Loosely Formed Plans for Jeremy

Jeremy Christmas Tree

When you lose a loved one, everything in you world has a macabre patina that is not welcome, not necessarily comfortable, but exhausting and persistent enough that it wears you down into accepting it. Wearing it, you are able to have a surprisingly normal day–once you’ve redefined normal.

I got a haircut today. I’ve been meaning to for weeks and actually had one scheduled for the 20th. I canceled. But today I went and sat down with my normal stylist and told her to move as quickly as she could. She did. I only broke down once, but I had the foresight to stuff my pockets with tissues. Success.

I spent this morning cleaning Jeremy’s guitar. I cut off the old strings and took it apart to shine up the brass. I polished the body, got all the stickiness and grime off of it. I had Charlie help. I told him it was Uncle Jeremy’s guitar and he could play it any time he wanted, once I put strings on, of course. I showed him the parts of the guitar, I showed him the tools I was using. I showed him the parts of the bridge I was taking apart, and how it went back together. Jeremy had push-button strap locks on his leather guitar strap and I showed Charlie how to use it. For the next 45 minutes, Charlie put the strap on the guitar and took it back off. His strap needed some TLC. I was fine.

I walked into Kroger to get leather cleaner, medicine, and some Coca-Cola Cherry Zero. Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas. It’s the best time of the year. Sure it is. I was fine. Then a clerk that sounded a little nervous and a little jaded came on the microphone to present a monotone reading sans punctuation. “dear loyal customers Christmas is the perfect time to gather the family around the dinner table a pork loin makes a great meal for the holidays they are on sale now for $1.99 a pound at the meat counter.” I smiled. I got the leather cleaner, to clean my deceased brother’s guitar strap. Damn, I wish they had saddle soap, but these wipes should work just fine. Time to get my Coke Zero. Ooh. 4 for $12! Then I glanced at the snacks and found my self staring at Jack Links Sweet and Spicy beef jerky. Jeremy would rip through his stocking on Christmas looking for his beef jerky. I nearly vomited right there in the isle. I abandoned my cart and ran for the bathroom and almost threw up between sobs trying to get it together long enough to break down in private. Luckily I had completely forgotten to eat anything today, so nothing to worry about there. Guy in the next stall probably just wanted 5 minutes of peace to himself. Sorry.


Well, I promised you plans. Gatherings are not set in stone, but we are starting to form vague plans. We are honoring Jeremy’s wishes to be cremated. We hope to have him home right after Christmas. That was another conversation that we had that you can’t imagine you would joke about, but our reality is so twisted and bizarre and unreal, why not. All the urns in the funeral home were awful. Jeremy would have hated them. There are some with flowers all over it, some with hearts, some with balloons. There was one that had an LED light strip on it that rotated on a stand. Dad asked if there were any with a skull on it, or something Avenged Sevenfold themed. Jamie thought that we ought to get one with flowers and hearts on it so Jeremy would rise out of the ashes and break it. Dad picked a tasteful Cherry box. The comedy vanished. Laugh to keep from crying and all that.

Our family always has a huge family reunion for New Years and this year we just so happen to be going to Plains. After the cousins gather, we will have a small memorial for Jeremy with the family at my grandparents’ house or somewhere else special to Jeremy in Plains. Maybe my grandparents’ pond house. This gathering will just be with the family.

We are planning to have another service, likely at my parents house, sometime after the holidays. Mom and Jamie are coordinating with some of his closest friends that live across the country and we’re more or less going to work around their schedule to make sure they can attend. One of Jeremy’s best friends is in the Coast Guard. That’s as far as we’ve gotten on the second gathering. We’ll give everybody enough notice.

During one of many midnight conversations with my mom, Jeremy made my mom promise to play Avenged Sevenfold and not choir music at his funeral. So, we’ll do that too.

My parents have received many flowers and lots of food. Thank you all for the love and support you have shown so far. For all those asking how to help remember him, in lieu of flowers please donate to the Rosalynn Carter Institute for Caregiving. My grandmother’s organization supports the caregivers that often invisibly work around the clock in homes, hospitals, nursing homes, and hospices to bring compassion, companionship, and help to those in need. You can donate to the RCI here:



Random Memories of My Brother Jeremy

We’ve had an outpouring of support. The news has gone global. He was the number one trending story on Facebook for half a day. I’ve avoided most of it as you might imagine. I’m living it. No need to read it. But I’ve received requests for pictures, stories, interviews. I will say that all of the media requests I have received have been very respectful, and importantly, through email and not on the phone. People Magazine. NBC. The Associated Press. All very cordial. Some I have responded to. Honestly it was good to have something to do. I was already looking at pictures of him. I’m not going to do an interview.

But one interview request was asking what he was like. It’s not an unreasonable question, but hours after you lose somebody you love so much the question becomes troubling. You start thinking about him and you get a crushing panic that you don’t know how to answer the question. Oh god, what was he like? Can I remember what he was like? Can I remember his personality well enough? Dammit. I’ve never had to do that before. I’d always just call him up. Met him for dinner. I’ve never not had him. What if I can’t answer a question like “What was he like?” The question is brand new.

But of course I can answer. That’s a panic I’ve had and still have, my thoughts are in there, my memory of him will get better as my head gets clearer. Maybe as I write. How about the basics.

He was a goof. He was an ass, like all good little brothers. He was always playful with his unique and offbeat sense of humor. He loved his nephew more than anybody in the world. He was a brother. A very good brother. I am going to miss you so much Jeremy.

He was an oddball. He loved his comedy random. I have so many memories, as you do when you live 28 of your years with somebody as close as a brother. But my mind is so tired that even my favorite stories are hard to cohesively form. Memories. They’re coming in segments. Vague thoughts and funny times are coming at me like somebody took a hundred scenes from a hundred different movies and jumbled them up and threw them at me randomly.

