48 Square foots

We decided that our Oklahoma clay is not ideal for growing our garden and so have built ourselves a "Square Foot Garden." Supposedly with the right mix of soil and other magical ingredients you can grow much higher yields of vegetables in a smaller area. Our experience has taught us a lot of new things.
1. 100 dollars in dirt is still not quite sufficient to fill an 8' x 6' x 8" tray.
2. A shovel swung at waist height for Morty Jr in an elevated garden is exactly head height on Baby Morty standing in the grass.
3. Hoping to grow a 500 pound pumpkin in a bucket is only a dream. A dream that will be crushed by a caring wife. Maybe a 400 pound pumpkin is more realistic.
4. The same mice that ate all the corn before we got any two years ago will somehow return from the dead, infiltrate the garage, eat all the seeds stored in a ziploc bag, inside a bucket, inside a wheel barrow, but leave the corn seeds to stand as a silent tribute to their domination.
5. If you cut the cable line while digging, and you don't have cable, then who cares?

Taking Care of Babies

I don't like to post unoriginal content, but this had me laughing out loud and I wanted to share.




























found on this site: instrucciones para cuidar un bebe

The Perfect Burger

I grilled burgers for dinner on Saturday. It was another Oklahoma winter weekend, sunny and in the high sixties, perfect for firing up the barbecue. I like to heat up the grill for a while early so that when I drop the patties on they get the nice lines on them like in the commercials. It's purely superficial, but I like it. Some people like to cook one side completely and then only have to flip once. I like to to flip thrice. Get it nice and soft, then add some Mrs Dash to get some flavor mixed in with the blood. Flip them again and add more Dash.
When they're done I like to add a slice of American cheese so it melts right away. Stack two burgers with pickles, onions, ketchup and miracle whip (and possibly some lettuce). Wash it all down with some not quite ice-cold lemonade (too cold and you can't drink it as fast) and you have an almost perfect meal.
Now, to no one's surprise, there are two burgers left. Take those two burgers, put the extra slices of onion between them, and refrigerate for an excellent lunch the next day right before church. Nothing better than tasting that sweet onion all through church, and you don't have to worry about onion breath, because making out at church is frowned on in most places.

It Smells Like Sawdust

There are a lot of smells that one might expect to find in their garage, but none more rewarding or satisfying than sawdust. Fresh cut lumber and its resultant dust is the critical ingredient needed to turn an ordinary garage into a workshop. Tools also help. Cordless ones that Grandpa Morty bought for your birthday are perfect. Lumber purchased with a Home Depot gift card that Grandpa Morty gave you makes the best smelling sawdust; so, if you don't have one, I'd suggest getting your own Grandpa Morty to help you complete your garage to workshop transition.

I've been wanting a good workbench ever since I got my own garage, and have looked at buying the ready made sets and at plans to build my own. Ready made sets are expensive, and if you accidentally drill through the top you might get mad. Building your own allows you the option of telling your wife that you drilled the holes on purpose as a place to store your screwdrivers. Wives don't appreciate the value of in-bench storage that accidental holes provide, so they still might try to make fun of you, but you can just run some of your power tools to drown out the sound.

I found some pretty simple plans for this workbench, and built myself two of them for Christmas. Then I built simple quilt frames for Mrs. Morty. It's important to keep the ladies happy by giving them gifts of things you've made out of lumber. It keeps them from asking a lot of questions about what you're doing in the garage, and why there are more holes in your workbench top than you have screwdrivers. They just don't understand.

I couldn't find the link to where I found the plans. Mostly it's just measurements and stuff, and if you want to build your own you can see the pictures, apply angular geometry and create your own. Here are a few measurements to get you started: the slot at the bottom is as wide as my thumb, and the gap at the top is as wide as my palm. Measure once-cut twice I always say.

