I don't really expect anyone to read or follow this. Therefore I really don't have anyone to impress. So a warning to those who do (probably by accident) read these posts, they may not be interesting or funny. I'm writing for myself and if you want to read them that's fine too. Kind of a backwards blog strategy, eh? Write autobiographical anecdotes from my life in a public forum, with the intent of nobody ever reading them. Like broadcasting the Truman Show with no viewership.
An explanation of my blog's subtitle:
Argentine cock fights: My friend Eddie from high school is endearingly off-kilter, most likely due to crack binges, dubious ethanol business dealings from across the border, and who knows what else. As I was hanging out with some friends from high school one day somebody mentioned that we should call up Eddie. As we all debated whether to call or not, James Grayot summed up our hesitations: "Maybe we'd better not. With Eddie you never know what you're gonna get; we'll probably end up at a cock fight in Argentina by the end of the night." I thought that was pretty apt, and since then I've always thought of Eddie along with illegal gambling rings in South America.
Lightning strikes: I went to the Boy Scout National Jamboree when I was 16 (2001) in Fort A.P. Hill, Virginia. (A sidenote: we visited the twin towers of the WTC in August of 2001- roughly a month before they were relegated to the past tense) At the Jamboree Mark and I were assigned together to take the wheelbarrow to the mess tent and bring back dinner supplies for our camp. I didn't feel like going because it was storming really bad, and as a result Mark took off pushing the metal wheelbarrow without me through a raging Virginia storm and resultantly got struck by lightning before he even made it out of our campsite. He was in cardiac arrest for about 5 minutes as our leaders gave him CPR and a priesthood blessing. Fortunately he was back on his feet with no side effects whatsoever the next day, which permits me to laugh now that I was such a terrible friend not to have been alongside, where I should have been, that one time he got knocked dead by lightning.
Other Remotely Exaggerated Tales: I take pride, actually, in the fact that my stories are true, exactly how my dad's aren't. The only remote exaggerations come in the embellishment of trivial details, leaving the real substance raw. Which is not lying, just plain good storytelling. And I like my stories, so, I'm going to write about them here. Basically this is where all my noteworthy narratives will go that are above level of Facebook status post.
To whomever is still reading this far: read on if you like, but its just going to be more stories about me.
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