Batshit Crazy! And Firkroy News

have said it before and I'll say it again, my neighbor Daryl is a batshit crazy nut job.

Now before you jump all over me for being unfair, I will say this. I've seen Daryl come to the rescue of a spider walking on the back of his sofa, and one year he actually gave away the same kind of squash he has rotting on the berm in front of his house. But when was it that I decided that Daryl indeed was a crazy SOB? Was it when he cut all of the limbs halfway up his trees, and then spent months running three wood chippers in his front yard? No, that wasn't it. Was it the solar panel that's attached to a car battery that runs his boom box in his front yard? No that wasn't it either. “So when the hell was it Dan, AKA Firkroy!?” You may be asking yourself right now. Well let me tell you, it was when the glowing grid of lights that crisscross his so called front yard illuminated for the first time. Of course the Christmas lights running back and forth on the cargo rack of his Toyota minivan did add to my opinion, and the glowing orb on his flag pole, and the other glowing orbs on the roof of his house. I'm still waiting to see the minivan lights glow, but I'm sure I will see them glow soon. What the hell are you waiting for Daryl? Make em glow baby!

OK, so now your asking yourself “Didn't you say Daryl was a space alien Firkroy!?” Yes I did make that statement, I truly did, and I stand by it. Daryl is a batshit crazy alien dropped off on our planet because he annoyed his neighbors in the Alpha Centauri star system. The glowing grid of lights in his front yard are a pitiful attempt at trying to get his fellow ETs to pick him back up. Of course they simply say “pffft, Fat chance!” but he still feels he has to try.

What I'm still trying to figure out is if his wife is an alien agent put here on earth to make sure he doesn't get out of hand, or just a codependent earthling who hasn't gotten enough therapy to allow herself to leave yet. Well if she's an alien agent put here to keep him in line then she's failing miserably. So she must be a codependent batshit crazy human! Batshit crazy or not I wish that she would put a leash on her man. In reality other than her inability to control her crazy alien mate, she does seem to be the sane one in the house.

OK, on to other batshit crazy stuff. Today's The Register Guard had a story entitled “Free-spirited mayor shakes up small Washington town.” And below the title it read: “The pony-tailed, pot-smoking leader is feeling some resistance.” Mayor Eric Strawn of Tenino Washington wears Bob Marley T-shirts, streams reggae music from his laptop, and has a medical marijuana card. He gets paid $600 per month as mayor and works at a beef-slaughtering plant. When asked about his work at the plant he said “People ask me. 'Oh, you kill cows?' I say 'I just cut their heads off.' It's a job that has to be done.” Strawn wrote a proclamation honoring military veterans from Tenino but Dawna Kelly-Donohue a city counselor of 14 years let loose with an email about his grammar stating it was full of grammatical and contextual errors. Strawn fired back at her email message by stating that she had written “a metaphorically troglodytic message to the new Mayor.” I guess he's adding a new bike/skateboard/basketball area to the city park, cool. I love small town politics.

In Deer Park Texas a sting operation on the police department break room netted one of their own. Officer Keven Yang was caught on tape stealing his fellow officers food and drinks from the break room refrigerator. Yang was suspended for 30 days without pay for the thefts. When questioned Yang said he was merely taking it upon himself to clean out the old items from the fridge. Maybe he shouldn't have used his mouth as a garbage disposal.

In Hendersonville North Carolina a man had his entire $49,000 venomous snake and lizard collection confiscated. The authorities found out about the reptiles when Walter Kid was hospitalized after being bitten by one of them. When the police inspected his house they found the reptiles stored in unmarked Tupperware containers. Kidd's attorney stated that they weren't a danger because he kept them at his home. But I would have to agree with the authorities that mixing up a container that contained a Cobra with yesterday's meatloaf could be a problem.
In other North Carolina news, I want to send my condolences to the family of Gary Banning of Havelock who accidentally drank gasoline from a jar sitting by his kitchen sink. After taking a gulp he spit out what was left in his mouth and got gasoline on his clothing. This was upsetting for Mr. Banning so he went outside to have a smoke... he will be missed.

That's all of the batshit crazy stuff I have for now, have a great day.

EXTREME FIRKROY! TO THE MAAAaaax...

Make sure to say “TO THE MAAAaaax” in a very low voice.

While visiting Scott's Bikes & Boards last week I was reminded of 1975 and summer days in Portland. My cousin Casey and I were skateboard enthusiasts and spent much of our summer careening down Mt. Tabor on our boards. Many times we did it the scary way by laying on our backs like present day street luge riders. I remember thinking to myself at the time that I was only 2 inches from the pavement, and it would hurt if I lost it, but I just concentrated harder on staying on. We also had races down the volcanic cinder cone that is Tabor in a catamaran style. We did this by sitting on our boards and then placing our feet on our partner's. We raced as teams to see who could make it to the bottom first. The closed off reservoir road that we used ended at a road that cars traveled on. We would all stick out our thumbs and catch rides in the backs of passing pickup trucks that were going up. We didn't wear helmets, and I ripped more than one pair of blue Levi's cords in pursuit of my thrills.

I was also a bicycle fanatic and loved taking my bike everywhere. I had a series of banana seat clad Schwinns and Huffys when I was a kid, and I've kept bicycles in my life to this day, but my love for two wheels branched off when I decided I wanted to ride motorcycles. When I was 16 the only thing I could convince my dad into letting me have was a Honda trail 70 with folding handlebars. I took it into the woods and did some serious exploring with it. My neighbor Jeff also had one and many times we would ride together. I remember having my cousin Casey on the back one day when a coyote jumped out from the brush and started running beside us. I didn't think we looked like a road runner, but I suppose coyotes only chase road runners in cartoons.

When I left home all bets were off and I started buying and riding anything I wanted. I owned dirt bikes, and street bikes, I wanted to experience it all. One winter I decided to purchase a Honda 350 from a friend in Phoenix Arizona. I flew out and spent a few days in Phoenix, then rode the Honda 700 miles back to Sacramento California. I was freezing my butt off going over the Grape Vine on Interstate 5 just north of the Las Angeles sprawl. In the years to come I didn't let bad weather slow my motorcycling down, and I remember commuting on Interstate 880 in the bay area of California in the middle of winter riding my 85 Kawasaki ZL 600 Eliminator. I would wear a bright yellow rain suit and put a gallon of Rain-X water repellent on the inside of the windshield of my helmet. I remember cutting through cars one day when traffic was stalled (legal in California) and having a guy in a pickup truck roll down his window and spit on me as I went buy; good thing it was raining. I rode the ZL 600 on that same road coming home at 110 miles per hour one day, the cars that I passed seemed to be sitting still, but the bike was running smooth with only a slight long wobble caused by the windshield. I suppose I could have gone even faster but I didn't want to push it.

About 10 years ago I owned my last motorized two wheeled vehicle, it was a Yamaha 250 scooter like Tom Hanks rode in the movie Larry Crowne. My wife wouldn't let me get anything larger, but if it made her happy I was happy too. I rode that scooter every day to work rain or shine, except when it was icy, I finally gave it up but it was a lot of fun. Now that I'm at that age where I need to exercise or rot, so I've been concentrating on my first love, my bicycle.

Looking for a bottle of chain oil for my Fuji Hybrid was the reason for going into Scott's Bikes & Boards the other day. I had a great conversation with the tattoo clad skater that was managing the store at the time. They had some beautiful long boards and I found myself longing to get on and cruise down Mt. Tabor. We had a nice conversation about each other's knee surgeries and I decided that careening down Mt. Tabor at this point in my life wasn't a good idea. The chain oil he sold me rocked! Well as much as chain oil can rock, but it does repel water and grime like a champ. I purchased a yellow rain jacket over at Bi-Mart to round out my foul weather riding attire. I'm not going to let a little rain stop me from getting the anti-rotting exercise that I need.

I would like to get a couple more bikes at some point. I need a mountain bike to ride with my older son on the dirt trails, and a tandem to use with my younger son, and my wife. I think my legs falling off would be the only thing that would ever stop me from riding bicycles. My motorcycle days may well be over but I've been fascinated by 3 wheeled Piaggio scooters as of late, but I don't think one is in the cards anytime soon. Having some maturity is one of the good things about having your first kid at 40, and not being bug squash is important these days; my boys deserve to grow up with a dad.

