tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28290441082331915862024-03-21T11:05:20.550-05:00Beware of the Wild Man!Various ramblings of a deranged hockey fan and outdoor junkie.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-59744641042335473042010-03-25T12:44:00.004-05:002010-04-14T08:55:20.337-05:00I was-a-RUNNANG!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWLljrSEm8UugGklUc65HpSPz_3VqNbKm7wMmtOtGYNzoAB-FSJreRolldyiy3qC9YHPQAw8E539faYrS_AZSrQkMQK_8vMIqHMOqCyfL6LshibyOlWY8UcjY0YLqvi6cBnmmyvGK5M4U/s1600/forrest.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWLljrSEm8UugGklUc65HpSPz_3VqNbKm7wMmtOtGYNzoAB-FSJreRolldyiy3qC9YHPQAw8E539faYrS_AZSrQkMQK_8vMIqHMOqCyfL6LshibyOlWY8UcjY0YLqvi6cBnmmyvGK5M4U/s320/forrest.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452628977758830258" /></a>It's Mrs. Wildman's fault. She encouraged me. She prodded me. She dared me. So I started running. I was not being chased by a bear nor by the police - the only 2 justifications for running that I've held for over 35 years. There I was, shiny shoes and all, and I was-a-RUNNANG! (spoken with Forrest Gump accent)<br /><br />We ran a 5K together last June, then another of 4th of July. Now I'm signed up to run a half marathon next month, less than a year after I choked, wheezed, and drug my sorry hind end on <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/2008/07/move-over-bruce-jenner.html">the first voluntary run ever of my adult life </a>(and that was just the first 2 blocks). Now I find myself looking at marathon schedules, training programs, triathlon regimens and diets...what is wrong with me?!?!? Perhaps I'm having a mid-life exercise crisis. If that's the case, so be it. Worst case scenario, I pull a hammy and end up on the couch, or I actually achieve my goals and end up getting tattoos to commemorate them. Either way, the experience is worth it, I guess.<br /><br />So there you have it. Mr. Wildman is slowly becoming Mr. "Run Like The [slow, gently blowing] Wind" Wildman, one step at a time.<br /><br />Citius-Altius-FortiusBlazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-60467860912763117222009-09-10T14:26:00.013-05:002010-02-10T16:24:39.258-06:00The Adventures of Ducka and Dooger: Part 3<span style="font-weight:bold;">ADD v3: Sticky Fingers</span><br />Bill Clinton was asked during an interview why he messed around with Monica Lewinsky. His reply, "...because I could." Bill must've learned his moves from Ducka, cuz he did some stupid crap for no other reason than "...because I could". <br /><br />Summer was high time to swim in the river, fish, <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/2008/07/adventures-of-ducka-and-dooger-part-1.html">paint turtles</a>, and bike all over town. One of our frequented destinations was Swede's Market, the closet dime store to our homes, and the source of much joy and trouble. <br /><br />I'd shave a pittance off my sub-welfare allowance (though I worked more hours than my step-dad, Little K), and peel out heading to Swede's. If I was lucky, I would have enough for a pouch of Big League Chew and a can of "Rondo! The thirst quencher! *crunch*". Ducka, on the other hand, felt earning allowances and spending that said money was all a waste of time. Who needs that when Swede's Old Hag (SOH) never pays attention anyway?<br /><br />So there we were, on a mid-week afternoon, in the heat of the summer. We had been riding bikes all morning, jumping curbs and cutting corners through people's yards when we decided to build a jump at the end of the 8th Street dock and take the plunge - nobody ever used the boat launch mid-day during the week anyway. We'd start on top of the hill, pick up some speed, then cruise down the dock and jump our bikes into the moving current of the Sludgewater River. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlICmpQcyR23TnQPOI_bCcIT27whn6OmQXx3xz0FV-mYJGdcPHT1g40A_wBXPeeYlO2zU1eJl13pj7tiZWQsUxhNSKtttDFlu18l19G6zs6V6nrgquOiQWCiyZx9tfrYen0zL3CVOzDw/s1600-h/ck6000.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlICmpQcyR23TnQPOI_bCcIT27whn6OmQXx3xz0FV-mYJGdcPHT1g40A_wBXPeeYlO2zU1eJl13pj7tiZWQsUxhNSKtttDFlu18l19G6zs6V6nrgquOiQWCiyZx9tfrYen0zL3CVOzDw/s320/ck6000.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379932291267826418" /></a>My bike was pretty heavy (steel mags sink fast!), and had to struggle to bring my bike up out of the 6-7 feet of water we landed in. (My bike was a yellow & blue Coast King 6000, same frame & mags as this red one - SUH WEET!) The current didn't help either - just ask Bucky Linder, who once lost his bike for a couple hours after taking a header into the current. Someone snagged it fishing that evening down by the bridge, and he had to pay $5 to get it back. He was heckled enough by the older kids that he cried and ended up swallowing his Copenhagen juice, causing a green shade to come over his 8th grade complexion, but I digress.<br /><br />I had taken great measures to hide my allowance under a rock in the landscaping along the bridge - didn't want any soggy Washingtons for Swede's Old Hag (SOH). After an hour or two of trying to do different (failed) tricks off the dock jump, resulting in a collection of bruises, belly flops, and faceplants - including a nice raspberry on Ducka's chin - we were looking for something to do. <br /><br />"Whaddya wanna do now?" asked Ducka.<br />"I brought my candy cash for a Swede's run", I replied.<br />A resounding "Great idea, Dooger!" came from the Duck.<br /><br />We decided to celebrate our newly tested dock-jumping manhood with an ice cream sandwich, a Rondo or Grape Crush, and a handful of Bazooka $.01 gum. I retrieved my cash stash and we pedaled our half naked, dripping butts to the brick box of a store.<br /><br />One thing about Swede's - fat people never shopped there. They couldn't. The aisles were roughly 10" wide, or at least they felt that way. It was a hassle to run into someone in the same row - much easier to go around the next aisle. I'm still not sure how SOH got from the front door to the cash register? The tight quarters may explain why Ducka's scheme wasn't initially picked up on by SOH. <br /><br />Ducka never mentioned that he didn't have any money with him, but hey - the 5 finger discount would cover anything he wanted today. I picked out my Rondo, a pouch of Big League Chew, and started eating my ice cream sandwich at the register in front of SOH with my dollar and change on the counter. She was reading her usual Ann Landers column and didn't even bother looking up at me. Ducka was working up & down the candy aisle, over to the chips, then back to the soup/pasta area. I didn't think anything of it, but he was stuffing candy into every nook & cranny of his shorts while SOH guffawed over someone else's relationship misfortunes - something she knew nothing about. