After the show, we had dinner, checked out a few more casinos, gambled a bit more, then headed back to our suite to wind down.
Kathy woke me up about 6:00 AM the next morning, fully dressed, asking if I wanted to join her down on the casino floor. I politely declined (”Heck, no! Wake me back up at a decent hour!”)
She came back into the room and woke me up at the crack of 9:00, and I showered and got dressed. We had breakfast, then took a relaxing walk through the botanical garden at Ballagio’s conservatory. It was decorated with a display highlighting “Wonders of America” (or something like that.) We then walked through the Paris Las Vegas casino across the street.
We then drove to the Venetian hotel and took a ride on the gondolas through the canals. There are actually two separate gondola rides; one outside, and one inside the Grand Canal Shoppes. We decided to do the indoor ride.
Since the gondolas seat four, we shared ours with another couple. Our gondolier was very obviously faking his italian accent, but was still entertaining. At several points during our trip, he belted out some really loud, operatic songs that seemed to echo through the whole building. He was actually pretty good. He reminded us to kiss as we crossed under each bridge, which he explained is a romantic tradition in Venice, Italy. Is it really a tradition, or was he just playing up the whole “Look at me, I’m a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Italian gondolier” thing? I have no idea; I just know I got to kiss Kathy many, many times.
We also went to the top of the Stratosphere tower. There is an outdoor obervation deck at the very top, with several thrill rides. Just below that level is the indoor observation deck. The windows here are floor-to-ceiling, and they are angled in, so that you can lean out just a bit and see straight down through the glass to the ground 1000 feet below. Kathy doesn’t appreciate heights very much, so she stayed near the interior walls while I awed and got a bunch of pictures.
After that, we took in a Fountains at Bellagio performance, drove toward Hoover Dam (then turned right back around when we saw that traffic was stopped to a crawl with six miles left to the dam), then ate dinner downtown. We then wandered through the amazing Fremont Street Experience for a while. We watched speed painters, browsed a few booths, rocked to an amazing cover band, saw a couple drunk guys come this close to fighting, and then watched the show above us as the canopy of millions of LEDs lit up in animation.
The next morning, we returned the car, caught the shuttle to the airport, and flew back home.
I uploaded a bunch of photos to my flickr page. Go check them out!
We left our room and got back in the car to find a place to get breakfast. It was after 9:00 AM, and we had both been up since before 4:00 with nothing to eat yet. We drove to the Flamingo and had an excellent champagne brunch. We walked to the nearby monorail station and rode it to another casino, then later rode it back. When we got back to the Flamingo, Kathy took a quick pit stop, and I took that opportunity to find the will call counter where show tickets are picked up.
We walked around the casino for a while, gambled a bit, drank a bit, gambled a bit more, then had lunch. When 3:00 rolled around, we walked to Nathan Burton’s Flamingo Showroom to be seated for the show. I wasn’t discreet enough earlier when I had been looking for this theater as we were wandering through the casino, so Kathy had figured out that we were seeing a show here. Of course, the whole time we were waiting in line, she thought we’d have some sort of nosebleed seats. The Flamingo Showroom is pretty intimate, however; there really aren’t any bad seats. I had purchased seats in a booth right at the front of the theater.
Nathan Burton’s show was great. It was funny, without being stupid. His illusions were amazing, without being too over-the-top. His assistants were beautiful, without being slutty or relying on nudity.
Toward the end of the show, he asked who in the audience was here on their honeymoon; there was a smattering of applause. He then asked who was here for a birthday; again, a few people clapped and cheered. He then asked who was here for their anniversary, and as Kathy continued to sink lower into the booth in a futile attempt to blend in with the upholstery, I clapped and cheered loudly. The audience spotlight was turned to shine on us, and Nathan asked, pointing at Kathy, if this was my wife. The audience laughed as he said “Hey, this is Las Vegas, you never know.”
He then asked how many years we’d been married, and I shouted “Twenty!”
The audience applauded, then he asked me what the secret to 20 years of marriage is. I said “Do everything she says!” He then closed the show with one final trick (turning a glass of water into white confetti in front of our eyes. You can see the confetti still in his hair in this photo.) As we were filing out of the theater, other audience members were coming up to us wishing us a happy anniversary. It was a wonderful ending to a perfect day.
I told Kathy that the show was the last surprise I had planned. The rest of the day, and the entire next day, we were free to do anything we wanted to do.
We put our bags in the car, and spent the next few minutes figuring out how to adjust the seats and start the car (there’s no “key” in the cut-piece-of-metal sense, just an electronic fob that looks like a thumb drive). Once we got going and got on the road, I told Kathy I’d booked us a room at a place somewhere here in town. I asked her to punch in 2000 Las Vegas Blvd into the car’s in-dash GPS, so it can tell us how to get there. As we passed many of the large resorts, Kathy kept asking if this was where we were staying. I faked innocence. “Is the GPS telling us to turn here? No? Then I guess this isn’t it. We’ll just have to keep driving until we find it.”
Last November, the whole family drove to Las Vegas and stayed for a couple days as part of a larger road trip vacation. We rented two cheap rooms at the El Cortez hotel, right near the heart of downtown old Las Vegas. It was fine for what it was, a really cheap place for the five of us to sleep. It wasn’t the least bit romantic (nor was that trip intended to be). We don’t have any bad feelings about the El Cortez, we just think of it more like the “McDonalds” of Las Vegas hotels, I guess. We mentioned to each other at the time how great it would be to be able to stay at a nice place on the strip, rather than having to settle for just a bed and a TV downtown.
While planning this trip, I knew that Kathy would have been happy just being with me no matter where we stayed, even if it was some fleabag far removed from the strip. I decided early on in, however, that I had just one chance to really blow her away. So, as much as I could afford it, there would be no compromises.
Kathy and I were still heading north on Las Vegas Blvd. in the Mercedes, passing resort after resort, with the GPS telling us how much more distance was left to our destination. Kathy started thinking that we might be staying at some cheap hotel downtown, maybe the El Cortez again. Soon, however, the GPS told us to turn left, and I dutifully followed its guidance into the parking lot of the Stratosphere Hotel, at the north end of the strip.
We went inside and walked up to the check-in desk. I handed my credit card to the agent at the counter, and a few minutes later we were off to find the elevator to the 18th floor. When I opened the door and let Kathy in to see the room, she said “Wow, this is bigger than our first apartment!” I had rented a 650 square foot suite, with a king sized bed, a couch and chairs around the TV area, a small kitchen area, a dining table/work table and chairs, and a gigantic marble bathroom. The windows faced south, so it had an amazing view of the strip. It was perfect.
