Speaking of trips...whoa, facebook is a total trip! When Tammy talked about "getting with the times" and signing up on facebook, I'll admit - there was a twinge of "I'm not 18, so I'm not signing up!" in the back of my mind. After a series of interesting turns over a number of months, however, I found myself logging on and building a profile. Then the deluge began and the trip got funky.
Friend Requests - by the end of day 3, I was up to 20 or so friends, about 80% of them being relatives of mine. I have added a couple of friends that I literally have no idea who they are. Their profiles say we went to high school together, they're friends with people I know, but I cannot figure them out?!?!? I've hit the Ignore button on a couple of them 3-4 times, but they keep sending requests. Finally, I caved and just added them so I could see their profile and try to figure it out. No luck.
On the bright side, I have since reconnected with my old college roommate from BSU (Beer Slammin' University), multiple childhood friends, and even the world famous Ducka! Sorry to report he has hit some tough times recently, but things are looking up. We actually had coffee last Saturday and caught up a bit - had a great time. You can look for a new Ducka post soon, especially since he reminded me of a couple stories I'd forgotten!
Anyway, sorry for the hiatus from the Wildman Blog, but fb is addicting! That being said, I'm back, baby! I'm back! (think George Costanza style...see the below clip @ 3:36)
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Pulse check.
Wow, it's been a while since I've been on here to bore you with my droning on about life here in MN, hockey, and the joys of working for the government's latest bailout project. Fear not! I am back, and will commence droning!
Last time I left off we were packing to head to Dizzy-Me World. What a whirlwind vacation that proved to be! Here's the report card:
Flights To/Fro: A
Weather: A+
Hotel: B+ (could've used a coffee maker!)
Epcot: A (street performers and Soarin' were personal favs)
Magic Kingdom: A+ (could've used another day here - favs were Space & Splash Mtn)
Animal Kingdom: A- (Everest Roller Coaster ROCKED!)
Hollywood Studios: A (Tower of Terror is a MUST, esp for Twilight Zone fans. Nightly Light Show too.)
Overall Food Rating: A-
Kids' attitudes: A+
My untanned legs in shorts: D-
Overall Disney Experience: A+
High points of the trip:
* Kids' first plane ride
* Ms. Wildgirl Jr. learning to love roller coasters (previously HATED them)
* Mr. Wildman Jr. going ballistic in the Lego Land Store (his eyes rolled back in his head - I swear!)
Low points of the trip:
* Riding the Star Wars ride at Hollywood Studios immediately after inhaling another pile of Italian Food and a couple beers
* Leaving the hotel at 4am to come home...
I would put up some pics, but we were usually too busy having fun to take pictures. I did take some fun video, however, and may try posting some. The best video is the first ride on Space Mtn. Ms Wildgirl Jr. screamed the whole way through it, and it's all on video (in the dark, duh).
Anyway, we had a blast...and I'm back at it again. My reader (yes, singular) should be happy again for a month or so.
Last time I left off we were packing to head to Dizzy-Me World. What a whirlwind vacation that proved to be! Here's the report card:
Flights To/Fro: A
Weather: A+
Hotel: B+ (could've used a coffee maker!)
Epcot: A (street performers and Soarin' were personal favs)
Magic Kingdom: A+ (could've used another day here - favs were Space & Splash Mtn)
Animal Kingdom: A- (Everest Roller Coaster ROCKED!)
Hollywood Studios: A (Tower of Terror is a MUST, esp for Twilight Zone fans. Nightly Light Show too.)
Overall Food Rating: A-
Kids' attitudes: A+
My untanned legs in shorts: D-
Overall Disney Experience: A+
High points of the trip:
* Kids' first plane ride
* Ms. Wildgirl Jr. learning to love roller coasters (previously HATED them)
* Mr. Wildman Jr. going ballistic in the Lego Land Store (his eyes rolled back in his head - I swear!)
Low points of the trip:
* Riding the Star Wars ride at Hollywood Studios immediately after inhaling another pile of Italian Food and a couple beers
* Leaving the hotel at 4am to come home...
I would put up some pics, but we were usually too busy having fun to take pictures. I did take some fun video, however, and may try posting some. The best video is the first ride on Space Mtn. Ms Wildgirl Jr. screamed the whole way through it, and it's all on video (in the dark, duh).
Anyway, we had a blast...and I'm back at it again. My reader (yes, singular) should be happy again for a month or so.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Dizzy-Me World
One more week...yes, 7 days...til we get to chase rats, ornery ducks, and accident-prone dogs. We're going to Disney World!I must give Mrs. Wildman credit - she took this challenge on single-handedly, without any encouragement or assistance from me (probably more in spite of me!) and lined up everything for this trip. If it works out well, she may be in charge of all future vacations!
The kids are old enough to take in all the sites, activities, and fun, yet young enough to still appreciate the "magic" of the Kingdom. It's going to be an action-packed, full schedule trip, but should be a good time. Frankly, I haven't been excited about this trip, but I am looking forward to just hanging with the family in a land far, far away from here. Maybe we can sneak in a little "princess and prince charming" time one evening...? I hope so.
Do you guys (both my readers) have any Disney pointers/tips for us before we go?
Monday, September 29, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Well, it's official. Wildman Jr. and I joined a cult last night. Cub Scouts.
Reciting the oath.
Secret handshakes.
Obscure salutes and knots that no sane person can ever remember or legitimately use in their lifetime.
It's AWESOME.
But let's be honest here - the real reason we joined is cuz chicks dig a man in uniform!
(right Mrs. Wildman?)
The Proverbial Thorn in my Paw
Miraculously, my albatross of a deck project passed inspection
last Friday...and I only had to bribe the inspector $50 to get it done! Just kidding.
Now, powerwash and seal it up...before the snow flies!
Deck party at Wildman's! Only 5 people allowed on it at once, though Hahahaha.
last Friday...and I only had to bribe the inspector $50 to get it done! Just kidding.
Now, powerwash and seal it up...before the snow flies!
Deck party at Wildman's! Only 5 people allowed on it at once, though Hahahaha.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
My son would be so proud...
In an effort to speak Danoese, the half English/half Sta Wars language of my son, I decided to figure out what my name would be if I needed some Star Wars street cred:
Here's an intergalactic booya from Brawi Mohom!
Here's an intergalactic booya from Brawi Mohom!
Your Star Wars Name And Title |
 Your Star Wars Name: Brawi Mohom Your Star Wars Title: Namstr of Ekim |
T-minus 22hrs
...til our deck inspection.
Got some work to do tonight...
Hope the dang thing passes...
It's only been 2 years that I've been working on it...
Ugh.
To all my friends and neighbors: I apologize for the eye sore and am just as happy as you are to see this albatross completed. Life can resume and get back to normalcy starting Friday night (translated, I can move on to my other projects).
Got some work to do tonight...
Hope the dang thing passes...
It's only been 2 years that I've been working on it...
Ugh.
To all my friends and neighbors: I apologize for the eye sore and am just as happy as you are to see this albatross completed. Life can resume and get back to normalcy starting Friday night (translated, I can move on to my other projects).
Everyone's Got An Opinion...
Opinions are like ________: we all have one and they all stink, right? Hahaha... (especially when it comes to politics)
Well, to follow Tammy's lead, I decided to take the quiz, not that I needed someone (or someTHING) else to tell me who I'm voting for...
Here's the dirt:
Well, to follow Tammy's lead, I decided to take the quiz, not that I needed someone (or someTHING) else to tell me who I'm voting for...
Here's the dirt:
Your Issue Profile: 8% Obama, 92% McCain |
 The results are in, and John McCain is definitely your choice. You're probably not surprised. It's possible you've had your eye on McCain for years. Popular or not, you will likely stick by McCain. For you, it's a matter of principle. And besides, there's something exciting about rooting for the underdog! |
Thursday, August 28, 2008
The Adventures of Ducka and Dooger: Part 2
ADD v2: Unabomber Wannabes
Summer heat can make you crazy. I'm quite sure of that. I submit as evidence the summer between my 5th and 6th grade school years.
Ducka and I had been doing all the usual summertime tricks to keep ourselves entertained:
* we went swimming of the high willow tree platform
* we biked to Swede's and Erl's Store for candy
* we fished in and kneeboarded behind the Turtle Wagon regularly
* we built bike jumps so we could injure ourselves and trash our bikes
* we burned ants with the magnifying glass and started miscellaneous fires
* we had fights with the old metal tipped Jarts, throwing them at each other like tennis balls
...all the usual stuff. Testing our male fortitude was not only a hobby, but a necessity. That summer, we took it to a new level.
I never read Popular Mechanics as a kid, wasn't a Boy Scout, and my Burt Reynolds/Tom Jones combo step-dad never taught me any real mechanical skill except how to push a lawnmower for 6 hours straight, twice a week. To say I learned the laws of engineering and physics by trial and error (emphasis on error), would be an understatement. Ducka obviously was enrolled in the same program I was, cuz the common sense of both of us combined wouldn't fill a thimble. I blame the summer heat.
Ducka's older brother, Grunt, was old enough to be trusted with a gun and ammo, a .22 rifle to be exact. Not sure I agree with that decision, but Ducka's folks apparently thought so. I don't recall ever actually *seeing* the rifle - it was either locked up in a safe or else they hid it when they knew I was coming over (not a bad idea). Since nothing of Grunt's was safe from his lock-picking, window-jimmying younger brothers and their friends, that also meant we had access to the ammo, a fresh new "brick" of .22 shells.
