In Case You Haven't Heard, Mondays Suck!

Garfield the cat has always warned us about Mondays, but has anyone listened? Nope, I don't think so. But it's the truth, they suck, and they especially suck when you get two in a row. How can you get two Mondays in a row? Monday is a sneaky bastard, when it's a holiday, or even an extra day off from school. Tuesday then fills in for Monday. So sometimes you get two, count' em two, Mondays in one week.

Monday was a real bastard this week. Monday was the last day of Spring break for the rest of the family. Preparations had to be made for Tuesday, the first day back from a week off. This in turn made Tuesday a Monday. But Monday is a hog and couldn't just let it go this week, as it had to have both days. So while I was out getting ready for Tuesday, (the real Monday), Monday reared it's ugly head to show everyone who's boss. After the boys urged me to wash my Chevy Blazer because it sat under a tree for a week that made it dirty, I caved in and went to the car wash. Monday wasn't happy with me cleaning my rig Monday needed to take down a Toyota Prius.

Now you may have heard me call the drivers of the Hybrid gas and electric cars “Pious Prius drivers,” but I'm going to have to take it back this time. With my Blazer still dripping from it's car wash I decided to try to make a left turn onto one of the south bound lanes of a busy 4 lane road that had a turning lane in the middle. Monday decided that it would complicate things, and as I pulled out to turn all Hell broke loose. Monday made a driver decide to turn into the lane I was to go through, Monday turned the driver behind him into a speeding maniac, and made a south bound Prius appear from nowhere all at the same time. With very little time to react I hit the Prius with the corner of my right bumper.

The driver of the other car made it to the curb, and I followed and parked behind him. I screwed up, mainly because I shouldn't have tried to go left at that spot in the first place. He was simply traveling down the road, and I hit his car. I waited for traffic to clear and opened my door. I noticed that I had a dent in my bumper and that was about it. Not a big deal at all, but his car was a mess. His front end was messed up, and his driver's door was crunched.

The other driver got out of his car. He was a gentleman that looked to be in his 60s, and he headed to the sidewalk where I was standing. I started apologizing profusely. Everyone was OK, the man was smiling and told me “don't beat yourself up it was just an accident.” But I kept thinking I shouldn't have made a left in that spot and should have gone right and figured out how to turn around someplace. We exchanged information, and even had a witness show up. My kids couldn't help themselves and had to get out onto the sidewalk and see what happened. They were fine, everyone was fine, and Monday had it's big laugh.

I mentioned that my insurance agent was just down the street, and I suggested that we head there and just take care of everything at once. The driver of the Prius agreed, and we paid a visit to my insurance agent of many years. She was on the phone when we arrived but was off shortly afterwards and I explained to her what had happened. She was fantastic, she gave us accident forms to fill out that she would mail to the DMV for us, and started taking care of my victim. She even recommended a body shop for him to visit. If I had to run into someone this was the guy I wanted to run into. I apologized some more, we shook hands, and he headed to his car. I chatted with my insurance agent a bit about my overall coverage then headed home.

After using a couple tie straps on the plastic of my bumper I finished my errands with the boys. We headed to Wendy's hamburgers for lunch, and I broke my no beef eating diet just this once. The rest of the day was fine, but Monday was waiting for me again on Tuesday.

No, I didn't crash into anything Tuesday morning, but 6:30 a.m. felt like it crashed into my head. I was used to getting up late for the week of Spring break, and now here I was having some coffee and making breakfast for everyone, lunches for the three that had to go to school, and starting off my week in a daze. This morning actually felt more like Monday, and I have way too many things to do. If only I could deal with it like Garfield and put a blanket over my head and sleep through it. It was a frantic morning but then with everyone gone I had my serenity.

I took time to relish the one triumph that I had on Monday. I found the right mixture of boric acid, sugar, and water to wipe out my ant problem. I placed the mixture right on their trail in a small dish, then the pesky little buggers drank it down like tainted Kool-aid. They took doggy bags back to their queen, then died later from lack of insect Pepto-Bismol. BWAHAHA, I am an Ant Bully! It serves them right crawling into my box of granola, and just for your information ants taste like crap.

