One man's encounter with Bigfoot

While traveling in North Carolina recently to visit relatives, I got to talking with a fellow I have known for years. He and I are not exactly friends, but he is a friend of the family. I was surprised to learn he supposedly had a run-in with a Bigfoot creature about 10 years ago. We talked for a while and I asked him if I could interview him for an online article. He agreed as long as I did not use his real name. For sake of the following tale, I'll call him Bill. Here is his story, retold by me from notes I made while talking with him.

"It was about ten years ago when I run into the Bigfoot creature, or whatever it was.

"At the time I lived in a trailer up near the Virginia line, not too far from South Boston. I was going to college at Duke University in Durham at the time, and it was about an hour's drive to get to campus every day. Thank goodness most years I only had classes two or three days a week, because that's not the most exciting drive to make.

"For morning classes, I had to get up real early, usually by about four (a.m.). First thing I usually did was get a shower and eat breakfast. Then I had to feed my dog, she was an old beagle, and then I would take her outside for a good walk before I would have to leave for school.

"One morning I was out walking her, I guess I must have been about four thirty or five o'clock, when we heard something tearing through the woods behind my place. Now I know even a squirrel can make a lot of noise, especially in the middle of the night when there's no other sounds, but this was a lot louder than that. There were tree limbs cracking, and whatever it was sounded real heavy as it stomped through the woods.

"Now I've heard stories of black bears in that part of the country, even seen a few pictures, but I've never personally seen any. My thought at the time was that it must be a black bear. So I rushed my beagle inside because I didn't want her to get hurt.

"I was standing there in the trailer door unleashing my dog when the sounds from the woods got closer, as if something were tearing through the trees coming toward me.

"I didn't think. I shoved the dog further into the house and reached for a rifle that was hanging in a rack in a little closet across from the washer and dryer. I should have just gone in the house and shut the door, but that didn't occur to me for some reason.

"I grabbed the rifle, it was only a .22, a Marlin I think, and pulled out the clip to make sure it had ammo. It did, so I put the clip back in and jacked in a round. Then, as that noise was getting louder and closer, I stepped out onto the back patio and kicked the door closed behind me. If it was a bear or something, I didn't want to chance it getting in the house and I didn't want to chance my dog running outside to attack this thing.

"I didn't raise the rifle to my shoulder, but it just sort of hung from my right hand, ready in case I needed to bring it up.

"I think I walked out to the end of the patio where there was a short wooden fence, and I stared into the woods. I couldn't see much because it was so dark back in the trees, but there was one of those big lights that the electric company provides up a pole over the trailer.

"Then suddenly there it was in front of me, no more than twenty yards away. It tore out of the trees and came to a standstill right there, not moving, just staring back at me. It's chest was heaving up and down a little, as if it had trouble breathing or something, but other than that it did not move.

"I don't rightly know how to describe it. It was huge, taller than me, and covered in hair from head to foot. For a second the idea of it being a grizzly popped into my head, but I knew there weren't any grizzly bears in that part of the world. But I had seen penned grizzlies in Cherokee, North Carolina, and this thing was every bit as big as they were.

"It's fur was a dark brown, and it's face was sort of like that of an ape, but it didn't have the big mouth of an ape and its eyebrows protruded more than that of an ape. It's eyes were the scariest thing. They were real human, just like somebody looking right at you.

"But the thing didn't seem mean or angry or threatening. It just stood there staring at me, sort of as if it were sizing me up, but not as if it were going to attack. More like it wanted to make sure I wasn't going to attack it, be a threat to it.

"I couldn't move. I just stood there staring at it, frozen.

"Then it turned and walked back into the woods, slow this time, not making near as much noise as it had earlier.

"That's when I noticed my dog was howling its head off inside the trailer. I stood outside a little longer, but soon I couldn't hear anything in the woods, so I went back into the house.

"I was pretty shaken up. I didn't go to Duke that day, but stayed home. Part of me didn't want to leave the house because I was afraid that thing might come back and break in and hurt the dog. But I never saw it or heard of it again.

"I've asked around a little bit, and no one else around here that I know of has ever seen such a thing in these parts. But I don't like to tell too many people what I've seen, because then they think you've gone crazy or you were drunk or high when it happened."

The greatest of God's gifts: The Dog

A dog is a fine thing. Treated well, it will be your best friend. In fact, a dog can be better than a best friend. It will never empty your bank account nor steal from you. It will not try to sleep with your significant other. A dog will not become angry with you and speak words that are hurtful.

