Always be giving each other your props and your snaps

Today you get a double dose of news I find interesting that you might not have read about. The subjects of today's winning stories have my undying respect -- both for very different reasons, but they have my respect, nonetheless. I'll let their stories speak for themselves.

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Man breaks sleep deprivation record

A man has claimed a new record by succeeding in his bid to stay awake for 11 days as part of his research into human sleep.

Tony Wright, 42, began his attempt on the 264-hour record at 6 a.m. on May 14 at the Studio Bar in Penzance, west Cornwall.

A qualified horticulturist, he relied on a raw food diet, including fruit, salad, seeds and nuts, to help keep him awake.

After setting the record just after 6 a.m. on Friday, he said: "I feel pretty good but a bit shaky. It has not really sunk in yet that I have beaten the record.

"I do not feel tired yet, but there is a bit of adrenaline pumping around at the moment."

He said his diet and intake of herb tea "seemed to make a big difference to my ability to stay awake and remain functional".

Mr Wright had the help of friends, chatting and playing pool, to keep him awake. He has conducted 15 years of research into human sleep, and claimed each side of the human brain requires a different amount of sleep. With appropriate preparation, it is possible to stay awake and remain functional for long periods, he said.

During his record bid he said he had one "near sleep experience" and found the most difficult thing to do was writing his website diary while sleep-deprived.

Student Randy Gardner set the Guinness World Record in 1964 as part of a science project in San Diego, US.

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Now, apparently there has since been questions raised about if he actually broke the record or not. You can Google that if you'd like. I don't even care. Eleven days is pretty freaking amazing. Here's to you, Tony Wright. I don't even feel like I can boast about my tales of sleep deprivation anymore.

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Man Wrestles Leopard That Jumped in Bed

JERUSALEM (AP) - A man clad only in underwear and a T-shirt wrestled a wild leopard to the floor and pinned it for 20 minutes after the cat leapt through a window of his home and hopped into bed with his sleeping family.

"This kind of thing doesn't happen every day," said 49-year-old Arthur Du Mosch, a nature guide. "I don't know why I did it. I wasn't thinking, I just acted."

Raviv Shapira, who heads the southern district of the Israel Nature and Parks Protection Authority, said a half dozen leopards have been spotted recently near Du Mosch's small community in the Negev desert in southern Israel, although they rarely threaten humans.

Shapira said it was probably food that lured the big cat. Leopards living near humans are usually too old to hunt in the wild and resort to chasing down domestic dogs and cats for food, he added.

Du Mosch's pet cat was in the bed with him at the time, along with his young daughter who had been frightened by a mosquito in her own room.

Shapira said the leopard was very weak when park rangers arrived at Du Mosch's home after the surprise late-night visit. He said nature officials would likely release it back into the wild.

Du Mosch said he probably would not have been able to control the big cat were it in better health. As a nature guide, he said, he was familiar with animals and did his best to hold down the leopard without harming it. He said he took it all in stride, "but the kids were excited."

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If I had a list of 10 things (well, maybe 100 things) I wanted to do before I died, reading that story would make me want to add pinning a wild leopard to the floor to the list. And because I don't have a list like that, reading that story makes me want to create that list just so I could add "wild leopard encounter" to it. Now if someone just has a wild leopard to spare. We really don't get too many native ones here on the coast. You can just leave it on my back porch. Or in my car. I won't be too particular.

Please silence your cell phones

Tonight I joined the rest of America in this year's official Memorial Day Weekend activity: Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. As with any summer blockbuster on opening weekend, the theatre filled up pretty quickly. Which always begs the ever-important, movie-experience question: What kind of people will be sitting around you. Because if you're one of the unlucky ones, you have a show killer near you. That's right -- a show killer. One who kills the movie-going experience. For years, there's been the same old culprits. The crying baby. The person who refuses to turn his cell phone off. The chatty friends. The middle school gang of friends. The big-haired old lady who refuses to sit anywhere but directly in front of you. The person who thinks they're the official movie narrator. You get the idea. And we've all experienced them.

But tonight, I realized that the changing technologies has brought a new threat into the theatres: Text-messaging high school girl. This silent threat might be considerate enough to silence the cell phone. But that just means you won't get any warning each time they flip open their phones lighting up a 4-foot radius in the theatre with their 2-inch LCD screen. Luckily, kids these days can type 85 WPM on a numeric keypad, so their phones only have to be open for about 6 seconds to type a response roughly the length of this blog post.

I swear, though, this girl next to me tonight almost sent me in to an epileptic seizure from all the flashing LCD screens. It was like a strobe light. And if the cell phone girl happens to be sitting next to her friend, then you've probably got chatty friends to deal with now because they both have to have a giggle about whatever 12-letter acronym sentence thy just typed to their friend working at Abercrombie and Fitch. I just hope, for their sake, that they have unlimited text messaging on their cell phone plan. Otherwise, that $7.50 movie just became an even more expensive chat room.

Don't you want to earn Schrute Bucks?

