A letter to a friend...

Dear Christian,

It's early here in scenic Garden City, a little before 0500, and I've been up about half an hour. I have been fighting with Toby, my gray cat, over space on the desk, and he has finally settled down and gotten off the keyboard. His low-purring makes me happy.

I've got some music playing low so as not to disturb Stine's mother, who is here from Denmark and sleeping in the next room. The song that came up a moment ago was "Southern Cross" by Crosby, Stills and Nash, and it being about boats and islands and such, I immediately thought of you, my friend. Despite that you've not (yet?) responded to my last letter (I'll include it below to refresh your memory) I decided that you alone are probably the person most likely to respond to letter from me, so, here it goes.

Stine and her mother have a short trip to Ontario planned today, to go to a guinea pig show. My plans center on taking the dogs out to the desert out by Swan Falls and enjoy some desert solitude. I considered Idaho City, but with hunting season in full swing, and it being the weekend, I'd rather not run the risk of some moron with a 30-.06 shooting me or one of the dogs. And it has happened already here this season, if you hadn't heard.

You will be pleased to hear that I have taken four days off work for Stine's mom (today being the 3rd) and I have my regularly scheduled 5-day 'weekend' coming up on Monday, so my mood is much improved. She will be leaving on Monday, so I might take your advice and go camping somewhere next week. I am thinking I'd like to spend a night or two out in the desert somewhere, but I'm not exactly sure where.

You will also be pleased to hear that I have started collaborating with a fellow from my CRX club on my writing project. If I did not tell you, I am working on a script for a TV series, a situation-comedy. Having no experience with this sort of writing, I just hammered away at some stuff. It has been dormant for a while now, until I was chatting with my friend on Facebook and mentioned it to him. He has done some part-time acting on a couple of TV series filmed in Vancouver and knows a bit more than I do about how scripts should look and all. Plus, he may have contacts there to whom we can pitch the idea to once we get it all down. I am pessimistically hopeful (but not quite optimistic) that the thing will eventually come to fruition and pay off in some way. My dream would be to sell the idea for a tidy sum and maybe be able to get a job as some sort of TV 'consultant' or writer for the show, but I'll settle for just selling the thing and making some nice cash. I've never been paid for anything I've written, though people tell me I have an ear for the language. I've never really considered myself a wordsmith, so we will see. In the final analysis, it's just good to do something creative with my mind. Which leads me into my next point.

I've lately become more resolved than the letter below would indicate to overcome my current job situation. I've given up on the whole concept of "Mark the Cop" and I believe I have completely rejected the idea that my 'master status' is in any way related to what I do to earn a living. I do have a good job that pays well, with lots of time off, and I need to remember that, but keep it at -just that-. I've been re-reading Dr. Kevin Gilmartin's book again (http://emotionalsurvival.com/about.htm) and I am working on not letting The Job get the best of me and I think it is helping. There was a time when I was better. I have every belief that I will be again, and soon. I am going to start running again. In other work news, Eric's brother, Scott, just got promoted to Captain over the patrol division.

The project in Brazil has stalled. I do not know if it can recover. Many reasons for this, most pedestrian and boring, so I won't bore you with the details. There is a glimmer of hope, though.

How are things with you? I have to admit that I am a little disappointed that you've not posted very many pictures to your Facebook account from your recent travels. My assumption, and I hope it's not too correct, is that you've just got your nose to the grindstone and are working so much that you lack the time to do it. But I know that shit ain't right. While you're one of the hardest working motherfuckers I know when the time comes for it, you're also one to shirk your duties in search of fun with equal or greater alacrity, so my belief and hope is that you're just out taking your ease on a sandy beach or afloat with a cool beer, taking in the sun and breathing in the clean ocean air. It makes me smile to imagine that, since I live my bachelor life vicariously though yours, you know. If that's the case, you are forgiven for not keeping me posted as to the goings-on in your world.

Well, I am going to end this here. Take care of yourself, and be sure to write back when you have some time. I enjoy hearing from you. Let me know if you need anything. Especially let me know if you hear of some sort of lucrative adventure that I can come and get involved in with you. I am getting itchy feet and looking for A Way Out of this middle-class, middle-age life of mediocrity and stagnation that I've built for myself.

Let's start a war.

-mark

A letter to a friend...

It's -really fucking early- here, just after 4:00 am. I've been up for a bit, just reading news sites and such, playing with my rats, Buford and Enos. If I am not careful, the little bastards will take a nibble at an extended finger. I've one more day to myself, then it is back to the salt mine.

