Remember me?

I'm fine, everything's perfectly all right now.  We're fine.  We're all fine here now, thank you.  How are you?

10 points to your house if you get the reference...

I feel the need to greet you formally as a means of kicking off this particular blog post seeing as how it's been more than a month since my prose graced your eyes, and quite frankly I'm a bit bummed out about that.  I felt like I was getting on something of a roll with my entries to this blog and I felt rather upset about not having had the free time to keep that momentum going. (At least I'm doing better than I was when I was attempting to run a full site of my own - I paid for hosting for almost a year and a half on a site that I didn't touch for lack of time to do anything with it.) This may seem like a trivial thing to certain people, putting your innermost thoughts out into the ether for God only knows who to read them, but I rather enjoy the experience as I've grown to be fairly fond of writing.  I don't need to be sitting on a psychiatrist's couch to vocalize my feelings, I just need an open network protocol with access to this here Internet thingie.

To say that the last few weeks have been tumultuous at times would be a vast understatement.  Some of it was the good kind of tumult, which is when you're busy and wrapped up in things that bring you joy or that you otherwise appreciate the opportunity to be involved with.  Of course in life we can't have the good without our fair share of the negative - there was plenty of sadness to be had in the time between now and when I last wrote as well.

Back in the middle of June, my wife (Jill/Wifey/J-Tru, if you don't know her - you should really read her blog, too, if you don't already) and I made our annual trip to Pirate Land Campground in Myrtle Beach, SC for a week-long vacation.  This is a tradition which we've picked up from her family as they make something of a yearly pilgrimage to this same campground and have done so for the better part of Jill's lifetime.  When I say "her family", it helps if I can give you a gauge of just how many people we're talking about because it's significantly more than what you're probably thinking.  The caravan of campers that migrates from Lugoff, SC to Myrtle Beach is between 7 and 10 units strong; I have to leave myself some leeway with the estimation by saying it's between X and Y because I know I'd be wrong if I tried to assign a specific value (yes, that's my way of admitting that I have no idea who some of her family members are - the extended ones, mostly - even though we've been together for almost three years now).  Figure in that there will be anywhere from 2 to 6 people staying in each of those campers and you start to get an idea of how many people are included in this trek.  It's an impressive assembly and it makes for a great event seeing as how it seems that so few people do something like this these days.

I'll never forget the first time I joined Jill's family on this trip because it was my first legitimate camping experience.  No, I've never slept in a tent and I never intend to do so.  Yes, this was a "camping experience" in that we stayed in Jill's parents camper.  While that might not count as roughing it for some people, I will counter your snide remarks contradicting my seasoned camper status by letting you know that I did sleep on the floor of the camper for the duration of that first trip.  I was on an air mattress with a pillow and positioned directly under an air conditioning vent, mind you, but still on the floor!

Since that trip, Jill and I have moved on from staying with her parents to renting a camper that's on one of the permanent sites within Pirate Land.  The campers on these sites have been modified so that they don't resemble campers in many cases.  They feature Florida rooms, improved bathroom facilities, custom kitchens, and a range of other amenities.

The camper we rent is in an absolutely picturesque area as it is nestled in between several trees and situated immediately beside an inlet.  Not surprisingly, the trees are home to quite a few squirrels and these squirrels have become a welcome, albeit noisy addition to memories of our beach vacations.  They will often drop their acorns onto the metal roof of the camper then drop down and trot across in an attempt to reclaim their lost vittles.  The first time we heard them do this we had literally no idea what was going on and it startled us (we lovingly refer to them as terrorists).  I would never claim to know much about fishing (seeing as how I do it so infrequently that I have to ask Jill to give me a refresher on the operation of the reel; she grew up with a master fisherman in the form of my father in-law, who is a talented angler and sportsman), although the inlet has allowed me to do something I hadn't done since I was a boy fishing on the banks of a pond back home with my Grandpa.  We have yet to catch a fish (we know they're there seeing as how they routinely jump out of the water as if to taunt us with their refusal to take the bait) but that doesn't make the experience any less enjoyable.

Jill's family has many traditions that they engage in while at the beach, my favorite of which involves everyone getting together for breakfast each morning (I know, it's shocking that I would enjoy an event centered around bacon above so many others).  The most prominent traditions that Wifey & I have developed on our own for our beach vacations are: 1) a trip to Medieval Times Dinner & Tournament and 2) the Annual Truesdale Myrtle Beach Putt-Putt Challenge Championship.

Jill and I are both fans of professional wrestling and Medieval Times isn't too far removed from wrestling, but at Medieval Times you get served a fantastic meal while the action is unfolding before you, making it instantly better than most wrestling cards.  Vegetable soup, garlic bread, an oven-roasted half chicken, ribs, baked potato, and desert - it's a meal fit for a king, which is appropriate seeing as how it's customary for everyone to wear paper crowns while you're there.  If you've never been to MT, I highly recommend it.  It's not exactly a cheap date, however it is a lot of fun and a unique experience.

Wifey & I at Medieval Times - BLUE KNIGHT, FTW!

The Annual Truesdale Myrtle Beach Putt-Putt Challenge Championship (or ATMBPPCC for short) is an event that evolved from Wifey and myself placing wagers on our putt-putt matches. (Not wagers in a monetary sense, rather things like doing the dishes for a week.) During our first vacation to Pirate Land, Jill may or may not have conned me into a  bet by having us play on the course located within the campground.  Keep in mind that Jill and her family have been coming to Pirate Land for upwards of 10 years - point being, she had an advantage over me in that she knew the course whereas I was flying blind.  She bested me that day, but rest assured I haven't forgotten her clever maneuver...

Since that first match we've taken to playing at random courses so as to even the playing field.  In addition, we've changed the format from a one match scenario to a best 2-out-of-3 contest.  For the 2010 edition of the ATMBPPCC, we played at Cancun Lagoon and Jurassic Golf with yours beardly pulling out a pair of close victories to take home the title.  This year, I decided it was time to build the legacy of the ATMBPPCC by making it more than just a made up championship with an absurdly long acronym by creating a trophy to represent it.

The ATMBPPCC trophy - Lord Stanley's cup is officially weaksauce!

The fine folks over at A-1 Custom Trophies assembled that beauty for us.  Their handy online utility for designing a trophy of your own is an excellent tool as you'll be able to see your trophy before it's constructed.

Round one of the 2011 ATMBPPCC was held at Jungle Safari Golf.  It was appropriate that we selected a course with an Amazonian-theme seeing as how the weather in Myrtle Beach was what you'd expect to encounter in the jungles of some far-off land, that being humid, hot, and generally unpleasant. (Adding to these environmental hazards was the fact that we were down-wind of smoke coming off of a large wildfire north of Myrtle Beach that was drifting south along the coast.) Indeed, the air was so thick with moisture and heat that I would describe the experience as walking around in a bucket of hot water. (To quote Matthew Broderick's character from the 1988 film Biloxi Blues, "Man it's hot. It's like Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't take this kind of hot.") Our matches always seem to be close and this one was no different.  I prevailed and by the narrowest of margins, a single stroke, despite being drenched with sweat and feeling like the inside of a used gym sock.

To her credit, I believe Wifey may have been a bit put off her game by the fact that about mid-way through the match a young lady driving by gave me a cat call - yes, a quite scandalous turn of events it was, but far be it from me to deny a strategic advantage of any sort.  Nevertheless, we moved on to round two which was played at Captain Hook's Adventure Golf.

Putt-putt is, as you would expect, a very popular past time around Myrtle Beach as it is an activity anyone, families on vacation in particular, can do and enjoy (this despite the expense involved - I'd like someone to explain to me why it costs $20 for 2 people to play one round of mini-golf; for that price I should get a commemorative mug or something equally useless that would at least let me feel like I received something of value for my money).  As it would turn out, the evening we played at Captain Hook's was a busy one as our match took more than 2 hours to complete.  Jill and I were both feeling the effects of the prolonged match as we were growing frustrated not only with those players ahead of us but with the course itself.  Captain Hook's is not a cakewalk by any means; I can appreciate a course with a decent amount of difficulty, but certain of the holes there seemed to have been designed to cause grief more than anything.

