The Slightly Awkward Encounter

“You may be wondering what I’m doing here with a blowtorch and a spoon,” I remarked to the man who approached me.

He had “Willy” embroidered on his work shirt. “Did you knock on that door there?” he asked, pointing to the house where I was facing as I sat sideways in the passenger seat of my car, munching on a sandwich. The blowtorch and spoon were on the grass in front of me.

“No, wasn’t me,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Someone knocked on her door a little while ago. By the time she got to the door, no one was there,” he answered. He looked at me suspiciously. I tried to chew as nonchalantly as possible as he continued. “I like to check on her from time to time when I drive by here.”

“I’m just here to fix the benches,” I explained.

He looked at me like that didn’t make any sense to him.

“We installed some benches along the community walking path,” I elaborated, pointing in the direction of the path behind the houses. “Some got nicked up during shipping. I’m here to patch ‘em.” I suppose I could have explained that the neighborhood HOA contracted with my company for our services, but I was really interested in shoveling food in my mouth so that I could finish my work before it rained. Already the sky was darkening. I alternated stuffing potato chips in my mouth with one hand, and pouring water in with the other.

“All right now,” said Willy. “You have a good one.” He walked off, around the back of my car and out of my sight line as he went to his work truck

“You too,” I said, with a mouthful of slushy potato chips

“What’s that?” he asked, popping back into view a little too quickly.

“I said,” swallowing, “’You too.’” He stood there. I thought our exchange was completed, but evidently not. I groped for a good conversation-ender. “Can’t be too careful.” That wasn’t it.

“Whatcha mean?” he asked, squinting

“I mean, it’s good to check on each other,” I countered. “Seems like a good neighborhood.”

“Yep, well, we do what we can. If you see anyone, you know… let someone know.” He gave a half wave and walked back to his car again. I dared not answer. Apparently he wanted me to report myself to someone, if I caught his drift correctly

I popped the last of my sandwich in my mouth and followed it with as many potato chips as would fit (it was a really good BBQ chip). Wiping my hands on my shirt, I stood, closed the car door, and scooped up my spoon and blowtorch. I looked up at the darkening clouds, then trotted between two narrowly placed houses toward the walking path.

The Firepit Trial

I should start by stating that I love my daughter, Michaela, very much, and she is a high achiever in so many ways. HOWEVER.... there were times a couple years ago, when she was on the cusp of going away to college, that I could have made a pretty good case that she might not be ready to live on her own. I call my next witness to the stand: me.

"Mr. Scotchie, can you tell us what happened on the night of July 6, 2013, around 9 p.m.?"

"Yes, yes I can. We were in the back yard, my wife and I and a couple of neighborhood friends, enjoying a nice fire in our firepit. Since the firepit was pretty close to the house, when the wind shifted the smoke would fill the house, so we had the door to the living room closed."

"And were you aware that it is a violation of city code to have a firepit within 30 feet of your home?”

“Errrr….”

“Bailiff, please keep this witness on the premises after we’re done here. To continue, what happened at around 9 p.m.?”

“My daughter arrived, my almost-college aged daughter, to let us know she was home and was probably going to join us.”

“And to tell you this, she would have had to open the French door from the living room to the porch, and then the porch’s screen door to the patio.”

“Yes, that is correct. She was holding the screen door open as we spoke, I remember.”

“And what happened next?”

“Well, when we finished, I asked her to close the door so that smoke from the fire wouldn’t get into the house, because we were so close to the house, and the smoke would just…. uh….”

“Objection, your honor! My client is an idiot!"

"Sustained. Keep to the case at hand, counselor."

"Yes, your honor. Mr. Scotchie, please continue – what happened next?”

“So after I tell her to close the door so that smoke doesn’t get into the house, she nods her head and closes the screen door.”

“The screen door, and not the French door made of glass and wood?”

“Yes sir.”



“No further questions, your honor."

I Bleed Blood

I gave blood today. I like giving blood. Really, I do. 

No I don't. But I had you, didn't I? You think I'm the kind of person who would LIKE giving blood. "Oh, there goes that Mike Scotchie. (whispering) He likes giving blood!" But it's something I've done as long as I can remember. When I was a kid I gave blood all the time, mostly to the sidewalk, but preferably to new carpeting. Now the bloodmobile comes to our office every 2 months to collect it in a more orderly fashion. I like that. This could be "a thing." When the inevitable vampire apocalypse takes place, I'll be ready. "All right, fellas, settle down. SETTLE DOWN. Here's a pint, I'll see you in 8 weeks. Now beat it!"