Christian, I will tell you this: I came to the realization a while ago that my job is just that: a job. Initially, it offered the satisfaction and excitement that only a new job can, and in Atlanta, while the policing was constant and rocking, I was even then beginning to suspect that it was a merely a means to an end. What end, sadly, has escaped me. I would leave my job tomorrow if only I had something to replace it with. In this economy, only the stupid man quits a $30-an-hour job with no other prospects on hand, and my writing and my business project in Brazil are far off.

The saddest thing is that I've become content, for lack of a better word. My job is easy and apart from that whole 'might get killed' thing, it's relatively un-eventful. I go in and collect a paycheck. And unfortunately, it's a pretty damn good one. While I understand the importance of taking drunk drivers off the road (by far our most arrests), I cannot see that as 'crime-fighting.' There's not much mental stimulation in my job, and worse still, I find myself surrounding by, and indeed following the orders of, dullards and sycophants; men who routinely, and with a completely straight face, say things like "Obama isn't an American," "Obama is trying to destroy this country," and "Obama is a practicing Muslim."

*sigh*

It does drain one's energy.

At this time, I'm just biding my time. But for what, I have not determined. I need to come up with a plan, a project, something to make the mental juices start flowing again, get my mind working. I've sank into dullard-dom myself. Don't get me wrong, there are a few guys here who are bright and think beyond the uniform, but...well...hell, you know. I need to find something To Give A Shit About, something worth doing. A woman called me the other night. A woman I took to the hospital on a mental hold because she drank a magnum of wine and ate a fistful of pills. She called me to say "thank you."

I'd like to say I was touched and all that, but the truth is, it was just my job and I did it with all my efficiency and professionalism as I have, but I did it without concern. If saving someone's life doesn't make it worth doing, what other possible job could I get that could provide any satisfaction?

Of course work is no fun, not fulfilling. It's not supposed to be fun and fulfilling. I do it because it pays well and I have as good of a work schedule as a man could want. I have a friend, he lives in Austin, Texas. He's an engineer, making probably in excess of $200,000 a year. You know, one of those jobs you write the alumni magazine about.

He is also a fairly accomplished yachtsman. I have tried, on more than one occasion, to get him to go in with me on a bare-boat rental in the gulf or somewhere to drift around on the water for a fortnight. He never goes. And he will never go. He gets two weeks off per year. A scant 14 days to call his own. When I showed him my schedule, this man, who is probably going to be a millionaire if he isn't one already, called -me- 'lucky.' Therein lies the rub. As bad as I have got it, I've got it pretty good.

I am sorry that you are lonely, my friend. I think that is the curse of most men, some of them are just good at blinding themselves to it with other things, family, church, social activities. You've got an enviable life, one that most men, mired in their quiet desperation, could never have. You've gone to amazing places, seen amazing things, and there is beauty and value in that. Revel in your time abroad, because there will come a time when you will return and things will settle. Idaho will always be here; Esto perpetua, you know. And while I would love to have you near to share a pint and some laughter, don't be too hasty in your decision to return. That said, what can I do to help? After this whole bankruptcy business is behind me, I expect that I will have a more positive outlook and will start to open my eyes again to travel and adventure.

I hope that your flight was pleasant and your return to the island was auspicious and you found a warm homecoming. Let me know when you get settled back in and I will continue to keep you posted about on-goings here. We -need- to get together and plan something monstrous before we die.

Let's start a war.

-mark

A letter to a friend...

It's early here, a little after 4:00 am. I've been awake now for about half an hour, mostly because of some sort of gnawing ache in my lower back. Never fails that when I take a day off work I end up injured or hurt. I wish I could say I hurt it doing something grand and fine, but the sad fact is that I don't have the first fucking clue why it hurts. So, after about a half hour of lying I bed trying to keep some damned fly from landing on my face, I exclaimed to myself "ah, fuck it!" and got up and came back here to my office with Amos and one of our foster dogs, Xena, by my feet.

Staring at the keyboard for a long minute, I knew I wanted to write something...

That something has turned out to be some random thoughts and notes compiled and sent to you. While I'd much rather indulge my Luddite sensibilities and use my 1940's SmithCorona manual typewriter, I am sure the rapid staccato of the keystrokes would piss off Stine who is try to sleep just across our 1200 square foot domicile.

