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 |  Groovy Blog v 2.0 |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Thanks, vivacious  , for my groovy blog header! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
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Sometimes it's as much fun to read the comment section of a blog as it is the actual blog itself. I can't tell you the number of times the comments I've received put my entry to shame. I think that's one of my favorite parts of blogging – seeing what people come up with when prompted by a particular subject in an entry, and not just my blog, but any blog out there. No pressure or anything.  Just this morning I had the most clever message sent in one of those online e-greeting cards where Nigel the talking cat actually called me by name in a personalized message (in his groovy British accent) and said something about lifting me out of my fog. Though, come to think of it, the person who sent it didn't comment in yesterday's blog about fog and pet mediums, so maybe it actually was a message from Nigel.What's also interesting, are the parts of a blog that people pick up on and leave comments about. Then everyone plays follow the leader and the comments take on a life of their own. I think this phenomenon is also very cool and, in fact, the entire blog commenting process in general is worthy of a government grant to further study what makes it tick. I'm sure the new administration would approve. A fictitious example: Blog Entry: I'd always hoped this day might come, but now I can't stop crying. My fourth husband of 9 years died last night. The same man who has done his best to ignore me for most of those years while he did nothing but sit on the couch every night watching tv. I never had the strength to leave him, but now I'm free and I don't know what to think. Frank choked to death last night on some Cheetos while watching a hockey game on the same couch he's spent most of our marriage avoiding me. Suddenly being alone doesn't feel as good as I thought it would. Where do I go from here? Comment #1: Hey, I love Cheetos! Ever try the 'Flaming Hot' style? Too much for me! Comment #2: I can never get that orange stuff off my fingers when I eat them, but they are SO good. Comment #3: LOL @ comment #2. I just pretend to hug my husband and rub it off on his shirt. Comment #4: I only like the Puffed Cheetos myself, but Frank -my third fat slob of an ex-husband - used to sit on the couch and eat those things all night......hey, where do you live? Comment #5: I love cheese. Then there is the opposite effect: Blog Entry: I had the greatest day today with my kids! It's the first time we've had a day to ourselves in so long! We packed a lunch and took it to the park to enjoy the beautiful sunshine we had beaming down on us today. We had such a good time on the merry-go-round (before lunch, of course! lol), then I couldn't get the kids off the swings! I think I pushed them for about an hour straight, but it was a perfect day and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Thanks for letting me share my joy! Comment #1: My husband told me he was leaving me last year while we sat on park swings. I hate swings. Comment #2: Oh I'm so sorry, comment #1! BIG ((((((hugs)))))) to you.  Comment #3: At least yours told you he was leaving. Mine just left. I hate men. Comment #4: It took me years of therapy to get over the pain and anger of my bitter divorce, but then some inconsiderate blogger has to remind me. Comment #5: I like cheese. This particular blogger's once-joyful spirit is now crushed, so she deletes her wdc account, starts drinking, and contemplates her very existence. There is power to those comments, so be careful out there. |
| Darned if I didn't forget my camera again yesterday, so this will have to do. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I took this pic several years ago of one of our famous valley air inversions. Our town's down there somewhere beneath the fog that's about 1,500 feet thick. This is exactly what it looked like yesterday from the top of Mt. Sentinel, however. And it was probably 15 to 20 degrees warmer up on top than it was down in the fog. These darn inversions settle in and just don't want to leave! So you have to climb above them if you want some sunshine. Somewhere down in all that muck Kåre Enga in Udon Thani  is sitting in his apartment, sipping tea, writing poetry, and listening to Yanni while the sweet intoxicating aroma of boiling underwear wafts through the room. Dude, the fog might not lift till June so you may as well come up and play. Kare knows how much I adore our local newspaper (how's that for a smooth segue?). The first thing I do every morning after falling out of bed is to grab a slice of coffee (I like it strong) then log on to our local paper's homepage to see what kind of animal or shrubbery is in distress today. Okay, the first thing I actually do after waking each morning is to pull the cat hairs out of my mouth, but after that it's the coffee and cyber-paper. I don't subscribe to the print edition because I can get more square footage of toilet paper for less money at Walmart. Our newspaper is very fond of animals. And trees. They aren't so fond of real human news stories. Recent front page news has included stories about a Bigfoot sighting, the first trout to journey through a recent dam site, and a missing horse. I log on every morning expecting to see headlines like 'Beaver Injured In Boating Mishap' featuring lots of quotes from someone with a hyphenated last name speaking for the Coalition for the Prevention of Beaver Abuse about how 'thank God, the beaver will recover, but if we ever find the bodies of the missing boaters and they happen to be alive, they'll pay'. Woe to the pilot who takes out a flock of geese around here. The best article I've read recently was about a local woman who claims to be some kind of psychic medium to animals. She has recently started offering her services (for a price, of course) to those who want to improve their relationships with their pets. She will spend some time with Fido and report back to you what he's really feeling so you can be more sensitive to his emotional needs thereby improving the entire pet/owner experience. This is a job I want. I have no idea what animals think, though I suspect it's all centered around food and sex, but I could fake it. “Yeah, I had a little chat with Rover today and he said to tell you he'd like to see you choke down a Milkbone, plus he's really not all that thrilled about those evening walks and wonders why Fluffy gets a litter box while he has to go out and squat his butt to the snow when it's 4 degrees outside. He also said you might want to wear thicker pants because if he doesn't get some female companionship soon, he can't be held responsible for what happens to your leg. “Fluffy told me you're an idiot for choosing his name and he's been taking a lot of heat in the neighborhood. He also said that stain on the bathroom rug was Rover's fault, but that you didn't hear it from him. He told me that Rover's been talking to him a lot lately about 'confused' feelings and can't seem to stop sniffing other male dogs' butts and thinks he'd like to be spayed. “And Nemo said you can stop feeding him now because there's a reason he's been floating on his side since Tuesday. He said the reason he's floating is because dumb-ass humans like you can put a man on the moon, but couldn't design a lightweight fish food that didn't sink like a rock to the bottom of the bowl before he could eat it. A porcelain funeral is okay with him as long as he gets to swirl a little before going down. He always thought that sounded fun.” Today's top 'news' story? A local group is trying to get businesses in the area to put up signs in their windows letting nursing mothers know if it's okay to breastfeed on the premises. Hey, at least it's about real people if not real news. I am sheltered from the real world here, so if any of you happen to know what's happening out there, please let me know. I heard a rumor we have a new president. |
