Welp, I reckon I have finally rid myself of the Russian hackers. It has taken a week to defeat those bastards! I’ve spent countless hours cleaning the hash scripts and viruses that they put into the deepest recesses of the blog.
I shall hopefully be back to normal posting by tomorrow evening. Have a grand weekend and please have me poor blog in your thoughts. I hope that I locked everything up tight after doing the spring cleaning. 
Just a few minutes ago, I was jogging along the main road inhaling all of the noxious petrol fumes. I turned a corner and suddenly realised that there was a gaping hole ahead of me. I was jogging at such a high rate of speed that I couldn’t just stop, so I leapt across the hole and landed off balance. Seconds later, I found myself all contorted on the sidewalk. I went to get up, but my left knee gave way. So, as I attempted to dust myself off and hop up again, a lady in a nurses uniform came running towards me.
“Are you al’ight?” She enquired with empathy, whilst trying to catch her breath.
“Ah, no worries”, I responded, as she helped me up.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No Ma’am, I can manage, but thank you for the help.”
“Take care, sonny.”
“Will do, Ma’am”, I mumbled, as I hobbled away.
The town in which I reside is full of strife. Twice last week body parts turned up at the sheriff’s office. There are gun shootouts at least once a week. Regardless of all of that, the original people that settled this area are kind and cordial people. Hard working people to the core.
While sitting here watching the radiance of the moon filter through the window blinds, I came up with a grand idea for a meme. It is one minute out of your lives. Mind you, I don’t want to know what you do in the bathroom!
I did this meme a little over a year ago, because a book inspired me. The book is, “The Three Bears“, by Derec Jones. Tis a fantastic book that I should have done a review on over a year ago. Anyhow, here is the passage that started the meme:
“Bring to your consciousness those memories
of the things you’ve seen and the places you’ve been over the last twenty-four
hours. Good. Now select a one-minute sequence of events
and try to replay it over and over again in your mind.”
Here’s one minute in the life of Jefferson Davis:
Yet again I am sitting in a local coffee shop with Uncle Elathan (the man loves coffee). We are discussing my trip to Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. This is the gist of the conversation:
While running his finger around the rim of the coffee mug, Uncle Elathan asked, “So, why are you so adamant about going back to Ireland?”
“I left part of myself o’er there last time”, I mumbled, as I scried into the swirling cloud of coffee.
“BooHoo..I’ve heard this sob story before…grow up.”
“Nah..I’ll stay youthful, thank you very much”, I responded whilst laughing.
“You are determined to stay over there, aren’t you?” He enquired, as he stirred more creamer into his cop of steaming java.
“Possibly.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to take my portfolio with me, and keep my options open”, I muttered as the waitress ran over with a blistering pot of joe.
His eyes leapt from the waitresses backside to me, and he pleaded, “Why would you want to go to a foreign land, where you’d be treated as a foreigner?”
I pushed back from the table and answered, “I’m a foreigner in my own country so what’s the effing difference”.
“Boy, you ain’t right”, he yelled whilst reclining and guffawing.
Who shall I torture with this one?
How about…..:
Anyone else is more than welcome to join in the fun.
Monday, I went for a job interview that altered my life as so many things do change our lives. Below, you’ll find the gist of the conversation that left me smiling from ear to ear.
I ambled into an office to meet the interviewer. The room was devoid of any knick knacks that would make a place homely. He greeted me with a firm handshake and motioned for me to sit in a bland steel chair. After sitting down in the frigid chair across from him with an island of industrial black cracklin’ steel between us, I handed him my resume.
His eyes skimmed the first page, then, he proceeded to put on his glasses and flip to the next page. After a very intense minute of peering through my work record with a blank countenance, he said, “Oh, this is interesting”.
“What’s that, sir?” I pleaded, whilst reaching over the enormous desk.
“It says here that you are a photographer and poet”, he answered, as his eyes journeyed from the paper to me.
“That is correct, sir.”
“You?”
“Yes Sir”, I exclaimed with sincerity.
“Published?” He enquired, whilst grasping a pen from the middle desk drawer.
“A few of my photos are in the process of being published locally and a few of my poems have been copyrighted”, I replied.
“Well, this has no relevance to the job we discussed….”
“Indeed.”
“I’m just curious…”
“Curiosity killed the cat…”
“Are you calling me a cat?” He asked, whilst leaning back in his black leather pleated chair.
“I don’t know, am I?” I demanded whist roaring with laughter.
“Speaking of curiosity, what’s that there that you’re holdin’?” He inquisitively asked whilst leaning over the desk.
“Ah, that’s my portfolio.”
“Portfolio?”
“My best poems, photos, and drawings”, I responded, as I nervously handed it to him.