As Kathy started to unpack, I told her to hurry, we really need to get going. She tilted her head to the side, squinted her eyes a bit and asked if I had even more planned. I just said, “I’m really hungry right now, we haven’t had breakfast yet. And remember, don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything.”
We park the car at the airport and I open the trunk, and only then does Kathy realize that I’ve already packed for us both. She still doesn’t really know what’s going to happen or where we’re going, since I won’t tell her anything ahead of time. Whenever she asks anything, I just say “Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything.” She asks if she needs to call her boss to let him know she won’t be in.
“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything.”
As we take the escalators to the ticket counter level, she asks if we need to stop at one of the ticket counters. I had already printed our boarding passes online the evening before, of course. “Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything.”
As we are about to go through security, I mention to the TSA guy that Kathy doesn’t know where we’re going yet, and ask if it is possible for him to verify that she is a ticketed traveler without letting her see the boarding pass. He obliges, and this part of the surprise is safe for a bit longer.
We arrive at the gate so early that the agents haven’t even updated the board for the flight yet. This works in my favor, since it is that much longer that Kathy is kept in the dark. We sit in a section of seating near the next gate over, so Kathy still won’t be able to see the board once the agents do update it. She still doesn’t know where we’re going until an hour or so later when they finally announce the boarding over the intercom. “We’re going to Las Vegas?!”
The flight left on-time at 6:00 AM sharp. It was a great flight; quiet, not crowded (we had the entire row to ourselves), and relaxing. Even though she had only slept about four hours and I had slept only three, we were too excited to snooze. It’s pretty rare that we get to take a plane anywhere, so it’s always a treat to look at the scenery go by 30,000 feet below. She wanted to know what we were going to do once we got into Las Vegas. “Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything.”
We land, and I tell her that we should probably see about renting some cheap wheels to get around town. We catch the shuttle to the off-airport rental car center, and I find the Dollar Rent A Car counter. I tell her to wait in the lobby, which is far enough away that she won’t be able to hear the transaction. She tilts her head to the side, squints her eyes a bit and asks if I’ve already reserved a car? And if so, what kind? “Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything.”
Ten minutes later I have the rental agreement in hand, and we make our way out to the garage to get the keys. As we’re waiting for the attendant to tell us which car is ours, we are standing right next to a new Corvette. I joke about how cool it would be to drive a nice car like that for the week-end. She groans, in a “Yeah, right” kind of way. I don’t think we’ve ever driven anything nicer than my Volkswagen or her Honda. “Sir, here are your keys. You car is right there, three spaces down.”
As we approach the CLK500, Kathy says “No way! You rented us a Mercedes?!”
July 9th, 2008, was our 20 year anniversary. I wanted to do something big for Kathy, and I started planning early. After discussing options with many people, including her best friend Lori, I decided to surprise her with a weekend in Las Vegas. My grandparents lived there years ago, and other family and friends still live there, so we’ve been there many times, and always have fun. Every time we’ve visited however, there has been something “missing”. Kathy’s hinted that she would love to see a show sometime. We always seem to stay with family, or in the cheapest room we could find. We always seem to make one compromise or another. I hoped to make this a trip that she would remember for a long time.
I arranged with her boss for her to have Saturday July 19th off (she has Sunday-Monday off normally.) I told him what I was planning, and asked him to keep it quiet until we were back from the trip. I also arranged with Lori for her to pick up Lexi sometime after we left the house and keep her for the week-end. I knew the boys would be OK on their own.
She figured that I was planning something, but I wouldn’t give her any sort of hints, or even confirm whether I was actually planning anything or not. When it came time to actually start booking and purchasing the trip, however, I finally had to acknowledge that I was up to something. The only thing I told her was that I had some plans, and that she was not allowed, under any circumstances, to go on-line and look at the checking or credit card accounts. This was about 2 and a half weeks before the trip. I told her that all would be revealed soon (but I didn’t say exactly when), and not to ask any questions. Any at all. Not a single question. None.
That didn’t last long. I was able to deflect almost every question with an answer of “You’ll see” or “You’ll just have to wait” or something else along those lines. At some point, she even asked point blank “Does my boss know what’s going on?” This wasn’t a question I could sidestep without it being very obvious that I had in fact arranged for some time off with him, and since this was to be a big part of the suprise, I had to lie to her.
“Your boss? No, of course not! Why would I involve him? He doesn’t know anything about the plans I’m making!”
I did make it clear that when the surprise started, she would very definetely know it. If she ever thought to herself, “I wonder if this is part of the surprise?”, the answer had to be “No”, because I was going to make it VERY obvious when it did start.
The morning of Saturday July 19th, I woke her up about 3:30 AM and said “Get up and get dressed, your surprise is starting right now.” She asked if she should wear her work clothes, and I told her just to wear something casual, that we’d be back in time to change clothes before she had to go to work. Since she wasn’t going to be working again until Tuesday, I didn’t technically lie. I said not to worry about packing anything, just to get in the car so we can start the suprise. In the trunk of my car were two suitcases I had already packed with several changes of clothes for both of us. I had even purchased travel size toothpaste, toothbrushes, soaps, etc, so I could pack absolutely everything ahead of time without her noticing that stuff was missing from the bathroom.
We drove from our house in Beaverton to 26 East, then to 405 South, then to 5 North, then to 84 East, then to 205 North, the whole time trying not to be too obvious that we were heading in the direction of the airport. Once on 205, I tried to stay in the left lanes. Just when we were about to pass the off-ramp to PDX, I swerved across all lanes (remember, it was about 4:00 AM and the freeway was empty) and took the exit. She just about screamed, “I knew it! We’re flying somewhere!”
I was on MAX last week on the way home from work, and something strange caught my eye outside the train. This punk looking guy, straight out of the ’70s-London-Sex Pistols-The Clash-era, was walking down the sidewalk. He had the full meal deal going on: Skintight black jeans torn and cut in all the right places, huge heavy black boots, spiked dog collar around his neck, all kinds of piercings, and a tall spiked bright red mohawk.
And wrap-around sunglasses. And a white cane with a red tip, sweeping side to side.
Yup, being blind, the poor guy had no idea how ridiculously stupid he looked. I can picture his friends, all of them grown up and business men now, with their suits and briefcases, keeping this guy in the dark (so to speak) about how silly he looked.
