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 |  Groovy Blog v 2.0 |
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| It’s that blah time of year for me. Late winter…ugh. I don’t want to do anything but sit around and wait for some sign of Spring. I guess if I had to choose a least favorite month, February would be it. Impatience for Spring…and the guilt of Valentines mixed in for good measure. Fortunately, my favorite month is less than a week away. That would be March. No need to check your calendars. The Olympics has saved me from some of the doldrums this year. I’m a Winter Olympics junkie and can’t get enough. They’re on from 7 p.m. to 11 p.m. every night and I’ve barely missed a minute since they began - even getting excited watching the long-distance cross country ski races last weekend, though my brother joked “there’s nothing more thrilling than watching a bunch of scruffy Norwegians wander around the woods for a few hours”. A typical evening has me rushing to get dinner cooked, served, and the kitchen cleaned before the 7 p.m. start time. I’m one of those who just can’t relax and enjoy myself if I know there’s a mess waiting for me later. Once that’s done, I make a cup of Café Francais, remove the cat from my favorite chair, and settle in for a night of halfpipes, ski cross, salchows, and scruffy Norwegians. I’ve noticed there are a lot of Scandinavians named Anders. I have the commercials more than memorized and have watched Gretchen Bleiler halfpipe into AT&T’s stratosphere about 4,079 times now. Last night my daughter used an Apolo Ohno-inspired move and slipped in ahead of me to hog my favorite Olympics chair, completely upsetting my nightly routine, but I settled on the couch and waited for my chance. During the break between the ski jumping and ice dancing I made a brilliant move of my own, not only bolting for the kitchen and filling a cereal bowl with two cereal bowls full of Corn Pops and a healthy dose of milk, but then carrying the floating mass back to the living room with only a one Pop casualty (too risky of a rescue maneuver for the other Pops, so I left it behind) where I glided to my Olympic chair, scooted the cat off with my left foot, and slipped safely in just ahead of my daughter frantically returning from a bathroom run. Gold medal stuff. My son called the American ice dancer an avatar since she doesn’t look human, and I have to agree, but whatever she is, she and her partner sure can skate. I thought the Americans kicked butt, but I‘m a little biased. Funny to get so excited over something I won’t watch again for four years. My kids and I debated whether skating announcer Tom Hammonds wears makeup. And not just the powdered face that I’m sure most t.v. personalities have, but REAL makeup. I said no, my son says yes. Tonight’s the ladies singles short program. I’ll be there. One final unrelated note. Though I’m still in the running to be the last living human without a Facebook page (it‘s down to me and three others), it doesn’t mean I’m not tempted. My wife and kids all have one and I probably would too if it weren’t so creepy. Years ago, I made a fake Facebook page just to check out their features. Fake name, location, age, everything. The first thing I got was a “Welcome to Facebook. Here are some people you might know!” message, in addition to a long list of people I actually DID know, including my kids. I found that a little strange and creepy since I gave completely bogus info, but I’m sure they must use my IP address. Still….that was it for me. Too creepy. I think I should make a site called Fakebook and have the catch phrase “Be who you want to be…not who you are!” I could have thousands of fake profiles and hot pics to choose from, and once you pick one it’s yours forever. No one else can use it. I could have cool games like 'Mafia Farming'. Sounds a little like MySpace, though. Well, I managed to fight through the doldrums enough to update my blog…if you can call it that. Not a very Olympics-inspired entry, but…maybe in March. Besides, I’ve been right next to PlannerDan on the blog page for almost a week now, and we all know how unpleasant that can be. I had to move.  |
| I was chatting the other night about Meatloaf. The singer, not the food. I think Meatloaf would be happy to hear that as I’m sure not many people do this, but no worthwhile conversation about Meatloaf would be complete without discussing which two out of three ain’t bad. Which one gets the axe -- being wanted, needed, or loved? Meatloaf got no love, but it wasn’t up to him anyway. Nor would it be up to me, but if I DID get to choose, I initially said being wanted would take a backseat to being loved and needed. But, after having a few days to think about it and having meatloaf for dinner, I may have to reconsider. Love is locked in for sure, but maybe I don’t want someone to need me after all. It’s a lot of pressure being needed. Needing you to do chores is a lot harder to blow off than simply wanting you to do them. Too bad it’s not up to me. Is one out of three bad? Having to choose just two out of three isn’t easy sometimes. What to keep and what to let go? Those in parentheses got my pink slip. The Three Stooges (Larry) Charlie’s Angels (Sabrina) Marcia, Jan, Cindy (Marcia) Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner (Lunch) Sex, Drugs, Rock n Roll (Drugs) Scarecrow, Tinman, Lion (Tinman) Pirates of the Caribbean Trilogy (2) The Good, The Bad, The Ugly (Bad) Snap, Crackle, Pop (hmmm…Snap?) Readin’, Ritin’, Rithmetic (Rithmetic…barely) Chocolate, Strawberry, Vanilla (Vanilla) Rock, Paper, Scissors (Scissors) CBS, NBC, ABC (NBC) 3 Wheels of a Tricycle (Back Right…so I don‘t fall into oncoming traffic) Niacinamide, Riboflavin, Thiamin (Niacinamide) WDC (C) Okay, this is deteriorating fast so I will stop. Before I go, however, I have to tell you my little underdog story. First there was USA over Russia in hockey…then Buster Douglas over Mike Tyson…Saints over the Colts….now there is David vs. IRS. Like I said last week, I was expecting the full 20-yard running kick to the crotch and dressed accordingly, but somewhere between the interest income and property tax deductions I surprised them with a flat back bump then lifted them off the mat with a head flop-turned-piledriver before setting them up with a hangman between the ropes for a running 16-yard crotch kick of my own! Would have been the full 20 yards, but I still had those titanium undies on and couldn’t generate enough speed. An upset for the ages, I tell ya’. |
| You know how some days you are really pressed for time, but you’re trying to catch up on blogs anyway, and when you click to open one you do a quick scroll to see how long it is and if it’s a really long one you say, “Crap! I don’t have time for this!”??? Well, good news! This one’s short, so you have no excuse not to read it! You don’t even have to scroll. It’s all right here on one efficient screen! I was just looking at the local ski hill from my kitchen window. It’s about 8 miles away as the crow flies (39.4 as the bat flies), and I was sitting here wondering why I’m not there. Oh, that’s right….they require a monetary exchange for their services. Which brings me to my taxes. I will finally be starting that task this week and expect the full 20-yard running kick in the crotch from the IRS this year. Last year I got about a 12-yard kick in the crotch and made a full recovery. A 20-yard running kick does the most damage. Anything under that hasn’t generated full power and anything over 20 starts to lose steam. I remember in recent years when I was the one doing the running and kicking. About five years ago, I think I even got in a full 20-yarder straight in the IRS’s greedy little crotch, but the tide has turned. Titanium undies for me this week. More good news: My WDC birthday is right around the corner and I couldn’t be happier. Why? I’ve been stuck on the number 18 next to my name for what seems like forever. I’ve never liked that number because it reminds me of the devil….6 + 6 + 6 = 18. In 11 short days I will be saved and no longer roam Blogville as the Devil Blogger. See, wasn’t that quick and painless? |