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrSFl-KXYqQX8bj5oZKkMh1CXChL-UJeekPWvDpbhAyhzlRywp2BOUuYzzQkTp7z31V0at3X-arMzbzkSExqG9C_lTC4hDu2pfHkBhKDRfxBx0ucXxNcFBS78nmpvwIwmeXJPoD9azMk/s1600-h/youth76.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 162px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrSFl-KXYqQX8bj5oZKkMh1CXChL-UJeekPWvDpbhAyhzlRywp2BOUuYzzQkTp7z31V0at3X-arMzbzkSExqG9C_lTC4hDu2pfHkBhKDRfxBx0ucXxNcFBS78nmpvwIwmeXJPoD9azMk/s320/youth76.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379945236341960450" /></a>Ducka was obviously having fun doing this, and was getting a bit bold...and stupid. He grabbed a couple Bazookas and walked past me at the register. Of course, he could barely pass without knocking me over due to the 10" aisles, and he tried slipping the gum into my hand. I had no clue what was happening, and the gum hit the floor. There was a splash of psychotic fear and total exhilaration in Ducka's eyes, but SOH never looked up. Ducka grabbed the gum, walked another aisle, and plowed into me again, and the gum hit the old wood floors a 2nd time. This time the Hag smelled a rat, and glanced up over her bifocals. A couple minutes later, Ducka made a 3rd fly-by with a pile of Tootsie rolls, Bazooka gums, and small jawbreakers in his hand. I silently shook my head and mouthed "No! No!". I should've known - you can't stop Ducka when he's in motion. My hand opened, a dozen or so candies hit my palm, and the remaining 5-6 loudly hit the floor.<br /><br />The Hag jumped to her feet. <br />Lightning shot from her eyes and seared fear directly into my soul. <br />Ducka's mouth was silently hanging wide open - the breath gone from his skinny little frame.<br />The 3 of us stood in an awkward moment frozen in time. <br />As the Hag unsuccessfully tried to dislodge herself from behind the register and nab the 2 troublemakers just out of reach, Ducka yelled "Let's get outta here!" and bolted for the door. Not knowing what to do, I chased after him after I grabbed my Chew and Rondo off the counter. <br />"You kids get back here right now!" the SOH bellered.<br />"Screw you, Hag!" was Ducka's intelligent response from the front door of the store. <br /><br />I hopped on the old CK6000 and spun those steel mags like a Corvette engine. Ducka also got on his bike, and I could hear him taunt the SOH a couple more times as he picked up all the candy that just fell out of his shorts. We both got away clean, and peeled off on the first bike trail into the woods.<br /><br />We never made another trip to Swede's after that when the rusted army green Dodge Aries was parked outside. That was the SOH-mobile. We never spoke a word of that experience to anyone, or each other. It was almost as if it never happened. <br /><br />In that vein, I'm sure if you asked Ducka about it today, he'd take a cue from old Bill Clinton and say:<br /><br />"I never had relations with that candy or that lady, Swede's Old Hag". <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGAmFEt7LCqc212r3u93isIYdG7IcWQPe0hTDC6WQ9nu0sZLMHshh_4sqSfbuGwxgLVe-01Fdtzt064a5XowfYgITXYf_mnIgVzZ2RuTzy4-LOj4iDNk5PJxXxijbdFDxnONT6_8H1EDs/s1600-h/badbily..jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGAmFEt7LCqc212r3u93isIYdG7IcWQPe0hTDC6WQ9nu0sZLMHshh_4sqSfbuGwxgLVe-01Fdtzt064a5XowfYgITXYf_mnIgVzZ2RuTzy4-LOj4iDNk5PJxXxijbdFDxnONT6_8H1EDs/s320/badbily..jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379949093305056018" /></a><br /><br />Good times.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-21950344246288217252009-02-27T09:38:00.003-06:002009-02-27T09:41:51.359-06:00Wildman Jr., - Ladies ManMrs. Wildman shared a gem with me yesterday morning - it seems young Mr. Wildman Jr. has been working' his mojo on the playground and in the hallways at school. He's had an on-again/off-again "girlfriend" and it appears they're more "on-again" than off. Previously overheard from Wildman Jr.: "We were in love, but then we broke up."<br /><br />Then this note appears. Perhaps part of the break-up settlement?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvadLNt47p09OKqCpQlInhXQocLSfVusc-NICFHQvLdGPdz9O_Itt3OzIdouq85ps4KeDGYFwsa9FGYMy4vJI_YI9fv1iPfKsIg4dBawz3qJIZzsgdTZdYefxOjEwfPIfmC49TcENCrio/s1600-h/wildman_jr_lovenote.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvadLNt47p09OKqCpQlInhXQocLSfVusc-NICFHQvLdGPdz9O_Itt3OzIdouq85ps4KeDGYFwsa9FGYMy4vJI_YI9fv1iPfKsIg4dBawz3qJIZzsgdTZdYefxOjEwfPIfmC49TcENCrio/s200/wildman_jr_lovenote.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307502206454153010" /></a><br /><br />Don't worry, it wasn't a real hamster - it was a Littlest Pet Shop hamster. Its remains were included in the makeshift envelope, busted up head and all. The real point of interest here isn't the broken hamster, however. To me, the points of interest are:<br /><br />1) Wildman Jr. is still working the relationship, offering a treasured prize as a gift to the one he fancies<br />2) She had obviously reciprocated (in some 3rd grade fashion) and was carrying said prize as a gift from "her guy"<br />3) Whether on-again or off-again, she clearly left the door open to try and repay him, trying to making it right. I think I see an ice cream date in the making.<br /><br />Gotta give him credit - 8 yrs old and Wildman Jr. is proving to be a ladies man.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-23618661491835642032009-02-25T09:31:00.004-06:002011-06-13T12:42:56.570-05:00Coincidence? I think NOT!Driving in to work today, I passed a mini-van with the below bumper sticker plastered on the back window:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjx6Zxj-cNVKl81SDt6_s8DKNIqODDQtF-dwEzHE_mAwa3hTXQQyCGYo6cWmBYJ1fkHLzYaYaBh0e9yLLkvYajg97KdT3EoZJ8QQzyB-Zaqo_kGO1AopKAKJqX7LGAsv5yIoyVNpqpoo/s1600-h/i_heart_ds.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 67px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjx6Zxj-cNVKl81SDt6_s8DKNIqODDQtF-dwEzHE_mAwa3hTXQQyCGYo6cWmBYJ1fkHLzYaYaBh0e9yLLkvYajg97KdT3EoZJ8QQzyB-Zaqo_kGO1AopKAKJqX7LGAsv5yIoyVNpqpoo/s200/i_heart_ds.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306759488740627730" /></a><br /><br />The very next vehicle in front of her was a crappy old rusty Volvo with this bumper sticker plastered on back (holding the bumper together):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images1.cpcache.com/product/189359461v2_480x480_Front.