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In a dream last night, I was on top of a tour bus en route to some New Orleans destination, when someone near me started quietly singing a Billy Joel song to himself. It was one of his peppier rock numbers. Soon someone else started singing the song, too. Some others were now humming and tapping.

When the song reached the first verse from the intro, or the bridge from the second verse, I mustered the courage to join in. But I sang loudly, as if to say "Hey guys, it's OK to let it out – we're all singing the same thing!"  Within seconds, everyone on the bus was singing. People on the bus were nudging me and giving me that way-to-go-this-is-totally-awesome look.

After I woke up, "It's Still Rock And Roll to Me" was stuck in my head.  But that wasn't the song. The part where I would have come in doesn't exist. That song has no big moment where the energy amplifies from medium to KAPOW.  Like in "Only the Good Die Young," the bridge: "You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation," has the feeling I'm looking for, but it's too far down in the song. It needs to come sooner.

I also realize the song might not exist. It was a dream and all, and I honestly was faking most of the words, even in the dream.

Bringing your lunch to work saves money and is healthier. But it doesn't necessarily save time, and honestly, I don't know if I really prefer it all that much. I want to leave during my break. I don't want to sit at my desk or, worse, take a trip to the break room. Gross.

Today I made tuna burgers with an avocado spread. Pretty tastey and pretty healthy. But they took nearly an hour to prepare and made me about 15 minutes late for work. Plus I had to pack it all into separate containers so the veggies and tuna and bread wouldn't soggy up each other, and then into my satchel, which was a tight squeeze. It just seemed like so much work!

Yesterday, I went to Arby's. I sat down in a nice little booth and had a sandwich, Pepsi and fries. Not healthy OR cheap. But I think I enjoyed it more.

Prisons aren't deterrents for crime. If they were, by this time we wouldn't have any crime. So why are judges still sentencing people to set an example?

Marion Jones took steroids like a slew of other athletes. When asked whether she did, she lied. Duh. Then investigators found out the truth, took away her medals, made her pay tens of thousands of dollars in fines, forced her into retirement and left her disgraced for life. All that she deserved, but six months in prison? Too harsh.

Yeah she also had a part in a counterfeit check ring, but that doesn't nearly justify the sentence. According to USAToday:

"Before Friday's sentencing, Eric Delinsky, a criminal lawyer in Washington, D.C., said 95% to 99% of cases with first-time defendants such as Jones result in probation. But Karas wasn't bound by the plea agreement and could issue a harsher sentence."

Our prisons are already too crowded and only create worse criminals who keep coming back. Am I crazy for thinking this?

The subdivision where I live verges on ghetto. Mine and other duplex units in the neighborhood are nice enough for what they are. Others are not. The area is in no way a community, which makes difficult for keeping the place up.

The neighborhood is a townhouse court, a loop that juts from a main drag. As you go deeper into the neighborhood it gets seedier. My place is close to the front. Also near the front, at the entrance to the subdivision, is a large wooden sign with the word "Jamestown" embossed on it. The sign sits in the median of the entrance and is surrounded by landscaping, very bad landscaping.

I'm sure the landscaping wasn't originally bad. Whoever contracted the subdivision probably put it there to make the place look inviting. But then as the property value decreased, low-income tenants moved in. And poor folk don't even take care of their own places. The city takes care of the roads, and owners are supposed to take care of their own properties, but no one is responsible for our cute subdivision entrance. We surely don't have a neighborhood association for that.

So I decided to remedy the situation. I armed myself with hedge clippers and a trashcan and marched to the entrance. I didn't delude myself; I knew I wasn't going to make it perfect. I just wanted to make it bearable. My main goal was to trim the hedges so you could actually see the sign and then trim the overgrowth from out of the road. Oh, and pick up all the trash people see fit to throw everywhere.

Today was Election Day in Mississippi, the day when all the poor people vote for all the rich people who party that night.

I went to shoot a video at the party for Governor Re-Elect Haley Barbour. It was packed with movers and shakers and a bunch of frat boys. I was planning to just get his victory speech, but that changed when I watched the tape back at the newsroom. At one point in his speech, a sizeable green grasshopper crawled up on his shoulder. I flipped the format around for that. Watch it here.

I can't make sense of what he says after one of his helpers knocks the bug off. Socrates? Inside joke maybe.

The sad thing is, the Democrats really are like insects to him.

My roommate Leah and I have a mirror that is really high on the wall, yet it keeps getting dirty. It's the mystery of our townhouse court.

