I'm not dead...

I just smell that way.

It's been awhile since I've blogged.  Did you miss me? Well, since some of you keep up with me elsewhere, you probably don't miss me too much.  I really don't have much to say at the moment.  I just wanted to check in.  Life is life, pretty much. I'll post something soon.

Oh yeah....
Why did Mickey break up with Minnie?




'Cause Minnie was f@cking Goofy.   Badoom-kish!

A pile of meat makes good and becomes somebody

My spirit doesn't earn a damn cent.  My body is the one out there making things happen. Oh sure, there's all those tingly "spirit" feelings and inspirations, but that never really gets the rent paid and the dishes washed.  That said, I really feel for my spirit. My spirit tries real hard to enlighten, nurture, and give me some connections that might keep me from going to hell.

I think I have it figured out, though. My spirit is like some '50s TV housewife and my body is the funny, overweight husband that gives her affection when it suits him, brings home the bacon, and beats her when the cameras are off.  It really is the best analogy I could come up with.

I've thought about divorce. I mean, I'm not looking to speed things up.  There's still much more to explore in this relationship. But, at some point, the spirit has had it with the body, or the body does something stupid, gets old, or just plain screws up.

I tried coming up with a suitable way to wrap this post up, but I got lost in fantasy.  I was thinking about how great it would be if my spirit and body did a "Freaky Friday".  I think I would learn a lot.

Anyhow, while I'm getting older, I think I can still expect great things from my body.  My spirit will always have to figure out life after my body leaves, much like the housewife that takes care of her fat, abusive husband, only to find him dead from a heart attack. Let's hope I've taken out sufficient afterlife insurance and my spirit will get what it deserves.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday!!!): When I was a pretty ballerina....

(Reading this post while listening to the music is recommended.)
I remember it like it was just yesterday. I danced in my room, a dance that only I knew. Wearing only a pink tutu and wrestling shoes, a fine balance of the genders represented there where no one would judge; well, my dad did after walking in on me. When we recall that moment it is known as the "awkward night of surprise". 

After our encounter in my room, my dad revealed to me his love of Baryshnikov. I replied "Really, dad? You like ballet too?" He came back, "Hell no! I loved 'White Nights', him and that 'ketchup' fella...er...Hines!"

 "Dad?" 
 "Yes, son?" 
"Is it ketchup or catsup?" 
"I dunno. I prefer ketchup." 
"Oh. Well, somewhere I heard that they put more sugar in one of them and that's what made the difference. You ever hear that?" 
"I..I, well, yes, somewhere indeed. I believe it was in one of your mother's magazines. She puts them right there beside the toilet and I can't help but read them." 
"You know what dad?" 
"What son?" 
"I've read those magazines too. There's some pretty good ideas in them." 
"Yeah? Like, what kind of ideas?" 
"Oh, I dunno. It must be neat to be a woman, that's all." 
"Son, now believe me when I tell you this, being a woman is hard." 
"Well gosh, dad. I don't want to be a girl. I just think that it must be great to do lady stuff once in a while." 
"What kind of lady stuff?" 
"You know, macrame, trying on clothes, and talking shit about other women." 
"But you don't have to be a woman to do those things, son. Why, you and I could do those sorts of things together." 
"Really?" 
"Really." 
"'Black Ketchup'!" 
"What's that again?" 
"Black Ketchup, it's got Worcestershire sauce and black licorice in it!" 
"IS THAT A REAL THING???" 
"I HAVE NO IDEA BUT WE'RE GONNA BE EFFING BILLIONAIRES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" 

 Aaaaaaaand then we just started shouting at every one in the house, celebrating our victory of genius, broke a bunch of shit, then called the patent office.
The End!

Tennis Elbow

Hells bells my elbow hurts.  Well, it hurts less than it did before.  For about a month and a half, I've had "tennis elbow".  Last week I finally went to see a sports medicine specialist about it, and I have since been doing physical therapy, plus wearing a nifty brace.  The weird part is that I don't remember playing tennis.

What I did do to earn this elbow was good ol' repetitive motion.  Nope, it wasn't from masturbating; that would be "penis elbow".  No, I got this from using a hand truck to haul many heavy things, over and over for a month's time. The reason for my bitching is that I really feel misrepresented by my condition's name.  I wasn't all "la dee da" hitting a damn ball around and got hurt.  