When I first woke, I stood in front of the refrigerator pondering having a glass of wine and trying to go back to sleep, but I quickly dismissed that as A Bad Idea and grabbed the last the bottle of Mountain Dew "Throwback" (made with real sugar!) for a jolt of caffeine and calories. I then wandered back to my office and briefly considered hoping in my car and going to "25" with the guys on my shift who are still driving around out there in dark, but I quickly dismissed that as A Bad Idea, too.

So, here I sit in the heat and darkness (summer turned a trick and it's freaking -hot- out here!), trying to put some coherent thoughts down.

I'm finding the acceptance of my atheism by most people at work really rather surprising. I would like it to have -not- been surprising, but my experience with the true believers is that the vast lot of them are non-thinking, intolerant, close-minded bigots. Most people here are one form of Christian or another, but I have been surprised to discover other non-believers, and I think my "coming out" has emboldened them as well. Of course, I've not had too many long conversations with the Mormons in the department, as I am sure that would probably end badly. I don't believe they are open to discussing their cult as I am to discussing my lack of one.

I had a ride-along last night, a gal from North Carolina. She's been contracted to photograph deputies going about their daily business, which immediately sparked my suspicions, but in addition to being rather easy on the eyes, she was very intelligent and spoke with a drawl that made me miss the Southland, so it was not at all uncomfortable, even if she is a civilian. She is kind of a kindred-spirit in that as well as being a southerner, she's a democrat and an atheist. Who'd a thunk it?

I am a member of the Ada County Sheriff's Employee Association. We have a newsletter. Each month, they 'interview' a member. They have them answer some questions. The answers are always generic lame pablum. I knew it was -only a matter of time- before they got around to sending me the questions......(Find attached a copy of it.)

Inserted here for blog readers:
______________________________________________________________
-How long have you worked for ACSO?
Since April Fool's Day 2004. Apropos, no?

-What is your current job title and duties?
Crime-fighter. I fight crime.

-What job(s) have you done before ACSO?
When I graduated high school, I got a series of uninspiring menial labor jobs until I came to the horrible realization that I didn't like full-time work. So, in an attempt to stay out of the workforce for at least a few more years, I went away to West Georgia College, a school known mostly for its ability to rank nearly every year on Playboy magazine's "Top Ten Party Schools," a dubious honor on hindsight, but one you can well imagine attracted me when I was a 20 year-old. I paid my way through school by framing houses and loading trucks at UPS. When people ask me what I majored in I tell them "Beer and Girls." My degree in Criminal Justice was just luck because it was the degree at my school that you could maintain the lowest GPA without being put on academic probation.

After I quit graduate school (I can admit that to myself now) and ran away to Vegas to get married by an Elvis Impersonator, I hopped a plane to Denmark where I lived for several years. Once there, I got what jobs I could with a Criminal Justice degree: I washed dishes at a white tablecloth restaurant called Store Kongens Køkken (Which can be translated as either the Big King's Kitchen or The King's Big Kitchen). I was a bouncer/breakfast cook/bathroom cleaner/bar back at a dive called The Windsor Bar where fights between drunk Eskimos, transvestites, and outlaw bikers were not uncommon. I was Kældermester (Cellar Master) for Hotel 71 Nyhavn, a very swanky Hotel in the waterfront district.

They put -me- in charge of all the liquor, wine, and beer. Oh my.

When we moved back on this side of the pond, I improved my lot in life by getting a warehouse job at Idaho Wine Merchant here in Boise where I eventually worked my way to Purchasing Manager. Then, in a fit of existential ennui, I quit that and went to work as a janitor at Hanson Building Maintenance. It was there, during the long hours scrubbing toilets and emptying trash-cans in an empty office building that I figured I'd better try to -do something- with my life. I applied with the ACSO as a Detention Deputy.

I didn't get hired.

They did hire Travis Ruby, though, who was a white shirt at the time, and I still hold that against him to this day!

A friend from down home was a sergeant at the Clayton County Police Department in South Metro Atlanta, Georgia (http://www.claytonpolice.com/), so I put in my application there and prior to coming to the ACSO, I worked as a patrolman there for a couple of years patrolling the streets of my hometown. When a crazy neighbor moved in next door to us, I started looking around and found out that ACSO was hiring again. I put in for both Detention and Patrol, and got hired. The rest, as they say, is history.

Jammed in between there I have been a pet-fish salesman, a Research/Teaching Assistant at West Georgia College, a bill collector, manager for a produce warehouse and janitor, again. I seem to like cleaning stuff up.

