Pics of random adventures in a local canyon

This was about three years or so ago. I was doing an eighty-foot rappel. This section was fun because you would drop down with nothing to touch for thirty feet. You can see that I just kicked off and am about to fly down. It's all kid's stuff, though.
This is an example of the stuff that I find off of the beaten path and why I really like finding mines. Pictured above is part of a steam compressor that has been abandoned for over a century. Oh, and the mines...They are a bit scary, I admit. But I am not too afraid to pop in and see what might be lurking in them. I occasionally find big ones; however, most are small prospects that either never produced or the ores were so poor as to not be profitable. Some mines later served as a hideout for moonshiners. Even more interesting are the mines that were used as scams. These played out or phony holes were "salted" with gold from a shotgun blast (the shot replaced with some amount of real gold or silver) or other method, so that crooks could lure in investors and then run off with their money. With gold at today's prices, you'd really have to con some serious money out of someone in order to make it worthwhile. It's these kind of stories that intrigue me the most, not the hole itself. I also like hiking to "death" cars. Having a couple of connections to search and rescue, I get the low down on these grizzly places. This one was particularly gruesome. Three guys came down a dirt canyon road at night and missed a corner. This is what a six hundred foot tumble looks like. Two guys died, with one of those guy's head getting completely crushed. The third guy was thrown out of the Jeep a third of the way down. Although he was seriously injured, he crawled up the incline to the road, nearly died, but then was found and saved. It may seem a bit weird, but I know of guys who have scavenged these wrecks to fix their own vehicles. Don't worry, I would never do something like that.
Then you have more appealing to the masses stuff: waterfalls. I would have to say that checking out waterfalls is my first love when it comes to hiking. Just to give you some scale on this picture, that rock on the right is about twelve feet tall. A sad story about this waterfall: A girl fell to her death here about ten years ago. She was with her boyfriend. They were walking around the rocks at the top and she slipped and fell head first down to the bottom. Her boyfriend scrambled down the hole (the bottom is a very treacherous spot to get to) only to find that he could not do anything to help her. So, he ran down the canyon as fast as he could to get help. In fact, he ran so hard that he broke some bones in his feet from the impact. It was not enough, though, and it was later determined that she had died instantly.
Well, I can't have a bummer ending for y'all, so I thought I'd include my other favorite thing to find on my expeditions: finding rock art. Now, this panel was not in the same canyon as the previous pictures, but is still in my hometown. These simple figures were probably drawn by some Shoshone or possibly Blackfeet--they were both in the area before the settlers came and pushed them out. I've found better examples of rock art outside of my backyard, but I still enjoy hiking up and looking at these little bunny-eared stick figures.

Solo Expedition, Nov. 20, 2011: Discovery/Excavation of Tunnel

This site is high up on the mountain. I drove up a dirt road up one canyon and then hiked down to this location. It's really steep. You take a tumble and it will take awhile to stop rolling.
Anyway, these might look like your everyday rock outcroppings, but underneath lies something hidden. I got a feeling looking at this ridge line, from a canyon road miles away, that there was something man made here that had been taken back by mother nature or TNT.You can see my ruck sack and pickaxe, ready to go to work on what I could tell was the remnants of an old prospect.After about a solid hour of swinging my pick, leveraging out some pretty big rocks, I managed to break through. This confirmed that I wasn't smoking old ropes from the garden shed after all. What you see is the largest I could make the opening, due to a massive rock slab that had fallen from the ceiling wouldn't let me dig the hole taller or wider. It was time to either leave, tape a camera to a willing squirrel, or suck in my gut and squeeze through this birth canal. I chose the last one...and it was almost the last choice I ever made.
The slide in was terrifying. I had a sharp rock digging right into my back while my stomach was trying to slug crawl over a smooth domed rock. I relaxed and let gravity take me down into the pit. In the picture above you can see a tunnel that is pristine. Nobody has been here for many decades, if not, a whole hundred years. There were no indications of footprints in the dirt, litter, or animal nests. From what I could tell, it was a very old prospect that collapsed not long after it had been abandoned. I was rather excited to be the first in a long time to be in this place. Little did I know that soon I would be in serious trouble. Though, the euphoria I was experiencing didn't let on that I was waltzing into my tomb--usually when one is giggling and stumbling around in the dark, it isn't deep inside a mountain hole that they just dug their way into.Bad air in mine shafts is something that I've certainly read and heard about. I clearly knew better than to just jump in this hole without a buddy, without more safety precautions, and (duh) letting the damned thing air out for a week. I was too jazzed to remember these important details to not leap in like I was chasing a leprechaun into his den. Like I said earlier, I started feeling euphoric. I was getting dizzy and started laughing for no apparent reason, other than it just felt good. I don't know what I was breathing, but it wasn't oxygen. It was probably carbon dioxide or possibly methane gas. The moment that I realized that I was suffocating, I got my wits back enough to turn around and head back the hundred or so feet that I had walked in. Despite my legs feeling heavier than lead at this point, my retreat was frantic, bumping into the sides of the tunnel as I weaved.The sight of blue light coming from the entrance calmed me down. Despite the urgency of the situation, this was picture worthy--I mean, it was like a micro rapture happening for me right then and there. It's hard to express the terror I was experiencing, yet somehow I was still in some strange la-la land of foggy elation. These feelings were all going on while I was thinking about potential death and how to escape from it. Nobody could even know what was happening to me at this time. It was all me and the Great Gazoo.

I laid down on the ground for awhile where this picture was taken. I could literally taste the air on my tongue. However, resting at this spot wasn't getting me enough air. My head was hurting more than I've ever experienced before, with exception of having actual head injuries. I started my crawl up the collapse to my hole, pushing my pack ahead of me.

The thing about climbing up, versus sliding down, is that now I have to use all my muscles to climb out. When I use all my muscles, I get bigger--I can't suck in anything. Simply put, I did not fit. I was smart enough to pop my pickaxe head off and throw it down the hole before hand. I don't know why I did this, but I am glad that I did. This move saved my freakin' bacon. I slithered back a bit and dug out the pickaxe head. I only had enough room to paddle the dirt from side to side, down behind me, as I rocked left to right. This was slow going, but I eventually made enough room to get past the tightest spot, but then my feet didn't have enough room or traction to get me out the rest of the way.

The pickaxe handle was left at the hole (you can actually see it at the top of the hole in the last picture). I reached and grabbed it with my right hand, turned it sideways, wedged it into the sides of the outer rocks, and pulled my body up enough to make it out to safety. I spent another twenty minutes laying outside on the dirt pile I had made. My body was burning, and my head was taking longer to clear than I had expected. Snow flakes started falling all over my body, but I didn't care; it felt good. Embarrassment and triumph are odd feelings to have at the same time, but that is what I felt at that moment. I gathered myself together, thanked God for saving me from my own retardation, and then realized that I still had to hike a long way uphill back to my truck.