I know that tennis can be pretty fierce, but the name surely isn't.  Why can't it be called "boxer's elbow" or "chin-scratcher tendonitis"?  Boxer's elbow would sound better than tennis elbow, but I don't box.  Chin-scratcher tendonitis would be more representative of what I do. I am constantly being baffled and like to exhibit my frustrations through a vigorous chin massage, so I think the name fits.

I guess I can just tell people that I have lateral epicondylitis.  Maybe then they'll think I'm dying and be nicer to me.

Oh Canada!

They say a prophet is never appreciated in his homeland.  Well, I'm no prophet, but there's a lot of people in my homeland that don't particularly think I'm all that.  I sense it may have something to do with my choice of antiperspirant.  Anyway, those of you who can't smell what I'm cooking have got to know me through words.  The great thing about words is that you can say whatever crazy shit you want, not that I do that. 

Well, the point of this post is to honour (eh, check out the spelling ya hosers) my Canadian friends on Canada Day.  My dream to celebrate Canada Day was to have Gordon Lightfoot and Rush do a concert together, Joni Mitchell jumping out of a cake at the climax, with Neil Young standing on the side of the stage scowling in disapproval.  This is my case for why I should win the PCH superprize, so I can make stuff like this happen.

I think I lost the post there.  Okay, my point was that Canadians seem to like me.  You know what? I don't just like my Canadians, I loves them!  So here's to all of you Canadians that keep me in business.  What? I don't get paid to blog???  Well, fuck this then.


HAPPY CANADA DAY!

Total Eclipse of the Fart

I do enjoy coming up with silly post titles.  As you guessed, it's a parody of that Bonnie Tyler song "Total Eclipse of the Heart".  The song is corny as hell, but I think just about everyone has secretly listened to it, sung along with abandon, and then cried like a bitch. Have you seen the video to this song? Holy pancakes! That's some weird-ass shit right there.  Let's see...you've got flying choirboys who's eyeballs are replaced with a demonic glow, homoerotic male prep school scenes, wind where there shouldn't be wind, ninjas, and the woman, who I assume is their teacher, is getting all bothered thinking about it all. The end scene shows the Dean introducing her to her new batch of statutory rape hopefuls. I think that the last thing I would want to hear before I was molested by my teacher is "turn around, bright eyes", 'cause "forever is gonna start tonight".

Opinions?

Happy Birthday to me!

Thanks to Christielli, via another medium, I found out that my birthday is also part of the Fibonacci sequence, which has something to do with the Golden Ratio, which can be used to make spirals, which also describes my life and the aging process. I don't think that referring to my life as a spiral is accurate.  I like thinking that this current day in my life just says that I'm perfectly twisted.

I hope all of you are having great days.

Strange Days

I can't believe the weird things that have been going on.  That's all I have to say.   I hope you all are doing well.  In addition to all the crazy going on in the world, I've had a rather bizarre day.  It must be the drinking water.  Maybe I should start taking acid. I think the world would start making more sense. I'm fine, but just really confused.  If I had the patience, I'd explain everything. Yes, I'm a bit frustrated and confused at the moment, so I'm guessing that after you read this post you will be feeling the same way. 

Here's a tip: whenever life dishes out WTF moments, just say "wheeeeeeeee!"

Bibble Bibble

Rudyard Kipling once wrote....



but now he's dead so now he don't.




How's everybody doing since I've stopped being a good blogger?

Roveewade

A couple of days ago, I was switching out a UPS backup for a computer that runs a standardized test scanner.  The lady that runs the machine was standing by waiting for the machine to power up after I had done this.  I had some guys help me move the workstation and they were just hanging around as well.  This machine was taking its time and I needed to run to the loo real quick like. So, I go and do my business and when I returned one of the guys says, "Hey, did you know when she misses a period that they pay some guy to come out and fix it?"  I couldn't help it. I laughed until I bled internally.  The lady turned bright red from embarrassment and tried to clarify that he was referring to the test forms and not her reproductive system.

Happy Heart Day

I don't know what is wrong with me--why I haven't been posting much.  Whatever it is, it will work itself out eventually.  Then it will work itself back in again and then I will be all distant once more. It's a vicious cycle that probably points to some kind of psychosis.  Whatever, right?  

I just wanted to get all Stevie Wonder on you guys and say I just called to say I love you. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go pick up my meds.