| Can I make one last post-inauguration gripe? I promise this is not a political rant or a slam of Obama in any way. It's more an assessment of certain people and how they can really piss me off. My wife and I signed up for a series of financial classes to help us learn better ways to invest, budget, and take care of our money. It's basically a financial fitness course that will also help us to qualify for certain loan programs to buy a new house, something we've been wanting to do for a while. The first class was last night and I'd say there were about 20 people in attendance. At the end of class, our instructor, a really nice and easygoing woman in her late 20s I'd guess, mentioned that everyone was now free to go to any inauguration parties but that she was tired and going home. A man to my right made a comment that all the money spent on these parties back in Washington was a huge waste of valuable money, which it most certainly is. But then the lady sitting directly to my wife and I's left said (very loudly), “Well I can guarantee you no one was celebrating four years ago!”  Uh...yeah, I can assure you that I most definitely was celebrating four years ago, as was half the nation. My face started turning red, I gritted my teeth and glared at her while my wife gave one of those nervous smiles that told me to “Please, please just let it go. It's only our first class.” The lady gave me a sheepish look, knowing she'd upset me, but she also had a contentious look like she was ready to get into it with me. As much as I love arguing with liberals, I let it go. This next part I talked about over in my MySpace blog several months ago, so a few of you have already heard about it, but I'm going to share it here, too. My daughter, Shelby, is very conservative herself. I do not push my political beliefs on my kids, but I know they often follow our parental lead. She takes it seriously and studies the issues and our politicians closely, and even participated in a mock debate and election at her high school last fall. On the day after the election, one of her teachers started exuberantly raving over and over about the previous night's results. He then goaded the class into raising their hands if “you're as excited about last night's election as I am”. Shelby said every single person raised their hand but her. The teacher took notice and asked, "Shelby, aren't you excited about last night?" She strongly replied "No." He asked why and when she started to answer, he cut her off with "Oh, I don't want to hear it. Let's get started with class." Look, I appreciate the excitement and enthusiasm very much. Truly I do, but both of the above examples displayed inconsiderate and inappropriate behavior in my opinion. I'm very opinionated, but I keep my opinions to my own blog or to when I've been prompted by someone else opening a discussion. I would never assume everyone believes what I believe and blurt it out in a room full of strangers. Okay, end of rant. Next time I promise to get back to being stupid again. NO comments, please! |
I received my very first blog comment via text message yesterday. The ever-clever Nada  picked up on the texting theme of my entry and sent a comment to my phone. Though she was two-time-texting me with CC at the same time, she did give me a great idea: Blog comments delivered directly to your cell phone! This could work. I'm sure the SMs will be all over this idea.Well, after cruising around Blogville this morning and reading lots of fun and lighthearted entries, I almost hesitate to go through with the racism entry I previewed yesterday since it's a serious subject and everyone seems to be in a carefree mood. But, I'm going to do it anyway. And my entry isn't all that heavy, so I'll stick with the plan. But first, in honor of the inauguration, I'd like to say I hope all of those enthusiastic people who voted for change will keep their enthusiasm and support going strong, even in the hard times. Things take time. And I don't care what anyone says, George Bush is a good man. I'd love to personally shake his hand and thank him for keeping my family safe over the past seven years. Too many people take that for granted. Okay, today's entry.... My brother and I went to see Gran Torino the other night. I thought the movie was excellent, but it got me to thinking about myself and how I can be pretty casual with so-called racist comments made among friends. Any of you who have seen this film probably know where I'm going with this. In the movie, Clint Eastwood plays the part of Walt Kowalski, a retired Korean War Veteran living in a neighborhood that's being increasingly populated by other cultures – the focus being on the large Hmong family right next door. Walt is a modern-day, very R-rated Archie Bunker – an angry man who believes America is for Americans first and doesn't mind letting everyone in his world know about it. Hardly a sentence goes by where he's not making some derogatory remark to his neighbors or any other minority he comes across. As the movie progresses (don't worry, no spoilers here), he grows to accept and even admire the Hmong family next door. His racist comments don't stop there, however. He continues to call his new friends 'gooks' and 'egg rolls', but obviously the tone is different, and they give back as well as they get. We also are given several scenes of Walt and his barber throwing racial insults back and forth, but all in the name of their 'masculine' friendship. I found myself laughing to the point of tears during some of the scenes in this movie, because Walt's attitude and delivery of some of these racial jabs were downright hilarious. Not unlike Archie Bunker. And I wasn't alone – the entire theater was laughing. Though I'm not nearly as harsh and R-rated as Walt, I have to admit I do the same thing with friends. I've been accused of being self-righteous and racist simply because of my strong conservative, Christian values, but I can assure you I most definitely am not. But I also don't have one politically correct cell in my body. We have a predominantly white population here in Montana, though we do have quite a mix of different cultures. But they're relatively low in numbers. However, we do have seven Indian Reservations in the state and I happened to grow up on one of them. Some of my best friends were tribal members and it was common for us to jab each other with taunts of 'paleface', 'red man', 'savages', and the always-popular 'you stole our land'. We didn't think anything of it. We were friends and didn't care. It's common sense, I know. Not all people make racial insults in fun among friends. For some, the motivation is hatred and the intention is to wound. And I remember a popular blogger here writing an entry several years ago that touched on this subject. They were strongly against any kind of racial comment, even if it's made in jest among friends. I disagree, but that's just me. Again...common sense. I certainly wouldn't go up to a stranger on the street and call them something inappropriate, but among friends I don't see the problem. And, no, I don't make a habit of it, but among certain friends it just became natural. Just curious of your thoughts. I won't be offended or angry if you disagree with me. |
| My brother and I went back up to the lake to get skunked fishing yesterday. Well, Tim caught one. Zero for me again. At least the weather was much warmer so there was less shrinkage, but the fishing still sucked. “Big fish fry!” I called to Tim as I walked empty-stringered to the fire at the end of the day. That phrase has become THE phrase for a bad day of fishing with Tim and I. It originated many years ago when we took a friend with us on a long backpacking trip. It was Arthur's first-ever trip into the mountains and Tim and I kept telling him about the little-known lake we'd be getting to on the third day where the fish practically jump out of the water and beg to be eaten. We'd been going there for years and literally catch fish on every cast. As we approached the lake, Tim yelled, “Big fish fry tonight!” Of course, that day we caught no fish. As we sat around the fire that night eating half-cooked instant rice packets, Arthur let out a very sarcastic, “Yep....BIG fish fry!” So, it stuck as our skunked phrase. Driving away from the lake, I got a text message from my nephew whom we had invited to come along, but had already made plans to ice-fish at Georgetown Lake 90 miles the other direction from town. Brian: How many? Me: We lost count after one. Brian: Ha ha. 32 for me! Smart-ass. Speaking of texting, I've really become a convert. Or a pervert. One of those. I used to give my kids crap all the time for their texting, but now I get it. “Just call them!” I'd plead. But now I get it. Texting fits perfectly into our modern no-commitment society. It's a way to say, “Hey, I like you but not that much and I don't really have time for you.” Phone calls can get boring and ruin your life with their length and substance, but texting is to the point with no strings attached. You're in, you're out. So, I admit it. I've got the equipment so I can't deny it. Like those people who claim they don't like to sit around and watch television, yet they've got the big screen, the DVD blu ray, the ultimate cable package, and a really comfy couch. Whatever. I've got the text package and I'm proud to say I use it. What I'm not good at and never will be, is the text abbreviated lingo. It's not that I can't learn it, I just don't want to. Mental block, but for some reason I spell everything out completely in my texts and use proper grammar and capitalization wherever necessary. Teens can text 'U R bn n2m U!' which actually means ' I had a really fun time at lunch today. The pizza sucked, but at least that hot guy was working. I'll call you tonight before I come over to watch Idol. Oh, and thanks for letting me copy your homework today. Did I leave my jacket in your car? Talk to you tonight!' I am the opposite and actually write more than I have to just to make sure I'm understood. 