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 250px;" src="http://images1.cpcache.com/product/189359461v2_480x480_Front.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Coincidence? I think NOT.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-81255403380658187322009-02-20T16:51:00.005-06:002009-02-20T16:55:01.111-06:00Faceplant<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www1.cw56.com/images/news_articles/389x205/citigroup.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 389px; height: 205px;" src="http://www1.cw56.com/images/news_articles/389x205/citigroup.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">My Employer</span><br /><br />Citigroup stock on 2/12/07 (my start date) - $53.40/share<br />Citigroup stock on 2/20/09 (today) - $1.62/share<br /><br />You don't think there's any coincidence here, do you?Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-77977808370129468702008-11-25T16:05:00.003-06:002008-11-25T16:08:22.272-06:00The Great Facebook ExperimentSpeaking 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/2008/07/adventures-of-ducka-and-dooger-part-1.html">Ducka</a>! 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!<br /><br />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)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3h2Rqoaw7hk&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3h2Rqoaw7hk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-5178317233214248592008-11-25T15:03:00.003-06:002008-11-25T15:07:07.797-06:00Pulse 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!<br /><br />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:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Flights To/Fro:</span> A<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Weather: </span>A+<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Hotel: </span>B+ (could've used a coffee maker!)<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Epcot: </span>A (street performers and Soarin' were personal favs)<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Magic Kingdom: </span>A+ (could've used another day here - favs were Space & Splash Mtn)<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Animal Kingdom: </span>A- (Everest Roller Coaster ROCKED!)<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Hollywood Studios: </span>A (Tower of Terror is a MUST, esp for Twilight Zone fans. Nightly Light Show too.)<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Overall Food Rating: </span>A- <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Kids' attitudes: </span>A+<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">My untanned legs in shorts: </span>D-<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Overall Disney Experience: </span>A+<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">High points of the trip:</span><br />* Kids' first plane ride<br />* Ms. Wildgirl Jr. learning to love roller coasters (previously HATED them)<br />* Mr. Wildman Jr. going ballistic in the Lego Land Store (his eyes rolled back in his head - I swear!)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Low points of the trip:</span><br />* Riding the Star Wars ride at Hollywood Studios immediately after inhaling another pile of Italian Food and a couple beers<br />* Leaving the hotel at 4am to come home...<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-71676808047392689532008-10-09T14:33:00.005-05:002008-10-09T14:47:02.807-05:00Dizzy-Me World<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiTUhwDsKK7qloS25BzstIsNMYp6lS7ZlevXjJceBsS31yVhRxIuhRx8wG2UBm-QeQFsPQxSx_m4zeHpZzqw9hdHI0IEyv1aZ3FMb16CrEx3y12NJMObhyQ1mOIpcldH_Ya8s2_KpCjPA/s1600-h/DizzyMeWorld.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiTUhwDsKK7qloS25BzstIsNMYp6lS7ZlevXjJceBsS31yVhRxIuhRx8wG2UBm-QeQFsPQxSx_m4zeHpZzqw9hdHI0IEyv1aZ3FMb16CrEx3y12NJMObhyQ1mOIpcldH_Ya8s2_KpCjPA/s200/DizzyMeWorld.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255240316232984082" /></a>One more week...yes, 7 days...til we get to chase <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/ffximage/2006/10/13/mickey_minnie_narrowweb__300x398,0.jpg">rats</a>, <a href="http://wyattgwyon.files.wordpress.com/2008/02/donald-duck-3523d.jpg">ornery ducks</a>, and <a href="http://www.sacredart-murals.co.uk/images/Mural%20Rooms/Disney-Mural/disney-goofy-2.jpg">accident-prone dogs</a>. We're going to <span style="font-weight:bold;">Disney World</span>!<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Do you guys (both my readers) have any Disney pointers/tips for us before we go?Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-3655759813360287992008-09-29T09:04:00.002-05:002011-06-13T12:52:44.065-05:00Jammin'Something about this tune always gets me going.<br /><br /><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_X_1o3Qw4KM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-78238639898037947112008-09-16T16:55:00.003-05:002008-09-23T11:26:46.096-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.eteamz.com/hinsdalecubscouts/images/CubScoutLogo.jpg "><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.eteamz.com/hinsdalecubscouts/images/CubScoutLogo.jpg " border="0" alt="" /></a>Well, it's official. Wildman Jr. and I joined a cult last night. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cub Scouts.</span><br /><br />Reciting the oath. <br />Secret handshakes. <br />Obscure salutes and knots that no sane person can ever remember or legitimately use in their lifetime.<br /><br />It's <span style="font-weight:bold;">AWESOME.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.boyscouttrail.com/i/bear/uniform.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.boyscouttrail.com/i/bear/uniform.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />But let's be honest here - the real reason we joined is cuz chicks dig a man in uniform! <br />(right Mrs. Wildman?)Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-63787374093446891102008-09-16T10:19:00.002-05:002008-09-16T10:22:35.043-05:00The Proverbial Thorn in my PawMiraculously, my albatross of a deck project passed <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/2008/09/t-minus-22hrs.html">inspection</a><br />last Friday...and I only had to bribe the inspector $50 to get it done! Just kidding.<br /><br />Now, powerwash and seal it up...before the snow flies!<br /><br />Deck party at Wildman's! Only 5 people allowed on it at once, though Hahahaha.