Good times: I won't ever do that again by myself. Do you know of any women that like to do this sort of thing?

Just stuff

This last weekend I went for a hike. I was eager to try out some new crampons out on the trail. I've been trying to stay active this winter. Exercising like a normal person at a gym or jogging is not my deal. I need to feel like I am on some adventure; this is my motivator. Anyway, the snowy trails get packed down and then ice over, making it hard to hike safely without using poles or any type of crampon (strap-on spikes for your feet). Full-on crampons are overkill; it's not like I'm trekking over a glacier and scaling walls of ice. So I ordered some medium-duty crampons and received them last week.

The canyon that I hiked up this weekend had more use on its south side. I was not interested in bumping into people, so I went up the north side. At one time, this canyon had a wagon trail up it that miners built to get up to their claim. Ranchers used this way as well to get up to the flats above for grazing. In 1930, overgrazing of the hills and flats above this mining operation led to a small disaster. After a hard rain storm during the spring runoff, and instability from the overgrazing, a flood washed out much of the mine, mill, and road that was located up the canyon. My intentions for choosing this route on the north side of the canyon was to retrace what I could of this wagon trail.

The trail up to the highest Bonneville shoreline was sandy and steep. Approaching the mountain, the trail became overgrown with scrub oak and maples, but I could make out that a wider than normal path existed there at one time. It was at the start of this higher trail that I picked up on moose tracks and scat. This trail took me up into a bottle neck between two cliffs and dropped in just above a small waterfall. It was here that I lost all trace of the wagon trail, but picked up some cougar tracks; I followed.

The surrounding cliffs are prime area for predators to get a good vantage of what is coming up or down this canyon. During warm months, the flats are host to big animals, such as deer and moose, and of course, beaver, which have made more than several dams up there. Birds of prey, bobcats, and mountain lions have prime real estate in this bottle neck, essentially being able to keep tabs on what food is coming through and then pounce on them. Coyotes mostly hang out below on the benches.

I have never had such a hot spot for wildlife this low in my county than in this canyon and on the side I went up. (The south side trail is more developed and popular, but follows the bench and then switch backs ascend up and to the southeast over to another canyon). Most people don't want to deal with unimproved trails and bushwhacking. This is what I count on when I am picking a hike that will give me a more unique experience.

Anyway, I was mostly psyched hiking up, following the moose and cougar tracks. But then I had to make the descent; something about turning my back to the mountain made my hair stand up on end. This feeling of having cat eyes on me was a bit too much. I was at a point where I really needed snow shoes. The snow pack was up to my thighs, and if I had to stand my ground it would be very hard not to appear vulnerable. So I picked up a tree branch and swung it around my head, beat it on tree trunks/rocks, anything to make me look big and threatening. If anybody was able to hear me, they would have been treated to my "outdoor voice" version of self analysis. It's always the same on these more isolated adventures: I'm all brave and eager on the way up, and then paranoid and twitchy heading back.

I made my way down with the setting sun. It was quite a sabbath for me; one where I didn't have any judgment or expectations from people, but God and nature deciding whether to grace me with beauty and grant safe passage. I probably should have taken somebody with me, but I figure my only sin is in not having taken any pictures.

The Hog's Back

I keep finding my life drawn towards your mysteries. The fascination of dreams lost in your deep places and wood. Man clung to your sides and rode your spine, trying to break you and extract an immortality that only fortune can provide. Denuded and gored, you shook them off with floods and fires. You kept the secret and held tight the riches that were never promised, rather, assumed. I dream of those that came before and tried their best. I wonder what I might find, besides others' attempts. Will I be given a fair turn? Or will I be shaken off prematurely and sent down without my name? Despite this, I'll wander in deeper with disregard to my pride. Some dreams live where nothing is certain and most is hidden. In that reality I'll build my shelter.

Passion vs. Obssesion

Passion is something that you freely participate in; whereas, obsession is something that you can't help.

Passion: Doing something you love.

Obsession: Doing something because you feel that if you don't, something bad will happen or be felt as a result.

Let's examine obsession.....

Crazy person: (Wipes ass) Nope, still seeing brown. Better keep wiping until I see blood!

Now for passion....

Well adjusted person: (Wipes ass) Interesting...The color is lighter than expected. I can detect notes of citrus and hazelnuts. Now to test consistency!

I'm glad that I could clear this up for you all.

Community (on a cellular level--and no, this has nothing to do my health)

("Bob" the cell) "Hey guys, what's up?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, don't kill yourself."

(Bob): "So, I'm kind of out of things to do....um, I'm going to kill myself, if that's okay?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, we need you to not do that."

Bob the cell goes away for awhile, floats around bumping into shit a fair amount and then comes back to the rest of the gang.

(Bob) "Hey everybody, I just got back. I'm pretty tired now. I'm going over to brain and off myself there, if that's okay?"

(The rest of the cells) "Bob, don't kill yourself. We need you to something for us first. We heard of rumors that Jerry was mutating over in the corner of the colon. He's quite charming and might have a following now. We want you to go and deal with it."

(Bob) "B-But, I like Jerry."

(The rest of the cells) "We know and feel that, based on your relationship of trust, you are the cell that can get close enough to him and get the job done. Plus, you did such a great job with the flu earlier this year; we thought of you."

(Bob) "You know that I'm a joiner. This is totally not going to work."

(The rest of the cells) "It's what we all want, Bob; just do it already."

Bob travels to the dark recesses of the colon and finds his ol' chum Jerry, only Jerry is a bit different now and is keeping some bad company.

(Jerry) "Well, look what the crap dragged in...Bob!"

(Bob) "Hey Jerry. You're still hanging 'round here, huh?"

(Jerry) "Yeah, you know me. I can't really do much else. I'm kinda stuck here with the twenty-year-old macaroni. You?"

(Bob) "Oh, just cellin'. Say, things look a bit different around here. Who are your new friends?"

(Jerry) "Same gang, Bob. We all felt that the scene was a bit old and wanted a change. And you know what's funny? Ever since we changed, we don't need everyone telling us to not kill ourselves. In fact, we want more cells like us. This is fun!"

(Bob) "Sounds great, but who's working the colon right now?"

(Jerry) "Who cares? Who??"

(Bob) "Well, we care bob and me and the rest of the cell community request that you kill yourself. Isn't that great?"

(Jerry) "Bob, fuck you!"

Bob, feeling like a total failure, went back to report what he found to the rest of the cells. The rest of the cells continued to deny his requests to commit suicide. He was given light duty assignments because they all thought he was weird. Later on, Bob finally got the order to die and so did every other cell. The End.