This morning I opened my eyes to the sound of rain falling and the rumblings of thunder. Perfect opportunity to lie in bed for another hour, dozing off and on listening to the rain. Also a perfect opportunity to visit the newly opened Shipley Do-Nuts across the street for a couple sausage kolaches and a bag of doughnut holes. What a way to start the weekend. The rain has turned into more than a constant drizzle. Just enough that you really don't want to get out in it. You'd think I'd be used to this kind of rain after nine months of living in a coastal town. But I've been surprised at how often it threatens to rain around here but doesn't actually do anything. Those grey clouds come rolling in right off the Gulf, and just when you think we're gonna get a shower, they keep right on blowing by.

For some reason, my nights designing the front page at work have been designated the nights for something to go horribly wrong. This week's disaster waited until the very end of the evening, just about the time some of the night crew can begin to filter out. When you're on front page duty, though, you're there until the bitter end. Even if there's a big problem waiting for you at the bitter end and there's few people left to do anything about it. But I won't lie, I like getting to be that guy. Every once in a while.

What do you want on your Tombstone?

A major streak ended today, and this one had nothing to do with consecutive blog posts. I managed to eat a pizza for lunch without burning the roof of my mouth. This might seem like a simple thing, but I think I've burned my mouth eating oven-cooked pizzas every time since ... oh ... high school. And considering I typically eat a couple of them a week nowadays, that's a lot of first- or second-degree burns. In fact, I really shouldn't have any feeling left on the roof of my mouth at all. I don't know what's so hard about waiting 3 minutes after it comes out of the toaster, but it's a skill that has escaped me for years. I think it's part of a larger problem, though. If Superman has Kryptonite, then I've got heat. It's my weakness. If I get to close to it, I'm going to get burned ... literally ... in a couple various ways. I've already mentioned the pizza example. Then there's the fact that I rarely escape a cooking or baking excursion in the oven without burning a finger or my hand on a hot surface. It has nothing to do with my cooking ability. The food usually turns out fine. My fingers, often, do not. And ever since I was a child, I've always sunburned very easily. Too easily. I guess it's what I get for being the prototypical Aryan specimen. Such is my lot in life. This one, I've learned to cope with. That entails sealing myself with sunscreen whenever I have plans to set foot in the sun and reapplying, oh, every hour or so. But the others -- I think I'll just learn to live with them. Either that, or invest in some really good oven mitts.

What a long, strange journey it's been

Today marks two milestones for this blog. First, today marks the end of the 21-straight-days-of-blogging-regardless-of-what's-going-on experiment. What a journey it's been. Before the experiment began, blogging had become a chore. I'd sit around thinking about what I wanted to write (big surprise) for so long that I either wouldn't ever get around to writing anything or I'd scare myself away from posting in the first place because I didn't want to spend the time to crank out a post. But that was old Blogger Jonathan. Old Blogger Jonathan wanted each post to be perfect. New Blogger Jonathan simply doesn't care about that. He knows that even if one post wasn't great, as long as he is consistently posting new thoughts, a poor or undeveloped post will eventually be buried among new ones. Enough with the third-person omniscient, but you get the picture. Which brings me to my second milestone ...

After almost 2 and a half years of blogging, I have finally reached 50 posts. Shameful, I know. And almost half of those posts have come during the 21-days experiment. But at least I'm well on my way to pulling my average up to two posts a month. Even in that small sample, I've noticed the nature of the posts changing through the years. Sometimes the posts were sporadic but lengthy life updates, such as when I was away on a summer job. Sometimes they were about random things that happened in my life. Sometimes they simply were me trying to be witty. Never really any rhyme or reason to what kind of post it would be. But lately (during the 21-day experiment at least), the blog has more or less morphed into a typical journal where I simply write short blurbs about what's going on that day. Might be about work. Might be about a new hobby. Might be about an upcoming event. Might even throw in the occasional deep though. There never used to be any good reason to keep a running chronicle of my life on this thing because most of its readers were already around me for several hours (or more) each day. But now that I've been off on my own, this seems to make the most sense. And I think I'm happy with where the blog has arrived for now. And because I continue to get comments from different people on most days' posts, I'll assume the readers mostly are satisfied. So I'll keep 'em coming if you'll keep on coming back. I'm not guaranteeing they'll keep coming every day now that my experiment is up, but that's what I'll shoot for.

And it wouldn't be a milestone post, if I didn't give thank my faithful, or even unfaithful, readers. There really wouldn't be a point to all this without you. All seven of you.

Don't underestimate the Force

(Yes, I've been going through the Star Wars films ...)

A quick post before beginning my work week. I'd first like to report that I am feeling moderately well. Definitely sore, but I think I've been sorer at other points in my life. I'd also like to point out that I've probably never been cleaner in my life. I've maintained my regular daily shower the past two days, but nothing feels quite as good to the sore muscles than a nice soak in a bath, which I've done the past two days as well. I'm sure this will make me reach my 3-bath-a-year average much more quickly this year, though. You see, ever since I discovered the shower (late elementary school, perhaps?) I haven't been one to utilize an actual bath very often. Save two circumstances. When I'm sick or when I'm very sore. And usually some combination of these adds up to 3 baths or so each year. I think I'll allow myself more without much remorse this year.

