Blogs of Note

That Jamwall is too damn funny. I have been reading him lately and added him to Blogs of Note.

I have also added Roximoon! Love you Roxi!!

Vote Early, Vote Often....

The decision is yours.

Read Sunday's entry and then go to Garrett's site...Cast your vote!

VOTE HERE!

Sunday Morning Misceallaneous

100th Post:

Apparently the Brad Pitt post was my 100th post. As a blogger, I was charged with the duty of posting the top 100 things that you couldn't give two shits to know about me.


I passed on that. Instead, I wrote about Brad Pitt who is damn dreamy. Not only was that post more interesting than this one, it received something like 70 comments - a Born to Flock record - which is why I am adding this picture...

Because my life is so fantastically interesting and full of richness and excitement, I figure that I can give you, instead, my top 10 things that you don't really give a shit about me. Each one of my items is certainly worth 10 of the items on an average blogger's list. So here it is:

1. I think Brad Pitt is dreamy.

2. I ride a motorcycle - a lot.

3. I masturbate (a lot) while thinking about all of you (yes, especially you!).

4. I am a large, pear-shaped, middle aged, balding guy who is certain that he is a sex machine.

5. Climbing mountains has become a hobby if not a passion...but only little mountains that have paths and bathrooms nearby (and preferably microbreweries).

6. My family is pretty damn awesome - The Wife, Mad Dog, Punkin and Marquez (the Pool Boy) - they all kick ass like Chuck Norris.

7. Sailing a sailboat around the world is my dream though I have never even been on a sailboat (I also subscribe to 2 sailing magazines).

8. Road trips are my favorite vacations. You can't beat stopping to see the giant ball of mud, house of sod, enormous popcorn ball, meteor crater, sasquatch or ostrich farm. Roadside America is a fantastic experience but it is dying...and it is a damn shame. I blame Wal-Mart. (Yes, I have stopped at the dinosaurs in Cabazon, California - they are the ones that appeared in Pee Wees Big Adventure).

9. God doesn't give a damn what we are up to. He/She/It has better things to do than to punish me for masturbating while thinking about you (yes, especially you!).


10. Garrett created this monster. Garrett and I used to work for the same firm - but in different cities. We worked together on a few projects and corresponded on a somewhat regular basis for a period of time. I have always found him hysterically funny, quirky and entertaining. I don't remember who sent me the link to his blog; it may have been Garrett himself. In fact, I think my good friend, Caroline and I sent Garrett an e-mail one day that said, "MMMM...this tapioca pudding is delicious." We hadn't talked to him in more than a year - so you can see how relevant the content of that e-mail was. That e-mail set off a chain of e-mails that culminated by Garrett offering up the link to his blog as a way to keep apprised of how he was doing on a regular basis. I started reading it and became hooked. I am working on my "Tribute To Garrett" blog entry at this time. It is in the concept and planning stages and assistance is being provided by Jungle Jane.

Post 100th Post:

After "Brad Pitt is Damn Dreamy," I started to go through the journal I wrote while riding my motorcycle with my cousin - Chunk - from Phoenix, Arizona to Santa Monica, California and then north on the Pacific Coast Highway to Portland, Oregon.

I re-read the first two posts and they are so dark and depressing and serious. What the hell is up with that? This trip was one of the most fabulous experiences of my lifetime and I made it sound like I was being marched off to prison. Furthermore, I am not even a dark, depressing, serious kind of guy.

This thought occurred to me while reading (Garrett Style)* one of the short stories from David Sedaris' "Me Talk Pretty One Day." Mr. Sedaris is able to tell a story about parts of his life in an interesting and amusing manner. I apparently resort to the writing equivialent of the entertainment value of a funeral service to convey my joy during one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Yes, I can take a fantasy voyage, apply my special brand of alchemy and, voila! Dogshit.

So, I am abandoning the PCH series and I am going to regale you with a couple of specific interesting and funny tales from the trip instead of wasting any more time building suspense and setting the tone of a horribly frightening experience that wasn't suspenseful nor frightening.

