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I spent a recent Sunday the way I do many Sundays throughout a year – tromping through the woods in South Carolina, catching critters, watching birds, and using my bank card over and over at a sketchy Chicago gas station.

So the last part wasn’t part of my normal routine. But I was pleased that my bank contacted me to let me know that they were fairly sure I was not, in fact, withdrawing money from 800 miles away. Repeatedly. At a gas station in a neighborhood where I learned, upon viewing it on Google Street View, that most every business has bars over the windows.

I was first notified via text message, asking me to verify three previous purchases. I recognized one of the purchases, a $6.94 gourmet breakfast from McDonald’s earlier in the morning. The other two? Not so much.

My bank and I aren’t regular text buddies, and I wanted to make sure that it was not some scam text that somehow knew how much I had spent on breakfast. Unlikely, sure. But I figured a phone call to the bank would be my best option.

I reached an operator and explained that I had received a text regarding suspicious transactions. She verified who I was through a series of questions. One of the questions was in regard to recent deposits. I said, “If you are going to ask me about pretty much anything other than breakfast at McDonald’s this morning, I’m probably not going to know the answer, since my wife is the grown-up and handles all the banky stuff. Can we do mother’s maiden name or something?”

Eventually I was able to convince her I was me and not in Chicago. She canceled the card and put in motion the process for me getting a new one. I told her that I was about two hours from home and would need to be able to get access to money at some point today, as my kids would probably like to have dinner. (A gourmet breakfast lasts just so long.)

She informed me that when I was back home, I could call back and they would authorize a one-time use of the card so that I could get money from a bank machine.

Hey, kids – fun fact she failed to tell me – that lovely service stops at 5 p.m. on Sunday, so if you are heading out to grab a bite at 6, you’re outta luck! And outta cash! Hooray!

The next morning, I went to the bank to check on the account and make sure everything was squared away. Upon reviewing the account, I learned I had also made a purchase in New York. I was quite the jetsetter that Sunday.

My new card is on the way, and I currently have a temporary card that says “Valued Customer.” Take a look at your current bank card. Does it say “Valued Customer.” Didn’t think so. I’m special.

I’m not sure how my card number got lifted. I’ve heard a range of theories from various people, ranging from the plausible to the paranoid. I’m not going to stress too much on how it happened. It happened. The bank caught it. I lost no money. It cost me some time and a short pinch of panic. No sense in spending copious amounts of energy fretting over how it happened.

It is reassuring to know that the safety net is there by my bank. They said it would be a good idea to put travel alerts on our account on the occasions we do travel to avoid unwarranted freezes of our funds. I’ll remember that this summer when we set off on our family vacation. Sketchy Gas Stations of the Midwest will be one for the family scrapbook.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

So we have had a few days to process The Game. Bama’s fourth national title in seven years. That’s eight in my lifetime (although I readily admit to not being aware of the first three; I was 1, 6 and 7, respectively).

This game was one the cleanest I’ve seen – only six penalties, hardly any chippiness, and no Public Enemy No. 1 from either team. It was a heavyweight slugfest, start to finish. Clemson played as good of if not a better game. But Alabama had just a smidge more, and thus ended up with the trophy at the end.

The crowd, on TV at least, was a decidedly Clemson crowd. Those I know who were at the game confirmed that. They were going nuts with excitement. Bama fans, while certainly cheering, were not in a Mardi Gras mindset, even after the final whistle blew. One friend of mine noted that the Bama fans weren’t even smiling on the way out of the game.

It’s true. We probably weren’t. The feeling after the game was just … relief. And it’s hard to explain this, and most people will roll their eyes and hold very insincere pity parties for me when I say this – but it’s hard to be a Bama fan.

Yes, I know. Poor me.

But when you have had this level of sustained excellence, you really do become defined by championship or bust. The day after the championship game, I was taking my kids to school. There in car line was an SUV with Ole Miss flags flying high. And it made me mad. The trophy hadn’t even left Arizona, and all I could think of was how this season was flawed, and we have a two-game losing streak against the Rebels.

I am sure many of you feel as if you would gladly trade your team’s last seven years for mine. If you asked me if I would switch, say, Bama basketball for, well, most any program, my answer would probably be yes.

But beware of your cursed blessings. When you have become integrated into The Process, failure is losing in the playoffs. Failure is a 10-win season. Failure is certainly that Kick Six that just will never go away. Failure is anything short of a title. And it doesn’t even feel like a total success when you have that one blemish from way back in September.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Woe is me and the rest of Bama Nation. Poor us. But when next year starts, and you are full of hope and excitement for a new year of possibilities, the Crimson and White head back to work. There are no moral victories. We know we’ve got a long haul ahead of us, with only one acceptable destination. And a stop in Oxford, Miss. on Sept 17 is a key part of that journey. And should we leave that game 3-0, we probably won’t smile leaving the stadium. We’ll just leave relieved.