A dog can keep you warm on a cold winter's night. But it will give you your space on a warm night.

A dog can be your companion through thick and thin. When times are good, a dog can be there to wag its tail and share in your enjoyment. When times are tough, a dog can be there to give you a lick on the hand as a way to offer comfort, or it will simply curl up at your feet while staring up to you show someone cares.

Depending upon the breed, a dog might or might not take your last morsel of food, but that is within a dog's nature. You can't blame the animal for not being able to ignore its nose and its nature. Besides, it would only take your last bite of food if freely given or if left out in the open. And if your last bite of food is left out in the open, it must not have been that important to you.

All a dog asks for is a little food and water and some attention from time to time. A gentle pat or a good scratching will be enough to begin building trust, and that followed with a snack or two can increase that trust to true friendship.

Dogs can even be good workers. They can hunt for food. They can offer security as protectors.

Yes, some dogs are mean and can be dangerous even to the point of deadliness. Almost always these are dogs that have been cruelly mistreated by humans to the point of making the animal a monster. A monster created a monster.

And wolves are not dogs. They're just distant relatives. They don't count.

A dog might be the animal most like a human, or at least the animal which has the most good qualities alike with a human. Monkeys and apes might share more DNA with humans, and dolphins might be far more intelligent than your average dog, but neither approaches the levels of care and friendship and loyalty a dog can contain.

There's nothing wrong with cats, nor rabbits, either. Some people are cat people. Some dog people. Some rabbit people, or people for some other kind of animal. But no other animal, perhaps not even the horse, can share the same levels of love as the dog.

And it's true a dog can be dirty and stinky and wallow in some of the nastiest filth there is to find. But that is one of the reason's I say they are more like humans than any other animal.

Also, dogs are better than children. Dogs don't talk back. You don't have to pay for their college. You don't have to worry about them moving back home. A dog won't bring home friends who will eat everything in the refrigerator.

Thank you, Lord, for dogs. They make our lives that much more tolerable by their very simplicity and their love.

Related links

Beagles make great pets

Is a Weimaraner the right dog for you?

10 Dog Walking Tips

A Good Pocket Knife Can Mean a Lot

I recently lost a pocket knife, the one I think of as my "daily" knife, the one I carry with me whenever I am out of the house. It's just a little Winchester pocket knife with a three inch blade I picked up at Walmart a few years ago for about six dollars. I usually keep it in my pocket, but the knife had a metal clip on its side and I decided out of the blue one day to try to use the clip. So, I clipped it onto my belt before going out to take the dog for a walk. When I got home, the knife was gone.

I think I cursed. The knife had no sentimental value to me, but it had been a trusty blade over the years, proving its worth in some fashion or other just about every day. Also, the knife had not been expensive, so it was not as if I was out much money.

Besides, I had other pocket knives. Not a ton of them, I'm not a knife collector, but I had a half dozen or so to pick from if I wanted another "daily" pocket knife.

Then I got to thinking about the pocket knives I owned. And I got to wondering why I had carried that one particular knife when I had others to choose from. It came down to the fact my Winchester knife had been durable, cheap and handy, and I hadn't carried any of my other knives because they had sentimental value for me and I had not wanted to take a chance on losing them.

One of my knives had belonged to my father. Two had belonged to my grandfather. One I bought from a Frenchman who told me a tale of having dug up the knife on the beaches of Normandy (I like to think that knife had perhaps belonged to one of the U.S. soldiers storming the beaches on D-Day, but there's nothing to prove that). Another knife had belonged to the grandfather of a friend. And yet another I had picked up about ten years ago the first time I took my wife to a Renaissance Festival.

So, I had not wanted to carry any of those knives. I still didn't, because I still didn't want to take a chance on losing them.

Digging around in a box of office supplies, a box that had never been unloaded after our last move, I came across another knife, a cheap pocket knife with a plastic body. I remembered I had carried that knife when I worked at a newspaper years earlier and I had used the knife to cut the strings on bundles of newspapers.

For the time-being, that plastic knife (though, yes, it had a steel blade) would have to do until I could find a replacement.

Still, I missed my old "daily" knife. I walk my dog every day, usually several times a day, so on our trips I've been looking for that knife. Day after day, no luck.