As my good friend Justin Scott, future J.D., has discussed in the past, running can develop into a sort of addiction for the people who are really into it. I'm certainly far off from developing any kind of addiction to running, but I think I can understand now how it happens. You run one distance and you think, "You know, I could probably add a little more to that," or "I could probably do that a little faster." Then pretty soon, you're looking for new distances or times to challenge you, and it becomes a vicious cycle. And since I ran approximately a 7K yesterday, my thoughts have been how close that seems to a 10K and how I could probably achieve that if I actually disciplined my training a little better. So that's my next goal. I don't know if I'll participate in something as structured as an actual race again, but that's the distance I'm shooting for next. Once I hit that, we'll see where it leads from there.

I just felt like running

What better way to enjoy my pain of the day than an entirely mental journal of the morning's events that I have transcribed from my couch? Before we get to that, though, here's a few things to catch you up if you didn't know. Today I took part in a relay marathon on a six-member team made up of people from the newspaper. We were all in decent enough shape, but not the peak of physical fitness either. Most of us would have been happy just to finish our legs in a respectable enough time. Me? I was just hoping to keep my miles under 10 minutes on average, and I would have been thrilled to finish in less than 40 minutes. I got the "privilege" of running the first leg, which started at 7 a.m. but would require an even earlier wake-up call. It's also the only leg that's entirely on the sand of the beach. I had heard that there were some portions of the beach that the sand remained packed down pretty well, so I hoped that wouldn't be too much of a factor. My leg consisted of running about 2.2 miles south down the beach to a turnaround and then back to the original starting line where I would hand off to a teammate who would continue running north (and yes, it is a little disheartening that my leg in no way got us any closer to the finish line). And now for the entirely mental journal that I bring to you to the best of my recollection.

4 a.m. - Didn't even need the three extra alarms set on my phone. Was able to hop (or at least crawl) right out of bed. Who would have thought it, especially at 4 a.m. (I've gone to bed later than this time.)

4:22 - No matter what I do, these arms simply aren't made for a tank top shirt. However, that is what the company has provided its sponsored teams. So it's what I wear. Also, note to self: when tank tops are unavoidable, order one in a size smaller than you normally wear. This thing might fall off me.

4:55 - At the H.E.B. just before the bridge to North Padre Island to catch buses to the starting line with all the other first and second leggers. Haven't seen this many people gathered together before 5 a.m. in a long time. Maybe never.5

5:25 - Let off the bus a good half a mile away from the starting line. Wouldn't be so disconcerting if it still wasn't the dead of night. The stars are still out, and we're all hiking in to darkness. Guess it's a good warmup

5:34 - Now we wait. Race doesn't start until 7 a.m. We just wait for the 3,000-plus people running either the first or the second leg to all get here.

6:26 - Powerbars are weird. They're chewy, but at the same time, they're grainy. What do they put in these things?

6:50 - Time to find a place in the horde of people. Our beach isn't that wide to begin with. Couple that with trying to squeeze 1,500 runners in a small area of it, and it makes for a very crowded area.

7:01 - Starting horn.

7:02 - I thought the sand was supposed to be more packed down than this. It most certainly is not. Most others seem to agree. Lots of traversing back and forth across the beach trying to find a lane that's solid.

7:05 - What was I thinking?

7:14 - In awe of the Kenyan who's already hit the turnaround and just passed me going the other way. I believe he finished in something just over 18 minutes.

7:21 - I hit the turnaround, but I can't let up any if I want to keep my time close to the 40-minute mark.

7:28 - Trouble strikes. All of a sudden I feel like I need to slow it down.

7:29 - There's never a reason to schedule rests during a run even if you really feel like you need it if you can coordinate those times with a quick and effective throw-up break. Some of you might be grossed out by this. But if you really know me, then you know that this really is no big deal for me. Just like any other week during the fall semester of my junior year of college.

7:31 - That's the best thing that could have happened. I feel good now, got my breath, and I'm good to go for the last push. Just lost a bit of time, so I'll have to pick it up.

7:42 - Make the handoff in just over 40 minutes. Don't feel like collapsing or anything, but it's good to be done. And even with the lost time, I still managed to keep the miles under 10 minutes each on average. And since the sand was even harder than anticipated, I'm thrilled to have kept it close to 40 minutes.

And so ends the mental journal. But the worst part of it all, I think, was still to come. Because now there are 1,500 tired people who want to leave North Padre Island, and most want to go back to Corpus over the one and only bridge in that direction. Many have their own cars there, but the rest of us pile on to shuttles. Of course, I was one of the group that didn't have a seat but was standing in the aisle. Who knew that it would take us an hour and a half to travel the 5 miles back to the H.E.B. I think I was more glad to be done with that trip than the actual run.