“Die you little bastards die! BWAHAHAHA!”

As a Chihuahua uses me as a ladder to get down from the back of the sofa I am thankful. Instead of telling Monday to stick it, I'm going to use this hour to write before I start working on my daily drudgery and I'll ask Monday to be kind to me. I'll buy it a doughnut if it's good. I'll write praise for Monday and stop condemning it.

Nah! Monday can stick it where the sun doesn't shine! Up yours Monday! Pfffffffft!

I'm a dead man.

Dan's A#1 sugar ant killing sauce:

Make a mixture of:

• 1 cup water
• 2 cups sugar
• 2 tablespoons boric acid

Mix and serve. It takes a couple of days for them to fill up and croak.

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.

It's Just Another Rainy Day

This morning when I dunked a bag of Irish Breakfast tea, together with a bag of Pomegranate Green into the same cup, I wondered to myself “do you think this combo might make my cup explode?” Then I pushed the thought out of my head. It's a dreary rainy day that would make even the Walmart happy face cry. The tea packed a nice punch, but needed some honey.

I spent the morning getting the kids off to school, running to the grocery store, then made nachos for lunch with the wife. We enjoyed them while watching an episode of Scrubs on Netflix. I'm sure I spotted a periscope in the lake in my driveway, I would have suspected the Russians but the Cold War has been over for years. I think the squirrels have gone high tech and are simply going after the nuts that are buried somewhere under the water.

In my local newspaper (The Register Guard) there is an article about two young activists who are suing the governor of Oregon for “violating his duty to uphold the public trust and protect the state from impacts of climate change.” Yes, I too wish the governor would get on that big bubble dome he promised for the state. It would protect us from climate change, intercontinental ballistic missiles, and speeches spewing from the mouth of Newt Gingrich. While our two young friends are at it could they also sue Newt for making millions of people vomit. It's just a thought.

In other news an 82 year old bush pilot from Willow Alaska was being chased by an agitated moose when he was saved by his 85 year old wife who hit the beast in the head with a shovel a few times. Grandmas are tough as nails in Willow. I wonder if they make moose strength Tylenol?

Another granny in Connellsville Pennsylvania said a bearded stranger in a pointy hat gave her the seeds to the four-foot tall Marijuana plants growing next to her tomatoes in her back yard. She just wanted something pretty to accent them. Sheesh, let the old lady have her pot plants for gods sake. And speaking of pot, The New York times reported that the reason that Australians are so laid back is because they consume more marijuana than anywhere else on the planet. Intoxicants -the article states- are at the center of most social life in Australia. I guess down under really means down under the table.

To tell you quite honestly this is the news that I enjoy reading in my local newspaper. The rest of the news is just too grim. The news is full of megalomaniacs trying to further themselves in the public eye, and the side affects of their destructive sociopathic ways. The people in charge of us -for the most part- want to have it all, and spend most of their time working to convince the rest of us how they deserve to have it all. Most of us want to live our lives in some sort of peaceful manor while being able to feed and cloth ourselves; but for a few, that's simply not good enough. They call their troop to war! “Our enemies are your enemies” they say. “If you're not with us then you're against us” they proclaim. “Greed is good” is printed on their flag.

I tire of those greedy bastards, and it's a rainy day.

A Treasure Hunt With a Map!

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

Here is a short pictorial journey of a trip I took with my family a couple of years back through the Oregon Outback. It was a quest for the Steens Mountain, the Hart Mountain Hot Spring, and Plush sunstones.

Located between French Glen and Plush in the Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge in south western Oregon the Hart Mountain Hot Spring is an oasis in the middle of nowhere, and a welcome refuge in the wilderness to wash off some of that desert dust. We spent a few days at the base of the Steens Mountains fairly close to Frenchglen, and were making the 80 mile trek across the desert to Plush, a so-called town that has a Store/Gas Station/Bar combo.

But Plush is no ordinary place, it's the last place for gas and supplies before embarking on the washboarded road to the sunstone mines. Sunstones can also be collected for free on Federally owned land managed by the BLM. Here is a treasure map so you can find your very own trinkets. We camped out in the desert and picked up stones for an entire day.