| The story I joked about yesterday took a bizarre turn for the worst. As a result of the headline I quoted, and the media firestorm that ensued, a man is dead. I mentioned the headline yesterday, but what I didn’t say was how the local television stations jumped on the story as well. All week long every local media outlet hammered to death this story of the four-month-old abused kitten. I’m not exaggerating when I say I live in a liberal town where many of its residents care as much or more for the local forests and animals as they do for their fellow citizens. The town was outraged at the story of this single man who adopted the kitten from a local shelter, then was the subject of a police call last weekend where the cat was found in his apartment, barely alive, body shattered and soaked, allegedly because the man tried to flush the cat down the toilet alive. I read the stories. It was heartbreaking -- imagining the hell this poor animal went through before finally being rescued. Like everyone else, I wondered what kind of person could do such a thing to a defenseless animal. But I trusted there would be an investigation and justice would be served in the end. Bits and pieces that were being reported left open the possibility that he was not the abuser at all. He claimed he was not, and one very strong clue supports that claim. Regardless, he expressed deep remorse and offered to pay any costs associated with the cat’s recovery. As the week progressed news of his clinical depression and quotes to the police of “I have nothing to live for anymore” surfaced. Yet the local media continued to cover the story relentlessly -- feeding an angry community what they needed. And when the story broke yesterday morning that the cat had to be put down because its injuries were too severe, people were beyond outraged. It was obvious they would settle for nothing less than the death sentence for this man (a quick scan of extremely active local message boards confirmed this). Well, they got it. As police approached the man’s apartment yesterday to serve him with a warrant for felony animal cruelty, he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Reading the local boards last night was unnerving. The total disregard for a human life, without a shred of interest as to why this may have happened was appalling. But in the hearts of many here, justice was served. I’m not condoning what happened to this animal. It truly was heartbreaking. Maybe this man was a total psychopath with a long history of this kind of behavior…..or maybe not. Thanks to the local media and an angry local mob with a twisted sense of the value of life, we may never know. But I don’t know what’s more disturbing -- what this man did to that cat, or what the local media and community did to him. |
| Our local excuse for a newspaper has outdone themselves! I’ve complained before in my blog about how hardly a day goes by without a front page story about the plight of the elk or the wolf or sick goats or missing horses, etc., etc. You’d think we were one of those little towns with a couple of hundred residents where Mabel puts out a free paper about once a month from the basement of the local community hall. Thank God for the internet, or I’d have no idea what’s happening out there in the real human world. The top story the other day? Front and center, top-of-the-page, lead headline: ‘Kitten Survives Brutal Abuse’. I don’t think they’ll ever top that one. My brother and I work for the same company and have both been experiencing layoffs this winter. These are the kinds of text message conversations that spring up in the middle of the afternoon. Me: Hoss and Little Joe are in a heap of trouble! (I give him a minute to scan the channels) Bro: If the guy who played that little kid just happened to turn on the t.v. right now, I’m sure he’s contemplating ending it all. Me: Hop Sing getting it done in the kitchen. Poor oppressed bastard. Give him a horse already. Bro: Such a realistic depiction of the Old West. Me: It’s the Bonanza Trees. They ruin everything. I’ve been to southern California and have seen Bonanza Trees firsthand. I’m not sure what they really are, but I just call them Bonanza Trees. Obviously the studios of Hollywood didn’t want to travel far to film their weekly programs so they went just far enough out of town to get the skyscrapers out of camera range. But Bonanza Trees ruin every good western. Even Grizzly Adams was tainted by them. Most of the time Adams tried to get Nakoma to talk within a real pine mountain forest, but every so often a Bonanza Tree scene would pop in there. That’s when I knew Adams wasn’t a real mountain man. Bro: Lamont Sanford sure is a good actor. Me: He should have moved out long ago. Bro: He wants the family business. He’s just waited on Fred to have the big one. Some of you old-timers may remember me blogging long ago about the deluge of renegade apostrophes in western Montana. I’m happy to report the condition has not improved. Recent sign sightings include ‘All Boat’s On Sale’, ‘Aluminum Can’s’, ‘We Repair Gun’s’, and a permanent sign on an established insurance company’s building reads ‘Home, Boat, Auto, RV’s, IRA’s’. And while this next sign didn’t have a renegade apostrophe, it’s still worth mentioning. A lighted temporary sign out front of a fully-automated carwash: ’Now Serving Soup’. But those darned apostrophe’s are contagious‘! Once you see them, it seem’s’ you just can’t’ get them out of your system. Totally suck’s, but I hope it goe’s away soon. It ruin’s everything…almost like Bonanza Tree’s! |
| I sat at the computer way too long yesterday, and dang if my stagnant body isn't suffering today. My back is sore, neck is stiff, bladder is still fully-caffeinated, and since my only pair of ergonomically correct bell-bottom briefs was in the wash, even my butt’s numb. I was thinking back yesterday of some of the dumb things I’ve done to my body. Just because I’ve never tried any illegal drugs in my life doesn’t mean I haven’t been legally stupid. There was the time as a teen sitting around the campfire one night with my brother where I cut off a chunk of nylon cord and stuck it in my mouth. Just a random thing, not really thinking, but it looked like a big fat cigarette in there so of course I had to try lighting it. Amazingly, it burned, slow and even, so my brother lit up one of his own. Peer pressure, you know. Neither of us was a cigarette smoker so we struggled with the mechanics, but for the next few hours we sat around the campfire, chatting and smoking cord. We were good kids and would never have thought to smoke any illegal plants organically grown straight from God’s green earth, but instead decided to play it safe and inhale the socially acceptable fumes of a burning chunk of petroleum-based polypropylene that had been chemically braided using acid polymerization (I looked it up). We sure weren’t looking for a high and we didn’t get one, unless vomiting in the bushes and hallucinating about sailor’s knots counts. Fortunately that night was it! We never experimented with larger ropes, but to this day I still find myself pausing at the nylon cord section at the local hardware store. Then there were the salt and mineral licks. No kid could eat just one. Where were the programs to help all us kids with a salt lick dependency? Why no lawsuit against corporate agriculture? Rancher Awareness didn't exist. If you were raised in the country, you know all about these. So addictive that kids wouldn’t think twice about breaking off a chunk of a salt block resting in a sea of fresh manure that horsefly-infested cows had just slobbered on seconds earlier. And then another chunk….and another…..until soon you were experiencing the same kind of vomiting-in-the-bushes high of nylon cord. I guess if that’s the worst I’ve done, I shouldn‘t complain. Well, there was that brief period with the Milkbone Dog Biscuits, but all the kids were doing it so I figured what the heck. I’ve heard the theory that if you cross that line between moderation and excess to the point of nausea and vomiting, that your body permanently rejects that item. The mere thought of it will make your stomach turn for the remainder of your days. That is certainly the case with cord-smoking and salt licks. The same thing happened to me with granola, Bailey’s Irish Cream, and Ryan Seacrest. And put down that cord! I know you’re looking at it…thinking…wondering. Don’t do it. Trust me, it’s not worth it. . |