-What city/state are you from?
I was born in Atlanta, Georgia and spent my formative years in a then-nice suburb of Atlanta called Morrow, a town with a shopping mall and not much else. When people ask me why I moved to Idaho, I simply ask "Have you ever been to Atlanta?"

-Family?
George Burns once famously said "happiness is a large family...in a city very far away." I think he was right. I am the youngest of five children by 7 years. Can you say 'accident?' When I was born the doctor is reported to have asked my mother if she was "Catholic, or just careless." My father, a Korean War vet, will be 79 in February. He still rides his Harley.

My wife of 15+ years, Stine (who speaks with an accent even funnier than mine), and I are childfree. We also have "some dogs." You've probably heard the horror stories.

-Hobbies/Interests?
My mind often runs at double speed and I tend to be interested in almost anything from Etruscan pottery shards and UFOology to photography and trout fishing.
I tend to just spend my time hanging out with my dogs. I think mostly because they can't speak and all I have to do is give them bacon to get unconditional love. Occasionally, I'll put one in my Honda CRX and drive all over the country.
_______________________________________________________________


I have not heard whether they are going to publish it or not, but I have a sneaking suspicion they won't. After all, I mention fun things like beer, girls and Playboy magazine, and cops can't have a regular life, you know, we have to be upheld as more than human with shining morality and unwavering convictions. My hypocrisy goes over less well at work than my atheism, but, unlike everyone else, I am aware of, and quite comfortable with it. Perhaps I should consider hiding it?

As for work, what is there to really say?. You know I transferred out of narcotics (well, I got kicked out, but that's really a long story best shared over a few pints of bitter) in mid-2008 and went back to patrol. Until January of this year when I volunteered to do a 6-month rotation in the jail. Despite the politics of the thing, it was a pretty good time. I am back to patrol again (find attached my schedule) working red graves, which means I go in to work at 2045 and get off at 0730. It makes for some fucked up sleeping, especially on my off days.

I have been conspiring with an internet friend, a Brazilian guy who owns a law firm, and we have business venture in the works that, if it comes to fruition, could be fairly profitable. I say "fairly" meaning stunningly, mind-fuckingly profitable. Like 7 figures profitable. It's still in the works, so I am pessimistically hopeful. I have done scant little writing.

In non-work news, I took last night off and took Stine to a local italian/greek joint called Romio's. The prices were OK and the food was excellent. I had the single most expensive item on the menu, which I loved both for the food itself and that I ate it in the face of pending bankruptcy. My hypocrisy knows no bounds, apparently. The dish was a crab ravioli with shrimp in a garlic cream sauce and was about $15. The total, including the tip and the three beers (two New Belgium Hoptober for me, one Samuel Adams Octoberfest for Stine) was $67.

Sadly, I suspect that Stine will be feeling under-the-weather today because she ate so many ingredients that she has some allergy to, such as olive oil, wheat, cheese and tomatoes. She had a fucking calzone. I had a cup of coffee and we split a tiramisu, which is a wonderful espresso infused sponge cake.

I've been feeling very encumbered lately, and have sought solace the where I always have...in the bottom of a wine bottle. My alcohol consumption, while never interfering with work, was getting out of hand, so I am making an effort at keeping it more under control. Being the man of extremes that I am, I first quit cold turkey, but then I resented myself for making me do that and felt that, like the Buddha teaches us, I needed to find 'a middle way.' Much better now, thanks.

I have not cast a line into a body of water since 2009, and I've spent only two nights in a tent in as long.

I've not laid eyes the ocean in nigh on three years now. I am dying for an adventure.

I've been unsuccessfully trying to fight off my 'narc-fighting-weight' that I put on being so sedentary. I'm around 210, which I can hide pretty well being 6'6", but I'm pudgy and slow and achy. I've tentatively agreed to run a marathon in 22 months, so that should be a bit of a motivator. I'd do well to shed 25 lbs. of fat.

Given all that, I have started working on a 7-year plan to leave the rat race behind and go off-grid. In 7 years, you see, I can take early retirement from ACSO, which pays only about $1300 a month, but I think with the proper pre-planning, that can be 'enough,' especially if the final destination is someplace between in the tropics.