Miraculously, my boys didn't inherit my thrill seeking genes, it's one less thing I have to worry about as they grow up. Instead I have to worry about the little pack of girls that seems to be following my 12 year old around. My wife has been giving him the low down on wild adolescent girls, and I've been doing my part in filling him on what his life would look like being a dad at 14. Hopefully he's been inoculated against stupidity. But the thing about stupidity is that resistance requires frequent booster shots.

Lucky for me, I survived my bouts of 110 Mph stupidity.

All of My Groupies

You would think with a title like that I would be talking about my panty throwing fans, and I suppose if I had any panty throwing fans then even I would be a little surprised. But panty throwers isn't what I want to talk about.

After sitting here at midnight watching two snails crawl around a lettuce leaf placed in our fish tank, my thoughts turn to all of the different groups of people I connected with today. My interactions varied, and my head had to switch gears with every group. It was like riding a bicycle in the Tour de Pants of the brain, but without having to wear tight pants.

I spent time today with a group of people who I've never met in person, but I've know some of these people for over 15 years. I started playing the multi-player game called Subspace on my brand new Windows 95 running computer in 1997. “Meet people from around the world... then kill them” has been their motto forever. But if you think I'm talking about a game where gibs. (short for giblets) are splatting on the computer screen then you would be wrong, this game involves little space ships like the early video game Asteroids. You team up with players and shoot the little ships of the opposing teams with your little ship, and when you blow up, you get a fresh little ship. The game is very social with people talking to each other constantly, and about any subject. There is a lot of smack talk, but you also get to meet and talk to people from everywhere. Players have names like “Axe Demento,” “The Prince of Pain,” and “Mr. Bhole.” I'm known as “A Boomstick!” in the game, and am known for my witty retorts to noodle brains that don't know how to use the English language. Noodle brains like to communicate using text messaging shorthand words like STFU noob, lmfao, and OMG. I actually changed my name in the game from “Firkroy” to “A Boomstick!” sometime back because of the online column that I created and subsequent blog. I didn't want stupid people following me around the Internet, and I think a few of them have a grudge. Which brings me to my next group, The Expats.

The Expats is my writing group that ultimately came together after we simultaneously had a Popeye the Sailor moment and declared “That's all I can stands, cuz I can't stands n'more!” with an online website where we originally met. We ate our spinach, and then like washed ashore shipwreck survivors we had a gathering on Facebook. It was amazing how much we all clicked together. Our love for writing, and more importantly, writing with integrity created a stronger bond than I think anyone could have imagined. I couldn't have asked for a greater community of writers to hang out with. They give me inspiration every day to be more creative, and the confidence I need to move forward. I just love this eclectic group!

Another group that I just recently started working with is Oregon Veterans' Heart. Formerly the Eugene chapter of Veterans for Peace, this group of veterans is committed to making a real difference in our community for veterans. They are involved in the Egan warming center that provides shelter for the homeless when it gets cold , and with the Truth in Recruiting program through the Community Alliance of Lane County. The goal is to counter the misinformation that military recruiters share with students, and to promote alternatives to military service. Veterans' Heart is one part of my lifetime journey of self understanding and healing after my 15 year involvement with the U.S. Military. I volunteered to create a website that is still in the works, and to help with other activities. It gives me great comfort being around people who understand how I feel, and who care so much about others. There is a communal knowledge that runs through us, and an understanding about what each of us has gone through. Sometimes it just feels nice to be around people who understand.

Another journey in my life started when I found out I was a parent of a child with autism. Membership in this group was free, and doing everything in my power for my child was the only option. We have networked with many parents who also have children with similar challenges, and have embarked on a lifetime of learning about the unique person who is my son. We support great programs like Bridgeway House in Eugene Oregon that serves the needs of children with autism and related developmental disabilities while educating and supporting their families. They put on a play once a year, that is not a fund raiser, but rather a showcase of what these kids can do. So much effort is put into helping these kids sometimes we can loose track of how amazing they are. My wife has embarked on a Master degree in Special Education with an emphases on autism as a result of our son's needs; she's an amazing woman with a fortitude that I didn't know existed when I married her. The military instilled a “failure is not an option” attitude toward life in me that has helped me push forward through tough times. That kind of tenacity came to my wife naturally.

Which brings me to my favorite group of all, my family, without them I'm really nothing. My spouse has saved me from myself more times than she realizes, and my kids are my world of joy. Yes, they can be challenging, but would I have ever grown up at all without them? I doubt it. They keep me on my toes and teach me what it is to be human. I watch my children with amazement when they accomplish things I never imagined they could, and I can see my influences on them every day. If it weren't for my family I would have never known the joys and challenges that parents experience. Being a parent is the toughest job I have ever had, but it's the most rewarding thing I've ever done.

Groups are always in flux, and don't stay the same throughout life. New groups will find me, and old groups will have new members. I haven't seen The Prince of Pain in some time, and I just got to know Axe Demento who is working on writing a novel. I think Mr. Bhole will probably always live up to his name, but he provides me with cheap entertainment.

My family will always be the most important group in my life, real friends will always be there for me, and I for them. Because your groups and the people in them are really what life is all about.

Firkroy Is Dealing With Those Firken Chickens Again!

My allergies are acting up, and I think I'm starting to imagine things.

Today was a three cupper, well maybe a five or a sixer if you count the cups of Earl Grey I made after the coffee pot was drained. I love to to take the tea bag and put it against my nose, then breath in the aroma before dunking it in a microwaved cup of water. The smell alone invigorates my morning; Jean-Luc Picard would be proud.

You've probably heard about a lot of great things about Oregon, but what you may not know is that the Willamette Valley is allergy central. With all of the greenery comes pollen of every sort, and mold spores to boot. My allergies have been acting up, and I'm not happy about it. My best friends right now are antihistamines, and a plastic bottle. It squirts salt and baking soda water up the nose that will soon be enjoying an Earl Grey embrace.

The house is empty, and I'm going about my domestic duties. I need to run to the store later so I can get the ingredients for turkey chili, and corn bread for tomorrow, “Mm mm mm.” But tonight we are having chicken in a crock pot. But as I'm tossing in a few more onions into the pot, and a cup of white wine, what do I hear? Chicken noises coming from the front yard? Are the ghosts of chickens past coming to haunt me for roasting up yet another of their brethren?

Nope, one of our chickens escaped from their gulag, and found its way into the front yard.

With some strategic gate opening, and herding of the dumb cluck, I manage to at least get it into the back yard. If plucking wasn't such a hassle I would have herded it onto the gas grill, and given it a bath with a bottle of Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce. But if I had done that I would have been branded a pet murderer, and family harmony trumps finger licking good every time.

Meanwhile back at the Firkroy command center, I'm working on my media empire. Spending time adding content to Google plus, and adding more people into Twitter. One of my goals is to have everything pointing at each other. My blog, Twitter, BrooWaha, and Google plus all working in harmony, like some sort of the digital circle of life. My Facebook account is the red headed step child, and isn't getting any love; I'm only using it to check on relatives from time to time to see if I need to attend a funeral.

Facebook still calls to me though, “Come and play Farkle Firkroy.”

“No you evil voice, go away.” I think to myself.

But it persists, “Uncle Del just scored 22,243 points! He's whooping your butt, you better come play.”

“No, no, back un-clean one! Do you see this? Yeah, that's right GARLIC, and I'm not afraid to use it.”

I come out of my daydream, and find I have the garlic powder shaker in my left hand ready to douse my laptop. I quickly grab my left wrist with my right hand and jerk it away, just in the nick of time.

It's funny how people who deal with technology start to look at certain institutions as villains, and others as their buddies. Facebook, Microsoft, and HP are on my stinker list right now. Microsoft has been on my “PU” list ever since they tried to take over the world in the 90s. I will have to admit that Bill Gates has been really trying to make a positive difference in the world lately, but his successor Lord Ballmermort is another story. When I see the current Microsoft CEO -Steve Ballmer- I see an uncanny resemblance to “He who shall not be named.”

“Doh!” Now I'm screwed, I named him, Steve Ballmer that is, and his VPs are going to swoop in on their Segeways, and start shooting me with their Windows 8 wands, and I'll have to use my magic Google Chrome shield to protect me.