'I will arrive at your house at approximately 8:00 p.m. mst this evening and that is when I will arrive. p.s. -- Did I leave my jacket in the back seat of your vehicle? I seem to have misplace it and wondered if I left it in the back seat of your vehicle. If you would check the back seat of your vehicle and let me know. Thank you very much.' There are a lot of guilt-ridden texters out there who know they should actually be calling on the phone, but once you harden yourself to that guilt, it's a piece of cake. In my next entry, I want to write about racism. I figure the timing's right with MLK Day and the inauguration. And I promise not to say any bad things about Mr. Obama. It's a little different take on the subject that I've been thinking about this week and thought I'd share. Hey, this is kind of like one of those ads at the end of a television show! “Stay tuned for scenes from our next entry of Partyof5!” Maybe we should all start ending our entries with a preview to the next one. We could even use reruns! It's game time! Go Cardinals! |
| I used to go to a lot of concerts in my younger days. We had quite a few country music performers roll through this area back in the late 80s through most of the 90s. Not so much anymore, but we still do get an occasional big name in town. Fortunately, I'm a fan of country music so there was plenty to choose from. Contemporary Christian is also high on my list of musical preferences, but none of those people ever seem to come up this way. I have seen a few of them. So, I was trying to remember all of the concerts I've seen in my life. Remembering stuff ain't my strong suit anymore, but I'll try. John Denver (twice) Gordon Lightfoot Dan Fogelberg Amy Grant (3 times) Barbara Mandrell (got to meet her and get an autographed pic, which was cool since I was, like, 19 and thought she was so cute) The Statler Brothers (the original foursome, before Jimmy Fortune) Nitty Gritty Dirt Band Kathy Mattea Travis Tritt (twice) Sawyer Brown Eddie Rabbit Diamond Rio Hal Ketchum Marty Stuart George Strait The Judds (3 times) Wynonna Judd Reba McEntire (twice) Clint Black (twice) Vince Gill Mel McDaniel Baillie and the Boys Shelly West Nicolette Larson Lari White (twice...you may not remember Lari's music, but you may remember her in the final scene of Castaway with Tom Hanks. The cute girl giving directions on the lonely country road? My wife and I got to visit with her, and she's super nice.) Garth Brooks Alison Krauss and Union Station (twice, front row seats....best band in all the land. I could listen to them play forever) Steve Martin Bill Cosby (I remember my jaws hurting SO bad by the end of his show I was laughing so hard) Mercy Me Margaret Becker Need to Breathe Third Day I can't remember being disappointed in any of those shows, though I do remember the sound system sucked for Sawyer Brown and Travis Tritt's vocals were really weak for one of his shows, which is unlike him. Must've been under the weather. I'm sure there are a few concerts I forgot, but that's most of them. There are some other people I hope to be able to see before I die, but I'm not concert-hungry like I once was, so it'll probably never happen. People like Neil Diamond, Keith Urban (he was here a few years ago, but I missed it), Sara Evans, Barlowgirl, and Kelly Willis to name a few. And I had the chance of a lifetime to see Simon and Garfunkel with my roommate back in the 80s when they did their reunion tour, but couldn't make it. He went, I stayed home. Stupid me. Thank you for indulging my trip down memory lane. Have we seen some of the same acts? Don't know why, but I'm always very interested in other people's musical tastes. |
| After much discussion and careful consideration weighing all of the pros and cons, financial burdens and time constraints, and overall effect on our health, my wife and I have decided not to have grandchildren. We will inform our kids of this decision tonight. In other news, I was playing the part of the good father last night and helping my twins augment their Senior Project papers with the appropriate amounts of BS. It's hard for teens these days to write an 'all killer, no filler' paper, what with iPods, Playstation and cell phones taking up their precious time. I feel sorry for them, so I was only too happy to help. Especially since I was able to turn my own C-minus mentality into straight A's in high school with a consistent stream of quality BS filler material. I'm only too happy to pass my knowledge on to the next generation. These skills helped me land my first real job while I was in college. 'Real' meaning I was actually paid and was expected to show up because of that. I have blogged on many occasion about my amazing handyman skills – I grew up mechanically-declined and still suffer from this affliction, so naturally I applied for work at a hardware store. Working there required every ounce of BS I could shovel out of my system, but I survived and even thrived for a while since it's a proven fact that manure can and does aid in growth. At the interview with the store manager, I was asked if I had any hardware store experience. I shook my head in one of those confident 'does the Pope poop in the woods?' looks, and said, “It's been a while.” Translation - I had actually been in a hardware store before, but not recently. Bill Clinton would later turn this kind of answering into an art form, but I was ahead of my time. The manager asked where, and I told him the name of the last hardware store that I'd entered two years earlier by accident, thinking it was the record store next door. “I'm a little rusty, though,” I said. Translation – I didn't know the different between a hammer and a roll of duct tape. He nodded and said he understood – he'd had to relearn some things, too, when he took the job. I was in. My first day on the job went great. First, a young couple asked where the mineral spirits were. Mineral spirits? That sounded like a cross between the sand bags and alcohol, so naturally I took them to the insulation aisle. I scanned top to bottom, left to right, and found nothing that said 'mineral' or 'spirits'. The young gal was giving me 'that look'....you know, the same one a spouse gets just before asking why you're an idiot. I was thinking, 'one aisle down, 43 to go' when a co-worker walked past and I asked his assistance. “Paint department”, he said. After he walked away, I told the couple, “Well, it used to be right here with the insulation where it should be. Always changing things on me.” Next, a grumpy old man asked where the “Fly sights” were located. Fly sights? I took him to the gadget aisle and once again did a quick scan for anything that might look familiar to the guy, because absolutely nothing in the store looked familiar to me. I was determined not to go through the mineral spirits embarrassment again, so I quickly snagged one of the managers as he walked by (a grumpy old man himself) and said, “George, this guy's got a tough one.” The guy gave me 'that look', then turned to George and said, “I just want to know where your flashlights are.” George turned and gave me 'that look', then told the man they were up near the cash register. It was then that I knew I had my BS work cut out for me. After a few months I learned that nails had pennies, faucets had stems, that not all nuts and bolts go together, and that you needed to be really careful pronouncing the word 'caulk' to female customers. Eventually, I wandered over to the paint department and befriended the guy in charge over there. He liked me and taught me the basics, and I even got to help him out when things got too busy for him. I spent all the slow time reading the backs of paint cans to educate myself for proper BS salesman skill usage. Armed with that, and most importantly, a sound BS delivery, I sold gallons and gallons of products that I'd never personally used. They all thought I'd used them, but I never actually said that. I knew what they were supposed to do, but it was all in my confident BS delivery. I eventually became Vice-King of the paint department....all without lifting a brush. I take no responsibility for the free-falling value of homes in the area that year. |