Author's note: C#

Never leave your child alone with a party clown

I think the title is all this post needs. Happy Hanukkah!

Oldest Dirty Bastard

In order to hold the title of "Oldest Dirty Bastard" you must use food stuffs as your main source of innuendo. Anyone for "instant mash" or receiving a "gift basket" (just add banana)?But even with success in mashing potatoes and inserting bananas into the fruit basket equation, the Oldest Dirty Bastard would occasionally suffer "writer's block".Of course, there is one simple cure for writer's block and cold frankfurters, which involves much repetitious pleading, again, referencing food stuffs found in 1930s era pantries.After all remedies have been applied, the requisite compliments and flattery are employed to ensure continued therapy and possibly a large breakfast of biscuits, sausages, fruits, and figgy pudding (well, I'd want figgy pudding afterwards).

Giving thanks for good health

I had an examination with my oncologist today. My health is good. I am really happy about this. My oncologist has been there for me over the past while like no other person. To be honest, not only did she save my life, she gave me a different life. I have been able to talk to her about things that I'd not been able to with anyone who was in an "official" position to help me, including spiritual. She is a true healer with no intent to judge.

Anyway, she is moving on to another hospital. Today was the last checkup I had with her. We talked about the past four years and how she was only two years out of her residency when she handled my diagnosis and treatment plan. We talked about my rough journey of overcoming cancer, the loss of my sister to alcohol, and the loss of my mother to cancer (whom she got to know well during my chemotherapy treatments), all while we knew each other. We hugged and said our farewells. I also told her how grateful I was for all that she had done for me.

I don't know that I'm ready to break in another doctor. It will not be the same, but I am okay. My life may not be perfect, but the deep wounds that I've carried in my life are not so bad anymore. To have been treated by a true healer is a blessing. Doc, I give you thanks from the best part of me. I will try to make the life you gave me worthy of the effort you put into saving it.

Scrape

The process of me getting up in the morning is similar to that of one ridding their shoes of undesirable matter. Despite the hard work of the people I find that my country is not any better than it used to be. I don't quit getting up in the morning to face the day, despite the feeling that things aren't improving. I hope this isn't what being an American means, nowadays. I'm looking forward to what the coming "Occupy Congress" movement will do. The US needs more effective management. Hopefully, the public will not give up in voicing this demand.

I never once thought that Wall Street would have given two shits about any of the occupy movements, so long as they could conduct their business. They are about the money only. This is their job. Why was this a surprise? Congress, on the other hand, are public servants, and the only thing the public is getting served is a confused arrangement of shit.

I have no overwhelming desire to be rich. Hell, it would be nice, but I'm not motivated in that regard. I would, however, like to feel some of that hope that I once heard about a few years back. Having the "right" ideals means nothing if you lack the ability or resolve to see them through. Why would I order the best pizza in the world if it wouldn't get delivered? Hell, I can say lots of fun stuff to people and get them all excited too! Whatever gets me the job. I'm tired of leaders either being insane or some golden retriever stuffed into a suit.

It is the media and the primaries that have spawned this ridiculous campaigning that we enjoy today. You tell me who looks like a normal human being, or a competent leader of a superpower? We have no clue how to get out of this mess, we really don't.

SUPER POSITIVE EBAY FEEDBACK ENDING!!! A++++++!!!!!!!

The absence of effective State, and, especially, national, restraint upon unfair money-getting has tended to create a small class of enormously wealthy and economically powerful men, whose chief object is to hold and increase their power. The prime need to is to change the conditions which enable these men to accumulate power which it is not for the general welfare that they should hold or exercise. We grudge no man a fortune which represents his own power and sagacity, when exercised with entire regard to the welfare of his fellows. Again, comrades over there, take the lesson from your own experience. Not only did you not grudge, but you gloried in the promotion of the great generals who gained their promotion by leading their army to victory. So it is with us. We grudge no man a fortune in civil life if it is honorably obtained and well used. It is not even enough that it should have been gained without doing damage to the community. We should permit it to be gained only so long as the gaining represents benefit to the community.

The fundamental thing to do for every man is to give him a chance to reach a place in which he will make the greatest possible contribution to the public welfare. Understand what I say there. Give him a chance, not push him up if he will not be pushed. Help any man who stumbles; if he lies down, it is a poor job to try to carry him; but if he is a worthy man, try your best to see that he gets a chance to show the worth that is in him. ~President Theodore Roosevelt

Confession

I am not a Vietnamese prostitute. I am sorry that I let this charade go on for so long. In other snooze, I have written a children's book on the art of taxidermy. In other, other snooze, I lied about writing a children's book on the art of taxidermy. I am so sorry that I let this charade go on for one entire sentence. I blame the Liberal media for the first and Fox News for the later.

Now that things are straightened out, I need to attend to more important matters. By the way, if I were really a Vietnamese prostitute, I would go by the name of Netflix.

The End!

Etheuorque (Now featuring a mustache!)

Click here to see an old post with a picture of me with horrible facial hair.

Who would like the challenge of defining my newly minted word? It's the title; I made it up. Yes, I'm silly and have no life, but help me anyway.

In other snooze, I did manage to sneak up to the hills on the weekend, during a break in the bad weather. I tried to excavate what I was talking about in the previous post and it wasn't even a "Geraldo" moment. What I thought was the entrance was a pocket, but through more digging found large slabs of rock collapsed on top of each other. I did find a bunch of ash, possibly from an old miner's campfire. So, I determined that it was foolish and way too dangerous for me, all by myself, to proceed. There is a tunnel back in the mountain some distance further, but it is beyond reasonable effort and risk to uncover. This is fine, however. This is just tunnel #1 of 4 in this camp--the one in the picture found here. I will have to post pics later. I'm hoping to at least have something interesting, besides dirt, to show.

Could this be my Geraldo moment?

I remember watching Geraldo Rivera excavating the "secret" vaults of Al Capone with great anticipation of him finding a cache of loot or human remains. In the end, all that was found was a couple of broken bottles. My "Geraldo" moment may come soon. I have found an intriguing old mine that I discovered from a misidentified photo on the Utah Historical Society website. I located the mine camp last weekend and the mine entrance has long since been covered over by erosion. There is very little indication of human activity in that area, due to its overgrowth and difficulty of access.

Anyway, I started prying around with a branch and found the earth coming out with ease--the opening starting to reveal itself. While this is not a good idea, I have got all excited with thoughts of finding some cool artifacts left behind. This is probably unlikely, but I intend to find out anyway just for the hell of it. So this weekend, it will be me + pickaxe vs. landslide. I might be able to talk one of my friends into coming along and bringing his gullible brother in law along to do the brunt of the work. The only problem with this is that if any real loot is found, then you have to split it up. Well, the solution to that is to bring a gun and kill them right after they hand me the goods. I will already have a ready-made crypt for them; now all I need is a giant stone to roll over the hole.