| On the day each of my kids was conceived (I remember these days clearly because of the sudden nagging dull ache in my bank account), I patted my wife on the head for being so fertile, then immediately whispered words of love to the new creation growing deep inside her bowels (I never took anatomy in school). “Hey, sweetie,” I’d say softly. “We can’t wait to meet you. Take your time in there. Daddy’s Enron stock should be soaring any day now, and there’s just not enough equity in the house for you to come and visit just yet, so no hurries. Oh, and sweetie? I don’t want grandkids. And no tailgating.” Every birthday was the same. “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. We love you. No grandkids. No tailgating.” 8th Grade Graduation: ”We’re so proud of you! My little baby is getting so grown up and biologically capable of creating grandkids! You must be so excited for high school. Now, you remember the two-second rule for following traffic, right?” I didn’t ask for much, did I? I made no pleas concerning education, future mates, gayness, or even the horrors of accidentally becoming a democrat. Just two simple things: No grandkids, no tailgating. Now that they are teens, the possibility for each of those has increased somewhat. Of course, you know where this is going, right? No, I’m not pregnant with grandkids…it’s much worse! My daughter called yesterday afternoon to inform me she was at the scene of an accident that SHE created by - as the citation stated - “following too close to the vehicle in front”….in my beloved 1993 Chevy Pickup with 330,000 safely-driven miles on it! When she told me, my first question was “Am I going to be a grandfather soon?” She assured me I was not, so my next question was concerning the condition of my beloved truck. When I was satisfied that the damage was minimal, I then asked if she was okay and had empty bowels. She was and does. I’m so glad I always listened to my parents! |
| It’s tough being a guy sometimes. We have so many difficult decisions. Like last Sunday -- I agonized for several seconds about whether to spend the day at the lake fishing or stay home and watch the football games. However, the advent of DVR has made these kinds of decisions much easier since I no longer stress about leaving my precious recording sessions at the mercy of those left behind at home. These clueless people (family) don’t understand the sacredidity of playoff football! But I was able to enjoy a relaxing day at the lake knowing my games were safely and digitally protected. Once again all of us fishermen were skunked, which is becoming a habit up there. Stimulus money obviously has not reached the lake yet, or I could just blame it on brutal conditions which is a trick I learned from watching pro golf. If millionaire professional golfers in $300 orange pants playing on the most beautiful, well-manicured courses on the planet can explain away their bad day on the ‘brutal conditions out there today’, then by golly so can I. At least I had my games to look forward to. Gone are those dark stressful days when men would come home from a brutal day at the lake and never know what was going to show up on their game recording. You see, long ago -- I believe it was the year 2007 -- we had these boxy contraptions known as a VCR. Trying to set up a game to record was gambling at its best, and each one came with a hidden 2, 4, or 6-hour recording-setting booby trap that you never remembered existed until your championship game suddenly ended with 3:17 left in the 3rd quarter. Brutal recording conditions. If I had a dollar for every time one of my games got screwed up in the recording process, I’d have, like…five or six dollars. (I’m trying to work on my exaggeration problem.) One of my earliest bad memories came many many moons ago when I went to visit my high school girlfriend. It was the day of the famous USA-Russia hockey game at the Lake Placid Olympics. Even though the game was here in the states, for some reason it was being played in the afternoon and shown later in the evening on tape-delay. The first thing I did when I walked through her front door was turn to her father and announce, “NO hockey scores, please! If you heard who won, do NOT tell me!” His eyes lit up and he excitedly responded, “Oh, you haven’t heard? Wow…well, you’re not going to want to miss this one, that’s for sure! Trust me, you’re going to love it. Make sure you don’t miss it because you’re going to be very happy.”  I knew right then and there things would never work about between she and I and we broke up soon after. Fast forward about ten years. (Did you notice the clever use of ’fast-forward’ in an entry about recordings? Always thinking, I tell ya’.) My wife and I had been married about five blissful years and I had to work one New Year’s night, so I set up the VCR to record the Orange Bowl between Colorado and Notre Dame. Huge game, though I only wanted to watch because of how much I despise Notre Dame. Rooting for your most-hated team to lose is almost as much fun as cheering for your favorite to win, so I needed this recording done right. I got off work around 1 a.m. and hurried home to watch the game. And it turned out to be a good one. The game was close…the excitement was building…until sometime late in the 3rd quarter when the game suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a man sitting at an anchor desk delivering the local news. I nearly spilled my bowl of Funyuns frantically reaching for the remote, and a quick scan through the rest of the tape revealed an absence of the Orange Bowl. I was furious. Well, as furious as you can be over something like that, which is much different than real rage and is more in line with the kind of anger you get when you leave your King-Size Whopper Value Meal featuring a limited edition 32 oz. Jonas Brothers Collector’s Series cup on top of the car and drive away. The next morning I asked my wife what happened. She thought for a minute then calmly answered, “Oh, that’s right. I was vacuuming last night and accidentally unplugged everything. When I turned it back on, I found a channel that looked like a sports announcer and started recording again.” The absence of a football field on the screen had no bearing on her channel choice, and I was visibly irritated. I soon found out that Notre Dame had won, however, and realized my wife was only looking out for me by sparing me the emotional heartache of dealing with their victory. Our love blossomed after that and remained strong until the next major recording event later that year -- a National League Championship Series game when things quickly fell apart again and we entered another dark period that my wife still affectionately refers to as “You Dumb-Ass”. I actually checked this out -- divorce rates have steadily declined since the first DVR was introduced in 1999. No way this is a coincidence. |