And now I'm lying on the couch, where I plan to be the rest of the day. It's not that I'm hurting so much right now. I did take a pre-emptive strike dose of Advil just in case. I'm just feeling tired, both from the run and from being up since 4 a.m. Tomorrow is when the soreness sets in. But until then, I'm just kicking back on the couch running up my electric bill to get it so cold I want to use a blanket. Maybe I'll get out a little later for some celebratory KFC. But that's going to be it.

I have something that no one else has: My brain

I come to you today at a different time than normal. The 2 a.m. posts had to be put on hold for a few days this weekend. It just wouldn't have meshed well with tomorrow's 4:15 a.m. wake-up time. That's right, the day of the race is upon us. And because I was off work the day before and the day of the race (and also probably because I'm the youngest) I get to run the first leg of the marathon. So I have to be at the shuttle stop to catch a ride to the starting line by 5 a.m. That actually might be the hardest part of this whole ordeal. So I'm shooting to go to bed earlier than I have in years -- no later than 10 p.m. We'll see how that goes. One of the relay veterans at work swears the first leg is the best because it's not hot yet and you get it out of the way instead of waiting at one of the exchange points for a while as other runners pass by. But it's also the one and only leg that's run on the beach, so we'll see how the sand treats me.

I've cleared most of my afternoon tomorrow in case I just feel like lying around the rest of the day. I'll get back to you all when it's all over.

Something has gone horribly wrong

A strange thing happened tonight. At about 9 p.m. tonight, everyone in the newsroom could be seen milling around the floor, mingling, watching TV. Not a soul was working on the paper. 9 p.m. typically signals the beginning of crunch time -- the final push toward deadline. A scene like this could only mean one thing. Something had gone horribly wrong. A server crashed had crashed with our database on it. We couldn't get into any pages to design them. Editors could open stories to edit them. So we mingled around the office for an hour while we waited for the problem to be fixed. Didn't matter if it was going to be one, two or three hours. When putting out a newspaper, you don't just call it a night if the computers are down. It just means you stay later. Luckily things had been going well up until the crash. We only missed an hour of work, but our last page was sent only half an hour after our original deadline. Not bad at all.

The whole situation got me thinking about all the newsroom disasters I've been involved in during my eight years in newspapers. I've decided I've had my share already, but I'm sure I'm not done with them. I thought I'd run through the ones I could think of right off hand. All these fall into the category of some sort of major work stoppage or hinderance to work that lasted more than a few minutes. And I'm not even going to count your basic frantic days when some news broke really late or we had to wait on some developing story like election nights. Some of you will remember some of these, feel free to chime in with your own.

Sophomore year of high school (Spring 2000): My first year on the high school newspaper staff is coming to a close as the staff works to put out its big senior issue. We arrived at the office early Saturday to discover that power is out to the entire school. The editor and his father promptly rent a gas-powered generator that we set up outside the office that gives us enough juice to power a few computers, the printer and a lamp. Power isn't restored until we return Monday for school, so we worked the whole weekend like that.

Sophomore year of college ('03-'04): Power goes on and off in the Don Morris Center so often that by the time you get the computer restarted and working on a page again, the power has flickered again. Makes making any progress on a page very difficult. Lots of banging and yelling heard coming from the editor's office.

Junior and senior years of college ('04-'06): More building power issues, except these weren't just surges. We're talking several hours of power outages. This category could be split into several crises if I simply remembered how many times this happened. I remember at least two times. Once junior year during a thunderstorm. Resulted in the hardcore staffers (you know who you are) hanging out around a dark office, lined up at the windows watching the storm until power was restored. Another time, and probably the longest outage I remember, resulted in the cancellation of Opinion writing class and more sitting around waiting for hours. It was also during these times that we discovered one of the more glaring weaknesses of the building.

Summer 2005:A former city commissioner of Miami walks into the lobby of The Miami Herald and fatally shoots himself a mere 5 floors below my feet on the sports copy desk. The building is locked down for a while as all the employees stay inside and continue working while we all wonder what's going on below.

I'm sure there's even more that I'm not even remembering. Maybe you recall some more. I'd love to have my memory jogged if I've left out your favorite. But as awful as some of these were to experience, I don't know that I'd trade any of them. Even thinking back on them now made me think of so much else that I didn't put on the list. Perhaps they'll make other lists on another day.

Let me break this down for you Bob-O style

Signs that you might be in over your head: Packaging and instructions for your recently purchased tools come only in a foreign language.

I experienced this earlier today when some bonsai tools arrived in the mail. As I pulled each tool out, I was greeted by more and more little Japanese symbols and very few characters that made any sense to me. At least there won't be any suggesting that these aren't authentic from Japan. They all look like what I ordered, but unless I learn Japanese, I'll never know if they have the same names as the things I ordered. At least the three spools of aluminum wire were labeled 1.5 mm, 2.0 mm and 2.5 mm -- I know what those characters mean, and that's what I wanted. But now I've got an even harder task than learning Japanese so I can read about these tools I got -- Now, I have to learn how to use the tools to make the bonsai trees do what I want them to do.

