Good night , sweet dreams. Wherever you are.

I have been given the number 6

1. When I took my 2*** lever engineering classes, I cheated most of the quarter until things finally started making sense to me. There were many mornings where I had the Isentropic Expansion and sonic velocity formulas written underneath the band of my watch. 
2. When I was younger, I got into a lot of needless fights because I felt slighted by people. It gained me a reputation for being angry all the time. But, all I really wanted was to be ignored and to let me go on my way as I saw fit. 
3. This internal quest for concurring my hidden fears is getting expensive as well as proving more and more challenging as the list grows shorter and shorter. 
4. Sharon and I have decided to go our separate ways for the Thanksgiving holidays. She is going to be in Louisiana with her friend Mandy, while I will be in Commerce for a couple days with family and the rest in NY for some extra work/money by taking over a contract so a co-worker can be at home with her husband. 
5. I can eat absolutely anything on the face of the earth, except natto. Just the smell of the stuff turns my stomach. The feeling of it in my mouth is absolutely revolting. How in gods name, can people call this stuff edible. 
6. I evaded a police DUI checkpoint the other night. Yes, my licence is valid. My insurance is up to date. No, I hadn't been drinking. There really isn't any reason for me to of taken off on a side road, other than I just really do not like the police in Atlanta. I think that they when there is a checkpoint, it is a constitutional violation as to the right not to be stopped without proper cause. 

Every morning, on my way to work, I pass a couple fields which change crops through out the year. There is a cotton harvest coming in soon and the entire field looks like it is covered in snow. The blossoms are patches of pure white surrounded by the brown stalks of the plants beneath them. It is beautiful.
As I passed this morning, there was a single heifer loose from the adjoining pasture making her way through the stalks. It reminded me of another memory of my childhood. I've told you about Gus, this one is about "Jumper". Jumper was a pity cow. I got Jumper from my Uncle Jackie when I was around 6. She would always push through or jump over the barbwire fences that seperated the upper acreage from the lower because she wanted to be closer to the barn where as a calf, I would feed her sugar cubes as a treat when I got off the bus from Benton Elementary.
One day Jumper had gotten into the field just below my parents house at the time which was being used as a soy bean growing field since money was tight from the meat market at the time. It was before dawn, I remember because my father had just gotten home from work, I was pulled out of bed by my Great Grandfather and told that one of my cows was ruining the crop. Bleary eyed and half awake, we popped on the three-wheeler and took off with Daddy and Jackie to see Jumper shoulder deep in the crop. There was a trail of eaten soybean plants behind her as she zig zagged her way through the field all night. It looked like a slime snail train across a pavement, you could see exactly where she had come through and started the feast. That was the only time I ever remember hearing Papa Jack curse.
We eventually got Jumper back into her own field after a rather humerous (Benny Hill type ) chase.
When all was done. Jumper back in her field, the barb wire mended, and a breakfast at Big Grannies house in my stomach I went to the road for the bus to school. That afternoon, as Mr. Pete, my bus driver, pulled down Groaning Rock Road, we passed Jumper in the back of a cattle truck heading to the auction house. I did love the cow. I loved every single cow I had. They were like my pets. But, I knew that she had to go.
The money from her sale did pay for the lost crops and a great BMX bike for myself so I wasnt't totally heartbroken.
The cow wandering thoough the crops just brought back a great memory of my childhood and I wanted to share it with you.

Story TIme:

Yes, I know I haven't written in quite a long time. I have been super busy lately and just didn't have the time to relax as I have in the past. But, even if another deadline is looming over my head, I felt the need to take a couple minutes and share something.

A couple weeks ago, I sold the Jenny L. She was a wonderful ship and I will miss her terribly. There just wasn't enough time to spend with her as needed. When a ship sits in dock, unattended, things have a habit of breaking and ruining other systems onboard. She is currently at a dock somewhere in South Florida with her new owners, who are going to live aboard her as the husband gets his masters degree at UF Maimi. This makes me happy.
The main reason I bought the boat was to prove to myself that any fears can be tamed, if you keep putting yourself in situations where the fear is previlant. Even though I am always going to be a sailor, I am afraid of sailing alone away from land being within sight. I concoured that fear very efficently.
So. With one phobia checked off, it was time to move on to another.

The summer between Eighth and Ninth Grade, I had a rather horrible motorcycle wreck which would of ended my life if not for myself being extremely lucky and a good helmet. I was hit head on by a Jackson EMC power  truck on a deserted dirt road where Banks County and Jackson County meet. My passenger and I were on our way to a "party" (a bunch of socially ostracized teenage boys sitting around drinking stolen Miller High Life bragging about how supposedly cool we are to each other), when in the middle of a sharp curve, I was blind-sided by the truck driver, who was taking a shortcut home.
I swerved as well as I could to avoid the huge truck, but alas, all I did was move our impact from square in the grill to the front corner. My friend at the time, Gary Scales, was thrown into the bushes where his leg was broken by a fence post. I was slammed into the hood which broke my wrist and tossed over the cab. As I was in the air, my left leg was caught by the utility bucket and ripped open. I lost consciousness upon impact with the road as I landed.
When I awoke, Gary was screaming his head off in the bushes. The driver had gotten out and was attending to him since he was closer. I sat up, oblivious to my condition of the time, and tried to get up. I remember trying to dust off a Japanese beetle from my wound but my hand wouldn't work. I could see my femur and the muscles from underneath my shredded jeans. The shock must of not worn off until later because I was clear headed about the whole situation until later in the ambulance. No one else could describe to the operator where we actually were.
Anyway, even since then, I have been deathly afraid of being on another motorcycle. My father and brother have their own. But every time that they suggested that I join them on one of their rides, I would come up with some asinine excuse as to why I wouldn't. Sharon hates them. I don't have the time to ride it. They are not fun. Why would I want a bike when I could just ride in comfort from the driver's seat in the Jeep? But to be honest, every time I would get on something that was not protected by a roll cage, air bags, safety belts, or some other manner of protection I would revert into the same feelings as I did on the ride to the hospital. Everyone on the road is going to hit me and actually kill me this time.
Anyway. I am of the age where I cannot let my fears drive me anymore. When I sold Jenny L, I actually made quite a profit. That windfall bought me a new motorcycle.
Yes, I am still deathly afraid of going into a blind curve. There is one on my way out of Atlanta for the day,  just as you pass the Van Leer building. Every time I go through the curve, I get the same cold feeling in my stomach. But, that is something I will work through eventually.
I'm sick of secretly being afraid of certain actions/situations. I should have fought these demons a long time ago. Every step is a step forward...right?

