Born To Flock

The Economy Sucks

2008-11-17T13:09:00.002-07:00

Things are slow, so I thought I would swing by and drop a note to say hello to everyone.

Blowing Up the Moon

2006-12-15T22:32:00.000-07:00

Blowing up the moon

In keeping with the Moon theme, I offer you this....

Play Time

2006-12-04T19:34:00.000-07:00

MOON BASE

Apparently, NASA wants a permanent moon base. Now these guys aren't exactly rocket scientists...

Ok, maybe they are exactly rocket scientists since the only thing that is exactly a rocket scientist is a rocket scientist - but you know what I mean.

This just sounds stupid. What are we going to do with a space station? Have they really thought this through? A space station is a shit load of work. You have to maintain it, paint it, keep all of the mechanical systems in good operating condition. Just the cost of calling a plumber out to repair a drippy faucet is going to cost the tax payer $500,000,000 - and if it is a Saturday, Sunday or holiday - fuggedaboutid. You have to keep it clean and not only is it really tough to vacuum while in a vacuum, there is no illegal alien (or alien illegal) work force on the moon to do this for you.

They will spend BILLIONS of dollars on a space station with the primary purpose of sending a man to Mars. In 2004 Bush made this his goal ala John F. Kennedy. It is an ego trip at its most costly. It is every bit as silly as the Emperor's New Fence on the Mexico border.

This idiot took the fantastic economic reforms put in place by Ronald Reagan and is flushing them down the toilet on his toys and games. He is bankrolling the embellishment of his phallic shortcomings using our tax dollars and, likely, our children's tax dollars. Meanwhile he is playing army in Iraq and Afghanistan and building space stations. Wouldn't that be cool?

Enough already. It is time to cut the bloated government budget, put this little piss-ant in time out and make him put away the toys that he has before he gets any more out of his toy box.

I watched the Ted Koppel special on Iran last night. Ted went to Iran and interviewed the average man on the street. He was very candid about when the Iranian officials let them film freely and when they were censored. During this special he interviewed a man who said that there used to be a lot of rumors flying around that the U.S. wanted to invade Iraq - but they considered them just that; rumors. But then, Bush went and did it. Now there are a lot of rumors floating around that the U.S. is going to invade Iran. Why should he now believe that these are just rumors?

I am not suggesting in any way that I support nuclear proliferation in Iran or North Korea. BUT I am saying that I can understand why these countries want nuclear weapons. They are just as afraid of us as we are of them and, after the invasion of Iraq, they probably have good reason to be nervous. Watch this special if you get a chance - it was on the Discovery Channel and it was very well done. Koppel isn't blowing smoke up anyone's ass and he does not appear to have an agenda.

I surmise that this new toy - this space station - is just another frontier on which he wants to put missles; you know, for our safety. Does he honestly believe we will all feel more safe with a bunch of nuclear arms sitting on the moon pointed down at us? Do you feel safer today than you did on September 12, 2001?

I don't. In fact, Mr. Bush has done more to undermine global security over the last several years than any president has done during my lifetime. We have committed troops to Iraq and Afghanistan. Meanwhile other countries with nuclear weapon dreams are now somewhat free to go about their business and develop them - would Bush enter into yet another military theater - not likely - and they know it. We have put our cards on the table and no longer have anything to use to bluff. Our choices are now play or walk away...

...and it appears that, once again, Georgie wants to play with his cool new moon base.

I need some chicken up in herrrrr....

2006-11-27T21:05:00.000-07:00

When it's my time to go...

2006-11-17T17:14:00.000-07:00

this is how I want you to take me out.

Freedom

2006-11-13T21:50:00.000-07:00

Cacti and sand slip silently into the mirror, individually unnoticed, universally appreciated. The engine's steady rumble envelopes my ears and burrows into my bones. Electronic ignition and central nervous system fuse. I can feel the rough asphalt beneath the wheels; I wear nothing but these raw rubber soles.

My head and my heart explode into a spontaneous rendition of the Eagles - Take It Easy - for only me to enjoy and no one to judge.

All problems fade away.

All thoughts turn to joy.

No fear. No time. No demands. Escape.

Freedom.

Adam & Steve

2006-11-07T18:25:00.000-07:00

"God made Adam and Eve - not Adam and Steve"

No redneck quote on the planet pisses me off more than this one. All in one comment I am informed that (a) you object to homosexuality; (b) you are a "Christian" and (c) you believe in creationism. Furthermore, those who voice this idiotic idiom are communicating to me, in the most trite way possible, that they expect me to believe in and be subject to these very same premises.

Let me state for the record that (a) I have no objection to homosexuality or homosexuals - what makes your heart go pitter patter or your genetalia perk up is your business and does not completely identify and pigeon-hole any one individual; (b) I am not a "Christian" but I do respect your right to be one and I do not make an effort to cram my religious beliefs down your throat (although I am happy to share them if asked); (c) I believe in the science of evolution - I do not believe that God created Adam and Eve or Steve (other than indirectly through a philosophical belief I have heard called "original motion" - but I promised I wouldn't cram that down your throat).

I am a registered Republican and, today, I voted. I did my civic duty. One of the issues on the ballot was a proposition to make a constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage. A "Yes" vote was a vote to approve the constitutional amendment. A "No" vote was a vote to maintain the statutory ban on same-sex marriage. The result was the same - the only difference was whether it should be added to the constitution and thus made significantly more difficult to overturn later.

I mentioned in passing in my one year anniversary post my position on this issue. This set of a series of debates between and among some of my peers. I am stubborn, but not irrational. Generally a good healthy debate will result in a thought or an issue that I had not considered. I left this debate even more convinced that two adult, consenting individuals should be permitted the legal benefits afforded a married couple.

Why can't we separate the issue of where one man puts his penis from the issue of whether that man can check the married box on his taxes, inherit (by statute) from his significant other and have other rights afforded any married man and woman?

Back in the good ole days, the Republican party stood for something completely different than it does today. It stood for small government. Republicans believed that government should stay out of the individual's private lives and certainly out of their bedrooms. The Republican party has been taken hostage by the Wal-Mart shoppers and the ultra-right wing Christian movement. It is now dead to me.

Where have you gone Barry Goldwater?

Halloween Post-Party or Why My Noggin Hurts

2006-10-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

The ladies were lovely,

The beer was cold.

The Annual Halloween Party was another success.

We had go-go girls, body builders, sexy cowgirls and Spanish flamenco dancers....

Charlie's Angels made an appearance along with Blacula....

the lunch lady came and hung out with a nurse, Devo and Audrey Hepburn. Those Devo guys get all the "chicks"...

The King of Beer was there and he brought his lovely queen - and his own tankard for ale...

and Dorothy and the Scarecrow hung out with the lunch lady.

My apologies to Luke Skywalker (Kagemusha) and Meleficient - I did not get a picture!!! I am sure there are other things that I probably need to apologize for as well, but I will handle that personally next time I see you!!

I woke up at 6:00a.m. this morning feeling a little under the weather. Someone clearly poisoned our keg of beer. I am going to write the liquor store, from whom I bought the keg, a very strongly worded letter admonishing them for allowing this to happen. My noggin still hurts...and now I have to go back to work tomorrow. Not cool.

My estimate is that we had about 45 people in attendance throughout the night. The crowd ebbed and flowed, but that was about right. Next year, you should come.

Annual Halloween Party

2006-10-28T15:01:00.000-07:00

Tonight is our Sixth Annual Halloween Party.

Prepare for photos to follow tomorrow...

(this is from last year - I am the Libertarian Viking)

Pure Comedy Genius

2006-10-22T21:51:00.000-07:00

Monkey See-Monkey Do

There is nothing funnier than talking monkeys dressed up like people. NOTHING. It is pure comedy gold!!

When will network television realize this and bring back Lancelot Link?

Happy Anniversary To Me

2006-10-17T20:26:00.000-07:00

One year today - Not sober...blogging.

Because it is my one year anniversary, I am going to share some insights and get a few things off of my chest:

1. People who call into talk radio shows are the dumbest people on the planet. We don't want to hear your opinion if you can't even complete a sentence in which there is subject/verb agreement.

2. Speaking of difficulty completing a sentence (he says using an incomplete sentence)... Arizona - #1 Dumb. This article ran on today's local web news (AZCentral.com). In case you don't care to read the entire article, I will summarize it for you: Arizona is the dumbest state in the U.S. It's true, we are even dumber than Kentucky. This page then takes comments from subscribers. Here are the comments (or as we say in Arizona, Here is the comments): Comments.

My favorite comment is the third one from the top which reads:

"Those idiots don't know nothing about us. How they can make that statement. Is it because we have so many splanglish speakers that are uneducated. Let them think whatever they want." (Carl4480, October 17, 2006 09:54AM)

Well said Carl4480!! You really put those bastards in their place.

3. Apparently North Korea is going to try again. After it's first attempt to set off an atomic bomb ended with a bit of a disappointment, it appears that North Korea has something to prove. The first test was described as follows on CNN.com:

"The analysis detected radioactive debris, indicating the explosive yield was less than one kiloton, said a statement from John Negroponte's office. That is relatively small for a nuclear test."

Apparently you ladies are right; size matters. Kim Jong-il is clearly suffering a little A-Bomb envy - I guess what they say about Asian Communist Party leaders is true. Let's just all pray that Kenya doesn't get the bomb. Completely racist and out of line and I apologize for sinking to such depths for a laugh - now shut up - it's my anniversary.

4. It pisses me off that Erin O'Brien has copyrighted her blog. That means that everytime I mention Erin O'Brien on my blog, I likely have to pay some sort of royalty to Erin O'Brien. By now, I probably owe Erin O'Brien around $12.95. Erin O'Brien isn't going to see a damn penny! Sue me, Erin O'Brien, if you have the guts! That's right, I am calling you out,Erin O'Brien. Erin O'Brien is a giant chicken-sh*# and I laugh in the face of Erin O'Brien's copyright - HA!!!

5. If Barry Goldwater was alive today, I would vote for him. Before I catch a lot of crap from the political left regarding Barry Goldwater and his conservative movement, hear me out. Conservatism is not the crap that the Republican Party is cramming down our throats today. Barry Goldwater was pro-choice. He was for small government. He stood for personal liberties and state's rights. He may have propelled Regan's political career, but he did not mix in fundamentalist religion with his political beliefs. Regan may have been a hero to many (most of whom probably don't even really know why) but in reality, he began the bastardization of the Republican Party and started it down the path to where it is today. The closest thing we have to Goldwater Republicanism right now is the Libertarian Party - and as soon as they can field candidates that aren't complete whackos, they will have my vote.

By the way - REGISTER TO VOTE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY. It is time to kick the crooks and pedophiles out of our government.

Don't get confused by the media's attempts to connect this guy with homosexuality. It is not the same. I have no issue with voting for someone who is openly gay. I have a big problem with someone who approaches underage men or women. That's wrong. He should be kicked out of office and put in jail.

However, she did nothing wrong.

I am just kidding of course. I think this actually raises a double standard that we hold. If Foley had limited his e-mails to females, the media would have already let this go. In the instance of a female seducing a young male, the media almost glamorizes it. By "almost" I mean that they parade it on every news show and quasi-news show (Entertainment Tonight, etc.) and treat her like Paris Hilton. She should be in prison. She should register as a sex offender.

6. Since someone brought up the issue of homosexuality, I want to openly state that I support homosexual "marriage." The problem I have is with openly gay individuals who expect the church (and especially the Catholic Church) to accept and approve of them. That issue is a red-herring for the cause and they should move away from convincing the church to recognize their union. It is the GOVERNMENT that should recognize this union. Marriage is a legal contract between two individuals. With it comes the right to inherit, rights related to healthcare decisions, the right to file a joint tax returns and other such fundamental rights. Any two consenting adults should be permitted to enter into a life contract such as this and should enjoy the same rights (and miseries) that I do as a man married to a woman.

Meanwhile, Christianity-based religions are not forced to recognize marriage, nor should they be. The Catholic Church (insert Lutheran, Baptist, etc.) is not a governmental entity. You are not forced to belong to the church; you do not have a choice whether to be subject to the government (unless, of course, you leave the country). My point - Government has a duty to treat us each equally. Private, voluntary organizations have the right to discriminate as to their members.

I feel the same way about Augusta National Golf Club being forced to accept women - they are a PRIVATE club and should not be forced to accept women as members. I think their decision to limit membership to men is stupid - but they have a right to do so. Likewise, you may go buy some land, build your own golf course and exclude stupid white men from your membership.

WELL, that's it. I'm stepping down from my soap box (until I feel like getting back on it again). Thanks for a wonderful year!

Inane Curiousity

2006-10-15T12:27:00.000-07:00

My group of six filters into the swanky sushi-teppanyaki restaurant filled with brilliant exotic fish tanks and flashy Asian-fusion decor. This is a place known for being seen more than it is known for its food, but we are here to celebrate a birthday. The unnaturally attractive hostess leads the flock of six to our teppanyaki table designed for eight. We settle in; women together on one side, men around the front of the table, two seats open on the end. I occupy the seat on the far frontier of our group, immediately adjacent to the empty chairs.

The usual persual of menus, much chatter and drink orders ensue. And then, the last two guests arrive; a "couple" unknown to us.

One of the quirks of a teppanyaki table is that you often have complete strangers at your dinner table unless you fill every seat. This isn't the first time we have had unknown individuals at our table yet I never really get used to it. I'm not social. I don't like making small-talk with strangers whom I will likely never see again. This trait is wholly contradicted by my natural curiousity. Tonight, my internal struggle between discomfort with strangers and natural curiousity is headed for a cataclysmic collision as our tablemates approach.

She: she is gorgeous. Starting from the top and working my way down - beautiful blonde hair cascading down to just below her shoulders; brilliant blue eyes; a cute button of a nose and delicious, full (but not fake and puffy) lips; amazing breasts (possibly embellished?) bursting forth from the low cut top she is wearing; cute white sweater over her shoulders; shapely legs stemming from a tiny denim mini-skirt. She's in the lower end of the five foot range but built to amazing proportions. I estimate her age at around twenty-five. She is stunning to look at.

He: He is her exact opposite. He is older, probably fifty something. He walks with a cane and a limp to go with it partially as the result of the special heals on his shoes; his hair is dark and clearly thinning; his face very compact, almost hobbit-like. There is nothing attractive about this gentleman and the only thing the two of them have in common is that he isn't very tall either.

He sits on the end and she sits right next to me. I am immediately made uncomfortable by the proximity of a stranger (I don't like to be touched by strangers no matter how attractive) and even more so by the proximity of her exposed bosom. Attempting a side-long glance to take a further look would be excrutiatingly obvious. I make feeble efforts to pull it off by pretending to look around the restaurant. I suspect that everyone at the table knows what I am doing though I attempt subtlety.

The night pours on. I imbibe in several Asahis with sake bombers. "Charlie", our teppanyaki chef comes out and performs magic with his holstered knife and metal spatula. The obligatory onion fire "volcano" goes off with perfection. Shrimp fly through the air and land precisely on plates...while my obsession continues.

Are they "together"? Like a date? Is He her father? Is She a hooker? Are they friends? Was this a blind date gone wrong?

I want to know.

This continues for an hour and a half while we drink and dine and talk among our group of six. The two of them talk although the restaurant buzz is too loud to hear what they say to one another. God knows I try.

Our six and their two finish eating at the same time. That's how these tables work. We pay our bill at the same time. She pays their bill - odd.

We leave at the same time.

I watch them as they leave. She moves with confidence, grace and beauty as she walks through the restaurant and through the door. He struggles to limp along behind her. She disappears well ahead of him, not waiting for him and seemingly not noticing him falling behind.

I wait in the entryway of the restaurant while part of my group straggles behind taking care of last minute business. Through the door, by the curb, I see Him waiting. She pulls up in a silver Honda Accord; He gets in. They drive away. I stand there.

Wondering.

In Training...

2006-10-10T20:24:00.000-07:00

Sunday night I ran for the first time in several months. It hurt. I am going again in just a few minutes because I am into self mutilation and masochism. November 12th is the Phoenix New Times 10Kand I want to be able to finish it in under an hour. That doesn't sound like much unless you calculate in the fact that I am presently an out of shape tub of goo.

Sunday I traveled 2 miles by foot. About 3/4 of a mile was at a jog.

I know I can't beat my son with one and a half month of training; I just want to be able to finish the damn race. Because you are all riveted by my progress, I will provide updates as to my progress and training schedule.

Tonight, I am going to try to complete the full 2 miles doing at least an easy jog. We will work on speed later.

Then, this spring...

Cheating On Erin O'Brien

2006-10-08T18:12:00.000-07:00

My son read White Teeth by Zadie Smith and then passed his copy along to me. It took me a while to get to it, but I finished reading it on my trip to Cedar Rapids for my grandmother's funeral. It was a fantastic novel and I highly recommend it...but this post isn't a book review (perhaps it should be?).