Yet again, our scores were close throughout most of the match.  The sixteenth hole would prove to be Wifey's ultimate undoing in this, the second round of the 2011 ATMBPPCC, as its cup was set upon a plateau that featured several treacherous contours. She was forced to take the maximum stroke count for the hole, giving me a clear advantage going into the final two stages.  I was able to hold off her attempt at a rally despite having not been able to finish the game as my ball went careening off the course during the eighteenth hole, nowhere to be found.  With that, I won my second straight ATMBPPCC title and I look forward to defending this prestigious championship again next year!

Yours Beardly with the ATMBPPCC trophy

Our beach trip was not without a bit of drama.  Jill's Grandmother became ill and was forced to spend a majority of the week in an area hospital.  She gave us all a scare and it was rough goings for a few days but the silver lining of the situation was that she had plenty of family around to assist her and stay with her.  She's since made a full recovery from those ailments and is back in the comfort of her home with her husband.

The weeks after our beach vacation were mostly normal.  Jill and I went back to work, returning to our everyday grind, wishing all the while we could be back on vacation.  Not long after getting back home I received a jury duty summons for municipal court.  Some people might cringe at an assignment like that but I was genuinely looking forward to it.  I'd served as a juror years ago and found the legal process fascinating with all its posturing and technicalities.  It appealed to my meticulous nature, I guess you could say.  This more recent experience would prove to be far less rewarding.

I reported for jury duty as instructed (Commanded?) and went through the usual attendance-taking procedure. (I was shocked at how many people didn't appear; there were probably 70 names called with barely over half being present.) When it came time to hear the first case it turned out that the prosecutor was forced to ask for a continuance because an officer who was to testify before the court didn't show up.  The defense rejected the offer for a continuance and the judge agreed that all parties had had plenty of advance knowledge of the trial to have made it to the proceedings on time.  With that the juror pool was dismissed until after lunch.  When we all returned, the second case of the day appeared to be lined up and ready for launch - or so it was until the defense attorney mentioned to the judge that he had "a matter" which he needed to address with him regarding the case, and he recommended that the jury pool be dismissed while they discussed the "matter".  The judge called both attorneys into his chambers where they would stay for nearly 90 minutes.  An hour and a half isn't a brief intermission when you're sitting in what amounts to a church pew with no padding on it whatsoever, which is why I got up and walked around for a while until the counselors and judge returned.  We (the jurors) were told that because of the "matter" the case would not be heard.  Myself and the rest of the juror pool were dismissed for the remainder of the week.  We never found out what the "matter" was, much to my chagrin (I would've liked to have found out if for no other reason than to satisfy my own curiosity).  Late last week I received my payment for having been a willing juror - a whole $6.  I haven't cashed the check yet, mainly because I don't quite feel like I did anything deserving of being paid, but I may do so sometime this week so I can go buy myself a Snickers and a Pepsi.

Two weeks after our vacation, Jill & I received word that my Grandmother had been taken to Springs Memorial Hospital in Lancaster, SC with elevated blood pressure and blood sugar levels.  She'd had episodes similar to this in the past and had been able to shake them off after a few days of treatment, so I didn't think it was much more than the same.  This was far worse, it would turn out.

My childhood was different than most in that my Mom (who had gotten a divorce from my "sperm donor" as I've grown to call him over the years) and I lived with my Grandparents.  My Grandfather passed away in 1993, and after that it was just the three of us.  Mom was an elementary school teacher (a damn good one, too) and for the bulk of my formative years I spent time at home with my Grandma while Mom was working.  We'd go shopping, out to eat, to the movies - I basically became her traveling buddy and I loved it. (My Grandma loved to travel, especially throughout the old West, as proven by the fact that she'd taken numerous bus tours across the United States.) That said, it's easy to see why I've felt as if I had two moms for my entire life.

My Grandma & I on vacation, somewhere near the mountains of North Carolina or Tennessee

My Grandma, myself, and my Mom on one of our many trips to Florida

My Grandma and I with George W. Bush before he was President

Jill and I drove to Lancaster the Sunday after Grandma was taken to the hospital.  We'd learned that she might have possibly had a stroke as she had stopped moving the left side of her body but the main concern was that she had developed a blood infection.  I can't describe how difficult it was seeing her when we arrived at the hospital.  I don't think any members of our family were prepared for her health to have taken such an immediate turn for the worse.  She seemed to have been fine in the days prior and yet here she was suddenly struggling to breathe, to live.

My Grandma passed away two days later, Tuesday, July 12.  She was such a vivacious, strong woman who lived her life to the fullest, and I miss her very much.

Grandma died exactly one month to the day after Sara Edwards, a dear friend of hers, had passed.  She missed her friend, and she missed her husband.  I hope they're all together again now in a much better place than here.

Jill and I have added a new member to our family, a furry, four-legged son as we've begun to refer to him.  Roddy "Hot Rod" Truesdale, a miniature dachshund who is of the black & tan variety but who also has a very unique set of dapple markings.  We adopted him from Johnnie & Allan Judy who operate Rosegarden Dachshunds out of Lugoff, SC.  He was born May 17, 2011 and as of this writing he's about 10 weeks old.  So far he's proving to be quite the smartie as he's already picked up on some basic lessons and is learning to play fetch with a set of mini-tennis balls.  Needless to say, we're looking forward to spoiling him and making him feel loved.

Jill & I on the day we picked up Roddy

If you've managed to read this entire blog entry I commend you because I'm not sure that even I would want to read something of this length unless I was coerced into doing so.  I feel like I should be posting a coupon for a free order of Crazy Bread from Little Caesar's or something similar as a reward. (Not that I have that kind of authority, just that it would seem appropriate.) This is what happens when I let too much material accumulate, I churn out a blog that's the length of Yao Ming's legs.  I'll try to do better with being more concise in the future.  Maybe.  If I feel like it, that is.  Which is doubtful, honestly.

WWE Tough Enough 2011 was rigged...

Possibly rigged - I forgot to put the "possibly" in that headline on purpose, see, because making a bold claim therein then retcon-ing the thing in the body of a blog post is allowable since this sort of journalism (Stop laughing, I mean it!) is all about grabbing people's attention...And making things up to suit your opinion on a given matter, obviously, although I think I've got a pretty good angle going here.

WWE's Tough Enough program - a reality show wherein contestants (some with prior professional wrestling training and others without) compete for a WWE talent contract, if you weren't aware - originally aired in 2001 and enjoyed success across four seasons and multiple networks before being put on hiatus.  The show was a launching pad for several well known WWE Superstars including such names as The Miz and John Morrison, and what's more it gave true hope to aspiring wrestlers who perform in slummy venues for crooked promoters that the day might come when they too would have a chance to show off their skills, perhaps to earn their way onto the WWE roster.  It was a great concept that came around at the right moment as reality programming was all the rage in the United States at the time.  So, naturally, when WWE announced earlier this year that they were bringing Tough Enough back, fans and wrestlers alike took notice with many sending in audition tapes praying that their submission might be enough to draw the interest of the biggest professional wrestling company on the planet.

The cast of the 2011 edition of WWE Tough Enough wound up consisting of 14 individuals with some interesting backgrounds as they relate to wrestling and television.  From the research I've conducted (i.e., I Google'd it), it appears as though only one member of the cast had no prior wrestling experience and had never been on a reality show previously (Ariane Andrew, who has been famously quoted as stating her favorite wrestling match of all time - yes, OF ALL TIME - is Alicia Fox vs. Melina).  Of the remaining 13 cast-mates, 7 had training and exposure to the independent professional wrestling scene, 3 had been on TV as part of other programs (Michelle Deighton, "America's Next Top Model"; Rima Fakih, Miss USA pageant; Jeremiah Riggs, "The Ultimate Fighter: Team Rampage vs. Team Forrest" ), and 3 had spent some length of time as members of the Florida Championship Wrestling roster.