Wait, you guys do read every word I write in my posts, not just the first couple of sentences, right? Drat! Okay, forget the part where I murder two people and pretend I said that we gave our riches to the starving orphans instead. I'm probably just going to find a couple of old, broken bottles anyway.

Please tell me this is normal

So, with the deaths over the past two years of my sister and mother, I tend to expect someone else close to me to kick the bucket. It's not that there is a person in my family that I feel is near death at the moment, but I've gotten used to the idea that death has come closer to me. The reason I bring all of this up is that I have been looking at my dad and wondering when and how it's going to end for him. I wonder if it will be quick or drawn out. I also wonder if it will be me who finds him, how long he will have been dead before someone is to find him, what he'll look like, and if I find him, if I'll be ready. When he and I are around each other I can't help it; he tends to get stuck in these story-telling loops and all I can seem to think about is his mortality. I should be listening to him and taking down all I can of his life.

So, is this abnormal of me to think about? Images of my mother's last moments flash in my head now and again. While I have long accepted her death, those difficult images of her struggle and death remain. Even though I handled her last moments as best as I could, I still don't want to ever go through that experience again. But since my brother and I are the ones taking care of my dad, it is highly probable that it will either be one of us to handle his death and my job to handle the funeral and affairs of my father's estate. I am not ready for this at the moment, but when would I ever be? What a sad apprenticeship I've had helping with the last two family members' deaths. It has been an honor, but not something that I look forward to doing again.

I hope I get a break in this department and more joy all around.

Typing for attention

Hi! I was feeling a bit lonely and decided to post something so you would feel obliged to comment. There's not a whole lot going on at the moment. I've had some good hikes. Um, I haven't really been listening to any new music. I've been trying to watch a few horror flicks a week to get myself in the Halloween mood. The McRib is back, so I've been ignoring any kind of sensible eating lately. I still dream of winning the lottery and buying my own volcanic island headquarters, in which I will plan my take over of the world. Yeah, it wouldn't really be an evil take over; in fact, I think people would find me to be very nice. I would certainly consult with people who would have your best interests in mind. Part of my plan would be to provide a sanctuary for homeless people, but it would be more of a "preserve" than a shelter. I would recreate their natural environment, provide plenty of "walk throughs" with extra change to give, and enough boxes and dumpsters to keep them happy. The public would help fund this "homeless preserve" by spending money on jeep safari tours through the homeless preserves. Poachers would be fined heavily.

Yeah.

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

I love cemeteries. In fact, some of my favorite people in the world are in them right now.
I don't get creeped out that much. It's more a feeling of peace mixed with pondering my own mortality. There is also mystery as to who the people were that have been laid to rest there.

I love Fall. October ushers in a different spirit for me. I tend to fight it at first, but then I give in and let it take me where ever it wants to go.
Usually, I go and check out various sights, such as cemeteries and ghost towns, during this time of year. It fits my mood and keeps me interested in life. Funny how death and decay has a way of bringing to light how lucky you are to be living...and I am lucky to be living, despite all of the loss and hardship in the past five years of my life.
BTW, I wish I could pull off the "Uncle Fester" look once more, but only for a night and not because of cancer. What a great look for Halloween.

Feelin' a bit posty and unfocused

I've had less and less to say lately. There's no one reason for it. My desire to pour my heart out to the world is something that isn't that important to me anymore. I get a feeling that what goes on in my head is best kept in there. Maybe I fear getting myself in trouble or in risk of ostracization, which would be fine with me, so long as my family doesn't disown me. I guess what I feel and think is a bit different, so sayeth the Lamb. It's not like I'm some great innovator, rich man, or guru. I'm the weird adult, who was the weird teenager, who was the odd child. I've tried to see things the way I was supposed to and I'll be honest, I couldn't see that sail boat in the 3D picture where you had to cross your eyes, either. So, I guess I am just supposed to surrender my perspective and go along with it all to make everyone happy and comfortable--whatever works. Bleh...I need to stop bitching and do something better with my life.

I think I will write a novel about Frankenstein, only he's hunkier and starts a virtuous romance with a teenage girl. If only the jocks with garden implements and torches would just leave him alone. Yeah, that's the ticket.

My latest craze has been finding abandoned mines and Native American rock art around the hills where I live. I am amazed at what I have found in my backyard, so to speak. I have found a couple of steam engines and boilers, panels of rock art, and more poison ivy and snakes than I care for. The weird thing is that in one area that I've found a network of mines recently, I had reoccurring dreams about, going as far back as ten years ago. In those dreams I was finding all sorts of holes in the mountain. Well, in real life, I did find the mines, but they are all mostly reclaimed or caved in. It's a good thing, because abandoned mines are death traps.

Okay, it's time for me to go to sleep.

Apparently, love is not enough and is not the answer

It was First when John was 4 and then 8 when he heard the Beatles sing "All you need is love". After that his minister told him to shut up about the Beatles, put some money in the collection plate, and read his bible.

Water

I don't have enough time to properly muse about this life-giving and sustaining element. There is enough time to tell a quick story about water, though. Anybody who says that water's taste is boring, or that it has no taste, is a boring person with no taste. We all had that favorite drinking fountain in school that tasted a bit better than the others. Each one of us, back when it was still cool to drink bottled water, had our own reasons for liking a certain "spring" or "glacier" brand water that hydrated us better, and at the same time had a certain satisfying taste. Maybe it isn't a definable taste per se; rather, a wetness and/or clean feeling you experienced as you drank it. However, I can say for a surety that naturally occurring water has a definite taste.

Well, on occasion, I do something stupid and drink out of streams when I hike. I haven't gotten sick as of yet. When all the orifices of mine start spewing forth all manner of waste products, I'll know I finally got my due. However, I don't do this as often now, and am very careful. Anyway, I have noticed a bit of difference in stream water. It really isn't what I would call pure. There's a sense that you are risking something, but at the same time enjoying it thoroughly. Yeah, I've had times where I've found carcasses of animals in streams that I had drank out of before. The thought of dead animals in the water adding to the flavor kind of ruined this romantic idea of mine that mountain streams were pure. Besides, springs are the way to go. But, in order to take full advantage of a spring, you must find the source.