A couple of weeks ago, my son invited me to attend an event with him at Arizona State University. It was a reading and book signing by Zadie Smith.

I'm north of 40 years old and I had never been to a book signing before. So I went.

I thoroughly enjoyed the reading and the book signing was quite exciting. I took this picture of my son with Zadie Smith. She is not only beautiful, she also has a lovely soul. The best part of this evening was spending time with my son - who has really grown in so many ways. He has developed an appetite for knowledge and a love for great literature. I can't tell you how much I cherished this evening; sharing something that we both truly enjoyed.

I am looking forward to reading her new book - On Beauty. I will have to buy my own copy this time, because I am pretty certain that he isn't going to loan me his signed copy.

*****But don't forget to read Harvey & Eck by Erin O'Brien before reading anything else. Don't even read the newspaper tomorrow morning until you have finished Harvey & Eck .

My Hiatus

2006-10-06T22:01:00.000-07:00

One of the things I did while I took a break from all of you and your annoying questions and pestering messages was - I watched Rockstar: Supernova...and fell in love with Storm Large.

I hope that this doesn't get back to Natasha and Joss Stone.

This song did it for me. WISH YOU WERE HERE

Three Things You Really Need to Understand About Me

2006-10-06T11:07:00.000-07:00

1. I have an irrational fear of losing my car keys down that gap between the floor and the elevator. Whenever I enter or exit an elevator, I will put my finger through the middle of my keyring so that, the only way that my keys can fall down into the elevator shaft is by severing my finger.

2. I love the old fashioned family road trip. I want to stuff my entire family into a car and drive around the country. My dilemma is that they will generally have no part of it and my wife has panic attacks when stuck in traffic. I would drive up to 2 hours out of my way to see something like the Giant Musky statue in Hayward, Wisconsin...if they would let me.

3. I refuse to take a dump in a public restroom - unless there is absolutely no other choice (like that time in Vegas). I would rather die or soil myself.

Hopefully, this makes it all a little more clear.

BANNED!!!

2006-10-05T14:53:00.000-07:00

GET THE LEDD OUT!!! - Click on this link dummy.

This is just like when they banned dancing in Beaumont...well, not really, but...

I'm an idiot...and I'm going to make somebody responsible for my stupidity

2006-10-04T14:12:00.000-07:00

STUPID PEOPLE

Did you miss me??? I bet you are surprised to find this blog updated. It has been a while. I have several reasons for failing to update regularly. Mostly I have been waiting for Kagamusha to stop stalking me. There have also been some personal reasons...none of which I will bore you with right now.

My Grandmother January 2006 Post passed away last month at the age of 99 - 3 1/2 months before her 100th birthday. I returned to Iowa for the services and saw relatives I haven't seen in many, many, many years...and unwittingly became embroiled in family politics. Why are people so selfish and stupid?

Anyway, I won't make any promises right now because things are still pretty rocky at the moment between work, home, family, etc. I'm juggling, but I will never be the juggler that GARRETT is.

Why it is bad to cite the Onion as a source during a debate..

2006-07-12T16:59:00.000-07:00

marchtogether

To me, there is very little that is funnier than watching some right-wing whacko getting caught in the act of being a right-wing whacko. This blog is too good not to read.

Unfortunately, she has taken so much shit that she had to shut off comments. I would have loved to have read the comments from the general public.

Enjoy.

The PCH - Chapter 10

2006-06-16T21:42:00.000-07:00

Monday, July 12, 2004. Bandon, Oregon. It is foggy and chilly. We are a long way from the 110 degree temperatures of Phoenix, Arizona. I am initially disappointed because I was hoping to get some good photos of the Coquille River lighthouse. I get over it quickly and enjoy the soft quiet blanket of fog as it cuddles this sleepy little town.

We have been on the road for 3 days and most of that has been in motion. During those three days, we survived diesel fuel and road rash. We aren't very far from Portland; we know we can make it there some time today. We have the luxury of time today and my intention is to roll around in it like a dog in its own feces.

Bandon has a great breakfast stop. Breakfast on the road is still my favorite meal of the day precisely because of places like the one we eat at today. It is some little diner with a railroad theme - it may even have been called the Train Station, but I can't recall. I'm not certain the town even has railroad tracks, but this place is full of railroad items and railroad pictures. The place is great. I order the standard fare while watching the steam rise from my coffee cup. I find warmth and comfort in that steam - comfort from the cold, damp Oregon air.

As an unusual twist of fate, two of Smitty's friends are in Bandon today staying at a bed and breakfast. Paul and his wife are staying right up the road from the Bandon Boatworks, the restaurant where we had dinner the night before. By the time we finish breakfast and load up, it is pushing 10:00a.m. We are due at their bed and breakfast at 10:00. The drive is short as this is a small town. When we arrive at this quaint little home turned into B&B, the fog is still thick but you can start to see the glow of the sun deep in its belly.

Smitty's friends welcome us into the house and we sit in the living room area and chat for about an hour discussing our ride and our various adventures. Paul rides too and he is eating it all up. I secretly enjoy how jealous he is. I know this trip is something special.

The plan is hatched. Smitty and I are going to head over to tour the Coquille River lighthouse while they Paul and his wife get ready for the day. They will meet us in an hour on Highway 1 headed north out of town. We are headed to a local state park with them.

As we leave the bed & breakfast, the fog starts to lift and I grab this shot from the deck on the side of the house:

The scanner doesn't do this picture the appropriate justice. The view from that B&B was amazing.

The lighthouse appeared to be just a stone's throw away. The route to get to it was deceptively long due to the fact that access to the other side of the Coquille River was limited to a single bridge. After crossing the bridge and entering Bullards Beach State Park, it is still necessary to wind your way around through the park back to the sea. The park is bizarre. It is strewn with trees that have been shattered by the wind and the ocean forces. The trees still standing are squatty and completely devoid of trees on the side facing the Pacific. In spite of the severe treatment from the sea, they survive with all the scars to show for their trouble.

The picture I shared in the prior post was in color - this one is in black and white from nearly the same point. The Coquille River Lighthouse was built low and solid like a linebacker. I imagine that it had to be like this to combat the forces that twisted and made partially barren those trees.

Inside, there isn't a whole lot of room. It is a small, compact building with an old wooden floor and masonry walls. This little space has been converted into a little gift shop and for a small "donation" they will let you climb the tower up to the top of the lighthouse. I can't pass that up.

The stairs to the top consist of a tight spiral of steel with virtually no room. This was not designed for someone 6'2". I make the best of it and finally reach the top. The view from the top is worth the climb and the jeopardy faced by my skull. You can see the field full of tortured trees we passed through on the way in and you can see up the mouth of the Coquille to where the river meets the sea. The rocky jetty this thing sits on stretches out to the west and I note that the end of the jetty looks odd. When I return to the lower level of the lighthouse, I learn that the end of the jetty looks different because it is comprised substantially from a shipwreck that happened many, many years ago. It couldn't be moved, so they made it part of the landscape.

Our work here is done and we need to meet Smitty's friends.

We are headed for Shore Acres State Park and Cape Arago State Park. The fog lifts further and the views are amazing. The light film of fog make the seascape like a dream. We watch over sea lions basking on the rocks. I'm not sure what they were basking in as there wasn't much sun, but bask they did nonetheless. I have more pictures, but they don't even begin to show how beautiful these parks were/are.

After spending some time driving around the parks and viewing this amazing coastline, we say goodbye to our friends and hit the road. We aren't in a hurry, but I need to satisfy Jane's obsession with petrol. I am very low on fuel and nervous about making it to the nearest pump which is likely in Coos Bay or North Bend.

We have time today so I insist on stopping a lot. There are roses to smell. One of the early stops is Sea Lion Caves. Smitty says that he has no interest, but I pay his $7.50 fee, tell him to shut the hell up and we go in. We wind our way through the building and out to a pathway that lead over to an "outbuilding." The outbuilding covered what appeared to be two elevator doors. We are the first one's in line waiting for those doors to open. While waiting, an older couple sneaks up along side, past everyone else. When the doors open, they slide in first in spite of the fact they were last to arrive. My sense of justice will not tolerate this, so I take action. They end up in the back corner of the elevator where I lean firmly up against them during the entire 200 foot drop down to sea level. When the doors open, I don't move until EVERYONE else on the elevator is off. Only then do I release these rude bastards from their trap. I smile smugly as I step into a cave smelling of sea lion shit.

There are hundreds if not thousands of sea lions hanging out in this natural cave. Thank god someone installed an elevator so that we could all traipse our lazy asses down there to disturb them. It was cool. Smitty was glad we went.

Then we hit the road. We pretty much hit every lighthouse between Sea Lion Caves and Lincoln City Oregon. I was in tourist heaven; I think Smitty was in Flamingo Hell. He took it in stride and did his thing while I snapped photos and toured these relics. I feel the history of these places in an instinctive, visceral way that I can't explain.

I am a corn-fed boy from Iowa but the sea is somehow in my DNA. That's all I have to say about this. The pictures say the rest.

The PCH - Chapter 9

2006-06-07T21:27:00.000-07:00

Smitty wasn't dead, but FLMNG2 looked like it had been mauled by a bear. We sat on the side of the road shaking while recapping over and over in our minds what had just happened. We voiced what we could but the conversation was interspersed with expletives.

The fairing was skinned up pretty badly. Smitty's leather bag had been sent skidding and was also in rough shape. The saddlebags had deep gouges on both sides as the result of the bike actually sliding at some point on both sides (I think). The factor that I feared the worst was that the metal engine guard on one side of FLMNG2 was actually broken. We weren't certain whether it was going to run. We waited and wondered.

I wanted to just stay put for a little while until the adrenaline rush was well behind us, but Smitty wanted to put this spot in the road behind us. I wasn't going to argue with a man that had nearly splattered all over the road 15 minutes earlier, so I started preparations to get moving again.

We put his belongings back together as best we could, he put the key in and I'll be damned if FLMNG2 didn't fire right up as if nothing happened. Mounted, helmeted and gloved we left that S-curve from hell and headed north...toward Oregon.

The rest of that day was a blur. We rode for what seemed an eternity, passing through Fort Bragg, Eureka and Crescent City before crossing into Oregon. I remember bits and pieces of that portion of the trip, but only glimpses. The accident had seriously shaken us both up and it wasn't yet behind us even though Point Arena was almost 300 miles away.

We stopped for petrol in Brookings (mostly to satisfy Jungle Jane's petrol obsession). This was our first foray into an Oregon gas station. When you cross the Oregon border, you immediately become to stupid to pump your own gas. An attendant would actually come out to the pump, take the nozzle off the pump and hand it to me. Then I would pump the gas while he stood there. When I finished pumping the gas, he would take it from me and put it back on the pump. Bizarre.

I understand they do this to keep those jobs available. Next thing you know, they will have a person standing out by the ATM machine punching the buttons for me.

Anyway, the day wore on and on and on. It was getting late and we needed to find a place to stop. We never thought we would make it as far as Bandon when we set out from Guernville this morning, but here we are in Brookings, only 83 miles away. We decide that Bandon must be nicer than Brookings, so we head on.

By 8:10, we roll into Bandon. This is one of the cutest damn towns I have ever seen. Smitty and I are on the alert looking for a motel when we spot a sign for the Gorman Hotel. It turns out that it is right on the beach and the price is right, so we take the room. As I am checking in, I mention to the innkeeper that we are starving. We haven't eaten since breakfast. She says that there is a really good restaurant nearby and offers to call and make a reservation. She dials them up and finds out that they close at 8:30 - but they will stay open just for us. We unpack the bikes and literally throw them into the room and run for the restaurant.

We wound our way around Bandon and took a road along the jetty until we found the place and when we pulled in, the owner met us at the door and said, "I hear you boys have been on the road all day; let's get you something to eat!" He was probably mid-fifities and had on a colorful Hawaiian style shirt. Genuine hospitality oozed from him. I hate arriving at a restaurant when they are trying to close, but he made us feel like we were long lost friends.

This is what we see when we look out the window of the Bandon Boatworks:

I don't know if it was because I hadn't eaten since breakfast or whether it was the warm greeting or whether this really was some of the best food that I have ever eaten, but this meal was incredible. They started us off with a basket of cranberry bread. Nearby, they grow these things in giant cranberry bogs - this bread was made with fresh cranberries and it was fantastic.

Bandon has a nice little harbor and I understand that they do some fishing out of there. I ordered salmon and it was delicious. It could very well have been swimming right nearby yesterday. Throw in a couple of locally brewed micro-brew beers and this was very nearly the perfect meal. We are the last diners in the restaurant and by the time we leave, heavy fog is rolling in off the Pacific. It's cold. It's damp. It's slightly spooky. I love it.

We ride the two or three miles back to our motel and actually have a chance to see it for the first time. This room is so nice and so clean, I almost feel guilty about bringing my dirty, hard ridden ass into the place. After a quick shower, I grab the remote and relax in front of the television.

Smitty is still upset from the accident earlier that day and decides to take a walk up the beach. Some time, shortly after he leaves the room, I talk to my wife on the phone and then drift off for the duration.

Tomorrow we are going to go visit this lighthouse - the Coquille River Lighthouse. This lighthouse went into operation in 1896 and they now offer tours for a small donation. I love this shit.

Hot Dam

2006-06-06T19:56:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Hoover Dam. This dam was, at times, called Boulder Dam because everyone was pissed off at Herbert Hoover. They got over it and the dam thing was renamed for the dam president that was instrumental in constructing the dam concrete monstrosity.

This dam thing is: 726.4 feet high, 1,244 feet across at the top, 660 feet thick at the base and 45 feet thick at the top. I rode FLMNG1 across that 45 foot wide top - I wish someone could have been there to take my picture on the dam, but I was alone.

If you haven't been here, you should go soon. They are building a dam by-pass bridge right now and you may never have another opportunity to drive across this dam man-made wonder. That is exactly what made me want to plant my dam ass on the dam motorcycle seat for 6 dam hours. It was dam well worth it.

It was more than 90 degrees on May 2, 2006 when I arrived at the dam. But down in the dam tunnels it was dam cool. I spent the $11.00 to take the dam tour and the cool temperatures made it well worth the dam time.

Look at the size of those dam generators. Each of those dam things can light up a dam city bigger than Cedar Rapids (about 100,000 homes - Cedar Rapids only has 130,000 dam people!). Although somewhere the math gets fuzzy because there are 17 of these dam things and the total service estimated is about 750,000. Just like the dam government - they can't get anything straight. It probably serves half of what they estimate and then they just claim that they owe electricity to the rest of the dam people - that's how our dam governmen works!

DAM!!

This is the dam spillway returning the dam water to the Colorado River.

This dam river is so over used and exploited by people in California, Arizona, Utah and Nevada that it probably doesn't even make it to the dam Sea of Cortez any more.

According to this link Colorado-River it doesn't make it to the dam sea anymore. That's a dam shame.

Las Vegas

2006-05-30T21:31:00.000-07:00

7 hours on the open road. Me and FLMNG1 rolling down the highway with the Ipod pounding out the theme from the Good, the Bad and the Ugly (credit Erin O'Brien). I'm not at work. For the moment, I am completely free. Even if my phone rang, I couldn't hear it. Nobody can get me to do anything for them that I don't want to do. My only task is to turn my wrist and roll.

Earlier in the morning, I stopped for breakfast in a small Arizona town that barely shows up on a map. Wickieup, Arizona is 60 miles from anywhere. There are ranches scattered throughout the area, but little else. The town is comprised of gas stations/convenience stores little else.

One of the gas station/convenience store combos contains the added bonus of a diner. I stop for breakfast and chat with Bill. Bill is probably in his mid-70s. He is headed in the other direction - to Phoenix. His best friend just had by-pass surgery and his stay at the hospital is coming to an end. According to Bill, his buddy hates hospitals and is expecting Bill to be there today to take him back to Kingman, Arizona. I can picture Bill's crusty old friend impatiently waiting his arrival while we sit and chat 90 miles away in Wikieup. I finish my greasy eggs and sausage, say good-bye to Bill and hit the road hoping that I have someone like Bill around to pick me up when I am 70. Bypass surgery is a certainty after this breakfast.

I have two buddies waiting for me in Vegas and I know that they would pick me up from the hospital...if they live that long.

The very first picture in this post was a little more than half way between Kingman and Hoover Dam. People, there is NOTHING out there. So my one photo op was at the sign reading 50 miles to Hoover Dam, 80 miles to Las Vegas. What choice do I have...I make the stop and snap the photo.

I have to say that crossing the Hoover Dam on FLMNG1 kicked ass. This picture was the primary reason I wanted to ride instead of fly. It wasn't quite as exciting as the Golden Gate Bridge, but it was pretty damn good. I'd place it a couple of notches below crossing the Golden Gate Bridge and several notches above crossing the Cedar River.