Then, this morning, I got up earlier than usual, mainly because I had gone to bed earlier than usual the night before because I had not been feeling well. Since I was up early, I decided I'd go ahead and take the beagle for a walk before the day became too hot. We followed our usual path, the one we had traveled the day I lost my knife.

We had been walking perhaps a mile when the morning sun caught on something ahead of us, something glinting on the ground.

I thought, Could that be my knife?

I rushed ahead.

Sure enough, it was my trusty Winchester pocket knife. There was a little dirt on it and some smudged places, but thankfully there was no rust even though there had been rain the day before. I was happy as could be. It almost felt like providence, as if someone was looking down upon me from above and had given me a little treasure for the day. Yes, I thanked God for letting me find my little pocket knife.

Then I took the knife home, cleaned it, oiled it, sharpened it and placed it back in my pocket where it currently resides. And where it will stay. It's a good knife, but the clip on it isn't worth a darn.

Interview with a Homeless Man

Just a couple of blocks down the street from my house is a little greasy-spoon restaurant that’s open 24 hours a day. I eat there pretty often because it is so close, the prices are cheap and they have a few pinball games I like to play.

I guess I’ve become a regular there. The folks behind the counter know me by name. I recognize the faces of other regulars who drop in off the street for a bite to eat or a cup of coffee.

There’s one fellow I see in the restaurant almost every day. I don’t know his real name, but everyone calls him Joe. He calls himself Homeless Joe, and yes, he is homeless.

After getting to know Joe a little over the last few months, and considering I have a background in newspaper journalism, I thought Joe would make an interesting interview subject. I asked him a few days ago if he would be interested in letting me interview him, and he agreed to do it.

I recorded the interview. What comes below is directly from that interview, though admittedly I’ve cleaned it up a little to make it more readable.

Interviewer: Hi, Joe. Is this tape recorder okay with you?

Joe: Yeah.

I: Before we get started, is there anything in particular you want to tell me?

Joe: Like what?

I: Just anything you want to say here at the beginning.

Joe: No. I’ve never done one of these things before.

I: An interview?

Joe: Yeah. I’ve never done one before. Don’t know how to start.

I: I could just ask you questions. I made a short list of a few things.

Joe: Ask me anything you want. No. Wait. I guess I should say who I am or something like that.

I: Okay.

Joe: I’m Joe. Some call me Homeless Joe. I’m 68 years old. I’m originally from Kentucky. How’s that?

I: That’s a good way to start.

Joe: What’s your first question?

I: We talked about this yesterday, but for the record, can you tell me how you became to be called Homeless Joe?

Joe: At the shelter. That’s where they first called me Homeless Joe. I think it was one of the other guys who started it.

I: Another homeless person?

Joe: Yeah, one of them. The people at the shelter, the working people and the social workers, they wouldn’t call anyone something like that. They’d probably think it’s not respectful. But it didn’t bother me any. I thought it was kind of funny.

I: How long have you had that name?

Joe: Homeless Joe? I guess about a year.

I: Before that?

Joe: Just Joe.

I: No other nicknames? Anything like that?

Joe: No. Least not since I was a kid. Just Joe.

I: Can you tell me a little about how you became homeless? You don’t have to go into any detail if you don’t want to.

Joe: No, that’s okay. We’ve talked a little about this. I don’t mind talking about it. I’ve been homeless about two years now. I used to have a job as a chef with my wife down in New Orleans working for a restaurant, but then after hurricane Katrina the restaurant closed and we both lost our jobs. She got a job up here and we moved, but then she got cancer.

I: You said she didn’t live very long.

Joe: No. Only a few months. She was new at her job so she didn’t have health insurance, and I didn’t have health insurance. I didn’t have a job. It cost everything we had for her to get her treatments, and she still didn’t make it.

I: Was there any government help?

Joe: By the time we got through all the nonsense the government puts you through, she was already on her death’s bed. There wasn’t much I could do at that point for her. She died soon after. The government helped with the bills some, but I was broke at that point and I couldn’t get a new job.

I: You have a son.

Joe: Yeah.

I: Can you tell me a little about him?

Joe: He’s over in Iraq. I haven’t seen him in almost a year. He sends me money sometimes, but I don’t have an address so it’s hard for him to find me. I’ve got his cell phone number, but it’s not like I can call him just any time.

I: Why not?

Joe: I can’t always get to a phone. And he’s sometimes hard to reach. Not real good service over there. And I probably shouldn’t call him all the time. I know he’s busy.

