Squirrel Fighting... Hey Its Better Than Dogs

I love dogs, fighting and the NFL. So whats better than watching Michael Vick taking all my favorites and rolling them into one? Squirrel Brawls, that's what. As I attempted to watch the replays of the various sports on ESPN, something was making a commotion outside my family room bay window. I quietly got up from the couch, edged to the window and peaked my head over the molding. At first, I just saw flashes of fur as some sort of animals were going back and forth, but when they came to those brief moments of a stare down, you could tell they were squirrels.(If you couldn't, then most likely you would be high.) Biting, clawing, tail yanking, everything was fair game, and for ten minutes they slashed at each other over something pretty trivial. Drugs. You see, when the last fertilizer of the year is put down, that signals to squirrels that not every one will make it through the harsh winter, so lets get trashed and have before-I-die-sex. Lets just say its like a meteor is about to hit the Earth and you light a field of marijuana and run around in it, with women. They frolic and roll around, all the while huffing the pesticides that make them crazy or horny or both. Plus, since I read animal minds, I can tell you that Squirrel One's brother had just been hit by a car and Squirrel Two started to go out with Squirrel One's dead brother's wife and now they have a child...which was picked off by a hawk. Its complicated. Don't ask. These weren't feisty black and red squirrels with high levels of testosterone, these were the common, brown squirrels, that occasionally got into the bird feeder, but today were more dangerous. For name sake purposes, Squirrel One looked like a Chauncey and Squirrel Two reminded me of an Estevan. Chauncey was clearly bigger, I could see his oddly big muscles tighten for confrontation under his silky, brown fur. With a whip of his tail and a flash of his teeth he indicated that he might beat a bitch. If he was human I think he might deal drugs. Estevan was a scrappy squirrel, he had speed and so much jumping ability he practically flew when he first leaped from the tree. As he saw Chauncey's gesture of aggression he immediately narrowed his eyes and came flying in from a nearby tree, landing right in front of the other monstrous squirrel. Then it happened, Chauncey took an unexpected beating as Estevan pounced on him gnawing and biting. Chauncey threw him off and they continued their battle across my yard. They gradually moved towards the front of the house and I scurried to each of my windows to get a better view. I found a decent watching post from my den window just in time to see Estevan take one to the face. He laid there in the grass for a few moments and when Chauncey came to stand over him, he quickly jumped up and continued the clash. I thought I said, "Oh shit!" to myself, but I guess not, because my mom then proceeded to ask me what I was doing. I quickly answered, "Watching squrriels." Which she probably took as, "I do drugs." They fought into the street and at that exact moment a huge SUV came barreling down the road. I closed my eyes and when I heard it pass I slowly opened them. At first, I didn't see anything and I thought that the SUV had disintegrated them with its tires or just hit them so hard that they immediately went to Heaven. But, as I scanned the landscape I saw Chauncey by a boxwood and Estevan had ended up across the street, in the neighbors maple. They must have scurried out of harms way in the last mili-second. For some reason I could tell this would not be the end of it. The next day, as I drove around the bend of my street that is usually frequented with chipmunk bodies, I passed a dead squirrel. The body resembled that of a bigger squirrel and I thought that it might even be Chauncey or it was. Thats the world of organized crime, I'm pretty sure Estevan had somethings "taken care of." So I came here and blogged about it.

