Peanuts and Mexicans

I got back yesterday afternoon from a three day trip to San Antonio for our annual Mexican manufacturer peanut tour. Mexican food manufacturers are very important buyers of Texas peanuts, so the tour is mainly a relationship maintenance venture.

Honestly, the Mexican group was 8 million times more fun than the Japanese group we had a few weeks ago. It's interesting to see how each culture and nation interacts in these international business meetings. The Japanese were all business, all the time, while the Mexicans really just like to come up here to party, reconnect with business friends, and strike a deal or two over dinner and margaritas.


This tour was also a lot more laid back than the Japanese tour. We made one trip out in the bus and were back in time to do a little shopping at the River Center Mall in downtown San Antonio before meeting for dinner at Zuni's on the River Walk.

San Antonio is one of my favorite places on earth. The downtown River Walk area is hard to beat. The weather was perfect - about 70 degrees and low humidity, which is rare down there...or at least it's never been like that when I've been down there before. It's usually hot, muggy and sweat inducing.

Our hotel was right on the River Walk and just across from the Alamo. Every time I see the Alamo, I think of two things: 1) Wow, it's hard to imagine everything that happened here, and 2) The reason it's hard to imagine what happened here is because there's a Ripley's Believe It or Not across the street from the Alamo. It's somewhat of a historical buzz killer.

So, I heel clicked in front of it.


The River Walk is so picturesque. It's nearly impossible not to enjoy yourself, especially when your co-worker buys you a light saber (yet another Star Wars reference - that's two in a row). Throw in a few successful Mexican businessmen, a couple receptions on the river's edge, good food and an atmosphere unlike any other, and you're destined for a great business relationship.

This is me and Hector. This was Hector's fifth Texas peanut tour, and I think he's wonderful. He brought us all my favorite type of peanut snack from his company: Japanese style peanuts, manufactured in Mexico with Texas peanuts. Yea for Bokados!


Here's the group in front of a giant pile of peanuts at the Wilco shelling facility in Pleasanton. That's a lot of nuts.


We made a stop to watch some peanuts being dug, which is always fun, because I like to eat me a good raw peanut every once in a while.

The Mexican manufacturers are a cool group of people. They love coming up to Texas for this tour and they like to have us down to their facilities in Monterrey, Mexico. I haven't been on that trip, but I did tell them I'd like to swim the river and come down there someday.

Rat Dawg

There's really not a purpose for this morning's blog post, other than the fact that I wanted to share a story about a strange creature of God named "Rat Dawg".

Rat Dawg showed up on the West Farm back in Prairie Grove several years ago. We found her cuddled up in between some round bales and she had given birth to puppies that resembled collie dogs. The funny part about this story is Rat Dawg is not a collie dog.

In fact, Rat Dawg doesn't really resemble any breed of kanine known to man. She has a beard, eyebrows and sometimes looks like a wizard from a science fiction movie. In the above picture she is kind of putting out the "ewok" vibe.


I'll let you be the judge. Remember this little character from Star Wars?

The tragic story about Rat Dawg is really about her offspring. They seem to be destined for an untimely death. A few of her puppies were masacred by an angry German Shephard. He went balistic one snowy day in the Ozarks and left a bloody trail up the snow powdered driveway.

Sorry, was that too graphic? You should've seen it. Then you would really think it was graphic.

Some of her puppies were given away, and some of those puppies grew up to have other puppies that continue to look more collie-like than ewok-like. Some of those puppies got ran over, while another found herself in a compromising position because it's owner left her tied up in their backyard that wasn't fenced in to keep out other dogs...other male dogs.

Regardless of the casualties of the Rat Dawg lineage, Rat Dawg herself has lived a life unscathed. Nothing messes with her. But, then again, I wouldn't mess with an ewok dog either.

Oh, and that's Karen on the left. She doesn't resemble any of the Star Wars characters.

Goonie Eyes and Bun Warmers

This morning I woke up to two things: A) freezing temperatures outside from the blue northern that came through yesterday, and B) a Goonie eye.

I was ecstatic about the cold weather. It didn't get above 52 yesterday and we got a light freeze last night, which was the first of the year. I'm a cold weather person, mainly because of my obsession with outerwear.

However, I could have done without the Goonie eye.