Happy birthday Beautiful

While heading home from Atlanta the other day, I took a back road to get away from the highway for a while.
 Got lost. Oh well......

Stories

My mother was a wonderful cook when I was little. I remember her and my Grandmother feeding the extended family every Sunday afternoon after church to well that at the end of the meal, we would all congregate in the living room just to sit and talk after eating with most of the men sleeping and the kids watching cartoons late into the evening. That was until her first bout with chemo. It seemed as if her sense of taste just vanished. 

The first time I noticed that something was seriously wrong was when I was volunteered to read to the underprivileged kids at the Commerce library. A couple girls, Myra (sp), the Gary triplets, and I were to come dressed up in Halloween costumes to read while the kids munched on cookies and juice. I was talked into bringing some cookies, sugar cookies. 

The evening before, Mama and I gathered up all the ingredients on the kitchen table. ( Sugar, butter, flour, eggs, and salt) I had to work on an English paper that night, so Mama took over the brunt of the labor while I sat at the kitchen table to write. We talked for a while, we mixed for a while, I proofread for a while, she sat at the table and talked to me, and just bonded over tea and how my teacher at the time had taught her in high school. When the cookies were mixed up in the bowl, I took over to partition them out on the pan and to do the actual baking. As I spooned out the last cookie ball, I noticed that there was an awful lot of sugar left over. When I mentioned this, her solution was that we should just sprinkle the remaining sweetness over the cookies for a nice crunch. The cookies went in. A half hour later, they came out perfectly. They smelled wonderfully. I thought that is was a shame that I was forbidden to eat a single one since we had made just enough for the kids to have the next day. The cookies were cooled and stacked in a basket just as Myra wanted. 

You know me. I cannot turn down a cookie. I love LOVE them for breakfast. On the way to school the next day, temptation got the better of me. As I drove to town in the Camaro, I reached into the back seat and snatched a couple.....There was no way of describing how quickly I spit the first bite out. There wasn't enough time for me to even roll the window down. I had spit the crumbs all over the window, the steering wheel, and my lap. The reason there was so much sugar left over was that she had mistakenly mixed up the salt for the sugar and couldn't taste her mistake. 

I couldn't bear to tell Mama that her cookies were horrible. They all ended up in the river where 441 passes the Commerce Dragstrip. Before getting to school that morning, I made a quick stop at Ingles for some deli cookies that looked at least similar to hers incase she decided to stop by and see her son read. (Which she did). The other mothers complemented Mama on her cookies and I could see her smile that beautiful smile she had as they talked. Her salt lick cookies never got into the public and now you are the only other person that knows. 

This is the moment when you're doing work from home purely because you want to and you realize it's 11:30 at night.

Hello old friend.

To the woman at Nordstrom who called me "Handsome".

Thank you.
I was desperately looking for some new clothes this afternoon. Unfortunately, I am at the age where I do not feel comfortable wearing printed t-shirts, sport team jerseys, or ripped up/faded jeans. Yet, I am too young to get away with a suit for everyday wear. So usually I have to pick through the clothes stores looking for something that isn't going to make me look as if I am trying to be the old guy that wants to be hip.
While the sales people just sat on their rumps judging everyone around then or glaring at anyone that asked them a question, you took a moment of your day just to give me a compliment which I rarely get. As I wrangled the pile of shirts which I was going to try on, you just said with honest sincerity: "You don't have to look so hard. They all are going to look good on you. "
I wish you could have realized how much those words meant to me. Men do not really get many compliments in modern day society. (At least I don't) While I was growing up, my family went through one financially lean time after another. My mother always tried her best to make sure that my clothes were not worn out and that I was warm in the winter, but they were never in fashion. I never got the new clothes everyone else did, we had to made due with shopping in the bargain bin store next to Quality Foods. This mental hang up never let me see myself as good looking when it comes to fashion. Growing up, my father was never really around. He was constantly working the night shifts. So I never got the chance to have the "dress like a man talk". I (painfully) taught myself how to shave. My grandfather was the one that taught me to tie a tie when he saw my pitiful attempts for school dances. So when someone from outside of my family actually paid attention to my looks it has usually been in the negative context.
The words you just casually said as you passed by may of been innocuous to you. You may go around complimenting every harried or stressed out man you see shopping alone. But, the complement stuck with me and alone made me feel like a million bucks.
Thank you.

Good night, Sweet Dreams.
Wherever you are. 

I walked into my favorite coffee house this afternoon. Not necessarily because I needed a fix of caffeine but mostly because I just needed some time to decompress and putting off driving home. The midtown Caribou coffee is usually filled to the brim with assorted hipsters, random gay guys, young college students, and older professionals like myself.
Today, the only open seat was on one side of the fireplace in one of the leather chairs. These are not the connected types, but the regular ones. They were just pushed closely together as if a couple had been sitting together earlier in the day. I quietly settled in, opened up my laptop, and started reading some emails as I sipped my Americano. The guy sitting next to me instantly gave me this dirty look as if I was invading his personal space just by breathing the same air as he was. Each time I sat my cup down on the end table, he would let out this long sigh and roll his eyes at me. For the next twenty minutes, I made no conversational attempts or acknowledge his constant sighing. The only sound from my side of this rather uncomfortable seating arrangement was the tapping of my keyboard. Yet, I got the under his breath "shessh" as I came back with another cup. Eventually two cute girls finished doing their homework by the window and left. He loudly gathered up his belongings and moved to the chairs they had left empty.
A little while later, he got up for a refill and left his seats open. A couple people in front of him in line was a young mother and her adorable fussy toddler, who was upset that he couldn't get a cookie or something. They came toward me and asked if the second chair was taken. I was about to happily welcome them down when apparently someone she knew called her over...directly next to the open seat next to the dick head. The rather annoying man came back to his book to find a screaming toddler would be his new sitting area companion. I sat for the next half hour watching Junior play games on an Ipad at full volume, cry about his missing Rice Crispy treat, and make himself at home by laying across his mother's lap while picking his nose. The man was not amused at all. When I left, he was still giving everyone the stink eye for being on this planet with him. I finished my work on the laptop and had an enjoyable conversation with an exchange student from Paris who took light next to me.
Lesson of the day: Do not be an asshole to strangers. Life can come back to bite you in the ass.

20 worst songs of all time according to ME

These are going to be mostly rock (If you can call them that) songs because the new popish songs are just too easy to pick on as well as too plentiful. This list will most likely going to change as I drive this weekend. Don't judge me.....

