Snape Bakes Dumbledore A Batch Of Cookies In Chapter Four...

The latest installment of Harry Potter was released last week. I decided to head down to the local store on Saturday and snag a copy with the full intent of burying myself in a book throughout my upcoming vacation this past week.

I felt a little sad that this was the end of the series yet I simply could not wait a moment longer between getting home and promptly sticking my beak into it. I polished off a few chapters within the next day between packing, errand running and dealing with last minute business.

It was Sunday afternoon and I was off for adventures of my own. I planned on stopping by the Natural Bridge Wildlife Ranch so that I could feed a zebra or two, stay in San Antonio for the night and get in a little reading.

Unfortunately for me, while I was at the ranch waiting patiently in line to purchase a soda and feed for the animals, I was stuck behind a child and his father discussing the book...

Dad: So, tell me about it. I can't believe you read the whole thing in two days.

Son: It was awesome, Dad, you wouldn't believe it!

Dad: What happened?

Son: Yeah! Here's what happened. So Harry has to find Voldemort's horcruxes in this one, right? Well the book starts out with Harry *******************... Then ********* actually ********* to Harry. Can you believe that???

My concern began to mount. I had read through this much of the story, so I just hoped that the kid would develop a sudden case of laryngitis. Either that or that the queue for the register would suddenly surge ahead.

Dad: Wow! I can't believe that! Then what happened?

Son: Well, it was like this. ********* and ******** attempted to ********* Harry from ********** by ********* and then...

Oh, shitohshitohshit, will this fecking line MOVE already? He was already into chapters that I hadn't read yet! What was the spell to shut someone up again?

Dad: Huh. No kidding. What then?

Son: Oh, Dad, it was awesome! Harry and ********** went to ******** to get ********* and ********* happened!

MOVE! FOR ALL THAT'S HOLY AND SACRED, MOVE THIS LINE. NOW!

Son: But, Dad, you know what happened to ********** and **********? It made me so sad.

Dad: Gaw, I could see why. So, how did that happen to ********?

Son: Oh, that's the best part! *********** was **********ing *********** in a ********** but *********** showed up in the nick of time to help ********** **********.

Die.

Son: And then, guess what? Harry, Ron and Hermoine ***********! It was so awesome.

Die, now.

Dad: But how did that happen? I thought underage wizards couldn't ************ without ****************?

Son: Oh, but he wasn't **********, that's why.

Both of you die in a vat of vicious fire ants, you book spoiling fucktards!

Son: But finally, ******** happened and that gave the three of them a chance to ************

I had to do something. Staring into space wasn't working, casually checking out the shapely legs of the late twenty-something gal in the other line wasn't even working. I started with a polite *cough*

Dad: But when that happened, did ********* show up? I thought ********* didn't ********* in the previous book...

*cough*

Son: Oh, Dad, no! ********** was still **********, just not *********** at the time.

*COUGH! COUGH!* By this time, the line had moved ahead. Still plenty of time for...

Son: And then later after Harry had ***********, Voldemort ********* and I couldn't believe that happened!

I seriously contemplated the potential consequences of cockpunching both father and son and decided to practice my "insanity defence" act in case I decided to follow such a course of action.

Dad: So, what happened at the end?

NO! DO. NOT. WANT.

Son: Well, Harry and Voldemort **********, which led to ********* and ******** doing ***********...

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! My hands over my ears whilst whistling trick isn't working!

Son: *********** *********, ******* ******** and ******* **********. In the end, *******, ********** and ******* are ********* at **********, ********** ******** ****** *****************!

You FECKING GOBSHITE! You RUINED THE ENDING, you heartless bastards! I heard a kid behind me start crying. I could see out of the corner of my eye another father bending over to talk to his son.

Dad2: I'm sorry, dude, I know we hadn't finished the book yet. Besides, maybe that stuff doesn't happen. Maybe he's pulling our leg, yeah, that's it?

I don't know what possessed me, but I found myself gently leaning over and quietly attempting to get the father's attention.

Me: Oi, sir?

Dad: Hmmm?

Me: Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you guys just spoiled the book for the kid behind me.

Dad: Oh? (turns to look at the people still waiting in line) I'm sorry, y'all. I didn't know we could be overheard.