“Curse you Lord Ballmermort you, you, screaming Cue Ball!” I yell, pointing my papermate wand into the air.

I've really got to stop this day dreaming nonsense. I blame it on allergies, I think all of those little white pills are making me loopy.

I think I'll go and check on that chicken that's cooking in the crock pot, I think it needs more wine.

Firkroy is Stayin' Alive, Stayin' Alive!

Firkroy is hitting the path, and getting things moving.

Part of the “Keeping me alive program,” along with eating bowls of oatmeal in the morning, and not eating big chunks of cow, is bike riding. With the kids in school, I now have more flexibility with my time during the day. I ride my bike with my older son to his school, and then continue on for a thirteen mile trip along the Willamette river, on the bike paths of Eugene.

It's a pleasant ride along the river, groups of elderly people can be seen walking along the path, as well as bike commuters, hobos, and falling leaves. There are also people selling hand made jewelry laid out on blankets in the grass as I ride by, community gardens, parks, and that big “O” on Autzen stadium. I slow down as I go through the delta ponds, a small wildlife refuge with Western Pond Turtles that like to sit atop logs, beached on little islands in the middle of the water. There's also a beaver dam with ducks bobbing up and down trying to get at whatever is beneath the ripples. The Oregon State Beavers and Oregon Ducks may have a contentious rivalry on the gridiron, but in this pond beavers and ducks are in harmony.

I have a Fuji cross bike that I've had for several years, and I've made a few modifications to it. I've added fenders, changed the peddles, and replace the seat post. All in the name of making my bike fit me just a little bit better. My wife gave me a pair of black mountain bike pants, and later, a matching black long sleeve bicycle shirt. Mountain bike pant look more like regular shorts than Tour de Pants bicycle pants, which is good because I'm not ready to look like a ballet dancer wearing tights. I look a little more like Darth Vader, and if I added a cape and helmet, I could practice using “The Force” as I'm riding along. I could pick up and move whole groups of strolling old ladies out of the way, or I could part clouds of hobo cigarette smoke like the Red Sea, with a wave of my hand. Oh so many possibilities, but alas I can only use “The Force” for good.

Other bike paths in the area have less traffic, and you can find big packs of the Tour de Pants riders clad in their colorful advertisement laden bicycle gear. Just don't get in their way, they would rather run over babies than break formation. They're getting in shape for the Tour de France so watch out... Most won't even make the Tour de Springfield, but I suppose they can have their fantasy.

Upon arriving at home after my commune with two wheels and nature, It's time to go to work. I've ramped up my eBay sales, and like a Ferengi searching for a profit, I've been sniffing around for things for sale that I can pick up cheap, and then resell on eBay or Craigslist. Sales as a profession is hard to do correctly, but the challenge can be rewarding. But, selling to some of the people on eBay is anything but rewarding; some of them are real pieces of work. I've had a few people who didn't pay after winning my auctions, and I've had to go through the process of getting my selling fees back from eBay on more than one occasion, after buyers renege on their end of a deal. About six years ago I had one individual click on a “Buy it” button on a Vespa like scooter I was selling, he then turned around and give me negative feedback because he was confused by how the system worked. I had a not so pleasant conversation on the phone with this Ding Dong, and it wasn't pretty. As a result, I try and avoid selling anything a dumb person might want. I have a low tolerance for financial dealing with idiots; if only someone would invent the IQ filter. Craigslist is a little better, but sometimes I ignore email replies that I know are from people that I don't want to deal with, or Spammers.

And we all know what we would do to Spammers if we could just get our hands on them around here, “spit.”

Here lately, I've been getting the itch to throw some pots; I'm a potter amongst other things, and the kids have reeked havoc on the dishes that I made years ago. But first I have a bedroom to add for my oldest son, and more house painting to do. I've forgotten what boredom feels like a long time ago, and I have a feeling It may have something to do with that little voice in the back of my head, coming from my spouse with her honey do list in one hand, and a cattle prod in the other. But it's just a hunch.

The zucchini that I purchased last week was made into zucchini bread! Oh the splendid aroma of zucchini bread, with a chunk of melting butter running all over it. “Mmmmmmm.” Oh, if only I had more zucchini, then maybe we could make more of that wonderful nutty bread.

But Wait! Maybe Daryl from from across the street has more zucchini he wants to unload...

Run run run, “Knock Knock Knock,” on Daryl's door.

“Anyone home? Yooouuu Hoooooo!”

“I'll help you with more of those zucchini Daryl!”

“Buddy?”

“I see you hiding behind that curtain!”

“Open up! I need more zucchini!”

“KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!”

“Come on, be a pal!... Buddy?...”

In This Corner... Firkroy!

It's Firkroy vs Hackers. Now go to your corners and come out fighting…ding, ding, ding!

One of my laptops started barking out “Warning, Warning Will Robinson!” at least that's what it felt like when the Microsoft Security Essentials popped up the first bubble that said I had a threat. I clicked on the resolve the issue button, but of course a few moments later it popped up yet again. Like a dog scratching off a flea I may have picked off one, but there are a hundred more hiding between the hairs.

So I resign to going through the drill by updating my free malware elimination software (Malwarebytes, and SuperAantispyware), then I re-booted the laptop in safe mode, I then ran a full scan with the first one with not even a burp, then they appear, 547 bad nasties detected! So after over an hour of scanning, and using the digital equivalent to a Raid bug bomb on them, I do another complete scan this time with the other checker, and find nothing wrong. I'm now safe to re-boot my laptop, and use it.

If hackers would keep their bad behavior targeted on big corporations I wouldn't mind them so much because they would be helping to keep hard working IT people employed on a regular basis, but these ass wipes pick on everyday people.

“What kind of punishment should they be subjected to?” I think to myself.

“Hummm, let me see:”

• Death by hanging? No, too quick.
• Death by Guillotine? Again, too damn quick for those bastards.
• The electric chair? Now that would be entertainment! Maybe cook some eggs on their foreheads as they fry.

Here is my list of more creative ways of killing perpetrators of malware:

• Being kicked in the nads by their victims to death! But only after being force fed a bottle of cheap Viagra purchased from a spammer. Then the victims get to repeatedly kick the Viagra spammer.
• Being turned over to 1000 jocks for wedgies until dead. Then hung from a school flag pole.
• Made to watch replays of Notre Dame making touch downs until dead. Actually making them watch any kind of football on TV would probably kill them.
• Made to give Tech. Support to hillbillies until dead. That's just mean.
• Made to stand in sunlight until dead, I think it would only take 10 minutes tops. I don't think they go outside much so they would quickly become a pile of ash, like a vampire hitting sunlight.
• Deprivation of all Sci-Fi involving space ships until dead. (that one might even kill me)
• Take away their computer for life... then they would kill themselves.

The nad kicking event sounds like a real money making opportunity, and I could sell tickets. Now how to get the word out without spamming, hummmm.

Now I can understand the interest in cracking a code, breaking into something that is supposed to be secure, and there are groups of hackers that are actually helpful, and help organizations find vulnerabilities in their systems. But most of the time, malware is created by criminals; the type of people who want to steal your personal information, your habits on the Internet, your credit card numbers, or any other nefarious thing this bunch of bastards think up to rob, or make money off of you.

If you haven't figured it out by now, the criminals sort of piss me off. Yes they have given me plenty to write about, and lots of opportunities to help people solve their problems, but I would much rather not have to deal with these jerks.

One way you can limit the damage these punks can do to you is to not use Windows. You can go and go out and buy a MAC, and that can be a bit spendy if your on a limited income, or you can check out the latest version of Ubuntu. Ubuntu is a completely free Linux operating system that I highly recommend. The computer I'm using right now is completely running on Ubuntu 11.04 Linux, but you can download a CD image, and try it on your own computer without making any changes to it at all. You download the CD image, burn it to a CD, then boot your computer from that CD to try it. It can also be installed to work side by side with your windows installation. I've tried many versions of Linus over the years and this is the first time I can actually say that I like a Linux installation over Windows.

On a completely different subject, and to those of you who read Firkroy's Revenge regularly. I did the grocery shopping this week, and guess what was on the list... zucchini. I had to buy six of them at the grocery store. Sigh, now I wish I hadn't hid from Daryl last week when he was going door to door unloading them. They were pretty cheap at the store, so I guess they was trying to unload them too.