This last grouping is the one that leads me to my original point of the show having been rigged all along.  FCW is the official developmental territory of WWE.  To put it in baseball terminology, FCW is the farm system of WWE.  It is where wrestlers with the potential for possibly being worthy of putting onto one of the company's weekly programs are brought for further training and evaluation. (Signing on with FCW does not guarantee a shot at the big-time as many talents have gotten developmental deals only to be let go later on.) They are signed to exclusive contracts (meaning they can't work for any other promotion) and are paid by WWE, just like their colleagues on WWE's main roster.

All this having been said, wouldn't you think it might be a little bit mischievous on the part of WWE to select someone who was technically already one of their employees as the winner of a contest like Tough Enough?  Because that's exactly what they did - meet Andrew Leavine, previously known as FCW talent Kevin Hackman.

He fell into a vat of baby oil the day the picture at left was taken, I'm guessing...

Leavine signed on with FCW around August of 2010 and spent several months with the promotion working under the Kevin Hackman gimmick (the image above is a screen capture of his wrestler profile on FCW's website which was removed after his termination but still visible thanks to how Google caches web pages).  He was involved with a handful of matches but from what I've been able to tell he was never the recipient of a significant push.  Then in February of this year he was released from his contract with FCW - filming for Tough Enough 2011 began that same month.

Andy, as he was known on Tough Enough, was your typical uninteresting, fly below the radar member of a reality show cast; never once did he raise a ruckus or do anything that would make the audience dislike him as he was billed as the family man who was taking this opportunity seriously (he went so far as to declare himself as being straight edge while on the show) in order to give his wife and kids a better life.  He came off as being somewhat bland even though he'd given himself the gimmick of "Silent Rage" and didn't appear to be all that comfortable when confronted with the chance to speak for himself before the show's judges (there were several other members of the cast who excelled in that particular area of performance).  What he may have lacked in terms of presence or charisma he made up for with his size and physical gifts as the 6'5" former collegiate offensive lineman is a true athlete.  Despite his flaws and having been put into the bottom-three ranking contestants the final two weeks of the show, Leavine would be declared the ultimate winner of Tough Enough 2011.

Noticeable during the final episode of the show was the fact that Andy appeared to have been living in a gym from the point in time that he and the other contestants left the training facility where the bulk of the program had been filmed.  By contrast, Luke Robinson - the eventual runner-up to Leavine - looked to have actually lost a fair amount of muscle tone and conditioning in the gap between principal photography and the finale.  Consider that Andy was already living in Florida when this series began.  He might not have had a developmental contract with WWE at that point, however I somehow doubt that he would've been denied access to FCW's facilities and staff.  Not to say that Luke couldn't have gone home to Maine and engorged himself on a diet of cheeseburgers and beer, but to say that the deck wasn't stacked against him would be misguided.

Injuries happen in wrestling, unfortunately, and several of the top contenders from this season of Tough Enough were taken out of action due to mishaps in the ring.  Had those injuries not happened, I sincerely believe the outcome of the show would've been different.  That said, the concept of a ringer or plant on a show like Tough Enough who could be something of a contingency plan shouldn't have shocked me the way it did when I found out that Andy was essentially already on his way to becoming a WWE Superstar.  This is the world of professional wrestling we're talking about, after all, meaning that if there was ever a scenario where a likely winner was chosen before the starting bell had even been rung it would be this one.  Which makes me wonder, should this actually bother me?  Should I care that something as trivial as a TV show turned out the way it did?

I've watched a great many young talents come through the Carolinas who are at least as talented as anyone who was on Tough Enough 2011, if not more so.  In my heart of hearts, I wanted this show to be an example of how dream fulfillment is still possible with hard work and a little luck on your side.  As it turns out, it was more of a slap in the face to every independent wrestler and a whole bunch of wishful thinkers who took the time to put together submission materials to get onto the show, daring to believe even for a moment that they might actually have a chance at participating, much less winning this contest.  With any luck this show will be cancelled, again, hopefully for good this time.

An Offer for Credit Card Companies

It's been said that "money is what makes the world go 'round".  In reality, what makes the world "go 'round" are the effects of gravity and inertia from the rotation of the sun which was applied to the planets of our solar system when they were created many, many eons ago.  Money, as it turns out, doesn't actually do much of anything seeing as how it's an inanimate object the value of which is a complete machination of mankind's foolishness.  There's two things that truly do go together, though - money and foolishness.

I have two credit cards, which I gather from watching television and reading various news reports is quite out of the ordinary when compared to the majority of the population.  If those sources are to be believed (and I trust them about as much as I'd trust a hungry lion to watch Rusty, my blind pet cow who also happens to have bad knees), it seems as if most folks in the good ol' U-S-of-A have anywhere from 4 to 7 of the things with an average total balance around $15,000.

And people wonder how the economy got to where it is right now...

Personally, I don't much believe in the concept of buying things you can't afford with money that isn't your own, hence my only having two credit cards.  One of my cards is an in-store account I used to purchase my beloved big screen television, which I paid off in less than a year and incurred no interest or finance charges as a result.  I haven't used that card since then and honestly don't plan on using it again any time soon.  The other card I applied for as a result of having to purchase a certain piece of jewelry in order to get a certain someone to agree to spend the rest of her life putting up with my shenanigans and roguishness (Hi, honey!).  I've used it for a few other emergency scenarios along the way, but even so my outstanding balance as of this writing is less than $2,000. (I also have no other debts to speak of - no car payment, no student loans, nothing.)

Why don't I buy more things with it?  Trust me, there's plenty I'd like to have, such as a Canon PowerShot SX20IS.  One of the many odd things about me is that I suffer from an ailment known as buyer's remorse, meaning that after I've purchased something (no matter how big or small) I have immediate regrets and can't help but think of what else that money might have been used to obtain.  Even if the item in question is something I genuinely want, such as a Canon PowerShot SX20IS, I'm still going to feel that same way.  As a result of this, I've gotten to a point where I can talk myself out of buying virtually anything, including a Canon PowerShot SX20IS.  I conduct an internal cost vs. reward scenario and better than 98% of the time I wind up walking out of a store empty handed because of it.

Case in point, I've been going back and forth for almost a month now about whether or not to buy a new iPod (instead of a Canon PowerShot SX20IS).  Another ailment I suffer through is techno-envy, and it's been bothering me pretty badly here recently as I've been noticing a whole bunch of my fellow gym-folk roaming about our local YMCA with some really neat devices.  Regardless of that, the result of this conflict has been me putting a whole bunch of effort into resurrecting an old iPod Nano I bought years ago and modifying a cheap carrying case I picked up at Wal-Mart so that it would fit around my arm (because these guns are too big to be holstered in your average case).  $200 for a new iPod or $10 for a case so I can carry around my old iPod - this is my plight.

Of all the psychological issues I could've developed, I don't think this one is so bad.  Sure, there's a touch of depression involved, but at least I don't have creditors breathing down my neck wanting to know why I haven't made my payment yet.  Ultimately, the combination of my being fairly conservative when it comes to financial matters in general and my buyer's remorse are what keeps my spending habits in check as it relates to credit.

I don't get any help from the credit card companies, though, seeing as how they persistently tempt me with offers for new cards.  They are so persistent, in fact, that a while back I began hanging onto every credit card offer I received in the mail.

Attempted product placement - Pepsi, I <3 YOU!!!

What you see there is roughly eight months worth of mailers.  If this was actual SPAM and not the metaphorical kind, I'd have enough canned meat to keep a family of four fed for at least a month (note that I said "fed" and not "well nourished" as I'm fairly certain your colon would fling itself out of your belly button if you put that much SPAM through it).  I would not be so vain as to assume that I'm alone in receiving this sort of volume of mail from these companies.  I think I'm safe to assume that anyone who's shown at least a willingness to accept one credit card has made themselves a target for their promotions.  Unfortunately, I have yet to be sent an opt out form.