Last fall, my eye lids would occasionally swell as some sort of allergic reaction to something. I have no idea what causes it, but it will be dormant for months and suddenly strike without warning. It may be just one of the eyes that swells to no end, or it may attack both.

I call it a Goonie eye because it reminds me of the character Sloth from the movie "The Goonies" that aired in the 80s. It was a defining movie of everyone who grew up in the 80s about a group of kids that go on a wild treasure hunt adventure. Anyway, Sloth is a large, deformed creature who's main line is, "Hey you guys!" (I wish I could insert a sound bite here for the full effect.)

I've somewhat created a Goonie scale for the level of swelling intensity that I experience. A Level 1 Goonie Eye is characterized by light swelling that isn't noticeable to others. A Level 5 Goonie Eye could win me first place in a Sloth look-alike contest.

I would classify this morning's case as a Level 4. It was pretty big. I could feel it before I looked in the mirror. Once I did look in the mirror, I scared myself slightly, which was actually a good thing because it woke me up a little bit.

Here's what I look like on a normal basis:

And here's me with a Level 5 Goonie Eye:

Fortunately, after I got out of the shower, I dropped to about a Level 2 Goonie Eye, which is noticeable, but only if you're looking for it.

As for the cold weather, it was 32 degrees this morning - crisp, cold and wonderful. Note the frost on this rare patch of green in Lubbock.

I'm sure at some point later in the cold months I will be cursing the biting cold, but for now, I will just enjoy turning on the bun warmers in my Tahoe and wrapping up in some sort of outerwear.

Plus, when a cold morning combines with a sunrise like this one, it gives me a warm, cozy feeling inside that demands hot chocolate.

Mexican Coke, Dublin Dr. Pepper and BBQ

Texas prides itself on uniqueness. It likes to take on an image all its own.

And it does. Easily.

I've long been a lover of the carbonated beverage - mainly Coca-Cola Classic. However, I gave it up about a year ago to rid my system of the daily caloric intake that I got when I downed about eight Cokes in one sitting. Put a glass of water in front of me at a restaurant and I might drink half of it. Put a Coke in front of me and you better come back with a pitcher with a straw in it.

When I made the big transition toward healthier living, I began attempting to drown myself each day with approximately 80 ounces of water.

Well, that lasted for about four months, two weeks, six days and 45 minutes. I had to have some sort of carbonated beverage. Above all, my choice to abandon the Coke goodness also meant I had to abandon Sonic, which was straight up terrible. I was very much against Diet Coke. It made me want to choke myself. So that option was out of the question.

But then one day I gave Diet Dr. Pepper a chance - one shot to bring back the carbonated wonderfulness into my life. And it's true, Diet Dr. Pepper really does taste like regular Dr. Pepper.

So, Sonic came back into my life and the world was good again.

Anyway, back to Texas and its amazement with itself. (I promise there's a link to this babbling here somewhere.)

Food and drink are big here in Tejas. I mean, my tastes have changed since living here. I've been introduced to all kinds of incredible eats, such as green chilies. I guess it's our close proximity to New Mexico, but green chilies have been life altering.

Two beverages in Texas have become treats to me: Mexican Cokes and Dublin Dr. Peppers.

Why are they different you ask? Well I have a fantastic answer for you: sugar. Pure sugar.

Mexican Cokes (that are seriously bottled in Mexico) can be found in the western part of the state and the southern part (Austin and San Antonio). Actually, I'm sure they can be found elsewhere, but that's the extent of my knowledge on their distribution.


Mexican Cokes use cane sugar to sweeten them. (Don't take this as a knock against high fructose corn syrup. It isn't the root of all evil.) Dublin Dr. Peppers are bottled in Dublin, Texas near Stephenville, and they use pure cane sugar as well.

In the 1970s the price of sugar rose and soft drink companies started panicking because it was getting too expensive to produce their drinks using sugar. Virtually everyone switched to high fructose corn syrup because it was much less expensive. Again, don't get on my case about high fructose corn syrup, because I'll beat you in the face with a corn cob.

Anyway, these soft drinks are the bomb diggity and they come in the old school glass bottles, which makes them even more amazing. You may be wired for sound for the next 45 minutes after drinking one, but they're incredible. We passed through Dublin last week on our peanut tour, and there was an ample supply of the deliciousness at one of our breaks. The Japanese loved them. And so did I.

Now, on to BBQ. As I mentioned last week, I ate a lot of BBQ on our Japanese peanut tour. Likely enough to be equivelent to a 700 pound steer.