Citing our lack of ingenuity and skills to execute on it anyway, we ruled out any idea of creating a home made gun to fire the shells with. Instead, we opted for the typical destructive male plan: take it apart and see what it's made of! And so we did. With the help of a vice grip, pliers, and hammer (I talked Ducka out of actually using it),we got our first .22 shell open to see what's inside. The gun powder flew everywhere as the lead chunk was dislodged by the vice-grip's bite and some major wriggling and pulling. The smell of fresh gunpowder in the air started a chain reaction, and just like when a cartoon character is awestruck in love, a glaze came over both Ducka and me as we realized the potential we had with all that gunpowder sitting on the workbench.
The ideas started flowing, trying to put our finger on what this coal colored treasure should be used for, as we bent and pulled open every last one of the .22 shells, gathering the gunpowder on a newspaper on the garage floor.
Ruled out ideas included:
* putting it in our Hotwheels cars and turbo-launch them off a jump
* blow up living creatures: all the birds had hatched and left their nests
* disfiguring all of Ducka's little brother's toys - that task was already complete
Then genius struck: let's make a mega-firecracker!
We both had solid experience with fireworks - bottle rockets, Black Cat firecrackers, roman candles - and, at the ripe old age of 10, we had scars to prove it. This was gonna be the grand daddy to those wimpy fireworks stand ripoffs. After digging around the house for a few minutes, Ducka emerged with the perfect body for our masterpiece: an old Crayola marker. It was capped on one end and had the tip on the other, so we removed the inked felt inside and started loading it with gunpowder. We had it loaded to the hilt and still had a touch of powder left over on the newspaper, which was perfect since we still needed to make a fuse. Ducka made another quick trip into the house and came running back out with 2 squares of TP - just the right length!
With me never being one to pay attention to details, and Ducka never being one to think through the ramifications of his actions, we agreed the TP would work perfectly. We laced it with the remaining powder, rolled it up, and marveled at our creation. Neither of us could wait any longer - we had to fire it off!
As if you need any warning...
** Please note the series of BONEHEAD MOVES in the coming paragraphs and do not try this at home.
The Location: the chosen spot for our launch of the MC (Mega-Cracker) was just outside the service door to Ducka's garage, on the concrete slab.
The Plan: we decided I would hold the MC, Ducka would light it, and I'd turn and throw it in the trees toward the woodpile.
The Event: after getting in position and talking through some minor emergency plans like which way to run if something goes wrong and what we'll change our names to so our parents can never find us again, we decided to do it. I stood positioned on the concrete and Ducka fired up the lighter. The fuse was facing Ducka and the very instant the lighter came within range of the fuse, the whole thing went up in a chaotic cloud of gunsmoke and melted plastic fumes. The flame shot about 5 feet from the MC, leaving a burn mark the size of a beachball on the side of the garage service door and garage wall. My reflexes were too slow, and by the time I turned and chucked the semi-solid tube of burning goo into the woods, the powder had already burned itself out.
Totally freaked out and slightly exhilarated at what had just happened, I was screaming out of fear/adrenaline and because my fingers were burned and about to blister. That's when I realized Ducka was screaming too, but much longer and louder than me. Uh oh.
The open "fuse" end of the MC was pointed Ducka's way so he could light it. Since the other end was capped, when the powder lit up, all the flames shot out the open end - right at Ducka's arm. He fried all the hair off his wrist and burned the inside of his forearm. We both ran in the house, bawling in fear and pain. We headed straight for the freezer, then the sink. We held ice cubes on our burns and ran cold water to ease the pain, reciting our limited vocabulary of cuss-words.
About 5 minutes into our ER triage scene, we heard the old Volare Wagon pull in the garage. The EvilEye was home from the grocery store! Ducka looked at me and said "Let me do the talkin', OK?" and I just nodded. The wrath of the EE would make any little burn on my hand seem like a drop in a sea of punishment. The door opened and in came the EE, carrying grocery bags and mumbling something about a strange smell in the garage. Then she laid eyes on the two of us at the sink with the ice cube trays melting all over the counter, and my knees started to give way.
"Mom! You're never gonna believe this!", Ducka started, almost prophetically. Dooger & I were making hot chocolate and I spilled hot water all over my arm." Not a half bad story if it hadn't been AUGUST with temps in the 90's for the last couple weeks, moron!
We were screwed. The EE immediately glared at me with the stare that screamed "This is all YOUR fault". I was all too familiar with that look of hers. As she examined Ducka's arm, I suddenly remembered it was mowing day again - even though I just did it yesterday - and bolted for the door. I heard Ducka yelling "But what about your burnt..." *SLAM* The door whacked shut as I jumped from the top step of their stairs and hit the ground running. Not sure if I sprinted home or actually got on my bike before I left - either way, it was a new record.
My fingers healed.
Ducka's arm eventually healed up.
The garage door got repainted and the siding re-stained at some point.
We both got grounded for a couple weeks.
Lessons Learned:
1. Markers make terrible bombs, and toilet paper sucks as a fuse.
2. You can empty gun powder out of a brick of .22 shells in about 15 minutes.
3.Never get eye-level with any fireworks when lighting.
Counting our Blessings:
We're lucky it was only Ducka's arm that got burnt.
We're lucky the cedar siding on Ducka's house didn't ignite.
We're also lucky I never successfully threw a LIT MC into the woods - it would've torched the neighborhood.
We're lucky Grunt never left anymore .22 shells in his room for us to find...after all, history has a tendency to repeat itself.
Edit: the Volare Wagon in the picture was a twin to the EE-mobile...also the source of great entertainment in high school, fodder for yet another story.
Summer heat can make you crazy. I'm quite sure of that. I submit as evidence the summer between my 5th and 6th grade school years.
Ducka and I had been doing all the usual summertime tricks to keep ourselves entertained:
* we went swimming of the high willow tree platform
* we biked to Swede's and Erl's Store for candy
* we fished in and kneeboarded behind the Turtle Wagon regularly
* we built bike jumps so we could injure ourselves and trash our bikes
* we burned ants with the magnifying glass and started miscellaneous fires
* we had fights with the old metal tipped Jarts, throwing them at each other like tennis balls
...all the usual stuff. Testing our male fortitude was not only a hobby, but a necessity. That summer, we took it to a new level.
I never read Popular Mechanics as a kid, wasn't a Boy Scout, and my Burt Reynolds/Tom Jones combo step-dad never taught me any real mechanical skill except how to push a lawnmower for 6 hours straight, twice a week. To say I learned the laws of engineering and physics by trial and error (emphasis on error), would be an understatement. Ducka obviously was enrolled in the same program I was, cuz the common sense of both of us combined wouldn't fill a thimble. I blame the summer heat.
Ducka's older brother, Grunt, was old enough to be trusted with a gun and ammo, a .22 rifle to be exact. Not sure I agree with that decision, but Ducka's folks apparently thought so. I don't recall ever actually *seeing* the rifle - it was either locked up in a safe or else they hid it when they knew I was coming over (not a bad idea). Since nothing of Grunt's was safe from his lock-picking, window-jimmying younger brothers and their friends, that also meant we had access to the ammo, a fresh new "brick" of .22 shells.Citing our lack of ingenuity and skills to execute on it anyway, we ruled out any idea of creating a home made gun to fire the shells with. Instead, we opted for the typical destructive male plan: take it apart and see what it's made of! And so we did. With the help of a vice grip, pliers, and hammer (I talked Ducka out of actually using it),we got our first .22 shell open to see what's inside. The gun powder flew everywhere as the lead chunk was dislodged by the vice-grip's bite and some major wriggling and pulling. The smell of fresh gunpowder in the air started a chain reaction, and just like when a cartoon character is awestruck in love, a glaze came over both Ducka and me as we realized the potential we had with all that gunpowder sitting on the workbench.
The ideas started flowing, trying to put our finger on what this coal colored treasure should be used for, as we bent and pulled open every last one of the .22 shells, gathering the gunpowder on a newspaper on the garage floor.
Ruled out ideas included:
* putting it in our Hotwheels cars and turbo-launch them off a jump
* blow up living creatures: all the birds had hatched and left their nests
* disfiguring all of Ducka's little brother's toys - that task was already complete
Then genius struck: let's make a mega-firecracker!
We both had solid experience with fireworks - bottle rockets, Black Cat firecrackers, roman candles - and, at the ripe old age of 10, we had scars to prove it. This was gonna be the grand daddy to those wimpy fireworks stand ripoffs. After digging around the house for a few minutes, Ducka emerged with the perfect body for our masterpiece: an old Crayola marker. It was capped on one end and had the tip on the other, so we removed the inked felt inside and started loading it with gunpowder. We had it loaded to the hilt and still had a touch of powder left over on the newspaper, which was perfect since we still needed to make a fuse. Ducka made another quick trip into the house and came running back out with 2 squares of TP - just the right length!With me never being one to pay attention to details, and Ducka never being one to think through the ramifications of his actions, we agreed the TP would work perfectly. We laced it with the remaining powder, rolled it up, and marveled at our creation. Neither of us could wait any longer - we had to fire it off!
As if you need any warning...
** Please note the series of BONEHEAD MOVES in the coming paragraphs and do not try this at home.
The Location: the chosen spot for our launch of the MC (Mega-Cracker) was just outside the service door to Ducka's garage, on the concrete slab.
The Plan: we decided I would hold the MC, Ducka would light it, and I'd turn and throw it in the trees toward the woodpile.
The Event: after getting in position and talking through some minor emergency plans like which way to run if something goes wrong and what we'll change our names to so our parents can never find us again, we decided to do it. I stood positioned on the concrete and Ducka fired up the lighter. The fuse was facing Ducka and the very instant the lighter came within range of the fuse, the whole thing went up in a chaotic cloud of gunsmoke and melted plastic fumes. The flame shot about 5 feet from the MC, leaving a burn mark the size of a beachball on the side of the garage service door and garage wall. My reflexes were too slow, and by the time I turned and chucked the semi-solid tube of burning goo into the woods, the powder had already burned itself out.