Today, while on a hike, I came across a small stream of water trickling down the mountain. I decided to follow this little trail of wetness to see where it came from. Ferns started appearing in tight clusters and the overall vegetation was thicker than the surrounding area. A little ways up, there was a PVC pipe driven into the earth in the middle of the flow. From this pipe the water channeled outward so that one could fill a canteen. I bent over, cupped my hands under the pipe while filling them up, and drank with too much excitement that caused me to choke and cough for a bit. After I got my throat cleared, another attempt was made. This time I was able to take in all that I captured with my hands. Being thirsty from the hike, and not too keen on the stale water from my hydration pack, I followed this act again and again, like I was near death from dehydration. The flavors were exceptionally clean, yet earthy, while at the same time I could detect mossy, leafy notes. Possibly, it was not tapped into the source, but clean enough, filtered by gravel, dirt, then plant debris. I wish I could send you all some right now; it was glorious.

Now, only if I had time to tell you about the wild raspberries I found.

Helping=Happier (For Tys on Ice: Special Re-Re-Edited For Content Edition)

I spent the day up in the mountains confusing and scaring off fish. I am not a good fisherman. What I am good at is helping others, and that is just what I did today. My brother and I (my brother is the only person that will hang out with me for more than a couple of hours these days) were off the beaten path in the mountains on a rough trail. We were in his Ford Exploder, which has four-wheel drive, but is not that great of a wheeler. I would have much rather been in my truck, save for the fact that today's outing would have cost me over $60 in gas. Anyway, we get to this lake and start to get out; this is when I start hearing tires spinning, smoke, and some dude frantically shouting "I AM SO (see bottom of post)!!!"

I walk up the trail to see this two-wheel drive truck with its front end down into some trees, the undercarriage hung up on a boulder, and it's ass end sticking up. Somehow this guy and his wife thought that turning around in this narrow and treacherous area was a better idea than simply backing down. I helped where I could by giving him advice and helping him carry it out--using a jack, branches, and flat rocks. It all seemed promising, but there simply weren't enough bodies to help. My brother didn't have any tow straps, plus there wasn't any way we could get in there without getting hung up ourselves. This is when I decided to go for a walk and see if there was anybody else around to help. Fortunately, there was a bunch of people coming in a five-seater buggy.

I got their attention and talked to the guys. They really weren't interested in helping. I was a bit surprised because they had their boys with them. Aren't dads supposed to be teaching their sons how to be good men? It took me about five minutes to persuade these guys to go a little out of their way and help. Once we all got up there, we tried and failed a few times, but with our collective minds and muscles, we finally got this poor guy and his wife out of the trees and off of this boulder. This proves the old adage correct in that many hands make light work.

The couple thanked us all and after the others left the guy, Bryce, thanked me especially. I kind of got the feeling that Bryce was a lot like me, in that, I don't ask for help that often and when I usually do it isn't with the words "help me". No, it is usually someone overhearing me say, in a figurative way, "I AM SO (see bottom of post)!" It still amazes me how many people would rather keep on going, so you have to just decide that you are going to be one of those people who stops and helps. It's the only way people like me are going to get unstuck. It's just nice that I could help this time. It took my mind off of my troubles for a bit.

Hobot 6000

Is it a robot prostitute or a cyber hobo? You decide!


Yeah, it has been kind of a blah week. I had to write something silly to cheer me up; it worked.

Why get so excited? (Horoscope included)

"...members of the Taurus tribe are about to be roused out of their plodding rhythm by a bolt of cosmic mojo. Get ready to rumble--and I mean that in the best sense of the word." Recent excerpt from "Free Will Astrology", by Rob Brezsny.

I usually don't even look at horoscopes. They're pretty much crap, right? Why, then, did I look at mine in the latest weekly city paper and get all hopeful? I think I wanted something to feel good about. Usually, it is fantasy that drives most of us or keeps us from totally packing it in. Sometimes fantasy is not seen as such and becomes part of our reality. Why do we do this? I think I do it because I want more from life--the things that I can't have right at this moment. Sometimes I want the things that are impossible to have or uncertain that they even exist. There are many things that we believe in that have no proof to back them up, but we still do believe in them. So, why get so excited? I guess I'm like a chimpanzee behind the glass at the zoo, thinking that one day my feces will magically pass through to the other side and hit my target. It's a thought that keeps me going.

No man is an island

So, you are not truly self made. But why make that look so attractive if it is a fallacy? What if I like being an island? My problem is that when I try being an island a cruise ship starts circling my shores. This cruise "ship of fools" wants to find out what I've been doing with my coconuts on my island. Do I despise the ship or the fools more? I guess there are fools anywhere you go. Whoever put the fools on the ship and sailed them to my beach is probably some kind of demented Captain Stubing, saying, "Go forth and show this man you 'love' him, but make sure you irritate him as much as possible by being untactful and condescending."

Yeah, I'm a strange one.

Nope, not ready for another post

But my fingers need the exercise anyway. What can I talk about? Well, I can tell you about a gross experience I had. I was unloading a storage pod. I grabbed a chair to hand it over to my buddy and the chair didn't leave my hand. I pulled back and the chair followed my right hand, middle finger. An upholstery staple had embedded itself into the flesh of my finger. When I yanked back there was a sharp pain then I could feel the staple tear right through. The chair dropped and I shouted a bit. Strangely, there was little blood. It was more of a finger scalping than anything. So I have a rather tender middle finger right now, with a nice patch of skin gone from it. This is karma for all those motorists that I've flipped off over the years.

I finally found the missing bearing cage and ball bearings for the back wheel of a vintage fifties cruiser bike that I'd been tinkering around with some time ago. I haven't yet got to putting the rear axle back together, but I will soon. I am not restoring this bike, but getting it mechanically sound, straightened out, and rideable (spell check doesn't like that word). I like the fact that it will be a bit rusty and faded; plus, the chain guard is from another bike from an earlier era and is green (the bike is red and white). This will complete the "ugly" look that I desire. I can't afford to throw any money into my truck anymore, so this will suffice.

Speaking of my truck, Clyde, I was certain that I was going to have to put a bullet in him recently. I have been hearing strange noises from the engine. I thought it was a bad valve, lifter, or pushrod. If you know engines, these are serious signs that you are nearing a complete overhaul at worst, a head job at the least. The thing is, if you are going to pull the heads, you might as well pull the whole engine. And if you do that, you might as well rebuild the whole damn thing, replacing the clutch while you're at it. Even for an old truck, this isn't cheap. I could certainly do the assembly and installation of the engine, but the machine work I would leave to the pros.

I really should just buy a newer truck, but from what I do to trucks, it doesn't make sense to burn twenty to thirty grand. How many newer trucks could I do most of the work on with a basic set of tools? How many newer trucks would I want to get totally scratched up by pinions and sage brush, dented by rocks, and not have to worry about devaluing it? I would love a new truck; they are way more powerful, nicer, and fuel efficient than the old ones. But an old truck is just me: tough, beat up, and filled with character. Anyway, the cause of the noise turned out to be something minor and I took care of it.