At least I have a book to get me started. And at least it's in English -- not that that's all that helpful in some cases. Flipping through the book today was a bit like flipping through your physics textbook on the first day of class. Lots of pictures, diagrams and symbols, but a lot of stuff I still don't understand. I always knew there was more to this art than Mr. Miyagi let on in The Karate Kid, but some of this stuff goes really in-depth. Guess it will just be a learning process for quite a while. But that's the exciting thing about learning a new hobby. First up: figuring out how to wire the branches.

From the land under the land down under

Who doesn't enjoy a good idiot-criminal story? You know the kind: some guy (or girl ... no discrimination on this blog) does something illegal, then follows that poor decision up by doing something just plain dumb that often results in this person's apprehension. And when I see one, I usually have a good chuckle, ask a bunch of rhetorical questions that only God and that criminal know the answer to (What was that guy thinking? How could she do that? etc.) and then move on with my day. But one of these stories caught my eye today for one reason alone: it's location. The dateline read "Wellington, New Zealand." And I realized I have a great opportunity to understand this story a little better. You see, I've got my very own New Zealand expert among this blog's readership. A former employee of its government, even. So, former Kiwi, enlighten us with your insight on the following:

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Man breaks into,
then out of jail cell

WELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) -- A bumbling intruder broke into an empty New Zealand police station and accidentally locked himself in a cell, but managed to smash his way out again just before authorities arrived.

Sgt. Graham McGurk on Monday said the person broke into the deserted police station in the town of Matamata on North Island on Saturday night through the front office.

The intruder went to the cell bloc, and was accidentally locked in when a self-closing door clicked shut.

As police rushed to respond to an intruder alarm at the post, the intruder used a wooden chair that was inside the cell to smash through a window -- supposedly outfitted with shatter-proof glass -- to freedom.

Arriving officers could hear the intruder, but he fled through the front of the station as police were closing in from the back, McGurk said.

"It was quite unusual. The offender has almost done the job for us, getting himself locked in our cell," he said.

It wasn't known why the person broke into the police station, and nothing was stolen, McGurk said.

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So, now it's time for the rhetorical questions. Except, maybe this time I can get some answers, if my well traveled friend would be so kind as to ablige. First, what kind of police station these days is ever empty? Are the New Zealand jails so nice that this is how some guy might want to spend his Saturday night? And what's up with having a conveniently placed escape window in a cell? Is it common practice to make sure even the inmates have a view of the beautiful countryside?

So many questions, but I'm sure you all can think of the rest on your own. But lastly (I ask more rhetorically this time to no one in particular), what ever happened to a good, old-fashioned empty concrete jail cell surrounded by unshatterable iron bars? It might have made the New Zealand streets might have been a safer place today. But, judging by this guy's criminal abilities, I'm not going to lose much sleep worrying about what he might do next.

You have failed me for the last time

This was an important weekend for the cinema. At long last, the season finale of Chad Vader premiered online. Episode 8 brought to a close Season 1, which have been sporadically posted online during the past 10 months. Hold on, I feel I may have lost some of you. A little background. Chad Vader, as the name would suggest, is the younger, less well known, less talented brother of the infamous Darth. Season 1 chronicles his journey, which begins at Empire-Mart, where Chad is day-shift manager. As with most any viral video online, you either know exactly what I'm talking about, or you have missed out on it entirely. If you're in the latter group, don't fret. I bring to you Chad Vader: Episode I

Now, count yourself ready for the other seven episodes. They only get better, and it's a great way to spend 40 minutes.

You've been graveled

First, let me just say that TV on DVD has to be one of the top 10 innovations of the decade. Easily. It doesn't even matter if it was innovated before this decade.

Now, for the real purpose of today's post. My apartment needs a name. This name need not make sense. It just has to sound cool (but bonus points if it does make sense and sound cool). Right now, after thinking about it for about 5 minutes, I think I'm most partial to The Crow's Nest. Although, The Priory does have a certain ring to it. Or, The Model Home, simply for the constant Arrested Development references I could make. Or I could be like the Texas Rangers and first name it The Apartment in Corpus Christi. Then, after everyone (who at first hated the name) gets used to that, sell the naming rights to to a failing business. Then, make up some excuse shortly after that so I can rechristen it Jonathan's Apartment in Corpus Christi. The point is, my apartment needs an identity. And I want to reward the blogging faithful out there with an opportunity to have a hand in that identity. So, if you've got something clever or witty or you simply want me to name it after you, send the suggestion my way. Remember, you can't win if you don't play.

Super Saturday

For today's post, I'd just like to congratulate my senior friends who are graduating today. After fourish years at ACU, you've earned the right today to count how many times someone tells you that you will change the world.

Today, we've got every journalists dream day: an election. That means everyone is getting called in to work, even if we're normally off on Saturdays. But I won't be working news-side on this election; I'll be helping out with sports. This might be the best possible situation on election night. I get to be around all the excitement of the evening, but I get to avoid some of the headaches of the election news that can't come together until late in the evening. Although, I won't avoid all of this working over in sports, seeing as those events regularly finish late in the evening.