Consider that stack of mail and all that was involved in generating it.  The combined costs of time and energy needed to produce them, the materials involved in their manufacture, and the postage needed to send them from point A (which I'm assuming is somewhere between Hell and Purgatory) to point B (my mailbox) - I'm sure the amount of money we're talking about is no small sum, yet these creditors have displayed a genuine zeal for distributing their propaganda without care for whether or not it is effective in gathering new victi...Er, customers.  For this reason, I'm extending an offer to these companies.

ATTENTION CREDIT CARD COMPANIES!  Seeing as how I have no intention of making unnecessary usage of your products beyond what I currently have incurred and given that I recognize the frivolous nature of your continued efforts to woo me into the cantankerous and pustule-covered void that is your poisoned bosom, I propose a compromise.  I will accept a one-time payment of the estimated, combined costs of what you would've otherwise spent on sending me credit card offers for the remainder of my life in exchange for you never sending me another piece of unwanted mail ever again.

Given that I am currently 30 years old and accepting that the average life span for a male living in South Carolina is 71.62 years, I have approximately 41 years of life remaining.  Taking into account the current postage rate and the fact that I have received exactly 60 mailed offers over an 8 month period, it is calculated that $26.40 has been spent on postage alone for an average of $3.30 per month.  41 years equates to 499.44 months, which when multiplied by the average per month postage expense equals $1,648.15.  I assume that your processes are largely automated, meaning that these mailers are more than likely never touched by a human hand until they are prepared for delivery.  This being the case, it is difficult to calculate the cost of production.  Be that as it may, I am willing to assume that the amount will be in the area of $8,351.85.  Totaling the expense of postage with the estimated maintenance costs, the amount of money I've determined to be a suitable reparation is $10,000.

Please transmit these funds at your nearest convenience - I eagerly await your compliance with this most agreeable compromise.

NASCAR could learn a lot from...

I haven't had many positive things to say about NASCAR in recent years.  Simply put, the dynamic of the sport has changed and not for the better.  I was an avid fan in the mid-1990's and have attended several races, the highlight of those experiences being the 2000 edition of The Winston at Lowe's Motor Speedway (an event which has since been re-named The All-Star as a result of NASCAR's primary series having changed sponsors) where Dale Earnhardt, Jr. became the first rookie to ever win the event. (Indeed, the image of Dale Jr. celebrating the win with his father is particularly poignant seeing as how Dale Sr. lost his life as the result of a tragic incident the following year at the Daytona 500.) From their decision to develop and insist on the usage of the "Car of Tomorrow" (only to abandon it altogether) to their persistent rule changes which haven't so much evened the playing field (Er, track?) as they have taken away the ingenuity and cleverness once displayed by crew chiefs, the decisions that the powers-that-be within NASCAR have wound up making me generally disinterested in the sport.

And by "generally disinterested", I mean if I actually bother to tune in to a race there's about a 97.4% chance that I'm either not going to hang around until the end or, better yet, that having watched cars going in circles for a certain length of time will have put me into a near comatose state.

Not helping this at all is the fact that NASCAR has bred a modern generation of drivers who have all the personality of vanilla iced cream.  I blame Jeff Gordon for this, personally, as his emergence into the sport seemed to signal the dawn of the current era of drivers.  His successes as a driver made him desirable to sponsors but what set him apart was that he was seen as someone who could be a clean cut, baby-faced representative for companies who pay big money to have their logos and products featured on the cars.  Yet another example of how the almighty dollar is more important to professional sports than the quality of said sport.

When I started watching NASCAR (cue images of me as an old man talking down to some young whipper-snapper), we had drivers like Richard Petty, Darrell Waltrip, Dale Earnhardt, Rusty Wallace and many others who were as vibrant off the track as they were on it.  Nowadays, drivers seem to be culled from a mold as they all have essentially the same height, same build, same $50 haircut, same $500 sunglasses, and even the same arm-piece girlfriend.  I'll admit that there are a few exceptions to this; drivers such as Kevin Harvick and Tony Stewart can always be counted on to make things more interesting.  Be that as it may, the gestapo-esque overlords who run NASCAR always find a way to squelch their vivaciousness by way of penalties ranging from fines up to and including suspensions for doing anything they don't much approve of.  And heaven forbid they even think of expressing themselves with their fists in a bit of post-race activity - calm down boys, that's a definite no-no!

What spurred on this blog is something I noticed during driver introductions at the 2011 All-Star Race.  Watch the video below - pay close attention to the drivers as they make their way onto the stage and compare their mannerisms to that of their crews.

See what I mean?  For crying out loud, these guys look like they took a double-dose of Valium with a shot of vodka before they walked through the curtain!  These drivers are supposed to be the best of the best, the cream of the crop, too sweet to be sour and too cold to hold (RIP, "Macho Man" Randy Savage) but instead they look like they need someone to set their shoes on fire just to get them moving.  This in spite of the fact that they're walking across a stage that's loaded with projection screens, lights, fog, and enough fireworks to be seen from outer space - not to mention the notion that there are about 120,000 people in attendance and God only knows how many watching on television. (Another point worth bringing up is that this race was broadcast on a Saturday night, in prime time - on some level, NASCAR has to understand that they're competing for viewership and that people at home want to be entertained, not lulled to sleep.) You'd think all this would be enough to inspire them to do something, ANYTHING, to try and get the crowd into the event (seeing as how they've all been sitting in the stands for about 6 hours by this point in the evening; trust me when I say that races are an all-day event) but no, not them!  They're there on business and cannot be bothered with such silly frivolities.

It could be that they're simply timid individuals, which I can understand.  Not everyone has a talent for showmanship or the ability to get in front of a crowd without having a deer-in-headlights reaction.  For this reason, I'm making an official recommendation to NASCAR (because they're more likely to listen to my official recommendations instead of my casual ones - yeah, that's it) that they immediately institute a training program for all drivers with a curriculum based around a man who is individually responsible for some of the most energetic professional wrestling entrances of all time!

Yes, I'm suggesting that NASCAR drivers could learn a lot from the Ultimate Warrior - a guy who goes to work wearing underwear and enough tassels to make the members of a hair-metal band jealous with his face painted up as if he were some kind of Aboriginal witch doctor.  The point being that charisma means something when you're competing for people's expendable income that they choose to spend on entertainment.  Absurd as though it may sound, it wouldn't hurt if NASCAR had their own Ultimate Warrior.  The closest approximation to this that they have right now is Carl Edwards, driver of the #99 Ford Fusion who does a back-flip off the side of his car when he wins a race.  I'm not above suggesting that he begin doing the back-flip whilst on fire at this point because it's going to take a lot to get fans back interested in racing the way they were less than a decade ago.

People of the Gym

My wife and I have been members at our local YMCA ever since the doors were opened.  The objective of that last sentence being to artificially inflate the reader's perception of our experience level with this particular institution, seeing as how the YMCA of Orangeburg County has only been in operation since May of 2010.  Nevertheless, we are most definitely regulars at the Y - on average we make use of the facility at least four times a week, but during the summer months that figure climbs because of the fact that we make frequent visits to the natatorium and aquatic park.  The popularity of the Y being what it is (Orangeburg doesn't have much in the way of health clubs, so it was a real Godsend for something of this nature to come along) combined with our attendance rating has allowed us to encounter more than our fair share of, how you say, interesting personalities along the way.  Generally speaking, I've found that gym-folk fall into one of several categories.

[SIDE NOTE: If you're familiar with my typical commentary style, with this particular topic you might be expecting me to make light of stereotypes or otherwise pigeon-hole people into personality categories which may not be entirely accurate for the sake of comedy.  Congratulations, you just pigeon-holed yours beardly - welcome to the club! (Sadly, there will be no punch nor pie...)

