Friday nights at Brian & Lindsey's are going to be killer, I can tell.

In 2000 I chose Al Gore. I didn't know as much about him as I do now, and I didn't agree with everything he supposedly stood for, but I wanted him instead of George W. Bush. Even though Gore lost, I was very glad that I had chosen him. Two years later, I was still glad I had. I didn't think that Bush was a very good Commander in Chief—he didn't seem qualified to represent or lead America. Four years later, I was even more happy that my first choice in a presidential election had been for Al Gore. I don't like George W. Bush for lots of reasons, and not simply because the "liberal media" emphasizes his stupidity in their portraits of our president.

As I watched An Inconvenient Truth, I was reminded that Al Gore is skilled, smart, and very capable. Why couldn't this guy have won the presidency as he did the popular vote? Some conservatives would say that God did it. Maybe you're right, maybe all of the things Bush and his horrible administration have done was meant to be in order to serve a broader plan. Maybe a political savior is to bounce on the scene in January 2009 and fix the world. All right, that's fine. However, let's look at what we know for certain: Bush has made many bad decisions. Dick Cheney is a bad vice president. The administration under Bush is not a good administration. I think they and the rest of the administration have their hands in lots of other things and are dedicated to and influenced heavily by many other interests. An Inconvenient Truth glances at this. I know lots of you don't believe in Heaven, but if we all make it there, it will be great when all of the things presently undiscovered or questioned are made known. It takes a lot for me to cry during a movie—it has to be something truly profound and touching. When a segment about the 2000 election was shown, I teared up. I did so because I thought about the terrible mistake the voters made in November and the even worse Supreme Court decision on December 12, 2000. What would the country be like today if Gore had been president? Would we have all of these problems and bad feelings? The interests that distract offices of our government from doing the right things and instead lead them to concentrate on money ('the global warming "theory" isn't important enough for us to disrupt our economy with attempts to fix our environment') causes me to believe the answer to be negative. I hope we don't hear our children and grandchildren giving an emphatic "No!" while they look back from the future, trying to fix our damaged planet, wishing the people who preceded them had done something. "I mean, the signs were right there!"

In October 2005, Gore was asked how the United States would've been different if he had been elected president. He responded, "We would not have invaded a country that didn't attack us. We would not have taken money from the working families and given it to the most wealthy families. We would not be trying to control and intimidate the news media. We would not be routinely torturing people."

If only that had happened.

It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.

This quote from Upton Sinclair is used in the movie. It can be applied to more things than salary, and that's why I included it here. Apathy is a very bad and very avoidable plague that is widespread among people.

Please see this movie.

It is great and has its facts straight, I think, according to what I've read. If they are correct, then this is a very scary film. It points out the shortcomings of the politicians of our generation to see this problem even as the evidence is clearly displayed in front of them. This appears to be no "theory," but a legitimate happening. Something needs to be done, apparently. Why does it seem like no one cares? Why are we not connecting the dots now, instead of when it's too late. Gore uses this metaphor in relation to tobacco. We received the warning in 1964 that tobacco is bad, very bad. Not much was done until millions were already doomed with cancer. We shouldn't make that mistake this time—it will affect everyone. The information we have is a clear indication that something is happening, something should be done, and that we have the ability to do that something. Let's connect the dots now instead of later. Let's kill the Manbearpig.

I've heard and read great criticism of this movie, one of the most pronounced being an attack on Gore's personal narrative being patched into it. There are two reasons why I don't have a problem with this. The first is that the glimpses of Al's life we see are relevant to the film. The part about his son explains Gore's devotion to his cause and serves as an example to the rest of us as to why we should care about the problem. Global warming will affect us all because our children will have to deal with it—it could literally be the death of them. When Gore speaks about his family growing tobacco and his sister dying from lung cancer, he uses it to demonstrate the metaphor of "connecting the dots" in time to defeat a problem before it beats you. His sister died of cancer as did millions of others because cigarettes and other tobacco products continued to be produced and sold to a public that had been warned of their awful affects.

The second reason I don't mind Gore talking about himself is that he's a politician. Stick with me here. This movie can act as a persuasive documentary—it can help get Al Gore votes. Wait for it. My hope is that he is doing this because he wants to win election so that he can work on this problem and others and confront the issues he cares about. I hope that he truly believes in these causes, and that's why he wants to be elected, and that's why he campaigned a little through the movie. If this is the case, then I don't mind the campaigning. Let's all hope that this man is as smart and sincere as he seems, and that he wins the next election if he contends. Heck, let's hope for more moderate officials in all branches and seats of government who do what's right and fair. The preceding was the deluded portion of the post where I get all dreamy-eyed and hope that goodness will someday overcome corruption and greed. I have a lot of faith sometimes.