Totally freaked out and slightly exhilarated at what had just happened, I was screaming out of fear/adrenaline and because my fingers were burned and about to blister. That's when I realized Ducka was screaming too, but much longer and louder than me. Uh oh.
The open "fuse" end of the MC was pointed Ducka's way so he could light it. Since the other end was capped, when the powder lit up, all the flames shot out the open end - right at Ducka's arm. He fried all the hair off his wrist and burned the inside of his forearm. We both ran in the house, bawling in fear and pain. We headed straight for the freezer, then the sink. We held ice cubes on our burns and ran cold water to ease the pain, reciting our limited vocabulary of cuss-words.
About 5 minutes into our ER triage scene, we heard the old Volare Wagon pull in the garage. The EvilEye was home from the grocery store! Ducka looked at me and said "Let me do the talkin', OK?" and I just nodded. The wrath of the EE would make any little burn on my hand seem like a drop in a sea of punishment. The door opened and in came the EE, carrying grocery bags and mumbling something about a strange smell in the garage. Then she laid eyes on the two of us at the sink with the ice cube trays melting all over the counter, and my knees started to give way."Mom! You're never gonna believe this!", Ducka started, almost prophetically. Dooger & I were making hot chocolate and I spilled hot water all over my arm." Not a half bad story if it hadn't been AUGUST with temps in the 90's for the last couple weeks, moron!
We were screwed. The EE immediately glared at me with the stare that screamed "This is all YOUR fault". I was all too familiar with that look of hers. As she examined Ducka's arm, I suddenly remembered it was mowing day again - even though I just did it yesterday - and bolted for the door. I heard Ducka yelling "But what about your burnt..." *SLAM* The door whacked shut as I jumped from the top step of their stairs and hit the ground running. Not sure if I sprinted home or actually got on my bike before I left - either way, it was a new record.
My fingers healed.
Ducka's arm eventually healed up.
The garage door got repainted and the siding re-stained at some point.
We both got grounded for a couple weeks.
Lessons Learned:
1. Markers make terrible bombs, and toilet paper sucks as a fuse.
2. You can empty gun powder out of a brick of .22 shells in about 15 minutes.
3.Never get eye-level with any fireworks when lighting.
Counting our Blessings:
We're lucky it was only Ducka's arm that got burnt.
We're lucky the cedar siding on Ducka's house didn't ignite.
We're also lucky I never successfully threw a LIT MC into the woods - it would've torched the neighborhood.
We're lucky Grunt never left anymore .22 shells in his room for us to find...after all, history has a tendency to repeat itself.
Edit: the Volare Wagon in the picture was a twin to the EE-mobile...also the source of great entertainment in high school, fodder for yet another story.
Monday, August 18, 2008
McBudmart
I love the Olympics - it's fascinating to hear people's stories from around the world. Stories of people who have come from nothing, believed in themselves, conquered physical and emotional obstacles that stop most people dead in their tracks, and somehow make it to the pinnacle of their athletic careers: the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. It only makes sense that the corporate TV sponsors of the 2008 Olympics would be ones that also foster the great image of excellence, integrity, commitment, athleticism.
I'm confident that when you think Excellence, your first association would be Walmart!
I'm convinced that you would immediately associate Athleticism with McDonald's!
And, of course, who wouldn't immediately hear the word Integrity and want to scream Budweiser!
So, how do these three companies become the primary sponsors on NBC for the 2008 Olympics?
I have no clue either.
Apparently, Budweiser has been doing it for a while.
Quote of the Day
A classic burn from one of my favorite hunting dog message boards:
(fyi, viper's a wannabe stud boy and lvr's a very witty gal)
Touché.
(fyi, viper's a wannabe stud boy and lvr's a very witty gal)
viper296:
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for my Playgirl photo shoot.
lvrdg07:
Oh, I didn't know you were a photographer.
Touché.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Questions That Haunt Us!
Special thanks to Auntie BKaye for sending this list of "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" style of titillating life questions. Being the cultural crusader that I am, I figured I'd try my best to bring order to any confusion these may cause you. The original questions are in blue below, and my responses follow in black.And, yes - you're welcome.
If you have sex with a prostitute against her will, is it considered rape or shoplifting?
If you make a hooker carsick, is that considered giving her the old "heave-ho"?
How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?
And at what point is it considered a public service?
Why do you have to 'put your two cents in'... but it's only a 'penny for your thoughts'? Where's that extra penny going to?
It’s a toll fee for spouting off your worthless opinion.
Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes you were buried in for eternity?
Yet another reason to wear your comfy clothes every day.
Why does a round pizza come in a square box?
So the pizza won't roll away
OR
Because it's much easier than putting a square pizza in a round box.
What disease did cured ham actually have?
Some SPAM virus.
How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?
If astronauts had to pack and carry their own bags to the shuttle,
they would've figured out the luggage first.
Why is it that people say they 'slept like a baby' when babies wake up like every two hours?
And how many of us actually sleep with a nipple in our mouth and crap in our pants?
(Wait, don't answer that.)
If a deaf person has to go to court, is it still called a hearing?
And if he's blind and needs to testify, is he still called an eye-witness?
Why are you IN a movie, but you're ON TV?
Because it's hard to get ON a movie screen or fit IN a TV.
Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money in binoculars to look at things on the ground?
Because the grass is always greener…
Why do doctors leave the room while you change?
They're going to see you naked anyway.
Can you spell M-A-L-P-R-A-C-T-I-C-E?
Why is 'bra' singular and 'panties' plural?
And why is a jock strap (singular) actually TWO straps
along with the waist band and banana hammock?
Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat?
To test your smoke detectors.
If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a stupid song about him?
Actually, we do care cuz deep down, we all gotta bit uh Jimmy in us.
Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane ?
Why not – come on, live a little! (pun intended)
If you get pulled over, jump in the passenger seat and say the other guy was driving.
If the professor on Gilligan's
Are you kidding me? He had Ginger and Mary Ann stranded on a deserted island!
Why would he ever consider leaving?
Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours?
They're both dogs!
Goofy has always been an overachiever trying to overcompensate for the horrid name his parents gave him.
If Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that ACME crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?
ACME didn’t offer food items in their catalogs.
If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, what is baby oil made from?
Check the label – does it say “Made in
That would explain some things.
If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?
Morality coming from morons is pretty oxymoronic...
is there such a thing as oxymorality?
Do the Alphabet song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?
Yes, but the Alphabet song obviously came first.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t have known how to write the lyrics for
Twinkle Twinkle…or Baa Baa Blacksheep.
Why did you just try singing the two songs above?
If an idiot sings in an office and nobody’s there to hear it, does it still sound terrible?
Why do they call it an asteroid when it's outside the hemisphere, but call it a hemorrhoid when it's in your butt?
Doesn’t matter – they both tend to orbit Uranus.
Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him for a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?
Well if you’d quit farting in the car…
Do you ever wonder why you gave me your e-mail address in the first place?
You never did “give” it to me…I “acquired it”.
** Edit: a few more Deep Thoughts to add to your day...
Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?
Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?
What is the speed of darkness?
If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?
Whose idea was it to put an "S" in the word "lisp"?
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Instructions are for Wussies
I took some time yesterday to browse Ken Rockwell's site HERE. This guy is a Nikon guru and general photography expert. He's forgotten more about photography than I've ever learned. One thing I am convinced of after browsing his site: I have no idea what the heck I'm doing with my nice Nikon DSLR camera. I'm basically using it as a "point and shoot". Since I haven't been using any of the advanced features, I could've just as well saved myself a pile of cash and bought a cheap pocket size Chinese knock off for $50-$75. Why don't I use any of the advanced features? Well, that would require me to read the instructions, a task that any red-blooded American male despises.
It's a sign of weakness.
It shows you're too dumb to figure it out on your own.
Half the time, the instructions are written in Mandarin anyway.
Besides, that takes time, something we men don't give up easily.
Other items I've never read the Instruction Manuals for:
* 42" Samsung flat panel LCD TV - just like any other TV, right?
* My BOSE home theater system - sounds like a tin can.
* My boat & motor - I2ABDFI: if it ain't broke, don't fix it!
* Any kitchen appliance - toaster handle goes down, toast comes up.
* Any vehicle I've ever owned - I pay mechanics for that.
* Any electrical gadget I've owned - again, I2ABDFI!
* Our kids - is there one?
Seriously now, how many of you pansies actually read the instruction manuals for items you've purchased? Was it really worth the time and effort?
Yeah, I figured it was.
I bet you stop and ask for directions too. What fun is that?
It's a sign of weakness.
It shows you're too dumb to figure it out on your own.
Half the time, the instructions are written in Mandarin anyway.
Besides, that takes time, something we men don't give up easily.
Other items I've never read the Instruction Manuals for:
* 42" Samsung flat panel LCD TV - just like any other TV, right?
* My BOSE home theater system - sounds like a tin can.
* My boat & motor - I2ABDFI: if it ain't broke, don't fix it!
* Any kitchen appliance - toaster handle goes down, toast comes up.
* Any vehicle I've ever owned - I pay mechanics for that.
* Any electrical gadget I've owned - again, I2ABDFI!
* Our kids - is there one?
Seriously now, how many of you pansies actually read the instruction manuals for items you've purchased? Was it really worth the time and effort?
Yeah, I figured it was.
I bet you stop and ask for directions too. What fun is that?