I stole his shoe once. We were little. If I was 10, Jeremy must have been 7. We were going to go play outside, and in order to play outside, you put on your shoes. That’s what normal people do. But when you’re 10, you find opportunities to goad your little brother as they come. So I got my shoes on, stole one of his shoes and ran straight out the door. Jeremy was screaming for his shoe and tore out the door after me. Throughout our childhood Jeremy was always faster than me, but I had a shoe on him and a head start. He was wailing and lord was he furious. I smiled. I laughed. Perfectly executed brotherly asshattery. Then a damn hatchet flew by my head. He had ran into the garage, grabbed a rusty old cast iron 100 year old hatchet, and flung it at me. He missed, and I watched the hatchet tumble in the yard and the ancient hickory handle, the one that my great grandfather used, slip off the business end. It stopped me in my tracks and he was by my side at the next moment, shoe taken from my hand. He stared at me deadpan, right in my eyes, and said “Don’t take my shoe.” I ran inside to the arbiters and screamed “Jeremy threw a hatchet at me!” My dad wanted to know what I did, and I gave him the truth. “He threw a hatchet at you for nothing?” Well, I took his shoe, which is nothing, right dad? “You probably shouldn’t take his shoe.” For the next 20 years, I would reach for his shoe. It would freeze him in his tracks and he’d give me the same stare, just daring me to take it. And then we would laugh and I would call him crazy. It was probably our best inside joke. Instant ice breaker. I’d introduce him to my friends with “Hi Eli. This is my brother Jeremy. Don’t take his shoe.”

His best gig was to scream randomly. He loved to get me in trouble and he was very good at it. We would be sitting in the living room, eating cereal and watching cartoons, and Jeremy would grab his arm and fall over wailing and through his sobs “Josh…. Hit… M…m…meee!” and both my parents would come give me a stern lecture about being nice to my brother and that I shouldn’t hit him. Punishment might be doled out. Cartoons might be over. I might have to go to my room. I protested vehemently. But I didn’t hit him! Great. Now I’m in trouble for lying. All the while, Jeremy would hide behind the doorway, peer in, dramatically and silently giggle, while pointing and grinning from ear to ear. I begged my parents to turn around and catch him. He got away with it every time. Though he did get caught fork-handed carving the word “JOSH” into the kitchen table.

His favorite movie was The Lion King. Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba. Every single day. For about a year and a half. I’d walk into the room just long enough to see the VCR spool up and hear NAAAAANTS INGONYYYYYYYYYAAAA… And the first hundred times or so were fine buddy, but god I was tired of The Lion King. I think he knew that. That might be why he liked it. It’s Charlie’s favorite movie now.

He LOVED lobster. I don’t know if he started loving lobster because of the taste or because it was the most expensive thing on the menu. He loved to do that. Pissed my dad off so much. Jeremy do you even look at the left side of the menu before you order? I would jokingly order for him at a restaurant. “I want the most expensive thing on the menu stuffed with the second most expensive thing on the menu.” He’d respond, “You want lobster stuffed with tacos?” He was always good for a Simpsons reference. But he did love Lobster. He would make it at home. I’m usually the chef in the family, but he made a good lobster. It was a whole production, and he loved every bit of it. He would go to Publix and pick out the lobster. Then he would bring it home and promptly name it Frank. Then he would play with Frank as the water boiled and he would make a Mr. Bill “Oh Noooo!” as he put the lobster in the water. He had an oddball sense of humor, and no matter how odd he got, he had a way of letting you in on the joke. His favorite food was a joke. A bit of long form comedy. It was perfectly fitting.

If you didn’t laugh at his jokes, he would make himself the joke. Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side! And he would open his arms and put on an ear-to-ear, open mouth smile, freeze in space, and stare at you until you cracked. And if you didn’t, penis.

He did not like school. Well, that’s not true. He did not like classes. He loved school because school was where his friends were. He was not particularly interested in sitting through lectures. He did well in the classes where he got to do something interactive, but he was not somebody to sit in a chair and be yammered at. As such, he didn’t do that well at Georgia State. But the program at Clayton State interested him. Almost exactly one year ago, I helped him clean up his transcript from Georgia State to get his best foot forward going into Clayton State. He made it in. He was so damn proud of himself, and I was proud of him too. He was actually excited about school for the first time… gee… that I can remember. Oh god buddy. Last week we were talking about what laptop you should get for classes. Your Alienware was a little too old.


He wanted to do “Computers”. I laughed at him. Jeremy, “Computers” is a large field. He knew that, of course. He was a very good artist. He would do amazing pencil sketches and he wanted to learn graphics design. He didn’t know if he wanted to specialize in marketing, publications, drafting, web design, UI, UX, or just become a Photoshop whiz, but he knew he wanted to do something graphics related. Something creative. Interactive. But he knew he could get me by playing the fool and saying he wanted to do “Computers”. He found a shtick that worked. If anything, Jeremy was committed to a joke.

He told me that the best thing that has ever happened to him was becoming an uncle. He was so proud. He loved Charlie. Every time Jeremy saw him, he would tell Charlie that he was his favorite person. The first time he met Charlie he was so afraid that he would drop him. Charlie was only a few hours old when he met Unka Jer-my. We had Jeremy sit down on the couch in the hospital and just hold him. He just stared at his nephew and cried a bit and smiled. I don’t remember seeing him that happy, ever. For the rest of his life (what a terrible statement. I hate it.) Charlie would light up Jeremy’s face. Charlie would run to him with his arms stretched out yelling Unka Jer-my!!! and Jeremy would pick him up and give him a huge hug. Jeremy would squeeze back. He would smile.

In a post on Facebook yesterday, I told everybody one of my favorite bits. When I would drive him around, every time we stopped at a stoplight he would crank up whatever song was on — could be some Outkast, could be a Honda Car Land commercial — and rock out to it staring at the guy driving in the next car. Wouldn’t break eye contact, he’d commit. He’d go nuts. Arms flailing, head banging, car bouncing, throwing up his fist and going for it. It would always bring out a huge smile and a laugh. Bonus points if the kids in the back seat saw it first.

And then I told everybody that if you want to remember Jeremy, do something ridiculous to make a random somebody laugh. Dance for no reason other than getting someone you don’t know to smile. Make a ridiculous face to a baby that’s looking at you over their parents’ shoulder. Seize opportunities to bring happiness, at the grocery store, at a stoplight, in a crowd waiting to go into class. Be the reason that somebody goes home and says “Guess what silly thing I saw today.”