But regardless of the stress or the amount of work or of getting called in on my weekend, there's not many better places to be during an election than a newsroom. Maybe the sounds of that pressure and stress don't sound like your idea of fun night. But it certainly makes for a memorable night. I think my former Optimist cohorts will at least agree with that.

Bust a move

For years, the arrival of summer has always meant the arrival of something new in my life. While in college, it meant three new jobs in three different places: one in Abilene as a camp counselor, one in Washington, D.C., as a reporting intern, and one in Miami as a copy editing intern. Summers in high school meant a new city to visit in Mexico, a different mountain to climb in Colorado, a different group of people to get to know at camp. Then there were family vacations to some new state and some different landmark. Even last summer brought on a job search which finally culminated in the job I find myself now. Which brings me to this summer.

No more weeks and weeks of time to which I can decide to do as I please. No job search to keep me guessing where I'm going to end up. No big trips planned south of the border or to the top of mountain. I've just recently taken a vacation and don't yet have a reason to take another one. I think for the first time since I was old enough to have summer plans, I've got nothing new happening this summer -- hardly any plans at all to speak of. And that might make this summer the most different summer of all.

Running from running

I might be speeding toward disaster. The days keep passing by, and before you know it, it will be May 19. And on May 19, I'll be participating in my first ever race: as a member of one of the teams in the city's relay marathon. Of course, I use the term "race" very loosely. It's only a race in the sense that they'll be timing us and there's a start and finish line. Some people will take the race part a little more seriously; apparently people from all over come to Corpus to take part in this. So there will be some hardcore runners out there. And then there'll be me. It's not that I'm horribly out of shape. I've flirted with physical fitness off an on the past couple years. It's just never been a very deep or meaningful romance. Just enough to get by. But I had been doing better the past few months. In case you haven't noticed, though, the past couple weeks, I've been a little preoccupied with work. There hasn't been much getting out, and I don't think that will change a whole lot between now and the race.

But running just has never been my forte. Oh, I'll do it because it's efficient enough exercise. But I've never really learned to enjoy it. I could walk all day -- and on a couple of occasions I've done just that. I've hiked up mountains and even backpacked 100+ miles over a span of 10.5 days and come through just fine (just with two incredibly numb big toes). And I chose to do these things. But when I trade in the hiking boots for running shoes and increase the pace, and it becomes something I do more out of necessity than desire.

But there I'll be in 9 days, likely running on the beach or across the causeway bridge. The distance isn't even all that terrifying, but it's certainly farther than I would normally choose to go. But, as the youngest member of my team, I'd really prefer not to embarrass myself. I make no guarantees though. I figure I'm young enough that I can do something stupid to my body every once in a while and it will forgive me. But my body and I might not be on speaking terms next weekend. Or my body might flip me off for several consecutive days after the race (maybe even the dreaded double deuce). Maybe I just need to get on the 'roids for the next few days. Doubt I'll be urine tested at the finish line. I could stand a little 'roid rage as a side effect. Might be kinda entertaining. Just don't let the commissioner of Major League Baseball know.

There's nothing on my horizon except everything

Today, my company put out its procedures for what we do in case of a hurricane seeing as hurricane season officially begins in less than a month. Now, for many of you, the answer to this dilemma is simple: Get the heck out of town. But it's not so simple for a newspaper man. In case you haven't noticed, a lot of newspapers' best work happens during crises ... and a hurricane certainly qualifies as a crisis. Even the New Orleans Times-Picayune continued to publish after Katrina, albeit in an off-site location. Here though, we've got the option of being part of the all-volunteer staff in the case of a direct hit by a storm. I must say, it's quite tempting. However, the odds of this coming in to play should not be that strong. This town, for whatever reason, doesn't get hit by hurricanes that often. I say the odds of those shouldn't be strong because this town has never gone through an entire hurricane season with me living in its city limits. Some of you might call that a little ego-centric (narcissistic, even) -- whatever. I long ago have determined that I am a news blackhole -- wherever I go, major or bizarre news events seem to get sucked in, too. If you don't believe me, test me, but I think this is now well document history (or at least a pretty strong theory). And I think it's been more than a year since I found myself in the midst of some major news event, so the time is definitely ripe. So, forget what the climatologists tell you -- I'm getting ready for a hurricane. Now I just need to decide where I'd rather be when it hits: stuck in traffic on I-37 on the way to San Antonio or in a building (whicn I'm sure is built like a bunker) a couple hundred yards from the ocean.

How would I describe myself? Three words: Hard working ... alpha male ... jackhammer ... merciless ... insatiable

What a night. I'm happy to announce that everyone left the newsroom alive tonight because, apparently, this isn't always a guarantee. During training last week, we asked the people from the software company what was the worst experience they had seen for a paper making the switch to new software. Without hesitation, one of them breaks into a story of one employee at some paper dying of a heart attack during the first week. You might say that's just an unfortunate coincidence, and that's what we said, but after going throught the first day of the switch, you begin to think that a connection could be possible. All things considered, I think it went pretty well, and, as I've said recently, there's always something very satisfying about finishing an exhausting day on the job.