| So, last week sometime, vivacious left a comment that she needed a shower after reading my blog because it was getting grimy and racy or something like that. I replied that my 'bloggy woggy was not dirty and always left people feeling minty fresh'. She surprised me today with that new blog header sig up there. Groovy, huh? Thanks, Andra! Thank you all for your prayers for Carl. He's resting comfortably and feeling better every day. He may need follow-up surgery, but it's too early to tell. The next 48 hours will be critical. That's what they always used to say on General Hospital anyway. I finally figured out why my teenage son, Caleb, has been losing weight that he doesn't have to lose in recent months. He tells us that he physically can't eat – that he sometimes feels hungry, but that his stomach won't allow it. We consulted a doctor who simply recommended Prilosec to reduce stomach acid. But now I get it. Don't know why I didn't see it before, but after learning of an emotional breakdown he had with his Mom the other day, it's crystal clear. Females! Well, one female to be exact – a really sweet girl who he's been kind of a couple with for the past year, but who recently has backed off. I swear, heartbreak has to be the reason many teenage boys are malnourished, though Caleb's twin sister, Shelby, claims it has the opposite effect on girls. When she overheard my wife and I talking about Caleb's problem, she said, “Hey, we girls are lucky – we eat more when it happens to us.” In the interest of our species' overall health, we really need to get this cloning thing figured out so men and women no longer have to spend time together. We should split up – the women occupying the two polar regions and the men living everywhere else. That seems more than fair. Two earth masses to just one. And speaking of healthy weight, I watched The Biggest Loser last night. The only t.v. I ever watch is the occasional sporting event, but my wife likes this show so I sat and watched with her. We made a big bowl of buttered popcorn, whipped up some large milkshakes, poured some soda and sat on the couch for two solid hours watching people lose weight. Kidding....they were small shakes. I've seen this show before and knew what to expect, so I made a bet with my family when the first tears would appear from one of the contestants. It took a whole 15 minutes last night! I lost. After that, though, the floodgates were open and nobody stopped crying till the show was over. I actually do like this show. It's very motivational for people to take better care of themselves when they see these guys and gals changing their lives so dramatically for the better, though I'm certain much of the weight they lose is water weight from all the crying. My wife signed up for something online that sends e-mail tips from Jillian to her inbox everyday. She forwards them to me sometimes, and for once there was one of those health-calculating formulas that favored the men! Those things are obviously designed by women because they typically make men feel like crap while boosting women's morale. For example, the Body Mass Index. This one is calculated by using your age, height, and weight (if I remember correctly), which gives you a number that you can use to determine if you're overweight or not. I put in my 6' 2”, 187 lbs and it said “Sorry, dude, you're over the top”, yet a women can type in 4' 2”, 349 lbs and get “Looking good, babe!” But Jillian's Basal Metabolic Rate (BMR...not to be confused the the blogging BER formula) was different. The BMR formula calculates the number of calories your body burns in a day if you were to do absolutely nothing. You know, a typical day. Mine came out to 1979 calories burned in a 24-hour day of couch-sitting while my wife's was 1315, which means I got a much better workout watching The Biggest Loser than she did. And it was pretty easy, too. I'm not feeling any pain at all this morning. I...sniff sniff...really think I can do this....sniff |
| Carl needs surgery. He'll only be three-years-old next month, but he's been slowing down and showing signs of failing health for the past half-year or so. And just this morning, I had such a hard time waking him, I just gave up and let him sleep. Carl is my laptop. Carl needs help. I thought about bailing him out with a stimulus package of additional ram, but I'm afraid that would only help him in the short term. No, I think I might have to perform a complete lobotomy on Carl this weekend to restore his brain to its factory-shipped innocence of three years ago. Problem is, Carl is my link to the online world – wdc in particular – and if something goes horribly wrong during surgery, that link is severed and my cyberworld turns as black as a housefly sitting on a bat that's on a crow sitting on a cow (black one) in a basement at 3:09 a.m....with the lights out. It's a risk I have to take, I think. Carl is suffering. So, if I disappear for a while, you'll know what became of Carl and that I'm furiously saving for Carl Jr. There is good news, though. Spring is coming! I have seen it. Since work still hasn't picked up for our little company, I've had a lot of time on my hands these days and I've been spending most of it outdoors. This is good because while 2008 was a pretty good year overall for me, I spent less time hiking and running the trails of Montana than in any year in recent memory. I definitely wanted to get back on track this year and so far I've been able to. Yesterday the sun was shining and I took advantage to hike to the top of Mt. Sentinel in the late afternoon. The trails were a completely thick, glimmering sheet of ice from bottom to top, courtesy of a healthy December dose of snow followed by this week's mid-40 degree temps and scattered rain. No one was on the mountain because of this, but I just avoided the trails and hiked straight up the grassy slopes that were free from snow for the first time since sometime before Thanksgiving, also a result of our recent warmth. It was a great day and I got a little taste of March, my favorite month. March in Montana is a little like February which is a little like January , but at least it offers the chance of those muddy, 50-some degree days of sunshine that I love so much. Yesterday was almost like that. Not that warm, but with the sun beating down on the western slopes of Sentinel, I was able to dress light. I was feeling that unmistakable joy of March, if only for a day.The entire hike my eyes instinctively searched the hillside around me for the first buttercups of the year, though I know they're still a few months away. Force of habit when I'm hiking in March and I was lost in the feeling, I guess. But, just after reaching the top and heading back down, the sun disappeared behind Blue Mountain to the west and the temperature dropped about 52 degrees in four seconds, causing my Spring mirage to vanish just as quickly. It was one of those welcome mid-winter reminders of what's soon to come! And, when you get to be my age, life flies by at such supersonic speed that it'll probably be here before I finish clicking 'save entry'.  As you sit down this morning to eat your bowl of Cocoa Puffs, please say a prayer for Carl. |