The primary idea is to buy some sort of home-on-wheels (Stine wants something huge while I want a 4X4 VW Westfalia) and live the remainder of my days in the complete freedom of gypsy penury. The second, less feasible idea is a home-on-the-water where we can sail away at a moment's notice, or just live aboard in one place for a while. I've heard, though, that boats are "holes in the water that you throw money into," so it's probably less than 'less feasible.'

There are other ideas bouncing around in my skull, but, well....you know.

But 7 years is a long way off, and I'm finding it difficult to keep motivated. I've been doing a lot of reading about voluntary simplicity, van-dwelling, and off-grid survivalist living, and while I do not see the future as some inevitable 'Mad-max" apocalyptic nightmare, I see my future as merely one of -not working for someone else- and owning my own life again.

Well, it's after 5:00 am now, and I am going to end this screed, mostly for lack of anything else important enough to discuss. The dogs make me happy lying silently on the floor.

more later

-mark

Sept. 11th, 2010

This day is always overshadowed by the events in 2001. It's important to keep in mind that other people will die this day. I may be among them.

I'm OK with that. I've had a good run.

Of course, I'd prefer to live to see another day. Many actually.

Selah.

Summer turned a trick

So it was hot today, like 95F. That just blows. The high tomorrow is 91F, then the high on Sunday is only 67F.

The other crap is proceeding, I guess, though I haven't heard from the lawyer.

I've been feeling attacked on Facebook, lately, by the Jesus Freaks that seem to populate the whole space. Fortunately, there's ample atheist stuff I can post in retaliation.

It's late, and I am just trying to stay awake for a couple of hours, so I can get back on schedule. The Sat-Wed week is my favorite. The Mon-Fri week seems too long, and the Weds-Sun week, what with the training day, always sucks.

There doesn't seem to be much to look forward to these days, you know except not dying.

Summer is gone...finally.

I hope she doesn't turn a trick and get better, and if not, it appears colder weather is on the way.

I couldn't be happier about it.

Really? Today?

So, yesterday I'm feeling OK.

Today: pretty severe pain in my shoulder, kinda severe pain in my back, and my damn ankle still hurts.

What the hell, man?

A day is coming

I'll turn 43.

I haven't really given this a whole lot of thought. I seem to remember reading in _Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy_ that 43 is the answer to the meaning of life.

I'm not sure I buy into that, but we will see. I'll be at work that day, of course. I've got nothing planned for this year, though I did consider, briefly, a 43 mile bike ride.

Fortunately, arrogance gave way to wisdom and I gave that up as bad business.

I'm neither looking forward to, nor dreading, my birthday this year. Nothing seems to bother me much these days, except life itself.

I need a change.

Indeed.

Another July passes by us....

It's August 3rd., 2010.


The sun's still on the other side of the horizon out here, and I am OK with that.

I'm sitting here in the the last dark hours of the morning, thinking about everything. My back hurts, my ankle hurts, but at least I'm not hung-over. Probably won't be again. I'm probably going to drink the last three beers in my fridge this week, then be done with it.

It seems like the thing to do.

I think that phrase will sum up most of my decisions henceforth.
"Why did you do that?"
"It seemed like the thing to do."

A simple, if not somewhat cryptic, answer.


The future isn't bright and I'm not very optimistic that things will get better.

I am sure of one thing: Time will pass.

Long is the way, and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.

Indeed.

A 7-year plan.

7 years seems like a long time.

It will probably feel longer than it is because I'll spend it knowing what I am missing.

The 7-year plan is this:
Continue doing what I'm doing for 7 more years, take early retirement, and make a go of freedom.

It's the best plan I can come up with considering my circumstances.

Dreams die. I've murdered a few in my time, and recently put the ice on the "live on a sailboat" one.

Goals, on the other hand, can sometimes be reached.

My wife and I had possibly the single most important discussion we have ever had on Sunday and yesterday we completed all the paperwork we will need when we meet with the lawyer today.

Bankruptcy, not divorce.

No, she decided that she wants to keep me around a little while longer, and I am pleased with that. It would have been the work of a minute for her to choose divorce, and I gave her the perfect way out. She thinks I'm (or can be again) worth the trouble.

We decided, though, that the current life we lead needs some serious overhaul. We are going to try to make some positive changes and the first step is getting the financial crap in order. That's going to take 3-5 years under Chapter 13, again barring some great miracle. 3-5 years is time enough for us to get some other stuff in process. I've still got some writing in me, and I am hopeful about the Brazilian Project.

So, she tacitly agreed with the "7-year plan."