• Snow - “Informer” Screw this fake jamaican accent white boy.  
• Limp Bizkit - “Faith” Yes, I went through a Limp Biscut* phase when I was in my 20's. It was a phase and eventually the hormones evened out and I learned that there was no need for violent screaming in songs. 
• Baha Men - "Who Let The Dogs Out?"  I have always hated this abominably foul example of what passes for popular music. 

Paradise by the Dashboard Light - Meatloaf
November Rain - Guns N Roses
Hotel California - The Eagles
Pretty Fly For a White Guy - The Offspring
Fly Away - Lenny Kravitz
Pour Some Sugar on Me - Def Leppard
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Old Time Rock and Roll - Bob Seger
I’ll Wait - Van Halen
Born in the USA - Bruce Springsteen
Love in an Elevator - Aerosmith
Uptown Girl - Billy Joel
Kokomo - The Beach Boys
Amber - 311
Semi Charmed Life - Third Eye Blind
Rock Star - Nickelback
Open Arms - Journey
Every Morning - Sugar Ray
Dani California - Red Hot Chili Peppers
I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That) - Meatloaf

I cut my finger open with a serrated bread knife while trying to slice up a salmon and tomato poppy seed bagel.
Yup.

This would be labelled as "Zach Cooks" but I'm a moron. 

Music time: What better to do when working late into the evening.

Meme: Worst roommate

While on active duty, I lived just off base at Fort Leonard Wood. The apartments were cheap. They were dirty. But most importantly, they were close to work. I only lived there because I could be in my office within 12 minutes of walking out of my door. The way the apartments worked was that there was no single lease upon an apartment, but you as a renter would sign a lease on you having a room of your own. This way, if your roommate was deployed, there would be no problem making the rent. The bad side to this was that you didn't really get a say in who lived with you. As long as there was an empty bedroom, someone would eventually be living with you.
A couple weeks after I moved in, a young private from Rhode Island moved into the adjoining room while he waited for his clearance check to come through. The first thing, the very first thing, he did when he came in was to light up a cigarette in our communal living space. I had quit smoking not long before this so I was really sensitive about the smell. The room was rented out as a non-smoking room. So, when I asked him to smoke out in the outside gazebos, he flipped out on me. The third day, he woke me up on my day off at 4am, to complain that my 32" television was too small for him to enjoy. When he hooked it up to his video game system, there was a conflicting video decoding error and he blamed me and my television for breaking his old system. Also, he thought that my "Pump up the Volume" movie poster should be taken down from the kitchen wall since the movie was about how a kid broke the law over and over, thus would be a bad influence on his well being......really.
I did try to be his friend. I really did. The first weekend that he was there, he complained that there was nothing do in the area so I invited him to hangout with my (at the time) girlfriend for a night of putt putt and movies. All night long, he did nothing but complain that we were forcing him to do what we wanted and he just wanted to go home. Fine, we did and took off on our own. That Sunday, we invited him to join us in the living room for a night of old school NES Mario, PBRs, and meatball sliders. My girlfriend, Tracy, even invited one of her friends to join us in hopes that he may like her. About 30 minutes after he had eaten a lion's share of the sandwiches, he hid a case of the beers into his room, yelled at us because he was being "smothered". A week later, I was sitting at my bedroom desk when I overheard him talking on the phone to his family about how I was a horrible roommate because I had made him feel unwelcome here since I had stopped inviting him to anything. The next week he left one of his god awful smelling frozen pizzas in the oven at full blast while he went on a walk to "talk to mother nature". When I came into the apartment, the room was full of smoke and the oil from the pizza was dripping down onto the heating element building a fire with each drip. He would later blame me for the destruction of the pizza and smoke damage because I should of checked on it while we was gone. The last weekend, before I left FLW, a great friend from Georgia came in for the going away party. She and her partner slept in my room on Friday while I crashed on the couch since their hotel room was not available until the following night. All night long, and I mean ALL NIGHT, he would randomly come out into the living room, wake me up, only to complain to me about how it was rude of me to allow them to do this in his apartment. We went into St.Roberts for drinks and a dinner before the party so I thought that this would be one last olive branch to be nice to end our relationship on. I bought everyone dinner that night. He sat at the corner of the table, didn't talk to anyone else, and just got incoherently drunk off his ass on the most expensive ouzo on the menu. At the party, he pulled Tracy aside and told her that I was going to hell for supporting sin in his home.
After I left, a few of our mutual friends told me that he had complained to them that I had left him with a cleaning bill of 1000$. He refused to let Tracy into the apartment to get the stuff I had left behind for her and sold it all to make up the money. I know I hadn't left anything wrong in the apartment. It was so clean that I had gotten my sexurity deposit back which was rare in the complex.
Now everyone has personality conflicts sometimes. I know this. But, there was just not one redeeming quality to this person. He was lazy. He was closed minded to new things. He was anti-social. He was just a plain dick. I have never lived with another roommate since then for the reason that I don't want to take the chance that I may run into another person like him.

Monday has come:

My major grant is being pulled from me in the Spring and given to someone from a more ethnically diverse background because the American educational system needs to "support the education of those that cannot support themselves".

Fuck this. Looks as if I will be paying out of pocket.

Woke up thinking you were next to me.
I hate this feeling. I miss talking to you. I hate that you think that I am going to lie to you. I wish that I had never been so insecure at the time in myself to think that you wouldn't like me for who I really am.
There are mistakes which we make in our lives that can never be forgiven. This is the mistake that I hold upon myself.
Good night, Sweet Dreams.
Wherever you are. 

Better lipsyncing than Glee..

Growing older and being responsible sucks.
 I have a meeting in the morning so the customary birthday dinner and drinks out has been postponed until Friday night.  Instead of partying like a 20 year old, I'm relaxing on the couch with Netflix (Airplane the movie), Buffy laying on my feet, and takeout Cantonese. 

A little girl just sold me a solo cup of homemade lemonade.

It was delicious. 

As I was driving home this afternoon and stopped at my usual gas station, North of Macon I saw a symbol of my own childhood which warmed my heart. 

This afternoon was one for the record books. The sun was out for once, my windows had been down since I passed through Forsyth, my favorite music was playing on the radio and that the day couldn't of turned out better. That was when I noticed two little girls setting up a stand as their mother sat in the shade behind them. They were selling for their school, supposedly for school supplies. As soon as I saw them, they started smiling from ear to ear, beckoning me to come buy a cup. I pulled up and gave them a couple bucks for a solo cup worth of overly sweet lemon juice. Then just thanked them for the delicious cup, congratulated them for being so ingenious for their idea and cruised away. They were so happy. 

I know that this is not very news worthy. But, they made my ride home very enjoyable. 