*according to the post, the picture of Garrett reading while posed majestically on the loo (see Jungle Jane's English/Australian-African - Australian-African/English Dictionary for definition) has been removed temporarily.

HEARTFELT GOODBYES -


Don Knotts - Growing up, Don Knotts was one of my favorite character actors. I loved the Andy Griffith show and when Don Knotts left, it jumped the shark. The interplay between Don Knotts and Andy Griffith was television gold. I also remember Don from one of my favorite Disney movies from my childhood - "The Incredible Mr. Limpet." This was not a huge movie for Disney like Snow White or Bambie, but I remember loving this film largely because of the comedy of Don Knotts. I also screamed with laughter as Don Knotts shot down bad guys in "The Shakiest Gun in the West" using nothing but his finger. Thank you for entertaining me, Mr. Knotts.


Darren McGavin - The greatest and most accurate portrayal of true fatherhood ever in the history of TV or motion pictures was Darren McGavin's role as Ralphie Parker's father in "A Christmas Story." The movie is hysterically funny to begin with - but McGavin is at his best when he presents Ralphie with the Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model BB rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing that tells time. That scene nearly brings me to tears everytime I watch that movie - and I watch it a lot. Leg lamps, furnaces and flat tires - who didn't want Darren McGavin to be their father?

The PCH - Chapter 2

Friday July 9, 2004

We left at 4:45 in the morning for a reason. That reason was to put as many miles under our wheels before the desert reached its fiery climax. By the time we hit Blythe, California we are delighted to have accomplished a significant portion of that goal. It is still relatively early morning as we roll into Blythe but the change in temperature is already becoming apparent.

My tank holds enough gas to cover 150 miles and we have pushed its limits. My eyes have spent as much time watching the odometer (FLMNG1 has no gas gauge) as they have the road due to the mild angst about reaching a gas station in Blythe. I hope to reach said station before more traditional human leg power becomes a necessity. I don't want to push.

After a brief stop, we are soon hitting 80 miles per hour again headed in the general direction of Indio, California.

As we come through what I will call a mountain pass outside of Indio, the road curves from a northwesterly direction to a more direct westerly direction as it plunges down from the elevated pass. Traffic comes to a near stop and the dreamy introspection and out of body soaring experience of motoring down the highway is suddenly shattered by the remnants of a very bad accident. Good Samaritan types (and probably witnesses to the crash) are on the side of the road, waving for traffic to slow and it obediently does so. But the suddeness of this moment causes the adrenaline to flow as cars and semi-tralers come to a rapid and sudden halt. We did not lock up the brakes, but we certainly tested their limits.

We are safe. The traffic behind us slowed without parking on top of us (much to our relief) and we now slowly sputter toward the spot where the accident culminated. It clearly started several hundred feet earlier as evidenced by the skid marks and the tire tracks on the hillside. The emergency vehicles have not yet arrived as we slowly pass the victims and the car lying on its side on the shoulder of Interstate 10. The victims, for the most part, appear to be shaken but not severely injured; the car is not so fortunate. Their demeanors are haunting, including some visible and audible cries, and then the feeling of my utter vulnerability on this motorcycle is telepathically conveyed to me through their eyes. I see right into these terrified eyes as I pass and empathy lumps up my throat. It also occurs to me that, had we left Blythe a few minutes earlier, we could have been right in the middle of this and the result could have been devastating. Fate is a fickle bitch.

The PCH

Friday, July 9, 2004.

It is 4:45 a.m. I have been awake for almost an hour. I am dressed and ready - I think.

All bags have been packed, loaded and strapped on with my multi-colored bungie cords. I double check my camera case to make certain it isn't going anywhere. It isn't.

The neighborhood is dark and quiet as the sun slumbers still but it remains inordinately warm. It is July in Arizona. You can't expect it to drop much below 90 degrees at any time including what should be the coolest part of the morning. The scene from a distance belies the underlying unrest and the related potential energy of the impending journey. An EKG would reveal a more accurate depiction of the mood. I am nervous. I am full of anticipation. I am covered in leather and it is 88 degrees. The "boys" are quite damp.