I: What does he say about his mother passing?

Joe: Like anybody would, I suppose. He was overseas when Lydia passed. I think Germany. He came back for the funeral but had to leave again afterward. We stay in touch, but he’s got his own things going on. The army keeps him busy.

I: Did he help any when your wife passed away? Financially, I mean.

Joe: He did what he could. But nothing we could do would have been enough. Her treatments cost a lot. I ended up filing for bankruptcy right after she died.

I: Have you worked since then?

Joe: A little bit. Odd jobs. It brings me in money for food. No one wants to hire anybody my age. And I can’t do a whole lot.

I: You seem in decent health.

Joe: I am, thank the Lord, but I’m old now. Not like the younger days when I could just go out and get any old job to make some money. And I don’t drink or do drugs like everyone thinks homeless people do. I don’t ask for money from people, either, though sometimes somebody will give me a little if they see me in here sitting.

I: At the restaurant.

Joe: Yeah, in here.

I: Why do you hang out here so often?

Joe: The people running the place don’t run me off. I just sit here and watch TV all day and keep to myself. Unless somebody wants to talk. I can usually get a dollar or two for some eggs and a cup of coffee. Plus, it’s air conditioned. It’s better than sitting down at the library park all day in the hot sun. I don’t cause no trouble, and the people running this place are used to all kinds of college kids coming in and going. I guess they’re used to seeing different kinds in here. I just like to sit here and drink my coffee and go to the bathroom every now in a while.

I: Joe, if you don’t mind my asking, where do you sleep at night?

Joe: Usually down at the shelter. Sometimes they’re crowded, so I sleep someplace else.

I: Where at?

Joe: Different places. I’ve even slept in here a few times.

I: They let you lay down?

Joe: I just sit down in one of the booths in the back and sleep.

I: Sitting up?

Joe: Yeah. Or I’ll rest my head on a hand. Sometimes I’ll lean over the table. I always try to buy a coffee. I don’t want them to think I’m a freeloader.

I: Do you have any plans for the future?

Joe: Just living and dying, like everybody else.

I: No, I mean, do you have any plans for not being homeless?

Joe: Not really. At my age, there’s not a lot I can do.

I: What about your son? Eventually he’ll come home, won’t he?

Joe: If I live long enough.

I: Could you stay with him?

Joe: I suppose I could. But I wouldn’t want to be a burden. He’s a young man. He’ll probably want to start his own family when he gets out of the army. I don’t want to stand in the way of any of that. Lydia and me were too old to have children when we had him, but we had him.

I: You were in the army, too, weren’t you?

Joe: I got out in ’64.

I: So you missed Vietnam.

Joe: The whole time I was in basic, they kept telling me “You’re going to Vietnam. You’re going to Vietnam. Get ready. It could happen anytime now.” But it never did. I got out just before Vietnam hit big. I guess if I’d stayed in I would have gone over there.

I: Joe, is there anything else?

Joe: Like what?

I: Anything else you want to say?

Joe: Oh, yeah. I was going to tell you that sometimes I e-mail my son, too.

I: You have access to a computer? Where? At the shelter?

Joe: They have free computers at the library downtown.

I: Anything else?

Joe: Is the interview over?

I: We can go on as long as you want.

Joe: I can’t think of anything else right now.

I: Okay. Can I talk to you again sometime?

Joe: Another interview? With the tape recorder and all?

I: Maybe. If you’d like.

Joe: Yeah. No problem.

I: What’s your favorite song?

Joe: What do you think?

I: Hey, Joe.

Joe: Hey, Joe. That’s right. The Hendrix song.

For those interested, the mention of the song at the end is sort of an in-joke with Joe and myself.

A Ghost Sighting or Something Else?

Let me begin by saying I am not necessarily a believer in ghosts or any other supernatural elements. I'm not a disbeliever, but I've not witnessed too many things that couldn't be explained away logically somehow. One of the few things I've yet to be able to explain is outlined below.

My wife and I moved to my old hometown, the city where I had grown up but had not lived in for more than 15 years. The origins of the city go back to the mid-to-late 1700s, and parts of downtown are at least 200 years old, some parts older.

We had moved into one of those older districts. Metal historical signs could be seen every block or two, saying that such-and-such a person had lived there or had gone to college there. Some of the houses had markers on them telling the year the house was built; most read from 1798 to about 1817.