I stop. I am a tourist. I take the dam tour.

2006-05-01T21:22:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning (Tuesday, May 2, 2006) I fire up FLMNG1 and hit the road and head to Fabulous Las Vegas Nevada.

I will be taking this Route to Vegas

See ya on Saturday!!!

How Would You Like A Knuckle Sandwich?

2006-05-01T14:14:00.000-07:00

Mmmmm...knuckle sandwiches

Another Update...

2006-04-22T12:36:00.000-07:00

Neither Joss Stone...

nor Natasha Bedingfield...

have contacted me yet.

I am starting to consider some other options such as...

More Cowbell...

2006-04-21T16:34:00.000-07:00

I got a fever and the only prescription is more cowbell...

More Cowbell

Update...

2006-04-21T09:41:00.000-07:00

I checked my inbox this morning and Joss Stone has not yet e-mailed me.

However she is still smoking hot, so I thought that one more day looking at her wouldn't kill any of us.

Joss, I won't wait forever. I may have to move on to Natasha Bedingfield if you don't respond to my advances soon.

UPDATE TO THE UPDATE:

Just in case Joss Stone doesn't respond, I e-mailed Natasha Bedingfield on her official website (apparently you can go there and ask her a question). So, I asked her whether she likes balding, paunchy, middle-aged married men with two kids. I await her response. No, I am not kidding...I did indeed send her that question along with a link to this blog. It is only a matter of time before we are either together or I am served with a no-contact order.

In any event, the race is on. The first one to respond gets me.

What I am listening to right now...

2006-04-20T15:57:00.000-07:00

I am in love.

Not only is she smoking hot, Joss Stone has a great voice.

Joss, if you read this, please e-mail me - I am almost certain that I am your soul mate. But who wouldn't want a balding, paunchy, middle-aged guy with two kids and a wife?

Seriously....

2006-04-20T09:25:00.000-07:00

This made me laugh. Poop On Flamingo

By the way, I am seriously hung over today.

Happy Thursday.

Sunday was good...

2006-04-09T21:13:00.000-07:00

On the grand spectrum of days, today was a very good day. I had a great ride - I just got away for the day - just me and my daughter.

Our ride: Scottsdale to Payson

Payson, Arizona is a small town in Arizona with a population around 14,000 people. It is northeast of Phoenix at 5000 feet in elevation. Because of the elevation, it is outside the boundaries of the Sonoran Desert. Temperatures are much cooler in Payson during the summers than they are in Phoenix and many Phoenicians head to Payson to escape the heat.

The landscape (because it is not in the Sonoran Desert like Phoenix) is much different from the landscape in Phoenix. The most significant differences is the presence of natural pine trees. I believe they may be pinon trees, but I am uncertain. Trees are not my thing.

We rolled in to Payson at about 10:30 in the morning and hit the Knotty Pine Cafe. Mmmmm - nothing better than sausage, eggs, toast and hashbrowns with a hot cup of coffee to wash it all down. When we started out in Scottsdale, this morning, it was warm. By the time we hit about 4000 feet elevation - BRRRR!!! It isn't bad standing out in the sun, but when you are moving at 65 miles per hour, it is damn chilly.

Everyone working at the Knotty Pine seemed pissed off. It added to the charm.

After the Knotty Pine, we stopped...at a Walmart...and I bought her a sweatshirt. I hate Walmart.

Then we headed north out of town to TONTO NATURAL BRIDGE STATE PARK . This place is cool. You can read the stats about the natural bridge in the link I provided, but it is a natural tunnel that is about 183 feet high.
I took this picture as we hiked down to the bottom of the canyon.
It was a beautiful day and I snapped this picture looking back up the side of the canyon. The sky was blue, but there was a bit of a wind up at higher elevations which made what little clouds there were very whispy.
A small creek runs above the natural bridge and then falls into the canyon (and the larger stream) below.

Inside/under the bridge, there are giant boulders and the stream pools (please note the use of black and white to create a little artsy effect).
Looking back out from under the bridge.

Working our way down under the bridge.

It was a steep hike out, so we stopped about half way to take a break.

Back at the top, we pose for a picture. While we were hiking four bikes joined mine in one parking spot. One of the bikers took this picture for us. Bikers are good people.

Then on to the Dairy Queen....

before heading back home.

Wish you could have joined us.

The PCH - Chapter 8

2006-03-22T10:40:00.000-07:00

Sunday July 11, 2004
Guernville, CA to Point Arena

We have checked out of the New Dynamic Inn (which is neither new nor dynamic...discuss) and head out for my favorite meal of the day while on the road - breakfast. We find the requisite local diner. In Guernville, this is Pat's Diner. The androgyny of the name fits the town, but the diner is your typical small town coffee, egg, pancake and bacon sort of place. I love these places.

On the wall behind the standard cafe counter is a giant map of the region. By the map, we can now see that we followed the Russian River from the Pacific inland to Guernville. If you are not familiar with the region, the Russian River is right in the middle of California's wine country - if not in the middle, it is certainly a significant part of California's wine country. We also discover from the map that Korbel Champaign is bottled just up the road a mile or two. Cool.

Two shops down the block from Pat's is the Rainbow Lounge - the bar we didn't enter the previous night. The giant neon rainbow over the door is sadly dismal at 8:30 in the morning. Like the rainbow, the local population is also dim and quiet. The cafe has only a few customers and we enjoy a great little breakfast of sausage, eggs and toast as we discuss the plans for the day. Smitty and I both mention the desire to swing by Korbel and check it out, but our inability to find a hotel the night before and the related detour have set us back a little. Thus we decide to venture on.

My first thought of the morning even before breakfast was the same as my last thought of the previous night - I hope my motorcycle runs this morning. I can't stop thinking about that thick, greasy diesel fuel floating around in my otherwise pristine tank. I have about 30 miles on this tank of gas, so I calculate that I am down almost one full gallon when we stop and fill up. In addition to the gasoline, I put a bottle of STP Octane Booster in the tank (as suggested by a guy at the gas station). Immediately I can tell a small difference.

Throughout the day, I repeat this process. Burn out a gallon, add a gallon and some octane booster. By mid-day FLMNG1 is purring like a kitten once again.

Initially, the road is chilly, but the drive up the Russian River back to the coast is delightful. It is very woodsy and rural. When we swing back on to the PCH, that rural feel continues. It reminds me of an Iowa highway (except for the ocean on our left). There are farms and cows and rolling hills. The highway winds back and forth among and between these gently rolling hills as the grasses wave in a gentle wind. At the higher points on the road, clouds plow into the side of the steep hills rising from the sea and the motorcycles carve their way through the resulting bank of fog.

The open road is attractive. It sucks you in. It lulls you into a sense of careless exhiliration. Before you even realize it, those seductive curves have you in a near tantric state of orgasmic bliss; leaning into one curve and accelerating out of it onto a short straight piece of highway only to roll you over onto your other side into the next curve. The hills roll up and down and up and down again while the curves create sensual gravitational forces. Then through a tight "S" marked with a caution sign - 15 MPH...I note we were doing closer to 35. But on the motorcycle, this is pure joy. I have a grin plastered on my face at this point knowing that this is what I came here for.

As with all steamy passionate relationships, they burn out like a comet and this short affair with the highway came to a revolting, gut wrenching end. Our mistress made it very clear that we would not have our way with her today - she was the dominatrix and we her gimp.

I heard the sound first. I knew what it was instantly. Then I saw it in the mirror; nothing but the bottom of Smitty's motorcycle. His wheels were no longer in contact with the pavement. I could see that part that typically contacts the highway in my mirror. I wrench my head around to see Smitty rolling across the other lane of the highway and onto the shoulder as his Electriglide slid to a stop sideways in the road.

At this point, I turned FLMNG1 around and raced back to where Smitty and his bike came to rest. I quickly put down my sidestand, turned off my engine and lept off the bike. By this time, Smitty had raised himself to a sitting position and, while shaken, he was able to communicate to me that he was not seriously hurt. His bike was still in the road and there was traffic coming from both directions and here we were in the middle of an "S" curve. Traffic could not see us from either direction until fully around the corner. The bike had to be moved before someone hit it.
I honestly can't remember if I picked it up myself or if Smitty and I picked it up together. But we managed to lift the 800 pound motorcycle back onto its wheels and pushed it to the shoulder. I assume that it took both of us as this is no easy task.

I am freaked out, but it is clear now that Scott is generally ok. The chaps really saved his ass - in spite of their assless nature. He will be bruised, he will be sore, he has several cuts and scrapes, but he will be fine. I am relieved.

The bike doesn't look so fortunate and, for the second time in two days, I wonder whether the trip has come to an end - this time in the middle of nowhere near Point Arena, California.

The PCH - Chapter 7

2006-03-19T16:38:00.000-07:00

Saturday, July 10, 2004
Golden Gate Bridge to Guernville, CA

After crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, we head through Sausalito and bear west toward Muir Woods. The sun is making its way toward the hilly horizon as we climb the switchbacks and twists and turns of the PCH as it heads toward Muir Beach. Unfortunately, the horizon that the sun is making its way towards is directly in our line of sight. The next several miles we ride nearly blind until we reach the top of the rocky hills that block the valley from the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

The sun is finally out of our eyes and we bear to the right, heading again due north. We are on what I refer to as a "hogback." On our right the shoulder of the road gives way to what appears to be a couple hundred feet steep slope down into a valley. On our left is a similar steep slope down to the sea.

The 15 miles from Sausalito, CA to Stinson Beach, CA (SEE MAP) is a series of hairpin curves and steep grades - all with the ocean far below. It is slow, laborious, exhilirating, gorgeous, nerve-wracking and blissfully free. But it soaks up valuable daylight. When we take a break to snap a few pictures, Smitty voices some regret at coming this way instead of the more direct route up CA101. But this route stays true to our original goal and the landscape is more than worth the effort. Two of the three pictures in this section were taken during this rest stop.

Finally, we dip down toward sea level as we enter into the town of Stinson Beach. Smitty is in the lead as we roll into this small beach community. As the speed limit dips down to 30 miles per hour, I notice a large white goose walking down the side of Highway 1. He seems to be minding his own business. But as Smitty passes by, I watch as he lunges toward his legs - just missing giving Smitty a nip and probably just missing getting his head torn off.

It occurs to me that I have to pass this mean son-of-a-bitch. With traffic coming in the other direction, I have little choice. I gun it a little as I pass this angry wandering water-fowl and lift my legs off the footpegs to make it that much more difficult for him to get a taste of the Pink Flamingos. I hate birds...

It is nearly 7:00 by the time we complete this stretch of road. Less than 20 miles in distance takes us almost 45 minutes to cover. When the signs say Sharp Curve Speed Limit 15 MPH - they aren't kidding.

The plan is to overnight in Bodega Bay. Bodega Bay is the small California town in which Alfred Hitchcock filmed the movie, The Birds. The Birds was filmed in 1963 and is a terrifying story in which all of the birds (sea gulls, crows, etc.) begin to attack and kill humans. If you haven't seen it, it is certainly worth a rental.

We have already nearly been attacked by one bird and Bodega Bay isn't finished extracting its pound of flesh from the Flamingos. We finally roll into Bodega Bay as the sun's last rays fizzle in the far western Pacific waters to find exactly two hotels in town. One of those hotels is closed. The other hotel has a room for us if we want to spend $300 and stay in a luxurious romantic suite.

Now, I like Smitty, don't get me wrong. He is a handsome man although less dreamy than Brad Pitt he is more dreamy than Ernest Borgnine. BUT, I was not up for spending $300 for a romantic setting.

Exhausted, dejected and concerned about finding a place to roost, the Flamingos leave Bodega Bay and continue north. We pass through Salmon Creek - Nothing. We pass through Jenner - nothing but a B&B that is closed for the night and a cheesy roadside gas station with two pumps.

I need gas (see, Jungle Jane, we do stop for fuel!) and we want to find directions to a motel, so we stop. Flaming1 waits patiently for me as I go through the motions to pay for the fuel. I pull out the pump handle, insert it into the tank and begin pumping. I'm immediately irritated by a greasy feel to the pump nozzle and an unusual odor - but I pump a little bit more and bitch to Smitty, "Shit, this nozzle is greasy, what's up with this thing?"

Upon my inquiry, Smitty looks up and says to me, "Holy shit, it's diesel!"

If you are familiar with auto mechanics, I am stating the obvious. But if you are unfamiliar with auto mechanics, pumping diesel into a gasoline tank is a bad thing. It's thick, oily and has an entirely different chemical makeup and certainly a different octane rating. As of that moment, I had .998 gallons of that shit in my 5.6 gallon tank.

I probably should have stopped and drained the tank right there, but it was dark, we were in the middle of nowhere, I didn't have many tools and I was damn tired. So, I topped it off with Premium, poured in a bottle of octane booster and hit the ignition.

It sputtered, it smoked, it gagged and rumbled, but it ran. Flaming1, I am soooo sorry!

The gas station attendant was not overly helpful, but he did inform us that our best bet for a room would be to head inland from Jenner and possibly inland as far as Santa Rosa. This was quite a bit of backtracking, so we were not thrilled about it, but we headed inland along the Russian River.

It was too dark to enjoy the views along the Russian River and, since Flaming1 was threatening to cough up a lung and die at any moment, we raced along as quickly as we could. We stopped briefly at three or four roadside motels - but found nothing until we rolled into Guernville, California.

Finally, in Guernville, we found a motel with a vacancy sign. The name on the sign in front of this motel read "The New Dynamic Inn." It struck me that this motel did not appear either new nor dynamic. Additionally I wondered whether there might be an "Old Dynamic Inn." I was too tired to resolve any of these questions that night and they remain unresolved today. A future opportunity.

We checked in to our room and our attention turned toward sustinence.

Guernville, as it turns out, is one of the gayest towns I have ever been in. Within the three block walk from the New Dynamic Inn to the city center (2 restaurants and some closed shops), we ran into several men in drag and rowdy bands of drunken men out for the evening. And then there was Smitty and me - wearing leather and assless chaps (of course they were assless - otherwise they would have been pants). Hmmm...well, at least we fit in.

The first restaurant had a giant neon rainbow above the doorway - I did not write down the name of the place, but it did not look like anyone in this place was actually eating (food). So, we decided on the second option - a quaint neighborhood pizza restaurant. Smitty and I settled into a table while a little musical trio tuned and set up their instruments - a piano, a bass and some xylophone type instrument. We ordered pizza and a couple of beers and let out a big sigh of relaxation - finally we were settled in, getting food and knew where we were sleeping later.

The musicians began to play and it was very pleasant and it took our minds off the wait for the pizza. When the pizza arrived, we dived in. Nothing like beer and pizza at the end of a long day riding and the accompanying stress of pumping diesel into your tank. I leaned back, took a draw from my icy cold beer and glanced around the room. Oddly enough, there must have been 20 tables in this place and each table was occupied by - two men...including ours.

I leaned in to whisper to Smitty, "I have some bad news and some good news for you."

"What's the bad news."

"Tonight, we are a gay couple." I laughed as I gestured with raised brows at the rest of the room.

He glanced around and asked, "What's the good news?"

To which I simply responded, "There really isn't any, but I wanted to stay optimistic."

We finished our pizza and headed back to the New Dynamic Inn (where I am certain the innkeeper was also certain of our couple status), closed and locked the door behind us.

What happens in Guernville, stays in Guernville.

The PCH - Chapter 6

2006-03-11T13:38:00.000-07:00

Saturday July 10, 2004
Monterey, CA to The Golden Gate Bridge

With bellies full of crab and shrimp and bits of sourdough sponges sopped with creamy cheese sauce, the motorcycles strain under the added weight of the load of our lunch. It is apparent, by the grins on our faces, that we don't even care that we have lost several miles per hour or that we have seriously impaired our aerodynamics by bloating our bellies into giant wind-blocking spheres. When you are this close to heaven, nothing can detract from the spellbinding glory that comes along with the open road, the sea and a satisfied gut. Even the fact that we are now leaving Monterey does not intrude on the mood.

The entire Pink Flamingos Motorcycle Club is well aware of what is on our horizon. By the fastest route, the Man shows the distance from Monterey, California to San Francisco, California as 113 miles (181.855 Canadian). We aren't taking the fastest or the shortest route; we are going to continue to hug the coast.

Sometimes too much of a good thing can get tiresome. Have you ever ordered something that was so rich and delicious that you just couldn't stop eating it - and then you went too far and grew tired of the taste. Now that dish is ruined for you forever. Once you have surpassed the limits of consumption, even with respect to the richest, most delicious delicacy, it is never the same experience to your palate again. This never happens on this road. I can't get enough of this open road, the rocky shore and the wide blue horizon. I am in gluttonous bliss; dangerously close to landscape induced nirvana.