Da Big TK Day

Well, after a night of intense bowling, fighting nasty DPC rumors(which are false), and the forty-five minutes I spent at Andy's house, it was only natural that I slept until ten on Thanksgiving Day. The rain of the past day had changed into gentle flurries, but they couldn't produce the substantial amount of snow I needed to bring my Christmas spirit alive. Christmas Spirit? Yes. Thanksgiving is my metamorphosis stage, I eat, and then focus all my attention on the upcoming winter and December Holidays. Sort of like a bear readying itself for hibernation. So, I lumbered down the stairs and into the kitchen where I promptly gobbled down some Pillsbury Cinnamon Twists. ( using "gobble" because todays theme is TK). Then I walked into the family room and watched the always boring but some what enjoyable "New York Parade." After twenty minutes I found myself growing tiresome of the floats, especially the "Healthy Mr. Potato Head" and decided that I should try and conjugate up some Madden Magic that might actually help the Lions. Of course, with me playing, we beat the Packers soundly by twenty-one points. And I thought that that would be the real score?! I wanted to watch the game, so I took a quick shower, got nicely dressed, and ran down to the couch. To my despair, I watched the Lions rush for a million yards, only to kick four field goals and then watched Brett Farve break the Packers completion record, while being 38 years old, also making the Packers 10-1. By this time my cousins had come over and were running around the house. I decided that this would be the time for me and Grandpa to duel it out in Cribbage. He put money on it, so I countered and also put money on it (amounts disclosed) for the best 2 out of 3 games. I'm not going to explain the game, but for the intense hour and a half we played, I kept a winning attitude which meant I achieved at least one "skunk". I took the money gladly, cause it amounted to a total of three dollars, and then played various other games with the cousins, which continually made me dose-off. We normally always go to a movie on Thanksgiving, while the turkey cooks, but this year we broke the tradition and I was angry. Also this year my mom didn't cut up the grapes and sprinkle them with nuts and sugar, I found them in a bowl, still on the vine. No one really likes them, but its the entrées decoration that counts. Oh yes, two other things, we didn't have the nice cloth napkins at the dining table, we had cheap paper ones with a turkey on them. I guess the cloth ones didn't match the table cloth, but who cares? Lastly, the tables flower arrangement did not use the autumn colors I needed to usher out the fall-season, it had some pre-holiday red and green. Its the little things that add up. So, when my mom ask me to fetch the Asti wine, I saw the perfect chance to get rid of some my holiday blunders. Into the kitchen I went and found myself a glass. I filled up that glass and drank, then decided that since there was only half a bottle to begin with, that I mines well just finish it. Well, it didn't give me anything close to a buzz , so I returned to the dining room to inform her that the Asti was all gone. We, then preceded to eat "The Bird" (thats its nickname) and I quickly formed a mountain of food upon my plate. First, I ate a nice salad but then started with the layers of creamy whipped potatoes, corn, cranberries, deviled eggs, of course turkey, butter rolls, stuffing, turkey skin (its really good), sweet potatoes, and finally the gravy, which ran down the sides like little mountain brooks. I repeated this layering step two times and when dessert came, I had just enough room for pecan, pumpkin, and apple pie, oh and acorn cookies. After this, the parents, aunts, and grandparents all had their coffee, why I set up the movie, Ratatouille, for the cousins. It ended up that I came to be the only one watching it and I instantly fell asleep. Some one woke me up to play Boggle around seven. We ended up playing nine rounds of the game and the only funny things that I remember, is me saying, "God dammit Mom, M-E-A-R is not a word." or the occasional, "Hey, look it spells pot." Around 8:30 everybody was leaving and I found myself on the computer writing this post, waiting for tomorrows delectable leftovers.

Silly Tillie, Cheating is How I Pass

My absence is becoming greater and greater between each post, but my life has been boring. So, as I expected I could rely on the weekend to liven things up and oh did my Friday deliver. I was having a boring day, which I enjoyed, just letting my creativity surge in tiny drawings all over my papers. It really all started in government when I drew a whole heard of African animals. In my amusement, (and Mrs. Harts droning voice) I added horns and wings to all of them, letting my mind run wild with all sorts of mystical creatures. Then it came time for fourth hour. Theres no question that my inspiration was there, because I always draw in Spanish, trying not to let "THE" teachers voice make me less intelligent. Today was no ordinary day, last class had just been the calm before the storm. I don't if it was just "that time of the month" or that we had put her on edge last class, but there was about to be a clash of the titans: Class v. Cowen (2007) (-check your history book-oh its there.) I'm not the one about to be caught cheating, so when we take quizzes/tests me and her have a staring contest; last class she busted the cheaters(not including me)that put her over the edge probably.Today, as normal, the class acted out each time she said something pointless, I was being talkative like others, and people were taking their usual twenty-twenty five minute breaks. I don't really have any priorities when I take the pass, (except to blow of all the steam that has been created) but I don't know how people find stuff to do when they leave for long periods of time, so my walks tend to be five, maybe ten minutes. When I came back, I hurried to my seat, only to take a quick glance around the classroom. My glance turned to a stare. As I counted the number of people gone, Mrs. Cowen caught my eyes and said, "If you notice a number of your classmates are missing, but you are the wrong people to yell at." Eight people were gone and as they began to trickle in, she started her ranting. She went on about how she treats us like adults, only for us to use the pass like children. How she is trying to help us, but we talk to much. How were her worst class. How we cheat and lie. Something about if a shoe doesn't fit, don't wear it. While she was on her tirade, my creativity got the best of me and I began to draw. The picture above is of a piece of scrap paper that has the drawings. Let me break this down furthermore, this paper is torn and ripped because I used it for cheat sheets. Also the pictures on the paper or very unlikely to happen, so therefore meaningless and out of anger. Breakdown time:

1. A burning house, that she is escaping.

2. Some giant bird, feeding its children.

3. A giant alligator, with a person helping in the feeding.

4. Thats the endangered white rhino, bucking and jabbing.

5. A giant ape, tossing something.

6. Thats one storm cloud, with one lightning bolt. And that bolt is in action.

Oh How I Wish...

"Oh god" I muttered, as I stretched my strained neck. I must've fell asleep on the couch again, but as I cleared my blurry eyes I realized that I wasn't even in my room...or at school for that matter. I was in a tiny family room with a wooden floor and light blue wall paper. Some pictures adorned the wall, they were of people I've never seen before. A black family? As I rubbed my eyes again to clear that after-sleep haze out, I noticed that my skin tone wasn't white, it was black and I don't remember being this muscularly built. I quickly jumped up off the sofa and started examining the house. The family room led to a kitchen and had a wooden staircase that I went up, only to find all the doors were closed except one. I went through the open door and stumbled upon a bedroom with a dresser, bed and walk-in closet. In the corner of the room sat a spray paint can and a camera; in the closet, a mirror. I ran to the mirror to take a good look at my self. Wow, as I saw my muscles forming around a white wife-beater, my jeans exceptionally low, and my buzzed-short hair, I smiled; my life is finally complete. In pure joy, I bolted down the stairs and opened the front door, taking a deep breath of the exhaust-filled air. As I exhaled, I took a look around to see the ghetto-looking street. The early 90's houses were in the familiar court shape with the high way running on the side and above, while the sound of gunshots and sirens rang out in the distance. I stepped down off the front porch and decided to take a quick jog around the block. As I ran, I passed the "Ganton Gym," "Binco's Clothing Store" and the ever popular bar. But as I came back down the court, running towards the house from which I came, a group garnished in green were yelling "CJ! Get your ass over here." Thats funny, because my name isn't CJ and I just heard the word Calcium Carbonate, but I felt compelled to go to them. As I approached, a heavy smell of pot filled the air, their were only three and with my new found muscles I'm sure I could take them. They were friendly though, the one smoking had the munchies, the fat one was I take it "always hungry" and the one that resembled me, simultaneously agreed with the others that I would drive to Cluck-N-Bell. I jumped in the car and immediately flipped on the radio, Me And The Biz by Masta Ace blared out of the speakers. We drove down the street a little to get to the drive-thru but on the way, a purple car blew by us, raining bullets upon our car. As they passed, I heard the big man yell "Get those Balla fools!?" But it was too late, they had shot out the wheels and I had flipped the car. That moment the car blew up and I blacked out.

"RYAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Me: "What would you like Mrs. Vala?"

"Answer. Now!"

Me: "Uh?!" C-A-C-O-3? Calcium Carbonate?

"Why yes! Your right."

Me: "Uh duhhh?! Next time, don't interrupt my out-of-body experiences. Please."

Writers Block... Finally Broken, Lets Review the News

"Pancho" (1996-2007)

Finally, this mental block that I have endured for about the past five days has passed, but not before weakening my creativity. So for a recovery post I'm going to talk about the news...and my Tuesday. Yes, the boring, old news and my life.

1. Today, police arrested two teenagers in the murder of that guy that was found in Northville. They also found his car, head and other limbs. Police suspected that the killing was over drug money but later found out that this was a "thrill kill" and that it was premeditated. The kids were 18 and 17. One being a drop out and the other still in school.

How this affects me: Well listening to my mom telling me these kids are mentally messed up and its all those violent video games faults, (oh god no more madden) I can't help but reject that and blame the drugs. The non-dropout kid looked like he would like puppies and kittens, but I guess I'm wrong. Now these kids are likely going to die in prison. But, I don't believe it was a "thrill kill." They were seriously toked up. Drugs wreck you. Don't do them. Just ask Charles Rogers and Ricky Williams. Can't find them? Just light a blunt and they will come crawling.