I realize that my doing so may offend some people who take their training regimen seriously, however these are my observances and while I haven't engaged in a Freudian-esque study of personalities I feel like I've spent enough time around this particular population to have formed an educated (albeit admittedly misguided) opinion.  Thus, if you should find yourself feeling unfairly categorized, I'm sorry that you can't take a joke.]

+ Athletes

This category doesn't require much in the way of exposition as they are exactly what you'd expect - men and women who either are or were at one point in their lives involved in competitive sports, and who are working in an effort to hone their abilities.  They spend untold hours in the gym lifting weights and improving their cardiovascular conditioning.  Their bodies are amazing examples of human achievement in the realm of physical fitness.

I have a significant respect for athletes as they've dedicated their very existence, in some cases, to a specific activity and are quite skilled in most cases.  I also happen to loathe them because of the fact that I am an envious, out-of-shape, armchair-everything with self-image issues who hasn't been involved in competitive sports since youth league basketball (which was during a period in time where young players like myself were made to wear white shorts that hung just above the middle of the thigh as part of our uniforms).  I was a monster back then, I tell you - a veritable Dwight Howard amongst 9 year-olds!  Proof of this is the fact that my most vivid memory from my playing days was when I got a rebound on defense then proceeded to score a bucket for our opponents by taking a shot while everyone else ran to the other side of the court.

Clearly, I missed my calling.

+ Gym Rats

Not far removed from the "Athletes" category is the "Gym Rats", the primary difference being essentially their attitudes, personality, or presentation.  They may or may not have, at some point in their lives, been an athlete or otherwise involved in some form of competitive play.  As such, they are admirably attempting to maintain their fitness level but not necessarily hoping to improve their abilities.  However, unlike athletes - who approach their workout with a sense of seriousness and near professionalism - these are people who come to the gym to work out and who want you to know that they are there to work out.

Their presence will be reasonably easy to spot.  Their workout attire will typically be of designer quality, often including labels of top brands like Nike and Under Armor (shirts with chest-thumping motivational slogans are popular amongst this classification).  They will be equipped with the latest and greatest of media playing devices, which will also be displayed prominently as components of their attire.  The fact that most exercise rooms are adorned with mirrors (why they are a mainstay in gyms is something I've never figured out) allows them a chance to preen and posture, not only for the sake of their own egos but also to assert themselves as being an alpha amongst deltas, for lack of a better phrase.

Spot me, bro - SPOT ME!

 
You will hear them talking above everyone else in the room, more than likely, and the context of their conversations (held with people whom they may or may not even be acquaintances of) will involve topics such as exercise techniques, rep counts, discussion on the use and effectiveness of various dietary supplements (sometimes including the use of steroids), and almost certainly talk of how well they're doing with it all (I guess you can't knock their positivity, arrogant though it may be).  Indeed, it is their gym - we just happen to be paying dues to use it.

+ The Health-Conscious

Undoubtedly the most population-dense category, the "Health-Conscious" are your average Joe's (and Jill's) who realize that they might be able to better themselves and their quality of life by engaging in a bit of regular calisthenics.  There's nothing flashy or distinguishable about them as they are your typical, everyday people trying to do the best they can with what they've got.  They may enlist the assistance of physical trainers in an effort to overcome their not having been involved in exercise programs previously, but they are also likely to have done their own independent research in attempting to develop an exercise routine that will benefit them.

My wife and I definitely fall into this particular group as we're both at a stage in life where we realize that we're not kids anymore and that we could enjoy what will hopefully be many years together if we make strides to improve our bodies through exercise and physical activity.  I have to say that my wife has done a phenomenal job in making strides at being a more healthy individual.  In addition to regularly working out, she also subscribes to Weight Watchers and their program has been an immense help to her in identifying healthy decisions as it relates to our diet.  I say "our" because of the fact that she prepares most of our meals, meaning I'm kind of involved by proxy.  She's been on the Weight Watchers program for around 6 months and has lost just shy of 50 pounds, which is a remarkable feat and a stellar example of willpower, needless to say.

Seeing her processes for choosing what to eat as well as what constitutes an adequate portion has made me more conscientious about the foods I eat but also how much I'm eating.  I'll willfully admit to never having been encouraged in this regard during my youth as my family isn't exactly made up of what you'd call "light eaters".  We're a husky bunch and while there's nothing necessarily wrong with that there are moments where I look at myself in the mirror and wish someone would've come along and slapped the bag of Doritos off my lap.  But, as the Green Goblin once said, "We are who we choose to be..." - I'm responsible for myself, ultimately, and while I can't change the past I can hopefully affect the future.

+ Socialites

I have a fair amount of friends (483, according to Facebook) and I'm sure you do, too.  Life would be very boring without these relationships, needless to say, and I would never encourage someone to be a social recluse (unless you're of the hermit/uni-bomber variety, then so be it) but there are occasions where people's attempts at connecting with one another can be an impediment to progress.  "Progress", in this case, being the fact that I can't use the arm curl machine because you're sitting on it while you and your buddy are busy chatting each other up instead of actually doing any work.  Hence the class of gym folk I've dubbed "Socialites".

"Socialites" have the potential to share characteristics with other groups.  Consistent exposure to their kind will allow you to identify the differences, perhaps the most noticeable of which is that their workouts don't consist of much actual work.  You may see them spend 5 minutes on an elliptical machine followed by 30 minutes yammering on to another of their ilk or some unfortunate soul who just so happened to have gotten snared in by their aura of friendliness and who doesn't have the capacity to shrug them out of their life.  Therein lies their trickery; they may come off as being an "Athlete" or "Health-Conscious" when in reality they're in the gym because it allows them to work the one well-defined muscle group they have, that being about the jaw and throat.

Arguably the most annoying aspect of the "Socialite" is that they are also prone to being the sort of person who has a stubborn growth coming out one or other of their ears which extends all the way down to the corresponding hand on that side of their body.  By that I mean they can't stop yakking on their precious cell phone to save their lives!  The more evolved among them may have adapted to wear a Bluetooth headset, which doesn't so much improve their standing among the rest of gym-folk culture as it does make them appear to be insane seeing as how they look as if they're talking aloud to themselves (or, more accurately, the voices in their heads) 9/10's of the time.

I haven't mentioned up until now that there are a set of posted rules of use in the exercise room at the YMCA, one of them being to respect the fact that other people may want to use a piece of equipment by not treating it like it's a bar stool at the pub. (There's also one against cell phone usage, ironically enough.) The difficulty with a rule like this is that very few people genuinely want to be perceived as a douche-bag, and an attempt at enforcing this one would more than likely land you in exactly that group (at least it would in the eyes of the guilty offender whereas they might be heralded as a national hero by the rest of us).  I'm assuming this is why I've never seen a member of the YMCA's staff be so forward as to encourage a patron to move along for the sake of someone else.  Be that as it may, a rule that doesn't get enforced isn't a "rule" (I would settle for a mild suggestion at this point) and you shouldn't take the job if you don't want to handle the duties.

+ Hangers-On

Closely associated to the "Socialite" is the classification known as the "Hangers-On".  You might say that the two have something of a symbiotic relationship as the "Hangers-On" often rely greatly upon their proximity to "Socialites" in order to gain access to the gym environment.  They are hardly ever paying members, rather they make use of freebies or cheap day-passes, thus displaying their generally non-committal state of mind.  For while a "Hanger-On" will exude a certain amount of dedication to their current "Socialite", they are prone to being fickle.  Should they identify a more agreeable "Socialite" to which they may attach themselves in order to improve their existence, they will not hesitate to do so.

Whether or not the colored wristbands the "Hangers-On" are issued by the YMCA are for the purpose of limiting their access to certain areas of the facility or for marking them as not yet being one of us (said with a droning monotone) remains to be seen.  The latter would seem to be the more likely as it would alert staff that this person is a potential client, meaning if they do their part to woo them accordingly it could wind up that this temporary visitor might decide to become a full member, thereby willingly parting with greater than $50 per month for the right to walk through the front door as they please.  Of course, the "Socialite" to which they are attached may have some bearing on this decision as well; in fact, I postulate that the level of inter-dependence between the "Socialite" and "Hanger-On" in question is the determining factor.  What are bros for, after all?