Rules of the road have been established and there are but two:

Rule #1 - No eating at chain restaurants; we get as much local flavor as possible.
Rule #2 - We stop when we feel like it (and the corollary - we go when we feel like it).

I tie a black, Jack Daniels bandana across my forehead and tuck the top corner under the knot in the back. The helmet slides on over the bandana. The earbuds of my mp3 player are popped into place, the helmet positioned and strapped.

I do not know where I will be sleeping tonight; I turn the key and press the starter button and FLMNG1 rumbles to life.

The throaty sound of our motorcycles fades from the sleepy little residential neighborhood as we put distance between the doers and the dreamers. We head west without glancing at a map. Our route consists of only two paths - Interstate 10 to the coast and then a right turn onto Highway 1, the Pacific Coast Highway.

We will stop when we feel like it.

Brad Pitt

I am so relieved that I did not die yesterday. As far as I am aware, there was no point that I was near death, yet I am glad that fate did not strike nonetheless.

There are moments in life that you regret. Even if you do not regret them, there are some moments that you can never get back or never change. Once those moments occur, they are set in time like Jimmy Hoffa in Giant's Stadium. There's no getting them out. The following is one such moment in time that was firmly Hoffa'ed in place with no way to extract.

The scene: FLMNG1 is still in the shop getting new tires and other tender loving care. Mad Dog has class. I need a ride to work and he wins the privilege of getting up early to give me that ride. I wake him up and we get in the truck headed for my office.

On the way to the office we chat about many things. Recently we have been watching movies in the evening; great modern classics mostly such as Kill Bill Vol. 1 and Kill Bill Vol. 2. On this occasion, I suggested that we watch one of my favorite movies - Legends of the Fall.

As we turned into the driveway, this was the dialogue that ensued:

Me: Have you ever seen "Legends of the Fall"?

Mad Dog: No. I've heard a lot about it, but have never seen it.

Me: It is Brad Pitt at his dreamiest.

Mad Dog: Brad Pitt is ALWAYS dreamy. (yes, he emphasized "always")

At which point I clambered out of the truck and headed in to the building. It struck me at this point that we never even said good bye or have a nice day to each other. The conversation just simply ended right there.

I am so relieved those were not our last words.

...because it was there II

Two separate Sundays.
Two separate mountains.
One result; conquered.

This week the Pink Flamingo MC (in this instance MC stands for Mountain Climbers) ventured out to battle the elements and achieve victory over nature. This time, the mountain was a beast; specifically, a camel. Camelback Mountain was the intended goal. From many miles away, it even looks imposing. Here it is as we approach.

and then we got closer...

and then we got up close and personal with the head of the camel.

Before we could even begin the climb, we had to find a safe place to park Base Camp. We were lucky to find such a spot nearly a mile away. By the time we reached the trailhead shown in the following picture, we were already near exhaustion. Notice the stairs in the picture. This is how it starts out.

Altitude: 2704 Feet
Trail: 1.2 miles
Elevatin Gain: 1200 feet

Then it gets steep. It was clear that Camelback Mountain would not be tamed quite as easily as Piestewa Peak. Even with the handy hand rails, this was steep.

Half way up the mountain I found these two clowns waiting for me. I made them sit still long enough for me to catch a couple of pictures and my breath. I was sweating like a pig at this point and it was all of 70 degrees.
This is where I found Mad Dog when I finally made it to the top. He was sitting there, listening to his Ipod just kicking back and enjoying the scenery. As you can see, the view from the top was stunning. The pictures barely do it justice.

Marquez (the Pool Boy) striking a familiar pose atop Camelback Mountain. Victory was again his!!

Off in the distance you could see last week's conquest. It is Piestewa Peak Mountain and it looks relatively small from here.

AND NOW - a little eye candy for the ladies....

The Pink Flamingos Mountain Climbing Team successfully completes another mountain assault. Next week - Black Mountain, Cave Creek, Arizona. No Trails, no directions, no sissies. (Buf fortunately for me, home of the Black Mountain Brewery)

The quest for The Canyon continues...