2. Florida robbery suspect fleeing police jumps into a retention pond only to be eaten by an alligator.

How this affects me: Well it doesn't, it just teaches me a dumb ass way to die fleeing police. Not that I would ever flee the police or be eaten by an alligator. They evetnually caught and killed the alligator.

Oh and the alligators name was Pancho. A respectable, man-eating alligator name.

3. New York police riddle a man with bullets, killing him, because they thought he had a gun. It turned out to be a hair brush.

How this affects me: When the police say to stop, I'm going to stop.(Especially when they blind you with light, go off-road, play 20-questions with you and draw what ever weapon they may have on kids that are just trying to get home on time, acting like were the leading drug dealers of Southwest Michigan. *ahem Ward Church. Northville. *ahem

4. On happier news, global warming is real, not an Al Gore hunting trip. The polar bears actually drowned!?

5. Bear Grylls opened his new season of Man vs. Wild. Surprisingly he was actually filmed in the wild, not in the Hilton shower, with the lights-off, telling me that hes trying to sleep in a heavy downpour.

Now my Tuesday. Well any day of the month that is the thirteenth, is usually a bad day for me so naturally I woke up and did my A.P. Euro and Math homework. Only to finish the math in A.P. Euro, attempt my English in math, and do my chemistry in english. Leaving chemistry for me to lay with my face down, staring at the desk. That would bring us to the topic of Mrs. Vala who not only took my phone last Friday (why I was grading papers for her) but gave me back my test that was a 112 out of 200. Save your time, its a 56% and gives me Da Big D in her class. But torwards the end of chemistry my life gradually got better as I got a 24 out of 25 on the quiz and mangaed to get back on Mrs. Valas good side. Like I was ever off it. But I promise the next posts will be more intresting and less depressing.

Welcome to the Real World Northville

Welcome to, yes, the real world. Where racism and terrorism are not fantasy stories we read in the big fairy tale book called the news paper. But actually, -ism words that describes something that actually exists, that our once mighty bubble no longer protects us against. Now, Our...no...your...no...the...yes..."The" protective bubble of Northville is deflating as murderers find it necessary to use this beloved, charming town as a dumping ground for their bodies. The same bubble that destroys any bad weather, such as more than .03423 inches of snow from falling. (But schools feel bad so we have a "cold day"). Also the same bubble that numbs us from Michigan's poor economy, street violence and.......Global warming. Yes, global warming.

What was in that Bushwood pond again? A dead lady. Hey, what was on fire in that field? A dead man, oh and he was decapitated. Head still not found, those sick f--ks. (In my Limited Swearing Act I decree that "fuck" crosses the line, but "shit" does not.) As it deflates, one can only imagine if its our own fault. With incomes ranging to $90,000 dollars and above, land to build, and a budding diversity that expects nothing but the very best, it would be against the laws of nature not to raise spoiled children. The children that drive their new cars, don't have to scrape for gas money and probably don't have one conceptual idea that their texting bill is above $300. And with the money left over, one can't help but spend it on drugs and booze. And what do drugs attract? Crime. I blame the parents. The tight community that Northville has depicted with its traditions and quaint downtown have enticed these murderers that if they dump their shit here, they won't get caught. As we all know, the police haven't had this must action since...ever. They spend their days terrorizing us teenagers because its always "that time of the month" and they need their tickets. When I go on a five minute ride into downtown; is it necessary I see at least six police cars on the way? But whatever, its their job to protect us. So, I keep Northville as the town I reside in, my mailing address, and my school of graduation, but....... hometown, hardly. Am I bitching? You bet.