This rather angry looking mother standing behind the crying child and his father in line leaned towards the front.

AngryMom: Hell, I heard you two talking all the way BACK HERE. Thanks you so VERY much for that!

The father turned towards the front, possibly considering a hasty departure until the cashier yelled, "NEXT!" He quickly made his purchases and walked out. The Mother was boring holes through the back of his head as he and his son walked to the door.

AngryMom: Stupid ass. Spent better part of two days reading that book with my kid only to have that guy go and ruin it for us. Have half a mind to smack him right upside his head and feed his dumb ass to those ostriches out there...

Humans can be such funny creatures sometimes...

So Long And Thanks For All The Wildflowers...

On the 13th, I went to pay my respects to former First Lady, Claudia "Lady Bird" Johnson. There was a public viewing throughout the night at the LBJ Presidential Library at UT, so I decided to stop by after work.

Normally, I'm not the type to attend funeral services of public figures, such events are rarely on my radar. I recall watching Reagan's funeral on TV, mostly because he was the President through a good chunk of my childhood and while he had his good and bad points, no one could deny that he had a certain drawing nature to him.

Having lived in LBJ country for almost a decade, it's been interesting to see just how much Lady Bird has had an impact on the environmental beauty that surrounds this part of Texas as well as the rest of the country. It's almost an annual tradition to drive down the minor highways and see groups of people chucking their kids into a patch of bluebonnets, indian paintbrushes or other bunches of wildflowers.

If you haven't had much of a chance to read up on Lady Bird Johnson's life, I recommend you do. She was one of the sweetest ladies you could ever meet and had a ton of class.

I heard on the news this morning that the city of Austin has decided to rename Town Lake after her, which is a fitting tribute indeed.

The Sanctity Of "Endeavour"...

I have been queried as to why I seem to prefer the British Standard English spelling of words (colour instead of color, flavour instead of flavor) instead of embracing the Americanized form. After all, I was born in the US so it stands to reason that my readers here in the Colonies state that I should not behave like a pompous twit and utilize the common American format like everyone else.

Truth is, I prefer the British Standard for no real reason other than to behave like a pompous twit. It stands to reason that my endeavour has reached a satisfying conclusion, no?

Alright, so I am pulling your lariat a bit. Here's the real reason:

Way back long time ago when grass was green, a good friend and colleague of mine also named Robert introduced me into the world of British television. Back in that age, it was uncommon for children of our ages or below to even be watching ANYTHING on PBS that didn't include Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, 321 Contact or others in that genre. PBS just wasn't that enticing.

It was soon after meeting Robert that I was first introduced to such shows as 'Allo, 'Allo, Are You Being Served, Father Ted, One Foot In The Grave and, my personal lifelong favourite, Doctor Who. While others in my age group were fascinated with Friends, Seinfeld, I found myself to be locked away in a BBC closet of sorts.

After all, Britcoms and Sci-Fi shows went against the natural order in American high school society. As an American, you had to know what the 'frilly shirt' was about and you had to keep track of how many times Ross would do that almost stuttering protest voice trick thingie per episode.

To me, Friends and Seinfeld were shows that are chock to the brim with New York City humour, which quite honestly bores me to tears. Interesting to note perhaps that a majority of people who I have confessed my affinity for Britcoms to share the same opinion of Britcoms. Except Monty Python's Flying Circus or Benny Hill, those shows seem to have survived the 'coolness test' in most cases.

After exposing myself more and more to what the UK had to offer, I just started doing it one day. I started out using "colour" instead of "color." Finding that hilarious, I began to go further. "Catalog" became "catalogue," "flavor" became "flavour" and so on. I will still use the Americanized versions of words in official correspondence or the like, but when I write for recreational purposes, I endeavour to add a different flavour to my writing by adding an extra few letters here and there.

Hey, at least I don't go so far as to put things in the "boot" of my car or to comment on getting cut off by a "lorry" as I'm driving on the "motorway." At least not yet...

I Love To Drive And It Shows...

What surprises me the most is that people actually still fly Delta, American or any of the "upscale carriers." Just about every time that I've ever had to pick anyone up who flew Delta (or American in particular), their flight was a minimum of two hours late.