“Yeah, man you look wicked tough. You still got it. Oh, yeah, sure, of course I’m spiking my hair too. I’m slathering on the hair gel right now. Yup, we both look like real hooligans. Now go on, get out there and STRUT!”
Yay! Non-blogging brother Josh is here! He and his kids drove up from Orange County, and they arrived this afternoon. My dad and step-mom are flying in tomorrow night. It’s gonna be a great week end!
YARD WORK - AS VIEWED FROM HEAVEN
(overheard in a conversation between God and St. Francis):
God: Francis, you know all about gardens and nature; what in the world
is going on down there in the U.S.? What happened to the dandelions,
violets, thistles and the stuff I started eons ago?
I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any
type of soil, withstand drought, and multiply with abandon. The nectar from
the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honeybees, and flocks of
songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of color by now. All I see
are patches of green.
St. Francis: It’s the tribes that settled there, Lord.! They are called
the Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers “weeds” and went to
great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.
God: Grass? But it is so boring, it’s not colorful. It doesn’t attract
butterflies, bees or birds, only grubs and sod worms. It’s temperamental
with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want grass growing
there?
St. Francis: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it has grown a little,
they cut it….sometimes two times a week.
God: They cut it? Do they bale it like hay?
St. Francis: Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in
bags.
God: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?
St. Francis: No sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.
God: Now let me get this straight…they fertilize it to make it grow
and when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?
St. Francis: Yes, sir.
God: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back
on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves
them a lot of work.
St. Francis: You aren’t going to believe this Lord, but when the grass
stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water
it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.
God: What nonsense! At least they kept some of the trees. That was a
sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the
spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer.
In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep
the moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as
they rot, the leaves become compost to enhance the soil. It’s a natural
circle of life.
St. Francis: You’d better sit down, Lord. As soon as the leaves fall ,
the Suburbanites rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled
away.
God: No way! What do they do to protect the shrubs and tree roots in
the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?
St Francis: After throwing the leaves away, they go out and buy
something called mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the
leaves.
God: And where do they get this mulch?
St. Francis: They cut down the trees and grind them up to make mulch.
God: Enough! I don’t want to think about this anymore.
Saint Catherine, you’re in charge of the arts. What movie have you
scheduled for us tonight?
St. Catherine: “Dumb and Dumber,” Lord. It’s a really stupid movie
about….
God: Never mind–I think I just heard the whole story from Saint
Francis!
The setup: You are at the entrance of a large house. At the far end of the house is an empty room with a single light bulb. The door to this room is closed, allowing no light to escape. On the wall next to you are three standard on/off electrical switches. One of these three switches turns the bulb on and off. The other two switches do nothing.
The goal: You must determine which one of the three switches controls the bulb.
The limitation: You can only make one trip to the room with the bulb, and you can’t come back to the light switches once you are in the room. Before you go to the room, however, you can do whatever you like to the switches (without disassembling, of course: no cheating!), and you can take as much time as you like.
So, what would you do? How exactly would you determine which of the three switches controls the bulb? Post your guesses and questions as a comment, and I’ll do my best to respond quickly. I’ll post the answer next Saturday.
To honor the return of the random Simpsons quote (on the sidebar at right), I have also made a small update to this site: Graphical titles, using the Simpsons font. Very pointless, but kinda fun.
As promised way back in early September, here are a few games that we’ve found make road trips a bit more enjoyable, especially with kids cooped up in the car.
1. License plate game, Hayes style.
I took the standard license plate game, and kicked it up a few notches. I created a page with a picture of every state’s license plate, as well as Washington DC’s plate. You can download it as an 840KB PDF format here (and yes, I’m aware that I have North Dakota twice, and that there is no South Dakota. Sue me. Or create your own.)
I printed five copies, one for each of us. When we would see a car from a certain state, we would put a line through that state’s plate. The first person to cross off all 51 plates, or the one who crosses off the most plates by the time we reach our destination, is the winner. We only count single-family passenger vehicles, like cars, pickups, SUVs, minivans, and even RVs. No busses or semi trucks. We only counted cars that we saw driving, not parked.
2. Alphabet game.
The standard alphabet game can be played on road trips of any length. The basic rules: Find words on signs that begin with each successive letter of the alphabet. It is a collaborative game, with everyone helping to find words in order; in other words, each person does not have his own alphabet to run through. You can’t use any word on any part of any car, including the make, model, or any ads or logos printed on the car. You can only use one word on any single sign, so if a sign has the words “Alpha” and “Beta”, you can use “Alpha” as the A-word, but you then must look for a B-word on a different sign.
On shorter trips, including trips that include driving through town, the game can be more fun when several rules are relaxed. It can take a loooong time to find an X-word for example. You can choose to either allow a word that has X anywhere in it to be the X-word, or you might purposely drive near a sign that has an X-word, like a copy place that has the word “Xerox” in the window, or by a hospital that has an “X-ray” sign. You can even choose to find the X-word out of order if you come across it before you’ve reached X in the alphabet.
Several of my bloggingbuddies have been playing what I have dubbed the Google Images Game recently. I decided to join in the fun. Here are the rules: Go to Google Images, and do a search for the following:
-Name of the town where you grew up
-Name of the town where you live now
-Your name
-Your grandmother’s name
-Your favorite food
-Your favorite drink
-Your favorite song
-Your favorite smell
Then you post the first image that Google found, and also your favorite image. Here are my results:
I grew up in Gresham. First image:
My favorite images (tie):
I currently live in Beaverton. First image:
My favorite image:
My name is Bill Hayes. First image:
My favorite images (tie):
My Grandma’s name was Marty Hayes. First image:
Favorite image:
My favorite food is lasagne. First image:
Favorite image (tie):
My favorite drink is Diet Pepsi. First image:
Favorite image:
My favorite song is The Power of Love. First image:
Favorite image:
My favorite smell is Avon Soft Musk perfume. First image:
Favorite image:
By the way, check out this unrelated, but most awesome Google Images game.
I’m going to have a new poll every week, on the right side of this page. Why? No real reason, I guess just to see if I could make it work with this site.