Marital Advice from Flamingo1

I had an extremely busy weekend and didn't have time to make a new entry to replace my whining about my rotten day on Friday. It is my vast experience with days like Friday and my even more vast experience with women that permits me this level of freedom to offer all of you a little bit of marital advice; call it counseling if you prefer.

This is really mostly for the ladies out there but may also work for those with an alternative lifestyle. It is the best advice regarding what to do after an argument with your spouse.

Ladies and alternative lifestyle visitors - if you and your significant other ever get into an argument, here is a way to end the argument and move on with life. I guarantee the results.

All you have to remember is the following three easy steps:

1. Apologize
2. Cook him a nice meal
3. Perform oral sex.

That's it. The secret to a happy marriage. Remember, it does not matter whose fault the fight was. This three-step program will resolve any marital dispute.

Now go out there and live a long and happy married life.



NOW CLICK ON THIS LINK!!

STEEL AND BRAWN

Horrible Day...Foul Mood

I don't feel like writing tonight. Yet I feel guilty about not posting since Tuesday.

I had an absolutely horrendous day. FLMG1 left me hanging today about a mile from home. I pushed for several blocks trying to get it restarted, but it wouldn't start and I just ended up exhausted.

I walked into my house and mentioned that I was a little bit irritated and set off a battle royale which still rages (if you call being completely ignored raging) at the time of this writing.

Walked home because nobody would answer the phone (nor their cell phones). When I got home, I picked up my truck and went back and spent 40 minutes putting in gas (just in case) and a different battery. Nothing. I think the replacement battery I had was more dead than the one in the bike (long story).

Ended up having to have a tow truck come and haul it to the shop.

Missed my annual performance review at work as a result - no additional stress lumped in there (please read that last section as if it is dripping with sarcasm).

And the net result is that I AM THE ASSHOLE.

For argument sake, let's put the shoe on the other foot...if the queen bee had to go through what I went through this morning...Let's see - oh, yeah, I would still be the asshole.

WTF?

The biggest oxymoron of them all...Happily Married.

To top it all off, since we DID NOTHING on Valentines Day, we were supposed to celebrate tonight. Needless to say, that has been cancelled.

Happy Valentines Day.

...because it was there

Piestewa Peak (FKA - Squaw Peak)

Location - Phoenix Mountain Preserve, Phoenix Arizona

Elevation 2,608 Feet

Elevation Gain: Hikers gain more than 1,200 feet in elevation

Length of Summit Trail: 1.2 miles from base to summit




Date: Sunday February 12, 2006

Time: 1:00p.m.

We drive the 20 minutes in the team truck and set up a bivouac in the parking lot on the right arm of the "L" shown in the picture. We check canteens and equipment and prepare for departure. Hopes are high that the weather will remain stable during our assault on the summit.

We've decided for forgo the Sherpas to save costs. The locals think this is a bad choice, but we are committed to the climb and committed to doing it without guides.

Our first temporary encampment is at about quarter mile marker. We look back down the mountain at basecamp. A shudder runs down our back as we realize how far we are away from base. My truck is barely visible at this point and our climb has only just begun.

As we climb higher, the same smaller mountain peak shown in the prior picture can be seen getting smaller as we rise into the stratosphere. The air begins to grow thin and the narrower band of ozone lends less and less protection against the powerful rays of the sun. We are fortunate that the weather is good but in this environment, conditions are still very dangerous and inhospitable to human existence.

At this point during the quest, I volunteer to take position behind my climbing team - in case of a fall, I want to be on anchor for my fellow climbers. I have made this ascent many times and feel responsible for the welfare and safety of Marquez (the Pool Boy) and Mad Dog. I will get them home safely.


Earth becomes small beneath our feet as you almost get the sense of soaring. The climb becomes very steep; breathing is difficult. Have we trained enough. Are we prepared for what lies ahead. We are barely half way into the journey and I am already having doubts regarding the potential success of this climb. Not every summit assault is successful; letting your ego get in the way can be deadly. A safe climb includes knowing when to give up and turn back. We aren't ready to do that just yet.