| This is one of those boring little throw-away entries I was telling Kay about the other day. Just one of those shameless offerings to keep my BER elevated. Sagging BERs are common among men my age, so I must do my best to keep it stimulated. When I was in line at Walmart the other day, I noticed that all the magazines at the checkout counter are geared toward women. This is just plain wrong and very sexist, and worthy of a boycott, but I was curious 'what men really feel during sex' so I spent a little time learning the truth about my gender. Very enlightening. And, since there were no men's magazines to be found, I couldn't help but put my own perspective on the headlines. “Too busy for girlfriends?” Heck, no! “What it's like to love a girl.” Pretty cool, I guess. “Your most flattering cut.” It's a toss up between a porterhouse and a top loin steak. Our local landfill charges $22 to dump a pickup load full of garbage. However, they've obviously learned how to do business from cell phone companies, because every time you take a load up there it winds up being somewhere between $38 and $45. Their explanations are in foreign landfill-speak that no one but a landfill expert could possibly understand. Quite a racket they've got going up there. All for sitting in their little booth, extorting strange landfill fees, and DOING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Landfill mobsters, I tell ya'. The problem is they have the monopoly on the local garbage trade, so I'm thinking I'll open my yard for business. For a $20 guaranteed flat rate, you can dump as much crap as you can cram in your truck in my yard. Hazardous wastes are accepted and encouraged. Eventually the real landfill will buy me out and I'll move and let them deal with it. Then I'll start all over again. I think this could work. That is, if I don't get yanked from bed by Moose and Rocko one cold Tuesday morning before the world awakes and thrown in the back of a garbage truck where I'll be rearranged and compacted for disposal and never heard from again. If I vanish, check the landfill. But you'll have to pay $38 to $45 first. Okay, that's all I've got today, but my BER has been aroused somewhat. |
| My kids and I watched 'The Messengers' the other night, a totally believable ghost story about an incredibly good-looking family from Chicago who decides to leave the city and buy the oldest and creepiest farmhouse in all of North Dakota where the father will plant, nurture, and harvest about 9,012 acres of sunflowers...all by himself. There are a lot of good-looking crows in this movie, as well. About 400 per acre, I'd say, yet none of them seem to like sunflowers which might explain why there's not one drop of crow crap to be found. Ghosts I can believe. I don't believe in crapless crows. Another part that was totally believable was the scene where the teenage daughter is home alone with her little toddler brother one night. Lights start to flicker, furniture is overturned, things fly across the room like they would in any typical domestic household, except the parents weren't drunk and weren't even home this time. Eventually the girl finds herself at the cellar door, because, you know...it was there....where we see a bunch of bleached, fairly colorless (but accented with just the right touch of understated lavender tones) arms reaching out of the darkness and trying desperately to pull her downstairs, possibly to borrow some sunblock a little weaker than their current SPF 500. She escapes, of course, and when her parents arrive home they don't believe her...of course. The totally believable part? The very next scene we see the girl sleeping soundly in her bed that very same night. What the hell?!? I would have been on the first mule back to Chicago! Or at least Fargo. Eventually, the creepy ghosts find peace in the on-demand quicksand that shows up in the cellar at times, and the crows depart for another movie, leaving 9,012 acres of sunflowers untouched, uncrapped on, and ready for harvest. A sequel would probably start with farmer Dad holding a sickle, laughing maniacally as he looks out over 9011.75 acres of rotting, unharvested sunflowers while the snow starts to fall. “Shoulda hired some help! Hee hee ha ha hee.....crows....hee hee.....who knew?.....hee......it's just a *#^$&ing sunflower......piece of cake, right?.....ha hee hee......think I'll go kill someone I know.....hee hee....” I have my own ghost story, you know. Well, I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I'm actually not making this up. When I was about 6 or 7-years-old, my family bought the creepiest old farmhouse in all of Pennsylvania. As a young boy, I had no choice but to move in with them, despite my reservations on the purchase. It was super-scary -- you know, one of those 800-year-old houses that was probably built before George Washington came over with Columbus on the Titanic and discovered Pilgrims. Signs from centuries past were etched in various walls (Thaddeus rulz, Zebidiah droolz). I don't remember for sure, but I'm nearly positive I hadn't been drinking that night, and cold remedies weren't geared for immobilizing children back then like they are now (New Vicks Formula 44, now with a triple shot of codeine so your child is out for good and you're free to get back on MySpace!). So I'm pretty sure this actually happened as I remember it. I shared a bedroom with my older brother, Steve. The foot of his bed was close to the head of mine, so they made an L shape together. We were on the second floor and there was a window near the foot of his bed, as well. One night I awoke to see Steve kneeling at the back of his bed gazing out the window. There was a strange pale-green glow coming from outside that softly illuminated his face. I called to him. “Steve.” Nothing, no response. He just kept looking outside. “Steve!” He slowly turned to me, but as he did his face changed into a cross between Chewbacca and Ed Asner. Since Star Wars hadn't been invented yet and I wasn't a big fan of the Mary Tyler Moore show at age six, I screamed like I'd never screamed before as Ed/Chewie reached for me with a big, goofy-looking hand. I buried myself under the covers – still screaming -- and tried to wet the bed but nothing came out. Within seconds the lights were on and Mom and Dad were in the room. Nothing ever did touch me, and Steve was out cold like someone on vodka and Vicks 44. He slowly came to and, of course, said that he hadn't been awake at all. Mom and Dad did the right thing and pretended I was their child as they looked under the bed for Ed, then the closet, then out the window. Nothing. It's the only time I've ever experienced anything like that, but my Dad has said there were many creepy things that happened to him in that house, though he never saw Ed Asner. If I awoke in the middle of the night now to find Ed and Chewie reaching for me, I'd be, like, “Hi. What's up, dude? You were totally awesome in 'Elf'.” All I know is that night I was out the door and thumbing my way to Pittsburgh the second Mom and Dad left the room. |
| The 16-day Christmas break is over and the kids went back to school this morning...and I slept through it! I feel like such a nimnul. I woke up at 8 a.m. And they were gone. I never do that, dang it. Speaking of nimnuls, I am reminded of the Mork from Ork 'I feel like a nimnul' iron-on patch I own. Not sure where I got it, but I've had it for, like, 25 years. I blogged about this patch in my previous life as a blogger and I think even included a photo. Some guy from Germany must have been googling Mork from Ork iron-on patches and came across my blog. He sent a few e-mails back then to my wdc address, asking if he could buy it from me. Ha! Some things are priceless, dude. Someday I will find just the right t-shirt to iron it on. Something that just speaks 'nimnul'. No comments about it being all about the wearer, please. I spent a beautiful and very cold day up north at Flathead Lake last weekend fishing for Lake Trout. Flathead is the largest freshwater lake west of the Mississippi, and is supposedly one of the cleanest as well. However, whenever I scoop up a pot of its water to make coffee on the fire we always have burning while we're there, I can't help but think of the local lore that says there are 26 bodies that have never been recovered from the lake over the years, all presumed drowned. Plus, the latest Fish & Game estimates put the growing number of Lake Trout in Flathead at close to one million. That's a lot of trout urine in my coffee! And you'd think with those numbers, our odds were pretty good. Nope. Four fishermen, hundreds of casts, one bite, one fish. It was so cold, I think all the fish were down at the bottom huddled around a thermal spring or their own campfire or something. So, it was a good day of fishing, but not a good day of catching. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** This is part of the lake, but just one of the smaller bays. It goes way over to those mountains to the east, then about 30 miles north and south. Okay, my problem. Here's an example. The other day I went for a hike up Mt. Sentinel, trying to get a start on working off a few months of couch and chocolate-infused stagnation. My wife and daughter came with me, but at the trailhead they headed down the Kim Williams trail along the river while I went vertical. We were to meet at the car in about 90 minutes, and just before they got out of sight I yelled in my best Hawkeye imitation (Last of the Mohicans), “Stay alive! No matter what occurs, I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you. Just stay alive!” My wife nodded and rolled her eyes. She's heard it all before. And THAT is my problem - I honestly don't think I can go five minutes without using a movie, t.v., or song line in any conversation. And it's not enough to just use the line, but I have to imitate its source, too. I do pretty good imitations, I think. I can see how this might be a little annoying for those around me, but I can't help it. I need therapy.Another example. The other day we drove to the liquor store (no, not to help my wife cope, but to get me some whiskey for New Year's since it had been years since I'd had any and I deserved it). As we approached the store, someone tried to cut in front of me in their car. I pointed at him and yelled, “Don't you do it! Don't you do it!!! (Richard Gere, An Officer and a Gentlemen). Then, a few seconds later I tried fitting in a tight parking spot. My wife said I'd never make it, but I said, “I've done it before, in the Yukon.” (Neil, A River Runs Through It). As I pulled in the spot and turned off the car, I held up my hand and rocked it back and forth with an imaginary bottle. “Whis-keeeey!” (Don Ameche, Trading Places.) She suggested buying a small bottle and I said, “Look, I'm buying a big bottle, so you'd better get used to the idea!” (Michael Palin, King of Swamp Castle, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I'm really good at the Python lines. ) She then handed me a twenty and asked if that was enough. “Twenty...twenty-one, whatever it takes.” (Michael Keaton, Mr. Mom) On the way home, I pulled in Subway. “The Donger need food!” (Long Duk Dong, Sixteen Candles)Some days (like the trip to the liquor store) are worse than others. It might not be so bad if I just left it at the lines, but many times – like the other day – I have to follow them up with, “Remember that movie?” That's a big mistake, and has contributed to my need for a resolution to lose my virginity. Anyway, that's my big problem. Please tell me I'm not alone. Please. I need to tone it down and find a better balance because “balance not just for karate. Balance for whole life!” (Mr. Miyagi, Karate Kid) |
| My daughter just dropped a grape on the kitchen floor and it rolled under the narrow opening beneath the stove. She gave up trying to find it, but I told her she'd better find it because it'll wind up fermenting under there and then a mouse will eat it and get drunk, spaz out and bite our cat Squeakers who will get rabies and attack us in the middle of the night and we'll all become vampires. Yep, it's John Denver's birthday today. John would have been 65 if he were still around. Hard to imagine him that age. I was a huge John Denver fan growing up. Heck, I'm still a big fan. And let me tell ya', I took a lot of heat for that as a teenager! It wasn't cool to like JD. But, as a young boy growing up in the heart of the Montana Rockies and my love for exploring those mountains just starting to blossom, John's music hit home in a big way. I always have a healthy dose of his tunes on my zune.I was lucky enough to see him twice in concert before he died (which was better than seeing him in concert after he died). John had this habit during live shows of encouraging everyone to sing along if they knew the words. I really wish he didn't do that. I remember the concert in Spokane, WA, where it was all I could do not to turn to the tone deaf woman 'singing' in the seat to my left and scream, “Dude! I didn't spend all this money to listen to your barnyard mating calls!” This concludes my John Denver tribute. Any big plans for New Year's Eve? Our family never does anything, and that's fine with me. We usually buy some non-alcoholic drink to toast with and do our best to stay awake to use it. My wife's usually out by 10 p.m., so I'll wake her at about 11:45 so she'll have a few minutes to gather her senses and grasp her toasting glass firmly, then she's out again by 12:02. Yep, it doesn't get much more thrilling than our house on New Year's Eve. I had this crazy idea of being the first to blog in 2009. I would have to go by WDC time, which is est, so that would be 10 p.m. for me. Timing would be critical....like trying to win that special Ebay auction at the last second. I'm nearly 84% sure I'll forget, though. Highlights from 2008: 1.Discovered Sugar-Free Rockstar Energy Drinks. I've never tried drugs in my life, but I'm pretty sure these are better. 2. Went on some fun trips with the family. Glacier National Park, Yellowstone Park and Jackson Hole, as well as many little weekend daytrips. 3.Didn't die. 4.Got to play golf four times in 2008, plus bought new socks in October. 5.Started blogging again in February. Reconnected with some great 'old' friends and made some new ones. Thanks for welcoming me back so warmly. You complete me. Goals for 2009: 1.Get off Sugar-Free Rockstar Energy Drinks. I've never tried drugs in my life, but I'm pretty sure these are worse. 2. Increase my BER to somewhere between the 25%-30% range. As all earthlings know, BER refers to Blogging Efficiency Rating. You calculate this by dividing the total number of days you blogged by the total number of bloggable days. So, if you blogged 100 times in 2008 you would use the formula b ÷ d = ber, which would be 100 ÷ 366 (leap year) = .273224044. This can be rounded down to .27322404. This would be a 27% BER. I just calculated mine for 2008 and it came out to a paltry 0.111111111111111111111111, which is kind of cool, but kind of pathetic, too. 3.Climb over 300,000 vertical feet. My record is 270,000 in 2004. I was so inactive hiking-wise in 2008 that I think I might have been in negative numbers. Must get back on track. 4.Buy new underwear to go with the socks before they wear out. 5.Lose my virginity. Happy New Year to all of you! Be safe and watch Dick Clark responsibly. |
| Here I am on the quiet late night/early morning streets of Blogville again. Can't sleep, so I figure it's a good place to hang out for a while. I really wonder what it's like to have a good night's sleep. I'll bet it's really neat. I kind of remember having one once just after I graduated from high school, but I'm not sure. Somewhere in the madness of last week, we turned the corner. The minutes of daylight are increasing little by little each day and this pleases me. Sure, I love winter and snow and frozen pipes and car wrecks and head injuries on the ice and snot frozen to my upper lip as much as the next guy, but I like sunshine, too. First God gave us the solstice, then His Son, then gift cards! My wife and I went out yesterday in an effort to lessen the value of those cards, and after stopping at Cafe Dolce (which I think is Italian for 'small coffee, big price, no visible bathrooms') for a latte, we noticed a billboard advertising a website that was something like 'nomoremanboobs.com', though that wasn't the exact address. I figured it had to be for a health club, but you can't be too sure around this strange town, so when we got home we tried to find the site. Word of advice: Do NOT type the word 'boobs' in any google search! Unless, of course, that's what you're searching for. Eventually we found the proper website. Yep, it's for a health club that will be opening soon downtown. I certainly hope this club is catering to total body health and not just man boob health. I'm thinking large men need their boobs. Weebles wobble but they don't fall down – take away the boobs and they WILL fall down. It's a balancing mechanism...physics, weight ratio, all that stuff. So, guys...if you fall down a lot, maybe you just need some man boobs. I'm sure you've noticed how clumsy flat-chested women are. No? Well, then, you need to start paying more attention to the flat-chested women! Christmas pics time! Yay... ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Up the old canyon, on the way to my Dad's. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** My wife (on the right) and her best friend, Emily, on Christmas Eve. Em was visiting from Phoenix. I love Em. She is a super friend to my wife and super cool. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Oh, we got to shoot some guns yesterday! Wahoo. My niece got a handgun for Christmas, courtesy of her husband who is currently stationed in Afghanistan. It was actually her wish, not his. You know, nothing speaks of love on Christmas more than semi-automatic weapons. Anyway, it gave us all a reason to play guns in the snow. Mine was bigger than hers. That's me up there, bitterly clinging to my gun, and trying to do my best bad-ass, Jack Bauer pose. Bad camera-phone pic, though. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Here's a pic of the Christmas Maze (part of it, anyway...it was BIG!) I made on one of my Dad's frozen ponds on Christmas Eve. That's my wife and youngest son out there trying to solve it. I thought about cutting holes in the ice for more of a challenge, but that could have potentially ruined Christmas. I created the darn thing and I still couldn't figure it out. And all that crap about 'if you build it, they will come'? Well, I built it and nobody came! I couldn't get anyone to come out and try it until just before we packed up to go home. My son was the first to finally finish it. Next year I WAS going to build a rollercoaster out of snowballs, but after the lack of interest in my amazing maze, they can forget it! Less than 48 hours till 2009. Here's hoping for a great year and here's hoping they can scrape one more year out of Dick Clark! |