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-36850777701907302662008-09-11T14:54:00.001-05:002008-09-11T14:56:53.291-05:00My 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:<br /><br />Here's an intergalactic booya from <span style="font-weight:bold;">Brawi Mohom</span>!<br /><br /><table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2><tr><td bgcolor="#EEEEEE" align=center><br /><font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'><br /><strong>Your Star Wars Name And Title</strong><br /></font></td></tr><br /><tr><td bgcolor="#FFFFFF"><br /><center><img src="http://www.blogthingsimages.com/starwarsnameandtitlegenerator/swname.jpg" height="100" width="100"></center><br /><font color="#000000"><br />Your Star Wars Name: Brawi Mohom<br /><br /><br /><br />Your Star Wars Title: Namstr of Ekim<br /></font></td></tr></table><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://www.blogthings.com/starwarsnameandtitlegenerator/">What Is Your Star Wars Name and Title?</a></div>Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-65003312904053719222008-09-11T14:47:00.005-05:002008-09-11T14:50:12.727-05:00T-minus 22hrs...til our deck inspection. <br />Got some work to do tonight...<br />Hope the dang thing passes...<br />It's only been 2 years that I've been working on it...<br />Ugh.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">To all my friends and neighbors: </span>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 <span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">other </span></span>projects).Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-73789572933020920062008-09-11T14:15:00.003-05:002008-09-11T14:19:52.061-05:00Everyone's Got An Opinion...Opinions are like ________: we all have one and they all stink, right? Hahaha... (especially when it comes to politics)<br /><br />Well, to follow <a href="http://gallaghernews.blogspot.com/2008/09/who-should-you-vote-for.html">Tammy's lead</a>, I decided to take the quiz, not that I needed someone (or someTHING) else to tell me who I'm voting for...<br /><br />Here's the dirt:<br /><table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2><tr><td bgcolor="#EEEEEE" align=center><br /><font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'><br /><strong>Your Issue Profile: 8% Obama, 92% McCain</strong><br /></font></td></tr><br /><tr><td bgcolor="#FFFFFF"><br /><center><img src="http://www.blogthingsimages.com/shouldyouvoteformccainorobamaquiz/mcob-5.jpg" height="100" width="100"></center><br /><font color="#000000"><br />The results are in, and John McCain is definitely your choice.<br /><br />You're probably not surprised. It's possible you've had your eye on McCain for years.<br /><br /><br /><br />Popular or not, you will likely stick by McCain. For you, it's a matter of principle.<br /><br />And besides, there's something exciting about rooting for the underdog!<br /></font></td></tr></table><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://www.blogthings.com/shouldyouvoteformccainorobamaquiz/">Should You Vote for Obama or McCain?</a></div>Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-68817633019510776702008-08-28T16:18:00.002-05:002011-06-13T12:57:51.311-05:00The Adventures of Ducka and Dooger: Part 2<span style="font-weight:bold;">ADD v2: Unabomber Wannabes</span><br />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. <br /><br />Ducka and I had been doing all the usual summertime tricks to keep ourselves entertained: <br />* we went swimming of the high willow tree platform<br />* we biked to Swede's and Erl's Store for candy<br />* we fished in and kneeboarded behind the Turtle Wagon regularly<br />* we built bike jumps so we could injure ourselves and trash our bikes<br />* we burned ants with the magnifying glass and started miscellaneous fires<br />* we had fights with the old metal tipped Jarts, throwing them at each other like tennis balls<br />...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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.a-human-right.com/_brick22.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.a-human-right.com/_brick22.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>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 <span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">we</span></span> had access to the ammo, a fresh new "brick" of .22 shells.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Ruled out ideas included:<br />* putting it in our Hotwheels cars and turbo-launch them off a jump<br />* blow up living creatures: all the birds had hatched and left their nests<br />* disfiguring all of Ducka's little brother's toys - that task was already complete <br /><br />Then genius struck: let's make a mega-firecracker!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1216/1324125256_9bcce20652.jpg?v=0"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1216/1324125256_9bcce20652.jpg?v=0" border="0" alt="" /></a>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!<br /><br />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!<br /><br />As if you need any warning...<br />** Please note the series of BONEHEAD MOVES in the coming paragraphs and <span style="font-weight:bold;">do not try this at home.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Location:</span> 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.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Plan:</span> we decided I would hold the MC, Ducka would light it, and I'd turn and throw it in the trees toward the woodpile.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Event:</span> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img441.imageshack.us/img441/2246/volare0492038c6uo8.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://img441.imageshack.us/img441/2246/volare0492038c6uo8.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>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.<br /><br />"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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />My fingers healed.<br />Ducka's arm eventually healed up.<br />The garage door got repainted and the siding re-stained at some point.<br />We both got grounded for a couple weeks.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Lessons Learned:</span><br />1. Markers make terrible bombs, and toilet paper sucks as a fuse.<br />2. You can empty gun powder out of a brick of .22 shells in about 15 minutes.<br />3.Never get eye-level with any fireworks when lighting.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Counting our Blessings:</span><br />We're lucky it was only Ducka's arm that got burnt.