We hung the mirror over the stairwell a month or so ago, about 12 feet from the ground. We figured it would make the upstairs hall area look more like a "space" than an "afterthought." Of course we are a little worried it will fall and kill one of us if we stomp too hard up the stairs. Here's a picture:



Now you may be asking, "Just how did you manage to hang a mirror up there?" Well, we ended up borrowing a ladder from our repairman and positioning it on one of the stairs. Mind you, it's rather unnerving to stand atop a ladder at only a slight angle to the wall while holding a cumbersome 30-pound mirror. Not something to do every day.

So we made sure the mirror was really, really clean before we left it. I couldn't see well from up close, but I gave it a good once over. Leah then directed me further as she moved around the hall, looking at the mirror from different angles and trying to spot all the smudges. We got it to our liking, and we are both very meticulous.

But now, every other time I walk down the stairs, I see a new smudge. And I ask, how? It's certainly too high to touch. Maybe the house creates its own dew that streaks when the air conditioning blows it just right? Maybe there's something behind the wall that's either hot or cold? Maybe Leah is trying to mess with me? Maybe birds fly in through the windows and court their conspicuously compatible reflections?

The world may never know.

My Halloween costume was black slacks, a white short-sleeved Oxford shirt, a skinny black tie and a small black New Testament stuffed in my shirt pocket (I don't think they sell the Book of Mormon in Mississippi.) I was the only one in the newsroom who wore any sort of costume. Except for the features reporter who was Paula Deen.

I should have taken a picture. Bad blogger, bad.

I went to Wal-Mart before work and actually passed two Mormon missionaries in the aisle. I got really excited and started smiling at them, but then I was caught in a state of giddy apprehension because I knew if I said something like "Hey look! I'm you for Halloween!" I'd probably go to Mormon Hell.

Only one person at work got it immediately. My desk phone rang.

"Aaron"
"Hey Aaron, I got to ask you a question. And don't be mad, but are you a Mormon for Halloween?"
"Yep."
"I thought so. That is great."

I had to challenge others to guess. One coworker thought I was with Geek Squad.  They asked why I didn't participate in the costume contest. I actually was afraid I might offend someone. But I said it was against my religion.

I'm often at a loss to answer the question, "So how is life after college?" I'm sure many of you students are wondering. I'll try to explain.

School is no longer in the picture, so I don't have a series of urgent tasks to complete. With that sort of schedule gone, I'm left with everything else I did in college besides school. Of course, that's excluding all college related activities like clubs or sporting events. It also excludes part-time jobs. Granted, I have a job now, which could take the place of school. It consumes 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. But when it's over, it's over, unless you feel compelled to work overtime.

So what's left are all the daily errands and particulars. Things like paying bills, getting a new inspection sticker, washing my truck, doing my dry cleaning and clothing and feeding myself. These would normally be afterthoughts, but without anything to distract me from them, I commit to doing them all. Perfectly.

A summary of my life for the past several months is hardly necessary. I think the end sums it up fine: I live in Mississippi now.

Coming from Louisiana, it's about the only chute in a country of ladders I could have taken, according to the statistics, but Mississippi has its cultural highlights. It's green. People here drink sweet tea. Magnolias grow here. People used to own slaves here. Elvis was born here. Government and religion are synonymous. People are often arrested for civil rights-era murders. Cat Cora and Lance Bass (both gay) are from here. Blues and bluegrass have tiny capillary roots here. And people still occasionally burn crosses.

Jackson, the 176,614-strong capital, is charming in the right parts. But that doesn't keep people from moving to the suburbs. They get to commute on lots of fun, curvy freeways, though.

I work for The Clarion-Ledger, the Gannett-owned, chief Mississippi daily with a statewide circulation of about 100,000. I'm a multimedia designer by title, but my job duties vary. I shoot most of the videos, create interactive graphics and other online elements, help manage the multimedia and Web site content and I write every once in a while. If I would have described my ideal job in May, this position would have come very close. See the site here, videos here.

I spend my free time thinking of errands to do and then doing them. I also intend to better myself in sundry ways - go to the gym, learn Spanish, keep up with my French and my reading - but those things pave the road to Hell anyway, so they say.

I've pledged to start blogging again. This blog, which most of you will undoubtedly read on Facebook, will be what it has always been: musings about my life that I may one day compile into the memoirs I've always wanted. It provides needed writing practice and a point of reference for myself.

And it will probably be tamer than usual. After all, I am a professional now.