| I’m trying to do a better job of keeping the circulation running in this blog by writing even when I don’t have a whole lot to say. Last year I went months without an entry and my blog fell asleep in an awkward position. When it woke up a few weeks ago, it had the most awful crick in its neck, plus both feet and one butt cheek had fallen asleep (that’s two straight entries with a butt cheek mention…I hope you noticed). So I will try to write, even if life is sometimes not very blog-worthy. Or, like Catherine’s six-word memoirs, I could write six-word entries. “I have nothing to say today”. But I do have something to say, so don’t leave yet! Come back! I was thinking the other day about my first blog here at wdc. It died a young death…only about 175 entries old when it perished, which is something like 25 entries in dog years. The great thing is I still have most of those saved as text documents and could easily cheat and recycle them since there are only a handful of the same people around who read that first blog, and none of them would remember any of it anyway, I’m sure. And, really, I’d only be plagiarizing myself, though you couldn’t even call it that since all of my old entries would be restored and digitally-remastered to a quality never before experienced. Gone would be all of the skips, scratches, and monotone sentences that were the norm in my old coal-burning blog. Nah, I could never cheat like that, as far as you know. If I ever did share an old entry, I would preface it as such. But I noticed another thing the other day. This will be the 80th entry in my current blog. It turns two years old in about a month, so if I pro-rate, that’ll put me at roughly 90 entries in two years. Blogs can currently hold 750 entries, right? At this rate, this blog won’t be full until 1:55 p.m., May 21, 2016! I wonder how many of the same people will still be around then. I know I will. My blog may fall asleep and get numb butt cheeks sometimes, but when I DO blog, it will always be here….unless WDC gets sold and becomes a porn site. And by 2016, I’ll bet things will have advanced to where our blogs can hold 5 billion entries, and we’ll be able to write those entries from remote locations using only our brains! So, I’m pretty sure this blog will be the only one I’ll ever need. |
| The Winter Olympics begin in about a month and I’m excited! I’ve always loved the winter games more than the summer games, and this year’s are fairly close to Montana, so no tape-delayed coverage. Yay! There’s just something cool about the Olympics. Watching someone with a name like Nikolai Radmoniskyvladinomiskynominov nail a Triple Salchow on Oct. 14 at the Wendy’s Grand Prix Skating Classic in Toledo, Ohio, is a snoozer. Watching him do it at the Olympics is exciting! And Scott Hamilton does his best to keep everyone’s butt cheeks clenched as Nikolai approaches his jump…”Here it comes…here it comes…triple salchow, double toe loop…really needs this one…here it comes…HERE IT COMES….ALMOST THERE!!!!…OMG!!!!” So, yeah…I’m excited…already clenching. Where else can you hear sporting terms like ‘hogged rock’, ‘biter’, ‘crank’, and ‘critical tail grab’? Only at the winter games, or an article about Tiger Woods. And I love the detailed analysis from the snowboarding commentators. “Whoa! He’s shredding…he’s stoked!” The torch is on its way across Canada right now, which I’m sure is an invigorating run. The best torch run on record was the one in Sydney back in 1956 where several students put a pair of underwear in a can on top of a silver-spray-painted table leg and lit them on fire, then snuck in ahead of the real torch-bearer and handed it to the unsuspecting mayor of Sydney, who immediately began his speech, unaware he was holding a pair of burning shorts and not the real torch. You know, the Olympics would start a lot sooner if someone would give the torch runners a better map! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Wouldn't a plane have been easier? But their confusion will be my gain because I’ve decided I want the Olympic flame. I want to own it. Looking at the map, the torch will come closest to Montana when it passes through Yahk, British Columbia on January 23, so I have time. Looking at another map, if I head straight west I should come to a large dotted line running north-south. From there I turn right and follow the line till I come to a larger solid line running east-west (Canada). It’s a little trickier from there, but I should be able to find Yahk before the 23rd. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I'm not sure exactly what I’ll do with it once I’ve captured it. I could sell small smoldering portions of it on Ebay, though shipping would be hard. Mostly I just want to char-broil burgers with it. I want to be the first person ever to bbq burgers with the Olympic flame. I think that is a worthwhile goal for the new year. |
| I awoke to something strange, though not earth-shattering, today. You see, every night I fall asleep listening to my Zune. Bad habit, I know. Almost as bad as my other nighttime habit of needing a fan turned on close to my head -- blowing away from me when it’s cold, and toward me in the summer. I need that white noise to sleep, and I know that sounds racist, but I’ve tried celebrating diversity with my after-hour noises and white’s the choice for me. No offense. So, anyway, I usually wake up an hour or two after falling asleep, turn off my Zune and take out the earbuds, then sleepily drop them on the floor next to the bed and fan. I keep the fan several feet away from the bed because sometimes I like to get up in the middle of the night to make jello and don’t want to break a toenail. Well, when I woke up this morning, my earbud cord was wrapped around the fan’s power cord about three times. How did this happen? Not very movie-worthy as far as paranormal activity goes, but somewhat interesting. However, I have noticed other forms of paranormal happenings throughout the house over the years. Sometimes I’ll leave dirty clothes on the floor, and in the morning they’re in the clothes hamper! This happens a lot. A quick google search revealed this phenomenon mostly happens to men. Other times I’ve noticed dirty plates and cups showing up in random places throughout the house, and when I ask the kids, no one has a clue. Creepy! I’ve been laid off work for a few weeks now, so I’m home more to notice these kinds of things. They seem to happen more when I’m home. Another thing I’m doing to keep myself occupied is reading through the death and dismemberment insurance policy that came in the mail the other day. I never took the time before, but it’s good to know the fine print. It turns out it’s bad news if I only cut off one finger, but great news if it’s two or more! The same seems to go for other body parts -- one just isn’t good enough. You need to get serious with it. I also noticed that if I die from an accident, “death must occur within 30 days of the accident”. Pressure! I’ve also been looking around for ways to fill the income void till work picks up again (hopefully soon). I could sell Avon or Mary Kay…possibly find some sponsors for my writing (‘Devon reached into his Amana Frost-Free Refrigerator-Freezer and pulled out a Diet Coke with Lime. He nervously stared at his Blackberry Curve 8900 sitting quietly on the counter. “Why isn’t she calling?” he wondered. Suddenly he heard the Lexus LS 460 with the 6 standard airbags and 50,000 mile warranty pull into the drive and he let out a sigh of relief.’)…or maybe sell death and dismemberment insurance, though it should be dismemberment and death, since no one would really care about the dismemberment if they’re already dead. Gosh, I'm bored. Think I'll go do my nails. |
| Gosh, I hesitated to even write this entry because, well…it’s kind of gross. But, what the heck. I can’t think of anything else to say. It seems I’ve lived a sheltered life up here in the Rocky Mountains. I learned something new the other day. I was having a chat with a dear friend who lives halfway around the world in a tropical zone, and she was telling me about her family’s vacation at the beach the week between Christmas and New Year’s. While out in the surf one day with one of her daughters, the young girl suddenly began screaming bloody murder - in major pain and unable to move. My friend rushed to her daughter and removed her from the water, at which point she discovered her girl had been severely stung by a jellyfish. She then told me, matter-of-factly, how she was frantically trying to pee on her daughter, to which I think I replied with something like, “What the heck?” Apparently it’s common knowledge to pee on a jellyfish wound if you’ve got no other treatment around. I guess the ammonia in urine is a good way to disinfect and wash out the sting. But, not every kind of jellyfish sting, I’ve since learned, so know your jellyfish before you start peeing on someone! The kind that stung my friend’s daughter has tentacles up to 10 meters long! Which in America is..like…well, I’ll bet it’s pretty long! So, of course, the conversation shifted to asking the question, “Who would you care enough to pee on if they were in need?” Obviously there are plenty of people we might love to pee on for no reason at all, but that’s