So here’s a present for you buddy. Yesterday we went to Pike’s Nursery to pick out a tree for you. We didn’t pick the ugly False Cypress that you “wanted”. I know you would have hated it if we actually bought it. I know you’ll have much more fun bitching that we didn’t buy your “favorite” tree. We got you a Cherry Blossom tree. It’s the exact same kind of tree you and I were going to pick out to give mom and dad to celebrate their new house and their wedding anniversary. Now it’s yours. Nobody had an appropriate vehicle, but I had infinite headroom. So I wedged it in the passenger seat and drove it home. I got nods of encouragement and understanding from other Porsche drivers, and I got very confused looks from mini vans. I got a lot of laughs on the drive home. Dad joked that I picked the crappiest Christmas Tree in the lot. I told him that the tree had a lot more needles on it when I picked it up. I felt like you were with us the whole trip, and you made us smile.



I love you. Josh.


To Jeremy, With Love, your sister Sarah

Jeremy - 1

I have known Jeremy since he was 11 years old. We met in the summer of 1998 when Josh invited me, as his first girlfriend, over to his house. I met his parents and his two younger brothers, Jeremy and Jamie. I remember them being rambunctious and loud, in the way only young boys can be. They had a fun, teasing, joking camaraderie amongst them. Always trying to “get each other’s  goat”, but they were a close knit three. I remember playing with Jeremy and Jamie and pretending to hide fake poo in Josh’s shoes over and over again one night. We thought it was hilarious, though the joke got old to Josh pretty quickly.
Jeremy - 2

Jeremy was dependable. When our car broke down on our way to a family vacation in Florida, Jeremy came back to get us in his car, hours out of his way. When Josh’s mom was sick and in the hospital a few weeks after Charlie was born, Jeremy took on the lion’s share of the responsibilities in helping to care for her and keeping things running at home.

Jeremy had a great sense of humor. He loved a good joke (and a bad one). He wanted to make people smile and laugh around him. He was quick to be a goofball or catch you off guard with a silly face or staring contest. He was particularly good at pulling off a deadpan face. He was constantly sending Josh jokes and funny memes, and Josh would share the particularly hilarious ones with me. When Charlie was a few months old, Josh, Jeremy, Jamie, and I had a group text conversation where we took pictures of Charlie and captioned them with what his baby thoughts must be. We were loving every minute of this game! Laughing at our hilarious comments and loving the sweet pictures of Charlie.
Jeremy - 3

Jeremy - 4

Jeremy was a thrill seeker. He was braver than I will ever be. He loved roller coasters and any type of ride that spun, twisted, dropped, rocketed. He swam in the Georgia Aquarium with sharks. He even tried sky diving. Not to say he wasn’t scared, but he faced these fears head on and loved every minute of it.

Jeremy - 5

Jeremy - 6

Jeremy was also a huntsman. On visits to his grandparents’ house in Plains, he would often wake up in the pre-dawn hours to go hunting for turkeys with his grandfather. Jeremy learned from his grandfather and was a great shot. He also loves to fish and shoot targets. He was so proud when his grandfather or dad said he was the best shot of any particular hunting trip, which he usually was. Josh learned woodworking and fly fishing from his grandfather. It is a special bond between the two of them that Josh treasures. I know Jeremy must have treasured his quiet mornings in the woods with his Papa as much as Josh treasures his afternoons in the woodshop.

Jeremy - 7

Jeremy loved being an uncle. He was so nervous the first time he held Charlie in the hospital but did a good job and was so sweet. The smile never left his face that day. He was dedicated to making sure he was a good uncle to Charlie. He told me more than once that Charlie was his favorite person in the world and how much he loved him. Jeremy said that just hearing Charlie say, “Hi, Unka Jer-my!” could make his whole day. Charlie has a special bond with all of his uncles, and I’ve always been so thankful that these three young guys in their twenties have been so dedicated and so sweet to my little guy. He is so lucky.

Jeremy - 8


Jeremy - 10

Jeremy - 11

These are just a few memories out of the 17 years we shared together. I know many more will come back to me as time passes. Today, they are making my heart ache, but I hope one day they will bring me the joy of Jeremy’s smile and laugh.

Jeremy - 12

I just can’t believe this is real. I can’t believe you are gone, Jeremy. You had plans. New goals. New adventures ahead of you. You were just getting started. I just can’t believe it. Every time I see your picture I remember how alive you were just a moment ago, and it just seems impossible that you are gone.

I will love you forever, and Charlie will always know what a loving uncle he had in you.

Your sister-in-law,
Sarah xoxo


Rest in Peace dear brother Jeremy. I love you.

My brother Jeremy Davis Carter died last night. 2:00 AM. As I’m writing this, about 6 hours ago. He was only 28 years old. Dammit.


I am so raw. I feel everything and nothing at once, at the same time. I wasn’t planning on blogging. I don’t know if I will hit “Publish”. I might. But right now my thoughts are disjointed, I am anxious to go out and do something, tackle something, but there is really nothing to do. At least not yet. There will be.

My dad called me sometime around 10:10 last night and told me that something was wrong, that they were at the hospital with Jeremy and it was not good. I got in the car and got there as quick as I could. I got a hold of Jamie at work and got him to come down. He made it there before me.

Jeremy was in Trauma 1 in the ER. He was not responsive. His temperature was low. His organs were not working. He was bleeding. He was yellow. I find out later that he had a heart attack at home while alone in the kitchen with our mom, my dear mother had to give him CPR until the paramedics came, and they took him to the ER.

Trauma 1 was a flurry of activity the entire night. Until it wasn’t. Jeremy had IV’s everywhere; leg, groin, arm, thumb. He had saline, epinephrine, blood, potassium, vial after vial after bag after bag after syringe. They did everything they could, they really did. They set us up in a family room. About 1:50, we hear Code Blue, Trauma 1. All personnel. Dammit.

Jeremy’s heart stopped a second time. They did CPR for 10 minutes. CPR in a real ER is no joke. It’s not slow, even compressions. It’s fast. It’s hard. It’s violent. It shakes the whole bed and takes an incredible amount of energy and doctors switch out every 30 seconds because it’s just so hard.

After 10 minutes of trying, they said they would continue, but he would likely be severely brain damaged. We told them to stop. They did. He died at 2:00 AM on December 20, 2015. He was only 28 years old. Dammit. I cried as hard as I ever had. I kept it together until the doctor said stop. Not afterwards. None of us did.