HI!

I'm not dead. I don't even smell bad. Hell, I'm not even afflicted with rigor (subject to change in certain locations).  I've just been really busy doing stuff that isn't all that interesting.  

You weren't expecting anything like "My time in Space Academy" were you?

Jingle Bells

Oh what fun it is to sing a Slayer song tonight!   Go on, I dare you to go next door and start singing "Raining Blood" so loud that you shred your vocal cords. Wheeeeeeeeeee! Seriously, don't do that. Merry Christmas!!!

Sitting on a cornflake...

But the van is nowhere in sight.

Whatever "it" is that I've waited for, to settle all the scores, right the wrongs, and make all my dreams come true, it ain't a coming. Who is this Santa Claus of my life? Answer: God. I've made God into a caricature. I have to conclude that I don't know God well enough. I wouldn't know him enough to pick him out of a crowded room of other gods. What I'm trying to say here is that I need to reboot, repent, and take heed of what's really going on in the universe.  It's me, not you God.  

Well, that's quite the assemblage of profundities, coming from me: a person from such a lowly station in life. God will do whatever it is that God does. I can't stop that.  So if California sinks into the sea, all I will say is "Well, that sucks".  Maybe I have control over the small stuff, the stuff that I'm supposed to not sweat about.  Yea verily, I will have to make my life better myself and not wait around for manna to fall from the heavens. If manna does fall down to me, I will look up and say, without any irony, "thank you".

Tonight I'm starting off fresh. We'll talk this through and see where we go from here, okay? I'm prepared to change and I'll start by not assuming I got you all figured out.  I've certainly a lot of other people telling me stuff about you, like they got keys to your vacation home, or something; maybe they do.  Like I said, I need to pay attention. I've shown up to the restaurant looking for my "blind date" and assumed it was the blond in the booth, when it was the brunette at the window table.

Sometimes I try to avoid being human, or feel like one.  The past five years have taken their toll on me. I've just seen too many inevitable story lines playing out before me and it leaves me depressed. I guess my attempts to minimize the emotional impact of these future events has left me a tad dead inside.  The biggest mistake one can do to their spirit is to deny it humanity.

So my confession to God and man, my great sin: I am a human being.   

Moving on, I've had a couple of weeks to sit on this post.  Parts of it still ring true and others seem to have passed.  From old folklore, you have a character called the "Trickster".  A trickster has been at play in my life, setting traps and playing around with the order of things.  These acts of mischief seem malicious, but looking back, my trickster was trying to get me to pay attention to what really goes on in the world.  I would dwell on the negative aspects of what I saw. This has spun me out many times.

I realize now that I have been given warnings, lessons, and different perspectives of life. I am responsible if I do not take advantage of it all.  I am the one who will suffer if I do nothing. I am able, one way or another, to inflict damage, or to heal myself. One must choose to forgive and love oneself.

It is easy to see how frustration causes a temporary blindness to one's surroundings. Frustration can cause you to not see the forces around you that offer help or cause harm. I have done this frustration thing for too long; however, I know that I will never be without it as long as I live. 

That light cutting through the storm clouds is where I need to set my course. There will be plenty of good and bad to go around, but I can't stop moving.  Destination unknown, possibly, yet I will set sail and see what happens next.

Sounds a little bit like...

Buck

Cluck (The producers told me they'd accept it)

Muck

Stuck 

Shuck

Huck

Yuck

Luck

Duck

Puck

Tuck

Pluck

Meh, I'm still depressed. 

Ray for a day

I was working with an electrician yesterday, hooking up some power to some office cubicles.  The whole time we worked together he kept calling me "Ray", with this thick Mexican accent. He either had me mixed up with someone else, or was trying to mess with me.  You'd think that this would bother me--it didn't.

When someone calls you by the wrong name the first time, you usually correct them, or politely let it slide, only to eventually correct them the second or third time.  I corrected this gentleman today and he got upset that I let him carry on calling me Ray.  When asked why I did, I said, "Because I thought it was funny". After that, he pronounced my real name with a hard emphasis on the "tt".  If you know my last name, you'd figure out fast why "Ray", "Joe", or "Jack" would make for a hilarious first/last name combo.