Monday is kick a malware punk in the nads day, so get busy!

Firkroy is Thinking About a Big Bang! And the Annihilator.

This week started off with a BANG! And ended with a SQUASH!

Tuesday is garbage day, the day I put all of the bins by the curb. The drivers of the lumbering trash trucks don't like getting out of their cabs to pick up refuse, they simply drive up, and a mechanical arm grabs the plastic bin and Whoooosh, away goes the trash. It would be nice if once in a while they would closed the bin lids that stay open after a dump, but nope, it's on to the next house.

The night before trash day I routinely move my SUV, and place the plastic containers out on the curb where I was parked. But I was sloppy this week, and I parked my Blazer semi sideways behind our minivan. A poor parking job indeed, but it's my driveway, and I can park all wonkey if I feel like it... That was mistake number one.

The next day I see people rummaging through my recycle bins before the trucks show up to collect cans and bottles that they can turn in for a nickel a piece. No big deal, times are tough, and they are at least showing some initiative; I go back to reading the paper. My wife says she's bringing my son's friend back home after a sleep over. I wave as I sip my morning brew, and go back to reading Dilbert. Wally is being his usual malingering self when all of the sudden there is a big “BANG!”

“What the hell!” I say jumping from my chair and heading outside.

Oh no! My wife who thinks the gas peddle is an on/off switch has run the minivan into my cockeyed parked SUV.... That was mistake number two.

If your going to run into something with your car you may as well run into another one of your own vehicles, it's less messy that way, and your insurance premiums won't go up.

I assess the damage, and it doesn't look too bad as I pick tail light chunks out of the Blazer's molding.

“Sigh, no big deal. This should only cost about $50 to replace the tail light lens” I tell my wife.

She apologizes for crunching our rides. She said the backup obstacle alarm was going off but it was too late.

“Back up the Enterprise Mr. Sulu, warp nine!”

“Ay Captain.”

“Engage!”

I think to myself.

I call the Hyundai dealer's parts department. “Ay Carumba!” The new lens cost $225!

The tail light lens is part of the tail light assembly, and you have to buy the whole thing! What a racket, “Sigh.”

I reluctantly pull my credit card out of my wallet. “Yes I will be paying for it with Visa, yes overnight it, the expiration date is...”

It took me a whole 5 minutes to replace the lens assembly.

It's time for breakfast, and 98% of the time I have oatmeal for breakfast, with blueberries, walnuts, and other assorted super foods to help keep me alive. Yes, I know oatmeal conjures up some horrific thoughts (and only God knows why) of Hannibal Lechter in some people. But oatmeal is good stuff, but my mind wanders off, and I start thinking of doughnuts, Voodoo doughnuts.

A thought bubble appears above my head. Ah the Voodoo maple and bacon bar, oh how I would rather have you than oatmeal. My mind starts to wander, they make a doughnut shaped like a joint called the Maple Blazer Blunt, with maple frosting, and red sprinkle ember.

“It must be for stoners that have the munchies.” I think to myself.

Then I think about the Old Dirty Bastard doughnut with chocolate frosting, Oreo’s, and peanut butter that never really appealed to me. And what kind of pervert at Voodoo developed the Bavarian cream shaped like a Willy called the bleep-N-bleep with bite me written across it.

“POP” goes my thought bubble... let's go on to another subject.

Coffee! Dutch Brothers makes my favorite on the road coffee called the Kicker with 3 different espresso beans, Irish Cream, and the secret “Kick Me Mix.” They also make the Annihilator which is the same as the Kicker but with Chocolate Macadamia Nut instead of Irish Cream. Some of the Dutch Brothers baristas are packing, and recently one of their baristas in Eugene shot and killed a would be robber, dead as a door nail. A little severe but that'll teach that bastard not to mess with our coffee providers.

Speaking of injury by weapon, later in the week I tried to cut my thumb off chopping sweet potatoes to make sweet potato, and black been burritos. I need to slice a body part about every ten years to remind me that knives are sharp.

OK after crunching up my cars, chopping up my thumb, and paying that outlandish price for a stupid tail light lens, it was time for a beer. My favorite local Eugene brew comes from Steelhead Brewery in Eugene, they make a fine porter called French Pete that is dark brown, creamy, and is all malty and smooth. But if you like beer that makes you pucker, then you must try a Hopasaurus Rex. Billed as “the king of Imperial India Pale Ales, and is extra bitter!”

You have to have some serious nads to drink that sort of thing. The thought of a Hopasaurus makes my tongue cringe, and I start getting a headache.

Another of my favorites beer joints is McMenamins. Now for an authentic stout you would have to travel to Ireland and get a real Irish Guinness. The Irish hoard the good stuff to themselves, and they don't let it leave the country. But if you can't afford a trip to Ireland for a stout, then a McMenamins Terminator is my favorite choice, and it's cool because it's called Terminator. Hasta la vista baby.

Now you may be thinking, what kind of people are these crazy lunatics that name their drinks Terminator, Annihihlator, Hopasaurus Rex , and shoot would be coffee hut robbers deader than that racoon on Donald Trump's head? Well that's a good question, and I would tell you but, it's a secret.

Looking across the street I see my neighbor Darryl picking a bag of zucchini. He has 11,373 zucchini squash in his front yard, and what? He's headed this way, he's giving away zucchini!

I'm closing curtains, and pretending I'm not home.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh!” I'm hiding.

Firkroy is Too Firken Hot!

“I'm melting, I'm melting”, that's not the wicked witch of the north being hit by a bucket of water, but my face acting like a Snickers bar left outside in the sun.

It's 9PM and 91 degrees Fahrenheit outside. You can normally get away without air conditioning in western Oregon, but there are a few weeks when it's just too hot. I wouldn't care if it would cool down at night, but when the heat persists then it's just too hot.

I had an air conditioner mounted in our bedroom window before I demolished the old wall, and did a window replacement, I was reluctant about reinstalling the air conditioner because it would look crappy hanging out of the new window, but at the moment I would go for the crappy look to be a bit cooler.

I resorted to standing in the sprinkler in the middle of the backyard, and then tried to make snow cones with a Snoopy snow cone maker. I'm convinced that the Snoopy snow cone maker was developed in Siberia, and used in Gulags to re-educated wayward commie children. However today, the things are mainly an American parent torture machine. Children try to turn the crank that change ice cubes into snow, but then start crying about how hard it is, and how it hurts their fingers. The parents say “nonsense,” and start cranking, not wanting to let on about how big a mistake it was to get the stupid thing, or how much it hurts. They just keep cranking out snow cones, vowing to pay a visit to the head office of the manufacturer to give them “a piece of my mind!” Luckely for them, they're in China.

School will be staring soon, and I found myself walking around at Office Max looking at school supplies for my kids, just so I could enjoy their air conditioning. I found spiral notebooks for 1 cent on sale, and I had a nice conversation about HP, and Apple with one of the young sales guys. I always enjoy knowing more about the companies that manufacture the products they sell than they do. Some people follow college football, and others movie stars; I follow what technology companies do as one of my unexplained obsessions, we all have them, what can you do.

OK, today I got a treat, one of things on my to-do list was to performed open case surgery on another dead laptop courtesy of the infamous “Curtis the Cord Yanker.” It was a delicate operation, the patient's life signs were weak, but after about an hour and a half of working with a soldering iron, hot melt gun, Philips screwdriver, and with sweat pouring from my forehead (did I mention that it's hot) the patient woke up. Then there was the extensive physical therapy conducted with anti-malware software, the purge of worthless programs, and the removal of the vast array of tool bars installed in the web browser by the aforementioned sneaky worthless programs.

It's now one mean looking laptop, with its missing front tooth, eye patch, and scars covering its case. All it needs now is a peg leg, and a parrot, and it could be a pirate laptop. Nobody will mistake this computer for a My Little Pony sissy laptop.

Oh how I love laptop surgery, getting that “It's Alive! BWAHAHA!” Dr. Frankenstein experience is quite a rush.