On the Steens Mountain road

On the Steens Mountain road

A dry lake bed

Hart Mountain Hot Spring pool

Hart Mountain Hot Spring

Hart Mountain Hot Spring pool

The desert can be beautiful

Entering the Refuge

An Antelope

The road down to Plush

The road down to Plush

A flat just as we hit pavement

Finally at the sunstones

The ground is full of them

My treasure

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?...”

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.

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!

The Armenian Blackberry… the Devil’s Fruit in my backyard.

Also known as the Himalayan blackberry this luscious black fruit is tempting, and hard to resist. But it’s also a demonic weed bent on world domination!

You can see them everywhere in western Oregon, large inviting brambles that in the late summer display perfectly sculpted berries. They are sweet, delicious, and a perfect fruit to use in a milkshake. They’re made into pies, muffins, jams, and they can even make oatmeal taste good! But at what price do we pay for this succulent gift?

If blackberry brambles could speak you would hear them whispering to you “Come over here, I have yummy berries, I would never poke you.”

“Lying Succubus!” I would yell back at them. I keep forgetting plants can’t hear me, or can they?

The Oregon department of Agriculture calls the Armenian Blackberry “the most widespread and economically disruptive of all the noxious weeds in western Oregon. “ Did they say weeds? Yes they did. This noxious weed will take over the earth eventually, growing more than 20 feet per year with deadly spikes. Well, they would be deadly if you got poked enough times.

I’ve been battling the heinous weed in my yard for years; they have been an uninvited guest since they drew first blood in 1997. Anyone who lives in Oregon knows that when you try and remove the despicable weed the damned things fights back! Scratching, poking, and disfiguring your whole body until you look like you were fighting naked with a pack of feral cats. The welts get red, itch, and ooze; you’re in such misery you may as well just get drunk. You could battle them in suit of armor to keep from getting poked, but I think you would still be bleeding.

I’ve tried all kinds of creative torture on the spiky pests. I’ve used a weed whacker with a metal blade, dug them up with shovels, pulled them out with Kevlar gloves, and even let chickens peck them to death. They still keep coming back no matter what I do. The only consolation is that the chicken pecking is very satisfying. “Die Weed Die!” peck peck peck. I guess my next step is to rent goats.

I blame birds for spreading this spawn of Hades everywhere for thousands of square miles. The birds with their strange ever focusing eyes peck, eat, and drop millions of purple gifts from the sky. The seeds in those delightful bird bombs sprout, and like a malignant cancer start spreading their disease across the landscape. The berries must actually be very dark purple, but I guess calling them blackberry makes more sense than calling them really very purple berries.

After cutting, pulling, and piling the long spiky pests I once lit a match to the pile. Flames shot 30 feet into the air, and I thought for sure the fire department was going to get called, or Smokey the Bear would show up with his shovel and give me a lecture about starting fires.

But instead I heard a voice from two houses down that yelled “Watcha burnin over there?”

“Just some blackberries” I yelled back.

The voice then replied “can you burn mine too?”

There’s something special about burning blackberry brambles that brings neighbors closer together. When the flames are tall and the smoke is thick I swear I can here neighbors chanting “Burn, Burn, Burn you Bastards Burn!” It’s rather unsettling actually.

Usually I haul them away to be turned into compost. I’m charged $2.50 a truck load to have them taken off my bleeding hands. When transporting them I don’t have to tie the load down, they won’t blow out of the truck, like Velcro the thousands of thorns keep them entwined together in one dangerous mass. After dumping off the load of spikiness, they are cooked down by composting, and then resold to me later for $22 a truck load for enriching my tomato beds. It just doesn’t seem fair.

One day I may temporarily evict the weeds from my yard. I have dreamy thoughts of a day when I can skip through the grass without a bloody foot. But until then, I’ll just keep eating them in jam and peanut butter sandwiches, while devising new ways to kill them.

The Squirrels Have Invaded!

Cat headquarters (the kitchen) Monday morning, 06:30 hours...