Spending the night in my home office, no one else is home, time to turn on some music.

Good Night. Sweet Dreams.
Wherever you are..... 

Zach Cooks

http://instagram.com/p/dKnsGayZmb/

Why the hell are Americans the stereotypical "rude and stupid tourists"?
I left Arlington this past Friday, completely disgusted with the way we, as Americans, represent ourselves in public. On my off hours, I like to explore our capitol's monuments and the Smithsonian Museum. During my mini adventures, I have noticed that every single American tourist I see does pretty much the same damn thing over and over again, while people from other countries are getting pushed out of the way by their overbearing nature. The American tourist are dressed like crap. (Baggy jeans, t-shirts, dirty clothes) While the nice French woman I met this past week pointed out that she could identify people from her country just by the way some of the tailored dresses were worn. (It was weird but pretty much dead on)
Side note: Americans have this need to touch. Oh look a priceless artifact from the Paleozoic period, lets rub our grubby hands all over the glass and hope that we can share how dirty we really are with the rest of the world. If the sign says don't touch the glass...DON'T TOUCH!
Now, I am not the best dresser in the world. I wear 12 year old blue jeans on my days off, I regularly wear combat boots that have been worn so many years that I have replaced the sole on them twice, and there are quite a few shirts in my dresser older than all but one relationship I have ever been in and are still the most comforting to wear ones I have. But, when I am out in the public eye and am going to be seen, I at least try my best to be an example of proper behavior. American's have this mentality lately that it is okay to cut in line, litter, and act like a jackass to some in need. The only other nationality I have noticed this behavior from are Indians (dot head). I love travelling the world, but there is no way in hell that you would ever get me off the plane in that country and have to deal with their interpersonal issues there....
Sorry, I didn't mean for this to turn into a rant.
If you are at a museum, don't run your hands over the glass. If you are walking through town and see a group of foreign nationals coming down the sidewalk your way, at least pull up your god damned pants. If you see a nice couple with their kids trying to take a picture in front of a monument, stop trying to barge your way in front of them. Just give them a second, this is could be a trip the kids remember for the rest of their lives. Do you really want another generation of people to hate Americans as much as we are hated now? Speaking of monuments, how ignorant do you have to be when you think it is a good idea to climb up onto a national memorial and take a selfie for your FB feed. And one last thing,  please.....If you are in a crowded touristy area, don't light up a stinking Marlboro red!
This shit pisses me off! Show some respect for yourself and your own country!

Did I miss September totally?

Good night, Sweet dreams.
Wherever you are.

Had to go back two exits, take an access road, crawl through a barbed wire fence, and was attacked by a mound of fire ants but it was worth it.

Instagram's HTML does not like mobile browsing. If the photo doesn't load correctly here is a link.

This is epic!

Stories:

Many years ago while at UGA, I had a pretty tight group of dorm mate friends. After our freshman year, we all moved around town but remained close enough friends that we would still hang out on the weekends and special occations. Every 4th of July we would pool our pittances together and a few of us would make the journey up to South Carolina for as many fireworks we could muster to pack into my truck cab to put on our own show in my or another person's backyard. I'm talking about when it comes to a home display, we did a HUGE show. The last year before we all dispersed across the country, the count was three mortar boards with 8 tubes each, around 30k firecrackers which we hung up in the pecan tree branches, hundreds of the saturn rockets, and everyone had at least 10 boxes of roman candles to shoot from my back porch at Gumbo as he and I set off each bank.
So, after a afternoon/night of..... many PBRs, smoking out the neighborhood, and terrorizing every single squirrel within range of the roman candles the party started to wind down. Neal, Amelia, and I took the ones that had partied a little too hard back to their homes and came back to the house to clean. It was around 2 in the morning when everything had been cleaned. Myself, was still drunk, and in my infinite wisdom thought that it would be a great idea to not keep the leftover fireworks and instead light the last string of 500 blackcats out in the street. Amelia and I went out into the road next to the house to see if anyone was still around. I lit the fuse... Just as the sparks started to fly, then around the corner comes one of ACPDs finest.
The first firecracker goes off just as his car pulled up in front of our driveway. I remember seeing the first explosion throw up the whole string and loop it on the front of his bumper brush guard. As we stood there in the gravel of my driveway, I could see the cop's face each and every time one went off. The shredded paper was spraying all over the ground, the lawn, and on the hood of the cruiser. The blue lights from the bar on top made it strangely pretty as the smoke wafted in the night air.  As the last pop went off, the cop rolled down his window and gives the two of us this look. Like a, you can't be that stupid, look.
Cop: What are you doing?
Me: We had some leftover fireworks from a party and wanted to get rid of them.
Cop: Do you realize what time it is? People are sleeping.
Me: Yeah, I knew I was in trouble as soon as you came around the corner.
Amelia: We could of run.
Me: We live right there!
The cop at that moment started laughing and asks if that was all we were going to shoot and tells us to get to sleep.
That was the last time I ever set off fireworks in a city limits.

Music to calm the savage beast:

I stopped by a bar at 1:30 AM to seek solace in a bottle and/or someone to talk to.

I can't sleep. I don't want to take sleep medications. My head is killing me. Johnny Walker, be my friend. 

Morning Music

Woke up late to discover six messages from HR.

" Mark has a family emergency. Would you mind taking his place as the Welcoming Management Liaison for the new hire indoc this weekend?"

How about another since I can't sleep.