Well, they are finally all done. There are a lot of pictures for you all to enjoy in the photo gallery. Now maybe I can finally catch up with all the posts required by law from when a bunch of people recently tagged me. Patience…
1. Buy a rv and travel all the states with Bill
2. Take a vacation to Paris with Bill
3. See my children and grandchildren grow up
4. See Gone With The Wind
5. Have a b***** reduction due to back pain
6. Buy a corvette and it will be mine (my all time favorite car)
7. Have enough money to live a comfortable life with Bill
Seven things I can do
1. I make an awesome Thanksgiving Dinner
2. Use a pogo stick
3. Give medical advice
4. Have compassion for the sick and elderly
5. Name over 900 trees and shrubs
6. Hiccup consistently about 10 times in a row
7. Love my family forever
Seven things I can’t do
1. Work on the computer without icons or without the help of Bill to guide me
2. Cart wheels
3. Find time for myself
4. Study for school without being interrupted
5. Listen to speed metal or rap music
6. Miss an episode of Days of our Lives (I have watched that show since I was about 9-10 yrs old)
7. Stop beating myself up for not being there when Grandma passed on.
Seven things that attract me to the opposite sex
1. Pretty eyes
2. Sensitivity
3. Compassion
4. Good listening skills
5. Dancing around in your underwear (Risky Business)
6. A good sense of humor
7. A nice butt (Years ago that is one feature that I looked for) I know “How shallow!”
Seven things I say most often
1. I love you
2. Did you brush your teeth today?
3. Can you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?
4. Money doesn’t grow on trees
5. Give me some time to myself
6. Goodnight sleep tight don’t let the bedabugs bite to Lexi
7. Do you know what sounds fun, swimming in Stephanie and Justin’s pool!
Seven celebrity crushes
1. Tom Cruise (I don’t care what a certain someone (DH) thinks of him, I have always thought he was the best)
2. Toby Keith (He is so rugged)
3. Richard Gere (Love the grey hair)
4. John Travolta (I loved Grease)
5. Kenney Chesney (He is the cats meow)
6. Tim McGraw (Enough said)
7. Mel Gibson (He is just hot)
Seven people I want to do this
1. Bill
2. Stephanie
3. Justin
4. Gabe
5. Danielle
6. Billy
7. Matt
I have almost all the vacation pictures ready in the photo gallery. For lack of a better system, I have them organized by day. As of now, it is complete through day 13. Actually uploading the photos is trivial, but I want to have a caption for each one, which is proving to be a bit more time consuming than I thought it would. Day 14, which I hope to have ready sometime tomorrow, will have all the pictures from our trip through Yellowstone National Park. I took over 180 pictures that day, and I’m going to upload 70 of them for your viewing pleasure, plus I have five photos from Day 15, the very last day of our vacation, including the aftermath of a very scary and potentially deadly highway incident (don’t worry, we’re all fine).
I’m also going to have a bunch of posts soon about more specific things on the trip, general observations, as well as things we learned about long car trips, kind of like a how-to guide for family vacations via automobile. What worked and what didn’t, ya know?
This was an epic journey for us (5450 miles in 15 days through nine states to visit several family members, three national parks, and a seemingly endless parade of tourist traps), and I don’t know when (or if) we’ll ever be able to do it again. It was a lot more expensive than I’d planned (we spent $687.50 just in gasoline), but I would gladly do it again if given the chance, and if I had it to do over, I would change very little.
We’re back home now. We got in about 10:00 last night. I have a bunch of stories to tell, and I still have all the photos to sort through and share. Vacation was wonderful, but it’s good to be home.
Everyone has a list, right? Some people’s list contains the things they want to do before they die, and they check each one off as they do it. Skydiving, bungee jumping, running with the bulls, whatever. I don’t have a list like that. I’ve always thought that if I did manage to do everything on my list, what else would I have to live for? So my list isn’t titled “Fun things I must do before I die”, but instead “Fun things I’ve done while alive.” That way, my list can grow and grow, and I never feel I have to stop adding to the list, and I won’t be disappointed if I leave this life before my list is complete.
So I added “floating” to my list yesterday. The rivers here in Missouri are very different from the rivers in Oregon, at least the rivers I’m familiar with. Oregon rivers are deep, fast, and they seem to claim the lives of about a swimmer a week during summer. Here, the rivers are shallow, slow, clear, and warm. Kathy’s cousin and his family took us to a place called Dawt Mill, where we rented two canoes and four tubes. We were then taken by converted school bus, with the canoes and tubes and our coolers on a trailer behind us, upriver about eight miles, and we got in the water about 12:30. We floated back downriver, and arrived back at Dawt Mill at about 6:30.
During those six hours, the water never got more than about four feet deep, and in some places the bottom of the canoes actually scraped along rocks and submerged logs. We stopped a few times along the way at little sandbars along the banks, to have lunch or to relax. It was a completely wonderful time.
Now for the bad news. If you’ve ever been in a canoe, like Kathy and I had not, you know that they can be really hard to keep balanced. Number of times we flipped? Two. Seconds after we got in the water that we first flipped? About 15. At some point along the way, Kathy switched with Matt, so he was in the canoe with me, and she was floating in the tube behind us. We went through a bit of a “rapids” section, and Matt and I got hung up on a submerged log. Kathy came barreling toward us, and flipped her tube. As she was trying to right herself, her glasses came off, and she dumped her beer. Tragedy. She had just opened that beer. We never did find her glasses or the beer.
So this morning, we’re all putting aloe on our sunburns, massaging the bruises we got from falling in the water and hitting the rocks on the bottom, and getting in touch with a local optometrist to get Kathy replacement glasses. We leave Missouri tomorrow morning for a long slow drive back home through several points of interest none of us have ever seen.
So I took the kids (my three, plus nephew Andrew, who is also visiting here from his home in L.A.) to Branson, Mo.
What. A. Trippy. Place.
Bart was spot on when he said “It’s like Vegas — if it were run by Ned Flanders.” A lot of theme buildings, shaped like strange stuff, and a lot of eye-candy, interestingly right next door to motels obviously more than 50 years old but still kept in pristine condition, right next door to similar immaculate motels that are out of business.
And the shows! Oh my goodness! Baldknobbers’ Jamboree, The Brett Family Singers With Bob Nichols, Buck Trent Show, Circle B Chuckwagon Music Show, Clay Cooper’s Country Express, Dixie Stampede Dinner and Show, Kirby Van Burch & Brett Daniels, Mike Radford’s Remember When Show, Rodney Dillard & the Boys From Mayberry, and many more that I also had never heard of and that are undoubtedly so white-bread as to be blinding to the naked eye.