Going Green

I mentioned global warming in my previous post, and it's been weighing heavily on my mind the last few months. I've never seen Al Gore's little movie, but I've been touched by it and have decided to go green in my life.
The first step is to reduce use of such things as electricity and water. We used to be burning up lots of power by using the TV and X-Box, while someone else was running on the treadmill, and the kids were running wildly around the house. Now we've harnessed their power, by converting the the treadmill into a power generator and hooking it up to the TV. Now one of the kids just has to get the thing going for a minute or so and we can watch our favorite TV shows. We even let them take breaks during the commercials. Another benefit is that due to the extremely high power output required to run the TV and a video game console, we have the only kids in the neighborhood who can run a marathon of five minute miles.
We've also reduced water consumption by declaring the bushes in the back yard a uri... Wait, I was asked not to go into that.
Lastly, there's the vehicles we drive. A big gas burning truck has quite a large carbon footprint. I calculated it, and my drive to work is exactly the same carbon footprint that a common squirrel puts out in a year. Driving to work and back everyday for a week is the equivalent carbon footprint of a large dog. So to offset my emissions I either try to find a large dog early in the week, or a squirrel every day and just run them ov... Sorry, I was asked to discontinue that line of thought as well.
I guess I'll just keep emitting to my heart's content, even if it means less free meat.

The View Up Here

I like being on the roof. Maybe that could have been one of the things I listed about myself when I was tagged, but I don't like that game; I do, however, like the roof.
I was up there yesterday taking down the Christmas lights (72 degrees in January, thank you global warming) and enjoying the view. The roof is a solitary place, where you can be alone with your thoughts as you gain a new perspective that "street level" just doesn't give you. At night you can climb up and contemplate the cosmos seeing the whole horizon of stars, instead of just the half view that a front or back yard has to offer.
Yesterday, for the first time, the solitude of the roof was threatened. Morty Jr asked if he could go up on the roof with me to help remove the lights. I was hesitant as I considered his request. He's only 5, and apt to wander without being aware that he may be in a dangerous predicament, he also doesn't listen very well, only peeking interest as my yells become frantic. He's eager to help with the lights, which are right at the edges of the roof, and he'll probably want to peer over the edge, especially from the peak over the driveway. He also likes to yell and wave to people passing in the street, a guaranteed way to gain unwanted attention as over eager busy bodies with child services on speed dial look up in aghast at the unfit father who would allow his child to be placed in such a dangerous situation.
All of these thoughts passed my mind as I stood on the fence, grabbing him by one arm and swinging him up onto the roof. I decided to give him some stern instructions, and impart to him all the knowledge that I had gained by wandering around on rooftops. "Don't move."
Walking across a pitched roof with a 5 year old attached to your leg is exactly as unbalanced as you think it is. And so keeping him at arms reach, where I could hold him but he couldn't trip me, we worked our way to the apex and I sat him down at two converging angles where the chances of rolling off to one side or the other were minimized. There I shared the view with my son, who was awed to see the dog two streets down, the water tower a mile away, the shoes hanging on the power lines, and the missionaries riding their bikes in the next neighborhood over. There he sat, yelling at cars and kids passing, while I plucked the lights from their little plastic hooks, constantly yelling back at him to stop moving and sit down.
Alas, our adventure on the roof had to come to an end. The lights were all down and I needed to wrap them up and put them back in their boxes. Good thing Mrs. Morty can catch, made getting down a lot faster.

Ice Storms

Just a few pictures from the latest ice storm to hit our area. I nearly broke my shoulder trying to break into my truck.

On Tagging, and Other Internet Fads

I was tagged and am supposed to blog five interesting things about myself. Here goes...
1. I feel no compulsion to participate in silly little games.

Bah, Humbug

Nothing says it's time for the holidays like climbing onto a frosty roof to put up lights, or as I call them, holiday bonuses for utility company employees. My favorite part is pulling little pieces of broken glass out of a wire with a current running through it (to see which ones are working), and then shoving not quite the right size replacement bulbs into the socket with numb and bleeding fingers. Placing the broken shards in a front pocket to throw away later is a good idea for about as long as you have until the next time you have to lay on your stomach to reach that part under the eaves but above a tree that could never be reached from the ground on a ladder, and can only be reached unsafely on the roof by sprawling like a lizard and hooking your foot in the rain gutter in order to make enough noise that if you do fall someone comes outside to check on you before spring. Also, getting off the roof by jumping down onto the cab of your car looks cool in the movies, but decreases the available headroom you like while driving.
Remember, don't go to holiday sales hoping to pick up one or two items that are advertised at unbeatable prices. The savings are offset by the trying to find a parking spot, standing in line for hours, and little plastic tags that say "Sold Out, No Rain Checks."
I hope you enjoy these merry links that either show my great enthusiasm for all the wintry festivities, or are a thinly veiled attempt at ironic sarcasm, take your pick:
Elf Yourself
Scrooge Yourself

