In Memory of Sgt. Neal

There are certain people that come into our lives, and leave a definite impression. I’ve been blessed in that it’s a long list of people who’ve cared for me, believed in me, and gone out on the proverbial limb for me. One of those people was Sgt. Wiley T. Neal.

Sgt. Neal was larger than life before there really was a concept. He had a booming voice that could make you unconsciously clench, but could lower to the most confidential whisper when telling you he believed in you and everything you were capable of. He nit-picked every detail of our JROTC uniforms, but only because he believed we were capable of better.

Since Sgt. Neal and my father were both JROTC instructors at North Pitt High School, Sgt. Neal was more than a teacher—more even than a parent’s co-worker—he was like an uncle to me.

So when my mom called and told me that Sgt. Neal had gone on to answer the Great Roll Call in the Sky, I didn’t mourn the passing of a teacher. I didn’t even mourn the passing of a man who’d dedicated his entire adult life to service in one form or another. I mourned for one of my heroes.

See, heroes (in their truest forms) are rare. We tend to throw the word around to anyone that goes out of his/her way to help another. While it’s always admirable to be of service to our fellow humans, there’s something more required to earn the title of “Hero.” A real hero doesn’t act based on what he’s heard is right or wrong; a real hero acts based on what he knows is right. A real hero knows that the ones who need the help the most are the least likely to ask for it, but he stands ready to offer it anyway. By that standard (or by any other, for that matter) Sgt. Wiley T. Neal (US Army Retired) was a Hero. And he was one of my Heroes. And he will be missed.

Trey Pound tries salvia (click title for link)

So in the interest of full disclosure, I decided to post of the video of me smoking salvia. I first need to mention that salvia (also known as Salvia Divinorum) is ain inhalable (legal) herb sold in many states, including North Carolina. I decided to exercise my right to legal experimentation, and try some. Big mistake. I'm not perma-fried or anything, I just wish I'd left that brightly colored corner of my mind alone. As you watch the video, you can see (according to someone who saw the video) my "soul flying out of [my] body." Trust me, it's just as unpleasant as it sounds. That's one of the reasons I'm posting this video in all its unedited glory. Far be it from to scare anyone straight (ha!) but I think if you're going to try something new, you should at least catch a glimpse of what you're going to be getting into.

Trey Pound tries salvia

According to Wikipedia.com (that's where I get all my facts), salvia is defined as, "...a psychoactive plant which can induce dissociative effects..." In other words, it's a legal way to trip balls. So with that in mind (also remembering that salvia is easily purchased in stores in cities all across the country) I decided to see what the fuss was all about. I won't show the first of the two videos. Not because I'm especially humble (because that shit was funny), but because I need to edit it. If by some reason, I wind up getting in trouble for this video, there's no point in me dragging down my side-kicks in crime. The second video, the one I'm posting here, is the lesser of two evils. Enough to show you how far gone I was, but not quite the window-licking, helmet wearing half-with I was for a full five minutes. And now, on with the show...

You may be assuming from the David Hasselhoff-ishness of this video clip that I'll not be sampling any more salvia. That would be a correct assumption. I've been scared straight, at least as far as that shit goes. And remember kids: "There but for the grace of stupid, go I."

And now, a Very Special "Ask Uncle Trey Pound..."

Mom always told me my mouth would get me in trouble one day. I figured I'd wind up getting my ass handed to me in a drunken bar fight with a Marine, but it was Twitter.com that was my undoing. One night killing time at work, I logged onto Twitter.com for some snarky commentary with my fellow tweeters. I posted some (pretty rude) comments about a large client of my employer...which said client later noticed and brought to the attention of my boss--who had no choice but to fire me. Looking back, it's clear that it's a mess entirely of my own making. I screwed up, and I got fired. Having said that, I should also mention: it really sucks. It doesn't just suck because of the sudden unemployment, either. Now, whenever someone asks me why I left my job, I have to give them an answer that involves me looking stupid. No matter how cleverly I may try to phrase it, what most people hear is "I'm a moron with poor judgement who shot his mouth off." And by "most people," I mean "potential new employers." With the stink of this embarrassment following me like a bad fart, I had to go back out into the job market after losing a job I loved. I should mention, this is an indictment of neither Twitter.com nor my former employer. I still use Twitter.com (though I have upped my privacty settings), and I still have great friends at my former place of employment. Leave it to me to ruin my dream job by being too outgoing. A few positives have come out this, however. I've learned how supportive my friends can be--I've never gotten more emails containing links to job openings. More importantly, I've learned the age-old lesson to watch my mouth. We live in an age where everyone has the ability to (essentially) self-publish. And I made the rookie mistake of not considering who might stumble across my rude comments. But I would be Uncle Trey Pound if I didn't use my embarrassment to benefit others. So consider the consequences of your words in general, online specifically. As a woman much wiser than me once said, "Never underestimate the power of the internet." Yours, Uncle Trey Pound