What happened after that. I don’t know. It’s surreal. It’s still surreal. I am waiting to wake up or for somebody to tell me that it was a nightmare or a horrible case of mistaken identity or really for somebody that knows all the facts to just tell me that the facts are not true. Just this one time can the facts not be true. I want the universe to lie to me. Just this once.


I stayed around the hospital until 4. I told Jeremy goodbye. I kissed him. I hugged my brother Jamie, my wife, my parents, my grandparents. We cried. We cursed. We prayed. We cursed. We cried again. I’m still cursing. Still crying.

I came home to my in-laws. They came to get Charlie and I needed to be with my son. I hoped I would be able to sleep. I did not. I thought about everything. I read the text messages that we sent each other. Just on Tuesday. Dammit Jeremy. Send me another joke. Something funny from 9gag. Tell me about your classes Jeremy. Please. How was orientation, buddy? Are you excited? Have you decided what area of computing you want to study? Are you going to do graphics design? Dammit Jeremy text me and tell me it was all a lie and you’re fine and you’re excited about school, excited to see Charlie for Christmas. I am crying my eyes out right now buddy. I can’t see the screen.

It’s hard to comprehend how much the world has changed. I’ve written my Christmas letter to send to everybody. It’s fun and witty because I wanted you to enjoy it. I wrote that 2015 was good to us. We are supposed to get a cherry blossom tree to dedicate to mom and dad. I need you to get the plaque. I just got an email that a present I got for you has arrived at my house. It’s a hanger for your guitar, so you can put yours on the wall like I have for mine. I remember picking out the guitar with you. Very well. We got you an awesome amp. Played some Bombtrack. It was a very fun day with you.

I remember how you cried when you met Charlie for the first time. You were so sweet with him. You were a good uncle. He’ll know about you.

Dammit. I’m fine for a while then I get a wave, a tidal wave, that just comes over me and tumbles me around and I cry my eyes out. Then I get it together. Then I get a trigger. I think about my parent’s Christmas card. Oh god their Christmas card. When Shutterfly printed it off, Jeremy was alive, smiling. The Peachtree City post office is amazingly terrible. They’ve had the damn Christmas cards at their office since December 14. They’ve scanned this 3 pound box 5 times. They still haven’t delivered them. Jeremy never saw it. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

I think about going through your stuff. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to have to. I worry about mom and dad. So much. I don’t know what they are going to do. I don’t know what I am going to do, but mom and dad. Mom.

I’m so excited to tell you about Charlie’s Christmas present. Remember those cardboard blocks we had as a kid? We built forts, knocked them down, threw them at each other, stood on them, made ramps, made walls, broke through them. I hid your toys in them and you did the same. We made a turret that went to the ceiling more than once. I can’t wait for you to play with them again. Play with them with Charlie. I think you’ll be 7 again. Dammit dammit dammit.

It’s been about 12 hours now. The word has gone around the family and close friends. I’m getting messages of love and support. Devastating. We are devastated. I heard the heart-wrenching devastating news. Devastated. That’s really the correct word. Nothing else really captures it. I am a sleepless shell with nothing inside. De vastare. Totally lay waste. That sums it up.

I went over to my parents house. I’ve never been so miserable. I don’t know if I have any tears left. Before I went to my parents house, I went to their old house. By chance, the mailman pulled in behind me. I stood in the middle of the road for them to deliver the damn Christmas card. They had it on the truck. The mail carrier handed it to me and said “Have a nice day.” It occurred to me that “Have a nice day.” is something that people say to each other. It’s normal. My world is so totally shattered and this mail carrier’s world is not. Have a nice day. Here are your Christmas cards. Such is the situation where the Christmas cards and Have a Nice Day are the most wretched of all wretched things.

I brought them into my parents house but did not announce them. I sat them next to my computer, which remained unopened. We all cried our eyes out again. I thought I got a lot of it out. Then we started talking about “plans”. We do not want to make plans. Not those plans. But it needed to be discussed. We don’t have a plot in Peachtree City. Our family has plots in Plains and in Arlington, Georgia. Mom asked dad if he wanted to bury him in Plains. He said probably but wanted to know if mom felt strongly about burying him in Arlington. She wanted dad to consider it. Then they asked me. I told them that it was up to them. They disagreed. My eyes welled up again. Jeremy did not want to be buried. He wanted to be cremated. I told them this. They remembered the conversation, but didn’t know if he was serious. He was. Many months or years ago he told us that if anything happened, he wanted to be cremated because he is claustrophobic. It took me three tries to get it out. Dammit.

More wailing sobs from the porch. My mom found the box of Christmas cards. It has 2 pictures of Jeremy. One is at my house with everybody but Jamie. The picture with Jamie is of the Christmas tree that he and Jamie cut down. It’s in my parent’s living room. There are presents for him under the tree.

I have a headache. I haven’t slept. I can’t sleep. My eyes are still puffy and the devastating, crushing, overwhelming pain comes in waves. I’m fine. I’m helping dad repair some furniture. Then I am very very not. It grips you and makes you scream out in agony. Then you control yourself and you start thinking about other things. Anything really. What kind of tree is that? What color are you going to stain the deck? How much was your chandelier? And then the wound rips wide open. Wide wide open. The trigger might be a half empty bottle of Caffeine Free Coca-Cola. A crushed cigarette pack. The image in my mind’s eye when Charlie runs out to him arms outstretched yelling Unka Jeremy!


He had a whole battery of tests just a couple months ago. He couldn’t eat well and his legs ached. He had nearly every doctor at Emory look at him. They ended up prescribing him Vitamin A and Vitamin D. After all that. He got the full work over and really just needed vitamins. If a 28 year old heart is going to go out, shouldn’t they have found that? Maybe, but they didn’t. All I am really doing is negotiating with the universe, trying to find an inconsistency, trying to find a chink in the reality of events, the failure in the cosmic equation, hoping if I find the flaw that I can prove to the world that it didn’t actually happen and that Jeremy and I can laugh about it.

Dammit I am going to miss you buddy. I love you Jeremy.

Your loving brother Josh


Anatomy of a Track Day

Track Day, Bro!