All Saints Day

Nothing like the smell of slightly moldy pumpkin smashed in the road to greet you in the morning. My quickly dying lawn festooned with cast off wrappers is one of the many signs of fall. My VCR and cell phone have already fallen back in apparent defiance of US Congress, uncaring that the Softball Association of America and the United Candy Makers Unions have finally succeeded in their lobbying efforts.
Watch out for the change when we save our daylight.

Hallowhine

Taking the kids out
But not giving out candy
Cheating the system

Why buy a pumpkin
And costumes for your children
And forget the treats

Your choice: trick or treat
Don't be surprised by the trick
If you gave no treats

Be nice to the People

People are easy
To confound and to confuse
But be nice to them

Some of them like jokes
Some do not get the humor
All life is funny

Don't take for granted
People's right to laugh at you
You should laugh with them

But you cannot mock
Things like baldness and fatness
It will make me cry

A Fair Assessment

Most stereotypes are not without a foundation in truth. A lot of people assume that the people who work at carnivals and fairs ("Carneys" as they are sometimes called) are from the dregs of society. That is absolutely untrue, society doesn't have dregs, they are from the "creepy" class of society.
Something scary about putting your safety into the hands of a high school dropout who has devolved to the point of no longer using speech, but communicating with a series of grunts and pointing. The ones who retained opposable thumbs don't like it when you catch them sleeping at the switch and start laughing at them. Free safety tip: if you just laughed at the guy sleeping at the safety switch, and he saw you laughing at him, don't get on the ride he is working on.

A Day in Haiku

Being home again
Doing some work in the yard
Getting a sunburn

Spinning shopping carts
Walking around home depot
Making the kids laugh

Wear safety goggles
To keep the blood from shooting
And hitting your eyes

Typing one handed
Hoping that thumb will grow back
No more power tools

Good English

It's amazing what we can get away with in spoken language. Little indiscretions that are easily forgiven as part of slang, accent, or just speaking quickly. We've pretty much dropped "whom" from everyday speech, and if you end a sentence with a preposition you will probably not be made fun of by your peers (unless you are an English teacher who hangs out with other English teachers in which case you probably deserve it.) In most circles you can even get away with saying "I seen the bridge was out. If I was you I'd go where the new bridge is at." For extra points on your SAT find at least three errors in that quote.
Written language is where things start to get tricky. Effect and affect sound almost the same when spoken, but unfortunately cannot be used interchangeably. The various forms of there, their, and they're require no thought when spoken, but when written tend to show a lack of concern by the author for the actual meaning of words. Plural word's that are neither possessive in nature nor contraction's don't require apostrophe's, and yet they're so often present in an otherwise correct piece of prose.
But how often are we writing anything where we don't have red squiggly lines that appear to show a misspelling, or green squiggly lines to show a grammar violation? Have you even been asked to help someone with the formatting of their word processor because they can't get rid of all the red and green lines that appear seemingly randomly throughout their document?
It's in our rare adventures into public writing that we need to be most careful. Business signs, marquees, and billboards with obvious mistakes give doubt to the quality of the product or service being advertised. Misspelling words in Christmas lights is just funny. Writing out slogans on your car window with white shoe polish makes you a traveling example of why kids should pay attention in school.
Today, as I was walking my son to school, I saw in a car window "Billy (names have not been changed), go higher then B4." I assume Billy is competing in some sport like pole vaulting or high jumping that requires him to go higher in order to do better, and that the driver of the minivan in question was not encouraging Billy to push the limits of his illegal drug use in order to "go higher." I'm still wondering what Billy is supposed to do after going higher. First he must go higher, then he must B4. No one could be so careless as to confuse the comparative "than" with the word "then," at least not in such a public medium as shoe polish on your car window. Poor Billy, I sure hope he studies hard in school, then goes on to higher levels of education than his mother did.