        I ran away from home a couple times in my youth. It was not that I had a bad home life, my father was always at work to be able to give us whatever we needed in life and my mother was as loving and caring at one could ever hope or dream for. We may not of always gotten along throughout our lives together, but in the end we were happy. When I ran away, I didn't do it out of spite, I just have always had a nomadic urge in me. Anyway, I watched some random  Afternoon Special , A "very special episode"about how kids would run away and be taken in by drug dealers or something like that to get hooked on the dangerous joints that they were passing out to everyone. I don't really remember, but I just wanted to get off of the farm. Running away seemed to me at the time like camping out anyway.
        Being from my small town has it perks and cons. Most of the time, I just ended up walking into Commerce and playing the Joust arcade game at the laundromat behind Parhams restaurant since that was considered fun to me at the time. This was the perk. It was close enough that I could walk the 6 miles easily. The con was that since the town was so small, everyone knew my mother, everyone knows my grandmother. EVERYONE. I wanted to get away from what I knew, only to be welcomed by friendly smiles and conversations as I walked down Main Street. This was not what I wanted. I wanted to be a loner. I wanted to be mysterious. So, I would give up and walk home. Most of the time, Mama didn't even realize that I had even gone far. The longest I ever stayed gone was when I attempted to walk to the Firebird Truck Stop, or at least attempted to. I somehow got lost on Hospital Road and went to Will Golden's house to call Granny when the bugs from the lake were annoying me so much that I just wanted to go home. That trip got me a nice whipping.
        Once Jill Bridges and I decided to we were going to run away together. Her mother asked us where we were going and we flat out told her that we were running off to Athens to live at the Mall with Tiffany, the singer Tiffany by the way. She laughed as she called my mother and asked that I make sure Jill was home by dark. (She was)
I don't specifically remember doing this but Mama often told the story about how she walked into my room once and found me packing up a suitcase. She asked what I was doing and I told her my usual "Running Away". She then proceeded to help me pack up my toys in the suitcase. She made me a brownbag lunch of some PB&J sandwiches, made sure that I had my Cookie Monster stuffed animal, and some bug spray, and wrapped them all up in a bundle on the top of a broom handle. She then insisted that I sit down for a last meal and a cartoon or two before I went out to make my way in the world. I agreed and sat down in front of the television just in time for my afternoon cartoons. I was so completely distracted by baby Kirk, Thundercats, and my sandwich with chocolate milk that I completely forgot about wanting to leave. While I was distracted she had gone back upstairs and completely unpacked everything since I had completely forgotten about the whole thing.

I feel like telling you a story that I should of a long time ago.

If anyone ever talks to my father about raising cattle, he will eventually bring up the infamous, Gus the horrible. Gus was a huge Santa Gertrudis bull (This is what he looked like) which Uncle Jackie had bought in hopes of starting his own breeding program on the farm. I don't know why, but Gus hated my father with a passion that would echo down through the states history. He put my father in the hospital once with a severe concussion after knocking him through a fence , broke his ribs a couple times, he rammed the broken down dumptruck my father was working on so hard that the door was crooked on it's hinges, he stomped at him what seemed every time we would do the farm wide inoculations. Gus hated my father and my Father hated Gus equally.
Now, I was around 5 or 6 when Gus came to the farm. At the time I knew no fear of any living creature. I also really didn't have any close friends to play with. I would entertain myself by playing with the animals on the farm in the times when the Kitchens were scaring me and Jill, the little girl down the street, was busy with her Girl Scout troop. Every cow on the farm was taught that I was harmless I guess and would come up to me for a salt cube that my Papa Jack taught me to keep in my pockets while in the fields. Gus to me, was just another large cow. A really really large cow... I loved walking out to the fence line near the garden and sneaking Gus a broken corn stalk. He was never aggressive toward me at all. So when Daddy would compain to Mamma about how much he hated that cow, I felt as if he was insulting my friend. When I was down about something, I would go out to the field and talk to Gus, or any other cow about my problems. (I was 5ish, don't make fun of me.)
One day, Gus wasn't in the field for one of our little talks. Daddy had been threatening to shoot Gus for a while, so I instantly assumed that he had gotten drunk again and did it. I cried all the way up the gravel driveway  to Mama's arms. She called Ann and found out that Gus had gotten out in the night and was in the Bridges' field until they could all get home and transfer him back to his home field. He never came back though. A couple days later, Jackie decided that Gus was too much trouble for his worth and took him to the Round Barn Auction House. I never saw Gus again. I also didn't eat beef for a couple months after that. I was afraid that I would be eating my buddy.

It's inconsequential and rather pointless, but I wanted to share this memory with you.

Brunch without some sort of booze, is just a sad late breakfast.....

In a meeting and should be taking notes, instead I'm doing a meme:

What I desire:

• To stand in the sun on a deserted beach, watching the waves crash onto the sand, feeling the salt water wash away the sand from beneath my feet.  
• To smell homemade Chicken and Dumplings cooking in my great grandparents’ house. To see Big Granny, Little Granny, and Mama all sitting at the kitchen table snapping green beans for a family dinner later in the evening. 
• To run through the forests of North Georgia again. I miss the way the land underneath me felt. I miss the way the air smells in the evening. I miss the sounds of the forest just after twilight. 
• To know my loved ones are safe. 
• To linger over a cup of coffee' on a busy Spanish street again. To feel the heat coming from the cup into my hands. To smell the aroma in the steam just before putting the cup to my lips. 
• To see blue eyes look at me lovingly once again. The way the sun made those eyes sparkle, looking up at me with her head in my lap, was set firmly as one of my most cherished memories. 
• To be able to sit and talk late into the night without the fear of anything. 
• To feel as though I am enough. To believe in myself that what I have to offer, what I have become, the person that I am is enough and to stop convincing myself into believing that I have to be something or someone that I am not. 

Take a little trip. Take a little trip. Take a little trip and see...

Good night, Sweet Dreams.
Wherever you are.

Soundtrack of the day- Nine Inch Nails - 2013-07-26 Niigata, Japan, Fuji Rocks Festival - Compl...

F- it. Pill time. 

So I went to the doctor today and had a talk about the fact that I haven't been asleep in days in god knows how many hours. I started having these weird hallucinations at the edges of my field of visions today so I went to see the GP and discovered that my blood pressure was through the roof.
The doctor prescribed me Xanax, but due to my past and fear that I will become addicted to them I turned down the pills flat out. He told me that if I want to cure my insomnia without pills, that I should do what sets me at ease before bed since that is what used to work for me. I didn't tell him that I am not able to do that anymore.....

I'm screwed.  

I just had a horrible thought. All the NSA analysts which are combing through everyone's internet history, they have to look at hundreds upon hundreds of ugly kids photos from the people that they are investigating FB feeds. That is just really depressing to me.

MIllion dollar ideas

GPS mapping of large convention centers.
Every building has a fire plan filled in the city hall. Scan these plans into a database, where the corners of the buildings are plotted into GPS coordinates, and designate the rooms or hallways as you would roads on a map.

"Go down the hallway 30 yards and turn left to the escalator. Your destination is beside of the vending machine area" 

Good night, Sweet Dreams.
Wherever you are, I hope you have a wonderful day. 