The kids and I went on a really cool go-cart ride. The track is actually four stories tall, and loops around over itself until you are all the way at the top, then it curves around through several tight turns and bumps and back down to the start. I got some pretty good pictures while piloting the car Lexi and I were in. I’ll put them in the photo gallery as soon as I can.
We also went to the Ripley’s Believe it or Not museum and had a blast there.
We leave Saturday on our big road trip. We’ll be driving about 2100 miles in three days. Beaverton, Oregon to Cabool, Missouri. We’ll be visiting Kathy’s aunt and uncle, and staying with her cousin (their son). Then, another 2100 mile drive back home. It’s gonna be nuts.
I’m actually really looking forward to it. We drive to southern California all the time, generally about once a year. Until recently, all of our immediate family (with the exception of brother Gabe) lived somewhere in the L.A. area. My dad sold his house in Orange County a few years ago (for a very healthy profit) and moved to the Phoenix area. Last summer, we took a long road trip to see his new place there, then continued on to L.A., and finally back home.
Besides that, this is going to be the first long road trip we’ve ever taken, and the first one where we haven’t already seen the same scenery dozens of times before. We’re going to be just like the Griswolds, except I’ll never be nearly as cool as Clark is, and, you know, I’m real. Come to think of it, there are a few other scary parallels there:
Our minivan is green, like the family truckster (I don’t think the airbags are made from Hefty bags, though).
I’ve plotted our course on the computer just like Sparky did, except I used Google Earth’s satellite imaging, not some blocky early ’80s Apple II graphics. Plus, Billy didn’t use Pacman to eat the family car.
We’ll be staying at cheap motels each night, but I swear I won’t be ordering any drinks from the “pool waitress”.
We’ve got the portable DVD player and a bunch of movies, and I’ve got the DC to AC inverter ready to go, so the boys can power their Playstation 2. I never had this kind of entertainment for road trips when I was a kid.
I’m such a geek, I’ve even researched free wi-fi hot spots near each night’s motel, so I can hopefully upload photos and update this site every day.
The next few weeks are going to be crazy. I have been packing for the last 2weeks for our official move on Sept. 10th. Then, the kids are starting the year out at the new schools. So, I had to go to each of the schools and register them. For the first four days I am going to have to drive them to and from school because we won’t physically be in the new place until the weekend.
I am also packing for our vacation. We will be leaving Saturday for Missouri. We are driving to go visit my family. It will be a long 3 day drive and roughly 2100 miles.
On top of all that, the house still has to stay presentable because the landlord is showing the house. He wants to make sure that it is rented before we actually move.
Needless-to-say, if I haven’t been the happiest or friendliest person to be around now you know why. Where’s my xanex when I need it!
The picnic was loads of fun! OK, so not a lot of people showed up. I know that Breanna and Rebecca Marie had health issues that prevented their appearance, but why no one else? Feel free to leave explanations as comments to this post. I mean, I wasn’t even able to give away all the wide-screen plasma TVs and Sony PSPs that I had as door prizes! OK, so there were no high-end door prizes. Actually, there were no prizes at all, even for the winners of the two games I had available for everyone to play. I’m not sure who won “Guess The Blogger” (thanks RM for the most amazing artwork), but I’m pretty sure I speak for all of us in attendance when I say that Stephanie was the winner of the “How Many Words Can You Create From The Letters In Blogger Picnic” game, based solely on being the first one to write down “boner”.
Even though we couldn’t setup a live webcam (no wi-fi within range in the area), Gabe and I were still able to geek out. Each of us used our Blackberry to leave a comment on the previous picnic update post while we were munching on chips and yelling at our kids to stop leaving the cooler open.
Is there a second Blogger Picnic in the future? I’m not sure. There was a lot of preparation that went into this, just for almost no one to show up. Summer’s winding down, anyway, so if I am going to try to plan another get-together, it will probably have to be something indoors. I’ll be sure to keep everyone posted if anything comes to mind.
Still, even though there was a very low turn out, it’s always a party when the two Hayes families and Justin and Stephanie get together, so of course we had a blast. There’s a whole bunch of pictures in the Photo Gallery, just click on Blogger Picnic.
1) You have unlimited funds to buy Kathy ONE gift. What do you buy her and how do you present it to her?
I’m going to veer off the reality highway and rush headlong into the realm of make-believe. I would go back in time and give Kathy a proper marriage proposal. Allow me to explain why: I proposed to Kathy over the phone. No engagement ring, no tearful soul-baring on bended knee, no man-to-man talk asking for her father’s permission; nothing but a “Hey, would ya marry me?” She deserves so much more than that.
In my defense, I was only 16 years old, and didn’t know any better. Yes, 16. Kathy and I have been going out since we were 16. We were married at 19, and our first child was born when we were 21. That’s how we can be about to celebrate our 17th anniversary, have a son who drives and will be a sophomore in high school, and still be just 36 years old.
But if I knew then what I know now, I would have made sure to do it right, and I’ve regretted it ever since I knew enough to know that I should be regretting it.
2) Tell us a secret….
I once ate an entire 1/2 gallon carton of Breyer’s Cookies and Cream ice cream (the original, not that newfangled stuff with Oreos) in one sitting.
3) You’ve just laid the deed to your house on the black jack table. You’ve been dealt a seven and a five; the dealer has a nine showing. Do you take a hit? Tell us your thought process.
Take a hit? I didn’t even inhale. Drugs are bad, mm’kay? Now pass the Doritos, I got the munchies reeeal bad.
Seriously, I’m not a gambler, I don’t know anything about playing the odds in blackjack. I guess I’d take another card and hope for the best, and whatever happens, happens. If I lost the house, I guess I’d be pretty ticked, but I’d do what I’ve done in the past: Start over. One thing I’ve learned over the years is no matter how bad the situation is, you can always start over, especially when it comes to something as insignificant as money. The things that are really important can’t be lost in a card game.
Quick example: When Billy and Matt were babies, I was working three jobs (yes, three) to support us, and Kathy had broken her ankle and so she couldn’t walk or even take care of the boys. I had to drive them down to L.A. to stay with her mom while she healed for several months (driving straight through and back in one week-end with no sleep, ’cause I couldn’t take any time off), and I wasn’t able to even talk to them for several weeks since our phone had been shutoff. I even missed seeing Matt take his first steps. At the time, I felt like a complete and total failure, and pretty much worthless. Now, 13 or so years wiser, I realize that a person’s worth isn’t measured by how much money they make, or where they live, or how many letters are after their name on their business card (or if it says “trainee” on the nametag on their uniform.)