Obviously I've opened up the door on this one. Feel free to peruse my past posts looking for grammatical errors and point them out to me. Please don't mention the unnecessary apostrophes in the last line of the second paragraph; they're there for their own irony.

Minimum and Maximum

There are many important differences between a minimum security prison and a maximum security prison. The largest is the effort they go to to keep you from getting out. Having recently spent some time as a guest of our government in a minimum security prison I learned that they don't really care if you get out or not, so long as you filled out the proper paperwork and are back before lights out. They know that the hassle of additional paperwork is enough motivation to keep all the well behaved and non-violent criminals in line. Security guards are there to help you get into the right line at the library and to make sure the pool doesn't run out of towels.
Maximum security prisons exist because the people inside them want to get out. It's bad enough on the inside that people are constantly running for the fences, digging holes through floors, and getting cakes with files inside them. Apparently enough people get out of the maximum security prisons that they need to put up signs advising motorists not to pick up hitch hikers, and that is good advice.
In a minimum security prison you tend to get bored because you are not constantly thinking up new escape plans, trying to avoid getting beaten up, and worrying about what to order for your last meal. Boredom is the prime reason why bored games were invented. Not to be confused with board games, bored games are a breed of their own. Candyland and Sorry are board games. Risk and Monopoly are bored games. Bored games are designed to fill time. They may involve some strategic thinking or planning, but the overall objective is to burn a few hours between sleep periods. You know you've crossed the boundary into bored games when you start making up rules to make the games last longer and be harder to win.
Maximum security prisons have their bored games as well, but shiv throwing and making explosives from household chemicals are not as popular at dinner parties.

Reading

I learned to read in college. I had heard that there would be a test before diplomas were handed out, so I decided to cram in some phonics and basic skills in order to pass. Having been a Political Science/International Relations major there was no reading required, it was all hearsay and making up opinions to support. My opinion was usually "bomb them all into submission and take their lands and riches." It's a sad commentary on society that many people thought I was being serious, and whole heartedly agreed with me.
But back to reading...
I enjoy reading books. I usually have two or three novels in progress at any given time. I don't think I've ever read non-fiction on purpose. Sure, maybe one or two slipped in by mistake, but I'd rather be inspired by someone's sense of creativity for mythical creatures, far off planets, and futuristic hypothetical philosophical ideas, or at least get a good laugh. I blame the sci-fi fascination on my Dad, he was my supplier early on and got me hooked.
While serving time in a minimum security prison recently I found a lot of time to read. I started with some authors I knew, branched out to some that I'd heard of, then jumped feet first into some new genres I would have never touched before. It would be fair to say that I judged every book by it's cover, but I didn't judge them too harshly. I also read a few female authors. Not that I have anything against female authors, but there are not a lot of them who write like Orson Scott Card, Pat McManus, Douglas Adams, Micheal Crichton, John Grisham, Isaac Asimov, Dean Koontz, Tom Clancy, or J.R.R. Tolkien.
I read a few books by Janet Evanovich. They were sort of interesting in a "this isn't science fiction but let's go ahead and put reality on hold for a while" sort of way. I started reading a Danielle Steele novel that someone had given to me as a gag gift. I pride myself on finishing every book that I start, but a few pages into it I tossed it aside with a "who the crap cares?" She is better left to the middle school aged girl crowd I guess.
Currently I'm reading "Timeline" by Michael Crichton. A few chapters into it promises to be interesting. I just hope he doesn't do his standard act of wrapping everything up a little too nicely right at the end. For example:
Jurassic Park - Don't worry, all the dinos will die off because of an L-lysine deficiency that we bred into them but haven't mentioned until just now. Whew, that was lucky.
Andromeda Strain - This virus that is killing everyone and we don't even know what it is yet just mutated to a perfectly harmless strain. Whew, that was lucky.
The Sphere - Let's use the power that this mysterious sphere gave us to all just forget about that sphere. What sphere? Hey it worked. Whew, that was lucky.
Congo - We came to get these diamonds but these highly trained assassin gorillas have us surrounded and are about to smash our heads in. Wait, the volcano just erupted and killed them all. Whew, that was lucky.
So, it's a good thing I learned how to read finally, now I can finally read the instructions on the package of toothpicks.