Insomniac Zach cooks : Simple Italian bread

2 3/4 cups of white flour + a couple spoonfuls for dusting
1 1/2 tsp sea salt
1/4 cup of unsalted butter (melted)
1 pat of butter, (not melted)
3 tbs olive oil. (get the good stuff) + 1/4 tsp for a coating
1 tps of dried and chopped rosemary
1 tps of dried flat leaf parsley
2 tbs active yeast or 1/8 cup of starter
1 tps sugar
1 cup of water
1  9x5' loaf pan

If you are using the yeast do this first. Activate the yeast by mixing it with the sugar in with 1/4 cup of water. When and if the mixture has started to bubble, continue on. If it doesn't bubble in 15 minutes, start over with another package until proofing occurs. Mix 1 1/4 cups of flour with the salt and butter in a large mixing bowl. Add water to the yeast or starter mix until there is 3/4 of a cup which you would then slowly mix into the flour mixture with a metal whisk. With your hands, mix in the remaining 1 1/4 cups of flour until a soft dough has formed. Kneed this ball for at least 10 minutes to make sure there is a homogeneous ball. ( You know you will get a workout, but it is so worth it) Now stop. Take a break, pour a glass of wine or something while letting this rest for at least 20 minutes. Dust a workspace with the remaining four and roll out the dough into a 12 x 7 ish rectangle. Lightly coat the rectangle with the olive oil over the whole upward facing side. Sprinkle some salt, a light touch of pepper, and the rosemary on the top half of the rectangle. Now, starting with the top half (the small end)  roll up the rectangle with the herbs going into the roll first. This doesn't have to be too tight, but the tighter it is, the more incorporated the flavors from the olive oil and rosemary will be throughout the bread. When you are done, you should have a log around 12 inches long and a couple inches high. Now, with the remaining pat of butter, rub the interior walls of the loaf pan until there is a nice greasy sheen on everything. Dump any remaining flour into the pan and shake around until the interior walls have a white coating. (This stops the bread from sticking, a non-stick pan does the same thing but doesn't taste the same) Pinch off the end of your dough log to make sure they are closed and place the outer seam facing downwards in the pan. You will have to massage the dough a little into fitting. Let this rise in the pan for at least a hour before you add the last of the melted butter over the top of the loaf and sprinkle parsley over the top. Just cover it with some plastic wrap or a towel for a nice nap. When the dough has doubled in size, preheat your oven to 375 degrees. This may sound silly and it totally optional, but when the oven has gotten up to temp, get a spray bottle of water and mist the interior of the oven and slam the door shut. This raises the humidity of the oven and makes for a thinner crispy crust. Put the bread log in for 30-35 minutes or until the top is a deep golden color. (Use the window, don't open the door and let all that humidity out) When it is done, take it out and remove it from the loaf pan. Let it cool on a rack or a plate with a couple chopsticks across the bottom so as the heat can escape.  Slice and enjoy.

"Never write while tired."

                              :Uncle Zach 

I hate unwillingly seeing the sun rise. Yes, it is beautiful to see the first glints of purple sky fading into the black of the western sky. Yes, it is a calm and peaceful time for quiet contemplation. Yes, I get to spend time  playing with Buffy on the front porch before the hustle of the day makes me ignore her. But it would be nice to do this under my own terms. It would be nice to want to do this with someone, someone that talks back. Tonight as I sit here on the porch, I contemplate drinking myself into a stupor just to be able to control when I go to sleep. If I hadn't stopped drinking to excess, this would be an option. I thought about reaching out into the internet support for insomniacs to see if anyone else wanted to talk, but the last time I talked to a stranger on the internet, the conversation became really disturbing. There are definitely some strange people out in the world. Instead, I just sit here on the couch of my living room reading what goes for Pulitzer prize literature now-a-days.
Why can't I sleep. This has never been this bad.....

Good night, Sweet dreams.

Stereotypes

Racial profiling is supposed to be detrimental to modern day society. But this weekend, I discovered that sometimes those generalizations are correct and even useful.

While my nephew and I were on Jekyll Island this past Saturday, we took off to the beach for some "Treasure Hunting". We walked from the fishing pier to the convention center beach with my new metal detector in search of pirate booty. In the 2 miles we walked, I watched black family after black family supposedly enjoying the ocean. In general what they would do is that the oldest kid would dare the others (Many others) to run into the waves, only to run back onto the beach after getting about mid-thigh deep. They all refused to swim. They all refused to get into the wave crash zone. Why would you travel to the beach, only to just sit your ass at the picnic areas and jam out to crappy music all afternoon long. They could have stayed their collective asses at home while not annoying everyone else that wanted to have a nice quiet day on the beach with family.

I am an equal opportunity offender apparently tonight. The Indian (dot-head) family that bought the Checkers in Commerce has run it into closure as of late. While talking to the previous owner tonight, I learned that they had financed the purchase, used cheaper lower quality supplies, and totally cut the upkeep to the building costs, and eventually defaulted on all their employee's final paychecks only to take all the money that could have kept the business profitable and run back to india with a fat paycheck. This totally pisses me off. I loved that store. I have great memories from my first job there. Now, when I reminisce of working there as I drive by on my way back to Atlanta, all I am going to see is a boarded up skeleton that is left.
White people are just the same as well before anyone thinks that I am racist. The rednecks at the fishing area all were crowding the handrails with their multitude of fishing rods, their ratty t-shirts of some long forgotten giveaway, and a couple stinky kids running around between the picnic areas.
Fine, no more bitching for the night. I am tired, a bit buzzed from a wine tasting, and falling asleep on deck. Braxton is asleep in his rack already.
Good night all. Sweet Dreams. 

Nissan Skyline R33 GTS-T - Vs - Worlds Fastest Mobility scooter - 1/4 mile

Good night, Sweet Dreams. Wherever you are.
I miss you. 

Truthful Tuesday

I’m afraid I may have gotten a bit of a sunburn on the top of my head... shoulders, neck, arms, back, ears, calves, and tops of my toes. The other day I was showing off a bit for some woman, that had been watching me from across the way, solely because I needed an ego boost and absent mindedly forgot to put on sunscreen before working in the sun. I was only out in the sun for two hours, shirtless, before I could feel the burn coming on.
Society needs to just remove the social standard that "you have to remove your shirt if you are swimming or working out" and let us fair skinned folk alone. I don't tan you bronzed face fuckers. If I'm pale, it means a couple things, I'm not in pain and I do not have to worry about skin cancer like you will. Mostly it means that I will not be the one looking like a knock off leather handbag when I'm 50.



p.s....... Owwwww.

I seem to only get LinkedIn endorsements from people who have never worked with me. It is not that I mind getting random allocations from someone that I helped flash their router to a more efficient OS a couple years ago at a party where they saw me drink an entire bottle of Dewars. God knows, if I could have rewritten their code more efficiently on a project that they were working on at that moment, I should be able to stone cold sober. It just seems as if they are giving a perfect example that Linkedin endorsements do not mean that much when job hunting.
Tonight when everyone else has fallen asleep, I may just have to endorse everyone I know on some random talent which hasn't been listed on their profiles.

Long weekend off!