<br />We're lucky the cedar siding on Ducka's house didn't ignite.<br />We're also lucky I never successfully threw a LIT MC into the woods - it would've torched the neighborhood.<br />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.<br /><br />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.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-1279288025129211802008-08-18T12:42:00.008-05:002010-03-25T13:35:02.612-05:00McBudmart<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwnJv9P-UVHgZFMl71YRS0njmMwKcqHVtm8iXkrxzf89zCa3t05OjIOBM6un_G_Uog0GmNM1G2bJmp4yEJaB2Tx3OYx0kpq9zCsk9RlyySPkf3p0IokHfoKJnkrrv8Xm-tkG08aQszSc/s1600/olympics1.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 146px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwnJv9P-UVHgZFMl71YRS0njmMwKcqHVtm8iXkrxzf89zCa3t05OjIOBM6un_G_Uog0GmNM1G2bJmp4yEJaB2Tx3OYx0kpq9zCsk9RlyySPkf3p0IokHfoKJnkrrv8Xm-tkG08aQszSc/s320/olympics1.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452641735882807762" /></a>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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />I'm confident that when you think <span style="font-weight:bold;">Excellence</span>, your first association would be <span style="font-weight:bold;">Walmart</span>!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa175/efitters/humor/walmart.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa175/efitters/humor/walmart.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />I'm convinced that you would immediately associate <span style="font-weight:bold;">Athleticism </span>with <span style="font-weight:bold;">McDonald's</span>!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa175/efitters/humor/mcdonalds.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa175/efitters/humor/mcdonalds.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />And, of course, who wouldn't immediately hear the word <span style="font-weight:bold;">Integrity </span>and want to scream <span style="font-weight:bold;">Budweiser</span>!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa175/efitters/humor/Budweiser07.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa175/efitters/humor/Budweiser07.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />So, how do these three companies become the primary sponsors on NBC for the 2008 Olympics?<br /><br />I have no clue either.<br /><br />Apparently, Budweiser has been doing it for a while.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.breweriana.com/coasters/mat00659.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.breweriana.com/coasters/mat00659.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-20459784284430418672008-08-18T12:02:00.006-05:002008-08-28T12:25:58.916-05:00Quote of the DayA classic burn from one of my favorite hunting dog message boards:<br />(fyi, viper's a wannabe stud boy and lvr's a very witty gal)<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">viper296:</span><br />Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for my Playgirl photo shoot.</blockquote><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">lvrdg07:</span><br />Oh, I didn't know you were a photographer.</blockquote><br /><br />Touché.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-32492077522443320972008-08-14T13:46:00.022-05:002011-06-13T13:42:16.112-05:00Questions That Haunt Us!<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKAMXG1PEueLvlHZd2eQxhUtMUr4kuqVBYiN9jr6bZ-Qx4y3b8evuPTBSp6aSY8Jjt7lp234HYhxtlQiTtayB_PoDuY9frMXlmX1eIMCPcS3S85zx8TnVYArPmihlPIzKEAqq28TioKHw/s1600-h/wildstein.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKAMXG1PEueLvlHZd2eQxhUtMUr4kuqVBYiN9jr6bZ-Qx4y3b8evuPTBSp6aSY8Jjt7lp234HYhxtlQiTtayB_PoDuY9frMXlmX1eIMCPcS3S85zx8TnVYArPmihlPIzKEAqq28TioKHw/s200/wildstein.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234471507637597154" border="0" /></a>Special thanks to Auntie BKaye for sending this list of "<a href="http://www.deepthoughtsbyjackhandey.com/">Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey</a>" 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.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:12px;" >And, yes - you're welcome.</span><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </div><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:red;" ></span></b><p></p><p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:red;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);">If you have sex with a prostitute against her will, is it considered rape or shoplifting?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">If you make a hooker carsick, is that considered giving her the old "heave-ho"?</span></p> <div style="text-align: center;" align="center"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:green;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">And at what point is it considered a public service?</span><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 14, 239);font-family:Tahoma;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">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?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> It’s a toll fee for spouting off your worthless opinion.</span><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 14, 239);font-family:Tahoma;" > <hr width="95%" align="center" size="2"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:maroon;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes you were buried in for eternity?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Yet another reason to wear your comfy clothes every day.<b> </b></span><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:olive;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why does a round pizza come in a square box?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">So the pizza won't roll away<br />OR<br />Because it's much easier than putting a square pizza in a round box.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:navy;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">What disease did cured ham actually have?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Some </span><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">SPAM </span><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">virus.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:purple;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">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?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> If astronauts had to pack and carry their own bags to the shuttle,<br />they would've figured out the luggage first.