The Purple Water

If you've ever had the pleasure of using the public restroom at Wal-Mart you might not know that sometimes the bathrooms are cleaned. They are, and when they are cleaned the water in the toilet is purple. Not a little purple like someone didn't like their grape colored Gatorade, but really purple, like someone didn't like their six cans of grape juice concentrate. It's always a good feeling to know that of all the white trash buttocks that have graced the porcelain throne at the Wal-Mart, mine was able to remain free of the residue of the many previous visitors.
But no visit to the Wal-Mart restroom would be complete without incident. There was the slight disturbance as the kids fought for control of the fold down toddler seat. Mild disturbance as Morty Jr. played with the lock and opened the door wide. But those pale in comparison to the shock of looking at the footwear of the person in the next stall. Most footwear in the men's room can go without notice. Boots, sports shoes, loafers, all demand no special level of attention. But pink flip-flops are uncommon enough to merit a second glance. Pink painted toenails require a third look, and the half cell phone conversation overheard in a distinctly feminine voice caused one to double check the presence of urinals to ensure that I was not in the wrong. The surprised look of the young lady emerging from the stall and seeing four laughing men was worth the wait. I hope she appreciated her chance at using the purple water as much as I did.

Monster Trucks

I took Morty Jr to a Monster Truck show this weekend. True to it's advertisements is was the loudest, car-crushingest, motorcycle jumpiest, redneckeriest, gas powered fun that's still legal in this state.
Setting aside all the redneck jokes and trailer court references (stereotypes truly were confirmed Saturday night) I found myself in admiration of the talented drivers. What kind of answers do you have to provide on the career placement tests in high school (possibly sixth grade) for the guidance counselor to steer you in the direction of professional monster truck driving? Was there a suggestion from your driver's ed instructor, possibly about your ability to parallel park while up on two wheels, that got you started in your career path? Either way, you always have to admire the decisions made by people to do professionally what other people consider trying after carefully reading the requisite waiver.
If you are ever tempted to attend such a fun filled (guaranteed at least 1/3 full) rally I'd suggest seeking out significantly discounted tickets, and sneaking food inside the plastic lined pockets you had added to the interior of your pants.

Temporary Measures

A full seventy-five percent of the sporting life consists of temporary measures - give or take sixty percent. Extreme cases on either end of the scale have been eliminated from the study. There was one angler, for example, who believed that if you can't do a thing right you shouldn't do it at all. A strict adherent to this philosophy, he hadn't been fishing once in the past thirty-seven years. I chastised the man for holding such a stupid belief - that there is a right way to fish - and told him I had a good mind to divest him of his title of angler. He told me he had a good mind to punch me in the nose. I replied that I'd like to see him try, but since I was three blocks away by then, he didn't hear me, and it's a darn good thing for him that he didn't. (From "Temporary Measures" in the book "Never Sniff a Gift Fish" by Patrick F. McManus)

I have several temporary measures in my everyday life. I'd like to get a good camping vehicle, a four wheel drive with enough seating for a family or Scout troop, and enough clearance to pass over minor waterways without getting my feet wet. Until then my Mercury Sable will get me by, despite bottoming out every time I go over a curb if the trunk is loaded out with camping gear.
I have a lamp next to my bed, temporarily standing in a temporary nightstand. The nightstand is actually a piece of one of those stackable plastic shelving units with the PVC pipe supports. The base of the lamp won't screw in anymore, so I just ran the wiring up through the leg of the shelf and let it be the support for the lamp. Eventually they will both be replaced, but until then they provide light and a place for my alarm clock to sit.
I have an electric lawnmower, requiring that I drag an extension cord around with me while I mow. Actually two extension cords to reach the side yard. The second time mowing I ran over the cord and cut it neatly in half. Had the severed section been close to one end or the other I would have removed the end of the plug and correctly spliced it into place. Not wanting to give up twenty feet of cord in either direction I applied the temporary measure of splicing it in the middle. I didn't have any electrical tape that day, so I used clean garage rags as insulation and duct tape to keep the whole thing together, just for that day. Later I would remove the unsightly duct tape and re-splice the cord correctly, and it's highly possible that I still will, later...
I'd like to install movable shelving in my garage to store all my tools and things, but I haven't had the time to do that yet. Until then the unused wheelbarrow and garbage can can store all my gardening tools, while the power tools sit dustily on the rest of the plastic shelving unit that my nightstand came from. Someday I will get around to taking care of all these things, but, as Pat McManus says "it is surprising how many better things there are to do than..." saving money for a new car, fixing a lamp, building a nightstand, re-splicing an extension cord, installing shelving...