Bro. Bro! Track Day Bro! Bro… Bro! Track Day! and then we hi-five and watch Fast and the Furious Seventeen.


No. It’s nothing like that, at all. Despite the crazy hardware that shows up, there’s a very friendly camaraderie amongst the people that show up and actually drive. It’s a great atmosphere where you can bug the hell out of a dude that shows up with a new GT-R asking for rides (he said yes, but I had to dip out before it was my turn), show respect for a dude that shows up with a black GT-R Skyline and actually takes it out, hang out with a crazy-cool dude who instructs at the Porsche Experience Center but shows up (and runs down Miatas and 370z’s) in a stock Honda Fit with drum brakes, gawk at guy who “has the same car as I do” except he dropped in a 2003 Porsche 911 3.4L engine and devoted his entire trunk to an oil cooler, and chase down a 2015 C7 Corvette in your stock 16 year old Boxster. All smiles all the time, as long as you keep the shiny side up.


I’ve done over 150 laps at Atlanta Motorsports Park, which is the best track ever, and I’ve seen a couple patterns emerge. If you’ve never been, here’s what you can expect on track day.

To begin at the beginning, it’s an early morning. EARLY. My alarm goes off at 5:30. And I happily jump out of bed. Seriously, it’s the easiest 5:30 you’ll ever wake up for. 5:30 for a 7:00 meeting at work? Snooze. snooze. Snooze again. Then oh crap. Oh Crap! Think of a reason to tell your boss why you missed the meeting. Son was sick. Yeah, he’s never heard that one before, bingo.

Not on track day. You’ll pop right out of bed. You’ll be happy, but not necessarily sharp. Good thing you packed your car the night before. Before you go to sleep, you’ll need the following in your car: snacks, water, a towel, tools, a spare t-shirt in case you have to get dirty, your hat, sun block, sun glasses (sun’s not up at 5:30. Don’t plan on remembering it), your tech sheet (you remembered to fill out your tech sheet, right?), your helmet, your driving gloves, and some extra fluids like brake fluid and oil. I also always bring glass cleaner and wipes. Pack your loose stuff in a bin so you can keep your stuff from tumbling all over the paddocks, and take out everything else. Taco Bell receipts, your brief case, empty food containers from lunch, empty water bottles, coffee mugs, dead bodies, and floor mats. You don’t need your floor mats. You won’t want your floor mats. You want nothing to mess with your feet. Just leave it at home.

But your car is packed, so now you go to sleep, wake up, make some coffee, put on a blipshift, manufacturer, performance-branded, or an ironic and mildly amusing T-shirt, feed the dog so he doesn’t bark and wake up the whole house waking your baby and making your wife very very mad, and point your GPS to the track. It’s 6 AM on a Sunday, there is no one else on the road except for Johnny Law, and the track opens at 7.

As you near the track, it’s not quiiiiite 7 AM, but the sun is just starting to peak out and drivers are converging. You’ll find yourself on a twisty mountain 2-lane road with plenty of elevation changes, E30’s, E36’s, caged Miatas, 350z’s, Mustangs, Camaros with track packages, and a new C7 Corvette or 3. There is no place for the fuzz to hang out on this particular stretch of Highway 53, so you might find yourself in a spirited caravan and [redacted]. You make it to the track entrance and find a surprisingly long line of cars waiting to get into the paddocks. Fall in line, sit tight, and contemplate your left foot skills while staring up at the hill up to the check-in booth. Then you finally get up to the booth, sign the waver that says that you “Fully Understand and Agree That” something, I dunno, and then you’re in. That wasn’t too bad! Next thing to do is to head to Tech Check.

What’s Tech Check? It’s sounds like an interrogation booth for your car. If you’ve never done it, you might picture a team of Track Professionals going over your car with a fine tooth comb, checking shocks, motor mounts, lug nuts, flux capacitors, horns, but really all you do is hand them your Tech Sheet checklist that you went through the day before to make sure you torqued down your lug nuts and that your brake pads aren’t going to give up the ghost this session. Tech will check your helmet and give you a Run Group sticker, then you’re ready to head to the paddocks. Time to go find a nice patch of asphalt in the paddocks and settle in.

You found your spot (pro tip: go to pit lane at AMP. Almost nobody goes there and I don’t know why. It’s always open.) First thing you want to do is say hi to your neighbors. It helps calm your track nerves and you just might find yourself next to an instructor at the Porsche Experience Center driving a bone stock Honda Fit.


After Tech Check, and after you find a spot, the Driver’s Meeting is scheduled for 8:00, but always gets pushed out because Tech took longer than every one thought. So, about 8:15, you go to the Driver’s Meeting. They’re mandatory, and they’re all the same, and it’s all good reminders. Here’s the script:

“This is a High Performance Driving Event. This is not a race. There are no trophies, so don’t try to go be an hero. Let’s stay safe out there and have a good time. Be safe, don’t be stupid, ask around if you need help around the track. And I want good, solid, clear point-by’s. Don’t be a dick. Now Newt is going to go over the track and the flags, and then we’ll pair novices with instructors.”

Don’t be a dick. That’s the theme and most everybody takes it to heart on the track. Talk all the smack you want in the paddocks, but on-track if you try to take the inside going into the turn 1 hairpin without a point-by, you will have executed a dick move, and you will be shown a black flag, and you will have to pull in to pit lane to talk to the track marshal, and she will tell you that you have been a dick, and you get to sit and watch everybody not being a dick for the rest of the session. Then you can count on the person you cut off at the hairpin, or the event organizer, finding you in the paddocks to talk to you about not being a dick. It’s actually very rare and the track tolerance is zero. But if you do it, go out and do better next time.

So, with that important bit behind us, the next thing that happens is ducks-in-a-row. This is usually an open 10-minute period for anybody who wants to to get out on the track and drive it…. Slowly!…. to look at the track, see if anything is wet, remind yourself about the line, then get off. This is not a session, there is no passing.


Now the fun part. You’ve got your run groups, you have your session sheet, and you’re only a couple minutes away from track time. Mount that Go-Pro, fire up your lap timer, set up the external GPS, check tire pressure one more time, put on the helmet, put on the gloves, and drive toward the track.