One of our stops along the road is the Pigeon Point Lighthouse. The majesty, mystery and history of lighthouses has, for my entire life, consumed me in the same manner as my desire to sail. Something about the sea has pulled on me since my birth - which occurred in the middle of this country about as far away from any ocean as possible. I have always sensed its gravity and its pull was never stronger than it was when I saw the signs to the road leading to this lighthouse. I gave a hand signal to Smitty, turned on my left turn signal and turned onto the road toward the lighthouse. We pulled to a stop in the parking lot, I swung my leg over the seat and grabbed my camera.

Pigeon Point lighthouse is fifty miles south of San Francisco. It stands 115 feet high on a bluff overlooking the Pacific. The lamp on Pigeon Point lighthouse went into operation for the first time in 1872. On the wall of the building adjoining the lighthouse tower, there are large foghorns protruding from the house. These foghorns, together with the powerful lamp, warned sailors of the dangers of the coast in this region. I can't help but think about the man that used to operate this equipment when this building was brand new. Travel is easy today, but in 1872, there was nothing within 30 miles of this man whose duty it was to trudge up the many stairs to the top of the lighthouse to make certain that the lamp was filled with oil and operational.

We spend about thirty minutes poking around the grounds. A walkway leads to the back of the lighthouse property where the views of the rockly cliff and the Pacific Ocean are amazing.

The property now includes either a hotel or some sort of a youth hostel, although it is empty of virtually every other life form while we are there. Only a few other people stop to view this property while we are there. I note that it is nearly as desolate now as it probably was in 1872. Because my photography is amaturish, I also want to include this professional shot stolen from the internet which provides a better glimpse of the harsh environs surrounding this 132 year old tower.

After our brief respite from the road and the nostalgic trip through maritime days gone by, it is once again time to put rubber to the road.

In less than an hour we are in the outskirts of San Francisco. Traffic up the PCH is heavy but moving along briskly. As we enter San Francisco proper, you can sense it. The distinct architecture is popping up. Hillside homes lined straight and tall populate the rolling hills of the city. This is no freeway. We hit regular stop lights as we travel on the remnants of Highway 1 which looks like any other surface street in the area. The stop lights are actually a welcome opporunity to look around at this taste of San Francisco.

This street takes us away from the coast and we pass through Golden Gate park and then into an area known as the Presidio. I know I am very close to one of the most aniticipated moments of the trip - crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. In the blink of an eye, we make a turn and there it is standing before us. My neck begins to tingle and that tingle spreads a sheet of goosebumps over my entire body as we roll onto the bridge decking.

Traffic is ridiculously heavy at this point. We put ourselves into the far right lane and crawl along the road at the speed of our choice. I think bicycles were passing us as I soaked up this experience with my head spinning from left to right to left again to avoid missing anything on this two mile stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway. We are 200 feet above the water and it is exhilirating.

Not wanting this to end too soon, we pull into the park on the far north side of the bridge, fight like wildcats to find a parking spot and bring the bikes to rest for another moment. I want a picture with this beautiful landmark. It is fuzzy, but cherished. I count this as a sexual experience - and you can tell by the look on my face that it was good.

Daylight's burning. It is nearly 6:00p.m. by the time we finish our time at the Golden Gate Bridge and we still have some miles to go before we sleep - many more miles as it turns out...

Commercial Break From PCH Chronicles

2006-03-10T09:02:00.000-07:00

Citizen Cane - great movie or Eh?

Also, I saw Mama Mia last Saturday. Has anyone seen this performance? The story is light and somewhat vapid, but the music is so much fun. I have to say that I loved it.

Kagemusha is a dumbass.

The seven songs I am into right now are (in no specific order):

1. 1952 Vincent Black Lightning - Richard Thompson
2. Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd
3. Clap Your Hands - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
4. The Winner Takes It All - ABBA
5. The Theme to the Magnificent Seven - Cincinnati Pops
6. (Ghost) Riders In the Sky - Johnny Cash
7. Southbound Saurez - Led Zepplin (trust me, go listen to this one!!!)

I intend to draft Chapter 6 of the The PCH tonight. Please feel free to discuss any of the foregoing topics in the interim.

I am going to tag Bloodgood...and Dorian Gray...and that is all I am going to do. Suck it!

***Fine Print regarding Tagging***

"List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they are any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to."

The PCH - Chapter 5

2006-03-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

Saturday July 10, 2004
Arroyo Grande, CA to Monterey, CA

Having scratched our breakfast itch, we were on the road up the coast through the heart of the Pismo Beach area. Highway 1, once again, swings inland just beyond Pismo as it turns toward San Luis Obispo. At San Luis Obispo, a near 90 degree bend to the west sends you shooting off toward the coast and toward Morro Bay.

As we rolled into Morro Bay, the landscape was dominated by a 576 foot rock called El Morro (which is Spanish for the Morro). I did not take the corresponding picture - this was 30 miles into our day and so we did not stop for this wonderful photo opportunity. My mental image of this place is so vivid that it almost wasn't necessary. Unfortunately, I had some trouble scanning my mental image - so I ripped this picture off the internet. You do not have to take my word for it, this little town is adorable and the landscape is stunning. I am certain land is a million dollars a square foot here, otherwise it would be a great place to retire.

This brings up a point that I should make about our trip. We had a destination. That may have been our biggest mistake (Bloodgood, do not take this personally). Had we not had a destination and plans to stay a couple of days with Bloodgood, we certainly would have stopped in this little town and had a beer at a local watering hole. I can't say that this is a regret because we had a wonderful trip. So, instead of regret, let's just call it a "future opportunity." I retain a future opporutnity to return to Morro Bay and watch the sun set over El Morro (which is Spanish for the Morro) while having a beer and some clam chowder. It was the "most beautiful place I have ever seen 2." (Herinafter, "most beautiful place I have ever seen" will be defined as "MBPIHES" and then denoted with an identifying number. The identifying number is merely to keep score as to how many times I said this during this trip and should not be used for wagering or other lottery-related purposes).

Beyond Morro Bay was the San Simeon area. San Simeon is where William Randolph Hearst's famous Hearst Castle is located. We stopped. We went inside. We found out that the tour lasted more than two hours. We left.

I am certain the Castle is very cool, but I would rather have spent my two hours having a beer at a pub in Morro Bay looking over El Morro (which is Spanish for the Morro). Hearst Castle remains a future opportunity.

Just past San Simeon is the area that is commonly referred to as Big Sur. While the map shows a town called Big Sur, I recall that it was a gas pump with outrageously expensive gas prices. But don't let that comment confuse my opinion of Big Sur because Big Sur is the MBPIHES3!!!.

Big Sur is really a region, not a specific, indentifiable spot along the road. It lacks clear boundaries, but it is generally a 90 mile stretch south of Carmel down to roughly Lucia, California. It is a windy, rocky, mountainous area. Highway 1 in this area is a roller coaster of dips and climbs. At one point the Highway is barely above sea level; in the next instant, it climbs to over 1200 feet in elevation. The entire stretch qualifies for the MBPIHES3 designation I have bestowed upon it.

The ride was slow, technical and exhausting. This piece of highway is very popular and the line of vehicles down this road were filled with people doing the same thing we were doing - and it did not include watching the road.

We stopped periodically and enjoyed the scenery. But traveling 90 miles at slow speed puts a dent in the day. We only have a limited number of daylight hours (and I would never want to ride at night and miss any of this incredible beauty). Accordingly, we keep our pauses brief and keep moving along while relishing the fact that we are alive and we are here.

Before long, we have passed through the Big Sur region and we are moving into the Carmel/Monterey area. As I write this, I want to go back. I want to go back right this minute. Monterey is a definitely a tourist area. I am a tourist. I think I have firmly established this fact. We hit the primary tourist area and visited the Cannery Row and Fisherman's Wharf area. Shops, tourists, restaurants...and we were hungry. How fortuitous that we managed to find a restaurant that served - SEAFOOD.

I am salivating while thinking about the Crab/Shrimp/Mushroom mixture poured over sourdough bread and then covered with Monterey Jack cheese.

Monterey remains full of future opportunities; after a hearty lunch we mounted up and hit the road.

San Francisco was so close we could taste it - either that or it was the lingering crab/shrimp/mushroom mixture. Whatever it was, it was good!

The PCH - Chapter 4

2006-03-06T17:06:00.000-07:00

Saturday July 10, 2004
Arroyo Grande, CA

Last night, I fell to sleep while writing in my journal. My handwriting just sort of trailed off into a worse scribble than my normal bad handwriting. I finished the entry when I woke up in the morning. I guess a day riding 555 miles on a motorcycle is somewhat exhausting. Who would have thought?
It is cold here in Arroyo Grande. Last night it was absolutely freezing when we returned to the hotel after dinner. This morning it is still freezing. The July ocean breeze cuts right through you.

The Pink Flamingos are dragging a little this morning. We did not get up at 4:00a.m., but we are up and showered, packed and checked out the Arroyo Grande Econo Lodge by 8:00. I pull the door to room 117 closed behind me and mount up.

The hotel desk clerk tells us that there is a cafe just down around the corner...Francisco's!

From the outside, it looks just like an old Country Kitchen, though Country Kitchen has long since abandoned this property. Francisco has taken over.

Oddly enough Francisco's also looks like an abandoned Country Kitchen on the inside. It has a counter with stainless steel stools covered in pock-marked red vinyl. You can peer into the kitchen through a window behind the counter. The standard stainless steel ticket wheel stands proudly in the window with orders hanging. One of the cooks tosses some plates into the window, pulls a ticket and spins it around to the next ticket. As a waitress darts through the door, the swinging door at the end of the counter whips open and closed, open and closed several times before it comes back to rest in its closed position. Saturday breakfast at Francisco's is an active place!

As the glass door of the restaurant closes behind us, many heads turn and stare at Smitty's assless chaps. I don't know why I refer to them as assless chaps, since all chaps are assless. If they had an ass, they would be pants. It is the assless feature that makes them chaps. They are certainly assless and they have certainly drawn a few glances from the local patrons of Francisco's.

I would kill for a cup of coffee.

Fortunately I don't have to. The waitress you would expect at a place called Francisco's brings us steaming cups of coffee and eventually sausage, eggs and pancakes. The first real breakfast of the trip is road-trip, greasy spoon perfection and it causes me to blurt out to Smitty, "That Francisco cooks a damn fine breakfast."

His retort is, "Do you think Francisco is cooking this morning?"

And it is at precisely that instant, that I glance through the swinging tavern-style door into the kitchen and see a very large hispanic man scratching his back with a spatula.

Mmmm, I love the local flavor.

Leaving Francisco and his multi-flavored and multi-textured spatula behind, we hit the road with stomachs full and our sites set squarely on Big Sur.

The PCH - Chapter 3

2006-03-04T11:09:00.000-07:00

Friday July 9, 2004 - 12:00 p.m.

The distance from Surprise, Arizona (a suburb of Phoenix) to Santa Monica, California is 384 miles (according to the Man). That is six hours and twenty-six minutes of riding time (also according to the Man). We completed this leg of the trip with only two stops - (Blythe, CA and Indio, CA). Neither stop lasted longer than it took to fill up the tank, empty the bladder and consume a bottle of convenience store water. By this point, I can no longer feel my ass. I believe I prefer it this way.

A good friend of mine lives in Santa Monica and works in Century City. The Pink Flamingos have a scheduled lunch appointment with her and another friend of mine, her boss. They both work for a law firm and they want to take the entire motorcycle club out for lunch. Our scheduled time of arrival was supposed to be noon. At noon, we are sitting in traffic somewhere in the greater Los Angelese metropolitan area. It is approximately 85 degrees, we are hungry, tired, sore and barely moving. Even this was bearable until the canary we had brought with us fell off its perch and died due to the excessive levels of carbon monoxide. This brought about yet another good news/bad news situation. The good news was that we were able to dispense with the awkward bird cage we had been packing - the bad news is that we were in imminent danger of death. Yes, this trip was filled with peril.

I love LA.

After running the LA gauntlet, we finally made it to Caroline's office in Centry City, parked FLMNG1 in the dark recesses of the basement of the parking garage and made our way upwards into the highrise office tower...dressed like bikers. It was an interesting and glamorous look for the Los Angelonians to soak in.

After a quick tour of the firm, we headed out to a local restaurant. The Pink Flamingos stuck out like pink flamingos in a restaurant. We were decked in leather clothing and bandanas sitting among the lawyers and LA businessmen.

Ordinarily, this is the enviornment that I live in. I thrive here. I make a living here. But in this costume and to these people, I was a foreign object lodged in their well-dressed throats. People stared - casually, but I could sense their eyes on us. When I would look back at them, their heads and eyes would quickly dart away.

Initially, I felt uncomfortable. I hate to be underdressed. But the realization soon set in that, to these people, I was the character that I appeared to be. To these people, I could be what they saw; I could play this character. At this moment, I felt like a rebel and an outsider; I became a rebel and an outsider. It felt good. It felt strange. It was liberating to be freed from my identity as a father, a lawyer and a responsible member of society. At this moment, I had become a member of a motorcycle club.

The Pink Flamingos settled in and ate lunch in this mid-scale outdoor patio restaurant among the successful businesmen...and then we hit the road.

The plan was to take a picture in front of the Santa Monica pier. Plans don't always work out. I-10 dead-ends right near the pier, but by the time we hit the end of the road, we had our fill of LA traffic. As I took the exit off the end of I-10, I looked over my left shoulder in time to at least catch a glimpse of the famous sign in front of the Santa Monica pier. The I-10 exit then poured us out onto the Pacific Coast Highway and FLMNG1 met the Pacific Ocean for the very first time.

It was only about 3:00 p.m. when we hit the coast and we still wanted to put some distance between us and Phoenix, yet it was too beatuiful not to stop once in a while. The first picture above was from our first stop - somewhere northwest of Malibu, California. The California coast north of Los Angeles is positively breathtaking.

The Pacific Coast Highway is, in my opinion, the last great American highway. Highly touted Route 66 is full of nostalgia, but it has be chopped up into some many pieces it is virtually unnavigable. The PCH remains intact. Our tires are in contact with this most magnificent stretch of road and it is exhilirating. Goosebumps spring forth. For the first time in the ride, but not the last, I find myself saying to myself that this is the most beautiful place I have ever seen in my entire life.

Santa Barbara is a stop along our route. We spend a little bit of time hugging the ocean and taking a few pictures in a seaside park, but, unfortunately, we can't linger in Santa Barbara for long. We are losing daylight and need to make just a little more distance before we stop. The greater Pismo Beach metropolitan area is our goal and it is still another 90 miles away.

After Santa Barbara, there is a point where you come to a crossroads - you can either go to Lompoc and maintain the tour along Highway 1 or you can take Highway 101 and cut more inland through the Buellton/Solvang region. We opted for the latter based mostly on our desire to reconnect with the Pacific as soon as possible in the Pismo Beach area.

We blew by Buellton and Solvang, stopping only when it was a necessity. Soon we were in Arroyo Grande (just outside of Pismo Beach) and we had stumbled onto an acceptable motel. Dumpy but practical, home for the first night was going to be an Econo Lodge. After quickly detaching and then dumping our bags in the room, we headed out for food. We found a great seafood restaurant in Pismo where we sat by a window and looked out over the darkening ocean while we dined on hot clam chowder, sourdough bread and cold beer.

This is what I came here for. Day one finally ends after traveling over 555 miles and I know this is the beginning of something amazing.

Late Evening HNT

2006-03-02T19:14:00.000-07:00

You all wish you were (or your husband was) hung like a bird!

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday - late.

Lately there has been some talk from PDD about boiling my bunny. This has inspired our good friend Dongley Schlongford to create yet another fantastic depiction of life in blog-land.

PDD, please do not be offended (and please do not boil my bunny) - I had to share...

It appears that Grant Bailie is not very ashamed any longer...in fact, Grant Bailie appears overjoyed to masturbate on Garrett's smashed guitar. Garrett is unable to defend himself or his guitar as he has been shackled to the wall.

I only wish that I was shackled to the wall. My treatment appears to be significantly more harsh than a friendly "shackling". Popcorn boxers have been hung like a trophy...

...and the bunny is aboil.

Photo credits:

Photo #1 Jungle Jane's Left Tit

Photo #2 - Mystery Artist

Blogs of Note

2006-02-27T21:40:00.000-07:00

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....

2006-02-27T10:27:00.000-07:00

The decision is yours.

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

VOTE HERE!

Sunday Morning Misceallaneous

2006-02-26T10:46:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-25T10:09:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-23T12:43:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-22T07:23:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-20T20:32:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-20T07:15:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-14T22:04:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-11T11:58:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-08T08:22:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-05T20:53:00.000-07:00

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

2006-02-02T21:04:00.000-07:00

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).