We are just a few days away from the most anticipated movie in a franchise in decades.

I am talking, of course, about “Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Road Chip.”

Ha! Little nervous humor there. Like any good 40-something, I cannot wait for my Christmas to come early this year, when the latest Star Wars movie hits theaters. I have not been this excited for a new Star Wars movie since the last time they rebooted the franchise, with the oft-maligned prequels.

I had a similar anticipation for those movies, and while they weren’t exactly the same caliber as the original trilogy, I don’t hate them with the white-hot intensity some do. The main reason for that: Yoda.

When “The Phantom Menace” was re-released in theaters in 2012, I took my son and nephew to see it. When Yoda appeared on screen — in particular when he busts out his lightsaber and a heaping helping of green Jedi fury — I watched a 7- and 9-year-old experience the same thing I had years ago. All the Jar Jar hate in the world can’t take away the image of seeing two little boys experience big screen Star Wars awe for the first time.

And so here we are again, wildly anticipating the next chapter. And 43-year-old me feels like 8-year-old me all over again. Is it a little silly for me to be this excited about a sci-fi movie? Probably. But I don’t care. So a few thoughts as we bide our time waiting for Dec. 18:

• My kids are excited about going to see the new movie and asked if we could do a marathon viewing of the earlier movies. I said that we could, but we’d probably just skip the prequels because, you know, Jar Jar. Then I realized why no longer having brick and mortar Blockbusters around is a bummer. You can’t rent Star Wars anywhere. You can buy it online for $20, but that’s about all I could find. So, one day when they are grown, my kids will get to share the story of how their dad showed them the original trilogy by stringing together YouTube clips.
• I still have all of my Star Wars toys, and have passed them on to my son. They are in rough shape, especially the greatest Christmas present I ever got, the Millennium Falcon. They are not in rough shape because of my son. They were in rough shape when he got them, because I played the heck out of them when I was a kid. Anyone who kept their Star Wars action figures in the packaging to preserve them should not be allowed to go see the new Star Wars movie. In fact, if you are my age, I think you should have to present one busted up action figure in order to be admitted. (“Here’s a one-armed Lando Calrissian. If that doesn’t work, here’s a C-3PO I spray painted blue, and a Darth Vader with a plastic martini sword glued to his hand.”) If you are a kid with action figures and a Millennium Falcon, you need to play with them. And make the “pew pew” noises.
• My Chewbacca and Yoda impressions are strong, and my wife will undoubtedly have to endure a larger number of them than usual this week. Please keep her in your thoughts.
• Anyone who posts spoiler information online is a bad person and hates good things. I’ve never quite understood why ruining surprises in a movie is fun for some people.
• I don’t particularly like it when movies in a franchise make cheeky references to previous movies. That said, if somebody doesn’t “have a bad feeling” about something in the new movie, I will be disappointed.
• When “The Phantom Menace” came out the first time in theaters in 1999, I went to a midnight showing with some friends. I did not have kids then, and thus I will not be doing that this time. It’s not that it’s too late for me. Rather, I don’t want to endure the next day with two grouchy kids who didn’t go to sleep until 3 a.m.

So my fingers are crossed that the new movie will live up to the hype that we had for the first reboot. Even if it falls more into the prequel camp than the original trilogy in terms of quality, at least I will be heading back into the Star Wars universe again on the big screen. If you are not a Star Wars fan and just don’t get the hype, that’s fine. You like what you like, and I’ll like what I like. And may the Force be with you.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

It’s always good when I can remind my kids that I am, in fact, the most awesome person they have met.

My kids are 12 and 15, so my days of pure, unquestioned awesome are well behind me. That is particularly the case with my daughter, who at 15 is now by far the smartest person the world has ever known, and I am repeatedly one of the most foolish people on the planet. One of the most common phrases out of her mouth is “You don’t know what I’m doing!” Close second: “Daaaa-aaad!!!!”

I have come to grips with the fact that most humans can no longer carry on a single normal activity without having their face buried in a phone.

I don’t necessarily like it, but I get it.

Heck, I’m guilty of it at times, too. You are probably like me in that one of the siren songs of your life is the notification of a text message when you’re in the middle of a very boring conversation.

Last week, I told you my daughter was about to turn 15 and was preparing to take the test to get her learner’s permit.

This week, I write to inform you that the world has one more driver in it, and she’s not as horrible at it as you might think.

I was recently asked to speak at a resume workshop for college students. I have been hiring folks for nearly 20 years, and I’ve seen some resumes in my time. And the reality is, most resumes alone won’t get you the job. But plenty will NOT get you the job.