One place we went to in Stephenville called Hard Eight was undoubtebly the best BBQ I've ever eaten. No lie folks. No lie.

When you get there, you start outside at a giant pit where you choose the meat you want. They cut you off a side of beef or sausage link and plop it on a tray for you. You take the tray inside, they weigh it and charge you by the pound.

Then you pick out your sides: cornbread salad, their famous banana pudding (which was OUT of this WORLD!), beans...you name it. So, I went for the japaleno sausage, shish-k-bob, beans, cornbread salad, banana pudding and pepper poppers. Yes, it was a lot of food, and yes I ate it all. Don't judge me. You would've done the same thing.

Out on the tables are a loaf of bread, loads of BBQ sauce and a lot of paper towels.

Digging my toes into Texas culture may give me a Texas-sized inner tube around my waste. Why do you think I started running all these races?

Language Barriers

The American Peanut Council's Japanese Tour is in it's third day today.

We boarded a tour bus yesterday morning at 8am sharp and drove two hours north from Dallas to Madill, Okla., to visit the Clint Williams Shelling Facility. The facility is the only facility of its kind in Oklahoma.

In my opinion, once you've seen one shelling facility, you've seen them all. I've been through the plants in West Texas several times, so I'm certain I've reached my quota for the year...or the next five. They're very loud and there's lots of peanuts moving around.

When you get inside of the facilities, you have to wear hair nets and remove all of your jewelry. We don't want people choking on diamonds while they're trying to enjoy a salty peanut.

It's hard to make a normal face while wearing the lunch lady net.

We've had translators with us every day. I have no earthly idea what these people are saying. Japanese sounds like someone talking in their sleep. One of our translators did, however, write down a cheat sheet for me so I could at least say, "thank you" or "good morning". She also wrote down a few four-letter curse words in Japanese, and I'm certain she did this on purpose to confuse me. I've been scared to death I am going to say one to someone on accident and then provoke the Japanese to start World War III in a similar way they started World War II.

The best part about our bus ride yesterday was our driver, Marcia. Marcia was a very vocal participant in our tour. We invited her to come in and eat with us at the BBQ joint in Madill.

Marcia was a lot of fun.

Let me mention here that I've eaten BBQ every meal since I got here. Apparently, we were trying to give the Japanese some sort of "real Texas experience with all the BBQ they could eat. As a Texan, I can assure everyone we do not eat BBQ for every meal. I'm certain I ate every cut of beef that was humanly possible yesterday. In addition, every BBQ place we've gone to has claimed to be "the best BBQ in Texas"...

So, back to Marcia. Marcia comes in and eats BBQ with us and provided me with a belly busting laugh as I stuffed sausage, brisket, rolls and pickles in my face. Apparently, Marcia was a school bus driver in her former years. When I asked her how she learned how to drive a big bus, she went into a lengthy story that ended with, "Honey, I can drive anything with four or more wheels."

We then made the two hour trip back to Dallas, where we then reloaded and headed to Fort Worth for a Stockyards experience. By the time we got finished with another BBQ dinner, the Japanese delegation was so tired, we skipped out on Billy Bob's Texas. No two stepping for them.

Meanwhile, I was dressed like a stinkin' rodeo clown in preparation for Billy Bob's.

Oh well.

We started today at 7:30am and drove another two hours west to Stephenville and Dublin for more shelling facility action.

I'll tell you more about that later. As of right now, I have two hours to snooze before we take the Japanese to the Galleria for authentic American shopping...and hopefully NO MORE BBQ!

Japanese Invasion

I arrived in Dallas this afternoon for a Japanese peanut tour of Texas. It was 49 degrees and raining in Lubbock when I left, and it was 87 degrees and stickier than a slobbered on peppermint when I got off the plane in the Big D.

I have high expectations for this outing. It involves Japanese peanut buyers, BBQ, Billy Bob's Texas (the world's largest honkeytonk), BBQ, a tour bus, a lot of electronics, our mascot Tex P. Nut and BBQ.

We're starting the tour here in Dallas. In the morning, we'll load a bus, drive to Madill, Okla., tour a shelling facility and then come back to the Lone Star State where I will undoubtedly have to teach them how to two-step (and I am in no position to be telling others how to dance).

