Me. A District Manager. Go figure, right? An Orange County, North Carolina country boy going big city Charlotte all of a sudden! And bossing around 40 and more employees in the Queen City area. I have never felt more like Woody Allen. Why would I really want to work for a company that would have ME as a District Manager?

Nevertheless. If this doesn't work out, it's the fault of the idiots who hired me, right? I tried to warn them. Seriously. I did.

But I am loving the respect these days. Folks respect the hell out of me. Sure, it's only because I am their boss. But I'll take that. Respect is respect, right?

It's a good job with a good company headquartered near Charlotte. And the folks I work with are amazing human beings. And, honestly, I feel more excitement about my new city than I do sadness about my old town of Chapel Hill. And living very close to my city are my son, his wife, her family and my four grandchildren.

I am learning so much here, too. Yeah, I'm learning about the job. But that will take time. What seems to be impress me most about myself here is my ability to quickly learn how to drive again. I grew up in a big city – Jacksonville, Florida. But for the past 33 years, I have been meandering at my own pace on winding Orange County, North Carolina country roads, many times taking my place and holding my line until the flattening of the hills and the straightening of the curves make it okay to pass a hundred or more bicyclists – and driving slowly in town where there are pedestrian crosswalks every three feet or so.

Friends of mine from Chapel Hill who occasionally rode places with me, used to criticize my laid-back and careful driving. All those years, I just adopted a pace consistent with the town and countryside. Still, they criticized me. One day, while driving a few friends west on NC Highway 54, a fully loaded gravel truck passed me on that two-lane road. In a curve! I never heard the end of that. But I invite those friends to come to the city and ride with the NEW Dave Moon. They better wear NASCAR- approved head gear!

I am gunning it on Interstate entrance ramps. I'm changing lanes two at a time without ever turning my head to check my blind spot. If I have to go 85mph to get around a few cars to get to the place I need to be, I no longer hesitate. And I laugh loudly when I pass a 55mph sign while going 70 down Interstate 77. I would blow my horn a time or two like city folks do, but there has been no need to do that so far. Other drivers see me coming and they get the hell out of the way!

So, I guess I can call this move to Charlotte my “ Adventure Of Respect.” Those 40 folks who are afraid of losing their jobs respect me. So, too, do the Charlotte freeway drivers who look in their rear-view mirrors and see a crazed old man, driving a 93 Chrysler, bearing down on them.

My new city! I love it!

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I tried, y'all. I really did.

A couple of months ago, I decided I would spend the following couple of months writing a book. I am still on track to do just that. But as part of my self-imposed exercises of writing discipline, I decided to let The Lunar Report and Lunacy take a back seat to my new endeavor – even if it meant giving up on Lunars and Lunacies altogether for a while.

Well. I failed. The book may take a bit longer than ...

Okay. I apologize. To my friend and his writing. He wrote a serious article, arguing against lifting a ban on female soldiers in combat. He writes from a heart that reflects his convictions – always.

And I apologize to all those women that I may have offended when I presented a counter-argument in The LunarReport. I basically wrote that there is no greater threat to men than women. I am not backing down from that, either. I apologize for writing it, but ...

You know, in basketball they use a term. When an offensive player with the ball comes close to a defender near the basket, and when the defender falls backwards and to the floor to draw a foul on the offensive player, they call it “flopping.” There is no foul at all. The defensive player simply “flopped” backwards to try and fool the game officials.

Well, there's apparently a whole lot of flopping going on in the National Football League. But this flopping is different. And disturbing on ...

A year ago in my NewYear's Lunacy, I questioned the validity of cooking and eating black-eyed peas and collard greens to achieve luck and wealth during the twelve months that follow such traditions. Traditionally and to the naked eye, those customs brought me no more fortune than the heads-up pennies I find and place in my shoe from time to time. But the point of that Lunacy was that we can't see what we don't see; we can't know what we ...

They are golden. They are re-creations of the magnificent caribou that pull Santa's sleigh to all his ultimate destinations. They have red antlers and full green wreaths around their long and muscular necks. They are standing boldly and majestically in a patch of North Pole snow created by a clever craftsman who clearly understands the importance of our magical visions and of childhood memories that make that magic live forever.

It's that magic of Christmas that caused me to do it. I purchased ...

I coached youth basketball for a number of years a number of years ago. I have been around basketball even longer. I never saw what I saw last Saturday at my 5-year-old grandson's first team basketball practice. I had the privilege of taking him to that practice. It was an enhanced privilege really. I was able to take my 4-year-old grandson with us.

Seth is too young to play youth ball just yet. But he and his brother, Sy, are tight. Seth needed ...

Write stuff down. That's how we older folks will survive until some bunker of fire or earthen blanket ends our necessity for Bic's or Cross's or #2 leaded yellow sticks.

I'm kind of baulking at that notion. I'm only 58. I will be damned if I will, at such a young age, cave in to Post-It Notes on the medicine cabinet and such as that. Not yet.

Still. Damn.

Lately, I am feeling a bit of a loss ...

Eulonia taught me a lesson. That is where the 1985 Chevrolet Spectrum, a small Isuzu hatchback marketed under the Chevy name broke down on December 1 of the same year. It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The wife, our nearly one-year-old son and I were traveling in that Spectrum.

We had just spent Thanksgiving with my family in Jacksonville, Florida. We were traveling north on Interstate 95 to our home in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. It was mid to late afternoon on an overcast day. We ...

I don't know if this is indicative of a good childhood or, what the hell, maybe I was a victim of some sort of parental abuse. All I know is that my personal adventures with Linky and Joe are fond ones, albeit demented ones.

Joe is my dad. Linky was his best friend.

As a child, I once walked with them from the Gator Bowl stadium in Jacksonville, Florida back to where the car was parked near Main and Bay Streets. A good ...