Oh and speaking of Pirates, I spent last evening watching an Eugene Emeralds baseball game at the (courtesy of the founder of Nike, Phil Knight) University of Oregon baseball stadium. The Emeralds are our class A farm baseball team, and I don't go to many of their games, and was perplexed as to why the Pittsburgh Pirates Parrot was running around grabbing player's butts as they bent over to stretch while warming up to play. Apparently he flies around to other baseball games in the country in his spare time to play garb ass... I guess I'll never quite understand baseball.

So if you Pittsburgh folks wonder what happened to your parrot, don't worry he's sweating in Eugene Oregon, and eating all of our crackers.

Firkroy Is Thinking Of Bacon And Flies

The Bacon Lettuce and Tomato sandwich is one of my favorites, but can someone swat that damn fly before it lands on my BLT!

Uuummmm Bacon. Everyone loves bacon, even people who’ve never tried bacon love it; they just don’t know it yet. The human mind is programmed to love bacon, why even vegetarians love bacon; why else would they make phony bacon strips made out of beans.

If I wanted to do mass mind control, I would have my evil scientists develop a bacon mind ray that would transmit from my secret satellite down on the populous below. It would control the bacon centers of the brain, and make everyone powerless to my commands. I would rule the world! Bwahaha!

Sorry, I lost control of myself for a moment.

Do you know you can buy bacon soap? Yep, that’s right, you can get all showered up, and smell like breakfast. I suppose some guys would enjoy smelling like bacon all day, but maybe some devious babe is trying to catch her Homer by getting all odor de bacon. But why would she stop at bacon body aroma? She could brush her teeth with bacon toothpaste, add some bacon lip balm, pop a few bacon mints, and hang a bacon scented air freshener from the rearview mirror of her Camry. She may not get her Homer but she’s guaranteed to get tongue kisses from dogs.

Yes, you could buy all of those things, as well as bacon gumballs, bacon popcorn, and make a sandwich with Kosher -no pigs harmed- Baconnaise. I personally am looking forward to dipping some french-fried potatoes in a jar. I hear Baconnaise, chocolate, and peanut butter sandwiches are heaven on earth, but that may just be crazy crap that someone made up, you will just have to make one and see if it’s true.

I know you want to, don’t you.

Adding bacon to anything makes it taste better, no one can resist tossing some bacon bits on their salad, and you can get it on top of your doughnuts. You can also get bombed on bacon with Gentleman Ham’s Bacon Whisky, or Bakon (with a k) Vodka. How about Maple Bacon Toffee Apple Cheesecake, I’ve seen the recipe.

Do you know who else likes bacon? Flies, those pesky good for nothing flying pests. If you’re cooking up bacon, they will come. I think they would even die for bacon if you gave them half a chance, by doing a breast stroke in a pan of grease. What else do flies have in common with bacon? Nothing really, other than liking to buzz around pig pens. I just wanted to write about how much I despise them, after talking about the virtues of bacon.

The only flies I like are the suicidal type; you can give them a smack with the swatter then toss their little corpses into a web outside to get their juices extracted.

But really, are there any good reasons for these damn flying pests? Can’t spiders simply eat something else? Would the world really end without house, and other types of flys that bite you? I was looking in the paper yesterday and there was a picture of a young man from Springfield that had his face oozing because a flesh eating parasite was burrowing through his right cheek as a result from being bitten by a Sand Fly in Peru. That’s one fly that a spider would have spit out.

What I want to know is even with all of the screens I have erected around the house I still have flies landing on my face; it's just not fair I tell you. I know! If we get rid of all the flies then we make a fly substitute for spiders out of tofu. We can call it “Tofly” and shape it into juicy little winged morsels. Maybe the spiders could make fly sandwiches with Toflyanaise.

Well and maybe pigs will fly.

It’s a Firkroy Birthday, Happy Birthday To Me

What’s that I hear? “Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you look like a monkey, and smell like one too.” <Sigh>, kids.

It was finally my turn, the nurse called my name (butchering it like everyone else does), and I go back into the maze of little rooms to get weighed, to have my blood pressure checked, and to be asked a few mental health questions. It’s the day before my birthday, and time for my yearly physical at the VA. I’ve had the same doctor for years, and I usually enjoy meeting with him for a brief chit-chat about things, going over tests, and listening to his latest bad joke.

During our discussion he asks me about my knee, I had surgery on it at the Portland VA hospital a couple years back, and he was interested in how it’s doing, and my experience at the hospital.

“Did they treat you well at the hospital?” he asks, as he thumbs through some papers.

“The doctors, and nurses were fantastic.” I replied. “But, are there supposed to be beans in gruel?”

“I think they hired the head chef from the Oregon State Penitentiary, the food was awful.” I added.

He smiled and took a note, then said “You’re 51 now.”

“52 tomorrow,” I interrupted with a smile.

“After 50 they recommend that you get your prostate checked for cancer every year.” He continues. “They want to check it every year?” I think to myself. “Oh joy, oh joy” Making a mental frown.

“I can check it out right now if you like” he says.

“Ah come on,” I think to myself, I really don’t feel like having an anal probe the day before my birthday, If I had no responsibilities I could drown myself in margaritas, smoke cigars, and skip exams like this. But I have a family to take care of, so I need to take every opportunity to stay alive as long as I can.

So I man up and say “OK, we may as well do it.” The doctor tells me to bend over while he snaps on the rubber glove.

“I had a patient ask me to apologize for doing this examination once” he says…

I head home with a clean bill of health, and with a little less dignity. When I arrive I have a big chore ahead of me, the day before my old GE washing machine decided to make a big “BANG!” noise, and break down.

“Curse you GE bastards!” I say as I shake my fist to the sky. I’ve had to fix this piece of crap way too many times; I’m going to throw you over the ledge at the dump! “BWAHAHAHAHA” I think to myself rubbing my palms together like the Joker getting ready to spring a nefarious trap on Batman. I find it hard to believe that GE manufactures jet engines, when they can’t even make a decent washing machine. If you’re reading this in an airplane, just ignore the big “BANGS!” I’m sure it will be ok. (rolls eyes and whistles)

With the GE *spit* washer declared dead, my family and I travel up to Portland to get a washing machine that was sitting in what used to be my father’s house. We make the 200 mile round trip with portable DVD player going in the back seat to keep boys entertained, and somewhat pacified. I loaded up my dad’s Kenmore (no spitting required) in my trailer made from an old Toyota pickup truck, and head home.

After unloading the heavy ass replacement washing machine, I use my hand dolly to push the beast into place. I have to get a new hose at Sears, but it’s no big deal. After a good scrubbing the replacement washing machine is up and running. “Score one for the good guys” I think to myself, and wishing a prostate exam on all of the upper management at *spit* GE.

I’ve been doing a lot of work this summer, and when my wife asked me what I wanted to do on my birthday, I immediately told her I wanted to sit in front of the TV, watch guy shows with my boys, and all around do nothing; and that’s what I did. But first I had to hook up some SaaWeeeet guy gifts, so I could sit around, and do nothing all day. “Thanks honey!”

My birthday is now over, and it’s back to work. I do more work now than I ever did working for the man. Today I have a guy coming over to look at some chairs I posted on Craigslist, and then it’s blueberry picking in the afternoon. Tomorrow I’m working on replacing a door, and other home repair wonders.

It’s been a great week, and my favorite part of all was getting to eat German chocolate cake for breakfast!

“Shhhhhhhh,” don’t tell doctor snappy gloves.

It’s Been Quite a Week, and What’s That Funny Glow?

Last week was long one, with bugs, painting, and Daryl, but get that Pepto Bismol ready, the county fair is just around the corner, Oh Boy Oh Joy!

The light post outside of our house is mostly out, only coming back on when it feels like it. I discovered an interesting thing with the street being dark, something funny is going on over at my neighbor Daryl’s house. Three more glowing orbs, for a total of four! OK, OK, I’ve figured it out, it’s so simple, why didn’t I realize this before… Daryl is trying to contact the mother ship, he’s phoning home! Soon there will be tones on loud speakers synchronized to the orbs then,

“Buzzzzzz ZAP!” Daryl’s out of here!

I can’t wait to see the mother ship, will it look like a saucer, or will it look like a shuttle craft from the starship Enterprise with a green guy at the helm? I’m just giddy; it’s going to be so exciting!