Friday, July 25, 2008
The Adventures of Ducka and Dooger: Part 1
ADD v1: The Turtle Wagon
Ducka was my best friend when I was a kid. His mom used to affectionately call him "Ducka-da-luka", which we could tell he hated. Naturally, we used every opportunity we had to call him Ducka in a sappy, mom-ish voice.
Ducka lived about a quarter mile down the river from me and the river was our main focal point for entertainment both summer and winter. Yes, I realize there are four seasons in MN, but our noteworthy adventures always happened in the dead of winter or the scorching summer.
"Who's Dooger", you may ask? Well, that's Yours Truly, nick-named by good old Dad when I was a toe-headed little punk.
And so, the adventure begins.
Ducka's family knew how to take advantage of living on the river. They had a ski boat, behind which I learned how to water ski and kneeboard (stories for another day), a fishing boat, had a rope swing off the big tree on their shoreline, and flooded a nice hockey rink in the winter with flood lights and the whole bit to get the most enjoyment possible out of that chunk of ice each year.
The summer between 6th and 7th grade, we made good use of the fishing boat. If I remember right, it was a 14' Lund with a 15hp Johnson on back. For a couple screwball boys, it screamed! It went fast enough that we could knee-board behind it while we were still young and light enough, and it enabled us to do some not-so-smart things as kids.
Ducka used to pick me up at my house on the bank of the mighty Sludgewater River and we'd be off on our explorations, learning about what's around the next bend and seeing things that taught us life lessons we'd probably prefer to forget, like the couple of grossly overweight 60-somethings we came across skinny-dipping a couple of miles out of town. *twitch*twitch*
As a general rule, we always headed upstream for two reasons:
1) if we ran out of gas, we could always drift home with the current
2) the dam was a half mile downstream from Ducka's place
Ducka had a wire or two crossed when it came to logical thinking, which you'll come to love about him as you get to know him (I'll tell you about his magic-marker and ice cream bucket bomb ideas later). This enduring quality of his is where I came in - trying to keep us both out of trouble and on the straight and narrow.
That's a dangerous proposition.
And it's not likely.
So Ducka picks me up in the Screamer one morning and we're off - fishing poles, night crawlers, a couple cans of Coke, and a day to burn on the river.
"Wanna catch some rockies at the Jordet tree again?", I asked.
"Nah, they're too easy, and we've already caught 'em all at least 3 times. Their lips are full 'o holes."
"Yeah, guess yer right. How 'bout we jump off Cement Bridge?"
"We can try, but I think we only got enuff gas to make it half way there today."
We buzzed up river, both silently thinking of other things to do, when Ducka cranks the old Johnson to a 90 degree turn and yells "Holy crap - you see all those turtles?"
"Where?", I said, wiping Coke off my shirt and climbing up off the floor of the boat.
"On that log by Olson's dock - must be 20 of 'em!"
Sure enough, all the turtles were sprawled out in summertime fashion, soaking up the rays.
"Grab the net!" yelled Ducka, so I did.
"I'm gonna fly right at 'em and throw it in reverse at the last second - you scoop as many as you can!"
"Ok - sounds good." I said, not quite sure how this would play out.
Ducka cranked the old Johnson wide open and we were haulin' butt right at the log. I'm hanging off the bow of the boat in true Titanic fashion, net hoisted high and ready to scoop.
The turtles must've been asleep, or else they really are that slow.
They didn't start bailing off the log til we got about 8' from them.
"Here we go!", announced the captain in back.
I stuck the net down in the water and we promptly skimmed right over all the turtles, rammed the log, and nailed the shoreline. I launched over the bow but hung on to the gunnel somehow, leaving one leg on land, one on the log, and my upper body laying half in the water.
"Guess I didn't hit reverse in time" Ducka said in a completely unapologetic tone.
"Yeah, no kidding", I responded as I pulled myself back in the boat. "Back up so I can find the net."
Ducka hit reverse, I grabbed the net, and we talked through the finer points of the physics in play with our strategy. After assuring me he'd hit reverse and hit it hard next time, we took off looking for another log.
This time I was ready for his 90 degree turn, I jockeyed in position with the net, and he yelled "Here we go! Now - scoop 'em!"
The boat was clipping forward at a good pace, then lurched as Ducka slammed it in reverse and twisted the throttle.
Turtles flew everywhere.
I scooped the net.
It came up heavy.
"Five turtles!", I exclaimed. "Sweet!"
I turned around and dumped the turtles in the bottom of the boat.
"Let's get some more." said Ducka, and we were off again.
We repeated the scene 15-20 times over the next few hours, terrorizing every turtle we could find within 5 miles of our houses. When all was said and done, we had turtles crawling all over the boat.
"Now what do we do?"
Ducka, being the ingenious one among the two of us proclaimed he had an idea. We headed back to his place, and thankfully his mom, EE (she was always giving me the Evil-Eye), wasn't there. He told me to scoop up a net-full of turtles and bring 'em up in the yard while he ran to the garage. I did, and a minute later, Ducka comes running down the hill with a can in his hand.
Spray paint.
Blaze orange spray paint.
I dumped the net in the middle of the yard and I'd line up the turtles while he painted them. You'd be amazed how well Krylon adheres to a dry turtle shell! We proceeded to paint 50-60 turtles blaze orange, let them dry, then load them back up in the boat. Not wanting a pile of evidence to be swimming the banks along our neighborhood, we headed up river again and dropped 5-6 turtles at each of the logs we visited earlier in the day. When the boat was empty, we turned and headed home, chuckling to ourselves about our artistic contributions lining the banks of the Sludgewater. The rest of the summer, every time we'd go fishing or kneeboarding, we'd see these bright orange turtles smattered along the shore.
Then word got around.
People were starting to see these odd turtles along the river and couldn't figure out what was wrong with them. One day I was in the Rex Cafe and overheard a couple old duffers in the booth next to me.
"Ya, I was trollin' spinners past Brekke's last night and saw da dangdest thing. I lookt o'er an dare's a cuppla bright orange turtles on da log. What da hell kinda turtles are doze?"
"Dunno, mus be sum new breed takin o'er."
The hair on my neck stood up. "Uh-oh", I thought. I better keep my mouth shut and make sure Ducka does the same. Not an easy task, but we did and nobody ever knew it was us. Amazing, too, cuz EE and Ducka's dad never even asked about all the blaze orange overspray spots in the backyard. I'm sure that they can attest, sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Closest thing I could find to describe the first log experience:
Ducka was my best friend when I was a kid. His mom used to affectionately call him "Ducka-da-luka", which we could tell he hated. Naturally, we used every opportunity we had to call him Ducka in a sappy, mom-ish voice.
Ducka lived about a quarter mile down the river from me and the river was our main focal point for entertainment both summer and winter. Yes, I realize there are four seasons in MN, but our noteworthy adventures always happened in the dead of winter or the scorching summer.
"Who's Dooger", you may ask? Well, that's Yours Truly, nick-named by good old Dad when I was a toe-headed little punk.
And so, the adventure begins.
Ducka's family knew how to take advantage of living on the river. They had a ski boat, behind which I learned how to water ski and kneeboard (stories for another day), a fishing boat, had a rope swing off the big tree on their shoreline, and flooded a nice hockey rink in the winter with flood lights and the whole bit to get the most enjoyment possible out of that chunk of ice each year.
The summer between 6th and 7th grade, we made good use of the fishing boat. If I remember right, it was a 14' Lund with a 15hp Johnson on back. For a couple screwball boys, it screamed! It went fast enough that we could knee-board behind it while we were still young and light enough, and it enabled us to do some not-so-smart things as kids.Ducka used to pick me up at my house on the bank of the mighty Sludgewater River and we'd be off on our explorations, learning about what's around the next bend and seeing things that taught us life lessons we'd probably prefer to forget, like the couple of grossly overweight 60-somethings we came across skinny-dipping a couple of miles out of town. *twitch*twitch*
As a general rule, we always headed upstream for two reasons:
1) if we ran out of gas, we could always drift home with the current
2) the dam was a half mile downstream from Ducka's place
Ducka had a wire or two crossed when it came to logical thinking, which you'll come to love about him as you get to know him (I'll tell you about his magic-marker and ice cream bucket bomb ideas later). This enduring quality of his is where I came in - trying to keep us both out of trouble and on the straight and narrow.
That's a dangerous proposition.
And it's not likely.
So Ducka picks me up in the Screamer one morning and we're off - fishing poles, night crawlers, a couple cans of Coke, and a day to burn on the river.
"Wanna catch some rockies at the Jordet tree again?", I asked.
"Nah, they're too easy, and we've already caught 'em all at least 3 times. Their lips are full 'o holes."
"Yeah, guess yer right. How 'bout we jump off Cement Bridge?"
"We can try, but I think we only got enuff gas to make it half way there today."
We buzzed up river, both silently thinking of other things to do, when Ducka cranks the old Johnson to a 90 degree turn and yells "Holy crap - you see all those turtles?"
"Where?", I said, wiping Coke off my shirt and climbing up off the floor of the boat.
"On that log by Olson's dock - must be 20 of 'em!"
Sure enough, all the turtles were sprawled out in summertime fashion, soaking up the rays."Grab the net!" yelled Ducka, so I did.
"I'm gonna fly right at 'em and throw it in reverse at the last second - you scoop as many as you can!"
"Ok - sounds good." I said, not quite sure how this would play out.
Ducka cranked the old Johnson wide open and we were haulin' butt right at the log. I'm hanging off the bow of the boat in true Titanic fashion, net hoisted high and ready to scoop.
The turtles must've been asleep, or else they really are that slow.
They didn't start bailing off the log til we got about 8' from them.
"Here we go!", announced the captain in back.