| Man, it's CRAZY out there! I swear, this week has clobbered my buttocks to within and inch of their lives! Or is that 'life'? Buttocks is plural, so I guess it's 'lives'. Anyway, I'll be so glad when Christmas is over and we can all get back to focusing on Jesus again. Despite the craziness, there's been some fun. My wife and I had a good time baking cookies this week, I think. Our oven is possessed, so it takes a little while to fool it with the proper combination of temp and timer, but we got it. The first few batches when straight from the oven to the garbage can, and I suggested eliminating the middle man and simply spooning them onto the cookie sheets then throwing them out, but we eventually seized control of the demon oven and had success. Our huge gingerbread snowflakes looked more like protozoan spores, and since we ran out of white frosting and only had pink left, that didn't help. Breast Cancer Awareness Amoebas, I called them...a holiday baking tradition is born. Well, my family is off to my Dad's country home 50 miles north in less than an hour. We'll be there till Friday night, I believe. It's been snowing all week, but it's supposed to snow a lot later today and tomorrow. Maybe we'll get snowed in! That would be groovy, I think. I hope every single one of you has a Very Very Merry Merry Christmas! Yeah, even YOU! |
| As usual, our wonderful weather forecast of gloom and doom and death did not come to pass. Their winless streak is alive. The National Weather Service is run by the government, right? This would explain things. Or, perhaps the snowflakes have no desire to stop and mingle in our liberal community. Whatever the reason, we got nothing but trace amounts of the massive storm that hit less than 200 miles west and was supposedly coming our way. There's not enough new snow out there to make one snowman's nipple, let alone any other important body parts. Well, I suppose there's enough for a nipple. Maybe 7 or 8 of them, but a yard full of nipples in and of themselves would probably confuse passersby. Tonight's the night, folks! Montana Grizzlies vs. richmond spiders in the FCS college football national championship game! ESPN2 at 8 p.m. est. I've been waiting all week, as has our loyal football-crazed community. I LOVE college football and these are our hometown boys! It's one of those rare times our community of hippies and rednecks come together for the common good. And it's been a good season for our Griz – we're in the championship AND none of our players were arrested for murder or any other felony charges! Go Griz! Well, I've been home and able to blog more this week because I've basically been laid off till the end of the year, and possibly beyond. This does give me more time to shop and prepare for Christmas....and no money to do it with! I'm thinking it's not enough to just have a job in today's economy. Too risky. A person needs to create their own work – work that somehow ties into the whole mess the country's in right now. You know...take advantage of the situation like any good American. I've decided to offer my services as an Underwear Reclamation Consultant (URC) to help all of those people who lost their shorts in the stock market. I haven't figured out yet how people who have lost their shorts can afford to pay me, but I'm working on it.T-minus 8 hrs, 49 min, 17 secs till game time. Roger that. GO GRIZ! |
| I had a brief e-mail discussion with Emmyloo last night about the death, destruction and embarrassment that comes with trying to walk on snow and ice. If you live up north, you have to learn how to walk twice – first as a child, indoors in the safety of a living room filled with sharp-cornered hardwood and glass coffee tables, and then outside on a frozen sidewalk or street. Neither one prepares you for the other. It takes practice and a basic knowledge of physics to master the art of walking on snow and ice. Speed times body weight divided by shoe size times windspeed minus the surface temperature of the ice, for starters. Thankfully, many people don't study and we get to witness them in action almost daily. And if we're really lucky, we get the two-for-one special – the person starts their slide, spazzes out and over-corrects, then loses it the other way. I still remember my greatest hit. All the conditions were right for maximum exposure and embarrassment. It was perfect, and I've never been able to duplicate it to this day. There I was with my lovely bride – two honeymooners walking the crowded streets of Jackson, Wyoming, one fine holiday weekend. Jackson is a major ski resort town and the place was humming with activity. Being the 80s, I was wearing a heavy-duty, lumberjack kind of hiking boot – suede-leather exterior, bright red bootlaces, and about a five-inch waffle-stomping sole. Each boot weighed about nine pounds. Downtown Jackson features covered boardwalks. Boardwalks that were sloppy with melting snow from the hordes of happy skiers. Boardwalks covered with wooden awnings to capture and amplify the sound of those who hadn't learned to walk yet. It all happened so fast, yet it seemed to last a week. We had just hopped off the street and taken a few steps when my world suddenly changed forever. Little did I know that history was being made. I can still remember the chilling sound of my nine-pound boots scraping rapidly and forcefully against each board on the walk – increasing in speed and pitch as my legs deserted me and mocked gravity. Unfortunately, my body did not mock gravity but embraced it, and the resulting sonic boom was augmented under the rafters of the boardwalk's awning, stopping people in their tracks and reverberating in an echo that I still hear today. It was beautiful, man, just beautiful. It is in rare times like these that you find out much about your fellow man. There are basically four reactions to an event of that magnitude. 1. All-out laughter. 2. Holding in your laughter while you look the other way. 3. Total disregard (this can be that they're either showing respect in your time of emotional pain and suffering by not drawing attention to the matter, or they simply don't care). 4.Genuine or fake concern followed by an offer of assistance. Despite my horizontal position, and rosy cheeks that were getting rosier, I had enough wits about me to check the reaction to my performance. I remember seeing lots of #2 and few of #3, but that was it. Surprisingly no #1s and the only one who gave me #4 was my lovely bride, who was a newlywed remember. If it happened today, she'd either be a #1 or the first one to duck into the nearest store. But that day she came over with a concerned smile and asked what everyone asks, “Are you okay?” Oh yeah, I'm doing just great! |
| This true story was in our local paper a little while ago and I thought it was worth sharing. Yeah, I know -- an unoriginal blog entry is a lazy blog entry, but it is Sunday, a day of rest. The bible clearly says “On the seventh day, God did not blog”. The story: A local man wanted to put a trailer on some property he owned in a rural setting near town, but our county government kept making life difficult for him. If I remember correctly, he only wanted it put there for one of his kids to live in temporarily, but the county insisted he go through something called a 'subdivision review' before being allowed to establish a residence there. He wasn't happy, but did what they asked. Then they told him he needed to install fire sprinklers. Despite his growing frustration with the local government, he did that, too. Before he was able to move the trailer in, the county had one final demand – they wanted the man to name the road leading to his property since it had never had one. He chose the name 'SIUYA LANE', claiming it was a Japanese flower, and the county made the street sign and put it up. Within a day, neighborhood kids had stolen the sign, which lead the county to investigate a little further. A search of the word 'SIUYA' did not reveal any kind of Japanese flower, but rather, a well-known acronym in the texting world – Stick It Up Your A**. When asked about his choice of street names and his fascination with Japanese flowers, he replied, “I don't know.” He then went on to say, “It worked out really good.” When asked what name he would choose now, he stuck with the Japanese flower idea and suggested “FUYOU”. Which actually is a real flower. Okay, that's all I got. Didn't make it to the movie yesterday. Maybe today, if we can get there. -31 wind chill at the moment. Stay warm! |