It was about two years ago that I was with my mother and sister, heading up to Steamboat, Colorado, to help support my sister at her court hearing for the DUI. I had no idea at that time that within a year and a half that they'd both be taken from me. I remember how good it felt to embrace my sister and tell her how much I loved her and how happy I was that the legal ordeal was behind her. I remember seeing my mother cry while hugging her daughter. God in Heaven, I do not understand the wisdom of these things--the loss--especially of my dear sister Bonnie. Hell, I can even remember our crappy dinner at the JB's in Vernal and joking about it afterward. My heart aches for her still. When I dropped her off at rehab, I had about a five minute hug with her. I could feel her mixed with relief and fear. I talked to her and told her how much I loved her. She responded that I could never know how much she loved and appreciated me. I may never get to know how much she did love and appreciate me, but I just can't stand how much I miss her now and I hope that somehow she knows it, as an expression of my love. I can't write anymore, sorry.

So, anyway, I did have something to post about after all.

Luck?

I haven't been feeling unlucky, but I have been feeling like I need more luck than what I've been getting rationed. There's things in my life that I need that little extra help with that only luck can seem to provide. I guess I should make my own luck, but if it is anything like the time I tried to make curry, the results ended up rejected in the toilet.

If you make your own "luck" it isn't called luck; it's just making things happen. Maybe I'm not good at that. Well, at least I'm good at thinking before I do stupid things, most of the time. The point I'm trying to make here is that you can't achieve luck, just as you can't achieve the lottery. You need to have the odds in your favor, sure, but more than that, you need luck.

I have no rituals or lucky objects/charms. Do they seem to work for you? I really think it is more of a way that one reduces anxiety--a way of feeling in control. If I was to do some kind of ritual to get more luck or favor in my life it would probably involve a goat. Before I could get the ritual underway, the goat would probably find some interesting electrical cord to chew on and die. As for a lucky object/charms, I'd probably have a lucky left sock. Yes, I would not be lucky, but my lucky left sock would end up winning the lottery, leaving me and Mr. Right Sock all alone. I need luck not lucky things.

It's pretty silly to ask God for better luck, because that gives off the message that you prefer luck over divine intervention. The problem is that nobody gets "lucky" when God is behind your fate's steering wheel. Luck grants you those things that you are afraid to ask God for. Luck is like your cool older brother that lets you have a beer and a nudie mag for a baby sitter. There's no way God is going to listen to those requests and let you get away with it. Luck covers more bases because luck doesn't judge. Having said that, you do not want to piss off God or turn down his help. It's just smart.

So, I want a bit more mojo this coming year. I think I'm due for some good luck. So if you have a bit more luck than you need, consider my plea: Brother, could you spare me some luck?

Polyandry Annie

I want to form my own circus, kind of like Cirque du Soleil, but less gay. I would call mine Cirque du Jirques. Bring a tarp. I really wouldn't want such a thing but my mind finds the word play fun. Anyway, I'm sure that such a thing already exists in Tijuana or Japan.

Don't you hate it when you bite the side of your mouth or tongue? Well, maybe it doesn't hurt so much as you just have a poor attitude about the whole thing in the first place. Do what I do and call them "flavor bursts". You'll begin to enjoy life and the taste of your own blood all the more!

Jim Carrey sure has broke new comedic ground with his "Mr. Popper's Penguins". It's sure to win him some kind of Oscar, Golden Globe, night with a tranny hooker. But he can't ride on the coattails of those adorable penguins the rest of his prestigious career. Nope, he'll return to a bit of hard comedy, like "Cable Guy" or "I Love You Phillip Morris". See, the common belief is that you can't have the sweet without the sour, and Jim should give it both ways long time. My movie idea for Mr. Carrey is this: A bumbling, old store clerk by day who transforms as a male prostitute at night. Yes, Mr. Carrey will take on the roll of the famous toilet paper pitchman, Mr. Whipple, starring in "Mr. Whipple's Nipples". This movie, and Jim's performance, will answer the question why you were not allowed to squeeze the Charmin, really.

That's all the post ideas I can remember for now. I was in the sun too long today and I feel a slight case of thermal retardation coming on.

Meow!

Met one of my bloggies this week

Christielli came and visited the wonderful land of OZ and explored all that it had to offer the world in just several days; two main things being, of course, mammoth ice cream portions, and lots of dry land. The other thing would be a strange group of people known as Mormons, or God's own "white and delightsome" sons and daughters (sort of like a Paul Newman salad dressing). I know this to be true because of a strange feeling I get when I'm around a white and delightsome woman. It is the spirit testifying to me that the chosen vessel is truly delicious to the taste--in Mormon scripture, Lehi's Dream tells one to hold to the "Iron Rod" in order to best taste of these fruits. Women have testified the same of men, but it is forbidden to have this confirmation of, say, men and men, and women and women, except in times of sexual famine (prison, mission, scout camp). Yeah, this has nothing to do with the post. Please, keep reading.

So, yeah, my job was to show Christielli and friend behind the Mormon Curtain. The oddities, warts and all, as well as the good things too. It was something that was hard to do, given walking distances and time constraints. And I'll be honest with you people: In real life I am not a small, red guy who swears all the time and cracks wise at the drop of a hat. I also do not speak or read Mandarin Chinese (please stop sending me emails, Yuqi). Thankfully, Christielli knew these things before hand and has a firm grip on reality, so meeting her was not awkward in the least. Her friend was very nice, too. So, I did show them around Temple Square and just a slice of downtown SLC. The whole time I was thinking in the back of my head that I really did not know what in the hell I was going to do next, where to go, or if they were getting bored.

If you need to know one thing about me is that I deal with my anxieties by not planning, versus over planning. So, the plan, as far as I was concerned, was to point at stuff and say things. It worked; I think--kind of like that kid from "Jerry Maguire" going on about the weight of a human head and how dogs and bees smell fear. Now if only I could earn a living that way, I'd be set.

So the tour went by and once that was done, the one thing you can do in this town to curb boredom is to eat. So my idea was to pick the noisiest restaurant (Blue Iguana), with the most people inside, that way you get to yell "what" and "huh" a lot. Yeah, the "Outdoor Retailers" convention was in town. When having to deal with loud crowds of people in a restaurant, all that matters to me is "food goes in here" *points into mouth*. The food was good. We left the place and then we said our good byes. I went back to Gruntonia and they have since gone to NYC and all that is "Mo"town is now a faint, disturbing memory to them (I kid).

What was Christielli like? Well, I make no commentary on my guests because they were awesome and there's no arguing about it. If you want to know what Christielli is like, go and read her blog and become a fan yourself!

The people that I have met from Blogland have been great. I am not always enthusiastic about meeting new people. So, if I agree to come out of my shell and hang out, it means that I think you are one of the good ones. This is not to say that if I haven't met you yet that I think you are lame. It just means that we haven't met yet.