I stuck the net down in the water and we promptly skimmed right over all the turtles, rammed the log, and nailed the shoreline. I launched over the bow but hung on to the gunnel somehow, leaving one leg on land, one on the log, and my upper body laying half in the water.
"Guess I didn't hit reverse in time" Ducka said in a completely unapologetic tone.
"Yeah, no kidding", I responded as I pulled myself back in the boat. "Back up so I can find the net."
Ducka hit reverse, I grabbed the net, and we talked through the finer points of the physics in play with our strategy. After assuring me he'd hit reverse and hit it hard next time, we took off looking for another log.
This time I was ready for his 90 degree turn, I jockeyed in position with the net, and he yelled "Here we go! Now - scoop 'em!"
The boat was clipping forward at a good pace, then lurched as Ducka slammed it in reverse and twisted the throttle.
Turtles flew everywhere.
I scooped the net.
It came up heavy.
"Five turtles!", I exclaimed. "Sweet!"
I turned around and dumped the turtles in the bottom of the boat.
"Let's get some more." said Ducka, and we were off again.
We repeated the scene 15-20 times over the next few hours, terrorizing every turtle we could find within 5 miles of our houses. When all was said and done, we had turtles crawling all over the boat.
"Now what do we do?"
Ducka, being the ingenious one among the two of us proclaimed he had an idea. We headed back to his place, and thankfully his mom, EE (she was always giving me the Evil-Eye), wasn't there. He told me to scoop up a net-full of turtles and bring 'em up in the yard while he ran to the garage. I did, and a minute later, Ducka comes running down the hill with a can in his hand.
Spray paint.
Blaze orange spray paint.
I dumped the net in the middle of the yard and I'd line up the turtles while he painted them. You'd be amazed how well Krylon adheres to a dry turtle shell! We proceeded to paint 50-60 turtles blaze orange, let them dry, then load them back up in the boat. Not wanting a pile of evidence to be swimming the banks along our neighborhood, we headed up river again and dropped 5-6 turtles at each of the logs we visited earlier in the day. When the boat was empty, we turned and headed home, chuckling to ourselves about our artistic contributions lining the banks of the Sludgewater. The rest of the summer, every time we'd go fishing or kneeboarding, we'd see these bright orange turtles smattered along the shore.
Then word got around.
People were starting to see these odd turtles along the river and couldn't figure out what was wrong with them. One day I was in the Rex Cafe and overheard a couple old duffers in the booth next to me.
"Ya, I was trollin' spinners past Brekke's last night and saw da dangdest thing. I lookt o'er an dare's a cuppla bright orange turtles on da log. What da hell kinda turtles are doze?"
"Dunno, mus be sum new breed takin o'er."
The hair on my neck stood up. "Uh-oh", I thought. I better keep my mouth shut and make sure Ducka does the same. Not an easy task, but we did and nobody ever knew it was us. Amazing, too, cuz EE and Ducka's dad never even asked about all the blaze orange overspray spots in the backyard. I'm sure that they can attest, sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Closest thing I could find to describe the first log experience:
Maybe Uncle Frank was right...
...apparently I am worthless.
I came across a blog valuation tool that simply validated my suspicions (and yours too): This blog is worth Zero Deniro.
Do you have a blog? If so, click the link and leave me a message braggin' about how much your blog is worth.
I came across a blog valuation tool that simply validated my suspicions (and yours too): This blog is worth Zero Deniro.
My blog is worth $0.00.
How much is your blog worth?
Do you have a blog? If so, click the link and leave me a message braggin' about how much your blog is worth.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Who Needs Vegas?
I'd rather stay at this Bellagio than the one out in the middle of the desert.
Minnesotans sure love their fishing, eh?
Minnesotans sure love their fishing, eh?
Monday, July 21, 2008
Weekly Re-entry
Mondays.Suck.
Re-entering the corporate world after enjoying a "real life" for a couple days is hard.
It's like getting up when the alarm goes off.
You don't want to, and it sucks at first, but you know you'll be fine once you get going.
Or like jumping into the lake.
That first plunge makes your heart jump into your throat, but you eventually get used to the water and you're just fine.
Or like going to the proctologist.
Oh, wait...that really sucks.
And, in case you're wondering, there were no apple fritters today.
Re-entering the corporate world after enjoying a "real life" for a couple days is hard.
It's like getting up when the alarm goes off.
You don't want to, and it sucks at first, but you know you'll be fine once you get going.
Or like jumping into the lake.
That first plunge makes your heart jump into your throat, but you eventually get used to the water and you're just fine.
Or like going to the proctologist.
Oh, wait...that really sucks.
And, in case you're wondering, there were no apple fritters today.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
DING: Round 2
Actually, it should be Round 3:Rounds 1 & 2 had some lovely results.
Beautiful weather here in the Minneapolis area today:
3" hail just west of my office...
Radar showing rotation a couple miles north of my office...
All heck breaking loose inside my office...
(oh, wait - that's normal)
And it's not even a Monday!
My office is hiding somewhere in the middle of all that red.
And did I mention, my coworker left his car windows open?
Hehehehehehe!
Mr. Browncup NOW Mr. Blackcan
(For those who tuned in for my Mr. Browncup posts...)
UPDATE: I love caffeine.
Ok, so that's not really much of an update, but it gives context to my illogical tactic in getting off coffee. We all know people who have tried to quit smoking, so they start chewing tobacco, right? Makes sense. Yeah, well I guess that line of reasoning is one I've chosen here as well.
While on vacation a couple weeks ago at "The Lake", big brother Buck got me hooked on the B-vitamin high (B1, B2, B3, B6, B12) delivered directly from Mr. Blackcan, aka, Monster Energy Drinks. Never tried 'em before - only tasted a Red Bull once, and I wanted to hurl. This was a whole different beast altogether (pun intended). The basic green Monster was what I tried first, and really liked it. Then I stumbled on to the orange Monster Khaos - hey, it's got real juice in it - it must be healthy, right? According to the can:
The best part for me: it doesn't rip a hole through me like a few cups of coffee will. I'm sure I'll probably die from the inordinate amounts of sugar in this crap, but at least I'll die with my eyes WIDE OPEN.
WARNING: the Java flavored Monsters are horrible IMO. Even as a coffee lover, I've never been able to gracefully make the transition to iced-coffee drinks, and this was no exception. Yuck.
So, GAME ON, just like a fresh-out-of-ritalin ADHD kid...
UPDATE: I love caffeine.Ok, so that's not really much of an update, but it gives context to my illogical tactic in getting off coffee. We all know people who have tried to quit smoking, so they start chewing tobacco, right? Makes sense. Yeah, well I guess that line of reasoning is one I've chosen here as well.
While on vacation a couple weeks ago at "The Lake", big brother Buck got me hooked on the B-vitamin high (B1, B2, B3, B6, B12) delivered directly from Mr. Blackcan, aka, Monster Energy Drinks. Never tried 'em before - only tasted a Red Bull once, and I wanted to hurl. This was a whole different beast altogether (pun intended). The basic green Monster was what I tried first, and really liked it. Then I stumbled on to the orange Monster Khaos - hey, it's got real juice in it - it must be healthy, right? According to the can:
It's Alive...
Monster Khaos, an insane
Juice-Monster hybrid bubbling
with the great Monster taste
and the big bad buzz you
know and love.
50% juice - 100% Monster!
The best part for me: it doesn't rip a hole through me like a few cups of coffee will. I'm sure I'll probably die from the inordinate amounts of sugar in this crap, but at least I'll die with my eyes WIDE OPEN.
WARNING: the Java flavored Monsters are horrible IMO. Even as a coffee lover, I've never been able to gracefully make the transition to iced-coffee drinks, and this was no exception. Yuck.
So, GAME ON, just like a fresh-out-of-ritalin ADHD kid...
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Move over, Bruce Jenner!
In a bold move of manliness and sheer stupidity, I decided it was time to get my butt back in shape, burn off some Fraziskaners and Schnitzels, and "Get Speedo Ready" as I planned a few months ago.
So it's July in MN (as well as the rest of the world), the time when humidity start running about the same as the temperature every day. The perfect time to punish myself and prove I can do anything I set my mind to, right? After all, the loop is only a 5k loop - no problem. It's only been a year since I ran (and a whopping 3x last year).
I'm doin' it!
Here's about how it turned out:
That's right, y'all - I'm shopping for a pair of those rockin' checkered shorts to go with my black socks. Yeah baby!
Ok, so it was kind of a trainwreck.
The sun was horrendous, and I had to chew the air to find any oxygen.
My knees started screaming 3 steps into it.
It was horrible.
It hurt.
Bad.
My lungs seized up on me.
My spit resembled Elmer's Glue.
I started blacking out in the glaring sun.
My legs went numb(thankfully, so the pain would stop).
I started calling out to dead relatives, and Elvis.
And people think this is fun?
Delirious freaks, they are.
But I finished, and I did it in ~30 minutes. Not too bad considering I had 3 stretches of walking factored in there. I figure if I could've ran the whole thing, I would've finished in 24-25 minutes, meaning a 7.5-8 minute/mile pace. Not a bad start.
So if you find yourself driving through Minneapolis' Metro Suburbia and see a guy who looks like this, just wave and holler "Push through it, Wildman!" and I promise I'll give you a big thumbs-up and hawk an Elmer's Glue loogie your way.
So, I guess I that officially makes me a runner now.
Move over, Bruce Jenner...move over and make room for me on the couch, pass the Doritos, and grab the remote.
So it's July in MN (as well as the rest of the world), the time when humidity start running about the same as the temperature every day. The perfect time to punish myself and prove I can do anything I set my mind to, right? After all, the loop is only a 5k loop - no problem. It's only been a year since I ran (and a whopping 3x last year).
I'm doin' it!