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:gray;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why is it that people say they 'slept like a baby' when babies wake up like every two hours?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">And how many of us actually sleep with a nipple in our mouth and crap in our pants?<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(Wait, don't answer that.)</span><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:yellow;" > <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">If a deaf person has to go to court, is it still called a hearing?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">And if he's blind and needs to testify, is he still called an eye-witness?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:teal;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why are you IN a movie, but you're ON TV?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Because it's hard to </span><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">get ON a movie screen or </span><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">fit IN a TV.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 14, 239);font-family:Tahoma;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money in binoculars to look at things on the ground?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Because the grass is always greener…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 14, 239);font-family:Tahoma;" > <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:fuchsia;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why do doctors leave the room while you change? </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"> They're going to see you naked anyway.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Can you spell M-A-L-P-R-A-C-T-I-C-E?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 14, 239);font-family:Tahoma;" > <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:red;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why is 'bra' singular and 'panties' plural?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> And why is a jock strap (singular) actually TWO straps<br />along with the waist band and banana hammock?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:blue;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> To test your smoke detectors.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:teal;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a stupid song about him?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Actually, we do care cuz deep down, we all gotta bit uh Jimmy in us.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div><p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane ?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> Why not – come on, live a little! <span style="font-size:78%;">(pun intended)</span><br />If you get pulled over, jump in the passenger seat and say the other guy was driving.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:green;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">If the professor on Gilligan's </span><st1:place style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);" st="on">Island</st1:place><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"> can make a radio out of a coconut, why can't he fix a hole in a boat?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> Are you kidding me? He had Ginger and Mary Ann stranded on a deserted island!<span style=""><br /></span>Why would he ever consider leaving?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-family:Tahoma;" >Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours?</span><br /><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:olive;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">They're both dogs!</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Goofy has always been an overachiever trying to overcompensate for the horrid name his parents gave him.</span></p><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:navy;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">If Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that ACME crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">ACME didn’t offer food items in their catalogs.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:purple;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, what is baby oil made from?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> Check the label – does it say “Made in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">China</st1:place></st1:country-region>”?<br />That would explain some things.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:olive;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Morality coming from morons is pretty oxymoronic...<br />is there such a thing as oxymorality? <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:navy;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Do the Alphabet song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Yes, but the Alphabet song obviously came first.<span style=""><br /></span>Otherwise, they wouldn’t have known how to write the lyrics for<br />Twinkle Twinkle…or Baa Baa Blacksheep.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:purple;" > <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:purple;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why did you just try singing the two songs above?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> If an idiot sings in an office and nobody’s there to hear it, does it still sound terrible?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:teal;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Why do they call it an asteroid when it's outside the hemisphere, but call it a hemorrhoid when it's in your butt?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Doesn’t matter – they both tend to orbit Uranus.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">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?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> Well if you’d quit farting in the car…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <hr width="95%" align="center" size="3"> </span></b></div> <p style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;color:fuchsia;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Do you ever wonder why you gave me your e-mail address in the first place?</span> </span></b><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:12px;" >You never did “give” it to me…I “acquired it”.