too easy. Determining those you love enough to do so, now that’s a little harder. I was going to set up a poll to ask that question, but I decided that’s much too grand of a venture for such a piss-poor topic. But the choices would have been: A. Immediate Family/Spouse Only. I only pee on blood kin or those I’ve already shared bodily fluids with. B. Close Friends. My closest friends are worthy of my urine. C. Acquaintances/Co-Workers. ONLY if they did not have either A or B around to help them out...though with some co-workers, my aim might not be so good. D. Strangers. I would gladly pee on anyone who needed it, regardless of race, sex, age, or political affiliation. E. Myself. I only pee on myself, thank you very much…been doing it all my life. And I'll pray the sting is below the waist. I wonder if it works on grizzly bites. All this time I thought people brought those big coolers to the beach just to get drunk and pass out in the sand. Now I know they were just being good neighbors…arming themselves in case of a jellyfish emergency. I really need to get out more. I have so much to learn. Okay, enough of that grossness. I have to go to the bathroom now for some reason. If I was at the beach, I’d look for someone in jellyfish distress first, but Thank God I live in the Rockies. |
| I have a blue decade going. Groovy. Poor Ryan Seacrest appears to be stuck in the role of Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve heir-apparent and doesn’t know how to get out of it. The last time I blogged was the day of my daughter’s high school prom last spring and I think I’ve finally recovered from that, so it’s time to take a look at the goals for 2009 I posted in my New Year’s Eve entry one year ago and see how things worked out. 1. Get off Sugar-Free Rockstar Energy Drinks. After a bit of a rocky start, I think I accomplished this one. Haven’t had one in months. 2. Increase my BER (Blogging Efficiency Rating…total number of days blogged divided by total number of days in the year to that point) to between the 25%-35% range. Hahahahahahahahahahaha! 3. Climb over 300,000 vertical feet to break my one-year personal best of 270,000 feet. Hahahahahahahahahahaha….HAHAHAHAHA!!!!! 4. Buy new underwear. Check. 5. Lose my virginity. I had several alert readers inform me that I may have already accomplished this one since I have teenagers in the house who claim to be my children, but I’m not convinced. That proves nothing, so I’ll keep investigating. So, all in all not too bad. Two successes, two failures, and one undecided. I can live with that. And before you say anything, the underwear thing was NOT as easy as it sounds. Guys don’t like buying undies unless it’s late at night and the checkout lines are nonexistent. For 2010 I only want one thing: To be a Cha Cha Guide. Everyone knows about Cha Cha, right? Cha Cha is a place to text for answers to any reasonable question in the world (text number 242-242). I learned about Cha Cha while backpacking with my brother and kids last summer. Brother Tim and I were sitting by the water chatting one fine afternoon when we somehow got on the subject of the Matthew Modine movie from the 80s where he plays a high school wrestler who falls in love with an older woman. For the life of us, neither one could remember the name of the movie, so Tim turned to me and simply said, “Cha Cha.” Huh? He explained what it was so I pulled out my cell phone and asked Cha Cha our question. Within seconds the answer “Vision Quest” came back. I was impressed! And of course, we spent the next half-hour asking ridiculous questions, which Cha Cha answered accurately every time. Fast forward about a month later when my family and I were camped along the river one summer weekend. I noticed the label on one of the inner tubes we used for floating the river read “Carlisle Tire Co.”, so I asked Cha Cha what I thought was and obvious question: “Is the Carlisle Tire Co. located in Carlisle, PA?” (I have relatives there.) Their answer: “Pirelli Tire Co. is located in Rome, GA.” I text back. “No, the CARLISLE Tire Co.!” Cha Cha: “Maximum PSI for a 215/75R14 radial is 35.” I asked again, but this time I got a message telling me I’d used up all of my questions but I could still get answers by addressing ‘Lulu’ first when I asked…at the exact same number! I thought, okay, I’ll play your little game. I asked a simple question I knew the answer to: “Lulu, what three Canadian Provinces border Montana?” Cha Cha/Lulu: “Ontario and Quebec border the Great Lakes.” (which is wrong, but…) Me: “Lulu! No, what provinces border MONTANA?!?” Cha Cha/Lulu: “British Columbia is north of the Idaho Panhandle.” Me: “Lulu, are you currently stoned?” Cha Cha/Lulu: “Ha ha! No, I am not stoned! You’re up bright and early today!” It was 9 o’clock at night, which answered my stoned question. Since then I’ve had mixed results with Cha Cha and Lulu, but my daughter told me that they accept ‘guides’, which are simply the people who do the quick search and answer the incoming questions. Apparently they even get paid a little bit, but I just thought it might be kind of fun. But, every single time I check their website, it says they are not accepting any new guides at this time. So that is my goal for 2010 -- to be a Cha Cha guide. I’m set with undies for life, and I can’t think of anything else worthwhile. I could make a real difference in people’s lives….someone they could trust with important matters. “Cha Cha, what is the top speed of a female mallard duck?” “Zero mph if on her nest. Faster if not.” “Cha Cha, how long do I bake sugar cookies?” “Broil at 550 degrees for 7 hours.” Yeah, I can do this. Well, I guess it’s time to take down the Christmas tree. I heard recently that the average Christmas tree has 77 ornaments on it. Ha! My wife isn’t happy if you can see the actual tree, so we have a lot of work to do today. Happy Happy 2010! |
| Tonight is prom night for my daughter. She will be attending, but I don't have those typical fatherly worries since she and a group of about five other girls will be going together. No men required, which doesn't break my heart too much. And, in typical Shelby fashion, she says she couldn't care less about the actual prom, but is only excited about dressing up and going out to dinner with friends. I told her she'll most likely be glad years down the road that she went. Even if it's a boring time at the actual prom. How will she ever know if she doesn't go, right? I'd hate for her to look back 20 or 30 years down the road and regret not taking part. Shelby has made life easy on her mom and dad. She acts like someone in their 30s and has always been independent, organized, and goal-driven. A 4.0 student, she also works, volunteers her time at the humane society and the local homeless shelter, as well as sponsoring a child – Sibongo – from Swaziland with her own money. She was recently voted 'Most Serious' for her high school yearbook, which made both of us laugh since she is anything but too serious. Her giggle fits are so cute and always make me laugh. Just last night the two of us were sitting in front of the computer, watching all of the Sonic commercials on Youtube together, and laughing till we cried. Yeah, I know....but we think they're hilarious. So, on a big high school night that might make some parents a bit nervous, I have no worries. I know she and her friends will have a great time and hopefully make some good lifelong memories. And, of course, all of this prom talk reminds me of my own and how friggin' old I am. I only went to one prom – my senior year. That was actually the only school dance I ever went to in all my high school days. I was so NOT a high school socializer. Living in the mountains where we did, I spent all of my free time hiking and exploring. I never had a girlfriend, until that fateful day in first period English class near the end of my senior year when the girl from France who sat in front of me got into a fight with her two friends who sat directly in front of her. Instead of swapping homework with them to grade, she turned around and asked if I'd like to trade papers. I shyly said yes, and before I knew it I was going to the prom with her two or three weeks later. And not only that, but I continued to go out with her for over three years, even coming close to marriage. I'm loyal like that – you grade my English paper, I'm yours for life. |
