On my way to work this morning, I stopped at McDonalds to get two sausage biscuits for breakfast.The neighborhood I work in is close to the downtown area as well the Orlando Regional Medical Center and the Arnold Palmer Hospital. The majority of homes around the area consists of families that are professional.

Over the years, upscale eateries who cater to professionals have moved into the area. In order to compete with these coffee shops, bakeries, and cafes, the neighborhood McDonalds made several renovations to both the building and menu.

As you enter, there is a large aquarium in the middle of the restaurant. A large screen, flat panel television hangs on the wall with CNN on at all times.

Now the restaurant is called "McDonalds Bistro". Bistro? What ever happened to hamburgers? Now the kitchen features pasta, specialty sandwiches, gourmet coffee, fresh baked items, and Eddy's Ice Cream. The poor Hamburglar wouldn't know what to do in this place.

Anyway,I am at the counter ordering two sausage biscuits, and jazz music is playing over the stereo. Now keep in mind, I have been up for one hour, I did not get much sleep, and I have not had coffee yet. And I get this image in my head of Ronald McDonald in a smoke filled jazz club playing the saxophone.

I get my order and go. I would stay and eat breakfast, but the violinist who plays the lunch crowd would probably come in to work early and play the breakfast crowd. Where's Ronald with his saxophone?

Some things should never change. Some things should just stay the same.

I wonder if Ronald McDonald sings like Tom Waits?

Over the last few days, I have read several blogs while I am on break at work or when I am home during the evening. This is what happens when your television is not working and you have not found the time to look at new television sets. I will probably go out tomorrow and look. The NCAA Basketball Tournament starts soon. This is also referred to as March Madness. Saint Patrick's Day is Friday, so I don't think I will be watching TV. This year, I will most likely be hiding from my friend who will be calling me up to go out for Saint Patrick's Day. I am tired of being the designated drinking buddy.

Last year, I met up with my friend at an Irish pub down the street. He had started drinking Irish whiskey earlier that afternoon. So by the time I met him at the tavern, he was smelling like a distillery. I am surprised he was even able to light up a cigarette without blowing up. I did not have much to drink, since he knocked one of my beers off the table and somehow managed to knock another beer out of my hand. I decided it was time to go, and I gave him a ride home.

I do not care much to go out drinking anymore. Once in awhile, I may stop somewhere and have a beer or two after seeing a movie. Speaking of movies, I read a comment from a fellow blogger who wrote that she went to see "The Hills Have Eyes". I saw the original at the drive-in. Now I really feel old.

I do not care to go out with any of my friends who are married. I do not hear from them for the longest time, then when they get a chance to go out, they are calling me. Then when we go out to a club, they start acting single. Hell,I had one friend of mine who was married, did not smoke or drink, but wanted to go to the clubs to listen to live bands. Then he would hit on every woman that moved. You would think he never saw a woman before, like as if he was stranded on an island for years with one copy of Playboy.

He never would introduce me to anyone, but he expected to meet women through me. If I was talking to a lady I just met, he would be right there competing with me. One time he was hitting on a female roommate of mine. When I talked to him about it, he was mad that I even said something about it and that he had every right to ask her out. "Besides," he said, "It's not like you're dating her."

"Uh, excuse me, but aren't you married?"

I finally told him that I no longer wanted him to go out with me. Some time later, his wife then criticized me, saying it was unfair for me to expect him to introduce me to women.

Did you ever have to tell a friend's wife about him cheating on her. And not just once, but over the course of several years. One of the hardest things that I ever had to do.

So if you are married and you are calling me to go out and be your drinking buddy, I got one thing to say to you: "Stay at home with the wife, or she goes out with us."

I may go out for Saint Patrick's Day. It has been awhile since I had a Guinness on draft. And I have not had corned beef and cabbage in quite awhile. And hopefully, I will not have someone knocking my beer over.

I wonder if St. Patty likes to watch college basketball or low-budget horror movies?

A burglar breaks into a home shortly after watching the homeowners leave for an evening out on the town.

After he breaks in to the dark house, he pulls a flashlight out of his bag and proceeds to go through all the drawers in the desks and in the cabinets.

Entering the bedroom, he comes upon the jewelry box on the dresser. As he opens it, a small voice says:

"Jesus is watching you."