I wish that I could say that I am exaggerating, but I'd be hard pressed to do so. The notion that the airliners seem to foster about their customers being little more than "cargo that eats" is quite apparent in this clip alone.

When I have to fly, I choose Southwest. Typically, the staff are more friendly and the flights are rarely late in my experience. The only problem I have with SW is the feeling that they are packing in people like tinned salmon. Suppose they are less expensive for a reason. Heh.

Video Trek III: The Search For Dad - Part 2...

*VERY BOLD FACED WARNING: IF YOU HAVEN'T READ PART ONE, CLICK HERE FIRST TO READ IT!*

I was still in shock. "Wow, Dad, that's great! Can't believe you're finally doing it."

Dad cleared his throat slightly, "Yes, I'm finally doing it."

"So, are they throwing you a retirement dinner?" I asked.

Dad cleared his throat again, "I told them to save the money on a dinner and just dump the funds into a scholarship fund or something to that effect. They could put the money to better use that way."

Ah, Dad, Mr. Humble.

The fact of the matter is that my Dad has never really craved a ton of attention. He never wanted to be showered with tons of praise or awards. Although he topped out at the ranks of associate and assitant dean of his department, he was a college professor at heart and his goal was to further the cause of higher education, not to have his name plastered on the side of a building.

On the other hand, he did wish to be given proper credit for his work, which was something that was not always appreciated by The Powers That Be who typically were more into the prestige and economic benefits of higher education and were not wholly against taking credit for the hard work of those in their department. My dad got skunked a few times by having someone take the credit for all his hard work, but instead of letting it get to him, he pressed on.

Better to work on the future than to sit here and moan about the past.

My dad has had quite an amazing career but if you ask him about his career milestones, he is quick to point out the extensive list of those who worked right alongside him. He finds a lot more enjoyment in pushing the frontiers of his field than in receiving honours for his accomplishments.

Last year, the department decided to install him as a Legend, which is a very high honour. He insisted that they choose somebody else because there were so many worthy candidates who have done so much to further the Program.

Let me tell you, my mom just about had to hog tie and drag him down to the awards dinner. As my mom told me, "there was a time for humility and there is a time for you to grin and let people thank you for your hard work. Getting your dad from A to B was a challenge."

Which leads me to the present day.

In honour of my dad's upcoming retirement, I decided to attempt a new tribute video, much like the one I made for my grandfather. Instead of delving into family history by the shovelful, I would be quietly excavating my father's career.

After all, this video is to be a surprise. Unfortunately, this isn't like it was with my grandfather who was 1,400 miles away and therefore easier to hide such a surprise from. Nooooo, I'm doing this right directly under my father's nose.

I'm attempting to collate a list of my dad's co-workers, colleagues and friends in an attempt to give a broad look at his career. My primary co-conspiritor on this fool's errand is my mother, who will run interference and provide me with as much information as she can to aid me in my quest.

A list of names and e-mail addresses. A general summary of his major career points. Two campuses in two separate cities. Some contacts easily accessible, others spread across the country.

One point five months to film and edit this beast.

One thing I do know is that Dad's more than worth the effort. I only hope I can do him justice!

Excelsior!

Video Trek III: The Search For Dad - Part 1...

"So, I turned in my resignation, effective August 31st."

I couldn't believe it. Or, more likely, I wasn't sure if I was ready to believe it. Dad was actually going to retire.

I mean, here I was sitting there eating some chips and having a pleasant chat with my father. Chats between the two of us had never been really lengthy when I was younger. While my dad and I knew that we loved each other, we just never seemed to have the shared common interests that would help facilitate a conversation that would extend beyond the normal topics of school, work, financial responsibility and the building of good personal moral fibre.

It was either that or I was just too (insert lame excuse here) to make the attempt. It was usually easier to share things with either my mom, my grandfather or one of my older brothers. Those three and I had more common ground than I did with my dad, which meant that whenever a major crisis in my life erupted, they were usually the first to know about it.

One of the things I never fully appreciated growing up was that my father frequently had a hard time showing his emotions, a nasty side effect of losing his own father when he was a young lad of fourteen. My dad went through a tough time dealing with the sudden death of his dad and rarely ever discusses his childhood with the rest of the family.