Snowed In, Just Barely

My flight has just been canceled, again. There was a run on the Wal-mart before the storm hit leaving aught but the name brand skim milk. The absolutely the same except for the sticker on the outside generic brand of milk was gone. As were all the non-specialty breads. People were stockpiling sports drinks; but judging by their outward appearances, they had never participated in a sport in their lives.
Needless to say, people are in a state of panic. We are just waiting for the power to go out (although it hasn't yet), and for the pipes to freeze (still working fine). Our stockpiles of food are in serious danger of running out (if I let the kids open the bag of beef jerky) and we are fearing for our social lives. Nobody wants to drive on the roads to visit people, leaving us stranded in our gas heated, TV watching, internet surfing, X-Box and board game playing home.
The temperature outside: prepare yourselves, 25 degrees, Fahrenheit. That's below freezing. 7 or 8 degrees below freezing, depending on my math. And there's snow outside. Nearly half an inch of the terrible stuff. Just walking out to the get the mail I nearly slipped and fell (but didn't), and thought to myself that I should probably put on a jacket.
I don't think that there is anywhere in the world more afflicted by the weather than we are now in Oklahoma.
And if anyone is reading this from far off places such as Minot North Dakota, and want to come complaining about their way below zero temperatures, I don't want to hear it. Besides, yours is more of a "dry cold" and therefore way more bearable.

Grishnakh's Story

You've seen Lord of the Rings and been enthralled by the plight of Frodo, the innocent Hobbit from the Shire. But what of the other side? What about poor Grishnakh, captain of the Orc soldiers in the Dark Tower? We know nothing of his upbringing or his past. Where is his movie?
We can imagine young Grishna being picked last for spiked-dodge ball. Later we see his father beating him about the head for failing to pass his Black Speech midterm. Tears stream down our faces as we see Grishna, with the help of his best friend Napoleonkh, baking cakes to ask out the ugliest (and therefore most desirable) girls in school, only to be rejected in favor of the captain of the spiked-dodgeball team.
In college, Grishnakh comes into his own. He is befriended by some UhOTC (Uruk-hai Officer Training Corps) cadets who invite him to train with them. Grishnakh excels through the bureaucracy of the Mordor military, fueled by his hatred for, and the timely deaths of his superiors. At the climax of the voyage we see a battle weary Grishnakh putting down a rebellion led by the "white-hands" from the Isengard Academy, only to be finally beaten down by his own men as they flee from the insurgent Hobbit terrorist Samwise Gamgee.
Unfortunately, history, and thus movies, are written and produced by the victors. It is a travesty of the modern edutainment system that Grishnakh's story has not been told.

The Law of the Harvest

It's important for men to learn how to do domestic chores. This is not necessarily so that they can do more work around the house, but merely so that they can get by when left alone. Simple tasks such as how to warm something up in the oven, how to do a load of laundry, and how to clean nacho cheese out of plush carpeting can go a long way in assuring a man's survival. Don't go overboard now, more complex tasks like preparing a meal, sorting laundry, and making shopping lists are best left to the professionals.
There is also a certain level of pride that comes from taking care of one's own problems. For instance, I had a nice pair of pants that wore out at the knees. I was able to apply a patch to the affected area and come away with once again functional pants. Granted, the pants were blue jeans, and the patches were camouflaged gortex, but that did not distract at all from the quality stitching (done with yellow thread).
Unfortunately, the pants tore again a few days later, rendering them nonfunctional once again. I guess that's the Law of the Harvest, you rip what you sew.