Good night, Sweet Dreams.
Wherever you are. 

Bye bye glasses.

My contacts have arrived. Time to let my glasses rest for a while.

I have a question / rambling while waiting for a vacant shower.

I am currently working off that extra helping of Pannan curry from last night at the gym. Across from me is a rather nice looking lady with a black t-shirt with an iron-on sticker on the back that says: "ak-47. The reason you have a job. "
I hate talking to people in the gym. I hate being talked to in the gym. So, there is no way in hell that I would just go up to her and ask her about her shirt.
Is it supposed to be a pro-gun statement? An Ak is a soviet made rifle. How is the former soviet union protecting my job? Since I am working out on base, I thought that it may be a unit morale shirt, but no. There is no other markings on it other than the rifle. Maybe it is some kind of militia shirt, there are a lot of them on the redneck side of town.

Anyway. Weird.

The Old Spice Games

Charlie Kaufman Writing ‘Slaughterhouse-Five’ Movie for Guillermo del Toro

I am definitely going to be seeing this!

Ego boosts are a wonderful thing.

Good night, sweet dreams.

Wherever you are. 

I cannot seem to rest tonight.I should be exhausted. I've been awake for thirty somewhat hours. Instead, I am laying here alone in bed and keep having this very uneasy feeling as if I should be doing something or have been missing someone important. 

Well.... There is nothing I can do at the moment but catch up on some reading.  

Have you ever decided to hate somebody based solely upon the fact that their name is incredibly stupid?

I ask this because my waitress is named Laquinta.....like the hotel!

Fourth of July weekend...so far

• Really boring office meeting on Thursday morning then taking off for a long weekend. 
• @Dobbins AFB for Sea Mom's Retirement party Friday. 
• Dinner with friends at Navy Lake site Friday night. 
• Coffee and newspaper crossword for dinner at Town Center Starbucks. 
• Saturday in Commerce for Lunch with Granny. 
• Playing catch with my little buddy before heading to Savannah. 
• 4 am: I am lost in the ghetto. GPS, you have failed me yet again. 
• 7 am: Waiting on harbor master to turn over registration paperwork. Fucker threatened to kick me out of the marina if I didn't bring him a hard copy. Asshole. 
• @ Bobo Seafood Market- Picking up Sea Scallops, Crab legs, and 5 lbs. of shrimp for Braxton during his visit next week. 
• Heading back to Cochran. I hate this part. I don't want the weekend to end. 

Coffee time:

God bless the person that put a timer on my coffee maker. 

"I, Zachary D Standridge did solemnly swear that I would support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice."

Those words do not have a lot of meaning to most people. The first time I said it out loud, I was a naive 21 year old POS that just wanted someone to pay for his college education. In the following years, I learned what the difference between a citizen of the United States and someone that just lives here is.  The people that take that oath every 4-8 years and mean it are giving their lives in order to defend the American way of life. The right to say what we want. The right to believe in one deity or another. The right to walk down the road and not be afraid of our own government. The right to express ourselves without fear of repercussions from those that swore to protect us. I believe in those rights. I believe that our forefathers died fighting for these rights because they had a dream that one day, the burgeoning rough country they were settling would be great.
But what should I do when the orders of the President of the United States and those appointed below him are unjust? The United States has become a police state that I just can NOT defend the actions of. Not only my writings here, not only my emails, not only my chat logs, but everything any of us do on social sites or the net in general are monitored from a tier 3 level. American citizens are snooped upon as if we all were terrorists. I am consistently searched whenever I travel by plane to the point that there is no way possible that it is random. My government supports by my tax dollars a separate culture of welfare which languishes in squalor yet sees itself as "ghetto rich" on the 1st and 15th of the month when the stipend checks come in for each little hoodrat child that they pop out and have no interest in raising to be a good citizen or someone that will make this wonderful country a little better than it was when they came into it. I sit on my front porch in the evenings after work and watch the city police race down my quiet street after some small crime in super charged high tech vehicles equipped with a wide variety of armaments that they have been trained to use at the drop of a hat. This afternoon, I watched a video of California's police shoot a mans dog, point blank, when the dog got loose from the car as the owner was being arrested for videotaping an arrest, which is his goddamn right to do so! The courts today that were setup to interpret the laws set forth by the legislative side of our forefathers bastardize each and every single law that they can in order to take away as many rights as they can without having to actually say, "Yes, you have no rights anymore.". Did you know you can have your blood forcefully taken from you if there is a suspicion of your intoxication level? Fuck that!
When I was younger, I used to love the police. I loved Firemen. I was raised in a family that has always volunteered to help out our community. My Uncle has worked his way up from just a volunteer EMT to the Fire Chief of my hometown. When I would visit the city hall as a child, I would sit with the mayor, a family friend at the time, behind his desk and imagine myself helping to make Commerce a better place. I don't think that the vision of a happy little town could be accomplished today. My faith in this great country has been diminished to the point that I am weighing my options of becoming an expatriate and move from here out for fear that someday that knock on the door would be for me just for saying my peace in a public setting.
I have worn a naval uniform for almost a third of my lifetime. I wear it very proudly. The people under me will never see me ask anything of them that I would not willingly do myself. I have bled with them. I have cried with them. I will continue to uphold the constitution and the rights that it gives us. For those inalienable rights are the foundation from which I have build my own view of this country and what it means to be an American upon. Our leaders, it seems, have just gotten away from the true meaning that it holds dear.
This country voted for "Change". It apparently has gotten it.

"So help me God."

Song of the day.

Goodnight, Sweet dreams.

The last post depressed me. Have a frog.

I should have shared more with you.

When I was a young boy, the house we lived in had a long dirt driveway which was flanked on both sides by grazing pastures on each side. I hated that driveway. Not the driveway itself, but the walk down it. As I would make my way down the driveway to get on the school bus every morning, I would dread the end. Not because I was going to school. Not because I would always seems to pick up rocks in my cheap Skycity shoes and cut up my feet. But, only because I was forced to wait at my neighbors until the bus arrived. The neighbors were and still are the most redneck, uncivilized, and as I saw them, the most dangerous people in my small world at the time. The mother would blow smoke in my face as she talked to me.  The husband would often hit me in the back of the head for small annoyances that his children would impart on him. I was just another target for him to let loose his anger upon it seemed. The oldest son, Jason, would torment me every time he and I were in close proximity. The bus was extremely late one day and instead of us just waiting as we were supposed to, he decided that it would be funny to snatch my pants off in front of all the other Kitchens clan and try to jam a bandit marker in my ass. He was in his late teens and I was 9 at the time so there was no way I could have physically gotten him off of me. While kicking and hitting him as hard as I could, I screamed for help, but was only met with the laughter by the other kids. He was eventually stopped by Mr. Pete when the bus arrived. I remember seeing the old man come running across the ditch and through the yard towards us. He kick Jason off of me and sent him scrambling in the dust of the yard. Since no one was home, parent wise, at either house Mr. Pete put me on the bus and left Jason there at the curb. At school, there really wasn't much done. The Principal said that since he had not actually achieved his goal and that we were not on school grounds. There was nothing that could be done. My father was called and he took me home for the day. Jason was banned from using the bus for a while by Mr. Pete. They in all essence had swept what had happened under the rug.
I never voluntarily went over there again and still to this day do not like taking a left on Groaning Rock Rd to go past their trailer.
I never tell told you this story because I am embarrassed by it. I should have. 