Forging ahead, I take a moment to catch my breath and look around at the beauty and majesty before me. There are rocky crags protruding through the stubbly brush and saguaro cacti dot the sides of the mountain. A few unidentifiable birds dart about through the thin air. Off in the distance, I can hear the yelps of several coyote far below.

Onward and upward we trudge. Clambering laboriously over rocks and boulders is exhausting work - more so at this altitude.

As we grow nearer to the summit, the climb steepens further. That combined with the blazing 72 degree sun and the light 5 mile per hour winds out of the northwest make conditions virtually unbearable. At this point, we can nearly taste the summit, so not even these brutal conditions are going to discourage us from the final attack on the summit.

I am near collapse. I send Marquez (the Pool Boy) and Mad Dog ahead while I take a refreshing drink of water only to find that the water has now become the temperature of urine. It is now the breaking point. I have to reach way down into my gut if I am going to successfully reach my goal.

I scramble over the last 15 feet of rock - almost straight up and join Marquez (the Pool Boy) and Mad Dog at the summit.

Marquez (the Pool Boy) celebrates at the summit. This was his first mountain climbing adventure. I can tell that he is delighted with our success yet slightly worried about returning to base camp safely.

Mad Dog reclines against a rocky crag at the summit. Mad Dog is cool; he has been here before. Because he has been here before, he knows that there are no guarantees. One minute the mountain can be a beautiful oasis in the middle of the sixth largest city in the United States. The next minute, the mountain can turn into a raging killer.

You do not trifle with its power and uncertainty.

We rest at the summit as long as we think is safe and then begin our descent.

While gravity certainly makes the descent less work than the ascent, there is always a danger that gravity will make the descent too easy as well as to rapid. It is best to remain in contact with the mountain at all times. If you ever hike a mountain, keep that in mind on your way back down.

At the half-way point down the mountain Marquez (the Pool Boy) grows cocky, believing he has defeated the mountain today. I will let him have this litte victory for the moment. Later I will make clear to him that he should never, ever take the responsibility of safe climbing lightly. This is serious business. Dead serious.

My climbing team. Dammit I am proud of these guys!

When we reached base camp, we celebrated our victory over Piestewa Peak with a victory bathroom break, climb into the team assault vehicle and head for home.

We live to climb another day.

Clean-up and Getting Back to My Blog Roots

I am truly flattered by Crabcake's wonderful referral to my blog. The most flattering part of her comments was her statement that the materials here get her worked up and passionate about a topic one day and make her laugh the next. I started this whole blogging thing because I wanted to express myself in a creative way - I wanted the freedom to write about whatever I wanted to at that precise moment that I want to do it.

On some occasions, I have been worked up and passionate about something when I made an entry. On other occasions, I was amused by something that I wanted to share. Sometimes, I was just drunk. Crabcake's brief commentary about my blog delighted me because it (at least partially) confirmed my hope that you were sharing in this entertaining experience with me. Unfortunately for you, you could not share the experience when I was drunk, but I hope the rest was not lost in translation.

When Crabcake informed me that she was going to feature my blog as one of her top two, I laughed, I cried, I bought myself a Hallmark card that captured the moment, prepared an acceptance speech thanking those that helped me along the way (Garrett, Complete Game, Erin, PDD) and then responded that I would have to clean the place up in preparation for all of the new visitors that I was going to be getting. I wasn't able to do that until this morning because I was drunk last night - that's how I roll. I have now cleaned up the joint. The changes were subtle but necessary. I will point out that I have removed a couple of dead links from "Blogs of Note" and have added some new ones.

As Elton John once said, "the New York Times said God is dead." In this instance it is not God, but Jesus. The Jesus folks, as I predicted they would came and went like a comet - in a blaze of glory. It was bawdy, offensive fun while it lasted. Satan, on the other hand continues his recruiting efforts, although without the Jesus component, the question remains as to whether Satan will have the material to survive. Good needs Evil and Evil needs Good - otherwise it just may not work.

I also stopped whoring for the man. I deleted the link to Google News. It isn't like Google needs more publicity!