Two furry carnivores stare through a sliding glass door, scanning the back yard. Dew shimmers on the freshly cut blades of grass, the sun is rising low to the east, and finches swarm the bird feeders. The feeders gently sway on their Vaseline greased poles as the small birds come and go after feeding. Sponge Bob Squarepants can be heard from the living room obsessing about Krabby Patties as children finish their Fruit Loop breakfast.

Misty a one year old gray and white tuxedo cat watches the bird activity with interest; she notices a chubby squirrel foraging for seeds under the feeders. Squirrels often attempt to climb up the pole that supports the feeders, but they only make it half way before sliding down the greased poles, like firefighters responding to a 3 alarm blaze in the middle of the night.

Scruffy, a shaggy 12 year old tom cat was sitting by the door, mainly because he had to go out and pee.

“Scruffy, you wanted to see me?” asked Misty.

“Oh yeah, sure Misty, didn’t see you there.” said Scruffy crossing his legs (because he really had to go).”Yes, thanks for coming by the door this morning.” Scruffy flicks his tail as a squirrel chatters at him from the other side of the glass.

“Well?” said Misty impatiently. “I do have other things to do you know.” Misty bats at a Lego Storm Trooper helmet that is lying on the floor.

Scruffy looked at Misty for a moment, “I wish someone would open this damn door” he thought to himself. He then did some grooming to regain his composure. “The Squirrels have descended upon our backyard, they are raiding the bird feeders and taunting us, it’s just so undignified.”

Misty stopped batting around the Strom Trooper helmet for a moment.

“Well yeah, so” said Misty going back to the helmet.

Scruffy rolled his eyes and then set them squarely on Misty. “I’ve been watching you stalk the squirrels, and you do good work. I don’t have your moves anymore, I’m an old cat, and someone needs to do something about these damn squirrels. If I can’t take them down then who will? The dog! He’s a fool.”

Misty stopped moving for a moment.

“Scruffy, you’ve always thought I was a pest, hissing at me if I get too close, swatting at me as I run by, and you’ve never approved of my friendship with the dog.”

Misty licked a paw, and then rubbed it on her face.

Scruffy watched Misty and said. “You need to take those squirrels down, eat them if you have to, you know, just get them out of our yard.”

“Well, sure Scruffy, anything you want old boy” and with those words Misty looked around and let out a meek meow. “That usually gets a human to open the door” she thought to herself.

A pair of giant legs with fuzzy slippers walked over to the door. “Do you want out kitty kitty?” The voice said from above. The door opened slightly and the two cats slid outside.

Scruffy went off to the left to find some brambles to have some private time while Misty began to stalk the squirrels with the stealth of a Shaolin priest.

“There must be pounds of tasty rodents out there” thought Misty.

But if only she knew what they actually tasted like, she had never actually eaten a squirrel or any other rodent for that matter. She once cornered a mouse in the bathroom but the humans took it away. She wasn’t aware that the only rodent that Scruffy ever had in his face was a mouse with an attitude that attached to his nose. It decided to bite and hold on one afternoon when Scruffy came in close for a sniff. It took Scruffy about a minute to shake loose the nippy rodent. Scruffy won’t talk of the incident because it was so embarrassing, but the humans wish they had it on video.

Misty was on top of her game, moving closer every time the squirrel bent down to grab a seed. Closer, closer, and ever closer she crept zeroing in on the kill zone.

Just then a human slid open the door and -Whoosh- a 5 pound terrier named Mausa rushed out. The squirrel jumped about a foot in the air, then made a bee line straight up a nearby tulip tree. Mausa, with his belly only 3 inches from the ground -part Pekinese and part Chihuahua- raced full speed at the tree; he stopped only a split second before bashing into it. Mausa looked up for a moment; the squirrel was looking down at him giving him the metaphorical finger.

“Better luck next time blubber butt” the squirrel chattered.

Rosetta Stone has yet to unlock the mysterious language of squirrels for dogs so the over grown Chihuahua just sniffed at the tree. Misty was miffed that the canine had screwed up her squirrel catching experience, yet again, and gave him a look.

After a few moments Mausa lifted his leg on a patch of grass, did a quick shake, and trotted back to the house. He sat in front of the door staring in through the glass at the back of a man seated at a desk. The man was intensely typing at a computer and completely oblivious to his staring.