Our kitchen may be haunted...

I think everyone, from time to time, encounters some sort of event that is simply unexplainable.  Things that defy the old adage of "I'll believe it when I see it".  Things that happen but seem to have absolutely no discernible or logical reason for having taken place.  Like when Jerry O'Connell married Rebecca Romjin, for example.  How does the chubby kid from 'Stand By Me' wind up with her?  We live in a world where Mystique can hook up with a guy who's possibly best known for starring in a movie opposite a computer generated kangaroo, for crying out loud.  If that isn't proof that certain things in this world happen even though they make no sense whatsoever, I don't know what is.

Along this same line of thought is an event my wife and I experienced a little more than a week ago.  We were in the process of going through our morning routine - she'd just gotten out of the shower and I was about to shave (a practice I persist in doing because it is expected of me despite my generally loathing it; I am deeply bothered by the fact that people just can't seem to accept the awesomeness that is a beard in all its glory, but that's a blog topic for another time).  My wife left the bathroom in her robe & towel turban (a description of her post-bathing attire included for the sake of thoroughly capturing the occasion, naturally) and went to our kitchen, which is where our stack-able laundry unit is located.

Our laundry unit is your typical washer-on-bottom/dryer-on-top combination.  Like most people who live in homes where storage space is at a premium, we make use of the top of our dryer (Er, bottom?  I have the image in my head of it having been turned upside down in order to have been stacked even though I know that's probably not right.) as an area where we sit materials like detergent, dryer sheets, and what have you.  Being the thrifty shoppers we are, we tend to opt for 150 ounce containers of liquid laundry detergent as opposed to smaller containers that don't offer as much clothing cleansing for your money.  The jug-o-detergent, as it were, goes on top of the dryer as this surface presents a stable position from which we may easily access the container's spigot.  To save myself some keystrokes (and your eyes the strain of having to read the results of said keystrokes), instead of describing the rest of this region of the kitchen I've prepared a visual aide.

The Geometry Kitchen Collection from Ikea

The only other elements of our kitchen which bear pointing out in this context are our cereal dispensers.  They're positioned on top of a rolling kitchen cart, are each capable of holding just shy of an entire "family-sized" box of cereal (bought for the same reason as the laundry detergent; I'm not going to buy a 20 oz. box when I can by a 40 oz. box for less than the cost of two 20s), and dispense crunchy, sugary breakfast-time goodness by way of a rotating knob at their base.  Think of them as feed-pellet dispensers for humans, if you must.

It's about 7 AM on this particular morning and my wife has gone to the dryer to get a garment she'd left inside of it.  She opens the dryer, grasps the desired article of clothing, closes the dryer, and begins to walk out of the kitchen heading back towards our master bedroom.  At this point in time, I'm still lying in bed watching the morning NBC news broadcast when suddenly I hear a calamitous racket coming from the kitchen that sounds like every pot and pan in the joint was simultaneously thrown onto the floor.  Like I said, I'm still in bed - as such, my first reaction was to say to myself, "You're still asleep, just ignore it...It didn't actually happen if you don't acknowledge it."  Sadly, it did happen, which was confirmed when I heard my wife say, "Oh...My...God!", as I was on my way to the kitchen.

There are a few situations where, as a man, you want to hear your wife envoke the name of God, but this was not one of them.  I see my wife standing just outside of the kitchen and she has an expression on her face that could very well replace the definition of the word "shocked" in the dictionary.  There was no sense of terror in her face, rather she was startled on a level I'd honestly never seen her.  I found out why as I rounded the corner and entered the kitchen to find the floor nearly covered in blue, viscous laundry detergent, the contents of the cereal dispensers, and several pieces of the cereal dispensers themselves which had broken apart.

Confronted with the sight of the mess before me, I couldn't help but laugh.  This particular container of detergent was practically brand new (meaning it was better than 90% full) and I'd just recently refilled the cereal dispensers.  I guess if you're going to have a mess, then by God you might as well have a really big friggin' mess.

I wound up spending roughly the next 2 and a half hours cleaning up the kitchen. (I handled the task solo as my wife had to leave for work.) I began by picking up the pieces of the cereal dispensers, putting them into the sink for cleaning, hoping that I'd be able to re-assemble the things later on after they'd been washed. (Fortunately, they weren't as badly damaged as I thought they would be.) I very nearly dislocated my pelvis while trying to walk on the wet floor; my wife made a genius suggestion that I put on a pair of socks as they would soak up detergent with each step and provide more grip.

After putting on socks (I was still wearing my pajamas as I didn't see the point in changing into decent clothes for this operation), I swept up the detergent and cereal using a broom and dustpan. (Note to self: Invest in a wet/dry shop vacuum...) In order to get up all of the detergent I had to pull out the laundry unit and clean behind it.  If you've never looked behind your laundry equipment, I dare you to do so sometime - you'll either find a treasure trove of lost socks and loose change or a bunch of garbage and the carcasses of dead bugs.  In this case, what I found included a piece of an old broom, a metal rod (used for what, I have no idea), a broken pencil, 55 cents, a pair of socks I didn't recognize, and a whole bunch of dust bunnies.  I felt fortunate to have moved the thing and not been confronted with a spider the size of Shelob.

Have you looked behind your dryer lately?

The broom and dustpan routine got old quickly but it was mostly effective.  I'd swept up most of the detergent and cereal, however there was quite a bit of liquid still on the floor.  I grabbed some towels (the good ones we got as wedding gifts - yeah, those) and wiped up the remnants as I figured it couldn't do much damage to them.  I was cleaning up soap, after all, which in the grand scheme of fluids to have to clean up is fairly desirable.  As I mentioned to my wife, at least it wasn't raw sewage we were dealing with.  I think if a spill involving the contents of "poo creek" happens in your home, you should just go ahead and burn down the house because I don't see how one could recover from that, physically or emotionally.

After the towels were spent, I attempted to mop the floor with warm water.  This was possibly the most frustrating part of the whole process seeing as how I was making progress but at the same time I was creating a whole bunch of suds.  Not only that but the socks I was wearing were thoroughly saturated, having become caked up with detergent and bits of cereal. (Interestingly enough, I inadvertently discovered that laundry detergent, when mixed with pulverized Frosted Flakes and Apple Zings, will take on the consistency of partially dried Elmer's glue.) I persevered nevertheless as I finished mopping then went back over the floor with another set of towels to try and dry up the suds, and was finally able to push the laundry unit back into place.

To be perfectly clear, I do not hold my wife responsible for what happened.  I have lived in this house for more than 3 years and have kept detergent in the same exact spot that entire time.  I can say without a doubt that I have opened and closed the dryer door with more force than she did this particular occasion.  The laundry unit is level and it is quite stable.  All these factors considered, I have absolutely no idea how in the world the detergent container wound up where it did.  It's as if the thing was shoved or otherwise willed off of its perch, following roughly the flight plan seen below (we also inadvertently discovered that laundry detergent containers are incapable of unassisted sustained flight, oddly enough).

The thing basically did a swan-ton bomb off the top of the dryer onto the cereal dispensers, rolled out of it and then went for a BME from the lid of the washer to the floor.  It was an absolutely absurd scenario is what I'm getting at.  But how did it achieve such momentum?  As I mentioned earlier in this piece, the container was better than 90% full; it was heavy enough that a fair amount of effort would've been needed to move it.  Have you ever looked at this variety of jug?  They have wide bases, meaning they're made to be stable and difficult to tip over so as to prevent spillage.  All things considered, my leading explanations of what happened are:

1) We experienced a very localized earthquake - as in so localized that it affected 3 square feet of our kitchen and none of the surrounding areas

OR

2) Our kitchen is haunted

As ludicrous as it may sound, I'm somewhat leaning towards the latter.  Reason being that not long after I moved into this house I experienced a similar incident.  One night while I sat in the living room I heard a crash from the kitchen.  When I went in to investigate I discovered that a knife rack/cutting board combination that I had sitting on one of the counters had fallen to the floor.  Much like this laundry detergent container, the knife rack was not in a position whereby it would've just tipped over the edge - it was a good 6 to 8 inches back from the ledge of the counter, yet it was in the floor.  How?  I do not know, but I think I have cause for concern seeing as how we seem to be dealing with apparitions who like to throw things.