Here's about how it turned out:
That's right, y'all - I'm shopping for a pair of those rockin' checkered shorts to go with my black socks. Yeah baby!
Ok, so it was kind of a trainwreck.
The sun was horrendous, and I had to chew the air to find any oxygen.
My knees started screaming 3 steps into it.
It was horrible.
It hurt.
Bad.
My lungs seized up on me.
My spit resembled Elmer's Glue.
I started blacking out in the glaring sun.
My legs went numb(thankfully, so the pain would stop).
I started calling out to dead relatives, and Elvis.
And people think this is fun?
Delirious freaks, they are.
But I finished, and I did it in ~30 minutes. Not too bad considering I had 3 stretches of walking factored in there. I figure if I could've ran the whole thing, I would've finished in 24-25 minutes, meaning a 7.5-8 minute/mile pace. Not a bad start.
So if you find yourself driving through Minneapolis' Metro Suburbia and see a guy who looks like this, just wave and holler "Push through it, Wildman!" and I promise I'll give you a big thumbs-up and hawk an Elmer's Glue loogie your way.So, I guess I that officially makes me a runner now.
Move over, Bruce Jenner...move over and make room for me on the couch, pass the Doritos, and grab the remote.
Workplace Confessions
I grew up Catholic. That inherently makes me guilty...of everything, and in need of confession. In that same spirit, I need to confess a minor mishap at work yesterday morning, of which, I actually am guilty.I rarely dig into the donut pile that arrives in our office every Monday morning, but I spied an apple fritter buried in the bottom of the pile as I walked into the kitchen area. As I rearranged the pile with a plastic knife (so I wouldn't have to touch all the others), a chocolate covered donut took a header off the plate and landed on the floor. Not a clean floor either, mind you. I promptly grabbed it, set it on the counter next to the platter with every intention of tossing it once I finished fetching my fritter.
Right as I pulled my prize from the grease-and-sugar collection, one of the office ladies steps in and announces "Oh, looks like we have a runner!" referring to the choco-dust-dirtball donut I set on the counter. Before I could say anything, she grabbed it and took a monster bite out of it. I didn't have the heart to tell her. I thought the little white piece of paper-punch stuck to the side would give it away. Apparently not.
"Mmmm...heavenly!" she claimed.
"Hmmm...devilish!" was how I felt.
So, there you have it. I'm a bad man, who enjoys the occasional apple fritter. Hopefully next time it will be on top of the pile.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Even the Nights are Better
It had been a long, hot, fun, but trying 4th of July weekend.
Sunday night rolls around, I'm ready to hit the sack, but decide to check the forecast on the local news first. I grab the TV remote, fire up the tube, and am immediately accosted by THIS:
My initial reaction was one of horror, disbelief, and a panicked thought of reliving the 70's. History repeats itself, they say. Please, Dear God, oh please, not THAT decade...
It was a barrage of shaggy mullets, raging lambchops, and unbuttoned silk shirts, all of which scream "I'm a Love Machine!" in a just got done tokin' a doobie sort of way. The unplugged Air Supply reminiscing really added a faggy, "I've just been violated!" touch to the scene. After a couple minutes of staring at this horrific display, I realized something: I was still watching.
Even worse, my gag reflex was easing up.
Please don't tell anyone, but I even found myself humming along and taking mini-trips back to warm, dusty backroads with the 8 track blaring in our '77 Olds Tornado. Yes, our Tornado was brown, just like any other respectable 70's vehicle. Was my stomach turning because I used to get carsick in the back seat of that boat or because of the music on the TV?
Regardless, this was an embarrassingly guilty pleasure and sat on the end of the bed to really get the full effect of the infomercial. I was just losing myself in the saxophone of Chicago's "Saturday...in the park...I think it was the 4th of July..." when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye - Mrs. MNWildman walked in. I was busted.
In a flurry of nerves, adrenaline, and shame, I tried to cover for myself. "Can you believe this crap? Isn't this disgusting...and hilarious...?" as I pointed at the screen. The last words were still hanging on my tongue when I looked again, and was mesmerized by the piano behind Benny Mardones "Into the Night".
Without turning my head back to Mrs. MNWildman, I confessed, "...and I really like it."
I felt gay. In fact, I felt so disgusting that I had to go shower before bed...but I couldn't stop humming those tunes while I washed up.
Oh well.
======================
Have half an hour to kill? Take the gag-reflex test and try watching all 3 segments...without ordering the CD collection.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Sunday night rolls around, I'm ready to hit the sack, but decide to check the forecast on the local news first. I grab the TV remote, fire up the tube, and am immediately accosted by THIS:
My initial reaction was one of horror, disbelief, and a panicked thought of reliving the 70's. History repeats itself, they say. Please, Dear God, oh please, not THAT decade...
It was a barrage of shaggy mullets, raging lambchops, and unbuttoned silk shirts, all of which scream "I'm a Love Machine!" in a just got done tokin' a doobie sort of way. The unplugged Air Supply reminiscing really added a faggy, "I've just been violated!" touch to the scene. After a couple minutes of staring at this horrific display, I realized something: I was still watching.
Even worse, my gag reflex was easing up.
Please don't tell anyone, but I even found myself humming along and taking mini-trips back to warm, dusty backroads with the 8 track blaring in our '77 Olds Tornado. Yes, our Tornado was brown, just like any other respectable 70's vehicle. Was my stomach turning because I used to get carsick in the back seat of that boat or because of the music on the TV?
Regardless, this was an embarrassingly guilty pleasure and sat on the end of the bed to really get the full effect of the infomercial. I was just losing myself in the saxophone of Chicago's "Saturday...in the park...I think it was the 4th of July..." when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye - Mrs. MNWildman walked in. I was busted.
In a flurry of nerves, adrenaline, and shame, I tried to cover for myself. "Can you believe this crap? Isn't this disgusting...and hilarious...?" as I pointed at the screen. The last words were still hanging on my tongue when I looked again, and was mesmerized by the piano behind Benny Mardones "Into the Night".
Without turning my head back to Mrs. MNWildman, I confessed, "...and I really like it."
I felt gay. In fact, I felt so disgusting that I had to go shower before bed...but I couldn't stop humming those tunes while I washed up.
Oh well.
======================
Have half an hour to kill? Take the gag-reflex test and try watching all 3 segments...without ordering the CD collection.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Word of the Day
Dictionary.com Definition (2008)
tutelage \TOO-tuhl-ij; TYOO-\, noun:
1. The act of guarding or protecting; guardianship; protection.
2. The state of being under a guardian or tutor.
3. Instruction, especially individual instruction accompanied by close attention and guidance.
MNWildman Dictionary Definition, Northcountry Edition (2008)
tutelage \TOO-tuhl-ij; TYOO-\, noun:
1. The acoustic after-effects of consuming certain foods and beverages.
2. The relocation of trapped air and masses of gaseous product.
tutelage \TOO-tuhl-ij; TYOO-\, noun:
1. The act of guarding or protecting; guardianship; protection.
2. The state of being under a guardian or tutor.
3. Instruction, especially individual instruction accompanied by close attention and guidance.
But he was not yet free of his father's legal tutelage and had still to decide on a career.
-- Roland Huntford, Nansen: The Explorer as Hero
MNWildman Dictionary Definition, Northcountry Edition (2008)
tutelage \TOO-tuhl-ij; TYOO-\, noun:
1. The acoustic after-effects of consuming certain foods and beverages.
2. The relocation of trapped air and masses of gaseous product.
There was much tutelage at the lakehouse last week due to MNWildman and Uncle Bark's partaking of multiple Franziskaners, Jager Schnitzels, and Apple Dumpling Apfelknodels.
-- MNWildman Jr., age 8
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Water, Sunshine, and Schweinehaxe
Popular MN Summer Vacation Recipe:
INGREDIENTS:
- 8 days away from work
- One large lakehome, preferably with separate quarters for kids
- Sandy lakeshore and clean water
- One floating swim platform/dock, anchored
- Fishing rods, multiple of the Snoopy/Barbie/Taz varieties
- 5 weary adults
- 7 cranked up kids under age 14
- 3 neurotic dogs, barking
- A few/bunch of cases of beer
- Multiple bottles of wine
- Your choice of "Mystery-schlager"
- Enough food to feed a small town for a month
- Mass amounts of sunshine
- One fishing/ski boat, including tube
- One rental pontoon
DIRECTIONS:
1) Preheat air to around 85 degrees, lakewater to 70 degrees
2) Drink a beer
3) Unload piles of gear from vehicles to lakehouse/kids quarters
4) Open another beer, consume quickly before it evaporates
5) Direct/oversee kids as they launch off dock to play on swim platform
6) Referee dock pushing matches and get pushed/pulled into lake fully dressed
7) Let dogs out to crap in the yard, harass the neighbor's dogs, and swim half way across the lake
8) Have another beer while clothes drip-dry
9) Get dogs out of neighbor's flower garden, kennel them up to dry
10) Take kids tubing behind boat, attempting aerial acrobatics while semi-attached to tube
11) Soothe crying children who vow to never ride a tube again, especially with nasty Uncle Wildman
12) Return to dock...if you can find the right one
13) Fire up grill for supper
* Note: mandatory 2 beer minimum consumption while grilling, MN vacation law
14) Pull rugrats out of lake again and cram food down their gullets
15) Overeat and sample "Mystery-schlager" for dessert
16) Find your most recent/open a new beer
17) Arrange fishing contest on dock, designate bait/fish-boy to help the girly-types keep up
18) Untangle rats-nest on Barbie rod
19) Pick up your beer that fell off the dock and into lake, open another
20) Once kids are exhausted and start whining and picking fights, lose your temper and send them to bed
21) Resample "Mystery-schlager", various wines, and a few more beers while sitting on pontoon tied up to dock
* Note: 70's rock station on pontoon radio is critical item during this step
22) Retell all the same stories as last time you did this, make fun of each other, generally make an ass of yourself
23) Stumble your way to bed, lay down and wonder how the hell you got sand in various parts of your body
24) Sleep 4hrs on crappy cabin mattress
25) Get up and pound a few cups of coffee (or Monster energy drinks)
26) Repeat daily until reality gets its greasy, nasty claws back into you and drags you back to work
That pretty much sums up last week's events while we were gone on vacation.
