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Molly started walking about a week ago and I have found it more terrifying than anything else. I am certainly proud to see her summon up the courage to take those un-supported steps. And the unrestrained glee she has can’t be denied.

But the part that scares me is that she is so fast and not very responsive to commands such as, “No, don’t (fill in the dangerous thing)!” She loves to throw her arms in the air and scream as she goose-steps out the door. She climbed the stairs so fast yesterday that it was all I could do to keep up. And she doesn’t really understand gravity.

The next few months are sure to keep me busy.

When I was in Honduras in 1995-96, getting a parasite, amoeba, or other ‘bug’ was just a matter of time. It happened. And usually the remedy was a $1 trip to the doctor followed by a $3.00 trip to the pharmacy. Sometimes just a trip to the pharmacy was all that was needed.

However, when the pharmacy was closed or far away, we learned to “hold off” bugs by taking a shot or two of tequila. I believe it was a Peace Corps volunteer who gave out this recipe. Amazingly, it worked.

One of my friends just told me of the success of this insta-cure when he suddenly realized that he ate some spoiled turkey for lunch. With belly gurgling and nausea building, he made a mid-day, mid-week trip to the liquor store and got a pint of the golden wild potion. After one quick shot, he felt the gurgling subside. Then he was able to go back to work.

In theory, it makes sense. Alcohol kills the bacteria that causes the big problems. I certainly wouldn’t recommend this as a replacement for a doctor’s visit or doing just about anything other than taking mid-day shots of tequila. And I really don’t even remember telling him this story - I was probably drinking tequila at the time.

It’s been awhile since I have posted here, mainly because I have been focusing on my other blog for the last month or so. But after my posting about the crows, I had to include this. As a side note, a pair of red shoulder hawks have moved in across the street, high in a pine tree. They’re cleaning up. But on to the present ridiculous story…

I started a new job and have a fancy new office in the Vinings area of Atlanta. I took a couple of weeks to settle in before my wife came to meet me for lunch. We met, went and picked up some food and came back to eat in the conference area of the office. But on our way back into the parking lot, I noticed 2 men standing behind a pickup truck. One was making some tugging and gyrating movements. He looked to be sawing……something….

I had to pass by them to get to my parking area. One man was dressed in business attire, the other, an Elmer Fudd costume. Between them lay a dead turkey, with missing legs. The man in the country attire waved to us with his free hand. His other hand held two turkey legs.

“So, are there always people in your parking lot sawing the legs off turkeys?”, asked my wife. No, just today. But it just goes to show - even in the hip, trendy and upscale parts of Atlanta, you’re still in Georgia.

Gobble gobble.

Some things I just can’t make up.

I was sitting and enjoying a nice dinner tonight in Santa Clara when a somewhat geeky guy sits down next to me and begins to shovel his food like a starved man. He had a unique outfit, a European accent and the eyes of a mad scientist. He wasn’t wearing a badge. He was a Google engineer and I knew it.

When he asked me about my work I told him that I dabbled in programming but that I also did SEO consulting. We chatted a bit about C++, Java, Fortran and other mundane things before I asked him, “so, do you work for Google?”. He replied that he did, confirming my suspicions. He said he was an engineer.

I decided to have a little fun and pretend to enlist his help. “So, I want to rank #1 on Google for all queries” I said. “Can you do that for me?”

He looked at me, puzzled. But he seemed to want to give me a real answer. He said, “I can’t do that. Besides, it would crash your servers.”

“Not my servers”, I told him. “I have 2 servers and they’re really big.”

He insisted that it was a bad idea. So I gave in a little. “Ok, how about ranking #1 for most queries?” He still insisted that I wouldn’t get qualified traffic and that my servers would blow. I assured him that both of my servers were top notch.

I handed him my business card and told him that he could think about it and, if he changed his mind, I could take all the traffic from ranking #1 on “the Google”. He looked at me with an uncomfortable grin. And he said, “ok, but I really can’t do that”.

It was fairly obvious, hopefully, that I was joking. At any rate, I saw the engineer later and asked him if he was going to delete me from “the Google” for asking for his help. He assured me, “No, we won’t do that. Google is not evil, really.”

Thank goodness. I’m relieved.

Tomorrow brings the unusual combination of “Super Tuesday” as well as “Fat Tuesday”. Some will be blowing it out in New Orleans, getting all of their sins out of their system before lent. Others will be voting in primary elections. Maybe they’re the same thing (hey - it’s an easy joke!). For me, Mardi Gras always meant rugby.

It has been 22 years since I made my first trip down to New Orleans for the annual LSU Mardi Gras Rugby Tournament. I never really intended to go to Mardi Gras (I didn’t even know what it was), much less play rugby. But I didn’t get much playing time during the Saturday football games and my roommate was helping to start the first Rhodes College rugby team. I went to one or two practices, just for fun, but didn’t give it much thought. It seemed like backyard football to me.

One Sunday morning in the fall of 1985, after having too much fun at some late night party, Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Rusty B. barged into my room and announced that I was needed for that day’s rugby game. We were playing Ole Miss. I quietly complained about the noise, the light and my pounding headache. Clearly, that was not the right answer. Rusty yanked me out of bed, tossed my cleats in my direction and said something along the lines of, “Get yer ass up and get dressed - you’re playing!”

Rusty was about 6′3″ and weighed in at 275 lbs. He was a starting offensive tackle on Saturdays. At the time, I was a strapping 162 lbs. and, although I was speedy, I couldn’t escape his demands.

Within an hour, I was reluctantly on the field. The Ole Miss game quickly had me sweating, however, and I felt less crappy as the game went on. I didn’t know the rules and was called for a number of penalties such as diving on a loose ball and ‘knocking on’ - i.e. dropping a ball forward. I was certain that this would be my last game. I really didn’t enjoy penalizing my team every few minutes.

The game was tied 0-0 and the clock was winding down. Ole Miss was getting ready to score and it looked like we were doomed. But one of the Rebel players tried to turn the corner on my side when I tackled him, picked up the ball and sprinted the distance of the field for a try. The whistle blew and we won 3-0. I was hooked!

A few weeks later, we took the ultimate road trip to Baton Rouge where we played rugby by day and went to Mardi Gras parades in New Orleans at night. That was my first trip to the Big Easy and many more were to follow. The LSU Mardi Gras Rugby Tournament became a staple road trip. Here’s a great video one of my old teammates just sent me comparing rugby to soccer. I don’t remember it being quite so much like the UFC, but the home team always did supply the keg.