The additions were two - Crabcake gets an automatic bid for completely sucking up to me. You know how I love that! Pandering will be rewarded.

I also added Satan's ex-girlfriend, Shannon for a couple of reasons. First, she has been stopping by commenting from time to time, thus meriting some consideration. Second, Shannon posts some interesting questions on her blog such as, "Would you sleep with one of your husband's/wife's friends" and I love that kind of shit. Finally, Satan has pretty damn good taste - she is cute (and she doesn't preach to me like prior cute chicks)!

Cleanup is complete; on to the meat of this post:


I Love Westerns.

I love John Wayne and Clint Eastwood movies. Every Saturday and Sunday, my family sleeps in. I have to pee around 7:30a.m. because I have become an old man, but I don't mind. I get up do my business and head downstairs to the big screen TV that occupies my family room. I bought it when I moved into this house in 2001 and I have loved that 52" bitch from the moment they delivered her.

The Duke and Clint kick ass on the big screen.

I love John Wayne's western characters. Without reservation I can say that the image of John Wayne is a significant force in my life. He represents honesty, integrity and unwavering loyalty. He is tough and hard, but he is pure good. John Wayne always made the right choice - even when he knew it may be the more difficult choice. John Wayne is the ideal. I want to be like John Wayne.


I have read several books about John Wayne. He was human, but all those who knew him said that he tried to live his life in the same manner as his on-screen image. He was very politically conservative and outspoken against communism - which gave him somewhat of a reputation in a very liberal Hollywood. He remained true to his ideals - whether you agreed with his ideals was your problem - but I understand that he never denied anyone's right to disagree with him. On one occasion in 1974, during the height of the Vietnam War, he spoke in front of a hostile crowd at Harvard. The crowd was well aware of his support for the war and hit him hard. He remained true to his ideals, listened to what they had to say, responded with his own opinions and ended the night with a standing ovation from those same students who had been prepared to string him up.

I won't use the word "unfortunately here, but I am more like Clint Eastwood. Clint's cowboy characters represent more of the common man. He knows right from wrong but doesn't always choose the "right" path to get there. Often, he is driven by his own self-interest but ends up helping those in need and protecting the weak or helpless. Watch "Fist Full of Dollars" this theme is clearly embodied there (see also: High Plains Drifter and the Outlaw Josey Wales).

Emulating my image of John Wayne is very difficult. What will be more easily accomplished is following in his footsteps. John Wayne spent a lot of time in various parts of Arizona, and I intend to combine my penchant for tourism, my love for my motorcycle (FLMG1) and my affinity for Western film over the course of the next few months - including photographs.

I intend to draft an article to submit to Arizona Highways magazine upon completion of my quest. It was just this sort of inspiration that brought me here to blogland in the first place and now I intend to press it to the next level.

With that, I ride off into the Arizona sunset....

Breaking News and Bumper Stickers

I love to read the news on the internet in the morning when I come to work. I usually check out a site called Iwon.com (in the hopes that I will someday win money for reading the news) and then move on to CNN and the local site, AZcentral.com.

Today's news is full of riots in Afghanistan, Iran and other places around the planet due to the publishing of some cartoon that I haven't even seen. Funny thing about the riots is that they make you curious about the cartoons and then you want to see them.


There were other stories about the unfolding gambling ring and a ship blocking the Suez Canal and on and on and on and on...

but then this caught my eye:

Chicken

Finally some good news for a change. My favorite quote from the story was this:

"I breathed into its beak, and its dadgum eyes popped open,"

That is pure gold. This story made my whole day!

I also wanted to share the bumper sticker that I saw on the bumper of a car (I know, weird place for it) on my way to work this morning. It said "Fire the Liar - Impeach Bush." Now I know that people dislike the job that George W has been doing. Just look at the approval ratings. But it bothered me to think that someone actually believes you can fire a president for lying. Is that what the Clinton impeachment taught us?

People, every president lies to us. You can't get rid of him simply for lying. The distinction with Clinton was that he lied while under oath in court. That is a crime known as perjury. You do not commit perjury simply by lying or else we would certainly have had to impeach every president following George Washington (who we all know from school never told a lie). Does anyone actually believe that George W. lied under oath and committed the crime of perjury? If so, when? Trust me, I have no love for the guy, but let's not lose our minds here.