Why did I wake up with this in my head.....

Buffy

No matter how bad my day has been, I will always love coming home to this.

My father sends me the weirdest crap.

 I feel like hell warmed over.....

The couch is calling and I am answering it's call. 

Not silent. But still just as deadly

.

http://instagram.com/p/a4wJ28yZnU/

I'm at Barbras Bookstore. They are selling a copy of "Atlas Shrugged for $12.99?" Why, that's positively extortionate. It's confiscation. It's legalized theft, that's what it is.

 I haven't had a single cup of coffee today. All my anxiety has been replaced by a preternatural feeling of calm and tranquility.

OK, off to Caribou. 

Friday afternoon bullet points.

• I cut my finger on the broken motion sensing faucet in an Arby's this afternoon. Thanks to the military, I'm up to date on my shots but I expect to be stricken with some exotic blood borne illness just as well. It's been nice knowing everyone. 
• The worst part of it is that I cannot scratch my _ _ _  efficiently. 
• I'm taking a 59 year old college professor and her boyfriend shooting in the morning. Neither have ever held a firearm. They want me to teach them how to be safe with a pistol.
• To teach them that firearms are safe, I have loaded up the Jeep with every single firearm I own. Fun times are going to be had by all. 
• There just may be some tannerite hidden in my range bag waiting for a suprise ending at the closing of the day. 
• From my home in Cochran to my parking spot in Atlanta is 126 miles. I drive the trip 4 times a week (Monday through Thursday). From Friday to Sunday, I am working as usual. (34 mile commute) 
• 124 each way is 248 miles a day x 4 = 992 miles a month. x 6 months = 5962 miles so far this year. 5962 miles / The Jeep's 24 Mpg = 260 gallons of gas. 260 gallons x 3.30$ = 860$ in gas costs alone. 
• The second house in Atlantic Station is looking more and more appealing. 

Life is full of balances.
The unstoppable Ebb and Flow of the Atlantic tide as it strips land away in Africa only to use that soil and build up new islands along the South American horn . The Southern summer heat melting asphalt as the Sun blazes overhead is balanced out by cold winds of Winter that come on so strong that rocks freeze and break apart from its icy grip.
Today, I had one of the absolutely worst days in quite a long time. I almost quit both my job and school in one fell swoop because of the frustration and impatience in myself. I came home, took care of  some household needs, walked my pups, then sat down and drank what was left of a bottle of port in the refrigerator just so I wouldn't have to deal with this day anymore.
Then out of the blue, a smile is placed upon my face. I know that the way it got there didn't mean anything. But as I lay here in bed trying futility to fall asleep, I am so happy.

Goodnight and Sweet Dreams.
 I hope all of you have a great day. 

Screw top port wine. For when your day has been bad enough that you give zero fucks how the rest of it goes.

He has risen.....the dough.

Will delete later just needed a mobile way to memorize

 

 Sedimentary Rock Samples

Name   -  Texture  -  Composition  -  Description



Arkrose   Clastic       Felspar/Quartz    Angular Felspar fragments

Coal - Non-clastic organic - Liffied plant material  - black  

 Quartz Sandstone - Clastic - Quartz+various mineral fragments - Round quartz grains 

Kaolin - non-clastic - Hydrous Aluminum silicate - white does not react to HCL

Rock Salt - Non-clastic - Halite - Cubish crystals

Limestone - non-clastic - calcite carbonate - bubbles with HCL

Rock Gypsum  - non-clastic - gypsum - light colored/easily scratched

Chert - non-clastic - silica chert - scratches glass/concoidal fractures 

Shale - clastic - organic material inderterminate - black stratified light G and fossils

Fossiliferous Limestone - non-clastic chemical - calcite - dark fossilized material but not black

Shale - clastic - inderterminate - smooth stratified and concodial fractures 

Conglomerate - Clastic - Quartz - rough stuck together smooth rocks 

Breccia - clastic - flint chert - large sharp rocks stuck together 

Chalk - non-clastic organic - tiny calcite shells - white and reacts to HCl 

Quartz Sandstone - clastic - quartz and fe Oxide - sandpaper 

Couina - non clastic organic - Calcite shell fragments - stuck together shells 

Black slate - foliated - black organic indertaerminate  protolyth is shale  - fine grained 

Metamorphic Rocks 

Red Slate - same as above  

Schist - foliated - Biotite with Garnet index - grey with red pimples 

 Phyllite - foliated - chlorite - greenish black color looks like chlorite

Schist - foliated - Biotite - Biotite is invisible 

Gneiss - Foliated - protolyth of granite - white gneiss 

Quartzite - non-foliated - quartz protolith SS - pink fused grains 

Pink marble - non-foliated - calcite protlyth is calcite - crystals wont scratch glass 

White marble -(same as above) 

Quartzite non foliated - quartz protolyth of Quartz SS 

Gniess - foliated - protolyth is granite - pink striped granite 

Schist - foliated - biotite - muscavite with Garnet 

Granite - Plutonic Porferific - Felsic - salt and pepper 

Igneous Rocks 

Scoria - Volcanic Vesicular - Mafic - black and full of holes

I

Rhyolite - volcanic porferitic - felsic - grey brick with pimples 

Pink Granite - Plutonic Porferitici - Felsic - typical granite 

Pumice - volcanic vescular - felsic - low G 

basalt - Volcanic aphenic - mafic - hard black brick 

Granite - plutonic porphoritic - felsic - Granite 

Gabbro - plutonic - mafic - black granite 

Rhyolite - volcanic porpheritic - felsic - 

Obsidian - Volcanic glassy - felsic - 

Rhyolite - volcanic phorpheritic - felsic 

Diorite - Plutonic phaneritic - felsic/mafic/inderterminate 

Andersite - Aphantic with phenocrysts - inderterminate