</span><br /><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:12px;" ></span></div><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:12px;" > </span><span style=";font-family:Tahoma;font-size:12px;" ><br />** <span style="font-weight: bold;">Edit</span>: a few more Deep Thoughts to add to your day...<br />Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?<br />Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?<br />What is the speed of darkness?<br />If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?<br />Whose idea was it to put an "S" in the word "lisp"?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-3786346077716637362008-07-30T15:31:00.008-05:002008-07-30T15:43:25.548-05:00Instructions are for WussiesI took some time yesterday to browse Ken Rockwell's site <a href="http://www.kenrockwell.com/index.htm" target="_blank">HERE</a>. 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 "<span style="font-style: italic;">point and shoot</span>". 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 <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">read the instructions</span></span>, a task that any red-blooded American male despises.<br /><br />It's a sign of weakness.<br />It shows you're too dumb to figure it out on your own.<br />Half the time, the instructions are written in Mandarin anyway.<br />Besides, that takes <span style="font-weight: bold;">time</span>, something we men don't give up easily.<br /><br />Other items I've never read the Instruction Manuals for:<br />* <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">42" Samsung flat panel LCD TV</span> - just like any other TV, right?<br />* <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">My BOSE home theater system</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>- sounds like a tin can.<br />* <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">My boat & motor</span> - I2ABDFI: if it ain't broke, don't fix it!<br />* <span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Any kitchen appliance</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>- toaster handle goes down, toast comes up.<br />* <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Any vehicle I've ever owned</span> - I pay mechanics for that.<br />* <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Any electrical gadget I've owned</span> - again, I2ABDFI!<br />* <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Our kids</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>- is there one?<br /><br />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? <br /><br />Yeah, I figured it was.<br /><br />I bet you stop and ask for directions too. What fun is that?Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-73122278233267671522008-07-25T14:43:00.014-05:002010-02-10T16:13:17.802-06:00The Adventures of Ducka and Dooger: Part 1<span style="font-weight:bold;">ADD v1: The Turtle Wagon</span><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />And so, the adventure begins.<br /><br />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. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQB1uvISR64REq3F4a6L-mfEZWifWi2NN78gJrI_jspseFBi6fggmlcJV_95Aavyf06IotafrBbsV4dqGAITmerML5t7f-FvbeD_pQ-PrhzsUVlxU0WQMvDlFRBt3kfIRIP39i8UvG5Y/s1600-h/lund14_johnson.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQB1uvISR64REq3F4a6L-mfEZWifWi2NN78gJrI_jspseFBi6fggmlcJV_95Aavyf06IotafrBbsV4dqGAITmerML5t7f-FvbeD_pQ-PrhzsUVlxU0WQMvDlFRBt3kfIRIP39i8UvG5Y/s320/lund14_johnson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436741009782187666" /></a>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.<br /><br />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*<br /><br />As a general rule, we always headed upstream for two reasons:<br />1) if we ran out of gas, we could always drift home with the current<br />2) the dam was a half mile downstream from Ducka's place<br /><br />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.<br /><br />That's a dangerous proposition.<br />And it's not likely.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Wanna catch some rockies at the Jordet tree again?", I asked.<br />"Nah, they're too easy, and we've already caught 'em all at least 3 times. Their lips are full 'o holes."<br />"Yeah, guess yer right. How 'bout we jump off Cement Bridge?"<br />"We can try, but I think we only got enuff gas to make it half way there today."<br />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?"<br />"Where?", I said, wiping Coke off my shirt and climbing up off the floor of the boat.<br />"On that log by Olson's dock - must be 20 of 'em!"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.sivertson.com/Images/Turtlesonalog_353x237.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://www.sivertson.com/Images/Turtlesonalog_353x237.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Sure enough, all the turtles were sprawled out in summertime fashion, soaking up the rays.<br />"Grab the net!" yelled Ducka, so I did.<br />"I'm gonna fly right at 'em and throw it in reverse at the last second - you scoop as many as you can!"<br />"Ok - sounds good." I said, not quite sure how this would play out.<br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Titanic </span>fashion, net hoisted high and ready to scoop.<br /><br />The turtles must've been asleep, or else they really are that slow.<br />They didn't start bailing off the log til we got about 8' from them.<br />"Here we go!", announced the captain in back.<br />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.<br />"Guess I didn't hit reverse in time" Ducka said in a completely unapologetic tone.<br />"Yeah, no kidding", I responded as I pulled myself back in the boat. "Back up so I can find the net."<br />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.<br /><br />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!"<br />The boat was clipping forward at a good pace, then lurched as Ducka slammed it in reverse and twisted the throttle.<br /><br />Turtles flew everywhere.<br />I scooped the net.<br />It came up heavy.<br /><br />"Five turtles!", I exclaimed. "Sweet!"<br />I turned around and dumped the turtles in the bottom of the boat.<br />"Let's get some more." said Ducka, and we were off again.<br /><br />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.<br />"Now what do we do?"<br />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.<br /><br />Spray paint.<br />Blaze orange spray paint.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Then word got around. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />"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?"<br />"Dunno, mus be sum new breed takin o'er."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Closest thing I could find to describe the first log experience:<br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/M5rWO2qL6WQ&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/M5rWO2qL6WQ&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-80171691964683093492008-07-25T10:49:00.007-05:002008-07-25T11:00:07.436-05:00Maybe Uncle Frank was right......apparently I <span style="font-weight:bold;">am </span>worthless.<br /><br />I came across a blog valuation tool that simply validated my suspicions (and yours too): <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">This blog is worth Zero Deniro.</span></span><br /><br /><div style="border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); padding: 0pt 0pt 10px; background-color: white; width: 115px; text-align: center;"><p style="margin: 0pt;"><a href="http://www.business-opportunities.biz/"><img src="http://images.business-opportunities.biz/blogworth/gw.jpg" style="border: 0pt none ;" /></a><br /> <span style="font-size:11;">My <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/">blog</a> is worth <b>$0.00</b>.</span><br /><span style="font-size:10;"><a href="http://www.business-opportunities.biz/projects/how-much-is-your-blog-worth/">How much is your blog worth?</a></span></p><p><a href="http://www.technorati.com/" style="border: 0px none ;"><img src="http://technorati.com/pix/tech-logo-embed.gif" style="border: 0px none ;" /></a></p></div><br />Do you have a blog? If so, click the link and leave me a message braggin' about how much your blog is worth.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-74916905432556415872008-07-23T12:26:00.002-05:002008-07-23T12:27:22.927-05:00Who Needs Vegas?I'd rather stay at this Bellagio than the one out in the middle of the desert.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7QQORWLJdxg&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7QQORWLJdxg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Minnesotans sure love their fishing, eh?Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-63425080350812668122008-07-21T15:18:00.001-05:002008-07-21T15:20:44.497-05:00Weekly Re-entryMondays.Suck.<br /><br />Re-entering the corporate world after enjoying a "<span style="font-style:italic;">real life</span>" for a couple days is hard.<br />It's like getting up when the alarm goes off.<br />You don't want to, and it sucks at first, but you know you'll be fine once you get going.<br /><br />Or like jumping into the lake.<br />That first plunge makes your heart jump into your throat, but you eventually get used to the water and you're just fine.<br /><br />Or like going to the proctologist.<br />Oh, wait...that <span style="font-style:italic;">really </span>sucks.<br /><br />And, in case you're wondering, there were no <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/2008/07/workplace-confessions.html">apple fritters </a>today.Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-51906221284020580392008-07-10T13:31:00.007-05:002008-12-11T01:49:57.033-06:00DING: Round 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0DQJ0hEnTov6n8aPDNmnYCe2jagUbz1BYhlWFD_cFMr7HSEPa-xQHdi-eo2AUdRxpEXt0sG7k3w0RoO3YDf0nskZFrttfBChdkwVYsi9LFOCFTVGNSigCunMYzqSi_w-hKkXXyKZi8fo/s1600-h/MSPweather_20080710.jpg" target=_blank><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0DQJ0hEnTov6n8aPDNmnYCe2jagUbz1BYhlWFD_cFMr7HSEPa-xQHdi-eo2AUdRxpEXt0sG7k3w0RoO3YDf0nskZFrttfBChdkwVYsi9LFOCFTVGNSigCunMYzqSi_w-hKkXXyKZi8fo/s200/MSPweather_20080710.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221455077796010850" /></a>Actually, it should be <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Round 3</span></span>:<br />Rounds 1 & 2 had some <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/2008/06/what-hail-is-going-on-here.html" target=_blank>lovely results</a>.<br /><br />Beautiful weather here in the Minneapolis area today:<br />3" hail just west of my office...<br />Radar showing rotation a couple miles north of my office...<br /><br />All heck breaking loose <span style="font-weight:bold;">inside <span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span>my office...<br />(oh, wait - that's normal)<br /><br />And it's not even a Monday!<br /><br />My office is hiding somewhere in the middle of all that <font color="red"><span style="font-weight:bold;">red</span></font>.<br />And did I mention, my coworker left his car windows open?<br />Hehehehehehe!Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2829044108233191586.post-14657077032418935762008-07-10T10:46:00.010-05:002008-07-10T13:31:48.364-05:00Mr. Browncup NOW Mr. Blackcan<span style="font-style:italic;">(For those who tuned in for my <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/2008/05/mr-browncup.html" target="_blank">Mr. Browncup </a>posts...)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i45.photobucket.com/albums/f58/Khaos669/Profile%20Pics/396beca4.gif" target="_blank"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 100px;" src="http://i45.photobucket.com/albums/f58/Khaos669/Profile%20Pics/396beca4.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">UPDATE: </span>I love caffeine.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />While on <a href="http://mnwildman.blogspot.com/2008/07/water-sunshine-and-schweinehaxe.html" target="_blank">vacation </a>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 <a href="http://www.monsterenergy.com/product/kaos.php" target="_blank">Mr. Blackcan</a>, 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 <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">must </span></span>be healthy, right? According to the can:<br /><blockquote><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">It's Alive...</span><br />Monster Khaos, an insane <br />Juice-Monster hybrid bubbling <br />with the great Monster taste <br />and the big bad buzz you<br />know and love.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">50% juice - 100% Monster!</span><br /></center></blockquote><br />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.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">WARNING: </span>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.<br /><br />So, GAME ON, just like a fresh-out-of-ritalin ADHD kid...Blazehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04804219385821440827noreply@blogger.com0