Bloodgood is The Man!

2006-01-31T12:29:00.000-07:00

Bloodgood is The Man!

If you have been an avid reader of Born To Flock since its inception, you will recall my prior post concerning the origins of the Pink Flamingo Motorcycle Club. If you have not been an avid reader of Born to Flock since its inception then you must immediately go back and start from the beginning and read everything up through the prior post.

I'll wait....

Ok, by this time, everyone has read this post: Pink Flamingo Motorcycle Club: The Beginning

Bloodgood designed and printed the shirts shown in that entry. I love them. From the day the Pink Flamingo Motorcycle Club was conceived within the folds of my twisted brain, I wanted shirts and Bloodgood hit the nail on the head when I called him and asked him to help put something together.

He runs his own screenprinting business in Portland Oregon and he does fantastic stuff. I have seen many, many samples.

Bloodgood has created the second generation Pink Flamingos Motorcycle Club apparel and I love it. I want to share it with you. Click on the link to his site and check them out!

There have already been requests from Jungle Jane and others...But let me just make it absolutely clear - not everyone is cut out to be a Pink Flamingo. Ask yourself, are you bad enough?

Visitor from Blogland and Serious Soul Searching

2006-01-29T20:37:00.001-07:00

When I lived in Iowa, January was the month of the year that I held with the most disdain. It is a long, brutally cold period of time in which there is little to do but scrape windshields, jump-start your car and generally hibernate. January had no redeeming qualities.

January is now my favorite month of the year. It is usually 70 degrees here during January, the sun is almost always out and it is the time of year when we Phoenicians can get outside and enjoy ourselves. We get numerous visitors this time of year and I love it. Having visitors gives me an excuse to do the things that I love to do. I am a tourist and I love hanging out at tourist traps as well as quirky out of the way places.

As I have previously mentioned, I have become addicted to this blog thing. On Saturday my world of being a tourist collided with my world on the blog. Jim Crall is in Phoenix on business and we have been trying to find a time to meet and it hasn't been easy. Saturday, I set my sites on making the meeting happen and we finally got in touch with each other.

I phoned Jim at around 10:30...no answer - so I left a voicemail message and asked him to call me back.

At around 11:15, Jim returned my call and left me a voicemail. I would learn later that he had been out the night before to a local establishment and was feeling a little rough. I knew I was going to like him.

We finally spoke in person to one another about 20 minutes later and made arrangements to meet at 4:30. I gave him directions to the meeting place. I also mentioned that his co-worker was more than welcome to join us if he would like.

At 4:30 we met at a shopping center. about 5 miles from my house. I picked him up and we headed north toward Cave Creek/Carefree. Just a little drive out of the way, off Pima Road, is a place called Greasewood Flat. As we arrived at Greasewood Flat, I asked Jim why his co-worker declined the invitation and his answer makes me laugh still.

Apparently, this little meeting was viewed by said co-worker as "kind of creepy" because he met me on the internet. He warned Jim that he was meeting some guy that called himself a "Pink Flamingo" and went by the name of Flamingo1. I think the quote was something like, "Dude, you are going to end up out in the desert somewhere tied up with your pants around your ankles." Jim - you may correct this quote if you would like, but I think that captures the true spirit of said co-worker's comments. If you swing over to Jim's site, you can see a picture of Rob - whom I believe the quote is attributed.

When you think about it, he makes a pretty good point and frankly the same thought had crossed my mind - which is why I brought Marcus (the pool boy) as my main wingman.

In any event, we headed into this place -

Greasewood is a collection of shacks surrounding a collection of picnic table. It draws in tourists, families, bikers and....us.

I guess it is a "bar" using the term very loosely. But it is a bar without walls (mostly).

At night, they light the fire pits; you can purchase marshmallows to roast; they sell burgers, hotdogs, chili and such. I usually stick with a burger and beer - but the chili is fantastic.

I pulled this picture off the internet - but this is what it looks like. At this point, I was a little hesitant to pull the camera out and start snapping pictures - especially because I wasn't yet willing to be the subject of any of those photographs for public display on the blog. It was a quandary that worried me all afternoon.

Jim had a camera with him and I had a camera with me. How was I going to avoid the loss of my anonymity?

Jim, Marquez (the Pool Boy) and I sat here at Greasewood Flat and drank a few beers and ate one of the best burgers in town. I hear there are better elsewhere, but the burger here is pretty darn good. The best part is that you get to sit outside in the sun and eat your burger which makes it taste that much better.

As we sat there at our picnic table in the middle of Greasewood Flat, Jim received a phone call from his brother Dan. Dan asked to speak to me and we chatted on Jim's cell phone for about 10 minutes. My fears of being dragged into the desert to never be seen again abated very quickly.

As the sun started to set, we went to the far side of the gravel parking lot which blends into the desert; the dividing line being the point at which desert plants appeared. We hiked up a small hill into a piece of the desert to take a couple of photos. The sun was starting to set and the light was fading but we managed to take a few pictures. Jim wanted a picture standing next to a saguaro cactus. Even after living here for ten years, I am still amazed by these giant tree-like cacti.

Please enjoy the montage of photos that follow. I think the fading light adds an interesting effect to the prickly plants populating the Sonoran desert surrounding Phoenix. I have posted a sunset picture on my blog previously and have had several people comment on how beautiful it was - my secret is that I let the sun and the mountains do most of the work. There are beautiful sunsets here nightly. You just have to be somewhere to watch.

IT'S A MONTAGE...

GOTTA HAVE A MONTAGE...

After snapping a few photos in the desert, we decided to move on. We headed even further north to a micro-brew that I enjoy in Cave Creek, Arizona. It is connected to a restaurant called Crazy Ed's Satisfied Frog. The brewery portion of the operation is called the Black Mountain Brewery. The reason: it is located at the base of Black Mountain. Black Mountain Brewery is famous (or infamous) for its Cave Creek Chili Beer. It is a bottled beer that contains a little kicker - an inch and a half long jalapeno pepper. Go here to see more about the Black Mountain Brewery: Chili Beer .

As you can see from the photo, this place has ambiance. They are home of the $199.95 margarita. We actually saw someone drinking the $199.95 margarita while we were there. They were half price on Saturday night...but we stuck to the beer. They actually make a fantastic amber called Ocotillo Amber. The South of the Border Porter has a bit more zing to it. I had a few of each. Jim had a couple Frog Lights and a Black Mountain Gold. Mmmm....beer.

We also walked around the little tourist shops that ring Crazy Ed's Satisfied Frog and Jim bought a few souvenirs. I'm an old guy, so as it approached 10:00, we decided it was time to head back to town.

I knew Jim had several photos of me on his camera. I also had several photos of Jim on my camera. I had been thinking about this all night long and it seemed silly to me. I have probably half a dozen people that I know that read my blog all the time. If someone I knew stumbled across this blog by accident, it would take them roughly 5 minutes to figure out who I am. My kids are on here. Flmng1 is pictured on here several times. My life has been pretty much put out there on this thing. I may be anonymous, but I write truths about who I really am all over this thing. The only part of anonymity is what my name is and what I look like.

So after much soul searching...

here I am with Jim.

Please note that it had been a long day outside and I need a haircut (or need to cut what hair I have remaining). I am the old guy on the left.

Jim, I hope you enjoyed yourself. I had a blast. Thanks!

ERIN O'BRIEN - 2000TH VISITOR TO BORN TO FLOCK

2006-01-28T10:57:00.000-07:00

Today Erin O'Brien left a comment on my last posting. Her comment read:

"Frey. Flava. Oprah. Rats.

Eff.

These guys are getting all my press. "

I am here to rectify that situation, Erin O'Brien...COME ON DOWN!!! YOU ARE THE 2000TH VISITOR TO BORN TO FLOCK!!!

While you do not win a brand new car, you do win this special feature on Born to Flock. Today' s post is all about Erin O'Brien and why I love Erin O'Brien.

I will start with the obvious reasons why I love Erin O'Brien. Erin O'Brien is sexy, bawdy, beautiful, brilliant and extremely talented. Her writing style sucks you in. It makes you want to read more. Even a simple posting about kitsch makes you want to know more about Erin O'Brien.

I love how Erin O'Brien purrs at a comment that I have left for her. Erin O'Brien also knows what the readers really want - big breasts.

Confidential to Erin: I realize that your post on big breasts was really a social commentary on how stupid men (and sometimes women) can be, however dangling the phrase "big breasts" out there is always good for a couple of hits on your blog address - no need to thank me because this is all about you!!

Erin O'Brien has provided me with much inspiration and direction in my personal life. She reminded me that I should not eff up. She has also impacted my writing style significantly. I am one of those individuals who would write things in CAPITAL LETTERS to make them seem more important; she believes this practice is condescending to the reader. After much introspection and consideration of Erin O'Brien's point on this subject, I made a conscious effort to stop writing things in CAPITAL LETTERS so that I avoid shoving my words down the reader's throat. I can't recall on which posting Erin O'Brien made that statement, but it has stuck with me since reading it.

Since those long ago days of high school, I have been enamored by authors. I used to daydream about writing letters to Kurt Vonnegut and John Irving - two of my (three) favorite authors that are presently living and, I believe, still writing. I always imagined what I might say to these people whom I admired so much. It has meant the world to me to be able to correspond with someone like Erin O'Brien for this very reason.

Authors and writers such as Erin O'Brien should be held in high esteem; they should be treated like rock stars or famous actors. A good author has every bit as much ability to bring out emotion and to provide life changing moments for others as any musicion or actor. I have been more profoundly impacted during my lifetime by great writing than by any music or film. Erin O'Brien has provided such a life changing experience for me - both through her novel - Harvey & Eck - her blog - The Erin O'Brien Owner's Manual for Human Beings and through all of the correspondence that has flowed between us over these last several months.

Erin O'Brien I know you already know this and it does not NEED to be said here, but I love and respect
you. You are hereby made an honorary member of the Pink Flamingos Motorcycle Club.

Confidential to Erin O'Brien: please do not feel that my capitalization of the word "NEED" above was condescending in any way.

Miscellaneous

2006-01-26T21:44:00.000-07:00

I have been very lax in my posting lately. I have, as Nowhere Girl stated on her site, relied on several fluff posts lately. Yes, out of pure laziness, I have taken the easy way out a couple of times and I am not pleased with that. I started Born to Flock because my job can kill your creative soul and this damn thing stimulates my creativity in a way that it has not been stimulated in a very long time. So I have tried to resist fluff posts as much as possible - yet I have fallen into the trap; I have succumbed to the fluff post.

But I have a good excuse.

Since the Flavor of Love show started, I have been mesmerised. Who can break away? Wearing giant clocks around his neck and voting girls out of his life. That's pure gold. Flava Flav!!!!

Can you believe this guy was a badass with Public Enemy back in the day? From Public Enemy to Surreal Life and then to the show with Brigitte Nielsen, Flava has really shown his range.

The leap to "reality" tv is complete. If you haven't watched Flavor of Love, please stop reading this immediately and thank God that you haven't wasted those hours of your life.

TONIGHT ON OPRAH

My wife watched tonight's episode of Oprah in which she ripped James Frey a new ass. It was painful to watch.
Ok, he said it was the story of his life. Oprah believed him. Half of the country believed him. Perhaps he should have been more forthcoming in stating that parts of this book were embellished.

Who doesn't embellish the story when telling about their own lives.

Did anyone bitch at Bill Clinton after they published his book? How much of that do you think was true. Did he embellish? Did he change the facts?

You bet he did.

I read the autobiography of Malcom X and, while it was an excellent book, I am certain that it wasn't precisely honest in every instance. I believe he made every effort to make it truthful but there were portions that you tweak either to make more interesting or to make yourself feel better (look better) in the situation.

I haven't read the book, but everyone tells me it was well written. If it was well written, enjoy it and shut the hell up.

Finally, we come to rat play time.

Rat playtime has become a tradition at our house. Every night almost the entire family gathers together to play with these creepy little bastards.

There are two of them. Both are females. They don't even have real names. Sometimes they are called Babi and Zedi - but that is sort of stupid since that means grandma and grandpa in Hebrew. They are both female and we aren't Jewish.

I should have put this on my tag regarding weird habits because in my house, this has become a habit.

We now have two dogs, two cats, two rats and three kids. Now you really know why I spend all of my time on this blog.

While Iron Man is cool.....

2006-01-25T12:29:00.000-07:00

I would rather be....

FLAMINGO MAN!!

I AM IRONMAN...DA DADADADA NA NA NA

2006-01-24T16:08:00.000-07:00

Your results:
You are Iron Man

Iron Man		85%
Spider-Man		80%
Green Lantern		75%
Superman		70%
Batman		70%
The Flash		70%
Supergirl		60%
Robin		55%
Hulk		55%
Wonder Woman		50%
Catwoman		45%

Inventor. Businessman. Genius.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero am I?" quiz...

Crap - It Appears I have Been Tagged

2006-01-23T22:20:00.000-07:00

Which means that I am subjected to the torture of the equivalent of a 21st Century chain letter. Since Erin O'Brien gave me absolutely no direction with regard to the rules of being tagged, I feel no obligation to pass them along to those lucky ones that I choose to "tag."

Why should you have it easier than I do? I mean, after all, I am here busting my ass to make this whole thing happen with little or no guidance...

Moving on to the main event!

My Five Weird Habits:

1. When I walk into an elevator I have to put my finger through the key ring and close the circle with my thumb so that I cannot drop my keys down that little gap that goes into the elevator shaft. This has never happened to me before and as far as I can remember, it has never happened to anyone that I know. But for some reason I have an irrational fear of dropping my keys into the elevator shaft. Thus I have developed this habit of putting my finger through the ring.

2. I hate being touched by strangers (or even acquaintences). Other than shaking hands and very informal contact, I do what I can to avoid touching people. This is why I hate being in the middle seat on an airplane. I am a relatively large person and I spend the entire flight bunched up so my shoulders, arms, hands and legs are always several inches away from the person next to me.

3. I constantly look in the refrigerator...fully knowing that the same stuff that was there an hour ago is still there now. I just want to look at it.

4. I can channel surf using my tv remote control even after I fall asleep in a chair. Is this a habit or just mad remote control skills? You be the judge.

5. I have become an obsessed blogger. I check the messages with Pavlovian regularity, my drooling response constantly triggered by the prospect of having a message from you...whoever you are.

Now apparently it seems that I need to give up 5 more of you unlucky bastards.

I pick:

Drunkbh

Jasmine

Ing

Jesus Toast

Nowhere GUY

Blogs of Note

2006-01-22T01:02:00.000-07:00

Well, it is that time again. Time to update Blogs of Note to move out those that I just don't keep up with regularly and move in those blogs that I want to read on a regular basis.

As I have mentioned countless number of times, you are all placed on this planet and on the blogosphere for my entertainment. Blogs of Note is all about entertaining me. The easier it is to get to my favorites, the better.

HELLO:

Please welcome Jesus Christ/Bill the Apostle and Satan/I Get Behind Thee to Blogs of Note. I'm a little concerned about adding Jesus and Bill because the blog is relatively new and has not been updated since sometime last week (Tuesday?). Up to this point, however it has kept me entertained. The question is will these super powers of religion have any staying power on Blogs of Note?

Also please welcome Captain Carl. Captain Carl has taken me back to Pee Wee's playhouse. Crallspace went there for one entry a few weeks ago, but this site has taken the Pee Wee tribute to a whole new level.

I have also added Dorian Gray because his concept amuses me. Like Jesus/Satan I hope that he will continue to pump out material to continue to entertain me.

And last, but certainly not least, welcome Ing. I have seen Ing making the rounds the last few weeks and her snide comments laced with innuendo and mean-spiritedness have really touched me deep in my black and rotted soul.

LAST MINUTE ADDITION: Drunkbh - just because she has a great rack.

Now dance, puppets, dance.

GOODBYE:

I had to say goodbye to the rest of the Purvis gang. God knows I loved you guys. Omar was genius. Chuck Dawson was also a dear friend. But no posts! I stopped checking after a while and then it became much easier to say goodbye. I also said goodbye to Tuna Girl. I liked reading her stuff once in a while but there has been a lot more excitement elsewhere so I had stopped going there as well. Additionally, she never stopped by my site - ever. Bad mistake.

TOMORROW - GOLF AND HOPEFULLY A BEER OR TWO WITH JIM CRALL.

Happy Birthday

2006-01-19T23:09:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my baby's 15th birthday. She is a nut. She is the life of the party. She is non-stop energy, fun and entertainment. I like to think she takes after her dad.

I get to spend my lunch hour with her on her special day.

Happy Birthday Punkin!

Donny Most and Assisted Suicide

2006-01-18T23:11:00.000-07:00

Who knows when and if Donny Most will ever do anything cool. I decided to go ahead and post the picture of Donny Most and fulfill all of the blogging goals that I set for myself when I started this blog.