This same car also had a sticker that said, Jesus is my God, not George Bush. When did George Bush run for God? I didn't vote for him for president or God, but I seem to recall something about him being elected president.

My point is this - if you are going to stick a bumper sticker to the bumper of your car with a political statement, make sure it isn't stupid.

Gleefully, I head off to work knowing that Boo Boo the Chicken lives.

I Can't Wait To Get Back To Work - I Need The Rest

I am pooped.

First of all, I would have updated sooner, but Blogger blew this weekend. Friday night and all day Saturday, I apparently wasn't authorized to visit my own blog. For a while I was wondering whether my blog had been seized under the powers of the Patriot Act due to my negative comments about the blatant violation of the Fourth Amendment to the Constitution...but then I decided that was just silly and determined that it must simply be the blogger system acting up.

I am glad it is over whatever the cause. I barely averted numerous blogger-withdrawal related panic attacks.

We have a house full of people this weekend. I worked a full day on Friday and then headed home. Marquez' (the Pool Boy) mother was due to arrive at about 6:00. The airline industry being as reliable as always, she arrived at 9:00. We had a few drinks and headed to bed by 11:00. My second son, Rod also surprised us with a visit this weekend. We are always delighted to have Rod come home from the U of A to stay with us.

Saturday morning we headed out to the FBR Open. It is a PGA Event (professional golf for those of you who still don't know what I am talking about. We walked the course from about 10:00 a.m. until 2:30. I wore my stylish man sandals and ended up with blisters to show for my stunning appearance. They would not allow cameras in, so I cannot share any photos of that with you other than this....

It was a typically beautiful Arizona day. I am slightly sunburned as a result. There were approximately 168,000 people in attendance on Saturday - including the seven of us.

For most people that would have been a full day. But by now you know that I am superhuman. Home by three, nod off for an hour in a chair, up by 4, shower by 5 and on the road by 5:30 to watch the Phoenix Suns pound the snot out of the Chicago Bulls.

I did take these pictures:

My niece (Marquez the Pool Boy's sister), Kiki, arrived at 6:00 p.m. on Saturday. Marquez (the Pool Boy) and I watched a great ball game and raced home to see her. We saw her at Christmas, but before that we hadn't seen her for some time.

So we hung out for a while...and then then head to be relatively early because it is back to Nogales, Mexico on Sunday morning!

While the women-folk shopped for knock-off Louis Vuitton purses, Marquez (the Pool Boy) and I set out to find Marquez (the Pool Boy) his own western style.

Look out Clint Eastwood because this is good, bad and ugly all rolled into one damn funny but slightly twisted kid.

We weren't going to have our picture taken with the donkey again, but according to its owner it was George's birthday. So consider this George's birthday photo. I think I may have eaten George's brother for lunch. I suspect that he wasn't quite as photogenic as George.

Marquez (the Pool Boy) hand feeding an ostrich.

They are still mean bastards.

Niece (Kiki) and daughter feeding the deer.

Posing in front of the warning sign is funny one more time - but mostly because Marquez (the Pool Boy) looks nervous while the ladies have no fear at all.

THEN when we arrived at home, a battle Royale between El Alto (in the white) and The Mauler Marquez (the Pool Boy) broke out right in the middle of rat play time. It was a tough and bloody battle...
But in the end, we were still friends.


Someday, I will share with you the story of how my wrestling name became El Alto, but I am far too tired tonight. We will leave it for some other time.

I bought a bottle of tequila in Mexico. Who wants a shot?

My Favorite Underwear

These are my favorite underwear.

I spent the day at the FBR Open today watching golf and drinking beer...this is all I've got.

Updated Friday Morning - 7:20

The underwear I will be wearing today (my second favorite pair of underwear).

...and to give the fan(s) what they were looking for - I removed the following underwear and snapped this picture naked. These, however, are not in my to 5 favorite underwear (but they do make the top 10).