4) It’s all up to you; does the United States re-instate the draft or instate a mandatory two-year military commitment from everyone over eighteen? You must choose one, and state why.
Whoa, tough one. My dad was in the Army when I was tiny (I was actually born in a military hospital on an Army base in what used to be West Germany.) His service was up and we moved back to the States when I was about two. I have no recollection of any of his service, so I’ve never considered myself the son of a military man. My brothers and I have never served either.
Billy and Matt have occasionally mentioned that they might like to join the military when they get out of high school, to help with education, serve their country, gain experience, etc. Not much serious talk of that recently, however.
As much as I may disagree with idea of forcibly inducting some people into the armed forces, I guess I am even more strongly against a mandatory stint in the military for all adults. That just seems more un-American.
5) Why do you get so mad?
Stupidity makes me mad.
People can be ignorant, and people can be stupid. Ignorance is not bad. All of us are ignorant of most things. If something goes wrong with my car, for example, I can’t fix it for the life of me. I’m ignorant of the knowledge needed to make it start working. That’s OK, because I don’t really have a desire to learn it, it’s not worth my time, and I’m fine with paying someone else to fix it who does have that knowledge.
However, if I keep driving when I notice the “check engine” light come on instead of taking it to a mechanic, and my engine explodes, I’m not being ignorant, I’m being stupid.
OK, so I’m supposed to extend the invitation to be interviewed by me to the first five people who request it. However, seeing that it took almost three days just to post my answers to RM’s questions, I probably won’t get around to coming up with five interesting questions for five different people within our lifetime. So… I’m going to extend this invitation to just two people. I know, I’m probably going to suffer a terrible accident for “breaking the chain” or something, but I’m willing to risk it. Any takers?
Want a sneak peak at your American Idol for the year 2015? Check out Lexi singing solo in front of her entire school, including students, teachers, faculty, and even parents! She played the part of the straw peddler, selling a bundle of straw to the first little piggy. She was amazing! Pictures are in the Photo Gallery.
I worked with a guy a few years ago who was quite a joker. He was a real riot. I thought it was all fun and games until he crossed the line: He kidnapped my favorite piece of desktop office equipment, my Swingline stapler, and held him for ransom. Here’s the story:
My office is near a small conference room that’s often used by others in the building. For some reason, this conference room’s stapler was always disappearing. When people in a meeting needed something stapled, they would invariably come to my desk and ask to borrow my stapler. I would let them take it back to the conference room with them, but would always make them promise to bring it back at the end of their meeting. If I was away from my office, people would sometimes just take it off my desk and then leave it in the conference room after their meeting was over.
Each morning when I would reach for my stapler to attach the new cover sheet to my TPS reports, it would be missing. I would have to wait until the current meeting was over and then scour the conferece room for my beloved Swingline. The whole time, I put up a pretty vocal fuss about all this (I never threatened to set the building on fire, however.)
So, as I’m going through my normal routine one morning, I discover that my stapler is not on my desk. I trudge over to the conference room to retrieve it, but it’s nowhere to be found there. When I get back to my desk, I find a ransom note sitting on my keyboard. It has also been delivered to my inbox as a Microsoft Word document attachment, sent from one of our anonymous mailboxes we use for testing. Here is a PDF file I created of the ransom note.
With the help of a trusted neutral co-worker, I dissected the Word document and discovered who had actually created it. As soon as he left his desk, I swooped in and took his Intel bunnysuit figure, and created my own ransom note, being careful to create it while logged in with a completely anonymous user name, so it couldn’t be traced back to me. Here is a copy of that ransom note in PDF format.
A trade was arranged, and he got his Intel bunnysuit figure back unharmed, and I got my Swingline stapler back, but he had been roughed up by his captors, and his injuries are evident. Oh the humanity!
He still works flawlessly, and I haven’t missed a TPS report deadline since then.
So are you kinda nervous ’cause today is Friday the 13th? Then you’re kinda dumb.
It’s just another day of the week, like all the others that came before it. I happen to have absolute proof that not only is Friday the 13th not unlucky, it is actually (for me at least) very lucky indeed.
Back when I was a teen-ager (decades ago, back when cars could still run on leaded gasoline), my uncle had a construction business. He bid on a construction clean-up job on a Nordstroms being built in Glendale, California. He loaded a bunch of us nephews in his van, loaded the trailer with equipment, and we drove the 1000 or so miles for the job. We were there for a couple months, and it was a pretty incredible summer.
One Friday at the job site, Friday the 13th to be exact, I was walking along from somewhere to someplace else, and came upon a huge ladder setup in the middle of the floor. I was about to walk around it, when I thought “what the heck * “, and started to walk under it. I figured that since I was walking under a ladder on Friday the 13th, I’d better think good thoughts to counteract the bad luck. So, I thought “good thoughts”. Literally. I was saying the words “good” and “thoughts” over and over in my head as I walked under the ladder. I didn’t really know any other way to think good thoughts.
And what did I find on the ground on the other side of the ladder? A crumpled $5 bill. Which, to a teen-ager in the early ’80s, was like finding a chest o’ gold. I pocketed it and spent it all on slurpees over the coming week or so.
I swear this is a completely true story.
* “Heck” wasn’t the actual word I thought. I was a teen-ager. You figure it out.
OK, no offense to any of my Japanese readers, alright? I personally don’t know anyone from Japan, and the Americans of Japanese descent that I know are true Red White and Blue Americans. And by that, I mean they like their beer cold, their TV loud, and you know the rest.
But I just don’t understand the taste of the young people in Japan. And by taste, I mean bad taste. A case in point is soon approaching. But first, allow me to set it up for you.
I was surfing recently, and I don’t remember anymore where I was when I clicked on a link that took me to the following page. I just remember that it said something about “cool Japanese sporty cars” or something. This wasn’t a page badly translated from the Japanese language, where all intended sarcasm is lost. This link was actually promising cool Japanese sporty cars. So I clicked to have a look. The first few cars near the top of the page looked decent enough. Nothing really special one way or the other. The farther down I got, however, the more I thought this was a joke. But NO! It is real! People in Japan actually think this looks cool! Have a look here.
When you’re done laughing and shaking your head, check out what are apparently called “art trucks“.