Life is good; I feel complete and can die a happy man.

Now moving on to less important things....

Assisted Suicide

I was pleased to see this decision come down from the Supreme Court. It gives me hope that the Supreme Court is indeed in touch with the general population of the United States and it gives me comfort to know that I may have this option if I am ever terminally ill.

I left a comment at Ranando Report regarding this issue earlier today and I note that someone named Echotig responded. It is an interesting debate. Echotig seems to believe that we should leave the medical profession out of this. However I think this is part of the medical care that I expect from my physician.

I expect my doctor to advise me about the physical condition of my body. Based on that advise, I should be permitted to make a decision about my care or about whether to end my life through. Once I make that decison, I would expect my doctor to assist with the treatment on which I have decided.

I am an attorney. I have clients come to me with issues all of the time. I look at their documents and review their issues and then give them advice on the potential ways to proceed with their issue and the risks associated with each choice. The client then decides which action to take. I don't send them off to draft their own documents; I draft the documents and assist them through to the end of their legal matter.

Why should we expect less than that from our physicians.

As I said in my comments to Ranando's post - if it was a dog, we would have it euthanized and call it humane. I agree with Echotig that death is not dignified no matter how it happens, but I disagree with him regarding the medical profession not being responsible for this. One misstatement made by Echotig is his statement that the medical professional would decide when you die. That is not the way it works. The medical professional would not have the power to decide whether you live or die for you, but once you made that decision, they would and should respect it and assist it so that it is as humane as possible.

Further, Echotig mentioned that God did not promise that we would not suffer and does not owe us that. I find it ridiculous that anyone would make the counter-assumption that God would want us to suffer and I hope that isn't what he is suggesting. God may not owe us freedom from suffering, but my God is not cruel and would not require people to suffer either. We each have freedom of choice and this is the most fundamental choice of all.

70s Stud Leif Garrett

2006-01-18T14:55:00.000-07:00

As shocking as it may be to everyone, Leif Garrett was arrested in Los Angeles for drug possesion.

Leif Garrett

While I am shocked, this finally gives me a valid reason to put Leif Garrett's picture on my blog.

I can't wait until Donny Most does something cool!

Return From the Foreign Land

2006-01-15T21:37:00.000-07:00

The trip to Mexico was incredible. Marquez, Daughter and Flamingo1 spent an absolutely phenomenal day on the road.

Crossing the border into Nogales, Sonora, Mexico

Mandatory tourist fare.

On the way home, we stopped at Picacho Peak, Arizona to feed the ostriches.

Jesus Christ, look out! These bastards are mean as hell.

...and then we rode off into the beautiful Arizona sunset just like John Wayne.

I smoked a cuban cigar, bought a beautiful bottle of tequila and a new mexican blanket. Marquez bought a Mexican wrestling mask (I already have one), a pancho and a new hat. Daughter REALLY REALLY wanted a knockoff purse but they wouldn't come down to the amount she had in her budget. She still had a blast.

South of the Border

2006-01-15T08:22:00.000-07:00

No, you filthy animals, this is not going to be a post involving your favorite sexual act. You really need to pull your mind out of the gutter before Jesus Christ and Satan catch wind of your perversity.

I'm headed south of the border this morning. We got up early this morning and are headed to a border town -----NOGALES! It is about 3 hours from Phoenix and I am warming up the Ipod!! Woot!!

I didn't take the picture, but it was taken in Nogales. It is really a shit hole but its fun and Marquez the pool boy has never been there before. I am going to take my camera today and hopefully I will have some pictures to share.

Can you really have too many blankets or too much pottery?

Continuing Legal Education

2006-01-14T15:38:00.000-07:00

I spent the last 2 1/2 days at a seminar called "Real Estate Financing Documentation - Strategies for Changing Times." Thus I have had little or no computer time and have not been around checking comments, leaving comments or making any new posts. It was my own personal hell. I finished today's session with a full hour of ethics - YIPPEE!!!

During that period of time, it appears that Jesus Christ and Satan have blogs and are going toe to toe on several sites.

While I am amused and am somewhat tempted to add them to Blogs of Note, I fear that they will be Purvis-like flashes in the pan. I will go to the trouble to add them and then there will be an untimely death or suicide (or crucifixtion) which will then leave me with an Omar situation. While I love the genius that is Cracker Thieved My Melon, I need more consistency. I just do.

I spent much of this afternoon putting more songs on my computer and then moving them onto my Ipod. I put the entire boxed set of Led Zeppelin on my Ipod today. Ahh, the good ole days of real rock and roll music.

Led Zeppelin, The Who, Floyd - their music is solid. I can listen to it for hours.

The Ipod is only half full (see, I am an optimist, I didn't say that it was half empty!). I welcome your suggestions on what other tunes to add. My son has this gadget that permits you to play the Ipod through your car radio. I can't wait for my next long road trip.

How Would Alito Rule?

2006-01-11T09:35:00.000-07:00

Pregnant/HOV Lane

That's right - Arizona courts have ruled that a fetus is not a "Person" - at least not when you are attempting to drive in the carpool lane.

I am hoping that this gets appealed. Wouldn't you love to see a traffic ticket make it to the Supreme Court?

The Mormon and the F-Bomb

2006-01-10T12:38:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine (for the sake of protecting his identity, we will call him TT) is a Mormon.

Yes, it is true that a pathetic, souless wretch of an agnostic, hell-bound, friend of Satan like me has a Mormon friend. I don't tell many people this as it would completely ruin my reputation - which, as you can tell, I have gone to great lengths to develop. Since I know virtually none of you other than through this medium, I feel that I can both admit my friendship with said Mormon dude while, at the same time, maintaining my status as the anti-Christ. I think this entry will seal the latter status.

TT is as sweet and innocent as any Mormon boy from Mesa, AZ could possibly be. He is active in his church/temple/parish. He has a lovely family. He follows all the rules of Mormon life.

Which is why it has been my lifelong goal to corrupt him.

My first effort came following a lengthy discussion of movies. The conversation eventually turned to Guy Ritchie movies. Why it turned to Guy Ritchie movies will forever be a mystery to me, yet that is where the conversation led.

During said discussion, TT said, "Hey, have you seen that one with Brad Pitt in it...I can't remember the name of it."

The group attending lunch with him struggled to come up with the name of the movie and subsequently moved on. Not TT, however. He continued to struggle to come up with the name of the film the remainder of the lunch hour, the ride back to the office and for a short period of time thereafter. Somehow TT either remembered the name of the film or looked it up on the internet. In any event, he sent this e-mail:

"I was thinking of Snatch."

To which one of the females in our group replied, "That's all you guys ever think about."

The rest of us fell out laughing. TT sat there staring at his screen perplexed. He knew it meant something, but wasn't certain exactly what. Fortunately for TT, he came to me and I taught him the meaning of that term. I relished how red his face became as I explained. It was priceless.

My second major effort to corrupt TT occurred more recently. During an e-mail exchange, I mentioned something to the effect that he should become a "fluffer." To avoid having to face the humiliation of having me explain what a fluffer is, TT took matters into his own hands and did a Yahoo search for "fluffer." He shoots, he scores. Evil-doers 2 - Mormons 0. Somewhere out in cyberspace is electronic evidence that our fair-haired, clean-cut TT has been doing internet research on fluffers!!

Near complete corruption occurred within the last couple fo weeks and I am sorry to say that I was not present for his downfall. Apparently a major decision on a case he was working on was issued...and the request for summary judgment and dismissal of his client was denied. Our reverent Mormon friend dropped the F-Bomb. I am so proud!

Given his precipitous decline, I am almost certain that we will all be hitting the nudie bar this weekend - with TT leading the way.

More From Ranando's Site

2006-01-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

This post made me laugh and I wanted to repeat it here for that reason:

Terrorists Kidnap Fish

I Hope This is What Mine Says

2006-01-09T09:40:00.000-07:00

Stolen from Ranando

Benson Says It All

2006-01-09T09:02:00.000-07:00

Sunday Morning Blogtime

2006-01-08T10:50:00.000-07:00

OLD BUSINESS:

Blogs of Note change - I have been reading a lot of Jungle Jane lately and I believe she produces the kind of product that I find entertaining. That's right, penis, vagina and fart comments. Her profile says that she is from Australia - but how can you ever be certain? Jungle Jane has assumed Omar's spot. The reason for this change is that Omar, while I loved him, has not posted in what seems like months.

NEW BUSINESS:

This is my grandmother. She turned 99 years old this year.

My first memories of my grandmother were from about the time I was 4 or 5 years old. After my grandpa retired from his job at Quaker Oats (for more information on Quaker Oats, corn sweeteners and Cedar Rapids generally - go here: CEDAR RAPIDS ) my grandparents moved into an apartment above a local funeral home. My grandpa worked there part time; he drove the hearse, did general maintenance and other little odds and ends around the funeral home. My grandma provided hostess duties from time to time.

We went and visited them at this old "Victorian" house, turned into funeral parlor frequently. I call it Victorian because I am not quite certain how else to describe it. It is now a restaurant - the actual house is shown to the right - would you call that Victorian?

In any event, this house has two full stories and one of the biggest, creepiest attics that you could ever imagine. They kept caskets in the attic. To get the caskets from the attic downstairs, they had this ancient service elevator. The elevator also went down into the basement - which is where the actually did the preparation of bodies for the funeral. The button to call the elevator had a crescent moon on its face. Coupled with the creepy attic and the funeral home, this was frightening as a child. Nevertheless, it was like a second home for us.

When my father passed away, this is where the funeral took place and this is where we stayed for the entire week. We were upstairs, he was downstairs.

My grandpa was a warm and loving man with a giant belly. I loved to sit on his lap and watch television or read books. One of my favorite pictures was me sitting on his lap holding the windup toy train that I got for Christmas. He used to chew Copenhagen and gave some to my dog once - making the dog sneeze. I thought it was funny. He also used to give me Pep-o-Mint Lifesavers. I found out later (when I was in my early teens) that he kept the Pep-o-Mint Lifesavers on him to cover up the beer odor on his breath. He didn't drink much - just a beer or two every now and then - but apparently that would set Grandma off. Usually he would do a run to the grocery store to pick up a couple of things and then would stop off at a little hole in the wall bar called the "Bungalow." Every once in a while, we would see his car there when we would drive by. I loved that about him; I loved him. He died when I was 13 and I miss him every day.

My grandma was a very sharp and bright woman. I think she would have gone a very long way had she been born in a later generation. Women just didn't have the same opportunities then that they do now. But she was a smart as a whip and she never stopped wanting to learn new things. When she was in her late 70s and early 80s she was taking classes at the local community college on different topics. When I look around at the rest of my family, I know that I inherited my desire to learn from her. Thank you Grandma.

Whenever we would go over to her house, she loved to play games. We played Scrabble often. She also had this history trivia card game (way before Trivial Pursuit came out) that we used to play. I ended up getting a B.A. in history later in life and I can't help but wonder whether these games sent me down that path. She was never warm and affectionate in a physical way like my grandpa; she showed that she cared in a different way.

My grandma had been living with my mom for the last ten or twelve years. Earlier this year they had to move her into a nursing home because it was just too much for my mother to handle anymore. As I mentioned above, she is 99 now. When I saw her at Christmas, she didn't know who I was.

I know that my grandma will never read this, but I hope that she knows how much she has meant to me during my lifetime. I'm not certain that I will ever get to see her alive again and even if I do, it isn't Grandma anymore.

If there is an afterlife, I know Grandpa is getting his Pep-o-Mint Lifesavers ready for her.

God's Diabolical Plan To Smite Sharon Thwarted

2006-01-06T15:35:00.000-07:00

Don't Bring That Week-Ass Smiting Action In My House!!

God's attempt to smite Sharon fell short today when doctors provided medical procedures to save his life. He is showing improvement and it is my hope his first words when he regains consciousness will be "FUCK YOU PAT ROBERTSON!"

Apparently Born to Flock is Being BOYCOTTED

2006-01-06T10:54:00.000-07:00

From time to time, we all run into dipshits out in blogland. I am somewhat vocal (I guess) and I draw in my fair share of those types. One of these guys stands out and irritates me almost as much as Tidy Bowl. Since I have dealt with that topic previously, I will move on to the next blog-ruffian - Hairy Prison Guard.

This guy has apparently spent one too many days in solitary confinement. My guess is that he is some sort of a red-neck, inbred bumpkin (ie Tidy's brother and husband) that got his jollies out of exerting his will over those in confinement. Now he thinks he can punk me like he did those prisoners under his watch. Tidy and Hairy seem to share the same opinions - I can't help but wonder whether they know each other.

I will not soon be sharing a shower facility with you Hairy. If you do not like the subject matter here, perhaps you should move on. I will share the same response with you that I shared with my good friend (whom I like to talk about incessently) Drea. That is as follows:

"This is my blog. There are many blogs like it, but this one is mine.

"My blog is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.

"My blog, without me, is useless. Without my blog, I am useless. I must fire my blog true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I WILL...

"My blog and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. WE WILL HIT...

"My blog is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my blog clean and ready. We will become part of each other. WE WILL...

"Before God, I swear this creed. My blog and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. WE ARE THE SAVIORS OF MY LIFE. So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but peace! "

Tidy (I know you still read my blog as a guilty pleasure), please note the non-traditional use of the quotation marks. To buck tradition one step further, I am also quoting myself (which such quote was, of course, ripped off from the Marine Corps).

Unlike Tidy, I interject some original thought with my thievery.

I encourage Hairy and Tidy to continue their BOYCOTT. Drea can stick around since she has a giant hard-on for me and wants me to butter her muffin.

Confidential to Hairy - a BOYCOTT is when you stop purchasing a product or service in order to exert your political or personal agenda on someone. That would mandate that you actually stop coming here and leaving me comments. Please start BOYCOTTING me the correct way.

Confidential to everyone else - I declare a reverse BOYCOTT on Hairy. I have added his link back to my Blogs of Note. Feel free to go there and tell him what you think about him and his "blog."

Enough Muffin Butterin' Let's Talk About Atheists

2006-01-05T16:21:00.000-07:00

Link to Atheist Ten Commandments

I am not an Atheist. I have never claimed to be an Atheist. I did find this interesting.

I am certain that this is simply Satan's way of separating us from knowing Jesus...so Tidy should steer clear of it. It may result in thought, which, as we all know, leads us to question what we know and what we believe. It could lead to doubt which starts with "d" (as does damnation).

Anyway, what I find interesting about these Ten Commandments is that they are generally reasonable positions. How can you demonize a human being that follows these ten simple rules? How can you ostracize Atheists?

Anyone want to set the over-under on how many responses start with "Well, the Bible says..."?

Meanwhile...back at the ranch:

Link to: Hi, My name is Pat Robertson and I am an idiot

Whose philosophy is more "Christian"???

Exceptions to the Hearsay Rule

2006-01-05T15:01:00.000-07:00

Link to Hearsay video

To all of my attorney friends, friends in law school or friends studying for a bar exam anywhere in the United States...I share with you this link that is guaranteed to assist you with any Evidence or Civil Procedure question that comes up.

I would call this "Lawschoolhouse Rock"

Enjoy.

Swirling Around The Tidy Bowl

2006-01-04T16:14:00.000-07:00

I am embarrassed to say that I fell into the Tidy Bowl trap today. After reviewing a lengthy series of "analyses" made by Tidy to prove the truth of the biography of Jesus, I was compelled to comment on a comment left by Drea (yes, the double whammy).

While responding to Drea's comment, I questioned why Ms. Bowl was starting each and every paragraph with a quotation mark without an ending quotation mark. As it turns out, her entire blog entry was ripped off from a religious journal. The punctuation, as it turns out, was acceptable although one would typically offset the entire quote in a written treatise in a more traditional style - had the writer included any of her own ideas. I was lambasted by Tidy for not having a grasp of English and proper grammar.

My favorite moment in Tidy's response to me (other than the attack on my knowledge of the English language) was when she questioned my observation of water forming into a solid matrix at freezing temperatures - her claim being that I just accept this without observing it...just like Tidy and Drea accept god without seeing god. When I attempted to respond, my comments went into cyberspace for screening, possibly. It is also possible that my comments simply went into cyberspace forever.

I have read ranting and raving by others around blogland who warned me to stay away from this blog. I had never been there prior to this week (at least as far as I can recall). It was awful. I am still shaken up by the experience.

I fear that Tidy Bowl is the Borg and we will all be assimilated.

I came back to edit this one more time to emphasize the fact that Tidy Bowl is censoring who can and cannot leave messages on her blog. The comments actually appear to go through some sort of a screening process. If I could do that to block only Tidy Bowl, I would - but I do not want to otherwise chill the interesting and intelligent exchange of ideas. Perhaps if she did not censor the information coming in, Tidy might learn something about the physical and chemical properties of the universe that would permit something as strange as evolution to occur. But as Drea said, "Creation is the only logical explanation."

