When I was a little kid, I loved the Find-A-Word puzzles in the paper.  As with any puzzle, you start to intuitively develop an algorithm of logic to quickly and systematically attack the challenge.  The most successful strategies with Find-A-Word, by the way, is to search for letters by their frequency (like Z, K, Q, etc) or double letters (OO or LL). [Read Column]

I was working in my yard this week, cutting grass, trimming weeds, fixing my fence, etc.  When I work outdoors I have a uniform that I like to wear.  I wear a heavy pair of cargo pants, a long sleeve shirt, and a dusty old pair of work boots.  Even in the hot Australia sun.  It’s one of my routines as reliable as listening to Cat Stevens when I’m sad or Al Green when I miss my wife.

While I was out there, eating the dust kicked up off of my brier patch and sweating up a storm, I began to wonder when I started wearing this work uniform.  I remember mowing lawns for money as a kid, wearing tennis shoes and basketball shorts.  What sparked the change?  Why did I studiously adopt this change even at my own personal discomfort?

I realized that I changed my work outfit when I met a man named Stanley. [Read Column]

Scene: The summer of 1995, just after high school graduation.  There is a small gathering at Trent Cox’s house on the edge of town, including a mix of girls and boys that I graduated with from Stillwater High School.  It’s an exciting time for us because we were just a few months away from starting college.  Sure, most of us would go to Oklahoma State University, but there were a few with aspirations to go out of town and even out of state.  It was a big change, a clear signal that the insulated days of our youth were nearing to a close.

So we did the only thing that kids in Stillwater can do … we went to someone’s house, hung out, and watched TV all the while gossiping about all of our friends.

The Brownies: Beth Wettemann arrived with a collection of brownies.  I believe her mom, an occassional substitute teacher at our high school, and well known Catholic to the minority insiders of the parish, actually made them.  They were chocolate with caramel, fudge, and walnuts.

The Crime: The box of brownies was passed around for all to enjoy.  When the small tupperware container reached me (the last person), I had a brownie and then placed it on the fireplace that I was sitting next to.  Ten minutes later, someone asked for a second helping of brownie, but lo and behold, they were all gone, because I had eaten the remaining four brownies.  Everyone was shocked and I got several indicting comments under the breath and dirty stares from the rest of the crowd.

Verdict: I am a selfish, greedy bastard without a care in the world for anyone else, particularly their brownie enjoyment.  Or was I?

… As famed radio announcer Paul Harvey always says, “And now the rest of the story.” [Read Column]

You ever notice that in every movie that is cool, or another way to say it, any movie with ninjas there is always at least one ninja that has to dress in white?  Isn’t that weird?  Admittedly, I’m a gaijin outsider to the world of ninjitsu, but it’s pretty obvious that in the profession of ninjery stealth, sabotage, and assassination would require a less conspicuous outfit than the Saturday Night Fever starter kit. [Read Column]

I started playing soccer when I was fifteen years old.   Even for Stillwater, Oklahoma, that is a late start. I had no foot skills, no positional awareness, no passing touch, and no aerial or striking ability.  My mom got me a $15 pair of Umbro plastic cleats that didn’t fit.  To make matters worse, this was my first foray into organized athletic competition.  In fact, it was truly my first foray into ANY type of athletic competition.  I was lacking even the basic skills of running, jumping, and injury avoidance. [Read Column]