Tonight, we kicked things off with a reception and a dinner at Uncle Buck's Steakhouse. We're staying at an Embassy Suites that just so happens to be connected to a Bass Pro Shop, which can only mean one thing: I am going to buy some sort of outerwear. Uncle Bucks was filled with fine examples of taxidermy that is helping us live up to the stereotype of Texas that the Japanese were hoping for. Plus, there was buffalo filet on the menu...which tastes a lot like beef, only...wilder.

At dinner, I sat next to a couple from Japan. The man's name was Kazue, which made me giggle intensely, yet silently, because it was strikingly similar to "kazoo". Kazue and his wife were excited I was wearing a Polo brand button up shirt, because Kazue had just bought one while they were in Vegas this weekend at a factory outlet store. Apparently, that trip to Vegas was Kazue's eighth time to go to Sin City.

His wife said, "He very good at blackjack."

Kazue and his wife also thought I was a former Miss Texas. I have no idea why, but one of the American Peanut Council guys told me it would be a good idea to tell them "thank you" in Japanese, so he told me how to say it. I said it, and I'm sure I butchered it. For all I know, I may have told them to go kiss a billy goat.

My first main Japanese observation is that when the translater is repeating back to them what us Americans are saying, it seems to take a lot more words that we use. For instance, if I said, "Welcome to Texas" it would take approximately 58 Japanese words to tell them that. Either that, or the translater was making his own interpretations and making things up. Now I understand why there was a timing issue with the subtitles and the actors' mouths moving in King Kong.

God's Paintbrush: Revisited

The sky. One of God's really good ones.

Cobwebs, while a sticky nuisance on a normal basis, can be ultra cool when you've got the right light to work with. I would insert a moving poem about the beautiful October sky here, but I'm too lazy at the moment to find one. Instead I'm going to complain about the army of mosquitoes that attacked me while I was trying to capture God's creation. (I guess mosquitoes are God's creation, too, but they're not my favorite, and quite frankly, I'm still trying to figure out what their purpose is. Guess I'll take that up with Him later.)
As I was squatting down to get a good angle on this setting sun, I heard a buzz. An annoying one. I went back to my Tahoe, with the doors wide open and letting the world in, and found myself in a mosquito nightmare. We've had a lot of rain in Lubbock over the past 30 days and apparently a mosquito haven has been created as a result. The city even sprays for them each night. (Malia, don't you have a story about this?)

However, the city doesn't spray way out on dirt roads. I guess the drip irrigation from the nearby cotton fields was providing an inviting environment for these (insert 50 four-letter words here) insects. I slapped my arm and blood went everywhere. At least I rid the world of four mosquitoes with one mighty blow (and bruised myself at the same time.)

Luckily, I had left my car wide open and it became full of the little blood suckers. Irritated at my own neglect of West Texas common sense, I jumped in the Tahoe, started it up, and sped off down the dirt road, windows down, hoping the little boogers would be sucked out into oblivion. I was somewhat successful, save for a few stubborn skeeters that had to be killed once again with brute force.
Now, back to the beauty of the sky. It can even make a prickly weed look good.
This looks like a wheat field (below), but it's not. It's a field of prairie grass, set ablaze by the sun. I'm sure there's millions of tiny mosquito larvae hiding in there, waiting to leave a poor, unsuspecting human with a highly irritating itch that wakes her at 3:00 in the morning.

Now, this might actually be spring wheat growing. Actually, I'm fairly almost kind of certain it is. But who cares if it is or not? It made a pretty picture...with countless buzzing skeeters looming nearby...

Long Strides

As you know from my blabbing in recent posts, I ran the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure 5k this past weekend.

The final count in attendance was over 7,000 people. Amazing. Simply and utterly amazing.

Over $360,000 was raised from the efforts of those 7,000-plus people, and I believe my personal fund raising efforts tallied nearly $400 (insert a big thanks to the folks who donated here).

The race started at 8:30am Saturday morning like most races do, with the opening ceremonies beginning at 8:00 am. Survivors let go of pink balloons, filling the morning sky with a sea of pink latex. Local radio talk show hosts were there, the Lady Raider basketball team was there, the Tech baseball team handed out water to runners, dozens of cops on motorcycles (my best friends...Not!)...this was a city-wide effort.


On my drive to the Lubbock Civic Center that morning, I couldn't help but notice light, feathery pink clouds that were hovering over the rising sun. The irony was incredible. They looked like little pink ribbons on the horizon just above the site where the race was held.