The best part about this post is that it is more than just a plain mentioning of said event. This makes my post creepy! I aim to please. Toodles!

The search for facts goes on....wait, went too far. (Added Commentary)

Here's the thing about the endless search for fact: it usually ends with a picture of some sad person with a dick in their mouth. The unrestricted search for light also allows darkness to intrude. Google image search is a prime example of this: you image search something long enough without any filters and you end up looking at a picture of some sad person with a dick in their mouth.

The pure, unadulterated fact is smothered in adulteration. Yeah, that is a bit contradictory, but so is just about anything once you really pull it apart. What I meant to say is that, you have to really be willing to push that filth aside to do it yourself. You could just follow someone else's quest or claims, but where's the adventure in that? So, you take it upon yourself to gleam the untarnished picture of reality. Then, you are faced with this question: at what cost come the facts?

What is truth? I've always assumed that facts and truth were the same. Lately, I've started to feel that truth has more of an agenda and facts just are. Truth seems to only need necessary assembled facts in order to live, but it needs plenty of window dressing to get people to believe in it. That, in and of itself, would be great if it meant that the minimal facts that "truths" were based on had enough strength to overcome the preponderance of evidence towards a greater fact.

Let me use a poor example: A government fought wars based on many reasons, only few were known to the public; the few that were known to the public were just; the others held secret were diabolical--which version will be taught to the children? Wow, that was a bad sentence! The truth for the government will be that it was just. The truth for those who discovered the atrocities will see things as unjust. If you lay out the facts it may skew one way or another when the total cause and effect is seen. But what does that matter? People go away with what facts they desire and start decorating it with their own ideology, culture, and beliefs. Either way, truth is a salve, a pipe dream, and ends up being the foundation for the stories we tell ourselves when we go to bed at night: all is well, or all is not well but at least I'm right!

I come to this conclusion because most people that tout the truth do so on the basis of thin air, lots of emotion, and a few inspiring real events thrown in for good measure. The holding dear to these "truths" might in of itself fulfill many aspects of the promise of said truth, but most of these truths promise more than measurable/verifiable results. This is where it gets crazy. This is where the "truth" promises you the bounty of the universe but in reality it gives you something that is more earthbound. We get these earthly results and try to extend them into realms unknown. The thing is that you can start demanding more and more of people with the promises of delicious "moon cheese"; even more, you can control them.

See, what truth does is sell you your script; your performance and how the audience reacts is reality. So, you can act well your part, as the famous saying goes, or you can change the script. But, if you decide to see what really goes on behind the scenes, you are eventually going to open a dressing room and see some sad person with a dick in their mouth.

P.S.

I'll be the first to say that I went a bit overboard on the metaphor and imagery. Bad Grunt!

I also wanted to clarify that I was speaking about what people hold as true versus THE TRUTH. I feel that what gets embraced as truth sometimes is an attempt to make sense of facts, when mixed up with culture, myth and emotion. Objectivity seems to be in short supply concerning matters of faith, because faith is by nature subjective. Yet, we use faith as a way of following and declaring "so-called" truths. This is hardly the way an investigator arrives at a conclusion of truth, by a preponderance of evidence.

My sister Bonnie used to see the evidence of cases in both her jobs at the State Supreme Court and Federal Courts. She used to come home crying her guts out at seeing these things. This was a large contributor to her alcoholism. The whole truth is not always uplifting, but there are people that have to know in order to best help and to best make correct decisions. If you don't want to know, that is fine, but you can't clean a toilet without stirring up the shit.

Fries

Lamb Weston "MAC FRIES" French Fried Potatoes. Ingredients: Potatoes, Partially Hydrogenated Soybean Oil, Natural Flavor, Disodium Dihydrogen Pyrophosphate (To Promote Color Retention), Dextrose.

Put this in hot oil and I go nuts.

A more popular post for the masses

I just wanted to let you know that I've taken to wearing white sweaters, skipping, holding neighborhood picnics, helping old ladies, singing in a barbershop quartet, and I've given up all of that silly thinking that I used to do. WOW, I do feel better!!!

Well, I'm off to the mountains. If you see any rainbows coming from there, then you can be sure that it's shooting straight out my ass.

Sunday: A Day of Rest or...

Another episode of "Race to God Mountain"? I love spiritual one-upmanship. It's what Jesus died for. It's the reason why Buddha meditated under the Bodhi tree and achieved enlightenment. It's why Mohammed hung out in a cave and got hassled by an angel and wrote the Koran. They did all of this so you could win, win, WIN!!! Yes, religion, the greatest reality game show of all time. Get there first! Get there hardest!! Get it all!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just lettin' you know, Heavenly Father: When I get to heaven, I'll want the holy catamaran, not the LeSabre.

Cyanide (w/explanation)

It's poisonous as hell, yet it is still useful. Mining operations have used cyanide to extract gold from ores that previously was impossible to do so. What kind of gold, I then wonder, is so worth extracting from my person?

I was pondering a bit last night about trials and how overcoming adversity can bring out the best in people. I thought about the poisons, literal and figurative, that have come into my life in the last four years that have not killed me, but I have yet to find out fully what surviving them means. I guess I want to make something better of myself. I don't want to have my trials become mere sad or trying events. I'd like to think that there's still something even more awesome within me waiting to bust out.

My bloggies are the best and I know that you've had to put up with many enigmas regarding my ideas, moods, and posts. Just remember that I always count you all in my personal evaluations of why life is still worth living; I feel that out there, somewhere, I am someone's favorite weirdo. That sustains me right there, brothers and sisters.

Post# whatever

I get a lot from you and your comments. I needed to tell you all that. I do have friends and family, but this blog has been my outlet for that part of me that I had to stifle in order to make good with the teachers, principals, bishops, Sunday school teachers, scout masters, mission leaders, and bosses.

I used to get in a lot of trouble. For such a self conscious person, I sure could be impulsive when I was young. Sometimes it just made me happy to call my algebra teacher a "fucking asshole" in front of the class. Sometimes it made me happy to experiment with firecrackers and seeing how big a one I could make. Sometimes life just made more sense after huffing gasoline in my friend's trailer. Sometimes I just didn't want to go to school and do my homework (which resulted in night and summer school).

Why? Because, there were nights where I found my grandma half-naked in the hall crying because she didn't make it to the bathroom in time. And the times when my grandpa, from the other side of the family, would have buckets of piss laying around in the room and I'd have to dump them for him, only to have him ask, "Whose boy are you?" Then there were those times where my dad made me call up his work and say stuff like my sister was in a car accident, so he didn't have to go into work--because he wouldn't leave the master bedroom due to panic attacks. My dad finally losing his job and never returning to work, ever, was a real boost to my esteem. Oh, and my mother almost dying of cancer during all of this shit. Yeah, and that feeling that I was causing all of this to happen to my family because of my dirty thoughts and delinquencies. Yeah, that good ol' "I'm really gonna go to hell" feeling; that was all I felt the whole time growing up. So, getting out and breaking a window, throwing a rock at a car, getting into fist fights: yeah, that was a nice outlet. Now, after many years of the white washing of my soul not working out, I find myself blogging. It is more becoming of me, I think.