When asked if he would see the movie, Bush replied, "Doubt it."

Good Lord.

This is a huge problem on which I always harp about—we have to always look at both all sides. Go see the movie. Even if you dislike Al Gore, go see it for yourself to decide how you feel about the issue and whether it's real, and if you feel like doing anything about it.

The only thing I regret about my wedding is the impromptu speech I made. I hadn't considered speaking, but as my dad addressed the crowd I thought, "Say. Maybe I should get up there and say something." That was my first mistake. The second was actually doing it. I promptly molested the microphone into making an ungodly squeal and at once knew the immensity of my mistake. "Drop the microphone, grab Lindsey, and run like heckfire" was my initial response. But as I looked into a crowd of half-strangers I realized that I had taken Oral Communications in both high school and college, so I was prepared. I mean, I was the weatherman for our school for a semester, what's a little wedding speech? It's my own wedding after all—it's OK.

So like the true lunkhead, I listened to myself and stayed up there. As I began and then actually continued speaking, I realized that this was my worst decision since I tried to set off two dozen bottle rockets with a joint at noon in the Stanly County Sheriff's Office with a bag of aborted fetuses in the other hand and two dead bald eagles stuffed into my illegal immigrant's gay son's husband's hooker.

I fought the urge to impale myself for about three minutes, said lots of stupid things, and finally sat down. It wasn't until two days later that I realized my biggest mistake. I mentioned lots of people, mainly members of Lindsey's family, and thanked them and everyone for coming, and some other boring things. In my stupidity, I forgot to thank my own family. Not only my mom, dad, and brother, but also all the other members who had sacrificed loads of leisure time in order to attend my wedding five hours from their homes. I immediately fell face first into the sand and began swallowing in hopes of happy death. Fortunately, Lindsey recognized the problem and scooped me back up, brushed me off, and explained that it was OK—that I was nervous, hadn't planned the darn thing, and that everyone realized it. My family knew that I greatly appreciated their being at my wedding, she said, and that I can always thank them when I get home.

Well, even though few of my family know my blog exists, or even know what a mouse is, I thought this would be a good time and place to thank them publicly. I might as well. To my cousins, Justin, Josh, Nathan, Eric, and David, thank you for being my groomsmen. You were some of my best friends growing up and you mean a lot to me. Thanks to aunts and uncles—James and Cynthia, Susan and her daughters, great-uncle James and his wife Myrtle, Bobby and Lisa—I thank you also for taking the time and effort to be there; it means a great deal to me. It wouldn't have been the same without you.

And before I forget, thanks to my dad, mom, and brother Carlyn. Dad, you taught me how to play chess at age two, encouraged me whenever possible, and instilled a set of values and a commitment to learning that haunts me to this day. I'll never forgive you for it. Mom, you're weird and we don't get along a whole lot, but I think that might be because we're too similar—our mutual love of decorative wooden utensils and romance novels has put us at odds for years. Maybe it will be different now that we're not competing for stomping ground. Carlyn, even though a huge ravine of nine years divided us, I think it also helped us to bond. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm amazingly immature. In any event, thanks for all those years of video games, fireworks in the kitchen, the countless games of basketball, and generally taking my abuse with good humor. I'm sorry that I'll probably die many years before you do.

I need to go finish our thank-you cards.

I'm in my car, which is going about 70mph. It's 2:05 A.M. and we're near Emporia, VA. It's very foggy and the highbeams are having trouble cutting through. I'm excited because I will be able to see Lindsey's grandmother in the morning. She is lovingly referred to by her family as Gammy. I always look forward to seeing her because she has Tootsie Pops and criss-cross huts.

There is no one else on the road. Everything is black and without us the night would remain a bleak, wet void. But nope, we are piercing through, making our way to loved ones. We are going to fish, eat, and laugh about stupid things that only we remember or care about.

As I look above this slender Dell flatscreen at the white slashes perforating the road, I'm reminded of late night journeys between my house and Virginia. I remember shockingly cold nights in Lynchburg—standing outside of a dormroom at midnight, watching my smoky breath as I wait for Lindsey to come out and kiss me goodbye.

I'm also reminded of a trip we took to Lindsey's parent's in Yorktown. It was a few days after Christmas of 2004. We had met snow by this point. With our musical resources exhausted, we decided to memorize Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire." An hour of that song nearly drove me nuts, but now I know every word. Guess which is my favorite line?