The Dentist Office, Formerly Known as Hell

South Dakota, formerly the last stand for the American Indians. Germany, formerly known as home to the Nazis. Russia, formerly known as the Soviet Block(they were communists). Three of countless hellholes that freeze over to a more pleasant looking place. But on the inside you can still see the death and destruction of earlier times. (South Dakota sucks, never mind) A dentist office is no different. I used to love going but today, no dentist makes me bleed my own blood. That's right, were at war. I think it began, when I was 10 and she just scraped that tooth just right for me to have a resounding bite down on her thumb. Who's at fault? Well, obviously not me. And so it began.....
What a beautiful day I was having, the first flurries and the creation of this blog were just topping the list until I came home and found out that the dentist calls. So I jumped into the car, drove 2 miles, got out and walked into the office. There I promptly signed in and sat down, where i presumed to knock my head ever so gently against the wooden walls,waiting for my name to be called. When it was called, I hastily moved towards the hygienist, because my fate was now in her hands. Something was wrong with me deep down because this wasn't the normal friendly face I saw at the dentist office and she led me to a room that I had never been to before. The room I was used to had a window where I could watch the changing of the seasons as my teeth were polished to that nice, pearly white. BUT NO, no window, this room had a life size painting of french doors that opened into a blooming garden on a late spring day. So, I sat down and proceeded to have my teeth cleaned by the new face. As I laid there, countless songs were causing me to drift in and out of consciousness or I was day dreaming. But I only came back into the world on the occasion to spit the blood out of my mouth caused by the mutilation of my gums around my permanent retainer. So now I will break down my thoughts for you on the basis of the song that was playing why I bled in the dentist seat. Thoughts:
Kelly Clarkson- A Moment Like This
"Mrs. Cowen!" (I shout in my head, but then quickly refocus my attention on other pressing matters)
"El Flequillo"
"What does wavy have to do with anything, thats really not a pressing matter?"
"But an analogy for Mrs. Cowen is. I can't think of one. Put that on the top of my priority list......why does the unfamiliar taste of blood fill my mouth?!"
"This day sucks."
"I'm going to die due to loss of blood!?"
"She needs a new power brush? Oh shit its red?!"
Elliot Yamin (Who the hell? ..... I don't know?!) - Wait for You
"Its ok Ryan, Jesus was nailed to a cross and she is just cleaning your teeth."
"Who are you?"
"I'm God."
"Really?! Cause I thought I prayed to you that I was converting?"
"Its your conscious. I told you to back into that lady's car at Starbucks"
"Oh your a bitch. This is why we have an unhealthy relationship."
Sister Sledge - We Are Family
"Dang, the floss she is using looks like red yarn."
" This painting is pretty interesting."
"Holy shit! Theres a rabbit behind that French door"
" If I had a rabbit, its name would be Xavier."
"Thats an odd shade of sky blue."
"According to my North American bird knowledge, theres a Magnolia Warbler perched on the fence.
"Wait, the artists detailed handy work tells me that these trees are that of the White Oak species."
"HOLD UP! Shes nestling me pretty close to her chest. I feel uncomfortable! Please don't rape me!?"
"We-are-family..........I don't know the rest"
Nickelback- (Um...one of their countless hit songs. They all sound the same.)
"People might think I have tuberculosis if I keep spitting out blood like this."
"Aha! Analogy! Mrs. Cowen is like tuberculosis!
"Nah, well just settle for.....like going to the dentist, except the dentist doesn't alter my GPA.
When I awoke from this day dreaming, I was finally done. So I left that office with inflamed gums and went home to do math homework or study for my giant chemistry test, but it ended up that I just watched The Office. A different, much cooler kind of office. JELLO

Once I Start I Can Stop...Or Can't I?

Keep that title in mind when you ask me to do anything for you ever again. Now, put that aside and let me welcome you to the newly created blog of (______),or whatever you call me. There's so many names I don't keep track so you can imagine yourself writing that name into the blank above. Now to get started on explaining why I created this blog. Mostly out inspiration from Berti, Clay, and also the new blog of Armen Chang. I don't know Armen, I think his last name is longer, but his blog is cool and he has wicked facial hair. I enjoy reading their blogs and also taking their polls, but not because I'm procrastinating or anything, just because I save the homework for school (go figure) and their sarcastic memories just happen to be interesting when I'm bored at home. When I'm around people I'm crazy and hyper, but once I enter the home domain, all that ceases to exist. At home I lounge around, don't talk and do what my parents tell me to do, until I leave and become who most of you know me as. Now to state the beliefs of this blog because there are doubters out there:
1. No Thesaurus. Curbs the writers vocabulary (Thank you spell check)
2. Sarcasm and hateful words are not to be taken seriously based on the fact that their probably jokes and if you do, your to ignorant to understand. Or dumb.
3. You begin reading it, you will finish reading, and thou shall enjoy it.
4. "You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour."
5. I stole that from the Ten Commandments.
6. God dammit, "You shall not steal."
7. Screw it, look: "You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name."
8. Limited Swearing
9. Outside websites only used to brush up on the subject that I maybe talking about at the time.
10. Freedom or Right of: Equality, Religion, Speech, Race, Peaceful Assembly, Bear Arms, and VOTE.
I'm done. Read the blog. Enjoy it. Comment. Its, go time. JELLO