Well in more mundane, down to earth news. It’s house painting time folks, I finished up painting around my window replacement, and now it’s on to the back of the house. My house was built around 1960 and had some modifications done to it. One decorative extra feature that was added by the three stooges was plywood nailed up between the overhang and the outside wall of the house. It really isn’t too decorative, but it WAS a fantastic wasp apartment complex. I’ve had to bug bomb in between the gap they kept crawling into on several occasions, but this time all of that crap was coming down.

As I pried down the pieces of plywood I could see those creepy nests waiting to unleash a hell storm of flying stinging devil bugs! I cautiously proceeded prying down on the plywood, and amazingly (Whew) nothing attacked me. I could identify two different types of wasps judging by the nests that were hitting me in the face. Paper Wasps, and Mud Daubers that are the creepiest. The Mud Daubers had built little mud condos against the side of the wall, and the other nests were a sort of honey comb type made by the Paper Wasps.

I let them all have it with the hose, and mud dripped down the side of the wall. There were three very confused wasps flying around looking for the entrance to their mud Jacuzzi, but it was in a little brown puddle on the ground. I gave them directions to Daryl’s house, and I told them he would be leaving soon so they would have the whole place to themselves.

In other news, I’ve been doing a test of the EverBlade for Tony Berkman, the Big Kahuna of Blog Catalog and BrooWaha. I must say that this shaving gizmo is doing a fine job of keeping my razor sharp. The non-EverBladed razor that I’m using as a control is getting dull, and tugging at my whiskers. Now, I want you to know that I’m a Norelco man (mainly because I’m lazy) and not just saying the EverBlade thing-a-majig works to be a suck up, and to get more free stuff. When I’m finished testing I’ll be going back to my electric razor, but it’s been a lot of fun playing with shaving cream.

Tonight I’m watching the last part of “The Stand” on Netflix, they made a four miniseries sometime in the 90s of the novel by Stephen King. It’s our in-home date night when the kids go to bed, and I get to relax with my honey and watch the show. There’s nothing like a romantic evening at home watching bodies lying around everywhere after dying from a military engineered killer flu, and eating popcorn. I never read the book, so I can’t wait to see how it ends, Stephen King is a genius.

Speaking of entertainment in a couple of weeks I’m taking the munchkins to the Lane County Fair! It’s an exciting time of barf rides, cigarette smoke, inappropriate clothing, and best of all teeth are optional! You can get yummy taste treat sensations like elephant ears, hot dogs, and deep fried butter! Oh wait, the deep fried butter is at the Texas State Fair; sorry if you go to the Lane County Fair you’ll have to settle for some other deep fried oddity.

The fair usually has a band playing, and one year on my birthday, we got to listen to Weird Al Yankovic. Al was running around in a fat suit singing a parody of Michael Jackson’s song “Bad”. I felt sorry for AL in that fat suit dancing around on stage in the middle of August, but maybe that’s how he stays so thin. Weird Al appears to have a nice close shave, and I wonder, does Weird Al use an EverBlade?

Oh blast, it’s time to get back to painting the side of the house, the wasps are all gone, and things are shaping up. I had a bee fly into my paint bucket this morning and commit insecticide, I wish insect HMOs would pay for Prozac, and then maybe, just maybe, all of this insecticide madness would end.

Slurp…. “Oh this is some good coffee.”

Firkroy Has Cars on His Mind

The cars of my youth tickle my brain as I look through old photos, oh to be behind the wheel of one of those rubber burning machines again.

As a young boy some of my earliest memories are from riding in the back seat of the family car. I had the window seat behind the driver, my sister had the other rear window seat, and my younger brother got a raw deal being sat in between us. Unlike today, parents back then usually put their youngest child up front with the misguided notion that they would be safer close to their parents, and that’s where you would find my youngest sister jumping around like a monkey with fleas.

Our step mother did a pretty good job maneuvering her Chevy through the streets of Portland with a cigarette hanging from her mouth, and keeping the monkey from flying out of the window. The cigarettes would be her undoing sometime in the future; she just didn’t know it yet. Before the Chevy we had a couple Rambler station wagons, hearty little cars with V8s. We had many a weekend road trip to the river in those Ramblers. Cell phones didn’t exist, but there were better distracters. Besides the bouncing monkey, my dad would have a cigarette between two fingers, and a can of beer between his legs, there were no beer can holders in Ramblers so he had to keep the can someplace as he drove. We usually met friends and family at some destination on the Clackamas River. Fishing poles and potato salad were packed for the trip, as well as the other 23 cans of Blitz for my dad and anyone else who may want one.

I loved those old Ramblers with the seat belts stuffed between the seats collecting gum wrappers, cookie crumbs, and sticky gunk. My first car was a 63 Rambler Ambassador that I purchased from my grandparents for $300. This car could burn rubber with its V8 engine and three on the tree manual transmission, but it was a car for geezers. I only drove it until I could purchase a cool car, a 1966 Chevy Impala SS.

My Impala had an AM radio, and I remember listening to tunes on KISN in Portland. I drove my Super Sport back and forth to my grocery store jobs, and out to go skateboarding with my friend Jeff and my cousin Casey. We were obsessed with skateboarding down big hills and were always on the lookout for new places to ride. If only I had that car now, I’d take it to Portland, and then cruise down 82^nd just like the old days, with my arm resting on the open window nodding to passers-by. Then I’d sell that baby to a collector, and buy a new Jeep.

I stupidly sold my Impala before I joined the Air Force in 1977 for $900. I could have used that car at my first duty assignment, Beale Air Force Base in northern California. I had a bunch of cars at Beale. The barracks parking lot started to look like Firkroy’s used cars. I sold most of the cars and motorcycles that I had accumulated to others that lived in the barracks with me. One of the cars was a 1966 Triumph TR4, a British convertible with a few rough edges, and missing the rag top. I had to unbolt the hard top to drive around and feel the wind blowing through the little hair that the military would allow me to have.

I once took a trip back home to Oregon and had the coil burn out while driving through the Warm Springs Indian reservation in central Oregon. I luckily coasted into the only gas station in Warm Springs, and then got a ride from one of the employees who amazingly drove up in a Triumph Spitfire! We drove to Redmond to find a replacement coil. We knew there were no Triumph dealers in central Oregon, but luckily gas stations used to sell car parts in the 70s instead of bags of Fritos, and we found a coil that miraculously did the trick. I don’t know what coils where made of back then but they seemed to have a self destruct mechanism that waited for the worst possible time and then bang! They crapped out.

I loved those old cars, but let’s face it cars are a tremendous pain in the butt. The costs of purchasing, maintaining, and fueling them is a drag. Buying and selling them is absolutely nerve racking. I want to get around via Star Trek transporters, forget these annoying car money pits.

Beam me to a warm sunny beach Scotty; I hear a swizzle stick tinkling ice cubes, a drink with a little umbrella is calling my name.

A Firkroy Homecoming

After being on the road it’s good to be home. My neighbor Daryl is up to something, what could it be?

Driving up to your home after being away for over a week is always a good feeling, it was a fun trip but there's no place like home Toto. Speaking of little dogs there was Mausa, our little dog getting walked by the neighbors as were driving up. My oldest son stuck his head out of the minivan’s window, and stated calling his name as we approached the dog walking group. Mausa stopped dead in his tracks with ears at attention, and eyes all bugged out. I’m sure he thought we had abandoned him, he was just getting used to living with the neighbors with the little horse in the back yard, and a bunch of cats. He was in a jumping frenzy when the horde piled out of the minivan.

What's this? I look over at my other neighbor Daryl's house, there is a new platform under the solar panel in his garden, and on the panel is sitting a bunch off stuff. After parking the minivan in the driveway, and then unloading all of our things I get curious. I discreetly spy to see what secrets the platform has to offer, and what do I see? On the platform there is a car battery that is attached to an AC inverter, the kind that converts the 12 volt DC from the car battery into 120 volts AC. And what is all of this powering… a boombox.

OK so, let's see. In order to power a boombox in front of your house (so you can listen to Led Zeppelin) you can either:

1. Create a stand-alone solar power station to power your boombox by:

• Digging a hole.
• Planting a pole.
• Hiring a cement mixer to cement in the pole.
• Purchasing and placing a solar panel on top of the pole.
• Building a platform.
• Buying and placing a car battery on the platform.
• Buying and placing an inverter on the platform.
• Plugging the boombox into the inverter.
• Turning on boombox.