One other thought -- why do bloodmobiles set their A/C on "Arctic"? I could hear a crackle as the syringe pierced my frozen flesh. I think I donated a pint of Slurpee. Here's a fun idea for bloodmobiles around Halloween, and I shared it with the crew last year in October. Decorate the inside of the bus with fake blood squirts on the ceilings and walls by the beds. Oh what fun! They didn't think it was a great idea though.

We're at a soccer field – must be our Anniversary!

My wife, Karen, and I just got back from a weekend at UF visiting our daughter, Michaela. Her club team was hosting a tournament. Some things never change. Our anniversary, Feb. 19, usually falls on President's Day weekend, which has been and still is a prime weekend for soccer clubs to hold or attend tournaments. I reckon over the past 10 years, we have spent 9 on a soccer field or traveling to one on Feb. 19. 

The one time this didn't happen was 3 years ago, and we forgot. Both of us. Oh, sure, we knew it was coming up in early February, but then life distracted us and neither one of us was aware on the 19th that we should be kissy kissy huggy huggy and all that. Our daughter, who does not have the best track record for remembering things, had to remind us with a nice text. Oops. We decided to go to a nice restaurant, first time we've done that on our actual anniversary date in forever, during which we both spent the entire time alternating between apologizing profusely and being deeply hurt.

Anyway, back to the tournament at UF. Wouldn'tcha know it, but Michaela had a super bad cold. After the first game, she considered asking her coach if she could sit out, but she decided to gut it out for the team. These girls are tough, and even though she says she didn't want to tell the coach she was sick because he intimidated her somewhat, I think the real reason was she couldn't bear to tell her teammates that coughing up a lung was too much for her to play on. That would have arched some eyebrows; one girl tried to play on a broken foot last year. These girls play for each other no matter what. So she played.
She endured three games -- 180 minutes -- Saturday, and her team made it to Sunday morning's semi-final, which was at 8:30 a.m.! No sleeping in for our little patient. She looked so ragged and pitiful when we took her to the field that I brought a shovel with me in case she dropped dead at some point and needed to be buried. Of course that game had to go into OT, with her playing nearly the whole game. They lost, which was a blessing in disguise. But overall a fun weekend, always great to see our little flower punkin baby angel.
On the drive home, Karen and I realized that between the soccer games and tending to our sick child, the weekend flew by and just didn't seem complete. So we celebrated our anniversary the way we've always done – a couple days late, watching a rented movie, and eating take-out wings. So now you know what to get us for our anniversary next year.

Driver of Car Finally Turns Right

After a lengthy deceleration, the driver of a 1998 Ford Taurus wagon finally turned right.

Jim Dumas, the driver directly behind the Taurus, witnessed the whole event. “At first I thought something was wrong. I mean, no one was in front of her. I tried to help her along by following closely and tapping my horn.” After a time, Dumas switched from arrhythmic horn-tapping to “trying to play the theme song from ‘Happy Days’.”

The driver of the Taurus, Helen Strahan, was unaware that her driving was drawing any attention. “That’s just the way I drive,” she said. “Safe and sound, like everyone should.”

Drivers in the center lane, waiting for their green light, soon noticed Strahan’s slow but determined progress and began cheering her on. “When I heard that,” Strahan beamed, “I felt like Richard Earnhardt at the Superdrive Bowl!”

At approximately 5:37 p.m., Strahan completed the turn at amid the honks and cheers of fellow motorists. She gradually accelerated onto Franklin Avenue until she got dangerously close to approaching the posted speed limit.

Clowning Community Mourns Loss of Local Legend

For more than 40 years, Paul Eiger, who went by "Puddin' Head" when in full facepaint and outfit, entertained thousands of people and mentored dozens of other clowns. Hundreds of colleagues and fans attended his funeral at Rolling Hills cemetery on the outskirts of Knoxville, TN.

When the hearse arrived at the cemetery, the eight pallbearers somberly climbed out of the casket and carried it to the waiting grave site, occasionally feigning like they were slipping and almost dropping the casket. Puddin' Head's widow, Winnie, threw the first cream pie in after the casket was lowered into the grave. Filling the grave in with dirt was delayed several times, as departing mourners nonchalantly walked into the hole while pointing at something in the sky or trees.