His eyes lit up like a chubby kids on a hot summer day, when he or she hears the tasty tune of an ice cream truck.
His eyes weaved from line to line only stopping to glance at me, as he flipped the pages.
His complexion transformed from a pale white to a lively red, as his eyebrows twitched up and down with every stanza.
After a few minutes of intense studying he leapt from his chair, and muttered, “I’ll be right back”.
I glanced around the room to discover a few empty frames and an oil painting of a lovely amber and jade colour leaning up against the wall.
He and his lovely wife rushed through the office door expelling a cool scent of spring from outside.
She laid my portfolio down on the frigid desk with sharp corners, and demanded, “You drew these drawings, took these photos, and wrote these poems?”
“Yes Ma’am”
With enlarged eyes and mouth agape, she turned back around and whispered something to her husband before leaving the room.
Mr. McMurray (that’s what we’ll call him) sat back down, pulled himself up to the desk, and asked, “Why do you want to work for me?”.
“Because I need a job, sir.”
“Bullshit”, he yelled, as he leapt from his chair.
“I’m sorry…”
“Do you even realise what kind of potential you have?”
“Yes Sir.”
“I don’t think you do, because if you did, you sure as hell wouldn’t be wanting to waste you life away working a mundane job for me”, he said, as he reached in his dress shirt pocket and pulled out a card.
I wanted to smile but didn’t want to blow any chances I might have, so I just stood there with a black look.
While scribbling on the business card, he muttered, “Here is a number to a friend of mine at the local paper…He owes me a favour…You should get in contact with him ASAP”.
“You are an unpolished gem my boy, and you don’t even realise it…My God man…You should be having exhibitions in New York, not here, asking me for a job”, he hollered, whilst handing me back my portfolio.
“Really?”
“Jaysus boy, be confident about your work…You have more potential than half the monkeys out here having exhibitions and getting paid millions because someone made a face at them when they were children.”
“Thank you, sir”, I yelled, whilst saluting him.
“I’ll pass your info along to my brother”, he said, as he patted me on the back and lead me out the door.
“Your brother?”
“He’s a senior professor at MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art) in Baltimore.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, and mumbled, “Brilliant – My cousin attended MICA”.
“Then you know of its history.”
“Yes Sir.”
“I’ll send him your info and get the ball rollin’ for ya.”
“I can’t thank you enough, sir.”
“Sure you can…When you get famous throw a little fame my way.”
“Will do”, I replied, as we both laughed and shook hands.
I left his office with a feeling of euphoria that I’ve not felt in quite some time. I woke up this morning knowing that something fantastic would happen, and it did. Still, I feel that something even more grand is just around the corner. I can feel it in my bones.
I’m just a mere humble country boy. I don’t mean to toot my own horn but somebody’s got too!
I don’t mean to sound vain, but I am anything but a plain ‘Merkan white boy.
There is a multitude of people that can draw better, take photos better, and write poetry better than me. But, none of them, none, can do it quite like me.
Crikey, if I’d told him my life story, I might still be there or on a plane for New York or Baltimore!!! Mr. McMurray is an extremely down to earth fellow but worth millions and smart as a whip!
Welp, it has been a long a glorious day!
I’m totally psyched people!!
I’m going down to the local paper tomorrow and demand that they give me a job! I’ve got other plans if they don’t so know worries. Anyway, I may find work across the Atlantic. You never know ’bout me.
Have a grand week all…
P.S.: I smile, when I sleep. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.
P.P.S.: Planning this trip is driving me nuts!
I awoke to my phone going nuts this morning. I frantically answered the phone to hear the voice of a woman I’ve not heard from in months. We laughed and cursed for about an hour. She said her sultry goodbye’s and I reminisced.
It was still dark out when I got off the phone. I did my morning duties and went for a walk. The sun peered over the mountains and reached out cross a lavender sky, as a spring zephyr blew whiffs of Grape Hyacinths and Hyacinths. The flowers were still labouring the heavy weight of morning dew as the wind whistled round their petals releasing a heavenly fragrance.
While out enjoying the beauty of nature, I realisesd something important. I walked and walked ’til I couldn’t walk anymore. I came to a conclusion.
What in the bloody hell am I doing here? It is far better to take a leap of faith and hope for the best than it is to always wonder about what would have been. Misery is not my friend, nor is it yours. Unless I can pull off a miracle, I will not be in Ireland until Mid May. I have crunched the numbers a million times.
I have told everyone that I am coming, and I am! Never count out a Davis. We always get back up, when we are knocked down. You can call it stupidity or stubbornness, but we always do what we say regardless of the cost.
I may be a month later than what I said, but I am coming! You never know. I may just show up at your doorstep with a drawing pad in one hand, a camera in the other, and a big goofy smile.
So, enough of my blabbering! How was your week?
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