Even though this guy was either pissed at me, or faking like he was pissed to further mess with me, I like working with the old guy.  I wonder what would happen if I started calling him Cheech? Something tells me he would probably like it.  I don't think Human Resources would like it as much. Hmmm.  Maybe I should just tell the director of HR to donate her knickers to the Boy Scouts--knots and such. Boy, that'd be swell.  Um, where was I? Oh yes, being Ray for a day was fun. The End!

PS. If you think I am bad, I know of someone who took two whole years to tell someone that his name wasn't Steve.

PSS. If you are wondering why this post ended the way it did, well, I'm garsh dern tarred. The End.

Where rocks call home

A week ago I went on a day trip to the lovely state of "Potatoho" with my dad and brother. It was to a place that my father had always wished to visit, being a rock climber in his younger years, but never did. My father's advanced age keeps him from enjoying many things.  Without mom around, it's up to his boys to get him out and have an adventure. I got to use an sweet Nikon to take some shots. I took so many shots, but these several I thought would make for a succinct post. There is so much more to this place; here is a taste.

I still can't believe that I took this shot.  I can't take credit for creating the landscape, the weather, and the lighting, but I sure as hell know where to stand, point the camera, and shoot.

I had to get one awkward self portrait of myself to prove that I was there.  Since then, I cut my hair and joined a cult--it was that powerful a place.  Well, it wouldn't be the first time that happened, a-tee-hee!

Pioneers be taggin' this shit.

One of the many things to look forward to after the "harvest" of man: views unobstructed by modern civilization.

Fifty miles to the horizon and thirty to Highway 81, via dirt roads.  You don't have to go this way, but where else are you going to see such beautiful nothingness?

I've done a couple of awesome hikes as well that I will post about in the future. Make sure to click on the photos to enlarge them.

What?

This is weird. I don't remember having a blog.  I guess I really did hit the pipe a bit hard this last month.

Really, though, I have been sick and other things.  I returned to the mountains this last weekend and got my butt kicked.  It is hard to get back what you lost.  

It is hard to get back what you lost.


P.S. Vera, I hope your arm gets better soon!

Aqueduct Adventure

I went on this hike two weeks ago.  I was interested in fully exploring an old aqueduct that I had hiked up to fifteen years ago.  This time it was a bit easier, since there was a trail leading up to the site and the brush was cleared by someone, well, some of the way at least.

This is the point where the old aqueduct would head out of the canyon and down to the valley to meet the irrigation needs of the settlers.  I reached this point by hiking over the shoulder of the hill from the valley floor below. It is quite a hike just to get to this point, but this wasn't a big deal for me.

As you can see, I still have a lot of hiking to do.  On the left, you can see the canyon road that leads up to some radar towers. This road used to be really busy with outdoor recreation, until it was closed down due to a landslide.

These little guys were sticking up everywhere. I think they look like mushrooms. 

Of course, what I was seeing were the steel bands left over from the pipeline.  The aqueduct's pipe was constructed of wood strips banded together with thousands of these pieces that you see here.  The bands and accompanying hardware are still all over the place, stretching nearly two-miles.  Almost all of the wood had either been destroyed by fires, or rotted away.

These bands tripped me up quite often.  I had several occasions where I was nearly gouged. Fun!

This large elbow was of such size that I could hide a dead body in it. I sometimes wonder why my mind works the way it does.  Hmm.

There were some cool outcroppings along the way. This was about where I had to start bushwhacking to get to the final third of the aqueduct and to the gates.

As I got closer to the gates, I found a peculiar object on the ground. Having to look where I had to put my feet paid off.

I cleaned off the object to find out that it was a stop watch of some sort.  I could make out that it was made in Germany and that the dial went to 30. The dial read "Mills". I want to find out what in the hell that's about. Anybody got a clue?

Anyway, the body is silver plated and the needle was rusted off. I'm guessing that it is rather old, but not older than a hundred years. I still am too afraid to open it up, for fear of launching a bunch of springs and gears all over the place.

Here are the gates.  Not much to look at, but not many people, I would gather, have been up here in the last 40 years. I have always been curious about what things the old timers did and how in the hell they built/got all this crap up here. 

I forgot my WD-40. Damn.

Instead of coming back the way I came, I hiked down to the creek and up the north side of the canyon to a good trail.  I knew I was getting close to the road when I saw the "Satanists" cave.  This is a good place to get loaded and set shit on fire, btw.

I promise

That I will post something soon.  I know you all can't live your lives without me. Yep.