I promise I'll get to other topics besides newspaper software one of these days. It's just all I've been living and breathing the past two weeks. I realize that two-thirds of my readership (somewhere in the neighborhood of four people) do not care how an article travels between computer programs from the metro editors to the designers to the copy editors back to the designers back to the copy editors back to the designers and then to the presses (althought it's probably a lot more complicated than you think). When my life isn't consumed by this, you'll get something else. It could be worse -- I could go months without posting again (at least I hope that's worse).

I don't really have much else to say tonight. But I've blogged every day for a week, so if I want to make it a habit, I've got 13 more days to go.

'Blood alone moves the wheels of history'

Today marked the end of our old computer system at work. I got to design the final front page using it. Big deal. Now that system goes the way of Windows 3.1 and Adobe PageMaker. Tomorrow's a bigger day though: The switch to the new system. This will be my third fundamental change in newspaper software in two years (fourth fundamental change in three years). It'll take some time to get used to it. But I'm not so worried about myself. There's something a lot more daunting about the fact that everyone is making this switch at once. When you're the new guy coming in to a room full of knowledgeable people, there's always someone there willing to help or teach. But starting tomorrow, we're all the new guy. A few people know more than others and can help out, but for the most part, we're all just feeling this out together. So that should make for an interesting week. And a long week. And a busy week. But hopefully not a bad week. Get back to me in five days.

And the bonsai tree naming game is still open. Not that I'm not satisfied with John Wayne and Steve Martin. But I gotta keep my options open.

If a bonsai tree falls in the woods, and no one is around to hear it ...

I bought another bonsai tree today. You might not have known I had one at all, but now I have the beginnings of my own forest. Two little junipers. The one I got today is 5 years old. I'm not exactly sure about my other one, but I'm guessing it's about the same age or maybe a bit older by a couple of years. Because this new one is a little bit younger, it's still fairly pliable and I should be able to form it to my liking. If only everything in life were that pliable. New hobbies are always exciting because theres so much to learn and so many new things you have to get. I may never be a Mr. Miyagi as far as bonsai trees go, but it should be cool to always have a few around to dabble in the art. Makes me feel cultured. Here's a couple pictures of my forest.



I've decided they need names. So I'll solicit suggestions. You have the disadvantage of not being able to be around the trees to know their personality, but I'm sure some of you might be inspired to offer some insight. What do ya got?

Congratulations universe. You win.

Perhaps this sudden dedication to blogging is actually catching on. I even began to dream about blogging last night. I remember clearly thinking during some all-to-real dream scenario that I would have to blog about that later. I'm not going to blog about that; you don't get to know. But the fact remains: This blog follows me even into my dreams. I don't want to jinx anything, but maybe I'm actually getting the hang of this whole thing.

Life lesson of the day: Don't lick an envelope with an Atomic Fireball in your mouth. It tends to look like you suffered an especially nasty paper cut while sealing the envelope.

The only difference between me and a homeless man is this job

I've been folding paper airplanes for the better part of an hour and a half. They're littered around me, across the room from me and even in the room beyond. I haven't known what else to do, so I've sat here folding planes. Some have been for flying. Some for decoration. Some glided as far as my apartment allowed and others failed miserably. And those that have failed miserably only bring to mind one thing: my Dallas Mavericks. You see, they were eliminated from the playoffs earlier tonight. The No. 1 seed, a 67-win team with the sixth-best regular season ever, out against a team that had to win on the last day of the season to even make the playoffs. This is hard when you consider the amount of time invested for those fans who have watched or listened to games, or the amount of productivity lost because a TV at the office had the game on in the background. I didn't know what else to do, so I've been folding airplanes. There's something very therapeutic about the repetitive folding and creasing. I've mellowed out now. And of course, I have to offer a special thank to my well-traveled Pacific Northwestern friend who talked me off the edge in this, my hour of great need.

But the week is over (I think/hope). I made it through training at work and have a couple days off before what I'm sure will be the craziest day at work in a long time. That would be the day the entire office switches to the new computer system. But I don't have to think about that now, so I won't. Right now, it's all weekend, all the time -- for two days. I will take suggestions from my more creative readers about what I should do on this fine weekend. Looks like the weather should be good. All options are on the table. And who knows: I just might select your suggestion and would be indebted to you for at least two days. So, let's hear 'em.

Fact: You have a better chance of being hit by a meteorite than eaten by a wolf

First of all, I would like to thank Mr. Dwight Schrute for the titles of my posts in this uncharacteristic string of posts. I owe this sudden dedication to blogging all to you, Rainn Wilson.

Unfortunately, I have very little of my own thoughts on this fine evening. I'm still in the midst of training week at work and it has consumed most all of my days and evenings and will for at least one more day. So, as my brain is fried with all sorts of computer and software terminology, I'll have to bring someone else's story to you today. I hope you enjoy. I present to you the story of Hector the Chihuahua.

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Chihuahua held

for $50 ransom
Dog is wired to look like bomb, tossed into bar

Toledo Blade
Tucson, Arizona | Published: 05.02.2007

TOLEDO, Ohio — Hector went on the ride of his life early Monday.