For a moment, the burglar stands still. Telling himself that he is hearing things, he proceeds to go through the jewelry.

"Jesus is watching you."

Getting nervous, the thief shines his light across the room only to find a parrot sitting on his perch.

"Jesus is watching you," the parrot replies.

The burglar looks at the parrot and notices that the name "Moses" in engraved on the bird's food and water bowls.

Laughing, the burglar asks himself: "Now who is the moron who named his parrot Moses?"

To which the parrot answered: "The same moron who named his rottweiler Jesus!"

It has been four years ago this week since Mom had passed away. Four years ago, I remember being home on Saturday morning doing some work around the apartment when the phone rang. It was the supervised living facility calling to inform me that Mom was taken to the hospital earlier and that I needed to call the hospital.

The doctor I spoke to informed me that Mom was found in a comatose state when a nurse at the retirement home went in to her room to wake her for breakfast. He then informed me that her condition was getting worse, and that she would most likely pass away later in the evening.

Like my father, Mom had a living will made requesting that if something should happen, she did not want to be put on life support. After I spoke to the doctor, I called my brother and sister to let them know what was happening. I then got in my truck to make the drive from Orlando to Ormond Beach, which is sixty-five minutes one way.

Bike Week 2002. It is Bike Week, and traffic is going to be heavy. I was not looking forward to getting on the interstate. I remember driving on Interstate 4 through Orlando, and traffic was not that bad. I got into Seminole County and Altamonte Springs, and traffic was moving at a good pace. Many bikers driving up to Volusia County and Daytona Beach. No problem as the mix of motorcycles and automobiles drove east until traffic came to a halt at the Lake Mary City Limits.

The Lake Mary Police Department had a speed trap set up. Two patrol cars sat atop the overpass with a radar gun while several Lake Mary patrol cars sat in the median of the interstate. As the motorists became aware of the officers presense, they all slowed down to a snail's pace, tying up traffic for miles. Whenever there is an event in Daytona, such as the Daytona 500, Bike Week, Spring Break, or Black College Reunion, the Lake Mary Police are out on the interstate setting up their speed trap. The Florida Highway Patrol has the responsibility of patrolling the interstate, not the local police.

All I could think about was Mom. If I get out to Ormond Beach and Mom has passed away, I am going to file a complaint to the City of Lake Mary.

I did not want Mom to leave this world by herself. I was going to be there by her side.

When my father passed away from complications caused by a stroke, he was alone. When the hospital called to inform us of Dad's condition, my mother and brother and me went to the hospital. When we arrived, it was too late. We spent time with him to say good bye, then we went home to call the rest of the family and to make arrangements. I do not know if it was Dad's intentions to not have us there by his side as he passed away, but it has always upset me that beside the medical staff, no one was there. I do not want to go out of this world by myself. I do not want to go out alone. I want someone there, damn it! And I don't want Mom going out alone. It's not going to happen. Not even a fucking speed trap is going to stop me!

Do you believe in faith? In luck? Do you believe that someone is listening to your prayers? I think someone was listening to me as I sat in traffic talking to myself and telling Mom to stay a little while longer.

I arrived at Ormond Beach Memorial Hospital and went to see Mom at the Intensive Care Unit. She was still alive, but her condition became worse by the hour. I called my brother and sister and let them know about Mom, and I spoke to the doctor and nurses as to how long she had. They told me that she would most likely pass away late in the evening.

The medical staff then told me if I wanted to get something to eat, I could leave my pager number and they would page me if her condition became worse.

The hospital cafeteria was closed, so I went out to find a fast-food restaurant for a quick dinner. As I was in my truck sitting at the red light, the rumble of the motorcycle exhaust around me began to get on my nerves. It never did before. The traffic was bothering me. The speed trap bugged me all day long. Waiting in line for a hamburger and fries much longer than usual was getting to me. Usually I would just blow it off, knowing that this was only for a week. But on this day everything seemed to upset me.

I could not find a hotel room, since all the rooms were taken for Bike Week. The hospital told me that they would find a place in the hospital for me to sleep if I had to stay the night.