So you're still scratching your head, saying "Hey Wildman, what the heck is this Schweinehaxe thing in the title?" Ah, let me explain...
Friday night we took the whole crew + the folks to a small town authentic German restaurant that Mrs. Wildman & I think is the shnizzle (um, make that schnitzel). We ordered a pile of -bratens and schnitzels (among other things hard to pronounce), and then there was one plate of the famed Brauhaus Schweinehaxe. Looked like it was fresh from the caveman's fire. Seriously, it looked like a hind leg off a small dinosaur, chopped off and roasted over an open flame. The thing was HUGE. It dang near hung off the ends of the plate, as well as the sides. Ken about crapped when she put the plate in front of him. Good thing he ordered the "regular" and not the "Jumbo" for $2 more. After gnawing on it for half an hour, he called it quits and threw the thing in a To-Go box, which he intentionally left in the fridge the next day when he split town. No way he was taking that albatross home with him.
Here's a presentable picture of a Schweinehaxe. The one he got was twice the size and half as appealing to look at. Whaddya expect, after all, it is a "Large pork shank". Notice how that rhymes with skank? Mmmm...sounds tasty, doesn't it?
The most beautiful thing about this place, however, is their affinity for Spaten Bier and the beautiful, smooth Franziskaner Dunkel bier that has upped the anti for all other beers in my mind.
Gotta love the Germans.
Perhaps Franziskaner could team up with Monster and create a new line of Monsterkaner or Franzismonster Energy Biers?
That would be sweet.
INGREDIENTS:
- 8 days away from work
- One large lakehome, preferably with separate quarters for kids
- Sandy lakeshore and clean water
- One floating swim platform/dock, anchored
- Fishing rods, multiple of the Snoopy/Barbie/Taz varieties
- 5 weary adults
- 7 cranked up kids under age 14
- 3 neurotic dogs, barking
- A few/bunch of cases of beer
- Multiple bottles of wine
- Your choice of "Mystery-schlager"
- Enough food to feed a small town for a month
- Mass amounts of sunshine
- One fishing/ski boat, including tube
- One rental pontoon
DIRECTIONS:
1) Preheat air to around 85 degrees, lakewater to 70 degrees
2) Drink a beer
3) Unload piles of gear from vehicles to lakehouse/kids quarters
4) Open another beer, consume quickly before it evaporates
5) Direct/oversee kids as they launch off dock to play on swim platform
6) Referee dock pushing matches and get pushed/pulled into lake fully dressed
7) Let dogs out to crap in the yard, harass the neighbor's dogs, and swim half way across the lake
8) Have another beer while clothes drip-dry
9) Get dogs out of neighbor's flower garden, kennel them up to dry
10) Take kids tubing behind boat, attempting aerial acrobatics while semi-attached to tube
11) Soothe crying children who vow to never ride a tube again, especially with nasty Uncle Wildman
12) Return to dock...if you can find the right one
13) Fire up grill for supper
* Note: mandatory 2 beer minimum consumption while grilling, MN vacation law
14) Pull rugrats out of lake again and cram food down their gullets
15) Overeat and sample "Mystery-schlager" for dessert
16) Find your most recent/open a new beer
17) Arrange fishing contest on dock, designate bait/fish-boy to help the girly-types keep up
18) Untangle rats-nest on Barbie rod
19) Pick up your beer that fell off the dock and into lake, open another
20) Once kids are exhausted and start whining and picking fights, lose your temper and send them to bed
21) Resample "Mystery-schlager", various wines, and a few more beers while sitting on pontoon tied up to dock
* Note: 70's rock station on pontoon radio is critical item during this step
22) Retell all the same stories as last time you did this, make fun of each other, generally make an ass of yourself
23) Stumble your way to bed, lay down and wonder how the hell you got sand in various parts of your body
24) Sleep 4hrs on crappy cabin mattress
25) Get up and pound a few cups of coffee (or Monster energy drinks)
26) Repeat daily until reality gets its greasy, nasty claws back into you and drags you back to work
That pretty much sums up last week's events while we were gone on vacation.
So you're still scratching your head, saying "Hey Wildman, what the heck is this Schweinehaxe thing in the title?" Ah, let me explain...
Friday night we took the whole crew + the folks to a small town authentic German restaurant that Mrs. Wildman & I think is the shnizzle (um, make that schnitzel). We ordered a pile of -bratens and schnitzels (among other things hard to pronounce), and then there was one plate of the famed Brauhaus Schweinehaxe. Looked like it was fresh from the caveman's fire. Seriously, it looked like a hind leg off a small dinosaur, chopped off and roasted over an open flame. The thing was HUGE. It dang near hung off the ends of the plate, as well as the sides. Ken about crapped when she put the plate in front of him. Good thing he ordered the "regular" and not the "Jumbo" for $2 more. After gnawing on it for half an hour, he called it quits and threw the thing in a To-Go box, which he intentionally left in the fridge the next day when he split town. No way he was taking that albatross home with him.
Here's a presentable picture of a Schweinehaxe. The one he got was twice the size and half as appealing to look at. Whaddya expect, after all, it is a "Large pork shank". Notice how that rhymes with skank? Mmmm...sounds tasty, doesn't it?The most beautiful thing about this place, however, is their affinity for Spaten Bier and the beautiful, smooth Franziskaner Dunkel bier that has upped the anti for all other beers in my mind. Gotta love the Germans.
Perhaps Franziskaner could team up with Monster and create a new line of Monsterkaner or Franzismonster Energy Biers?
That would be sweet.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Stock Market Sucks
So I work for a major financial company in the US.
More specifically, I do IT work for a stock options trading group.
Does that make me a stock market guru?
Hell no! So quit asking me for stock tips!
Just to illustrate my point: my personal portfolio (haha - using that term loosely) is down 12.19% from last year at this time.
Still want those stock tips, pal?
I'm thinking savings bonds. Yeah, savings bonds.
And the rest, under my mattress. Yeah, that works.
Maybe I'll bury some in the back yard too.
(I'll do it at night so Tammy & Bill won't see me)
Or maybe I need this:
Anyone have any good stock tips or other "proven" safe investments?
More specifically, I do IT work for a stock options trading group.
Does that make me a stock market guru?
Hell no! So quit asking me for stock tips!
Just to illustrate my point: my personal portfolio (haha - using that term loosely) is down 12.19% from last year at this time.Still want those stock tips, pal?
I'm thinking savings bonds. Yeah, savings bonds.
And the rest, under my mattress. Yeah, that works.
Maybe I'll bury some in the back yard too.
(I'll do it at night so Tammy & Bill won't see me)
Or maybe I need this:
Anyone have any good stock tips or other "proven" safe investments?
A Belated "Congrats" to KG
To our gone but still appreciated Kevin Garnett:Congratulations on finally winning it all.
Too bad it wasn't with the T-Wolves, where the "T" stands for "Totally Pathetic Team Who Can't Seem to Win a Game or Keep Any Decent Players Around".
The Celtics opened a can of whoop-ass and dealt the Lakers a 131-92 loss to clinch the title.
Talk about going out with a bang!
Friday, June 13, 2008
The Bricklayer's Soggy Shorts
Couple things to understand about me:
1) I hate teams from NY
2) I hate teams from LA
I've always despised the Yankees, Giants, Rangers, Dodgers, Rams, Lakers (after they left Minneapolis), and my favorite to hate: the LA Kings. Since when do people in LA play hockey?!?!
Ok, so I'm not a big NBA fan. My interest in the T-Wolves died when Kevin Garnett went to the Celtics. I do, however, still like to follow KG and root for him (and the Celtics by association). As luck would have it this year, I get to combine my disdain for the Lakers and my appreciation for KG this year in the NBA Finals. But wait, according to Kobe "Slimebag" Bryant, perhaps this is the BWA Finals (BedWetters Anonymous):
True to form, my man KG offered a good "Wet this one!" move that was captured by the photographers as the Celtics came back from a 24 point deficit to shame the Lakers in the Staples Center last night with a 97-91 win.
The only question I have is whether Kobe is wetting his own bed or that of his girlfriend/mistress?
1) I hate teams from NY
2) I hate teams from LA
I've always despised the Yankees, Giants, Rangers, Dodgers, Rams, Lakers (after they left Minneapolis), and my favorite to hate: the LA Kings. Since when do people in LA play hockey?!?!
Ok, so I'm not a big NBA fan. My interest in the T-Wolves died when Kevin Garnett went to the Celtics. I do, however, still like to follow KG and root for him (and the Celtics by association). As luck would have it this year, I get to combine my disdain for the Lakers and my appreciation for KG this year in the NBA Finals. But wait, according to Kobe "Slimebag" Bryant, perhaps this is the BWA Finals (BedWetters Anonymous):
"We just wet the bed," Bryant told reporters. "A nice big one too. One of the ones you can't put a towel over. It was terrible."You can read the rest of his soaked jammies whining here. Perhaps you should consider a career in masonry with the number of bricks you laid last night, Kobe!