Or you could:

2. Put in four AA Energizers into your boombox, and then turn it on.

Now I’m sure the permanent solar powered boombox station could be used for other things, like lighting up the glowing orb on top of his flagpole for instance, or for a charger for AA batteries, or maybe even an automatic beer bottle opener; the possibilities are endless.

After seeing the contraption that Daryl built I decide that my iPod is seriously in need of some more music. Lucky for me I’m over 50 so everything I like to listen to is cheap. I don’t buy music from Apple, I go down to CD World and get used CDs of Alan Parsons Project’s greatest hits for $5.95 and then rip the CD with iTunes. Hey, I’m thrifty what can I say, my blog address has cheap in its name. I inherited thriftiness from my dad that’s for sure; I just don’t have his fondness for duct tape and super glue.

While I’m writing this I’m listening to my iPod to drown out all of the kid noises that are usually being produced, especially during the summer with school being out. Today my oldest boy had a friend stay the night and they’re busy killing armies of mechanized robots at 8 AM. Ah, to be young with armies of robots with lasers mounted on their shoulders at your disposal. The sound of never ending explosions on a sunny summer day, not quite the smell of napalm in the morning but they’ll have to wait until they’ve moved out of the house before they can blow up real robots.

I was able to finally get caught up on my blog a bit, and review a couple pieces of free software. Next week I’m back to being a reluctant carpenter with all sorts of summer time projects to work on. I also have moss removal duty this week; moss will grow on anything that doesn’t move in western Oregon. It will grow on your driveway, your lawn, and it will even grow on your car if you don’t drive it enough. I’ll be scrapping moss off the roof of our house today; I couldn’t get the roof to move around so of course moss grew on it. I have to get in as much outside work as I can get done in the few dry months we have.

I’ll be enjoying my oatmeal this morning with strawberries sans bug killer, and I’ll be wearing my sombrero today so I don’t get sunburned while scraping moss off of the roof. Enjoy the rest of your Monday morning, and don’t drink instant coffee, it will melt your tongue.

A Firkroy Vacation

Like Chevy Chase determined to get to Wally World I drive the Family Truckster under the sunny skies of California in search of the perfect vacation.

Last week we have arrived in California, the land of fast drivers, tourist traps, and road construction. Our first stop was The Olive Pit just before Sacramento. Every kind of Olive you can think of grown under the California sun, tasty treats to sample, and tons of gifts for the people back home. Nothing says we missed you like a jar of green olives!

After two days of traveling we reach our first destination, it’s a theme park, and not just any theme park, we arrive at Legoland. There are so many things to spend money on, they hit you up before you even walk in the gate by asking if you would want to buy a $100 gift card. There are huge Lego stores, and over priced snacks, we walked around Legoland like drunken sailors throwing money everywhere. But it was fun, and my favorite attraction was the water park with its circling lazy river. You just sit on an inner tube and do nothing but float around in circles. For me doing nothing was the best treat of all after being stuck in the minivan for two days straight of “Are we there yet?” in stereo. But do they have to have photographers waste deep in the water trying to get you to smile? What I’m worried about is getting my picture sold to the National Enquirer; I’ll go to the grocery store and see my picture with the headline “Two Toned Sasquatch Spotted at Theme Park!”

Even after gallons of sunscreen I’m even more fried than before, it must be that genetic thing and all of that northern European skin. George Hamilton would be proud.

Traveling and staying in hotels is such a crap shoot. The first night we stayed at a decent hotel in Sacramento, but ran into crazies that looked like they were searching for cars to break into. The second night as we are getting into our minivan to go to Legoland we get hit up for cash by an elderly man claiming to be a Pentecostal preacher from Alabama. He gives me a speech about working to help the gangs of LA but now needs bus money because he was ripped off by a mechanic who took all of his cash. He gave me a great performance, he really worked it. The show was well worth the few bucks I gave him. I don’t know why this man isn’t selling Buicks at Hertz Car sales. I mean this guy was a natural.

After leaving Legoland, and another long day of traveling, we pull into the Tavelodge in Yucca Valley to explore Joshua Tree National Park the next day. This hotel would be a prime destination spot if it were 1965. The hotel is flying the U.S. and the Marine Corps flags, and is right down the road for 29 Palms Marine Corps base. I think you needed to be a Marine to open the door of our hotel room. The doors were stuck so badly that you had to body slam them to have any chance of getting in. I paid a few more dollars for an upgrade and got a deluxe room that featured non-sticking doors, and an air conditioner that wasn’t a relic from the Nixon years.

My wife got steamed when we saw a limousine pull up, the kids were pointing and yelling “Look a Limo! Look a Limo!” as we are unloading our things. As I’m dropping off a load into our new room two hookers pile out of the Limo with some dude with a little beard, and scurried out of site to the Sushi bar next door. I hear about this when I come back to the minivan for another load of luggage. My wife is pissed, and quietly says (so not to not point out the situation to the kids) something about hookers and that she’s fed up.

It’s hard when you’ve had days on end of togetherness with the boys in small places, and something like sleeping next to a brothel can take its toll. We had pre-paid for the rooms on the internet to get a better deal so we toughed it out. I highly recommend visiting Joshua Tree National Park, but stay at the Holliday Inn in 29 Palms.

The desert at Joshua Tree National Park is a beautiful place full of cacti, and scenic wonders. We had some wonderful hikes, and the kids loved watching lizards. I also learned that swarms of bees are attracted to air conditioning in minivans. I had to do a quick dive and drive to get rid of the swarm so everyone else could get in. The German tourists we met found the whole spectacle quite humorous.

After stopping off for a Date Shake at Hadley Fruit Orchards in Cabazon (where you can also get a scorpion in a lollypop) it was off to the beach in Carpinteria, a 170 mile drive, and a very nice hotel experience at a Holiday Inn.

Carmageddon turned out to be Carmanadda, so thankfully someone listened to the warnings about the freeway closure that weekend. We drove by the dreaded 405 freeway closure at 70 MPH with boogie boards at the ready.

Carpinteria was awesome and the kids got to visit an actual warm beach for the first time in their lives. In Oregon the temperature can be 100 degrees inland but at the beach it will be 50 degrees and windy in August, a little chilly for boogie boarding.

We are heading north today to Sacramento the halfway point back home. It will be nice to sleep in my own bed again, and believe it or not I think I might even miss the chickens…. well just a little.

It’s a Road Trip!

Firkroy and the gang are getting ready to hit the road, southern California here we come!

My son saw it first. “What’s that white ball on top of Daryl’s flag pole?” he asked.

I told him that I thought it was just the cap on top of the flag pole. I did think a white ball was a bit different at the time, they’re usually gold or silver I thought to myself, or in the shape of a bird.

Later that evening my son stepped outside to admire the bright crescent moon. Oregon in July usually provides clear skies that we don’t get at other times of the year; it was a treat to gaze on the sliver of a moon without clouds in the way.

“It glows all sorts of colors.” He said

“Glowing? What glows all sorts of colors?” I replied a bit bewildered.

“The top of Daryl’s flagpole, it’s changing colors.” He said excitedly.

Red, then green, and then blue it glowed. I had never seen the top of a flagpole glow like that. I’m starting to believe that I am actually living in some sort of Facebook game where you get points for building crazy stuff in your yard. What’s next an Egyptian tomb? Will mummies start walking around visiting all of the other neighbors’ crazy yards? Am I supposed to build a Chinese garden with a coy pond in my yard? Should I be making friends with the neighbor that threw fish on my roof to get extra points?

My son gets off to bed, and my wife and I sit down to watch some old episodes of Star Trek Voyager. I introduced this series to her when we were dating but she never got to see the beginning of the series, so it’s our after the bed treat when the kids go to bed. Neelix the alien they picked up in the first episode had his lungs zapped out of his body by organ snatchers, so the holographic doctor made some holographic lungs to keep him alive until the end of the program. Now that’s entertainment!

After the show my wife asks “Are the chickens in bed?” I hadn’t put them to bed, so I guess the answer was no. We need to close their coop up every night to keep raccoons from snacking on them. Ok, ok, I won’t say it, but most of us already know what chickens taste like to raccoons.