Obsessive Compulsions

I'm quite comfortable with my compulsions. I wouldn't call them obsessive. I mean, I could quit any time I felt like it. I just don't feel like it right now. Get off my back. Stop yelling at me. The voices made me do it.
For example, I have an obsession with multiples of five. I like things to end either in a 0 or a 5. It makes it easier to remember. Society already reinforces this issue with time. When was the last time you had a meeting start at 11:17? Well granted, it started then, but it was probably scheduled for 11:00, or possibly 11:15 if people you work with are only a little late. But I like everything to be multiples of five.
If I'm supposed to cook the pizza at 475 for 21-24 minutes I just put it in a little early before the oven has completely heated and cook for 25 minutes. My clock radio/alarm is set five minutes fast and the alarm is almost always set at a multiple of five. I must qualify the almost. Sometimes, if I know I can sleep in a little longer than what the alarm is set for, I'll set the alarm for 5:21. That way, when I hit the nine minute snooze button, I actually get up at 5:30. If I had a five or ten minute option on the snooze my life would be perfect.
The clearest expression of my compulsion is with the TV volume. It must always be set to a multiple of five. Ten is the volume of choice at night when everyone else is sleeping. 15 is optimal in a quite house during the day. 20 allows for excellent listening with moderate noise. 25 is perfect for drowning out background conversation. 30 is ideal for overpowering rambunctious children. 35 is the absolute max, and is only used temporarily to let others know that they are being too loud and that I would like to move the volume back to the more respectable levels of 20 or 25.
At least the compulsion is not debilitating. I'm not crazy enough to wash my hands hundreds of times a day (15 is enough) or turn on every light in the house. I just wish the clerks at the grocery store would do a better job of lining everything up straight. Sometimes it takes hours to get through the canned food aisle making sure all the labels face forwards.

The Comb Over

It pains me to admit it. My pride and my manhood are both called into serious question because of it. But the first step to recovery is to identify the problem. Here it goes...
I have a bald spot. It's in the back so most people don't notice it. Those who do see it always do a double take to see if it is what they thought is was. Then they grimace and shake their heads a little. They never say anything to me of course, that would be rude, but I can feel the shame. They are almost embarrassed to see this great flaw in the otherwise perfect facade that I present. But it's true.
Last year I noticed a little bit of thinning. A little in the front. Some in the sides. But mostly in the back. It's undeniable now. It's bare, and it's patterned. I've tried to hide it by covering it up, but that is only temporary. I tried cutting it short to disguise the fact that it's all but gone in the back, but that just opened it up for more burning from the relentless summer sun.
I know it happens to other guys. But that knowledge does nothing to console the fact that it has happened to me. Some might say that it was inevitable, but I could have done more to prevent it. It may have been the stress, there has been a lot of stress in the last year. But now that stress is gone, and it's time to do something about it.
I can only hope that it grows back and fills in. But that process is slow. I need something to fix it now. I've resolved to try the comb over. Let it grow long around the edges of the spot, then pull it over to cover as much as possible. I know it looks goofy at first, but once it gets thick enough I think it will really look good.
The next option is transplants. I've done them before. From the front to the back. Even from the front to the sides. But now I don't know where I have enough to really fill in in the back. Maybe I'll have to ask one of my friends who I gave transplants to earlier this year. Had I know I would have needed all of it I would have been more hesitant to give it away. I gave away some of my best growth. Long and thick with good root structure.
But transplanting is my last option. I've done too much to risk it now. I'll wait till spring when the growth starts again. For now, I'll just have to be carefull when mowing in the back yard to let the grass around that bare patch grow long enough to comb over.
Please, be nice to the men with bald spots. Not all lawns are created equal.

Signs of the Times

This morning the last few remaining Corn Bursts in my cereal bowl formed themselves into a distinct image. It was not just the random shapes formed by the surface tension of milk, but a truly significant image that held a powerful message for me and all those would see it. Of course I was the only one who did see it, no one else in the house being awake at the hour that I eat breakfast. What that image would foretell about my day could not have been imagined until all the great accomplishments were finished and I had time to reflect back on the true meaning of what I had seen and done.
The image was that of a llama. Or possibly an alpaca. But it was obviously a woolly Andean pack animal. And it was walking along the perimeter of my cereal bowl. Not walking upright mind you, but walking as if the bowl were a large hamster wheel, or llama wheel, turned on its side in the normal manner of cereal bowls so as to not dump milk and cereal onto my pants or the floor.
The great events that occurred as predicted by the llama are too many to list here, but they included being randomly selected for drug screening and having to pee while someone watched, and someone buying me an orange soda for showing him how to use Power Point to animate objects.
So there you have it. Feel free to start up your own religion based on the sighting of the walking llama. I only ask that you send a meager 8% of all profits and royalties to the political campaign of Bog Marti.
Bog Marti, Republicrat for Office. - Supported by millions of woolly Andean pack animals and you.