Misty jumped at Mausa, and batted him with retracted claws. “Mausa you bone head, I was about to pounce on that squirrel, you screwed it all up with your impatient chasing”

Mausa didn’t even turn to address her. “Humm, oh it’s you.” He mumbled. Mausa had more important things on his mind like. “Hey! Open the door, I want in, did you drop any cheese on the floor, hey, could you please open the door I want in.”

After a few moments the door slid open. Misty and Mausa hop through the door and head straight to their usual napping places. Scruffy -still outside- lies next to a caged Catnip plant growing in the garden; with glazed eyes he settles in for a nap of his own.

The squirrels go about their business collecting seeds from under the bird feeder. They don’t really feel threatened by the domesticated carnivores; and view the little chases as cardio exercise.

A typical Monday morning at cat headquarters, Mausa finally got some dropped cheese later that day, no squirrel deaths were reported, and a cheap day of entertainment for anyone who was paying attention.

A Travel Guide to Lane County Oregon

Come for the beauty, stay for a great time, but bring lots of cash!

Lane County Oregon USA stretching from the Pacific Ocean, to the snow capped Cascade Mountains, a forested wonderland at the southern end of the Willamette Valley.

One of Lane County’s main attractions is the city of Springfield. Springfield has beautiful parks to stroll through like the Dorris Ranch Living History Filbert Farm, fine art displayed at the Emerald Art Center, and fun for everyone at the Splash water park; it’s a model city to raise a family. It’s also affectionately called Springtucky by some of its snootier neighbors in nearby Eugene; Springfield was recently honored by Parade magazine as having more strip clubs per capita than any other place in the United States! Many Springfield residents dispute this dubious honor but if you have a roll of one dollar bills burning a hole in your pocket, you’re guaranteed to have a good time in Springfield.

Eugene otherwise known as Track Town USA is the largest city in Lane County and Eugene was the location of the 2008 US Olympic trials. Eugene is home to the University of Oregon which has gained notoriety as a sports university. Truck loads of cash are dumped into the bank accounts of its athletic department every year by Phil Night co-founder and chairman of Nike. Phil graduated from the UofO in 1959 and is one of the richest people on earth. Phil has made sure that beer swilling drunks can watch football in a state of the art stadium that even some NFL teams might envy. He also built a new basketball arena, a glass cathedral for student athletes to study in, and a new law school. You can’t park anywhere close to any of these building because they were built on former parking lots. But if you have a good pair of Nikes you can jog a mini marathon from parking garages located in downtown Eugene to these illustrious facilities.

Lane County has interesting politics; recently we had a man name Art Robinson run for office as a US congressman for our district. Professor Robinson hawks his home-school curriculum for $195 and up and calls public education “socialism in education” he also states “public schools should be abolished,” calling them “nationalized child-abuse.”  No conflict of interest there. Robinson is a self proclaimed expert on nuclear waste and stated “that a little nuclear radiation is good for you,” he also states “the best place for that waste is in the concrete foundations and insulation of homes and buildings.”Another way of dealing with nuclear waste, Mr. Robinson says is "If radioactive waste were dissolved as water soluble compounds and then widely dispersed in the oceans, no health or other environmental risks would ever occur." I think his next set of bumper sticker should read “Hi I’m Art Robison and I’m no loon!” He could also have his slogan printed on billboards, and Facebook advertisements like the ones that were in our faces everywhere for months. Art’s buddies from out of state paid for all of those ads but if you ask Art where he got all of that money he won’t answer instead he will ask you “How should I know where all of the money comes from?” Lane county politics are just good wholesome fun.

Lane County is a magnet for affluent liberal minded folks. You can spot them wearing socks with sandals, driving a Toyota Prius with a bumper sticker that reads “I’m more energy conscious than thou art,” and grabbing an organic espresso at a local coffee hut. They buy their high end (made in China) camping and hiking gear at REI so they can hike the wildness in search of people stepping on a wild flower, so they can scold them. They go nutty once a year with the hippy folks at the Oregon Country Fair outside of Veneta. Their women won’t go topless and paint their boobs like some of the fair goers, but they will express their approval of the freedom to paint boobs. I personally love the Oregon Country Fair, it’s a great place to watch a live performance, get some fantastic pottery, and enjoy a burrito. The people are very friendly, and everyone has a good time.