Shortly after 11:00 p.m., Mom passed away from complications caused by Alzheimers. She did not pass away alone. I was there by her side. And it had been a long time since I cried. I think the last time I cried was when Dad passed away. The nurses left us alone for a few minutes. I was alone with her for several minutes, holding her hand as I told her good-bye. And I don't know if you can hear me, Mom, but I love you.

Later on, I called my brother and sister to let them know that Mom passed away. My brother, being the guardian, made arrangements to come down to Daytona as soon as he can get a flight. I did not need to stay over, so shortly after midnight I made the drive home to Orlando.

My brother came in the next day, and we made the arrangements for Mom. Like my father, her wish was to be cremated. After I received Mom's ashes, I gave her urn to my brother, and he spread Mom's ashes along with Dad's on the beach. Mom and Dad loved the beach and the ocean. After dinner, they would drive down to the beach and go for a walk. Mom would stop along the way and pick up any sea shells that she liked. I still have those shells that she collected. When Dad's health became worse, they could no longer go down to the beach. It was something they really missed doing.

I know now that they are on the beach going for that walk they always enjoyed.

Time moves along, but memories stay. Love stays. Even though the people you love are missed.

I have been back to Ormond Beach a few times since, but it is not the same. I have not been back to Bike Week since. I always enjoyed myself then, but now, it just would not be the same. And every year around this time, I will think about Mom. My sister told me the other day that she thought of Mom as she listened to a radio station that plays music from the big band era of the 1940s. It was music both Mom and Dad loved. I have a few CDs of music from that time. And as everyone is playing their 60s rock during bike week, I will be listening to my Glenn Miller CD.

And the next song goes out Joe and June as they walk down the beach.

This is not something I made up.

Yesterday, I wrote about Bike Week in Daytona Beach. Although Bike Week officially started on Monday, thousands of bikers descended upon the central Florida area over the weekend. As I drove past the Orlando Harley Davidson on Saturday evening, many motorcycle enthusiasts were at the dealership participating in full swing.

Although the majority of bikers are in Daytona Beach or Ormond Beach, there are bikers staying south of there, from New Smyrna Beach to all the way out in Orlando.

Anyway, on Tomoka Farms Road in a little town called Samsula, there is a place called Sopotnick's Cabbage Patch Bar. I have driven by it when I would drive out to Daytona, but I have never stopped in. It is popular among the bikers, and it has a camp ground across the street for those in town for Bike Week. Throughout the week, several of the biker bars have entertainment, such as live music.

Sopotnick's has wrestling matches featuring women wrestling in coleslaw. No joke.

If you go to their web site [[http://www.sopotnickscabbagepatchbar.com]],they have a gallery of photographs from previous events held during Bike Week. Including the coleslaw wrestling.

In 2004, the local CBS affiliate WKMG Local6 News did a report on Sopotnick's, featuring video of the women wrestling. You can go to their website and get the story.

In case you are wondering, I have never gone to Sopotnick's for the coleslaw wrestling. I have never been much for going to a place for that kind of entertainment, such as wet t-shirt contests. When I go out, I like to listen to live music.

A friend of mine played harmonica in a blues band a few years ago. They would play blues and rock-n-roll in biker bars throughout Volusia and Seminole counties. Although I did not drive a motorcycle, I would go out and watch them play. Everyone would have a great time, listening to music while drinking a cold beer. Very seldom was there any trouble. The only time I can remember there being a problem was when they played at the Lake Monroe Inn.

There was a lady who always came in to the place and would dance the night away until she had too much to drink. Then she would take out one of the guys in the band. And I don't mean on a date, either. The dance floor was in front of the stage, and she would eventually fall into an amp or microphone stand. Through several of the band's appearances, she fell into the lead singer, the lead guitar player, and I think she took out the bass player one time, as well.

After helping her up and making sure that she was fine, the bartender then would cut her off from any service and call a cab for her. Since then, the band learned how to keep an eye on her while she was on the dance floor and jump out of the way when she tumbled into the stage.

You need a cab?

Anyway, I look back on those days, and we had fun. I have not been out to Bike Week in years, nor have I been to any of the old biker bars that my friends would play at. One day I may have to go out and revisit some of those places. And I wonder if that lady still dances the night away, only to fall into the stage.

Or maybe she has taken up coleslaw wrestling.