Zombie-proof house?

I've seen quite a few articles on the web in the past few weeks regarding a house that has been erected (tee-hee) on the outskirts of Warsaw, Poland.  The house was constructed by design firm KWK Promes with the intention of delivering a home for a client who was interested in maximum security.  "Maximum security" for most people would pertain to fending off potential home invasions or vandalism, however in this case "maximum security" would seem to involve surviving something just short of direct contact with a mid-to-high yield nuclear weapon judging by the look of the house.

In essence, they carved a house out of a block of concrete.  Here's a description of the so-called "Safe House" from its developers (additional text and pictures available at HomeDSGN).

The clients’ top priority was to gain the feeling of maximum security in their future house, which determined the building’s outlook and performance. The house took the form of a cuboid in which parts of the exterior walls are movable.

When the house opens up to the garden, eastern and western side walls move towards the exterior fence creating a courtyard.

After crossing the gate one has to wait in this safety zone before being let inside the house. In the same time, there is no risk of children escaping to the street area in an uncontrolled way while playing in the garden.

The innovation of this idea consists in the interference of the movable walls with the urban structure of the plot. Consequently, when the house is closed (at night for example) the safe zone is limited to the house’s outline. In the daytime, as a result of the walls opening, it extends to the garden surrounding the house.

The sliding walls are not dependent on the form of the building. That is why this patent can be applied to both modern and traditional, single – and multi – storeyed houses covered with roofs of different geometry.

This universal solution we came up with gives a new type of building where not the form but the way of functioning is the most important. The name: “safe house” gains a new meaning now.

Accomplishment of this idea required the use of technically complex solutions. The most significant are the sliding walls (both 2,2 m high, 22 and 15 m long), which allow to interfere with the urban structure and determine the safe zone of the plot.

They are not the only mobile elements of the building. Apart from these, there are large shutters (all 2,8 m high, with a width ranging up to 3,5 m, opening up to 180 degrees) and a drawbridge leading to the roof terrace above the swimming pool.

The southern elevation is closed by an enormous roll-down gate of 14 and 6 m manufactured by a company normally supplying shipyards and air companies. It is made with white anodized aluminum which makes it possible to  function as a movie projection screen.

All the movable elements are based on built-in electronic engines, that guarantee safe  operation.

Wide glazings behind the movable walls let the building acquire energy during the day (winter) or prevent the sun’s heat from going into the house (summer).  At night, when the house is closed, the thick outer layer helps the building to accumulate the gained energy.  Such a solution together with the hybrid heat system (most of the energy is gained from renewable sources – heat pump and solar systems supported with gas heating) and mechanical ventilation with heat recovery makes the house become an intelligent passive building.

Every day the house acts in a similar way – it wakes up every morning to close up after the dusk. This routine reminds of the processes occurring in nature – the house resembles a plant in its day and night cycle.

The house resembles a plant, eh?  I'd say it resembles a cinder block, actually, but who am I to judge?  I don't think a more fruity spin than that could've possibly been applied to such an industrial-looking structure.  I've seen prisons that come of as being more warm and cushy than this thing.

Be that as it may, when the minions of the Internet caught wind of the existence of this home they went into a tizzy over the idea of a house that could - in theory - assist you and your loved ones in overcoming the perils of the almost-certain-to-happen-within-our-lifetime zombie apocalypse while also maintaining a dwelling that is absolutely posh in the process.  Indeed, fanboys with massive nerd-love for everything George Romero's ever created were seemingly salivating over the idea of repelling legions of the undead from the assured safety of this house. (I have to admit the possibility of mowing down a throng of zombies with a machine gun turret sounds awesome.) However, much like the hundreds if not thousands of hapless victims of zombie lore who thought they were doing everything right only to have their entrails ripped out by a hungry ghoul, I don't think they've thought this house through quite well enough for it to be dubbed zombie proof.

At first glance, the house definitely appears to be a secure structure in terms of its construction.  Reinforced concrete, while not a typical construction material in the housing market, is a great choice when it comes to options for preventing penetration (tee-hee).  Short of an attack using military-grade weaponry, I would have to agree that this home could take just about anything when fully closed.  I question the choice of creating a perimeter wall that does not appear (judging by the available photos of the site) to completely surround the property; this does nothing but create a mild hindrance to potential adversaries.  Aside from this, the primary areas of concern I have when examining its design are the roll-up security door and exposed glass around the pool as well as that of the connecting pathway to the pool.

Why?  When the zombie apocalypse comes, it will be a virulent outbreak the likes of which has not been seen on this planet since the era of such diseases as the black plague where significant portions of the world's population were affected.  Invariably, the people (those who aren't infected) will look to their governments for aid, and invariably their governments will fail to be able to assist them all.  Knowing that they are on their own, otherwise law-abiding people will degenerate into a state of lawlessness.  Looting and violence will be rampant as people accept that they must do whatever is necessary to survive, up to and including murder for the sake of acquiring supplies.  This being the case, one would have to assume that said vandals might have the wherewithal to organize and have the capacity to execute a strategical assault upon a compound like this one.  Assuming these vandals had access to heavy equipment like bulldozers or, God forbid, armored vehicles such as a tank, the perimeter walls, the roll-up door, and the glass are going to be about as effective in deterring an attack as a saltine cracker will be against a sandblaster.

As an aside to this, I'd like to revisit a portion of the description of the house pertaining to the shutters and their functionality that stood out to me.

All the movable elements are based on built-in electronic engines, that guarantee safe  operation.

If this were a movie, the mention of "guaranteed safe operation" would be a moment of foreboding on an epic scale. (I'm talking foreboding on the level of an admittedly impossible scenario where the designer of the Titanic claims his creation is an unsinkable ship while having a conversation with the crew of the Apollo 13 space mission.) It would be the point in the film we're reminded of 30 minutes later in the picture when a wayward bumble bee flies into the apparatus and renders it completely inoperable, leaving us all standing around with dumbfounded expressions on our faces as we realize that our impenetrable fortress of "guaranteed" survival suddenly has a lot in common with a piece of Swiss cheese.  Is there a manual override to the system? (Even if there was, in the event of an attack I highly doubt it would be something that could be engaged quickly enough to head off the danger at hand as it would take a lot of effort to move all those pieces at once.) Likewise, what are we to do if we seal ourselves in then some time later go to disengage the mechanism only to find that none of the gears are turning?  Have we unwittingly entombed ourselves?  Will performing maintenance on the system require an engineering background or will knowledge of small engine repair suffice?

Following our example, we have now created a scenario where the home has been effectively breached - this without even directly involving our original intended opponents, the zombie horde.  As someone living inside the "safe house" at this point, we must shift our strategy accordingly and hope that our cinder block of a house can be salvaged.  Does the home have internal defensive structures?  Can an effective perimeter be established?  Are there safe areas within the home that can serve as a fallback point?  Do these safe areas provide us access to supplies that might be required for use in a prolonged assault or allow us to in some way communicate to the outside world in the unlikely event that military troops or police forces arrive?  These are all pertinent and relevant questions which will have hopefully been addressed in the design phase of the home because if we as survivors are trying to make rush decisions in the midst of combat we are almost certainly doomed.

Much like situations involving being stranded in a foreign landscape (such as a vehicular failure that leaves you in an isolated condition with limited supplies), enduring an assault by zombies boils down to two factors: Survivability and sustainability.  Survivability pertains such things as having shelter and tools that will aid you in navigating a harsh landscape, whereas sustainability is the process of maintaining those items which are crucial to life like food and water.  Lets examine both aspects as they relate to this home.