Fugu Chef: A Life Calling or Just a Fantasy

"Fugu": the Japanese word for puffer fish and a cuisine dish made from this so called poisonous sea creature........ and they think I'll die within 6-24 hours of consumption. Yeah, right. Its a seasonal dish typically served in the months that are approaching (December and January) and the chefs that prepare it have gained my affection. (I don't know how but they did, Japanese dark magic perhaps?) So I made it a life goal to become one. You may ask how I stumbled upon this profession that has drawn so much of my interest. Well, it all started with my dull, dreary life. As I walked in the door at 2:45, I retired to the basement to start with the regular routine of the day. (And no Berti, contrary to might you what think I'm doing. I'm not, so just keep reading.) The basement holds my non-Xbox360 PS2, which intern holds my not-real Madden 08 Superstar, who had just won rookie of the year as leading rusher of the fantasy NFL. But, he had a rough off-season and ended up being traded to the very, very, very, not-successful Buffalo Bills. His speed isn't up to par with the other backs of the league, so my frustration grew as the 8-1 Raiders (How the hell? Yeah... I know) kept the tackles coming as I fumbled and rushed for an average of 2.1 yards per play. In my fury of swearing and "why gods" I turned the PShit2 off and decided it was time to do my ever so calming chemistry. I trudged up the stairs and settled down in the den for some quality Valaville H-W. But, as soon as I opened the book, the irritating smell of that god for saken hardcover reminded me that:

1. Mrs. Vala never taught us this. Oh yeah, now I remember, she was ranting about the pride she has in the freshmen Asian kid in our class. Who has a 99%

2. This means I teach it to my self. Oh shit, I can't begin to pronounce or even sound out the name of this section?!

3. Mrs. Vala-adjfafhkiolckshluecabn- you make me unable to form coherent words.

and

4. I hate cocky Asian people.

So, I said screw this and went upstairs to our fourth bedroom, which has a comfortable daybed and also a T.V. I flipped through my favorite channels, which include the Travel Channel: "And what before my wonderful eyes appear, but a special on Fugu and a chefs career." As I watch mesmerized the voice inside my head calls out "LIFE GOAL!"

All the sudden an image flashes to my mind:

Coming to the Travel Channel this May. We travel to Japan and get involved with the Black Market of Seafood (Can you say baby seal? If you can, burn in hell) and watch how our professional chef straddles death each day with the art of Japanese cuisine. The Travel Channel presents "Fatal Fugu" with host and head chef Ryan Jelso.

Of course becoming a Fugu chef takes years of training and memorization of the anatomy of the toxic fish, so I'll sum it up for you in some quick bullets:

• Licensed fugu chefs are carefully taught which parts of the fish are edible, and which contain the deadly poison. (What can be harder than chemistry? Oh yeah, nothing.)
  
• Needs: Dedication and a skilled hand. Also the knowledge of exactly what to cut away. (Dedication is lacking, but a skilled hand, you don't want to know.)


• Fugu chefs study and memorize the exact layout of the fish and the location of every drop of poison. (Memorization of my locker com and the password to various pass-word needing things in my life. Got that down pat.)


• Lets just say, you can only obtain a license in Japan and it takes nearly 10 years to obtain. (Who has time after high school?!?! I do!!!!!)


• 2/3 of students drop out of the license race because hands-on as well as hand-written tests become so difficult. (Ok, maybe this career is to demanding.)


• "Tetrodotoxin", the fugu poison numbs the lips and mouth while you eat and if enough is in took it can cause paralysis, then convulsions, which leads to the constriction of breathing and then guess what?! To put it bluntly, you die. (Sounds fun. When do I get started?)
  
  Well, there you go. It was once a mere Japanese food, but now has the honor to be added to my life goal list. It also gives me something to think about during the day, while my mind goes to waste with some of my lesser intelligent teachers or you're bothering me. JELLO