Tomorrow I'm going fishing with my new mother-in-law. Not that I have an old one. Anyway, we're going fishing on the Yorktown Pier where she caught an 18-inch manta ray this past week. After twenty-four years of brim, bass, and catfish, it would be nice to catch such a foreign creature.

We are at an Exxon now. "Surf City" by the Beach Boys is playing over the sound system. It's still a strange thing for me to visit such a modernized gas station. The one I normally use just recently updated to computerized pumps. Part of me feels left out because I seem to be just now catching up with the world. I haven't had a check card until a few months ago. It's great to be able to simply stick that sucker in and go. The Beatles are now singing. This is a great gas station.

This laptop is like a shining beacon in the night here. Three bugs are exploring the screen.

Technology is wonderful. It's 2:43 A.M. I'm in a car going 75mph, typing up my thoughts, and listening to "Fat Bottomed Girls" by Queen. Since I was little I've hated reading in the car—a headache has never failed to accompany car reading. I feel like vomiting, but I can't stop.

Whether the result of adorable Disney personification or innate compassion, animals are very important to me. I've loved and appreciated my pets since I was in diapers. I've never understood why anyone would or could mistreat or abandon a dog, a cat, or any animal. It saddens and angers me. It's wrong. The great thing is that we can do something about animals in need. I met a woman through MySpace who helps such animals. She's doing something great—she's running a rescue-adoption from her home. I've met her and some of the animals, and I'm happy that there are people like this.

So, if you live in Stanly County or are close by, visit her MySpace profile or group and consider animal adoption. If you can't take in a pet right now, spread the word.

Lindsey had never really fixed me a meal until yesterday. She's fried things in the microwave, toasted some bread, and opened a few cans, but had yet to really cook (but I don't mean dancing). Last night after returning from an exam, I opened the door to a big, steaming plate of great food that Lindsey had prepared. Grilled chicken, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and potatoes. That may sound bland to some, but I'm a bland person and for me, that is the epitome of good food. It was the kind of meal I would request before lethal injection. Everything was delicious—the beans were cooked with ham, the cheese in the macaroni was perfectly smooth and tasty, and the chicken was mouthwatering. She had sliced, stirred, poured, measured, mixed, timed, scooped, and even "dashed," as I was made aware. I stuffed myself and rolled over to sleep forthwith.

If you know me well, then you understand my love of The Andy Griffith Show. It represents my childhood, aids my nostalgia for times gone by, and is just a great show. No one has ever beaten me at the trivia game (but I haven't played my aunt Lisa, who would give me a good run for my money) and I have all of the black and white episodes virtually memorized. An important part of "TAGS" was the Darling family, a band of mountain folk played in part by a bluegrass band named The Dillards. They aren't very well known, but should be, especially by fans of bluegrass. Or good things in general.

The Dillards have made a habit of visiting the Oakboro Music Hall each summer. I saw them last year and was the first to buy tickets for this year's show. I brought my family and Lindsey along. Everyone in the building had a great time.

Rodney and Doug Dillard are the only original members still playing, which tells me how remarkable it would've been to see the band in the prime of their beginnings—over forty years ago. The amazing thing is that these two men still play as if they were in their twenties—Rodney is 64 and Doug is 69. Rodney still uses the guitar he played on The Andy Griffith Show, and, of course, a big difference you would note immediately if you're a fan of the show, is that he speaks a great deal more. He told stories and joked around before, during, and after the performance. The recollections and stories they shared were very interesting, and the nostalgia factor was nearly maxed out, but the true treat of the event was simply the music. Just like last year, they played "Dooley," "Doug's Tune," and other regulars, but also "Walkin' Down the Line," by Bob Dylan, and a couple old gospel tunes including "Somebody Touched Me." The latter I'm not very familiar with, but Rodney involved the crowd by having them sing different parts. Even if you don't appreciate songs such as that, you would've enjoyed the harmony and volume produced by the interaction of the crowd. Terry Smith again joined the band on stage, and they rendered a superior version of "Orange Blossom Special."

Also, this is how close I was: near the end, when the group was answering questions from the audience, Rodney's microphone stand fell from the stage—I jumped forward and grabbed it before it crashed the floor. He stopped talking, looked down at me, and said, "Well, you're not on drugs, are you?"

We went out back after the show, and I met them again. Not only are they the most talented of all senior citizens, but they're some of the nicest—the kind you'd prefer to be in front of you in Wendy's. I shook their hands, got another autograph, and spoke with them for a minute. Lindsey was very impressed by the whole thing (and wrote about it here). Hopefully they'll come again next year—they're starting to feel like friends.