put down about Bill W. and his attempts to make this date something a little bit more substantial. I don’t want to kill Bill W.’s game. Not that I think that is a likely outcome. I just want to hedge my bets. For that reason my friend will remain unidentified and I will refer to them by the name Bill W. as homage to the man who founded Alcoholics Anonymous.

My subscriber from Mankato was most interested in this bit of the tale. I’m not going to go into much detail about the lunch. There isn’t much to tell. He came to the mine. We went to Hickory Park with Jesse and Willy. We asked him questions about his weekend. Some details I won’t recount. There is one detail that I wish to recount. It is actually a question of strategy.

Bill W. is a fan of bored* games. So is his lady friend. While he was visiting her they played a series of games. In fact they played a best of 13 series. When he told me this fact I was quite shocked. I didn’t know they had made 13 different bored games. Off the top of my head all I can name is Trivial Pursuit, Sorry, Life, Chess, Monopoly, Candyland, and Sammy the White House Mouse. I have heard the beginnings of descriptions of other games. However, usually about 2 words out of the other person’s mouth I’m sound asleep. I might not have the best survival instincts, but my instincts for avoiding a boring night are as sharp as the sting of a whip.

Now I’m going to throw up a red flag. I am about to get into some territory that if you don’t know me very well could be described as sexist. It might not be in the next paragraph, but it will be there soon enough. You will know it when you get to it.

Bill W. claims that when they got to the climax of the evening AKA the rubber match, he threw the contest so that his lady friend came out as the winner. Let us not dwell on the veracity of his statement. Let us merely question whether or not that this was correct strategy. At this point we are going to have to talk in generalizations. I concede that all people are individuals. So my next question should be viewed at the aggregate level.

I also need to make the following distinction. My question is related to competitions where men and women are able to compete on an equal plane. Not in activities where men have to make a concerted effort to make the competition close. Of course, I’m talking about activities like basketball, naming the starting third baseman of the 1984 National League Champion San Diego Padres, driving, or mathematics.

My question is simply: Did Bill W. make the wise move? Was it savvy? Should he have let his female friend win the deciding game or should he have won?

This is a question that when it has been discussed in a few of my social circles has gotten some spirited debate and wildly varying answers. If you got an opinion please weigh in.

I understand that this is a small part of the “game”, but I’m curious if people think this piece of the game was well played or muffed.

After the meal Bill W. went on his merry way and I returned to work. The rest of Monday passed without incident until my bowling league.

You may remember that from past writings that I have clearly established myself as the worst bowler in the league. Despite my efforts to scuttle the team we arrived at the alley on Monday as the 1^st Place team in the Pioneer League. We were matching up with a team that possessed the moniker “Giant Killers”. Before the game began one of their representatives ambled over to our table and told us to “Note the name.  We’re called the Giant Killers for a reason.”

Even though this bravado was laughable, I figured out that there team name wasn’t derived from  a story involving the climbing of a beanstalk or taking down a Philistine.  However, he insisted on continuing to allow words to escape from his mouth.

“We always beat first place teams.”

Great.  Don’t really care.  Take zero pride in my bowling and I’m not here to win any trophies.  I just want to hang out with the guys at my table.  We bowled pretty well. They didn’t. This meant halfway through the second game they quit. Yeah, they finished the games physically, but mentally and emotionally they were beat. They spent most of their time complaining about how throw a couple members of our team throw the ball. Well Mike is in his 60s. Jim is in his 50s. They aren’t going to throw the ball like somebody in their 20s. One of their team members took to throwing the ball as slowly as he could. I was leery about joining this league at the beginning of the year because of my limited bowling aptitude, but I have to say that this was the first unpleasant experience I have had all year.

I always have to shower when I get home from the bowling alley. I can not tolerate smelling like an ashtray. It always makes me want to vomit. It is the same way I feel every time the announcers point out that Michael Taylor has broken Dedric Willoughby’s consecutive games with a 3 pointer streak. At least I can wash the cigarette smoke smell off.

This tale is almost completed. I only need to cover my lunch with my Private Climatologist and his analysis of “An Inconvenient Truth”, but that will wait until the exciting conclusion of this tale in Part IV.

I will just wrap up this section of the tale with a small discussion of the Lenten Study Group I’ve joined on Tuesday nights. I was a little bit leery of joining this group because my previous experiences with Bible Study groups hadn’t been super swell. However, this is really the first time that I’ve joined a group at my own church strangely enough.

I was a bit worried because when I walked in to the room I was the youngest person in the room by 10 years. However, I’m really glad I went because our Associate Pastor Andrea said something that really helped me re-order some things in my head. What she said I’ll leave for a discussion at a later time. If you are really interested e-mail me and I’ll let you know.

I enjoyed myself enough that I’ve decided to continue going. Tonight we went 30 minutes over because of a heated discussion of the meaning of the term “citizen of heaven” in the Philippians verse we were discussing.

So I’ll leave it at that for now.

To Be Continued . . . .

* In the haste to get what I’ve got to say out there by any mean necessary I frequently stumble with words, grammar, and homonyms. I assure you 100% that the misspelling of board games by spelling it as bored games was 100% on purpose. In other words, I hate me some board games.