Which of these stories is true? Here are three headlines:
A. School mistakes huge burrito for weapon, goes into lockdown
B. Hungry crows may be behind exploding toads
C. Doctors pull 50 maggots from elderly man’s ears
We recently got these new fangled AED devices at work. AED stands for “automated external defibrillator”. You know the heart paddles that they use in all the dramatic emergency room scenes, where the doctor shoves them on a patient’s chest and yells “CLEAR!“? Well, an AED is like that, but it’s automatic. Pretty much, you just stick these adhesive pads to a person’s upper and lower chest (in a precise location), and the machine monitors their heart condition, and will only give a shock if needed.
I’m on my building’s safety committee, so I was trained by the Red Cross on the use of the machines. They’re only supposed to be used by someone who’s been properly trained, not because there is anything really dangerous about them, but if they’re not properly hooked up, the machine won’t be able to get correct readings on the person, and may not give the correct shock when it’s really needed.
So aaanywaaaay… I got home from work the other day, and the family and I were sitting down to eat dinner. At school that day, Lexi had for some reason been sucking on her inner elbow (isn’t that called the crelbow?), and left red marks on her skin. Before I knew about this, however, Lexi turned to me (and it’s important here to remember that she is seven years old, and very much a daddy’s girl) and said “Daddy, you want to see my hickeys?”
The first thing that went through my mind was “No one else in the family is trained to use the AED, but since we don’t have one here at the house anyway, I guess I’ll just have to wait for the ambulance to restart my heart.”
After everyone was done laughing at the horrified look on my face, it was explained to me what she meant, and I was finally able to manage a feeble smile.
I have a confession to make: I love to sleep. It’s not that I’m lazy (though Kathy may argue that point…), but I have never been a morning person. I have always had a really hard time getting out of bed. I don’t know what it is, but the bed always feels the warmest and coziest right when the alarm goes off. In fact, here’s another insight into just how weird I really am: I used to set the alarm for like 3:00 or 4:00 AM on week-ends, just so I would get woken up, and would be able to feel the comfort of the bed. I swear I am not making this up. I would actually force myself awake so that I could enjoy comfortably falling asleep again.
This leads to problems, however. Kathy is a very light sleeper, and doesn’t easily fall back asleep once she’s awake. If something wakes us up in the middle of the night, I can fall right back asleep, and she’ll lay there awake in bed literally for hours.
I start work at 7:00 AM in downtown Portland, and I try to get to my desk by 6:40 or so at the latest. As I’ve mentioned in a previous post’scomments, I try to walk to the MAX station when I can, which is about a 30 minute walk. If I decide to drive to the park and ride MAX station instead, it’s exactly a four mile drive.
So what does this sleep-loving, wife-annoying loser do? I’ll usually set the alarm for 5:00 AM, then when the alarm goes off, I’ll punch snooze, and if Kathy hasn’t woken up, I’ll sleep for another 1/2 hour (and it’s the best 1/2 hour of sleep ever.) Then I’ll get up, get ready, and drive the four miles.
If the 5:00 alarm does wake her up, I feel bad that she’s not going to be able to fall back asleep, and I get right up, get ready, and walk the 30 minutes. I don’t mean to toy with her sleep patterns, but I can’t help it. I’m really a bad person, and Kathy, I love you and I’m very sorry.
After some pretty serious posts recently, I decided to lighten it up quite a bit. Here are some of my favorite quotes from The Simpsons: ——————– Homer: Got any of that beer that has candy floating in it? You know, Skittlebrau? Apu: Such a beer does not exist, sir. I think you must have dreamed it. Homer: Oh. Well, then just give me a six-pack and a couple of bags of Skittles. ——————– Professor Frink: Let the commencing beginulate! ——————– Marge: You awful man! Stay away from my son! Sideshow Bob:[menacing] Oh, I’ll stay away from your son, all right! Stay away… FOREVER! Homer: Oh, no! Sideshow Bob: Wait a minute. That’s no good. [walks away, then runs back] Sideshow Bob: Wait, I’ve got a good one now! Marge, say “stay away from my son” again. Marge: No! ——————– Marge: Now be good for Grampa while we’re at the parent-teacher meeting. We’ll bring back dinner. Lisa: What are we gonna have? Homer: Well, that depends on what your teachers say. If you’ve been good, pizza. If you’ve been bad… uh… let’s see… poison. Lisa: What if one of us has been good and one of us has been bad? Bart: Poison pizza. Homer: Oh, no. I’m not making two stops. ——————– Lionel Hutz: Now don’t you worry, Mrs. Simpson, I… uh-oh. We’ve drawn Judge Snyder. Marge: Is that bad? Lionel Hutz: Well, he’s had it in for me ever since I kinda ran over his dog. Marge: You did? Lionel Hutz: Well, replace the word “kinda” with the word “repeatedly,” and the word “dog” with “son.” ——————– Homer: How could you? Haven’t you learned anything from that guy that gives those sermons in church? Captain What’s-his-name. We live in a society of laws, why do you think I took you to see all those Police Academy movies? For fun? Well I didn’t hear anybody laughing. Did you? Except at that guy who made sound effects. Vroom. Beep. Honk. Honk. Ha-ha. Where was I? Oh yeah, stay out of my booze. ——————– Homer: You know, when I was a boy I really wanted a catcher’s mitt, but my dad wouldn’t get it for me. So I held my breath until I passed out and banged my head on the coffee table. The doctor thought I might have brain damage. Bart: Dad, what’s the point of this story? Homer: I like stories. ——————–
And my all time favorite:
Homer: Two hours? Why’d they build this ghost town so far away? Lisa: Because they discovered gold right over there. Homer: It’s because they’re stupid, that’s why. That’s why everybody does everything.
So I have an interesting habit. I don’t know of anyone else who does this, though I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it to anyone before.
Before reading a book, I always read the page in the exact middle of the book first.
There, I said it, and whew do I feel better.
It’s a ritual, really, and it goes like this: First, I read the back cover. Next, I read the liner notes. So far, pretty normal. Then I open the book to the last page of the story, not counting the author’s afterward, taking care not to actually look at the text, and I make a note of the page count. Then I open to exactly the middle page, and read the entire page, including the whole first sentence that may have started on the previous page, and finish the last sentence that may carry over to the next page. Then I open to the beginning and start reading.
So far, it has not spoiled any suspense the way reading the last chapter or even the last page might do. In fact, I’m often much more than halfway through the book before I even realize that I’ve already re-read that middle page.
I don’t know why I do this, and I can’t remember when I started doing this. I just know that I can’t stop.
