For Some, Not Others. Continued.

DID YOU KNOW:


The Manson Family Ranch still exists. It is not on private property.

You can literally just go out to the ranch and wander around. There is nothing to stop you.



Feel free to go and view the bathroom sink Charles Manson hid under like a coward when authorities came to arrest him and his followers for the Tate/Labianca murders.

For Some, Not Others

The VW Beetle used by notorious serial killer Ted Bundy in over 15 murders has recently gone on display at the National Museum of Crime and Punishment.




Morbid Fascination? It would be hard to argue an interest in this exhibit as stemming from anything else. Especially if viewing the beetle is the reason someone went to the museum in the first place.

That said, if I'm ever in the Washington D.C. area, I'm probably going to swing by the Crime and Punishment Museum. Mainly because I want to see Ted Bundy's Beetle.

In my opinion the next logical step is to open up walking tours of John Wayne Gacy's crawlspace. I'll be there.

Why would you ever get in a car with this guy? No thanks man, I can walk.

Georgia Southern Students Embrace "Drinking For A Good Cause"

On Saturday Feb. 13, the scene at J.B. Partalis's house in the Statesboro, Georgia looked like your run of the mill college party. $1, please, for a plastic cup to drink from the keg. Most of the time this fee is meant to reimburse the hosts of the gathering who likely paid for the keg out of their own pocket.

Sometimes, however, the "better angles of our nature" show themselves.

J.B. is no stranger to an energetic birthday bash. For the 25th anniversiary of his arrival on Earth, however, he wanted to do something different.

All of the money collected at the party went to the St. Judes children fund. Over 300 dollars were raised.

Apparently I'm Supposed to Know Everything About Your Personal LIife

Amanda Bynes recently tweeted these statements:
(following tweets are verbatim)

"it's amaziing how good it feels when someone knows how to love your body! I am having withdrawals from a certain guy lol :)"

"So turns out i prefer chocolate over vanilla. interesting."

"FYI if any girls are mad that I like "chocolate" they need to seriously get OVER it. sorry you can't have all the chocolate to yourself:)"

I am uninterested in the specific subject of the tweets. I don't care what race Amanda Bynes prefers to date or is currently dating.

What confounds me is the fact that she would tweet what seems fairly private matters. It sort of blows the lid off my philosophy that such things are none of my business. Instead these intimate matters are made my business by putting them on the internet for public consumption.

Last week I was standing in a line to get food and not 1 foot from where I was standing a girl discussed her previous nights escapades with her ex-boyfriend at what I can only call significant volume. I could not have ignored her if I had tried.

I guess I'm confused. But then again when everyone else's sex lives, substance abuse habits, and psych issues are out there to be known maybe its normal to assume that you must put yours out there as well. Maybe it's a social thing.

I don't know who said it first, but I am reminded of a quote I once heard from a man I consider a wise source:
"When everyone is compromised no one is compromised."

TAKE ME DOWN THE THE PARADISE CITY

SPRING TRAINING COMETH




One of my favorite times of the year is nearly upon us. A time when I am filled with a youthful enthusiasm for life in general. That time: Major League Baseball Spring Training.

For many people it symbolizes a new beginning. I personally have a romanticized vision of ballplayers return from a winter exodus where they had scattered to the winds,converging on the states of Florida and Arizona to begin the yearly ritual anew.

Like when Dohnny Damon returned to Red Sox spring training in 2004 sporting a new look after apparently spending the off season on a spiritual quest somewhere in the Himalayas.



Veterans return to warm up and try and recalibrate their aging bodies and tap the residual skill that still exists in their bat or pitching arm, preparing for another 162 game six month marathon.

Rookies and minor leaguer's are there to strut their stuff in competition against each other and against the established veterans, hoping to win a spot on the roster or at least catch the eye of management. Remember each major league club as at least 5 minor league affiliates of 25 or more players all chasing the same dream. The dream of playing baseball at the Major League Level, of reaching "The Show"

Some, like myself, develop superstitions in their quest for greatness. PRAISE JOBU.

Nighthawks at the Waffle House

I am an extremely predictable man. I possess consistent habits. Those habits morph over time, but my adherence to them during the time frame that I have them is admirable.



Take my wardrobe for example. My final three years of high school I decided I was the modern version of the Clint Eastwood character from "The Man with No Name" western film trilogy. My daily dress consisted of a baseball cap, collared dress shirt,athletic shorts, dark aviator sunglasses, flip flops regardless of temperature (but preferably barefoot if possible) and an Afghan blanket that I wore tied around my neck for napping purposes. I was known affectionately as "The Goat".

Picture a combination of Pig Pen and Linus of the Charlie Brown comics.

































Except this is how I thought I looked. Note the discrepancy between my perceptions and reality.




These days my strict routine involves frequent visits to the Waffle House. I probably average about 5 visits a week and between 2 and 6 hours per visit.

Why?

The Waffle House appeals to me for several reasons. The main one is my curiosity. My fascination about various experiences and life paths of the people that pass through. The trajectories of our universes intersecting just long enough for a brief meal and conversation.

My opening description of my high school dress habits is meant to impart the idea that I have not taken an average trajectory through life. As such feel at home with the hodge podge of characters who frequent the waffle house along with myself. We come together and exist in a void. The nights pass imperceptibly. As Yogi Berra might say, nightime is not like the daytime. There is no sun moving through the sky to indicate the passage of time. Only the clock on the wall tells us, and that alone is not sufficient to stave off the feeling of existing in a vacuum, withdrawing into the abyss of night.

Thus, we are Nighthawks at the Waffle House, and famous painting is alive in the Southeastern United States. And it looks a lot like this:

My opinion on the Tiger Woods scandal has not changed since December 1. When I found out that alcohol or drugs were not a factor in the car accident that started this avalanche, the rest of the details became none of my business. And probably none of yours either.