Line up in pit row. Heart’s thumping, lap timer is at 0:00 waiting to start, car is cold, track is cold, brakes are cold, tires are cold. You get waved on track. And now it’s go time!


The first lap of every session is always a caution lap. Caution does not mean Sunday drive, but you don’t pass. You warm up your tires, your brakes, your mind and then you get all the way around the track to the finish line. Get the green flag flying from the starter and it’s time to GO!

Slam on the brakes at the 4 marker, heel-toe down to 3rd, then second, take the hairpin into Turn 1 and press in the throttle coming out of the turn. Track out and full throttle through Turn 2, get straight and tap on the brakes for Turn 3 and pop up to the skid pad at Turn 4. Double apex and let the track come to you to apex Turn 5 and aim straight for the spot between the 3 and 2 marker. Slam on brakes and heel-toe down to 2nd to turn in, then sharp right to head for the late apex at the Turn 6 hairpin. 7 and 8 just point you toward turn in at Turn 9, sharp left hander and take every bit of the curbing in turn 10. Turn once and let that wheel position take your car from track in to track out back to track in at Turn 11, then tap the brakes to send your weight to the front of the car to take a 90 degree right hander at better than 60 miles an hour. Drive straight up the hill staring at nothing but the sky, stay left ALL the way to Track In, Sharp right to take half the curb on Turn 12, unsettle your car in a straight line and drive off camber into 13 and aim for the meadow to pick up speed. Turn 14 is really just the longest carousel straight in the world so put your foot down, get your tires talking to you in three digits, touch the curb at Turn 15 and aim straight for the grass on the right side of the track before you can even see Turn 16. Get straight and kiss the curb on 16, because if you’re too far left you’re going into the wall. 150 laps and I still don’t have the nerve to keep my foot down until I’m through 16, so a little breathe off the throttle keeps you grounded. Scream down the front straight and cross the finish line, slam on brakes at the 4 marker, heel-tow down to 3rd, then second, then take the hairpin into Turn 1 and press in the throttle coming out of the turn. Rinse. Repeat. Time after time after time after time. Get better, go faster, brake later, accelerate harder. Spend all your money trying to take of seconds. Then tenths of seconds. Your heart is pounding, your tires are squealing, and the whole track smells like hot brake pads and a lil bit of clutch.

Go go go until you see the checkered flag. You’ll be on track for 20 minutes. Cross the finish line at full throttle and then it’s time to cool it. Take a breather, keep your line, smile at a job well done and curse yourself for your screw ups. So you missed a shift or didn’t dump your clutch smoothly. So you missed the apex at turn 14. So you didn’t get on the throttle in time coming out of 6. That’s fine. Do better next time. Go back to your spot in the paddocks and get up to the stands to watch the other run groups. Go find people that you pointed by on the track and ask them for pointers. Go find somebody replacing a wheel hub on their Miata and lend a hand. Go talk to somebody who shoehorned a LS6 into an RX8. Go find the dude that rolled up in a new GT3. You’re on the same track with all these folks so you have a lot to talk about. It is easy to make friends on track day.

IMG_4660 2

I’ve dropped more than 10 seconds since I started at AMP. I’m looking for 2 more seconds next time I go. The next track day is March 13. Sign up here and come join me!



Happy Birthday Mr. Christmas!


Kids are adorable. Well, Charlie is adorable. I can’t vouch for your kid.

We promised Charlie a Christmas Tree. I love a real tree. Sure, you can buy the ones that are already lit, perfectly proportioned, and ready to hold a Target’s worth of ornaments. But you’re missing out on the trail of needles, the need to water your soon-to-be-dead-tree, and the aroma of Christmas. To me, Christmastime is the smell of Douglas Fir. I hope to make it Charlie’s lasting hallmark of Christmas.

But he is far too young for me to be wishing him nostalgia. He barely knows what an Advent Calendar is. Well, that’s not entirely true. He knows they’re a box with a lot of doors full of chocolate.

Sarah bought him one to teach him about Christmas, Jesus, Advent, Patience, and Chocolate. We quickly discovered its utility in bribery. If you eat a good dinner, and eat your asparagus and chicken and rice “all gone”, we can open an Advent door and read the verse and eat the delicious chocolate. It worked for the first day. And the second. Charlie caught on. There’s chocolate behind every door.

On December 3, Sarah gave him his chocolate and Charlie wanted another. Sarah took the Advent calendar and propped it on the table so he could look at the Christmas Train scene. Charlie told mommy that he wanted to look at it up close, so mommy let him hold it. He immediately ripped open a door (14th of December), caught the tumbling premature chocolate, and popped it into his mouth. Quick as a flash. I was on the other side of the kitchen and looked over at the commotion and saw Charlie staring defiantly at Mommy, Mommy agape processing the mischievousness of her sweet angel, and then I stared at the coffee maker for fear that Charlie could see me crying my eyes out in laughter at the scene. This was one of those hilarious parenting moments that you certainly did NOT want to let your little one know was funny. I felt sorry that Sarah had to keep it together, then I looked at her and saw that she wasn’t having any problem at all. Her look was genuine, and I pretty much had to leave the room. Mommy was stern that Charlie was NOT getting December 4th’s chocolate.  It was my favorite memory of this Christmas, and all for naught, because…

December 4 was the Boar’s Head Ceremony. The Boar’s Head (as I understand, is the rarest dish in all the land) is a ceremony celebrating Oglethorpe’s best and brightest. It rings in the Christmas celebration at Oglethorpe and recognizes all past and newly minted Omicron Delta Kappa’s (Oglethorpe’s campus leaders. Sarah’s one). It starts with a banquet, crescendos with a concert, and finishes with a feast. Chocolate abounds. The concert this year was a test. We brought Charlie and tried to get him to sit through the whole thing. We pulled out every trick that we had. I bounced him on my leg, Sarah fed him Peanut Butter crackers. We got through. We told Charlie about the singers, made him watch the tuba, told him what the conductor Dr. Ray was doing. He was the maestro, leading the pack. Between two incredibly soft and somber Christmas songs, Charlie figured out Dr. Ray, and wanted to be the conductor. Dr. Ray lifted his baton, tapped his music stand, and Charlie belted out “Ready, Set, Go!” Luckily our section was small, otherwise the laughter from Stage Right might have overshadowed the maestro.