After having crapped this enormous paragraph, a memory has come back to me. When my oldest sister got pregnant out of wedlock, my dad gathered the whole family together to discuss the matter. After all the news was handed to us there was a silence, and then I said, "But what will the neighbors think?"

Nothing, Everything, and Anything.

There seems to be a point where Nothing really matters; where Everything you were taught becomes obsolete, yet you feel Anything is possible. We will all have this moment. A moment where Anything can be the cause, and Nothing can stop it from happening; where you have to let go of Everything in your life. Because Everything we think is important and Anything we've done to secure those things will amount to Nothing unless you accept the mystery and embrace what awaits beyond.

Why?

Why can't TV executives read my mind and produce a show called, "Murder, She Farted!"

Why do birds suddenly appear every time road kill is near?

Why does Jesus look like a viking in some paintings?

Why are there so many songs about rainbows and why aren't they all gay?

Why does the economy still suck donkey balls?

Why can't ice cream make me look as good as it makes me feel?

Why can't I have everything that I want, including a big, red hat that has a bell on top that makes loud noises, and not become an asshole?

Why does God let good things happen to bad people and somewhat alright things happen to people between the ages of 18-36, aaaaaand still Jim Carrey feels there is not enough attention in the world given to him?

Why must you look at me that way?

Nancy Kerrigan?

Bits and pieces

I don't have a lot to say, but there is a lot on my mind lately. I have to think about my future in terms of reality and not fantasy/horror genres. I have been working really, seriously hard, but still have no permanent status with the hours that I've been getting. I've had them cut and then given back to me, but from all over the damn place (different departments), to finally getting an ok through till September. Why? Because it turns out that they really, really needed me...but only until the hard work is over. I feel foolish for not thinking of myself more; as in, taking care of my future and my needs. I sometimes get real down on myself for this.

On a somewhat, but not totally related note: There's this feeling I get that people think I'm strange, or that something is wrong with me. I haven't figured myself out completely, but aside from professional things, I think I know myself well enough to understand what I don't like and what is going to lead me to liberation of soul and mind.

The personal views that are developing from dealing with all that my family and I have been through are taking me to better places inside of me and in harmony with the cosmos. These places are helping me heal, overcome self hate, anger, and accept more humanity into my life. These places are also different from before and might be something that will alienate me from those who might not understand why some people just need to do things differently.

I am grown up enough to have respect and no animosity for people who are really trying to do things better for themselves and their kin. If they are getting there by righteous means, then, Godspeed. And that is all I have to say about that. Chocolate?

Water on me brain

Flooding, mudslides, and sandbags: it's happening. I thought I heard the wind blowing outside and it turned out to be the not-so-little-anymore creek wrecking havoc a block down the road. It is almost June and there's still shitloads of snow pack up in them thar hills. I couldn't even finish a hike the other day because the bridge across the stream was totally gone. I wasn't in the mood to be swept away or drowned in the torrent so I pussied out and turned back. I have to admit that the raging waters do attract me, much the same way matches did as a child (and still do today, gosh darnit all). Is it normal to get excited over pending natural disasters? I'm weird that way, I guess.

Come Armegeddon, Come!

The obvious choice and a bit on the nose...

Not so obvious, but sets the mood...

The METAL choice...

The Master's choice (courtesy of two of the finest creations)...

I want my humanity back

I am not interested in the forced fitting of my shape into a jello mold.

Teachers, leave those kids alone and their little dogs too.

The bearers of truth are often perceived as villains until time or death softens their blow.

We tend to forget truths if they aren't marketable, useful, or confirming anyway.

The ones who tell the greatest lies often are the ones who talk their way into your bed.

The games that people play on other people rob them of their humanity, hold them hostage in the guise of comfort and security, and get them to foot the bill for the whole merry charade, to boot.

Oh yeah, I want my MTV, not the afterbirth it has become.

Yes, I'm all pissy. What are you gonna do about it?

Happy Five Mayonnaise Day!!!

Yes, it's me, your favorite retard. I've been on some hikes. I've been working on sprinkler systems and cabinets (jerk of all trades/master of nuns). I've been reading a lot. I want to build a little speeder bike out of my dad's '50s era Hiawatha pedal bike and an 80cc, 2-stroke engine--I just need the monies (pronunciation in honor of Cinco de Mayo). I am going to take some online instruction to gain some better computer skills--not the kind that makes me giggle and clap my hands--the work kind. I need to have prospective employers not view me as a leper. Sometimes I get the feeling that, based on my resume, people assume that I run around filthy dirty with a hammer and shovel asking people to tell me what two plus potato is. I know the answer: it's donkey...in pinata form. Happy Cinco de Mayo!

What kind of post would Jebus write?

I've had one of those days where I was given a "helper" to assist me with moving and setting up some new offices. This guy likes to keep asking you what he should do. I then tell him and then he follows up with, "So, I'm supposed to ____, then do this?" My reply was always, "Yes, just like I told you before, so get to it." He would then repeat everything again and then ask me once more if that is what I wanted him to do. I would then tell him to go and do it. He would go away for a bit and then come back and say, either, "Now, you wanted me to do_______, then that?" or "I forgot what you wanted me to do so I did(the thing that I told him I didn't want him to do)."

I felt like I was dealing with another version of the mystery "How many licks does it take to get to the middle of a Tootsie Pop", only mine was, "How many freakin' times do I have to tell this dipshit what to do and how to do it before he actually does it?" I had a feeling that I wasn't given help; rather, I was given a lummox to tend. This guy is my age and married with three kids. I feel for his wife--this example is only a particle of the unbelievable stupidity he is responsible for. On the plus side, when it doesn't effect me, hearing of his mishaps is hi-larious!

I can't wait to blow this joint and go work with the ladies at the nail salon.

No post for you

I lied. Here is your post. I will write more when my brain feels like it.

A figment of the mass imagination

A president or other leader who will save us from ourselves. A pill or program that will keep you from doing what you really want to do anyway. The rich are paying more total taxes than the poor in relation to income earned. That you will someday meet that special someone and never have to worry about love or relationships again. That only belief in something makes it true or right, regardless of facts. That your server is "into" you and not interested in a bigger tip. That you will win the lottery and never have to work at that soul sucking place again (my personal favorite).

I just got tired of thinking. The End!