*whispers*… “Chicken”

The kids destroyed all of the real flashlights, because apparently they’re fun to ruin. The toy ones we buy for them must NOT be fun to ruin because they’re the only ones that work.

My wife hands me a six inch lightsaber that glows blue, and tells me it’s the only flashlight she could find. I fire up my miniature blue lightsaber and proceed into the dark. If I’m ambushed by Darth Vader’s Mini Me I’m all set. The little light saber gives me enough light to tip toe through the chicken poo to get to their coop. 1,2,3,4,5, and 6 yep all present and accounted for. I collect up the laid eggs, lock up the coop, and head back toward the house.

“I hate chickens” I mumble to myself.

We are making a trip to southern California to visit Legoland, and the next morning we are back to the pre-road trip planning and tasks. My wife has been making checklists everyday with thing to do and assigning us both duties. Letters from our first names are written next to our respective tasks. I yell at the boys to turn down the TV blaring “Power Ranger Roar, Power Ranger Roar!” and we wonder why they spend so much time Kung Fuing each other.

I have real coffee to drink this morning; I did have to get a tongue transplant after consuming some instant black sludge the other day but luckily it didn’t hurt much.

Packing the minivan for the trip has to be done in a way that optimizes space, and properly occupies our young “Are we there yet” travelers. I did invest in a little DVD player, a small price to pay for pleasant conversations with my spouse. Of course they will have books and other things to occupy their time, and if they get real bored maybe they can look out of the windows and count cows.

OK so, first aid kit - check. Yeah, I suppose we should patch up the kids if they beat each other up or get bit by rattlesnakes. We threw in a snakebite kit for giggles.

Kid’s cloths packed - check. If it were up to them they would wear one pair of cloths for the whole trip, but we probably couldn’t take the smell.

Sunscreen - check. Not the spray on stuff, we found out that it doesn’t really work so well. I’m starting to look like George Hamilton after using that stuff.

iPod charged - check. You need to drown out the fighting in the backseat somehow if it breaks out.

I hear they have apple fries at Legoland, wow apple pie in a French fry container what will they think of next! My son’s have never really been out of Oregon and I think they are a little apprehensive about going into California. Both my wife and I have lived in California but in different parts. I spent years in the bay area and my wife lived in and around L.A.

My oldest son keeps talking about Black Widow spiders “Can we collect some and make a habitat for them dad?” he asks.

“We don’t need to make a habitat for them son, they already have one, It’s called California.” The thought of keeping Black Widow spiders in my house makes my skin crawl. The memories of the Black Widow body count we kept while working in a radio repair shop in Livermore should have stayed crammed away in my brain where I hid it many years ago, but here I am thinking about it again.

When you read this we will probably be driving on Interstate 5 someplace, I5 stretches from Canada to Mexico and we’ll be traveling most of it on this trip. It will take two days and we’ll only stop to feed kids chicken nuggets, get more gas, and spend the night in Sacramento which is our halfway point. I’ll miss Daryl, but I’m sure that the California locals will provide more than enough entertainment to keep me happy. Good thing I have this George Hamilton suntan, I’ll blend right in.

It’s The 4th of July and It’s Summer Time!

Up Yours English Overlords! Happy Independence Day my fellow American citizens! It’s the beginning of summer, Whoo Hoo! My neighbor is up to stuff, and its vacation time!

My neighbor, AKA Daryl had a cement mixer in front of his house the other day; his front yard is mostly a vegetable garden with trees that have had the limbs cut away half way up. There is a big dirt berm that lies between his yard and the road; he digs at it from time to time.

“What could he possibly be doing over there?” I think to myself.

Today I had my answer; a huge American flag is flying from a new 20 foot flag pole just in time for the 4^th of July! Daryl always struck me more as a flower power, doobie toking, anti-establishment kind of guy, but what do I know. I’ve always considered your service to your fellow citizens as being much more important than displaying a big piece of cloth, but today is a good day to fly Old Glory.

About six feet away from the flag pole is another new pole planted next to the dirt hill, it has a large solar panel mounted on top of it. Parked next to it is his old rusty step van with a huge sun painted on the back, and the hood is up. A cable was running to the battery of his van from the panel. He told me once that he was completely off grid now, which I think is pretty cool, so this new panel must be a battery charger.

I started to wonder, wouldn’t a new battery for your van be cheaper than planting a solar panel in front of your house to charge it up? Nah, that’s crazy talk.

Ah, the morning coffee, oh you morning beans, Sluuuurp. GAH! *cough, spit*

I had to dip into the emergency coffee rations this morning. I don’t care what the advertisements say, instant coffee sucks. That caffeinated sludge should only to be consumed in case of dire emergencies, like this.

Take a sip, make a face, wipe off tongue, and repeat.

“Bill Friday would never let himself run out of coffee, and drink instant black gunk!” I think to myself.

My weather station on the desktop on my computer desktop shows a few clouds, but outside of my window it’s raining.

“Liar, liar pants on fire” I say to the computer. But wait! I get to play hooky on my outside honey-dos, our garden won’t need to be watered, and I bet Daryl’s solar panel isn’t doing much charging.

The Register Guard sits in front of me, cup O crappy Joe next to it. The front page is full of the usual hideous drivel. The top story, Faux News targets Eugene’s city council about the pledge of elegance not being recited enough times per year for them. I bet they recite the pledge before sitting on the crapper over there at Faux, and salute as they hit the flusher. As I read the article I see that Faux blew things out of proportion, sensationalized their story, and misrepresented everything; a thousand nutcases sent hate ridden email messages to Eugene, it’s what happens when you yell “Grab your torch and pitchfork!”

Anyway, the REAL news is on the next page.

“Vine said to resemble Jesus” the news report says.

Kent Hardison of Kinston, North Carolina said “I glanced at it, and it looks like Jesus, You can’t spray Jesus with Roundup.”

It sounded to me more like Kent getting out of his honey do list, plus everyone knows that Jesus only gives you special treatment when his face is grilled into your cheese sandwich.

OK at least my morning oatmeal is real, with fresh strawberries (that weren’t sprayed with Raid), walnuts, and a nanner, finished off with some skimmed milk. It’s a breakfast that I have grown to love. Gone are the days when I could clog my arteries with whatever fatty meat object I happen to stuff in my mouth. These days I eat the food equivalent of drain cleaner, and I like it!

But at lunch I found some fried chicken, no Ranch dressing, but I did find some leftover spinach dip! Oh manna from the gods is fried chicken dunked in spinach dip! You have to treat yourself now and then.

Talking about fatty meat chunks, when bacon gets cooked at our house, mainly for the kids *wink* *wink* *wink*, we drain the fat into a suet mix for our feathered friends that frequent the bird feeder; the fat is mixed with bird seed in small cardboard containers. One of the containers fell on the ground last week and the dog apparently ate the contents. He’s a little dog, and we started finding little bird seed loafs all around the yard the next day. I guess bird seed doesn’t digest well in dogs.

Our big family vacation is a week away, a road trip to a theme park in southern California. If we had girls then I suppose we would be bringing our little princesses to Disneyland, but we have boys, and they are Lego men.

Birthdays, give them a Lego set.

Christmas, a big Lego set.

A tooth falls out, another Lego set.

There are Legos every friggen place in this house! I regularly see the cat with a storm trooper helmet in her mouth or batting around the torso of Darth Vader. I’m occasionally hopping around on one foot grabbing the other in pain, after stepping on one. So we are going to Legoland!

The preparation has been arduous, booking hotels (making sure they serve breakfast), buying tickets, changing the batteries in toothbrushes shaped like crayons. We have our neighbor’s 23 year old daughter house sitting for us while we are gone to look after our menagerie. We made sure to train her on how to use the Spotbot our magic little carpet cleaner, the dog likes to barf up interesting things he has eaten.

My wife loves her bots. I think she is upset that we aren’t living the life the Jetsons promised us in the 60s, with a robot maid, and flying cars. She has a Roomba that routinely bumps into my bare toes as it tears around vacuuming the floor. She knows that I think it’s annoying but, I don’t have to vacuum the floor, so it’s a Win Win situation.

I can’t wait for the road trip! What is a summer without a road trip? We may even stop by the La Brea Tar Pits, the boys can’t wait to see where dinosaurs drowned in goo!