We've decided that, if the stars align and the Buddha smiles on us with clean teeth, we will become gypsies in 7 years, traveling in some sort of mobile home, the type is undecided at this point and that's really a discussion for the future, anyway. A sailboat is right out, unless we can find one on the -real- cheap.

There is a pinpoint of light coming into my life, but I'm not going to give myself an opportunity to be optimistic about it just yet.

I'm going to try to create a list of rules (guidelines, maybe?) in order to help us live more simply.

In the meantime, I'm going to keep focused on the future while trying not to lose sight of the present. There's things to do.

Life is short, art is long, and success very far off.

Indeed.

Who, me?

I'm an atheist democrat (as far as I can ascribe to a political party) who believes in both the death penalty and a woman's abortion rights.

I believe in the right to bear and freaking use arms. I don't think gay people, black people, white people, Asians or any other "class" should be protected more than any other class. The exception is handicapped people. I think both the Indians and the slaves got a raw deal, but their descendants alive today have the same chances I have, so I don't owe them anything.

I think we need to do something about the illegal aliens pouring into our country, but I don't know what that is. Socialized Medicine is a good idea, I think. I have three books my desk: Webster's Dictionary, the Harbrace College Handbook and a King James Bible.

I consider myself an environmentalist and a believer in animal rights, but I like to fish and I am considering taking up hunting, but only so long as I can be ethical about it. I eat meat. I used to drive a 4 x 4 Jeep Cherokee and I would laugh at my own irony for using it to haul my glass, plastic and paper down to the recycling center. I have been known to buy a bottled water every now and again. I eat only dolphin-free tuna. I try buy organic when possible. I think first-offense poachers should, upon conviction, be imprisoned for 6 months and their hunting privileges permanently revoked. I think we need stronger environmental laws. I think the ACLU is a good thing, after all I swore to defend and protect the constitution, too.

Given that, I have a general distrust of lawyers and politicians, even though I work for one. I believe in personal freedom, but even more so believe that personal freedom comes hand-in-hand with personal responsibility and you can't have one without the other.

I believe that some cops suck, but not enough to account for the prevalence of cop-hating in this country. I wish more police would read Sir Robert Peel's rules. I believe that both Hobbs and Locke were right regarding the state of man, because every man is different. I think Lee Harvey Oswald shot JFK, but I am open-minded enough to consider real evidence and not Oliver Stone's version of it.

I think there exists life on other planets but I haven't seen any real proof that they have come here. The pyramids and statues on Easter island amaze me, but I don't think aliens had anything to do with it. That said, I like TV shows about UFO's and aliens. I'd like to think that Bigfoot exists, but I haven't seen any solid evidence.

While I am genetically a whole bunch of things, I'm culturally a white southerner, but I suffer from neither ignorant racism or liberal guilt. I think Obama was born in this country, and even if he wasn't his mother is an American, so that should be enough. I have a Barack Obama T-shirt. I also have Blackwater USA t-shirt. I wear them both without irony. I don't think Obama is a Muslim, though I am surrounded by people that do. I don't think George W. Bush had anything to do with 9/11, but I am sure as shit he used it to his political advantage. Who in his place wouldn't have?

I think the Electoral College should be abandoned for one man, one vote. I'm very pleased to have been born American, but it was luck of the draw. I could have been born in Angola, Brazil or Somalia. That said, I hate people who hate me just because I am an American, and I can be a jingoistic ass if someone says something negative about my country. I've lived in a socialist country and it was really great.

I think Elvis Presley was great. I think Elvis Costello is good. I know all the words to NWA's song "fuck tha police" and I have the Sex Pistols on my Ipod. I don't smoke. I like beer, booze, and wine more than I should. On my 40th birthday I attempted to run 40 miles but only made it about 38 before I dehydrated. I haven't ran more than 3 miles since that day. I used to bicycle competitively and when you say "winner of the Tour de France" I always think of Greg LeMond.

I'm afraid of heights, but I like flying in planes and helicopters. That said, I despise "air travel." I have a manual typewriter that I sometimes use for personal correspondence. I like letters more than e-mail. I like e-mail more than phone calls.

I stutter sometimes.

My favorite movie is "Fandango" and I've been to Marfa, Texas, but I didn't see the lights. I have 3 guitars and I have been learning to playing since I was 14. I'm not much better now and still have no sense of rhythm.

I'm in the process of getting rid of everything.

Except my dogs. We have five.

It's a start, I reckon.