In Lane County you can go to the mountains to ski in the morning, and then have Clam Chowder at Mo’s by the Pacific Ocean in Florence in the afternoon. Mo’s is not to be confused with Moe’s in Springfield, which is not in Springfield Oregon but in Springfield Pennsylvania.

Lane County Oregon is a beautiful place, with forested parks, endless bike paths, and if you’re allergic to mold, grass, or tree pollen make sure to bring your eye drops and extra strength Claritin; you’re guaranteed to be a very miserable visitor if you have allergies. Linn County -just north of Lane County- is the grass seed capital of the world and the wind likes to blow all of that grass pollen south.

Winters and summers are mild, no tornados, or hurricanes. The Cascade Mountains are active volcanoes so they do blow every few hundred years; Mt. Saint Helens 150 miles north of Eugene blew its top off in 1980, I was in the Air Force and stationed in Germany at the time, so I didn’t get to see the show. I was too busy keeping the commies on their side of the wall.

So please come and visit Lane County, bring lots of cash to spend because we need it. And bring bills larger than ones, I know those clubs in Springfield are calling out to you but the rest of us have to eat too!

My Father's Revenge

10 funny things to do or not that will drive your adult children crazy after you die, or sitting on a cloud laughing your butt off at the show.

My father passes away a while back, he had a house in Portland Oregon and some of his last words to my sister and I was about his house. He smiled at me and said “it’s going to be a chore” and he wasn’t kidding…

My father had been plotting to get back at us for the headaches we gave him over the years, and we just didn’t know it. After we all arrived at the house that my sister and I had inherited (to assess the size of the chore, and to find the hidden bars of gold), we found that we did indeed have a chore. I was going to learn how to be a handy man whether I wanted to or not. We’re still looking for the gold. It’s got to be around here someplace.

If my dad had made a to-do list for his revenge it would have looked something like this:

1. Don’t put an exhaust fan above the stove. 40 years of accumulated bacon grease on the kitchen ceiling is handy. One of the door hinges in the house might start to squeak, or you might want to fry up some eggs. You just can’t have too much bacon grease.
2. Don’t throw away that junk mail from 1969. One day that Montgomery Ward’s advertisement featuring lawn chairs will be a collector’s item and the kids will be able to sell it on ebay.
3. Don’t throw away that mobile phone from 1985. You may want to jump start your car sometime and that battery pack would be just the ticket.
4. Do string electrical cords from one end of the house to other. No phone jack upstairs or in the bedrooms? Not a problem, as they make connectors and wires for that. Not enough outlets? Not a problem! That’s why they invented power strips and extension cords. And don’t forget the multi adapters!
5. Do use lots and lots of duct tape to do repairs around the house. (My dad would have fit right in at the Possum Lodge hanging out with Red Green.)
6. Do let possums live in your shed, they make interesting pets and really don’t mind when you move the box they’re sleeping in.
7. Do nail up some wood paneling and leave it there 40 years after the roof leaks and damages the ceiling,
8. Do stuff old socks in the cracks for insulation where cold air is blowing in through the rigged up repair job on a window upstairs.
9. Do cover the puddle of mystery goo on the floor of your old pickup truck with an old T-shirt.
10. And lastly, never, never, never clean or paint your bedroom walls. That layer of nicotine from the 70s when you smoked is a natural insect repellant.

We did find some stashes of treasure; my dad had a philosophy about watches, don’t buy a watch that costs more than $9.95. He always seemed to have a new watch, “all perfectly good, and only $9.95 at Walmart” he would say. We found the can that he kept all of his broken watches, some dating back to a Pre-Walmart time. I’m sure they were still purchased for under $9.95, and none of them were made of gold.

My sister and I loved our dad and we miss him very much. He was a good guy and everyone loved him. He had some lifelong friends that he could always count on, and they were always a source of entertainment for me. So dad, here’s to you, I miss you and I crack open a can of Hamms in your honor.