• Survivability

In planning a true zombie-proof dwelling, there are many factors to consider.  The potential end of mankind as we have known it will come with haste, so quickly that an attempt to develop a plan of survival after the fact will be extremely difficult if not altogether pointless.  The basics of a survival plan for successfully outlasting the zombie apocalypse would include stockpiling of necessary goods like food (preferably MREs - Meals Ready to Eat - but also taking into account the potential for growing your own food supply; I'll touch on this later in the Sustainability section), water, medicine, fuel, batteries, tools, building materials (lumber, concrete, and the like for the purpose of assembling barricades or performing structural repairs when needed), weapons, ammunition, etc.  This inventory would be large as we may be forced to exist cut off from the outside for years.  The question then becomes where to put it all?

In configuring a home like this, it would be wise to incorporate a sprawling subterranean element with separate compartments for each set of materials so that, for example, if a mishap occurs with our weapons cache we won't have inadvertently ruined our food supply.  This ultimate basement of sorts would need to be secure yet accessible, which is a challenging combination of characteristics to implement; arguably more challenging than the effort needed to assemble our stockpile of supplies.

Maintaining some sort of communication with the outside world will be vital, not only in terms of being aware of what's going on out there but also potentially keeping in contact with others who could provide critical information or assistance.  Radios capable of communicating on civilian and emergency frequencies, networking equipment for connecting to the Internet via a hardline or cellular transmission, and satellite phones make for an idealistic combination as there is an amount of redundancy in place.  We should never forget the simplest of options in this regard, though.  There's nothing elegant about signal flares and bonfires but it is difficult to discredit their effectiveness in alerting potential rescue operations of our whereabouts (a certain amount of restraint should be used in deploying these as there's a chance it could inadvertently alert looters or the undead to our whereabouts).

We're going to need energy in the form of fuel (gasoline, diesel, bio-diesel, etc.), electricity, natural gas, batteries, or what have you to keep crucial systems within the home functional.  Along the same lines, generators would be helpful although they aren't a permanent solution to our consumption needs as they, themselves, require fuel to function. (Renewable energy sources such as solar power and wind turbines would be ideal for use in this circumstance, and setting up a collection farm for these resources somewhere on our compound is a paramount concern.  This is one topic that stands to be worthy of discussion in terms of both Survivability and Sustainability.)

Pacifism will more than likely not be an option when the zombie outbreak occurs.  There will be acts of violence all around you and the time will inevitably come where you will be forced to defend yourself either from uninfected intruders or the living dead.  Since our adversaries present similar but different weaknesses, a combination of armaments - guns and blades - would be preferable.

In terms of firepower, your immediate desire might be to go for automatic weapons with laser siting and a compliment of attached accessories.  What you'd wind up with is a fancy rifle that you more than likely aren't going to be able to maintain or re-arm all that easily.  A better option would be to equip yourself with simplistic guns which make use of readily available ammunition.  A .38 caliber revolver, a semi-automatic .22 caliber rifle, and a pump-action shotgun make for a solid combination of weapons that don't require formal military training to maintain and for which ammunition will be much easier to locate.  These will be adequate for defensive purposes but also for hunting. (Crossbows or compound bows aren't necessarily bad choices as they have their uses; carrying enough arrows or bolts to be effective could become cumbersome, though, and I question the stopping power of a bow & arrow against more than one attacking zombie.)

When it comes to dispatching the undead, remember that removing the ghoul's head or otherwise destroying its brain are the only methods of guaranteed destruction.  Hits to the torso or extremities of a zombie may impede its mobility but will not eliminate the threat it poses. (A crawling zombie is just as deadly as a walking one.) It is recommended that head-shots be your primary objective as well as that you maintain as much distance as possible between yourself and your targets.  Close-quarters combat with the living dead should be avoided if at all possible, however should you find yourself in this situation (perhaps having been forced into it by way of a limited supply of ammunition) a bladed weapon may be your best option.  Machetes, hatchets, and axes are readily available, relatively light weight, easy to use, and stand the best chance of helping you keep yourself alive during an encounter.  More exotic weapons like swords should be avoided; unless you happen to be trained on how to properly use one, that is, and that the weapon in question was constructed with the intention of being used in combat (replica swords are typically made of low-grade materials that are not battle-ready and stand a good chance of failing catastrophically).

Dealing with an assault by human forces stands to be more challenging than dealing with the living dead for a number of reasons, primary among them being that zombies don't have the ability to develop a strategic plan of attack.  Their hunger is all that drives them and their only true methodology is to rely on overwhelming numbers rather than clever maneuvers to achieve their goal (if you can call eating a person's brain a goal, that is).  This being the case, the tried and true advantages typically sought in warfare will hold for our compound, those being to know our surroundings and to maintain the high ground.  It might not seem that these facets of combat offer much hope but they are our best options seeing as how we'll have limited, if any, reconnaissance information relating to the forces we'll be facing.  Being overly aggressive is to be overly risky, after all.

• Sustainability

It goes without saying that along with the end of humanity so too shall many of our modern creature comforts follow suit.  Sure, I'd like to think that once the zombies begin to overrun segments of our landscape that those areas which haven't yet been touched might still be able to function and provide us with access to things like Wendy's hamburgers but I have a feeling that people barely making minimum wage aren't going to be willing to risk being eaten alive for the sake of serving up greasy fast food.  This being the case, in order to prepare for the rise of the undead we're going to have to be able to maintain ourselves with adequate sustenance.

Gathering a stockpile of canned goods is an obvious strategy.  Earlier in this piece I mentioned MREs, which have been used for decades by soldiers fighting on the front lines.  They consist of foods that have been freeze-dried or are otherwise loaded with so many preservatives that they last virtually forever.  Unfortunately, while they are great for long-term storage they aren't necessarily all that palatable.  Nevertheless, if ever there was a situation where beggars can't be choosers, this is it.  MREs are readily available from any number of vendors including local military surplus stores, making them incredibly easy to obtain.

The potential for existing on nothing but MREs for years is a potentiality most folks would just as soon avoid.  That said, it is advisable to consider the possibility of living off the land surrounding our compound.  Hunting missions could be considered if game is prevalent, however hunting is generally inadvisable.  The chances of encountering a throng of living dead would be too great, and even if you were able to escape into a deer stand or some other contraption your adversaries could easily outlast you making the effort nearly pointless.  In contrast to this, the notion of growing crops is quite sound.  Establishing an area of the compound to serve as something of a farm or greenhouse should be explored as fresh vegetables will provide a wealth of nutrition.

Having access to fresh, clean drinking water is absolutely vital as the chances of dying from inadequate hydration are much greater than dying of starvation.  Our compound will need water collection and filtration systems so that rainwater could be gathered.  On the off chance that our home is located near a source of fresh water, and assuming it isn't affected by some sort of contamination, it would also stand as an opportunity for keeping ourselves from drying out.


A major consideration in developing the systems within our compound will be what sort of resources they'll require to function.  Electricity will more than likely be our primary source of power as fossil fuels are almost out of the question (unless our compound sits on an oil well and refinery, that is).  Solar panels and wind turbines are fantastic pieces of equipment in that they require very little in the way of maintenance and stand to yield sufficient energy to power our compound's necessary systems.


I realize that this is a lot of information to process and it's basically all for giggles seeing as how the notion of a genuine zombie outbreak is just plain fantastical.  Granted, when faced with an element of realistic calamity we more than likely aren't going to have access to a home resembling anything remotely similar to this supposed "zombie-proof" dwelling.  These are, however, useful (not to mention incredibly idealistic) recommendations that could be used in developing a survival strategy for dealing with natural disasters.  They are proof that with adequate planning we as human beings can use our skills of adaptability to survive just about anything.  Preparedness is an asset not to be dismissed so easily as the idea of the dead rising up out of the ground to walk again.


Now please excuse me while I attempt to adapt myself to the taste of MRE peanut butter...