Welcome and Good Bye

2006-01-04T11:19:00.000-07:00

I lost Femi since she moved, so I had to say good-bye to Femi from BLOGS OF NOTE.

I have given MsAmber that spot. Please welcome MsAmber to BLOGS OF NOTE.

I also had to replace Storm...with Ranando. Please welcome Ranando to BLOGS OF NOTE.

The Planning Stages

2006-01-04T10:37:00.000-07:00

Each year for the past 4 years, three of my very best friends in the world come down to Arizona from Iowa for a visit. Randy and I have known each other since 2nd grade. I have been friends with David since 4th grade and Dean since 5th Grade.

Our annual trip happens each year right around St. Patrick's day. So today, I spent a few minutes on the phone planning this year's "adventure."

Year One - we spent 4 days in Vegas - WAAAAAYYYY to much time to spend in Vegas! But we had a blast. Drunken debauchery at the world's capitol for drunken debauchery. A great place to start the tradition.

Year Two through Year 4 - we spent 4 days in Rocky Point (Puerto Penasco), Mexico. Rocky Point is on the Sea of Cortez at the northernmost tip. It is approximately a 3 1/2 hour drive from Phoenix. This is sort of the anti-Vegas in many ways, yet still includes much drunken debauchery. It is sort of a poor-man's Cabo San Lucas.

Two years ago, 6 of us rented this house...

It wasn't as expensive as you might first think. It cost us each about $75/night. It was right on the beach.

We stock up on groceries before we leave the U.S. including some nice thick steaks! When we hit Mexico, we load up on cases of Pacifico, Corona and Dos Equis (the year we stayed here, we drank over 300 bottles of beer between the 6 of us. I think I figured out that it averaged 16 beers for each 24 hour period per person - all consumed on the patio of this house overlooking the Sea of Cortez. Nothing better than being comfortably numb in paradise.

So, moments ago, I hung up the phone after a conversation with my friend Dave - we are trying to put together this year's trip. Considering a return to Rocky Point - but leaving our options open.

I want to hike the Grand Canyon...but I don't think that is going to happen. They think I am nuts.

I said it before at Erin's site Bunch-o-Erin ...I want my last words to be "Damn that was fun!"

Holiday Times Have Been Busy Times

2006-01-03T14:09:00.000-07:00

I have been horribly delinquent in making blog entries. The holidays have sapped every ounce of strength I possess - not to mention most of the dollars that I used to possess.

Accordingly, I have opted NOT to become Erin's soul mate. I took the cash equivalent of the Mini-Cooper lease. I had to make the following decision...

1. Take a Mini-Cooper for two years, pay significantly more insurance, tax, title, etc. and then give it back. OR
2. Take cash and keep it forever.

I liked the second option better. It didn't cost me anything except the use of a car...I have a car.

Not only did I have to survive Christmas (including the luxurious trip to Cedar Rapids), New Years and all of the craziness surrounding these holidays, but it was also my wife's 40th birthday on January 1!

We celebrated, but we kept it small. Instead we decided that we would celebrate BIG in March. I haven't decided exactly how to celebrate it yet, but I have a few ideas!!

If you have any good ideas, I welcome your input. I am still thinking about one of those 4 day Baja Mexico cruises - Los Angeles, Catalina Island, Ensenada Mexico and then Back to Los Angeles.
I think she would like that.

Anyway, life is beginning to return to normal. Holidays are behind us. Tax time is quickly coming upon us.

BY THE WAY - I JUST WANT TO MENTION THAT THE IOWA HAWKEYES GOT COMPLETELY SCREWED BY THE REFEREES IN THE OUTBACK BOWL ON MONDAY!!!!

What I Did On Christmas Vacation - By Flamingo1

2005-12-28T21:22:00.000-07:00

What I Did On Christmas Vacation
(or GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE)

By Flamingo1

Welcome to Iowa and welcome to 1986. Above, I have posted a typical Iowa landscape; a scrubby field full of some sort of long ago harvested vegetation. Ugly patches of snow can be found trapped between the dried stalks of whatever sort of plant this might have been during the summer months. It ain't pretty. It isn't exactly the snow capped Rockies of Colorado.

We snapped this picture out of the front window of our Toyota Solara two door rental car. By the way, a two door Toyota Solara is not exactly the car I would select for a family of 5 traveling 60 miles with luggage. Consider that before purchasing one. Additionally, consider this when renting a car from Hertz - a two door Toyota Solara is considered a "Full Size" car - who would have thought?!?! In any event, this photo was taken within 4 blocks of "downtown." The skyline of the Greater Cedar Rapids Metropolitan Area is dominated by Quaker Oats and a variety of corn sweetener plants including the Cargill plant shown here. Massive amounts of corn are trucked into this city every year and are "processed" into corn starch and corn sweetener products. Check the back of virtually any sugared product and one of the primary ingredients will be "corn sweetener." Chances are it came from right here!

Now corn sweeteners make your food taste better (provided you are into processed sugar products). The process to make them does not make the air smell sweeter. Quite the contrary. Please note the gaseous emissions belching forth from the smoke stacks. This is one of the smells from the City of Five Smells.

Cedar Rapids is actually the self-described "City of Five Seasons." Cedar Rapids The Five Seasons are Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and....the time to enjoy the other four seasons (yes, clearly lame, but it wasn't my idea!!) However, what is missing from these glamorous images that I have shared with you as well as the shiny photos provided by the Chamber of Commerce are the smells. It actually used to be worse when I was a lad, but the smells never stop. As I mentioned, Quaker Oats is the 500 pound gorilla dominating 1/2 of the downtown skyline. Yes, it is right downtown. See photo evidence provided.

Oh, sure - it's pretty. This is the place that brings us Cap'n Crunch and Cap'n Crunch with Crunchberries. You can often smell these products as they are being made. The proximity to the foregoing corn sweetener plants make the production of sugary ceareals quite easy! MMMMMM...the smell can make your stomach queasy. I did not take this picture as you can see. I pulled this picture from the internet. Surprisingly, there are several pictures of the downtown Cedar Rapids skyline if you are interested in viewing more. I was tempted to post the photo showing the Quaker Oats plant at night. It is a wonder to behold.

To add to this olfactory adventure, just south of "downtown" Cedar Rapids you will find the city landfill as well as the city sewage treatment plant.

To provide a quick recap:

Smell No. 1 - Corn Sweeteners (and lots of them!);
Smell No. 2 - Quaker Oats;
Smell No. 3 - city landfill/dump;
Smell No. 4 - city sewage treatment plant.

AND SMELL No. 5 is the "time to enjoy the other 4 smells." It actually used to be the giant meat packing plant that is just south of downtown on the river right across from the sewage treatment plant and the dump, but that meat packing plant closed long ago. Accordingly, I ripped off the City of Five Seasons motto for my own evil purposes.

Another little tidbit of which you should be aware is that Grant Wood was from the general area and actually spent quite a bit of time in Cedar Rapids. During his time in the area, he painted American Gothic - the American Mona Lisa. I love this painting.

The house in this picture is still standing in Eldon Iowa. I have never been there, but the next time I am in Iowa during the summer, I intend to drive out to Eldon and take a picture of the house. I might even pose just like this.

The couple portrayed in the picture is comprised of the town dentist shown holding the pitch fork and Grant Wood's sister. I love the juxtaposition of the unsophisticated rural farmer in the foreground with the intricate gothic window in the background. The expressions on these faces are stern...but they somehow remind me of the Mona Lisa smile. There's something behind those dour expressions. And I can't help but wonder what the female in the picture is looking at - Mr. American Gothic is looking right at us - but Ms. American Gothic seems to be distracted by something. Probably two dogs humping in the front yard - but who can tell for sure?!?!

American Gothic was actually on display at the Cedar Rapids Art Museum recently. We missed it because it returned to Chicago on December 4. Otherwise, I would have gone down to the museum to see it in person. Culture in Cedar Rapids...who would have thought?!?!

As it was, I experienced no culture during my time in Cedar Rapids. When I wasn't gorging myself on obscene amounts of mashed potatoes, gravy, turkey and sweet potatoes, I mostly hung out at a bar, drank beer and played an electronic bowling game...and that is what I did on my Christmas vacation.

Freezing my ass off in Iowa

2005-12-25T15:20:00.000-07:00

I just got 10 minutes of access to a computer. Please recall that it is still 1986 here in Iowa.

Believe It or Not...

2005-12-19T18:17:00.000-07:00

Today was a pretty good day...I just won a two year lease on one of these. Mine is yellow and black. Erin and I are now soul mates.

Working on the Weekend

2005-12-18T15:41:00.000-07:00

I hate working on the weekend...but here I am busting my ass on Sunday. I went in-house to avoid this as much as possible. What I found is that the "Cushy In-House Position" is an illusion; a myth. It is like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. Oh, sure, there are a few fuzzy pictures of attorneys going to work at 9:00 and leaving at 5 every day without their laptop and a pile of documents, but there isn't any real physical evidence that they exist in the real world. No one has actually shot one and brought in its carcass as proof.

So, here I am, busting my ass on December 18, 2005 to get as much done as I am able.

But it won't cut off the inevitable. At some point during the coming week, I will get several phone calls regarding things I couldn't complete before leaving town.

While I am on a rant, I may as well state that much of my frustration is not from the legal work that I do. It is the huge amount of non-legal babysitting that I do that is frustrating.

Anyone who works in corporate America - Cube-ville - can tell you that people that know what they are doing and really understand it are rare. There are many people that should not have the jobs that they occupy - either too stupid or too lazy or some combination of the two. Read Dilbert. That guy has made a living poking fun at that very premise. It is funny because it is 90% true and 10% exaggerated.

Consequently, I end up doing more than analyzing issues for legal risk and drafting documents to address such legal risk. I end up wiping asses and noses.

I am going to insert - verbatim - an e-mail I recently received from a "documentation specialist"

The E-mail correspondence read as follows:

"I am trying to do a subordination agreement and I am unable to use all of the companies. So Meghan and I retyped the Subordination Agreement off of Laser Pro and I am going to insert the companies."

This was all of the information they gave me. They never told me which transaction this was. They never told me what was being subordinated, why it was being subordinated nor even which agreement about which they were talking. They never told me what companies were involved, why they wouldn't fit or in what capacity they were involved. I didn't even know who the author was nor who Meghan was.

Yet they wanted an answer right away....to what may have been a word-processing issue. To this day, I still don't know if there may have been some legal component to this request as my inquiry for more information was responded to with the following:

"Per ____, we closed the Subordination agreements, We typed word for word from laser pro."

RECALL: this is a person whose job title is "Documentation Specialist." I stay up at night worrying what the documents she drafts look like.

I keep e-mails like this in a folder called "E-Mail of the Week." I think that I will someday put together a power-point presentation on communication and use these all as examples of how poorly people communicate.

I don't mind getting calls from people, while I am out of the office, regarding issues which they have considered, analyzed and have determined require legal analysis. BUT it pisses me off when some moron that doesn't know how to do their own job calls me up so that I can train them to do what they have been paid to do for the last several years.

These same people do come in at 9:00 and leave at 5:00 every day.

My favorite is when someone calls and leaves me a voicemail message at 4:59 asking me to do some project right away and when I call them back 5 minutes later they are already gone for the day.

I can assure you that the average individual clamoring for the work product that I have been producing over the last week has worked approximately 1/2 of the hours that I have worked this last week. I can also assure you that this average person will not even read what I produce and will not understand how it impacts what they do on a daily basis - other than they need it because somebody told them that they have to have it.

These people are at all levels. One of the worst communicators/violators of this is a vice president with an MBA. I can't, for the life of me, figure out how he manages to dress himself in the morning.

Don't pay too much attention to this, I'm just letting off some steam that resulted from too much work, too little time and the pressure of the holiday season.

Hopefully I will have some time soon, to let off a little creative steam instead of pissing and moaning about dumb and annoying people.

Happy F'ing Holidays

2005-12-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

Work is going nuts.
Home is going nuts.
In less than a week I have to travel FROM SUNNY ARIZONA to the frozen tundra that is Iowa (see photo of what it will look like where I will be next week).

So, I get to spend a ton of money to get there, work my ass off twice as much as usual....for this.

Meanwhile a friend of mine here in my office will be on a cruise to Acapulco and Cabo.

Life is not fair.

P.S. Hairy Prison Guard is a dirty scoundrel.

Nowhere Girl is...well, Nowhere.

2005-12-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

Someone left me a note two days ago that Nowhere Girl's blog was GONE. I didn't believe it at first. Even after I went there a few times, I held out hope that it was just a temporary technical glitch and she would return. Two days have passed - no sign of her.

I'm worried. Well, Crusher returned, so I will retain hope that Nowhere Girl will come back as well. Please drop us a note to let us know you are ok.

Goo Goo Clusters

2005-12-12T15:36:00.000-07:00

The Goo Goos arrived today. Goo Goos have become a holiday tradition at my office.

Apparently these delicious little patties of chocolate, marshmallow, peanuts and caramel are made in Nashville. When I have had legal work in the state of Tennessee, I have used a specific firm and a specific attorney there in Nashville and, subsequently I have received a box of Goo Goo Clusters from him every year.

The tradition is that I immediately hand out 5 of the Goo Goo Clusters and consume one. They all have to be gone within 5 minutes of receiving them...otherwise I will be tempted to eat more than one.

They are Goo Goo-licious. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!

Don't Drink and Blog

2005-12-10T23:20:00.000-07:00

Well, the apology post is already shot to hell.

My company holiday party was tonight. Yes, I said Holiday Party...and yes, I am going to shop at Target twice as much this year because they are saying Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. Screw anyone that disagrees with that because I KNOW THAT I AM RIGHT.

I know that God wants us to accept each other and respect each other. Accordingly, God wants me to say Happy Holidays. I know that without one ounce of doubt. I am certain that the Bible backs me up on that. Why would God want me to ostrasize 3/4 the planet???

If God loves anyone, he loves the Jews, oh and of course he also loves the Muslims, the Hindus and the Bhuddists.

He does not feel sorry for them. I know that.

In fact, I know that he just appreciates the fact that they treat each other with respect - provided that they do treat each other with respect.

In fact, if God wasn't busy with more important things (like running the universe) he would probably smite a few judgemental assholes such as Oral Roberts, Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson and Travis for professing to know more about God than anyone else. I, too, have now exposed myself to smiting as well...and I deserve it.

IN FACT, I happen to know that the only people that God really does not like are those people that think they have all the answers about God.

By the way, that is what GOD looks like. I know it. Yes, he is a white man. So is Jesus. Don't even try to argue that Jesus would be of Arabic descent due to the part of the world in which he was born. I KNOW that Jesus was white...just like me.

*****WARNING - STAY AT LEAST 15 FEET FROM THE EDGE OF THE SARCHASM******

Admitting My Hypocrisy

2005-12-09T15:44:00.000-07:00

Early today, I read a comment in a post attacking someone for being Jewish. I was immediately offended (though I am not Jewish) and began drafting a response regarding how inappropriate such comments are. I was going to write about how offensive and ignorant such statements are. How can you classify an entire race/religion into such a negative category in one derogatory commment. I was prepared to go on and on and on at how awful such a statement was.

and then my own hypocrisy hit me.

I have done the same thing before on this very blog. My attack was not on the Jew, the Muslim, the Bhuddist or the [insert religion here]. No, my attack was on "Christians."

I very nearly went to battle against a silly ignorant statement made about the Jews when I was guilty of bashing Christians in a similar manner - for that, I want to apologize.

I guess all stereotypes/biases/racism/sexism stem from our personal experiences at some level and I have had several and significant issues with Christians in my life. That does not give me the right to show prejudice against Christians in the same manner that I would object to if directed at a Jew.

Logical consistency is paramount.

Therefore, I apologize.

On Muffin Aesthetics and Cupcakes

2005-12-08T13:29:00.000-07:00

I would have never suspected that an innocent story about a poorly conceived idea for a gift exchange item might result in comparing and contrasting their muffin asthetics...but there it was. The White Elephant I am certain that the vast majority of male readers (especially Dongley) would welcome the opportunity to render an opinion if the opportunity was presented.

I, however, have other muffin issues that concern me. A friend of mine reported that their office received a gift basket full of muffins today. One muffin variety was a chocolate muffin with chocolate chips.

I know muffins. I have eaten many muffins. That, my friend, is no muffin.

That is a cupcake.

How, pray tell, can we, as an English speaking community, effectively communicate with one another if we can't appropriately distinguish between a muffin and a cupcake???

