De- ...

I close my eyes and I see a thousand bats flying in my head.

Swirling around furiously in the dark, with no purpose other than a blind, impulsive fear.

Every attempt to plead for an escape richocheting violently around.

With no way out.

The embrace of tiny arms feels like nothing more than the faint and distant vibration of someone trying to save you.

This is what happens when your body no longer belongs to you ... but you're still inside.

'Mmm, Mmm, Mmm, I'm Hungry. I've Got This Sweet Tooth'

I'm not a Raiders fan, but I am a newfound fan of Johnnie Lee Higgins.

I can't remember a more visceral, detailed, complex mixed metaphor to describe that tragic marriage of personal success balanced against team failure.

Here's what happened:

With little faith in the Oakland Raiders' offense to score a touchdown late in the game, Johnnie Lee Higgins took the punt from the 7 yard line and ran it back for a touchdown -- a back-breaker putting the Raiders up 15-14 with little time left.

It looked like the play would seal the Dolphins' fate -- and make a hero of Higgins -- but moments later he watched helplessly as the Dolphins moved the ball in the closing seconds and kicked one through for the 17-15 win keeping them unbelievably in the wildcard chase.

Here's how he described the feeling:

It's like you're a little kid, you're at a candy store ... and you can eat all the candy you want, all the muffins and cupcakes you want. But at the end of the day, your stomach is going to be hurting, and that's exactly what it feels like.

I did something great, I'm eating all this candy. Mmm, mmm, mmm, I'm hungry. I've got this sweet tooth. Later on that night, you're going to be crying for Mama. ... And that's exactly how I feel.

We all feel that way sometimes ... I think.

Man Struggles With Columbus Day Tradition

By Hugh Munn
STAFF WRITER
The Georgetown (S.C.) Tattler

SCUFFLETOWN, S.C. -- An area man said today that he's having trouble using the internet to find a Columbus Day present for his racist second cousin.

"I know I wanna to git 'em one of them screw-the-immigrants bumper stickers," Bill Boothauser said as he leaned over a desk trolling websites on a library computer. "He hates them Mexicans jumpin' over the fence and breathin' all the white man's air. But the Google ain't workin', and I ain't callin' up one of them Injuns overseas."

The recognition of Columbus Day in the Boothauser family is a tradition that stretches back generations.

Past presents have included a Toby Keith CD, several shotguns and a Native American dreamcatcher from "the Cherokee store."

"Me and cuz celebrate Columbus Day because that man was a great American," Boothauser said. "If he hadn't landed on Plymouth Rock, wouldn't nobody be here."

Earlier in the day, Boothauser said, he went to the Havana Leaves tobacco store to buy his cousin -- a self-proclaimed "citizen border agent on patrol" -- "some kind of 'cee-gar' they say's real fancy."

However, Boothauser said he left when the store attendant "smirked real suspicious-like" and asked him a strange question after he told the attendant the occasion.

"He asked me if I knew what a 'ironee' was," Boothauser said. "I told him I thought that was one them women what slid a iron over the clothes every mornin'. I figured he musta been a homo or somethin'."

There was no word late Monday on what Boothauser settled on.

Sleep Over

So my son has his friend over to spend the night, and it was a lot of work to get the deal sealed.

A lot of negotiating back and forth which house they'd stay at. The friend says his mom is making him some cake and he wants to be able to eat that, so it should be his house.

My son says he wants sleep in his own bed, but his friend says he wants the cake.

My son says he can bring the cake with him, but his friend says he's afraid of the dark and can't bring the cake.

And that he never has anybody sleep at his house.

Eventually, they end up here.

It was a lot of work. Particularly after a long day of playing "Guitar Hero."

Anyway ... they're back there playing around, two elementary school kids trading football cards and generally exploring the evening, and I open the door and tell them, "There's only one rule: You can't play the Playstation."

The looks on their faces were priceless.

What a great sense of humor I have.

Wherever

It feels empowering to be in a town an hour-and-a-half away, arriving at close to 10 p.m., after working for most of the day, knowing you'll be there until after midnight, then back home and going back to work early the next morning.

Like you are somehow a master of more than one world, allowing to live in both.

Like you don't actually have to pay for it.

I got to see, listen and talk with Mason Jennings last night/this morning, but going to sleep at 4 a.m. and being up in time to sit in a courtroom over the course of nearly the entire day has been a painful experience.

The experience has been like living in a parallel universe, where your life is what it is ... but different.

So this morning I awoke to find my son's bicycle laying unceremoniously at the edge of the front yard, dripping with morning mist, the kickstand unused.

He ditched it there, when it came time to do the homework and take a shower and go to bed ... blah, blah, blah ... everything that sucks when you're a kid.

There it was, like a remnant of a state of mind under suspension.

I realized looking at it that I've always liked to see children's bicycles just ditched ... wherever. And even moreso watching them practically fall off their bikes to ditch them when they've gotten where they need to be.

Kickstands ignored. Twisted however it lands.

There's too little time to waste on formalities when it comes to consuming all life has to offer after you've gotten wherever it was you were headed to.

(It's probably, somehow, why I like long, winding gravel driveways with a pair of wheel-worn tracks split by undisturbed grass. Just however).

It makes me want to figure out if I can remove the kickstands from the devices in my life.







... and this is us with Mason Jennings.