I saw an interesting Dodge Caravan today. It looked like one of the new models. On its rear window, it had a Bad Boys Club sticker and a cartoon Calvin peeing on Ford and Chevy emblems, flames on the hood and front fenders, huge rims with low profile tires, and blacked out windows all around. And a roof rack.
It struck me as hilarious that someone would take the 21st century version of the family truckster and pimp it out like he was a gangsta, yo. You’d think he would know that once you own a minivan, you have completely lost any semblance of coolness.
Except for brother Gabe and I, of course. Gabe’s owned three mini-vans in his life, and I’ve owned five, two of which I still own. Yes, that’s right, I currently own two mini-vans. What, you wanna make something of it? Don’t think I couldn’t kick your butt…
I haven’t won anything in a while. I used to win things all the time. It was mostly call-in radio contests, but I would occasionally win other big contests as well.
Through my employer, I won a ride on the final visit to Portland of the tank landing ship USS Frederick before it was decommissioned. We boarded at Longview, were fed a standard Navy lunch in the mess hall, and cruised to Portland as part of the 2002 Rose Festival fleet week. That was an incredible experience, and security was extremely tight, being the first such event after 9/11.
But most of my winnings have been from radio contests. Here is a list of some of the things I have won from various radio stations:
KUFO “Shooting Stars week-end” package Alice in Chains box set Stone Temple Pilots CD Inkpen that looks like a hypodermic needle (”Shooting stars”, featuring bands known for IV drug use, plus a fake needle, get it, huh, nudge, nudge, get it?)
Megadeth CD Currently in the garage somewhere.
Porn Some cheap “Hustler” knock-off. I felt really weird about claiming this prize at KUFO’s office. I tried to be all smooth and comical, and said something to the receptionist like “I’m here to claim a prize, the guys on the radio said I won a book or something.” She looked kind of horrified and said “You really don’t know what you’ve won?” I don’t know where this is anymore. I swear it was lost when we moved out of our old house. I swear.
Rockfest 6 concert, featuring: From Zero Stereomud Puddle Of Mud Craving Theo Saliva (I got to the show in time to see about 10 minutes of them.) System Of A Down (They were incredible.) Deftones (I went off to watch the mechanical bull throw some guy while they were playing. I later heard on the radio that he was the concert’s only injury, and needed eight stitches to close the gash in his forehead. It was awesome.) Godsmack (They totally rocked.)
Rockfest 7 concert, featuring: Seven Thirty Seven Rob Zombie (I was really looking forward to seeing Rob Zombie. We were going to be out of town, though, so I gave the tickets to a friend.) Down Adema Ill Nino Switched Mindcell Shifft Dirty Lowdowns Hotboxed Western Aerial
Craving Theo CD and concert I took brother Gabe to see them at the Roseland during a snow storm. It was a pretty good show. Kinda weird, though, being an all age show and seeing eight and ten year olds wandering around near the mosh pit, while the DJ announcer came on stage saying that the band would only start to play once they saw enough bare female chests (he used a different vernacular, of course.)
Creed concert The show was later cancelled (whew, close one, was almost obligated to actually watch Creed live) after singer Scott Stapp’s car tapped another car’s bumper while parallel parking, or something. I don’t know, it might have been a little more serious than that, but he’s still a weenie.
Pint glass I use this to keep my Diet Pepsi frosty cold.
Sure, it may have been wishful thinking on your part, but you weirdos can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m not going anywhere, I’m having way too much fun to quit now!
Did anyone stumble on the hidden link in the previous article? It pointed to a page that would have made it obvious that it was all a hoax. Suckers!
I saw a strange thing on MAX on the way to work this morning. A guy with a just-woke-up-from-my-refrigerator-box air about him got on the train, but not before pinching out his lit cigarette and tucking it behind his ear. One can only surmise that he was saving the rest for later. I mean, if you’re dumpster-diving for your meals (yes, I’m aware that this is a pretty big assumption about this gentleman, but it is after all MY observation,) you probably aren’t spending $3 or $4 for a pack of smokes, you’re probably bumming them off of others, so each individual stick is like gold.
Now, I seem to remember reading somewhere that nicotine is supposedly more addictive than crack cocaine. I’m not a smoker, I don’t drink excessively, in fact I’ve never been addicted to anything, except maybe spaghetti marinara (though recently Rebecca Marie politely pointed out my obvious lack of sophistication; what I thought of as fine cuisine was most likely, to her finely tuned Italian palate, wallpaper paste al dente.) I really can’t speak for that feeling of need that drives people to spend their food money on something that is very obviously killing them. However, I do know that anyone can quit if they really want to and really try. Kathy quit smoking cold turkey and hasn’t had a smoke in more than two years, and it is one of her accomplishments of which I am most proud.
I’m working the evening shift today, starting at 3:00. We’ve all been taking turns working this shift with Vince in the computer room, so that we are ready to cover for him when he goes on vacation in a few weeks.
I’m kinda bored. Kids are all at school. Kathy’s in class. I think I’ll go to the grocery store. That’s always been a surefire cure for boredom.
Maybe later I’ll write somthing about the scary/strange transvestite who was staring at me on MAX yesterday.
I want to start collecting the nuggets of wisdom printed inside fortune cookies. I’ll start things off with three that I came across recently. Please post a comment to this article to add your own:
“Power dazzles the beholder as well as the wearer.”
“A good deed done today is repaid in double tomorrow.”
“You gain strength when you stop and look fear in the face.”
Pretty funny valentines that you can send to that special (or not so special) someone. Careful, these valentines are for a mature audience (and some even have naughty words <giggle!>)
While watching local news a few nights ago, a story about a prostitution ring came on, and at some point the reporter made some comment about the fact that it is unlawful to “visit a prostitute.” Matt wondered about this for a few minutes, then asked, “But what if she’s your friend? You’re still not allowed to visit her?”
We had to explain what the reporter was implying when he said “visit”, and that it had nothing to do with dropping by to say hello, chatting about the latest sale at Nordstrom, discussing poetry over a spot of tea and a scone, etc.
Matt wrote a Father’s Day poem for me a few months ago:
Dad Dad Dadio
D oes everything for us A lways on the run D id sit through the long blistering hours of my birth
D oesn’t regret my birth A lways 24/7 he loves us D oesn’t slack off at his work
D ad’s his name A ll of his children are his game D oes like “The Simpsons” a little I need to rephrase that, he does like “The Simpsons” a lot O pens his magazines five hours a day