True to form, my man KG offered a good "Wet this one!" move that was captured by the photographers as the Celtics came back from a 24 point deficit to shame the Lakers in the Staples Center last night with a 97-91 win.The only question I have is whether Kobe is wetting his own bed or that of his girlfriend/mistress?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Down a Rough, Dusty Memory Lane
The lush green of the swaying trees put me in a trance-like state this morning.It had me thinking of my teen days in northern MN where the summers were hot, but not unbearable.
The fields were lush with a sea of wheat waving as you passed by.
The dust would swirl in the cab of my old truck that lacked both power steering and air conditioning.
It wasn't so much a specific memory that overtook my mind, just a general feeling of loneliness that marked those years, yet a longing to be there, driving the back roads, visiting friends, and uncovering what this world has to offer one piece at a time.
No cell phones.
No blaring radios.
No deadlines and pressures of life.
Just youth, freedom, the hot sun, and the local swimmin' hole.
Great treasures stored in my mind and heart, but reality reprimands:
You can never go home again.
Those memories were made for just that period of time.
All my friends are gone from there.
The places and names are all different now.
The world has changed.
And I have changed tremendously.
It was still a nice turn down a rough, dusty memory lane though.
Monday, June 2, 2008
What the hail is going on here?
Summer in MN is always a trip.Sunshine, high humidity, and dripping sweat one minute, gusting winds, waves of hail, and tornado sirens the next.
Memorial Day weekend brought us our first big storm of the season, which leveled a bunch of houses in Hugo and Coon Rapids, MN. We got off easy by comparison, but still have a nice set of decorative holes in our siding on the north side of our house...again. We just had our whole house resided and roof replaced two years ago after a nasty hail storm swiss-cheesed our crappy vinyl siding and pelted the shingles. My truck took a nice ding from a golf ball sized hailstone in that storm, too. This year's storm wasn't as bad for us. Thankfully, we were gone at the time of the storm, so our vehicles don't have any hail damage like some of our neighbors' cars.One thing that bugs me: Storm Chaser Contractors.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against contractors. I really like contractors, in fact a couple of my best friends are contractors. I just hate it when guys are canvasing the neighborhood with flyers and knocking on doors before the debris even lands and the hailstones melt. I have no problems with local guys making the rounds, especially if they're hometown guys. I just hate seeing out of state plates from North Carolina and Alabama with ladders hanging out of their trucks trying to turn a quick buck and skip town after a crappy repair job. Grrr.
I hate to say it, but it looks like its going to be a good year to be in the siding/roof and auto body repair industries.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
"Name That Dog" Update
First, a quick thanks to all who suggested names. Some were great, and some...were from Bill. In case you missed it, here are the names that were suggested:
1) Zora: German/Slavic name that means aurora or dawn
2) Sabine (zabina): German, strong, unique
3) Greta: Scandanavian/German - means pearl
4) Rayna: Scandanavian - means mighty queen
5) Nena: German
6) Lena: Norwegian
7) Hege (haaga): Norwegian
8) Kevin (what the hell, Bill?): Gaelic for "beautiful at birth"
Along with those, we had a few others were contenders. Gracia threw out names constantly for days, but CeCe and CinnaMinni just weren't going to make the grade.
So what did we settle on? Ironically, the name she came with from Germany. Please allow me to introduce Iris to you all.
1) Zora: German/Slavic name that means aurora or dawn
2) Sabine (zabina): German, strong, unique
3) Greta: Scandanavian/German - means pearl
4) Rayna: Scandanavian - means mighty queen
5) Nena: German
6) Lena: Norwegian
7) Hege (haaga): Norwegian
8) Kevin (what the hell, Bill?): Gaelic for "beautiful at birth"
Along with those, we had a few others were contenders. Gracia threw out names constantly for days, but CeCe and CinnaMinni just weren't going to make the grade.
So what did we settle on? Ironically, the name she came with from Germany. Please allow me to introduce Iris to you all.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Daybreak
I met a friend friend for breakfast early this morning. It has been a while since I've watched the sun inch its way over the horizon. It was humbling and awe-inspiring. In that same spirit, I thought I'd share a couple of my early morning pics and some simple thoughts.
the break of dawn is a magical moment
it matters not what yesterday laid on your shoulders
today there is the promise of a fresh start
the canvas begins its transformation with a single thread of light
within minutes the sky has become a brilliant artwork of life
there's something magical about the break of dawn
Monday, May 5, 2008
Manhood: Proof of Genetic Predisposition
Ok, it has long been suspected that male behaviors are genetic, not environmental. To prove this point, I submit to you a stereotypical male behavior, excellently modeled and made famous by the Grand-PooBaa of male chauvinism himself, Al Bundy. From the research I have done on the subject (all via internet and conversations at poker games, of course), it is said that Handstuffing is a relaxing, yet often functional behavior that men use to display their "alpha-ness" within their environment. This became extremely clear this last Saturday as our youngest son celebrated his 8th birthday party.
May I present Exhibit A: during present opening, this young male (image altered to protect his identity) began to handstuff in the presence of 8 other boys age 8-11, and 2 girls age 10. He was clearly looking to establish his dominance over the entire family and gift opening time...or had an itch.
Exhibit B: this young male, not the largest or most physical of the group, practices his handstuffing to build his manliness factor. Note that this young fella has really taken it a step further - all the way to his elbow! - while observing the other boys in the yard, waiting for his opportunity to step in as the alpha-stuffer. It never did happen, but hey - what do you expect from a Packer Fan?Burden of Proof: knowing these boys' fathers, I know that neither of them would ever handstuff like this being the upright, professional, well mannered men that they are (right, Chris?). The only logical conclusion is that handstuffing is purely genetic and to be accepted as normal behavior at all private and public functions, especially kids' birthday parties.
The defense rests. Thank you.
Men, commence your stuffing.
On a parting note, I will impart some of Al Bundy's revealed wisdom regarding manhood:
Ray-Ray: What is it with you, Bundy? Still not getting enough curve in your diet? I mean, we knock you around, you come back. Why? Why do you do it?
Al: For the same reason men climb mountains or sail across the sea alone. For the only reason that a rational man would do in a rational thing like this.
Ray-Ray: Pride.
Al: No, women. I'm a moron, Ray-Ray. We're all morons. That's what comes from being a man. From the first little worm they dare us to eat to the last big shovel full of snow they convince us we can move, we're nothing more to women than an amusement park ride with life insurance. Why else would we do the idiotic things that we do? For example, you ski?
Ray-Ray: No.
Al: Well, you will someday if a girl wants you to. We all will. We'd hurdle down the mountain so fast that the crack of our bodies hitting the tree wouldn't even resonate in their ears before we'd pounce up and say 'I'm OK.' They know were not OK. Hell, even if they miss that pair of squirrels running away with our "hacky sacks", one glance down at the color of the snow would hint that there might be some trauma. And we’ve all been to the weight room when a pretty girl walks by and said to ourselves “Gee I think I’ll start today’s warm up bench pressing oh, nine tons. So, you see Ray-Ray, as long as there’s women, there’ll be men around doing stupid things to impress them. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here. That’s why they're here. Now, someday, you may evolve beyond this, but it’s too late for me. I’m too old, too married, and lost far too many hackysacks.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Mr. BrownCUP
Thanks to those who asked about my Kick the Cup campaign. I'll openly admit I'm a massive failure! There. I said it. I actually did very good for about 3 days, then I fell off the wagon. I felt better, more calm, and my stomach felt better...but what fun is that? I guess I like this monkey on my back.My relationship with coffee/caffeine was best described by my good high school friend, Axl Rose, and his buddies that made up a band called Guns & Roses. The lyrics to Mr. Brownstone were written about Slash's heroin addiction, but it ain't that far off the mark for the 'Bou and 'Bucks lovers:
I get up around seven
Get outta bed around nine
And I don't worry about nothin' no
Cause worryin's a waste of my...time
[Chorus:]
We been dancin' with
Mr. BrownCUP
He's been knockin'
He won't leave me alone
I used ta do a little
but a little wouldn't do
So the little got more and more
I just keep tryin'
ta get a little better
Said a little better than before
I used ta do a little
but a little wouldn't do
So the little got more and more
I just keep tryin'
ta get a little better
Said a little better than before
[Chorus]
(this part is when I'm OFF caffeine)
Now I get up around whenever
I used ta get up on time
But that old man
he's a real $*(%&##$*(
Gonna kick him on down the line
Okay, I confess, Axl wasn't really a high school friend of mine, but I listened to enough G&R in high school & college to feel like it.
A [dog] by any other name...
So we have a minor "controversy" in our family right now: dog names. See, we have a new little girl on the way from across the Big Pond and we have not yet come to a conclusion on a good name for her. Granted, she's a German dog and will come with a name already specified on her ahnentafel (translated="pedigree"), but obviously we can call her whatever we want.I almost fell off my chair when I was reading Tammy's Blog today, cuz I seriously thought they got a dog. For what it's worth, theirs is the last house on the block that I expect to see a dog come out of...and they're surrounded by us dog-loving, dog-owning, poop-in-your-eye freaks! Way to keep up the scare tactics, Tam!
Here are my requirements for a name:
1) Must be a cool name: subjective, I know, but important
2) Must be easy to yell when out hunting: a name like Princess Consuela Banana Hammock just ain't gonna work
3) Must be fairly unique: I don't want 2 young girls and 4 other dogs/cats to come running when I yell the name
So, whaddya think? Got any good names for the new girl? Personally, I really like Scandinavian names. Jill - do you and Leif have any good girl names for us? Leave a comment and give it your best shot. Heck, if you suggest the winning name, I'll even offer a prize. Not sure what, but a prize of some sort. Maybe a post purely about YOU, the winner...or some poop for your eye! Yuk!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