It was a tough time in his life for Dad, which I understood and never tried to push him to talk about. It wasn't that he never would talk about growing up in Missouri or his dad, it's just that whenever he would start you could see almost a dark, lonely spot in his eyes that he'd never admit to anyone, except maybe my mom.

By all accounts, my biological grandfather was a kind, loving and hard working man. He tried to raise his sons with a good work ethic and to be good and decent men. While my grandfather died of a heart condition early in the lives of my dad and my uncle, he still left a mark in my dad's character.

My grandmother remarried shortly after the death of my grandfather, marrying her childhood sweetheart who soon moved my grandmother, my dad and my uncle to live with him in California. My step-grandfather treated the boys like they were his own sons, which carried over to the next generation.

I had always thought it was weird that my dad's parents didn't have the same last name as my dad or uncle, but I never knew my step-granddad as anything other than my real grandfather. He always spoiled us rotten and I never quite made the connection that he wasn't a blood relative until I was around twelve. By then, I didn't really much care. He was my granddad, I loved that man and I cried for a week after he passed away almost twelve years ago.

After my granddad passed, my grandmother came to live with us for awhile. By then she was slipping deeper into Alzheimer's Disease, which had the effect of her losing her short-term memory while her long-term memory was still reasonably in tact.

For a period of six months, I was my grandma's babysitter of sorts. I'd take her on errands, to go play bingo, cook for her and more. By then, she was starting to mix me up with "Louie", which was my biological grandfather's first name.

I started to hear bits and pieces of family history. "Hey, Louie, remember when we took the boys down to Lake of the Ozarks and..."

The thing I kick my ass over was that I didn't think to record these conversations. True, I'm sure that several of these memories could have been mixed together from a variety of her past memories, but I kept hoping to one day talk to my dad about a few of them to get his side.

Sadly, it was a conversation that I never had the courage to pursue to it's fullest. Dad and I talked about a couple of things that I could remember a few years later, but always after a few minutes, I can see that dark pain resurface in his blue eyes.

Happy memories or not, the time predating his family's move to California is typically a no-fly zone. You have to wait for Dad to escort you through restricted brainspace before you can ask what questions you have.

And you know, I'm alright with that. He misses his dad, which always made it tough during Easter (one Easter many years ago was the day that grandpa "Louie" died). Dad loved having his kids hunt Easter eggs and getting sick to their stomachs off jelly beans and Peeps, but it was tough on him some years. He'd never tell us why and he was good at hiding it, but yet you could somehow sense that something was amiss.

It took myself years and several rough experiences of my own to realize and to understand a little of the mindset. I never understood fully why my father is the way he is, but I can damn well say that I didn't appreciate him a tenth of how I do now.

As my brother, older and wiser than yours truly, once told me, "Dude, you have to just accept two things when it comes to Dad. First off and most importantly, he loves you. He may not always 'get you' or he may not be able to share the same emotional reactions that you have, but that man will jump off a cliff, swim through a piranha-infested swamp and run through dowtown Detroit at 3AM for his family. He does listen. He does care. He may not always share the opinion you want to hear from him, but he does what he thinks is best, decent and good. Secondly, stop eating all his peanuts and drinking all his root beer when you go to visit. Seriously, dude, that's just rude."

My dad is also a very decent, hard-working, loving and honest man. He made it to just about every baseball or soccer game (even when he wasn't coaching the teams himself!), Scout meeting, camping trip and major school event or play that he could for my brothers and I. He rarely missed a thing and when he had to, it killed him to do so.

Heh. That was another thing I never fully appreciated. Man do I feel like the fucking asshole or what for being such a little ingrate now, huh? Sheesh.

I will say this about Dad. He never shirked in working his ass off at home or at the office. His moral code was simple: do the right thing without expecting anything in return, be honest in everything you do, work hard, love your family and take care of them and you will live a good life.

My dad is humble, his idea of an award is the great feeling one gets from working towards a goal and seeing it successfully through to the benefit of others. He never cared for fancy plaques or medals, just the personal knowledge that he did his best.

This, of course, drives the rest of his family nuts...

*continues*