| We don't go to the movies much in our family, so it's long been a holiday tradition with us to talk about treating ourselves to an afternoon or night at the theater sometime around Christmas, but then never actually going. This year I'd like to break with tradition and actually go. We're thinking today might be a good day, but what to see? I think we'll try Twilight, even though I couldn't even make it through the first book I got so bored. But, there's nothing like a good vampire story to get you in the Christmas spirit. A few months ago I decided to travel to unknown parts of Blogville and comment in strange blogs. Well, not strange strange blogs, but ones I'd never visited before. So, I spent a few days reading and commenting to people I'd never met. Out of all those comments, I got a total of two e-mail replies and zero return blog visits. I thought, okay, fine....people were stressing over the election or something, or possibly just hated me. Well, this week I gave it another try. I went out and read and commented in a bunch of unfamiliar people's blogs. This time I got a grand total of ONE reply and, once again, zero return blog visits. See if I ever try that again! Where's the love, man?!? Rushed home from work last night, got some pizza and Diet Coke, and watched the Montana Griz win their way into the FCS National Championship game next Friday! Exciting times for us western Montanans. Yeah, we love our Griz. You should too....next Friday night, ESPN2, 8 p.m. Est. Tune in and share in our joy. I've been reading a lot lately about how the new presidential administration plans on interrogating terrorist suspects. Seriously, I can help them out. I guess 'waterboarding' is a popular method of torture now? I'm not sure what that is, but it sounds kind of fun, like surfing, and might give the suspect a good tan but won't get many answers. If I were in charge, the first thing I'd so is send the suspect shopping with my wife at the fabric store for the afternoon. I have experienced this style of torture and believe me, after a few hours of “Do you think this pattern would work for the kitchen curtains? Too red? How much should I get? How about that window in the bedroom? How much? Before we leave, I just want to check out the flannel patterns for some possible Christmas gifts for the next seven years. Oh, and those pillows I picked up last week and want to cover...” they'll talk. If they survive, they'll talk. Any torture method needs an intimidating name. I'll call this one 'Shopping with my wife at the fabric store for the afternoon'. Another method of effective torture is to be put in a room full of hunters with no way to escape. I experience this method almost daily, being a Montana native. Believe me, it truly sucks. “So there I was, coming up the ridge through the brush and there he was.” “Damn, how big was he?” “Oh, I'd say about a 20 or 30 pointer.” “Damn!” “So, I seen my partner up over the rise, but he didn't see that big ol' buck down below him. I tried getting his attention without scaring it off, ya' know? But my buddy kept getting closer and closer to it.” “Damn!” “I was using some hot load .395 fully zinc-plated 942 grain 512 mm rounds so I knew I could take that big buck, if I could only get my buddy's attention before he scared the damn thing off.” “Damn! What'd ya' do?” “I shot my buddy before he got any closer, then dropped that big ol' buck where it stood.” “Damn. Good huntin'.” There is a white hot boredom pain that hits the brain when you're subjected to this. Again, if they survive, it'll work. Another method that brings me to my knees is to be stuck in a room listening to “Christmas with Kenny Rogers.” The sap and saccharin infusion would cripple anyone, but I think that one may be a little too inhumane. |
| I found this interesting. My wife's friend just had a CT Scan on her adrenal glands because the doctor had discovered a mass of some kind. Her friend e-mailed to say the results were good, but that the doctor was concerned about the metal pieces that showed up in the scan somewhere near the glands. He said they looked like clips of some kind. This was news to her friend who said she's never had any kind of surgery in her life that would have required clips, nor any surgery at all for that matter. Weird. Maybe she was shot in her sleep once and didn't know it. I think this is a first for me - I've never blogged during the late night hours before. It's always so dark and I can't see what I'm doing. No one's awake at this hour on the quiet streets of Blogville, except for a few strange ones. I'm somewhat frightened at the moment, but might grow to like this seedy side of town. We had another meaningful discussion at work today. The topic: Which animated Disney female character would we most like to bring home to Mama, assuming Mama was animated herself? Not which one is the hottest, but which one would we want to be with 'till death do us part'? Since all Disney female leads have to be beautiful just to make it to the animated casting couch, obviously she needed to have much more going for her than looks to even be considered. We didn't really come close to agreeing, but the front-runners seemed to be Belle from Beauty and the Beast, Pocahontas, and Ariel from The Little Mermaid. I did an online search tonight, just to make sure we hadn't accidentally left anyone out of our discussion, and of course I found a website that had a section featuring the '10 Hottest Disney Women'. We weren't looking for just hotness because we're mature and serious men, but I was curious so I looked. It seems everyone considers Jessica Rabbit by far the hottest animated female, but the problem is she isn't a Disney character, so these sites screwed up. I never thought much of her anyway. Belle didn't even crack their Top Five, and my personal choice, Ariel, was at the bottom of the list at #10. Come on, now! She's nothing if not totally hot! But why Ariel for me overall? I don't know...the poor girl was kept underwater and under wraps for so long, she's like a ticking time bomb and probably willing to try anything, and there's something about that big red hair, clamshell bikini top, and being underage that just gets to me. She is a bit of a ditz and needs to get out and see more of the world to truly develop, but I could help her with that. You have to go with a little gut feeling here. It's not enough to simply weigh all the typical pros and cons – there's gotta be that spark in any serious relationship! That little unknown unexplainable zing you feel when you're with that object of your animated affection. I really would like to hear other opinions on this very important topic. Sure, there are more females than males here, but that's okay – you can just pick which one you'd like to be when you grow up and become two-dimensional. (Even though I suspect most women don't much like Ariel.)I tried to set up a poll, but the whole process abused and hated me and wouldn't work, so here's the list I would have included in that poll if the process hadn't hated and taunted me and refused to do what I asked it to. I would have included a Disney men list, but they're so phony and totally not believable like Disney women are. Jane (Tarzan) Cinderella Snow White Jasmine (Alladin) Mulan Belle (Beauty and the Beast) Esmeralda (The Hunchback of Notre Dame) Pocahontas Ariel I just couldn't put Sleeping Beauty in there because she totally creeps me out. She has the look of an anti-Stepford Wife. I wouldn't turn my back on her for one second for fear of getting a huge animated kitchen knife with a brilliantly gleaming blade plunged into my heavily-muscled back (cartoon muscles). And though cartoon people don't appear to have any blood, I'll bet it still hurts. |
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