Aaand that was my favorite part about this Christmas. Until we got our Christmas tree.

We went to the Brookhaven Christian Church, where we get all of our pumpkins in the fall and our Christmas trees in the Christmas, and picked out a tree. They had a good run this year, but wanted to be done with trees. How much is this tree? $65. What’s this brown here? Uh… $45. Deal. So we brought the tree home, made dinner (Sarah was Hangry. Urban Dictionary it. I learned a new term too.) and then I mounted it in the stand. I had the great idea to put the lights on the tree in the garage, since I was mounting the tree in the stand in the garage anyway, and I could easily walk all around it. Lit it up. Wrapped it, re-wrapped it, took some slack out and re-wrapped it, then I re-wrapped it. After I re-wrapped it, I got Charlie to come back out and countdown to lighting, which when you’re two years old, is exactly like counting up. One. Two. Three! I plugged in the tree, and Charlie was amazed. “Wow!” he said. “Happy Birthday, Mr. Christmas!”

Best Christmas yet. And we’re still 3 weeks away.




I Can See Clearly Now

I fixed muh tee-vee.


Many moons ago, after a very long day, Sarah and I sat down to enjoy some quality network programming (if I’m playing odds, it was probably a Modern Family rerun). I pressed the go button on the remote and no picture. The screen did not turn on and the power light blinked exactly 6 times. Nada. Dammit.

I got off the couch and pressed the power button manually, hoping that the act of getting off the couch and actually pressing a button on the device would improve things. It did! I got a closer look at the no-screen and 6 blinks. Nada. Dammit.

I considered the evidence. I pressed the power button and got 6 blinks from the power light and got no picture. Then I pressed the power button on the TV, got 6 blinks and no picture. I was doing the thing that was supposed to get me a picture and I got no picture. Hypotheses were forming. Conclusions were coming into focus. Either 6 blinks was the new “watching TV” or my “TV was busted.” My heart sank. Neither option seemed good. I had a very good, very well researched, Josh spec’d Panasonic Viera Plasma TV. It had perfect blacks. Vivid color. Dead.

In my scotch-induced haze, and I swear this is true, I fired up the Google machine and just Googled “Panasonic TV 6 blinks”. First thing that came up was a Youtube video on how to diagnose your Panasonic TV with 6 blinks. First thing to do was to take apart your TV. This seemed reasonable. At least I could figure out what was wrong. So I took the monitor from my computer and brought it downstairs and rummaged through my trunk and got a DVI to HDMI cable, hooked up the monitor, got Sarah setup with American Idol or America’s Got Talent or America’s Got A Dude That Belly Flops Through Rings Of Fire Into A Wading Pool Of Alligators And Somehow This Is TV, and marveled at the fact that I had a 6′ DVI to HDMI cable in my trunk.

I got a screwdriver.

It was surgery time. Poured myself another scotch, got to work. Watching this video, I learned that there were really only two possibilities for the dreaded 6 blinks. First and easiest, was a failed power board. Second and not easiest, was a dead SN board. The SN board renders the picture on your screen. It’s considered important. Dude on the Youtube video, who seemed to know what he was doing, said disconnect this cable, disconnect this other cable, try to turn it on. If the TV power light stays on but screen stays off, it’s your power board. If your TV power light blinks 6 times, SN board is toast. So, I disconnected the cables and turned on the TV. A spark shot out of one of the chips on the SN board. Magic Smoke was released.

My SN board was toast.

So I went on Panasonic’s website to order the SN board. I found out that SN stands for SNotgoingtomakeitanymore. Well dammit.

eBay? No new boards, but there’s a dude on eBay that sells a fixit service for 6 or 7 Blinks. There’s another dude that sells a fix for the exotic 3 Blinks. I settled on a guy that (1) claimed that he could fix any 3, 5, 6, or 7 Blink SN board, and (2) actually owned an electronics repair shop. He was a $15 premium over the basement-dwelling 15 year old (hey, I don’t judge, I was that kid once), but I figured money well spent. I think he was in Van Nuys. I called him up, paid him through eBay, sent him my board. Got a quick turn from him too. Probably within a week, or just about.

But that weekend we went to Sarah’s parent’s house and borrowed David’s TV. Then the SN card sat in a box.

And sat.

And sat.

Finally, we cleaned off the operating room table dining room table for Thanksgiving, and I had room to try out this new board. Time to pour myself a scotch.

I took apart the TV again, and put the SN card in place. Then I looked for the screws. Dammit. Where did I put the screws? Then I thought, where would John Dewar and Sons put the screws? I checked where the TV should go, in the TV cabinet. Bingo.

Put it in place, screwed it in, got most of the lines working. This is an HDTV and there are 1080 horizontal lines of pixels, and there are 1080 pins that have to line up with 1080 sockets in the SN card. At first try, I had some stragglers. So, on the lines that didn’t work, I pulled out the cable, blew it off Nintendo style, and reconnected. Success. Success. Success. Try Again… and Success….. Success!


Please know dear reader, where you may see a crappy aliased cell phone screen grab of Sofia Vergara, I saw no dead lines, a working SN card, and a beautiful, beautiful picture.

So I poured myself a celebratory scotch.



Charlie and the Technicolor Dream House


We have decided on white.

Nah, we have picked all the colors!* The painters are a paintin’. You might not be interested in any of my tips and tricks, but I’ve already roped you in. Ha!

Pro tip 1: For painting a house, car, boat, shed, lean-to, space station, or tee-pee, the little teeny tiny postage stamps of color that you pick up at Sherwin-Williams or the paint isle at Lowe’s is only going to help you narrow down the colors that you want to try out. So unless you are building a school for ants, you have to buy samples. And paint boards. Drywall is the best item to paint because it is cheap, doesn’t warp, and it’s the exact same material you are painting in your house, but it’s heavy. So, we bought foam core boards at Wal-Mart. and painted. and painted. and shopped. and looked through the little color book. and painted some more.

Pro tip 2: You have to paint two coats. Because when you triumphantly emerge from your garage with your 9 single coat sample boards, you will look at them and think “Is the paint really that light or is that the board showing through?” “Is that streaky part the light or will the color look like that?” “Did I do two coats of Tupelo Tree over that Southern Colonial Vintage Blush because it looks more like Mélange Green to me.” Avoid these questions. You’re painting them twice anyway. Might as well do it right the first time.