I was out walking the dog one afternoon, well before sundown. Our dog is a beagle, named Lily, and she's always on the go, her little legs carrying her faster and faster. She loves her walks.

Lily was leading me down a street of the older houses. We were passing an alleyway between two houses across the street when I glanced in that direction. Along the left side of the alley, almost up against one of the houses, ran a long, black iron fence that stretched into the backyard. Vines were growing all over this fence and producing pink flowers with long petals.

A woman stood there picking the flowers. She was young, in her early twenties. She was pale, though healthy looking and wore her light brown hair up beneath a flat white hat that was tied around her chin with a light pink ribbon. Her dress was also white, with light pink frills at the hem and at the end of her short sleeves. She looked like someone from the late 1700s up to about the mid-1800s. Her clothing was nice, but it was nothing quite so fine as to have been worn to a ball.

For some reason, I didn't think anything about seeing this woman dressed this way. It struck me as perfectly natural.

I looked away. My beagle, Lily, had come to a halt, which is unlike her while we're walking. I glanced down and she was just standing there, her legs planted, her face with unblinking eyes staring toward the woman I had just seen. Lily wasn't growling, nor was the hair on her back standing up. It was as if she had caught sight of something very, very interesting. Which normally includes bacon, but didn't this time.

I looked back to the woman.

She was gone. As was the black fence and the vines and the flowers. I blinked several times. Now there was just a gravel driveway going up between the two older homes.

I looked back down at Lily. She was looking up at me, her tail now wagging.

Then she was trotting on down the street. I gave the alley another quick glance, saw nothing untoward, and could do no more than walk on after my beagle. She was tugging at the end of the leash by then.

I don't know what I saw on that walk. My wife has always said it was a ghost. But I'm a skeptic. Maybe I did see a ghost, or maybe not. I'm not sure.

But a couple of things have always struck me. One, to this day, more than a year later, I can still quite vividly remember that young woman, how she was dressed and what she was doing. My memory normally isn't that good. Two, my immediate acceptance of seeing this woman in historical clothing has always kind of bugged me. Wouldn't you think I'd be immediately surprised at seeing such? But I wasn't. At first I put it down to my former working in a Renaissance fair, where it was common to see people in period clothing. But that doesn't feel right, and I hadn't worked at the fair in nearly a dozen years.

So, what did I see? I still don't know. A ghost? A slip in time? Just a woman who liked to dress in period clothing, and I mis-imagined the fence and flowers?

10 Tips for a Happier Life

1. Hang out with happy people: Who you associate with can have a huge impact on your mood. Try to avoid those who are constant downers, or those who are always angry.
2. Read: Not just reading of anything, but read something inspirational. Read part of a book you've found really moving, or something from a funny Web site. This helps to improve your mood. Don't believe me? Give it a try. I bet you'll feel better.
3. Fake it: Yes, this one sounds ... well, it sounds fakey. But that's kind of the point. If you're in a bad mood, act cheery. Eventually your emotions and your brain will catch up. You might be surprised how this can improve your mood.
4. Be conscious of your moods: Being a downer doesn't have to be a given. Besides, genetics isn't a given and you don't have to be in a foul mood all the time. Beware of your moods. Watch for things that trigger sadness or anger in you. Does a certain song make you all weepy? Don't listen to it. Does a certain person at work get your steam boiling? Stay away from them as much as possible. Keep in mind, you can't change the rest of the world, but you can change yourself.
5. Simplify the technology in your life: Simplicity can equal happiness. All too often we get stressed out over things that aren't really worth stressing over. You don't have to have the latest gadget. You don't have to keep up with your 20 favorite TV shows. You don't have to stay up for 30 hours straight playing a video game. Maybe those things sound like fun, but all that fun might just be stressing you out. Turn off the tube, put down the game controller and get out and enjoy reality for a while.
6. Seek answers, not problems: When something goes wrong, try to find a solution if possible. Don't sit around feeling sorry for yourself and wallowing in self-pity. If there's a problem, fix it! At least it will be progress of some sort.
7. Work at your physical health: If you look better and feel better, your moods will be better. It's that simple. You don't have to start with some major exercise plan. Just get out and walk a little. The next day, make that walk a little longer, even if it's only by a few feet. Soon you'll find your body is improving and so is your mood.
8. Set goals: What is it that will make you happy? Is it achievable? If not, why not? If is is, why aren't you doing something about it instead of crying about it? Decide upon things that will make you happier, then work toward them. Make a list if it helps you. It doesn't have to be big goals. Maybe something as simple as talking to an old friend would make you happy. What are you waiting for? Call them! Enough little things that make you happy can lead up to big things that make you happy.
9. Remember that you are human: You are allowed to make mistakes. You are going to make mistakes. You're also allowed to have all the emotions and frustrations that go along with being human. Rejecting your emotions can lead to stress, though that doesn't mean you have to allow your emotions to rule you. Keep in mind that you are human, just like everyone else. You'll have your good days and your bad days. But by remember that you are much like everyone else, you can relieve some of the stress of being human. You're not alone. You're just like the rest of us.
10. Be grateful for others, and show your thanks: How you treat others affects how they treat you, and it affects your own moods. If you're nicer to people, they will be nicer to you. And what's a better way to improve your mood than to have other people be nice to you?

