Someone asked me how much snow it takes to shut down northeastern Alabama. On January 23, the Great Alabama Snowfall of 2003, the answer was, this much. (What you hear in the background are my snow-blasé Yankee friends laughing their heads off.) Yes, this is the snowfall that provoked the messy detour to Atlanta that became the entry The McDonald's at 51a.

Hey, but this snowfall had big pointy teeth! Really! Grr!

I've been promising this script to friends for a long, long time, and when I went on vacation, I finally got a chance to sit down and write it.

My friends and I syndicate our content on wondergeeks.net, but we've never been entirely happy with the results. We're scattered all over the globe - from the UK to Hawaii - and it's difficult to keep up with multiple blogs marked in multiple timezones. Tuesday in England doesn't necessarily equate to Tuesday in Hawaii.

I'm in the middle of working up words and photos from last week's vacation. In the meantime, I'm in the mood for a bit of a word game, if anyone's interested in tossing in a bit of help.

The game du jour: Seven Words. The original idea is to select seven words, though I don't guarantee I'll go to (or stop at) seven. Each individual word will be used as the basis for a piece of writing, with an explanation at the end of how the story was derived from the word.

(What is the game of 'seven words'? See this entry for explanations, or to contribute potential words.)

Jeff and I sat turned in our seats, angling backward to better hear what Andy was saying. Sometimes the rush of the Metro sucks the words out of the speaker's mouth, pulling them out through the cracks in the side doors before they have a chance to reach your ears. In some areas of the green line, you have to work to catch them before the slight vacuum pulls them past your ears, unheard.

Andy had a good bit of fun at my expense the first time he took me on the metro. Having grown up in an area where the total amount of 'public' didn't exceed three hundred humans, mass transit was something I had only seen in television and movies.

(What is the game of 'seven words'? See this entry for explanations, or to contribute potential words.)

Those of you who have watched Inside the Actor's Studio are familiar with the ten questions that James Lipton asks his guests at the end of each show. Here, I have the luxury of thinking about my answers longer than I would than if I were actually being interviewed, but I suspect the answers aren't much better.

For those of you looking for how this ties in with today's word, might I suggest you look at number seven...

1. What is your favorite word?
   Either discombobulating or rutabaga. 'Discombobulating' because it's funny, 'rutabaga' because it's such a funny memory for me.
2. What is your least favorite word?
   Failure.

I gave up on the Dallas concert for financial reasons. I regretted the decision from the moment I made it, even though I knew that I'd made the right fiscal choice.

From the first time I read the show announcement, I was just flabbergasted with shock—Jackopierce actually playing together again?—wasn't I there for one of the concerts on the farewell tour five years ago?

I had been introduced to Jackopierce my freshman year of college, but never got to see them perform in Juanita's, their customary Little Rock venue, because the concerts were for ages 21 and up.

(What is the game of 'seven words'? See this entry for explanations, or to contribute potential words.)

They resist sticks, stones, brandished bones, and - in the earliest of hours when no one is looking - abject pleading and begging. They, the disenchanted teenage brood, resent that it was I - silly, bumbling fool, I - who brought them into existence, and blame me for all their problems.They hurl insults when angered. Technical terms are spat like curse words through the browser, because they know I feel the sting.

It has been seven days since the Battle For Manage-Pings began in northeast Alabama, and I must report that the carnage has been intense. Burned dinners. Insomnia. Ignored cats. Friends who resort to emails in the hopes of actually making contact with my brain.

Greetings from Huntsville, your latest source of American workplace shootings.

Pass the chicken.

There's nothing quite like waking up one morning to learn that your adopted hometown is the news event of the day. "Four men dead in workplace shooting; police say that the gunman is holed up in some..." ... unnamed apartment building that's apparently over on my side of town.