| As our old house continues to crumble around my family's feet and sinks deeper into the earth's crust with each passing day, my wife and I figured it's probably time to start searching for a new house. You know, since the economy's so good and all right now. But each new day at home is feeling more and more like the final scene from 'Carrie', so we thought we'd better act now before the house completely sinks into the bowels of hell and loses all resale value. We met with a realtor last night and told her that money's not going to be a problem...because we don't have any. We eliminated that problem years ago. She suggested a growing little community on the outskirts of town – one of those new developments where the houses are cute and colorful and built so close together that your refrigerator light will wake up the neighbors three doors down. The kind where you can't sit and dangle your feet off your front porch for fear of having your toes run over by passing motorists. We'd basically be living in Keebler Village. Still, it is in our 'no problem, no money' financial bracket. However, the contractor's website for this development is vague and a little frightening. Some of the FAQs and answers from their site: Q. Will there be playground equipment in the park? A. The Homeowners Association might add equipment. Q. What is the monthly Homeowners Association fee? A. The Homeowners Association will set monthly fees. I picture a WWII villain answering those questions. "Do not worry, my friends....the Homeowners Association will take care of everything. Vee have vays of making you stay here..." With about 900 houses per acre, you might never find your way out should you be foolish enough to enter. Another exciting reason to buy a new home is the dishwasher. Do you know that we have never had a dishwasher in our lives? All of our homes have been so old, we never had one. And since I do such a darn good job myself, there was never a need to buy one. Thanks to emollients, my hands are really soft and pretty after all these years. But, oh the things I could clean with a real dishwasher! Golf balls, fruits and veggies, hamsters....maybe even some dishes. And don't get me started on the trash compacter possibilities and hamsters, though I actually had one of these in my college apartment years ago. No one told me you had to change the bags, though. I'd been living there a few months when I turned it on one day and the counter started separating from the cabinet. I figured something was up, and not just the countertop. So, that's our big excitement these days. I should probably visit the contractor's office soon over at Keebler Village and ask some questions...like, do my HOA fees include cookies and will all maintenance be done by elves. If they ask what we're looking for exactly and what we'd be comfortable paying each month, I can always answer, “Do not worry, my little elfin friend. The buyer will pay a monthly mortgage.” |
| Boring Sunday entry with random thoughts. I'm never all that thrilled when my wife comes home from shopping and has a few rented dvds that she picked up on the way home. Seeing those movies in her hand causes my metabolism to drop sharply as I know I'm in for a night of intense boredom. She has an incredible knack for choosing films that have at least two of these going for them: a. Are at least 15 years old. b. I've never heard of. c. Star Diane Keaton. I have nothing against Diane Keaton....I just can't stand Diane Keaton movies. It's not her fault. They just suck. Anyway, my wife completely surprised me by coming home with not one, but two movies where none of her usual three film-choosing factors came into play, which completely shocked me and threw off my metabolism. But I had some coffee and managed to speed up my heart rate enough to watch and enjoy both this weekend – 'Australia' and 'Eagle Eye'. Even though neither one has Kate Beckinsale or Brittany Murphy, I enjoyed them.Tor's entry yesterday reminded me of the time my brother and I were hiking on an old grown-over trail up on the rez when we suddenly heard a camera click. We looked around and found a motion-sensor camera mounted about eight feet up in the tree to our left. Then we noticed a five gallon bucket of virgin sheep's blood suspended by a rope above the trail. I'm assuming that's what was in it, since I've heard from out-of-staters that we Montanans don't have many virgin sheep so it would be extra special. Anyway, someone was obviously trying to lure bears for some photos, but we took this golden opportunity to put on a show, so for the next ten minutes we created a series of sequence shots for the camera – kind of like when you take a notebook and draw a different pic on the corner of each page and flip through it to watch your character come to life. I'm sure they appreciated it. Let's see, what else.... Oh, a relative of mine back in Pennsylvania recently came off of life support after suffering a serious head injury. His wife, however, apparently wants him back on life support so she can pull the plug. While he was still on support, she wanted the doctors to take him off. They said no, it was too soon given the conditions. Then, after he came off and actually started making short walks around his hospital floor, she STILL wanted him off....even though he wasn't on. I don't know, but that might be a sign that there's trouble in the marriage. The local sports blog writer dude ripped me off! There's a website devoted to blogging about our local college Griz teams and usually one of our newspaper's sports guys will write an entry and let the public comment. Recently there was an entry about how our UofM Lady Griz basketball team was too overmatched in their NCAA tourney loss to Pitt – the tone of the entry stating that teams like Pitt are too big and fast for teams like Montana. I commented that I disagreed and pointed out how we were only down one at the half, but played right into their hands in the second half by walking the ball up the court and not being aggressive against their traps, etc., etc. The very next day, the same guy wrote a new entry saying he thought about it more and now believes the “Lady Griz just weren't aggressive enough and played right into Pitt's hands.” What the heck??? The rip off! I don't know much, but I think that's some form of polygamy and that's just wrong. Okay, I'm done. Enjoy your Sunday. |
| I've been feeling so distracted lately! Can't focus on anything it seems, and I've been a huge ball of pent-up frustrated energy on top of that. It felt like it was going to kill me today so I went out and found the steepest trail I could find and basically ran nonstop to the top....then I ran ran ran across the trail on top...ran down a different trail back to my truck....sat in the truck and decided, nope, it didn't work. I'm still uptight. And there's not a darn drop of alcohol anywhere in this house, except for the wine I made back in October of 2007 out of grapes that grow on my Dad's property. I'm not quite that desperate yet. Let's just say 2007 was not a good year for my wine production, but at least it was the only year. Maybe I just need some potatoes... Anyway, this is about a week overdue, but as you can see.... ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ...the Annual Good Friday Hike and Moose Poop Gathering Festival was a surprising success last week! I say surprising because there was still a ton of snow up there, and in past Good Friday hikes with lots of snow, I never see any trace of moose or their poop. Nobody likes to squat in the snow, not even a moose. They usually just hold it till the snow melts. But it was a bountiful harvest, though it's too soon to tell how good the product is. A quart-sized bag of poop is currently emptied and curing on the bbq grill....covered and hidden from my wife who probably would not approve of having moose business drying on the rack where burgers and steaks will soon be cooked. Grilling season is fast approaching so I hope the poop dries fast before my wife lifts that bbq lid with a plateful of raw burgers one day soon. For those who don't already know, dried moose poop makes a great incense. I've been doing this Good Friday hike for many years, but it's not like the good ol' early years when the trail was mostly clear and dry the entire way until maybe the last mile or so. The past 7 or 8 years have seen quite a change. Now that global warming has firmly set in, I'm almost always greeted with two to three feet of snow on this hike every year. Despite all the snow up there, the day of the hike was actually pretty warm. And my daughter joined me this year for the very first time! I worried about her being able to make the 16 miles, but I needn't have. She's got loads of teenage energy and has always been an active runner and hiker, even if she's never gone this far before. Strange to think she wasn't even born when I first made this annual hike. She's a chip off the ol' blockhead! She managed to melt one of her shoes trying to dry it in the fire and was upset, but I assured her that she is now a true member of the club as I have melted countless pairs of boots, socks, pants, gloves, etc. in campfires over the years. She also got a few burns from the drifting embers landing on and burning through her fleece pants, and once again I assured her that you are never a true mountain girl until you have at least two or three third degree campfire burn scars to surprise your husband with on your wedding night. A few more pics... ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Artsy black & white pic of me, featuring tin cup filled with campfire coffee. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Shelby hates having her pic taken as much as me, but she was actually shielding herself from the smoke and heat here and I was patiently waiting for her to put down her hand and look my way. She wouldn't and I eventually got hungry and gave up. Nope...blogging didn't work either. I'm still uptight.  |
Day Three of the flu. I think I'm slowly coming out of it, though. Managed to crawl out of bed and visit Blogville for a while last night. The best part of getting the flu on the first full weekend of March Madness is I was able to sack out on the couch and watch 149 college basketball games...guilt free! The worst part is I miss my wife. Since I'm trying my best to limit contact to keep her from catching it, I'm missing all her little kisses and hugs and sweetness. So sad for me.   Anyway, since 4 out of 5 dentists agree blogging is the best way to fight the flu, I thought I'd give it a try. But first I must mention how I was reminded this week that there is no greater feeling of helplessness and total panic as watching the water in the toilet bowl rise higher and higher toward the lip as you stand there helpless, pleading and praying for the tide to turn in your favor. It's either, “Please, God...Please, God....Please, God............Thank you, God.....Thank you, God....Thank you, God...” or “Please, God....Please, God....PLEASE, GOD!!!......Dammit!!!” The porcelain tide was not in my favor that day, but I survived. My son is anxious to get his driver's license. Problem is, he only wants to practice the fun part – driving – and is pretty much ignoring studying for the written part of the exam. We picked up a Driver's Manual over at the DMV anyway so he could look it over. Thumbing through it and the sample questions, I see driver's exams are just as strange as they ever were. The questions always come in two completely different varieties: Insanely easy and insanely confusing. First you get the easy question with the really cool multiple question answers that no one could possibly get wrong unless they're a teenager. You approach a train crossing. The lights are flashing and the barrier is down and you see a train approaching the crossing. You should: A. Drive around the barrier and onto the tracks, then accelerate as fast as you can in the direction of the train. B. Turn around and go home, then try again tomorrow. C.Honk your horn and flash your lights repeatedly in hopes of getting the train to stop so you can cross. D. Stop and wait until the train safely passes. Then comes the confusing questions. You want to change lanes to pass a vehicle ahead. You should: A. Make sure your vehicle is in the lane but not before you leave the previous lane and try to pass. B. Keep your vehicle in the lane you want to pass but be certain to check if you're in it. C. Pass the vehicle in the lane that is required for passing vehicles that are not in your lane. D. Leave the lane you're in but only if it's the one you don't want to be in to safely pass the vehicle ahead. I've also noticed that Americans no longer are included in American quizzes, whether they be school textbook problems or driver's exams. Back in the day, you would have math questions like “Jim had nine apples. He wanted to share with Mary and Bob. How should Jim divide the apples?” Now it's “Bandar has 12 organically grown green figs. How should he redistribute them so that Vesma, Juan and Puleng each have a fair share?” And, I'm sorry, but the driver's manual is incredibly outdated. There are new rules for today's teens and new questions needed to be added to the exam. I'm here to help. Akmed is driving his Dad's Lexus and approaches an intersection where the light has just turned yellow. He is on the phone with his girlfriend, Estefani, and while he accelerates to get through the intersection, he receives text messages simultaneously from Jazeel and Ghalib. He should: A. Ignore the text messages so as not to anger Estefani. B. Ignore Estefani and try to return condoms he will no longer need. C. Answer Jazeel while using intermittent one-word answers to keep Estefani fooled. D. Immediately ask Estefani a question to keep her occupied, then text both Jazeel and Ghalib, but only if his left knee has a firm grip on the steering wheel. Mitsuko pulls out of the Burger King Drive-Thru and onto the busy expressway. He has just started eating his Triple Whopper with Cheese when his King-Sized Dr. Pepper starts to tip over in the center cupholder. He should: A. Drop the King-Sized Onion Rings in his left hand and reach awkwardly for the drink before it spills. B. Hold the Whopper in his mouth and use the free hand to grab the drink, creating a possibly dangerous choking hazard. C. Accelerate and turn his vehicle sharply in the same direction as the tipping drink cup in hopes of straightening it. D. Let the drink fall, then put his car in reverse and back up all the way into the BK Drive-Thru for a replacement. Anatoly is driving 67 mph through a 25 mph school zone when he notices two hot girls walking down the sidewalk. Suddenly, a small boy runs off the playground and chases a ball into the street. He should: A. Continue visual contact with the girls and circle the block again if necessary. B. Accelerate rapidly to get past the boy before he makes it to the street, risking the possibility of losing visual contact with the girls and needing to circle two blocks. C.Try to decide which of the two girls is hotter so he can plan his next move. D. Maintain current speed and visual contact, but immediately send a strongly-worded text message to the school board regarding his safety concerns of keeping their kids off the streets. I know I'm supposed to have five, but I'm sick so cut me some slack. This blogging is tiring when you have the flu. |