Baby Dreams and New Beginnings

Last night I had an interesting dream: I was at a table, with my arms out-stretched in front of me. I was picking up a new-born baby, though how I knew he was a new-born is beyond me. For that matter, how I knew he was a he is also unkown to me. But somehow I knew the wiggling bundle of life was a boy, and I knew he was mine. In my dream I picked him up--careful to support his head--and held him close to me. I took in the cap of silky black hair that covered his head; I watched with fascination as his chubby cheeks tested their new muscles--lips pursing, brow furrowing. It seemed to me that I could smell him--that pure, innocent smell that only babies have--and my heart surged. Just as I was thinking of his name (something biblical was coming to me), I woke up, but I haven't been able to get him off my mind all day. Even as I watched South Central High's basketball team stomp all over Fike High (Ashley's godson plays for Fike and we came out to support him) I couldn't help but think "Is that what (unnamed son) would grow up to look like?", and "Will he be athletic and graceful like these kids?" Turns out my paternal instincts were a bit misdirected. A couple of people have since informed me that dreams about babies symbolize a change or new beginning in the life of the dreamer. I guess the beginning of a new life in dream form represents the birth of a new form of me. Or at least a change that can lead to a new (and hopefully improved) version of myself. It might be as simple as a job change (some of you already know the story), or maybe it's the book idea that came to me in the middle of the night a week ago. Who knows. All I know is that the baby in that dream filled me with a sense of calm I haven't known in about a month. His calm, delicate twitches gave me a confidence that things will get better, things can begin again. The powdery, innocent smell of that new-born (no matter how imagined) soothed the ragged, jagged edges of my soul. Here's to new beginnings.

Why you should care about Haiti

So. I don't have the funds to actually help the Haitians, so I figured I could at least try to guilt-trip others into doing what they can.

More Watching People Dance

Last weekend was the company Christmas party, and things went about as expected: the food was good, everyone had fun, and I got drunk. But something happened that I could never have anticipated. Most of our housekeepers have worked together at another property, so they've been to Christmas parties together before. Which means they've seen Serina dancing before. I'd been told she "likes dancing" but there's no way I could have been prepared for the... "performance" to which we were treated. Behold...

Oh, she wasn't done...not by a long-shot. Also, as you watch this clip pay attention to two things: the way she's "interacting" with her "audience" and the look on the Sales Coordinator's face at the very end of the video. She gets this terrified look like, "Oh shit, she's coming this way!"

The entire night was hilarious, but the dancing made the night for me.

Watching White People Dance Makes Me Happy

Last Friday night, I accompanied a friend of mine to New Bern where he was dj'ing a frat party at a country club. I'd planned on being bored, but they mentioned my two favorite words when used together ("open" and "bar") so I figured I'd find a way to have a good time. Little could I have known... Not long after I helped G set up his sounds and lights... ...the party-goers began to arrive. I should mention they were already drunk when they piled off the buses that brought them in from Greenville. I should also mention that as soon as they got off the buses, most of them went straight to the (open) bar. Those two facts should have told me what a shit-show this was going to be. With that in mind, I powered up my digital camera, and found a discrete spot behind a speaker to capture the drunken shittiness. For the sake of clarity, I'll be explaining each pic/vid clip briefly. For example: The only thing I love more than white people is watching them dance...

I call this one "The White Boy Butt-Wag"...

Not to be out-done, the ladies were getting down on the dancefloor...in a very white way...

There were couples dancing together, but adding "romance" didn't do anything to add class to the dance moves...

All in all, it was a great time. It was also a great reminder to be grateful for my sense of rhythm...

Levi Johnston goes full monty...sorta

After months of breathless waiting, the pictures of Levi Johnston's Playgirl spread have been released online. I'm not going to lie--I've really been looking forward to it. Not so much because Levi's such a stud. Frankly, he's only so-so. I, like a lot of people, am fascinated with the private figures of public figures. There's something comforting about knowing that those who live in the public eye also have to battle muffin tops and cellulite. Kind of brings them down a notch. Anyway, in the spirit of poking fun of celebs' body flaws, I present Levi Johnston's Johnson...

I guess the photographer caught Levi soaping up his junk....

I'll give him this--he's got some nice legs....

To summarize, I'm left with the same impression of Levi Johnston that I had of the Palin family--not bad looking but ultimately unimpressive.

Random Picture of the Day

Sometimes the important messages are just right in your face...