Sorry, I don't have a picture of this amazing sight. I didn't feel like filling out a police report after a wreck.

But I did take this picture of a hot air balloon that was right across the street from my apartment the other day as I was leaving for work.

As you can imagine, 7,000 people take up a lot of parking spaces. Cars were filing in from everywhere.


There were venders representing all kinds of businesses there. My favorite thing, and I'm certain this is Texas-specific to races, was that United Supermarkets gave away free grilled sausages on a stick after the race. Of course, I ate one, even though my post-race stomach was screaming obscenities at me for doing so. Oh well. It eventually got over it.

I sincerely hope that this is the worst picture I ever have to post on this blog. Bad light.



I reached the finish line in 27 minutes and 21 seconds after 3.1 miles - an unimpressive run, but I was ok with it considering I haven't really busted a gut training lately.

My race time wasn't really the most important thing that day, though.

As I made my way toward the starting line, easing through a gazillion racers to get a good starting position, something caught my eye that stuck with me the entire race.

A girl, not much older than I, was walking through the crowd in running gear. She wore pink from head to toe. But her skin was pale. Her face gaunt. Her head bald and covered by a cap. It was obvious this girl had been to Hell and back in recent months, battling an uphill battle.

I didn't see her after the race, but the thing I remember the most about that quick encounter wasn't the fact that she was in an obvious cancer battle. It was the fact that she was smiling.

Evolution of a Heel Click

Several months ago, I started a tradition - or perhaps I should call it a mission. So many times I have witnessed people taking uncreative, unoriginal, touristy photos. You know the kind. They stand in front of something historical or noteworthy, like a statue, the Alamo or an ocean, and they just stand there cheesin' at the camera. They might as well be wearing a fanny pack and an over sized tank top or something.

My last statement is somewhat hypocritical, because I, too, have victimized myself of a lame, touristy photograph (minus the fanny pack and over sized tank top. I do have some class).

One day I woke up with an idea. An idea to rid my life of uninteresting photographs. While this mission may seem somewhat pointless or ridiculous, it was one that I passionately devoted my energies toward.

It came to me like a great epiphany comes to a wise Chinese man sitting on a tall mountain.

"I must heel click across America!"


Some of you may have seen some of my heel clicking activity as I have journeyed around various points of the U.S. with my job or within my own leisure travel.

I'm trying to make it a mainstay, despite the curious looks I get from people or federal officers as I click in front of national monuments or the U.S. Capitol.


So, today, I want to lead you through the technique of a heel click. It takes practice, diligence and patience with the photographer...except Natalie. Nat, you're usually right on the money within the first two tries. Others of you, and you know who you are, you need a lot of work on your timing. Get with the program, folks.

It begins with a good ready stance.


When the photographer is ready, you move into action. It's very important the photographer is paying attention and is in sync with your every move.


*Note. Props are optional. However, this umbrella provided me with some great balance in my heel click in Tampa, Florida. The hat didn't hurt either...it was more for confidence, style and show.


Notice here how you can almost draw a line from my pointing toe to my adjacent shoulder. This is all part of good form. Why is this not an Olympic sport? I bet if the Chinese did it, it would be...wow, that's like my second mentioning of Chinese people today.

Now, we must begin the take off.


A good heel click puts the "click" out parallel with the ground. You don't want to click underneath you because that just looks lame. Get that kick out to the side!

As you can see above, the right leg begins the initial ascent to the click, while the left leg remains on the ground. The arms move forward to carry the rest of your body to get that click out to the side. I should also note that this makes me look way more flexible than I really am. I recommend a good stretch prior to clicking.

From here, it's all air. This is where stars are born...


Ok, not really, but for one moment in time, the click can be heard around the world.

Ok, not really again, but it's super cool when you nail a good one.

From there, you just need to land the thing. Be aware of your surface. A bad surface could instantly end your heel clicking career. As you can see in these pictures, I was heel clicking barefoot on a wet tile surface after it had rained. This is not advised to amateurs.


So, that my friends, is how you do a heel click. I would encourage you all to consider implementing something like this into your own photos. Notice I said "something like this"...don't you go stealin' my idea. Perhaps you could try something like a handstand, or a geni pose, your best George W. Bush impersonation, or you could walk like an Egyptian. That choice is up to you.