My Writing Tools Over the Years

Bic Matic Mechanical Pencil
Yes, the most basic of writing tools. Add it with a pad of lined paper, or better yet one of those thick Mead notebooks and I was ready to go. Been using these basic tools off and on since third grade, about 1977 or thereabouts. Sure, I used plenty of other pencils and pens over the years, but this Bic was always my favorite. Still use it today from time to time, and I've got something like a hundred of them, some close to 25 years old; for some reason, whenever I move, I lose a bunch of them then head to the store to buy some more. Only to find my old ones eventually.

Olivetti Valentine
This was my very first typewriter. I got it used at a yard sale in 1984. I was 14, and I was thrilled nearly to tears. I had a typewriter. A portable typewrite. I was a real writer all of a sudden. Little did I know this Italian typewriter was actually a piece of junk. But I don't blame that on the company. It was just a used typewriter. Still, I had a lot of fun playing with it for the next couple of years. Don't know what ever happened to it. I guess my mom ended up with it somehow and has probably tossed it now after all these years.

Smith Corona SL105 1986
My one and only electric typewriter. My mom bought it for me new in about 1986 when I was in high school, and I think I was stepping into big things. This typewriter had one of those white mistake-fixer ribbon thingies in it, so if you made a typing error you could just hit the button for this special ribbon and it would jump back to white-out the error so you could type the corrected text. I thought I was in heaven. This was the first device I ever actually typed real stories onto. It lasted me a good long while, and my mother still uses it from time to time today since she's got in her office at her place.

Macintosh SE/30
The next 5 or 6 years were busy ones for me, graduating high school and going to college and having to work 2 or 3 jobs while also working at the school newspaper and the yearbook. I didn't have a lot of time for my own writing. Most of the writing I did during this period of my life was done at the university on whatever computers were available, my preference leaning toward Apple's Macintoshes. But in 1994, a couple of years after I graduated college, I was able to afford my own computer. It was used, but it worked great. It was a Macintosh SE/30, one of this little, boxy Macs from the early days of the computer and Internet revolutions. This computer only had a black and white screen, and that screen was really tiny. But it was perfect for just writing. I loved it. One of the best little engines I've had the pleasure to own. A few years later I sold it to a friend. Unfortunately, that old Mac of mine died on her about a week later. Too bad.

Macintosh Performa 6300
This was my next computer, another Mac, purchased about 1997. I loved Macs, so why not stick with them? This thing was a workhorse for me. I wrote tons and tons of stuff with this Macintosh. It was a fine, honest computer that lasted me a good while. I eventually trashed it when it died on me one fine summer day. Luckily I had everything backed up on discs. Remember disc? No? Then you're not old enough to.

IMac
Got this little blue puppy in 2001. Another great computer from the Apple Macintosh people. And another workhorse for me. I wrote tons of stories on this iMac, including two screenplays and three novels. I still have it today, mostly for storage and as a backup computer. Every once in a while I'll write on it, and I'd be glad to do so again regularly if I had to.

HP Pavilion a1130n
In finally joined the PC world in 2005 when I bought this computer. I had to. I was married, and my wife didn't know hardly anything about Macs. So now I do all my Web surfing and the majority of my writing on this PC. Despite my never-dying love for Macs, I have to admit this PC has been put to the test and has worked amazingly for me. I've written dozens of stories, hundreds of articles and one novel on my PC. I'll probably move back to a Mac again someday, whenever I can afford it, but that's just my preference. I have no complaints about my HP Pavilion.