Apparently, I am the sun card

2005-12-07T20:26:00.000-07:00

I took one of those "tests" over on Femi's blog and apparently I am the sun card. Earlier today, I was walking down the hallway at the bank and I thought to myself, "If I were a tarot card, which tarot card would I be."

Once that thought crossed the ramen bowl of my brain, the rest of the day was tumultuous. Thank goodness that I now know that I would be the sun card if I happened to be a tarot card.

I am mildly surprised that I am not the asshole card. I can't wait to rub that in with my wife.

You are the Sun card. The light of the Sun reveals
all. The Sun is joyful and bright, without fear
or reservation. The childish nature of the Sun
allows you to play and feel free. Exploration
can truly take place in the light of day when
nothing is hidden. The Sun's rays fill you with
energy so that you may live life to its
fullest, milking pleasure out of each day. Such
joy and energy can bring wealth and physical
pleasure. To shine in the light of day is to
have confidence, to soak up its rays is to feel
the freedom of a child. Image from: Stevee
Postman. http://www.stevee.com/

The White Elephant

2005-12-05T13:43:00.000-07:00

A "White Elephant" gift exchange is where everyone brings a funny, silly or sometimes used gift item, wraps it up and then one person opens a package and then through a series of variable rules, subsequent package openers can either opt to trade gifts with those that went before or keep the gift that they have. It can be a lot of fun if it is done correctly and if you don't have people that are too shy to screw each other over.

Unfortunately, this White Elephant gift exchange happened only a few months after I accepted the position I currently hold...and I didn't really know all of the rules of the game.

We all decided to do this "White Elephant" thing and set the gift exchange for a specific date. There was a $25.00 gift limit, but it was never crystal clear whether it was supposed to be something funny/silly or something nice. So there I was, trapped in ambiguity.

The day of the event was met with another suprise. Our General Counsel announced that he would be attending as well. This was the first social interaction that I would have with the General Counsel and, while very nice, GC was a little intimidating. GC is very proper, professional and reserved at all times. I started to worry a little more about my "gift."

Off we went to a restaurant for the lunchtime gift exchange - packages in tow. On the drive over, I convinced myself that there was no reason to worry. The gift was fine. I started to believe it.

After ordering, the festivities began. One of the admins pulled #1 out of the hat and was designated the first to select and unwrap a gift. Rip...and out came a nice set of candles. Nothing silly or odd about them. They were nice.

#2 went...she pulls out a rocketry set. A funky, fun little toy. I immediately feel slightly better, but it was still pretty tame. #2 exchanges the rockets for the candles. Unless someone else takes the rockets, #1 is stuck with rockets.

#3 goes and pulls out a gift certificate to Best Buy. Nothing wrong with that at all...very nice gift, in fact. Now I grow more worried.

It continues like this through several more gift exchanges. A couple of trades happen but not much action, really.

The GC is # 7. He has had to leave prior to the actual exchange...whew. So his admin pulls for him. She pulls - the package I brought. Dammit.

She tears away the colorful paper and pulls open the lid of the box and immediately starts laughing. The gift is actually quite nice. It is a dark, wood picture cube I picked up at Bombay. It was the unfortunate selection of pictures that I placed into the cube that resulted in her response. She continues laughing.

"What is it?" asked one of the members of the department - laughing along without knowing why. And then it came out of the box and was passed around. The photocube from hell - with pictures of me: (a) taking a nap; (b) wearing an apron while basting a turkey; (c) drinking a shot; (d) drunk on my 40th birthday party wearing a lei and a hat that said "Over the Hill."

Oh, this sounded like a great idea for a white elephant gift exchange when I first started putting it together. Now that GC had drawn it, the joy rushed out of it in the same manner as the blood rushing out of my face.

Everyone had a great laugh - at my expense - and couldn't wait to run back to the office to "present" the GC with this gift. Of course, NOBODY would trade away their prize to take this gift away from the GC - as I am sure they believed that the best gift was the entertainment of seeing me humiliated when the gift was presented. They got their money's worth

That cube still sits on his desk and it still contains the same pictures - though I remind him on each occasion I am in his office that those pictures can be changed.

How I look forward to this year's exchange.

Another Amusing Headline

2005-12-02T15:58:00.000-07:00

Scissors Will Be Allowed on Planes

...but running with them is still strictly prohibited.

Amusing Headlines

2005-12-02T10:01:00.000-07:00

Next "Apprentice" to be Shot in Calif.

I'm not sure that execution is the prize most of the applicants are seeking.

Who's Their Daddy? Not Jacko, Ex Says

As if we ever believed it in the first place! C'mon, how stupid is the general public??

Face Transplants Sparks Concerns

...and a furrowed brow. One of the concerns is: exactly whose brow is furrowed???

Bothersome Bed Bugs Bounce Back

Whew...I guess that means we can take them off the endangered species list.

How Close Are We to Strapping on Bombs???

2005-12-01T14:12:00.000-07:00

common ground christian news

I saw these people on TV the night before last. They are paying $7,000/month rent to rent an office space 4 or 5 blocks from the Supreme Court building and pray 24 hours a day until Roe v. Wade is overturned. They offer internships to bring people in to DC to pray at this place so they can keep it staffed 24 hours a day. I do not know whether they give college credit for such activities.

These people ranted and raved and foamed at the mouth. They rocked back and forth like Rain Man. They looked like a bunch of coked up lunatics. The herd mentality had this group whipped up into a blood frenzy of prayer. It was absolutely frightening.

Do they really believe that because of these prayers god will end abortion? Do they think that god didn't think of it before they asked? Do you think that it has ever crossed their minds that god would end something he didn't like if he wanted to? After all, isn't god omnipotent and omnipresent? Is prayer really a weapon to be used in the battle against abortion? Is prayer to be used to ask for things at all? I know it makes those praying feel better in some capacity, so it does perform some purpose, but....

I couldn't help but note how much they reminded me of the "raving" radical Muslims that the media always shows us on the news. Those people are crazy zealots according to the press...but these "Christians" were every bit as maniacal as any Muslim faction I have ever seen portrayed on my television set. But the press didn't portray them in the same fashion that it portrays the devilish Muslims. Oh, no, these people were given credible news coverage and a platform to spread their message.

Do you ever wonder whom the "free press" is working? Do they have some motive for making us believe Muslim zealots are bad while excusing the behavior of the zealots among us?

In all likelihood, the new Chief Justice is going to make this decision for all of us. Then these loonies will think it worked. I guess praying in an office keeps them from knocking on my door to bring me pamphlets.

I Wouldn't Lie About Something Like That!!

2005-12-01T09:50:00.000-07:00

I just want to assure you that the Penny Story (Penny Story) and the Blue Bus story (Blue Bus) are absolutely true. If anything, I have underembellished these events in order to achieve some level of credibility. To the best of my recollection (other than precise dialogue) these events transpired as written. As did this event (HNT) but you probably didn't have any doubts about that one in the first place...

If I had more time today, I would rant about the recent argument appearing on Crall's blog between Crall, PDD and Drea...but alas, they expect me to work today. I have a meeting in two minutes, so this will have to suffice until tonight!

Riding the Blue Bus

2005-11-29T21:40:00.000-07:00

It was the second time I had ever been to Phoenix. The first time was when I flew in to town to interview with the law firm that had hired me three weeks before. Today, they had flown me into town to attend a meeting with the firms biggest client. I was nervous. I was excited.

The plane landed and I impatiently waited for the rows in front of me to clear out before clambering into the narrow walkway, grabbing my bag from the overhead compartment and heading for the jetway. It was November 12. The Phoenix heat had dissipated and it was immediately apparent that it had been a perfect day. Here it was 9:00p.m. on November evening and I was leaving the icy temperatures of Iowa and getting off a plane in 70 degree temperatures. I thought I was in heaven.

After hitting the baggage claim area for one bag too big to fit into the overhead, the next stop was the Hertz desk for my rental car.

"Did you have a reservation?" the youngish woman behind the counter asked.

"Yes, for Smith." I responded.

She pulled the reservation documents and began to flip through the papers while giving me instructions. "I am just going to need your driver's license and a credit card," she said with syrupy politeness. I gave her both.

A few more minutes of shuffling, some typing on the keyboard in front of her and then this. "I'm sorry, we aren't going to be able to give you a car this evening."

Stunned.

"Why not? Is something wrong?"

"I'm afraid your driver's license has expired."

My birthday was a few days earlier and the expiration date on my license was on my birthday. That's just the way they do things in Iowa.

"Well, technically I guess that's true," I implored, "but in Iowa we have a window of 30 days before and 30 days after the expiration date to renew it. It's still good."

"I'm afraid we can't give you a car if your license has expired." Her syrupy sweetness now turning less sweet. "In fact, none of the other companies are going to rent to you either."

Shit.

After some pleading and additional arguing, I accepted my fate and headed out to grab a cab. Not quite as convenient in Phoenix, but it would have to do. So out the door and to the curb I went, bags in tow. Now it was around 9:30 and still gorgeous. I couldn't believe how nice it was and thought to myself that I would just make the best of the situation. No cabs in sight. I walked further down the curb. No cabs. Hmmm.

But there, at the end of the sidewalk was a Super Shuttle stop...and a blue bus glimmering in the moonlight just waiting for me. It crossed my mind that it was probably cheaper than a cab, too. The firm would surely appreciate the fact that I was about to save them a couple of bucks. I climbed into the blue van.

The manly female driver turned around and asked "Where are you headed this evening?"

"The Pointe Hilton Squaw Peak" I mumbled as I read it from the printout I had in my hand. I was unusually organized during this trip thanks to some very good assistance from my future administrative assistant. Although, I did have to continually reference my itinerary due to the fact that everything was still new and strange.

"Great!" she said, "We have to hit just one more stop and we'll head out."

She closed the van door and we pulled away from the curb. Phoenix Sky Harbor airport is a spread out, bird's nest of roadways, twists and turns. I was completely turned around in a matter of seconds. Lost, dazed and confused but I had this knowledgeable driver to shuttle me. Maybe it was a good thing I didn't get a car. I might drive around this airport for days. She'll probably have me at the hotel in no time.

I was also starving having been on a plane for a very long time including through the dinner hours. I couldn't wait to get to the hotel.

After roughly 10 minutes of driving in what seemed to be circles around the airport we pulled into the next shuttle stop. Another passenger was waiting there, with a sky captain lending assistance. He was old. Damn was he old. And a big fella. Probably 280. He had two canes that were immediately visible and I would later notice (when he was a little closer) that he also had two hearing aids.

The driver stepped down from the van, conducted a brief conversation with the sky captain the two of them set about loading up this large, old and somewhat physically challenged man. I could tell it was going to be a process, so I moved to the rear bench seat to give him the forward bench and then watched. After much effort and strain on everyone - except me - which lasted nearly 10 minutes, he was loaded. Now 10 minutes doesn't sound like a long time, but trust me, when it is for the sole purpose of getting into a vehicle, THAT is a long time. Watching was exhausting enough and a little irritating since I really did want to get to the hotel, but what the hell. I kicked back and relaxed because I knew we were headed out that way now.

"Where do you live?" the driver asked Mr. Old Big Guy. No response.

"Where do you live?" she said, louder this time. No response from Mr. Old Big Guy.

"Where do you live?" she shouted in her manly woman voice.

"thwenty two thwirty nine thwirty ninth street," he finally responded with an accent so thick you couldn't tell whether he was saying 2229 or 3239 and you couldn't tell whether he said twenty ninth street or thirty ninth street. So she asked again. Same unintelligible response.

I could see the analysis going on in her face after this last answer. She was looking at him and I could tell exactly what she was thinking. There were really only four possible combinations here. I could also tell that she had selected what she thought was the most likely response and she turned around to face the front, put the van in gear and we pulled out. I was just happy to be finally moving again, knowing that I was closer by the second to getting to my room and getting some food.

Phoenix is a big, spread out city. We finally got to 2229 39th Street. It was an apartment building. The driver turned around and asked, "Is this where you live?" in her loud manly female voice.

"No," was the response. "It is a 32 unit complex, U-shaped" he said clearly this time.

The driver put the van in gear and drove to the next best answer - 3239 39th street. After a bit of a drive, many lights and some mildly questionable neighborhood areas, we arrived...at an empty field. So she asked again, "Do you live near here?"

"No," was the answer and then Mr. Big Old Guy repeated his address again. Off we went to 2229 29th Street. Nothing. Then to 3229 29th Street - which as it turned out was behind some old abandoned shopping center in what, in my Iowa mentality, did not seem like a safe place to be. I actually witnessed two thugs throwing cinder blocks over a fence onto a parked car at this stop, but did not witness a 3229 29th Street. The driver, assuming Mr. Big Old Guy was mistaken about his residence when we were at the first apartment building went back to the very first address and took another shot at it.

"Do you live here" she asked again in a shout.

"No." and he again described his lovely 32 unit U-shaped apartment complex adding this time that it had a courtyard in the middle.

We had now been driving around for an hour. It was after 10:30 and I was growing more and more hungry and now my impatience was beginning to catch up to my hunger.

In a moment of coherence Mr. Big Old Guy suddenly shouts out for the world to hear, "JUST TAKE ME TO A MOTEL 6!" He repeated that two or three more times with growing excitement in his voice.

She looked back at me and said "I don't know what else to do. I am going to take him to a Motel 6." She pulled over, proceeded to look up the nearest Motel 6 and off we headed in yet another direction.

When we finally arrived at a Motel 6 - which was in what I considered a VERY dicey area - she jumped down from the van and announced that she wanted to make certain they had a room for him before she unloaded him. I thought to myself that it seemed like a pretty good idea. She went in, leaving me in the blue van with Mr. Big Old Guy. I felt bad for him. How could we leave him at a Motel 6 so helpless like this? How could we leave him in this neighborhood.

I fished around in my carry-on bag and found a pad of paper. More fishing resulted in a pen. Taking said pen in hand, I wrote on the pad of paper, "DO YOU LIVE NEAR HERE?"

To which he responded, "Hell no, I live in Madison, Wisconsin. I am here on vacation and just want to go to the Motel 6."

It was at that point that it hit me.

The manly woman van driver returned to the van right then. I began laughing with near hysteria as I said to her, "I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I found out where he lives. The bad news is that we are going to have to drive to Madison, Wisconsin."

She had, after all, asked him for his address...and he had given it to her.

She was not as amused as I was.

Too Much Stuff - Too Little Time

2005-11-29T07:54:00.000-07:00

The news of my death has been greatly exaggerated. Between trips to the airport, family events, trips to the emergency room and work (stupid work), my time has just be absolutely eaten up like that turkey carcass. Sleeping has also become optional. I will be happy to hit January.

This morning I noticed this article: Canadians Vote to Throw Out Government

As you may know, I mistrust Canadians - they look just like us, they talk mostly like us, but they are from an entirely different country. Clearly they are up to something.

From time to time, I have taunted them. On one comment left somewhere out there in the greater Blogosphere, I left a message for PDD stating, "Canada has a government?!?! When did we let that happen?"

As soon as I found out that they had a government, I took immediate steps to change that. Among those things I described above (family, yadda, yadda, yadda..) I also spent some time bringing down the Canadian government. It really wasn't very hard, I just offered a couple of folks some slabs of back bacon and a couple of Molson's and they were more than happy to do anything that I asked of them.

It is now our opportunity to annex Canada to the United States. I suggest we rename it Even Norther Dakota.

I welcome your thoughts on what we can do with Canada. The most creative use offered up for Canada will be named Governor of Even Norther Dakota. I wish you all good luck.

Thanksgiving Eve

2005-11-23T19:14:00.000-07:00

I came home from work relatively early this evening to prepare for Thanksgiving. It is almost here, the most American of American holidays. The day when we really and truly flaunt our gluttony even more than our typcial gluttonous day.

By nature, I am not a serious or political person. I have strong opinions and I am not afraid to share them, but I am not an activist. But this year I can't help it. Maybe it is my advancing age, but whatever it is I have this to offer today: Tomorrow when we belly up to the table, let's think about what our soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan (yes, we do still have many, many soldiers in Afghanistan) are doing on Thanksgiving. Think about what the Iraqi Johnson family (the average Iraqi family without explosives strapped to their bodies) are having for dinner on this day. Think about the people who remain without homes due to Katrina, etc.

And for once in your fucking life, be truly thankful for what you have. You can pout and whine about it not being as good as what they guy next door has for the rest of the year. But for one day, put it in perspective. The poorest working Americans - even without healthcare - have it so much better than 3/4 of the planet. We need to stop pissing and moaning about what we don't have for one day, and be deeply grateful for what has been handed to each of us solely because we were the product of a lucky sperm that swam upstream into the womb of an American parent. You did nothing to deserve your station on this planet except that. If your beginnings had been an Iraqi sperm, no matter how hard you have worked in your life, tomorrow your day would be shit.

So put it in perspective today and you can run out Friday and hit those great sales at Wal-Mart.