Pro tip 3: If you are using foam core boards, you need to paint both sides, or the board will cup. Not just a little bit of warp, but your toddler will think it’s a sled. It warps so much that you can’t actually see the color right because any way you hold it, you are catching the light wrong. Painting both sides flattens your board automagically. And you can get 18 colors on 9 project boards. Just make sure you can see all of your color choices for a specific room at the same time, so don’t economize by painting the front and back of a board with 2 different colors you want for the living room. Or you’ll be repainting a board. Trust me.

So here’s the run down, and I promise you all these names are real. Our main neutral will be Latte (so far, so good). This color will be in our foyer, hallways, living room, and kitchen. The guest room is Comfort Grey, because we want our guests to be comfortable. Our dining room is Colonial Revival Green Stone (there we go) and our music room across from the dining room will be Hopsack with Rockwood Terra Cotta. Going upstairs, Charlie’s room will Take Five, as will his bathroom. The Bonus Room is Worn Turquoise, and Sarah’s sewing room and laundry room are Mint Condition. The nursery and Jack & Jill bath will be By the Sea, and coming off the silliness the Master Bed will be the same Hopsack from the music room, and we finish in the Master Bath with Sage. All closets are Killim Beige, which is probably the most ridiculous color name because killim rugs are anything but beige. I might rename it Pacific Ocean Tangerine. Maybe it was somebody’s first day. Our trim and ceilings are Marshmallow, which is true to its namesake and looks exactly like white unless you hold it up to something white.

first floor plan

second floor plan

*we may change the bathrooms based on the tile we pick. Which is this weekend. Which is now.



Trying To Stay Neutral

We have a basic idea of how we want the house to look. We want a neutral color to go in the foyer, living room, kitchen, and up the stairs to the hallway. We want the dining room to be trim colored wainscoting with some sort of green on the walls, the music room to be some sort of green with guitars on the walls, the guest room to be a cream, the nursery to be Charlie’s current bedroom color blue, the project room to be some compromise of Sarah-wants-it-purple and Josh-wants-the-color-decided-whatever, Charlie’s room a more grown up (3 year-old) blue, the bonus room to be a color, and the master bedroom and bathroom to definitely be a good ______________. We’re close.

So, colors have names. The colors we like have names like Latte, Macadamia, Hopsack, Camelback, Idunnoiguessits Brown, etc. The color names are ridiculous and that has to be the best job at Sherwin Williams. You probably get to show up to work stoned. That’s probably how our neutral yellow color got named Bagel–dude was hungry. It’s certainly not because the color looks like a bagel. Which leads me to:

We painted 5 boards this weekend to see what colors we liked (Camelback, Macadamia, Mocha, Blonde, Bagel). We held them up in my bedroom (which if it was a Sherwin Williams color, would probably be Muted Cardboard With Whole Milk Spilled On It) and none of the colors looked like they had a color. Then we thought it would be helpful to move the same color panels to our (Now That’s What I Call Yellow) buttery yellow walls in the kitchen, and we thought every one of them looked (I’m Falling Asleep) beige. A minor freak-out ensued and we called in 4 more colors (Cardboard, Toasty, Hopsack, Vintage Gold) and they would be ready to pick up as soon as Charlie went to sleep.

Ha! That didn’t happen. Pro Tip: 2 year olds never sleep when you need them to. Never plan on it.

But I invited Kojo and Jennae to our old house to walk to our new house, but I commandeered their car to take me to Sherwin Williams to get the samples. While Sarah caught up with Kojo and Jennae, I painted our samples, and we chased the sun to go to the house and check out what we liked. Near sundown (4:50 PM….. Have I mentioned how much I hate Daylight Wasting Time?) we walked to the house with the wet samples in hand and looked at them. Holy crap Toasty was dark. Cardboard? Looked like cardboard. We liked Hopsack and Vintage Gold. We fell back in love with Latte. Macadamia fell out of favor, but it had a good run. Blonde was never in, but we brought it anyway, and confirmed it’s status as color we’ll sell to some neighbor looking for samples or we’ll drop it off behind Oglethorpe’s drama department.

So now we’re down to 3 colors, and we have a lot of colors we might like for the rest of the house.

I promised resolution by Wednesday.





Sanderlings That Stay South

A sanderling is a small wading bird. Not entirely unlike a sandpiper, it’s small, light colored with a bit of brown, it stands on the shore and eats crab. Not too shabby. Basically, if you start in the middle of the arctic ocean, then wade south toward Alaska until you’re about equally stranded away from land in all directions, you’re in the center of the sanderling breeding habitat in the spring. Then they fly all the way to South America in the winter because after thousands of years of evolutionary pressure, these birds have figured out that Rio is better than Nunavut in January.

Sanderling is also the color that we choose for our house. It’s in Georgia, year round. Like it? We do.

House Exterior Painted

There has been a lot of activity at our house in the past couple weeks. The drywall is still up and the walls are sanded and all the dust is in the air and on the ground and I didn’t have to do any of it! The crown is up and the wainscoting is installed in the dining room. When I took these pictures (on Thanksgiving! These guys assured me that dinner was awaiting them when they got home) they were putting up the coffer surround (obvi…) and finishing up the crown.

Coffer In Work

And the Dining Room


We went for recessed wainscoting look because I think it’s pretty sweet. I’ll take a close-up when they prime it this weekend.

My mom and dad came with Sarah, Charlie, and me to check it out and they seemed to like it, despite the dust. I walked around the back woods with dad and he named off all the species of trees that we will likely keep, and all the pines and sweetgums that we won’t. We have some interesting stuff back there, and I’ll probably have to re-up with dad to get the names of the trees back there.

Next up: Paint colors. We’ve picked the gutter colors, window sash colors, exterior color and trim, and appliance colors (GE, like I promised). We are pretty close on the colors for Charlie’s bedroom, the laundry room, the common areas including the kitchen, the master bathroom, and the future nursery. Basically, the color scheme is Blue, Green, and Jazzy (pictured, the one wearing the blue bandanna, is a dog). We’ll figure it all out by Monday.

Charlie and Jazzy

Wish us luck!