With Many Cheerful Thoughts About ... Jason Garrett

Fall is fully upon us here in the Old Dominion. The leaves are changing, the weather’s changing, and football season has set in with a vengeance. I've always enjoyed the savage ballet, but only at the college football level. Pro football left me cold, for the most part. I knew just enough to get by in the fantasy league, but no more.

And then, not long after last month’s post, I found myself watching the Cowboys play the Giants on TV from a barstool in Las Vegas. My buddy had stepped away from a lovely beverage to take a call from her family, and I glanced up just in time to catch Eli Manning throwing a pass directly to the Cowboys. I hate to call it an interception because I think of interceptions as being accidental. This one didn’t look like an accident to me.

After the Manning-fail, the cameras cut to the Giants sideline, where everyone looked disappointed but not that surprised, and to the Cowboys sideline, where everyone was delighted to start the game by taking the ball from the Giants. This is where I first encountered Jason Garrett.

Apparently, the NFL is trying to figure out how to get women interested in football. Well, here’s an idea. Let’s try a focused, female-friendly campaign, heavy on the Jason Garrett. Seriously, look.

No, I get it. Maybe the NFL thinks we will be offended if they suggest we are only into football because omigosh, they’re so cute! I understand. There was even a time I would have been offended. But what is the NFL doing now? They’re offering us form-fitting pink jerseys. I don’t think offering us cute guys is a huge jump.

Lest you think Jason Garrett is all hot alpha pro football coach and no substance, check this out.

Yeah. He just dropped geometry like it’s hawt. You know, because Pythagoras.

I also love that Coach Garrett presumes that someone who might not know who Pythagoras is, would be able to spell Pythagoras in order to look him up on the phone. Good coaches have high expectations.

I see lots of people – mostly male people – who are drinking deeply from the ol’ Haterade with regard to Coach Garrett. They all pretend to be crying about any number of things, but hey, he is hotter and smarter than the typical hater, plus he’s a pro football coach. I’m sure Coach Garrett isn’t letting it get to him.

But … you know, Jason, if the day gets too long, and the haters get too loud, there’s a spot for you right here at the bar, next to me. I’m not going to complain about all that because I’m not that into football. I just know what I like. And I'm down with Pythagoras.

**Alexa Day's Illicit Impulse is a Night Owl Reviews Top Pick. She's supposed to be working on the next book, but she's been distracted by preparations for Romanticon and her apparent inability to follow her new favorite team on television. Catch her right here on the first Wednesday of the month!

My Day at the Morgue

I'm currently on a path of remembrance. Doing research for my WIP (work in progress) is bringing up all sorts of memories. These memories have helped to mold me into an author that isn't afraid of toeing the invisible line between horror and suspense. Today's Murderer's Market post takes you back to my first time - at the morgue and seeing the dead. 

At the age of sixteen, life was before me and I was trying to decide which of its varied paths I should take.  Believe me; it wasn't filled with necessary gooey emotions. Instead I was trying to be logical about my choices. At that time, I’d already completed biology and its dissection requirements; I’d seen how people react when it came to dead animals, but nothing could prepare me for my field trip to the morgue at the local hospital.

Remembering significant events
 help to bring things back into focus.

It was a small group of us, I believe between ten and fifteen high school students. Our teacher at the time had arranged for this great trip; the purpose behind it, I’ll never be able to recall, but the scent of what I can only guess was formaldehyde was overwhelming as we walked through the swinging doors. On the metal slabs were several nude bodies. All of them had been donated to the school for science.

I shivered at that thought for not only were students eyeing the dead in strange curiosity, but then there were also several medical students “working” on them.

The professor giving the tour took us first to an old man who’d died from lung cancer. She showed us his heart, and his lungs. But for me, what I saw was his face. Immobile, still, ashen. Even now, I can still recall every line, every wrinkle of this man. He will never know how seeing him there changed my life.

We then moved on and viewed more body parts, including the washing out of the bowels (for southerners or those familiar with pig chitterlings, it looked just like that. The students had a white bucket and were pulling them out of there to clean them, one by one).

They say that things in life prepare you for later events. Looking back, I can say this is true. Before then, I’d never encountered a dead person. No one close to me had ever died; I’d never understood what wakes were or even attended a funeral. This setting though was void of all emotion. The poor man was reduced to a mere object to be studied – no name, no history, nothing.

After this trip, my interest in law began. Somewhere I made the connection that we all should have a name. I’m not supposing that this elderly man was a victim of a crime, but for me, the crime was to act like he was not human at all. Sure, to work in the medical field, maybe there has to be a little disassociation (especially during dissection), but for me, I always and continue to wonder about his backstory. With that conflict and the value of life, I jumped into studying theology – trying to find meaning of life through religion, and thus, figuring out a way to understand the value of life, as a mere forethought to death.

I didn’t scream, cry or have nightmares. I didn’t pass out. And for an uncomfortable situation, I didn’t joke about the situation either because for me, we were in a place that was almost sacred; a place where the deceased rested, and where their last wishes were to be consummated.

Since then, I’ve experienced more death than I’d prefer, but whenever I think about “him” I recall an old man that didn’t have a name. 

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About Tina: I am the author of THOU SHALL NOT. I love creating three dimensional characters and am always looking for new people to kill…in my stories.

Check out my author's  blog at TinaGlasneck.com and my book is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. You can also connect with me on Facebook and on Twitter.