| Two months in a row with a Friday the 13th. I'll bet this means we'll have another Saturday the 14th, too. That's, like...whoa, dude....way too much to comprehend. According to Wikipedia, the most reliable source of information in the history of the world, “There is no written evidence for a Friday the 13th superstition before the 19th century....however, some folklore is passed on through oral traditions.” Not everything passed on orally is bad , but in this case it is. And the info is way too vague – I found many different theories for the possible origins of the Friday the 13th superstition. Apparently '12' is a good and complete number, whereas '13' upsets that goodness, unless there are donuts involved. During my search, I did find a bunch of other superstitions - some I knew of, some I didn't.Ambulance: Seeing an ambulance is very unlucky unless you pinch your nose or hold your breath until you see a black or a brown dog. 'Touch your toes Touch your nose Never go in one of those Until you see a dog.' I'd never heard this one, but if you hold your breath till you see a black dog, the ambulance will be coming for you, then you'll have real trouble. It's a long ride to the hospital while holding your breath, and there likely will be no dogs there. As for the accompanying poem, that's the kind of whiplash plot twist mine have. 'I love to lie under the sky it's up so high my car is green.' Baby: To predict the sex of a baby, suspend a wedding band held by a piece of thread over the palm of the pregnant girl. If the ring swings in an oval or circular motion the baby will be a girl. If the ring swings in a straight line the baby will be a boy. And if there's a wedding band at all, consider yourself lucky! Knife: A knife as a gift from a lover means that the love will soon end. Ya' think? Bed: Placing a bed facing north and south brings misfortune. Uh oh. I always suspected my problems started in the bedroom. Bird: If a robin flies into a room through a window, death will shortly follow. Yeah....for the robin! But, I think that's why they invented screens – to protect us from robin death. Cough: To cure a cough, take a hair from the coughing person's head, put it between two slices of buttered bread, feed it to a dog, and say, "Eat well you hound, may you be sick and I be sound." Somebody was smoking some serious yard clippings when they came up with this one, and I'm sure the Humane Society might have something to say about it. Fishing: It's bad luck to say the word "pig" while fishing at sea. Nobody would ever think of saying the word 'pig' while fishing...unless they knew about this. Then just TRY not saying it! Baseball Bat: Spit on a new bat before using it for the first time to make it lucky. Or the umpire, one or the other. Foot: If the bottom of your right foot itches, you are going to take a trip. Straight to the podiatrist. Apple: Twist the stem of an apple as you recite the alphabet for each twist. The letter the stem breaks off on is the first letter of the girl you will marry. I do this one all the time and I try to cheat to get the 'D' for my wife. First, I thank her for not being named Zelda, then I try to manipulate my twists, but I almost always wind up with 'E' and have to tell my wife that I'm leaving her for my niece, Erin, who is the only female I know whose name starts with 'E'. Ladybug: If a young girl catches a ladybug and then releases it, the direction in which it flies away will be the direction from which her future husband will come. It is bad luck to kill a ladybug. Or your future husband. Sleep: You sleep best with your head to the north and your feet to the south. What the heck??? That's going to be a little difficult with my bed in the East/West good luck position. I'm so confused... Cow: Cows lifting their tails is a sure sign that rain is coming. It's a sure sign something is coming, but I don't think it's rain. Swan: A swan's feather, sewed into the husband's pillow, will ensure fidelity. And a husband's head, sewn into the headboard will ensure it as well. Okay, that's enough superstitions for one day. As you can see, there is much to worry about so be careful out there. |
| We had yet another round of heartache in the family this past weekend. Just six weeks after my youngest son was relieved of his boyfriend duties from his girlfriend of one year, my oldest came in the bedroom in tears on Saturday telling us his girlfriend had just said bye bye, too! This one was the bigger shock because those two had been going out since, like, before I was born. He seems to be taking it well so far. Sheesh...two in a row! Hope I'm not the next one to get the boot! Those of you who actually knew me when I started blogging 40 or 50 years ago might remember my entry about the miniature golf course my brother and I set up in the woods every year. We created it in an area near where we fish a lot up the mountain canyon where we grew up and still spend a lot of time. Traditionally, opening day of the Jocko Country Club at Cow Crap Creek is the first Monday evening after Daylight Saving starts, so last Monday was the day. There's no snow on the ground here in our valley, but we didn't expect to see any green 25 miles away up the canyon. Sure enough, there was about five inches of snow up there AND it was really really cold. So, opening day had to be postponed. But, it's still fun to hang out and, fortunately, I dressed for the occasion – insulated snow pants on top of insulated shell pants on top of expedition weight thermal pants on top of thin long underwear. Columbia winter parka on top of Mountain Hardwear Windstopper Fleece jacket on top of Montana Grizzlies hooded sweatshirt on top of thick fleece sweatshirt on top of t-shirt. Wool cap, gloves, only one pair of socks (my feet stay warmer when toes are free to wiggle), and Sorel boots rated to 40 below zero (liars!). Movement was minimal, as were potty breaks. By the way, those temperature ratings for boots and sleeping bags are a total crock. I learned early on in my mountaineering life that a sleeping bag rated to 20 below won't actually keep you warm at 20 below, but will simply preserve your life in a cryogenic state until you can be brought back to life at a later date. So, yeah, my feet got a little cold even though it was nowhere near 40 below, but when the moon came out we stepped out of the shadows to soak up the warmth of the sun's rays reflecting off the lunar surface. Moonlight warms, you know. Sure, it's only a psychological warmth, and only about 0.00000017 of a degree at that, but every little billionth of a degree helps. I am proud to say that I am one of only four living earthlings who do not have a Facebook page. It's down to me, an Eskimo with limited wireless access, and two rebel members of the Amazonian Yanomami tribe. I will try to hold on as long as I can. I was reading about the new food pyramid the other day. I guess the old standard 'four basic food group' pyramid is gone and has been replaced by 'My Pyramid', because apparently one pyramid size does not fit all anymore. It must now be built to individual specifications. However, it was interesting to learn that the very first pyramid was created way back in 1894, and included milk, meat, veggies, fruits, and cereals. Cereals? They had cereal back in 1894? I wonder who was on the very first box of Wheaties. Maybe Jesse James or General Custer. And I'll bet it was a HUGE victory for civil rights the day Sitting Bull made the box. And speaking of foods, this is the year I'm finally going to grow that BIG pumpkin. I've been wanting to do that for years, but never remember until Halloween when pumpkins suddenly appear and I'm reminded that I forgot. And I don't just mean a big pumpkin, but a BIG pumpkin! Anything less than 500 lbs just won't do. I noticed that the record Montana pumpkin weighed 666 lbs! Someone obviously made a deal with the devil there, so I must wipe that one off the books in the name of all that is good and orange and holy. I'm shooting for 40,000 lbs just to be safe. Though, pumpkins do bring sadness to my heart because they remind me of the time we tortured a mouse by accident. It was a typical October day several years ago when we found a wounded mouse on our front deck. A cat got it, I think, but it was still alive. To protect it and give it a chance to heal, we put it inside the carved pumpkin on our deck, figuring no cats, skunks, or hippies would find it. The next morning, it was dead – frozen solid from spending the night in an extremely damp, cold and orange torture chamber. Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But the tragedy rocked the mouse kingdom and it was in all the mouse papers, as I'm sure you remember. We were unfairly labeled as sick, rodent-abusing fiends, when all we wanted to do was help. Anyway, if I am able to successfully grow a huge pumpkin, think of all the additional creatures I could torture! |
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