And it's not one the dog or his owner wants to remember.

The long-haired Chihuahua was dognapped and held for $50 ransom. Then he was bound with duct tape, a broken electrical device and wires to look like a bomb. And he was thrown through the open front door of his owner's bar in Toledo.

"It was hard (that) my dog showed up like that. (Hector) was shakin' and carryin' on, definitely disturbed," said Jerry Dalton, 77, owner of Jerry's Pub. "It was strictly indescribable. My dog, I love him."

Shortly after bar patrons panicked — for they initially thought Hector was a bomb — a woman accused in the crime was handcuffed and booked into the Lucas County jail.

Latonia Hill, 35, was charged with inducing panic, cruelty to animals and menacing. She was being held in jail in lieu of a $3,000 bond on the misdemeanors after arraignment in Toledo Municipal Court.

Police responded to the bar on a bomb threat. There, they were told Hill, the ex-girlfriend of Dalton's son, dognapped the pooch.

She tried to extort money from Dalton for Hector's safe return, and said she would blow up his bar and kill the dog, police said.

Hill is accused of using orange tape to attach the electrical device and wires to Dalton's furry friend, going to the bar, and tossing Hector inside.

Police arrested her at her home at short time later.

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I just don't know that I can top that tonight. So I won't try. Feel free to discuss. I know we've got some animal lovers out there. So many possibilities: The fact she wanted only a $50 ransom.The fact that you can be charged with something called "menacing." The mental image of this woman doing a drive-by, but instead of pulling out a gun, she whips out a Chihuahua and hurls it through a door (I'm picturing an old time saloon with those swinging wooden doors). Here's to you, Hector. Glad your safe and sound Hector, and I'm even happier we got to share in your story.

Fact: I am faster than 80 percent of all snakes

I am worn out.

But this isn't another post like yesterday's. I got home from work a little after 11 p.m. tonight feeling pretty good. But then I sat down to watch the last 9 minutes of Game 5 of the Mavericks/Warriors series. But I wasn't sitting down for long. For about the last 20 minutes minutes of the game, I'm standing in the middle of of my living room. Now, I don't yell often -- about anything. But standing there in front of my television, I'm yelling at the screen, fist pumping along with the players and appealing to the referees. For the final 2 minutes of the game, my fingers are clasped across my scalp and I'm pacing around the coffee table. And by the end (which ended in a Maverick victory, or else I would be writing a much different blog), I'm totally worn out.

Now I realize that much of my readership probably doesn't think it can relate to this, but don't laugh. You do it, too. Whether it's standing in front of your TV watching 24, or Lost, or Alias, or The West Wing or a Liverpool soccer match or The Bachelor, there's something that makes you scream at the TV or gets you worked up over fictional characters.

Now, with all this Mavericks talk, I now come to the question you're all wondering about: What would Jonathan's facial hair look like if he tried to grow a full beard? You have to look no further than the NBA's MVP-to-be (translation: Dirk Nowitzki (pronounced Noh-vit-ski))

Sadly, I have yet to find a quality image that captures this scruff in all its patchiness, but these will give you just a taste of what Dirk Nowitzki has going on. Seeing it live on TV takes it to a whole new level. But rest assured, give me a solid 18 months to not a let a razor touch my face, and I might achieve something close to this.

Question: What kind of bear is best?

This week might confirm that I have, in fact, aged 12.8 years in the past 11 months.

A little background. Our office is training everyone on a new computer system. This week is my week. This means training from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. beginning today (Monday) through Thursday. But we also still have a paper to put out. So that means Monday through Wednesday, I'm also working my regular shift until at least 11 p.m., and more likely midnight. So that makes for a few 12- or 13-hour days at the office.

Eleven months ago, 12-plus-hour days days at the office not only were not a big deal, they were commonplace. In fact, if I didn't spend about that much time up in my office, I barely knew what to do with myself. Now, as soon as I pass the typical workday point of 9 hours, something flips off in me. I get tired, I feel like I've had a full day of work and have earned the rest of the day off. It's amazing what a few months off that college routine and schedule will do for you.

I took a strange sort of pride in being able to be up and functional for 40 straight hours, or being up and going 20 hours a day for several days in a row during those special times of the year. It makes me a little sad to realize that, even though I have no reason to work like that anymore, that I probably couldn't even if I needed to.

One thing that hasn't changed though is that it still feels good to put in those long hours. Oh, they might be harder on me now than they used to be. But there's something so exhilarating about putting in a long, hard day at work and walking away at night being able to look back on all you were able to accomplish. I often will find myself smiling almost uncontrollably, or humming some happy tune in my head on those nights as I walk from the office to my car to head home. You hear stories about the long-distance runners getting a "runner's high" from a particularly tough run where they had to really exert themselves. This is my runner's high; my drug, if you will.

I guess that's how the rest of life will be. I'll look back every few years and realize that there are things I can't physically handle as well as I could in the past. But I think I'll be happy as long as I can enjoy being able to still push myself to the limit -- even if it's just every once in a while.