On Super Heroes

I saw an episode of Stan Lee's "Who wants to be a super hero?" on the Sci-Fi channel. As far as reality television goes, this is one of the better ones. Better is a relative term because I can also say that as far as poisons go, arsenic is one of the better ones. Or, as far as forms of torture go, being repeatedly punched in the face by a woman who looks like a silver back gorilla is one of the better ones. That said I think everyone should understand that reality television, by definition, is poorly written, poorlier acted, and poorliest produced; with the added benefit of being as addicting as cocaine to the self feeding frenzy of entertainment television.
What I do like, however, is the idea of dressing up as a super hero (or super dork depending on your costume and/or powers) and running around in public places. There is nothing less attractive than an overweight woman in brightly colored latex, except, of course, a man, regardless of physical conditioning, in brightly colored latex.
Truly the costume is one of the secrets of a super hero's apparent invulnerability. An evil doer cannot keep them in the sights of their weapon while constantly averting their eyes, or falling to the ground in fits of dry heaves. Changing into costume in an unobtrusive yet public place is also part of their psychological bag of tricks. Much like the disgusting homeless person we all pretend we don't see, we just pretend that we don't see Bob from accounting slipping behind the office shrubbery and putting children's underoos on his head.
We all know that the true heroes in the world are not those in the brightly colored latex. They are the men and women who work behind the scenes. Going to work everyday and making the world safer one memo at a time. Secretly talking about Bob behind his back and asking someone in Human Resources to please talk to him about his insistence on calling everyone "citizen."
Big Morty salutes those who keep lesser super heroes in check. After all, if there were too many of us around my yellow spandex body suit would just look faddish.

Goodbye to Our Little Friend

Rest in Peace Russell the Jack Russell Terrier.
You tore up my lawn and crapped all over the place. You barked at nothing and smelled bad. But you were our friend.

At the Family Bowl

Try hard enough and
You can roll a gutter ball
With the bumpers up

Little yellow ball
Weighing only seven pounds
Stops dead in the lane

The bowling alley
May have a cleaning schedule
That no one follows

A sad day in sports
Means letting your kids beat you
While trying your best

On Father's Day

Why is it so often assumed we outdoorsmen are totally lacking in sophistication and good taste? Every Christmas, Father's Day, and birthday we become the recipients of such gifts as ties decorated with leaping bass, gigantic belt buckles engraved with moose heads, table-lamp bases in the form of huge shotgun shells, toilet seats of clear resin embedded with assorted game sign, and so on. Sure, we get plenty of neat gifts like these, but also a lot of tasteless stuff, too. (From "Mean Gifts" in the book "The Good Samaritan Strikes Again" by Patrick F. McManus)

The hardest, and greatest, thing about buying gifts for dad is that the things they want, and the things they need, are completely unrelated to each other. If we need it, then we obviously don't want it, because it will probably create more work for us. If we want it, then we are clearly racking our brains to come up with some logical use for the thing. That's why they're called gadgets, and that's why we love them.
For me, you can rest assured that after this Father's Day both my lawn and my nose hairs will be expertly trimmed (not by the same gadget).

Natural Instincts

Wild animals seem to be attracted to my house lately. While traveling a female duck found my flower beds near the front walk to be an irresistible locale for her brood. A shallow nest with eight eggs in now sits tucked away behind my twisted cherry tree. Recipes for 100 year old duck eggs keep popping up on my internet browser at the same rate as the amount of duck poo accumulates on my sidewalk. I'm forced to debate within myself which will create the larger mess, a mother duck and her eight babies walking around and pooping in my grass, or the mess of feathers that tend to get everywhere when skinning water fowl.
There are also at least two frogs taking up residence among the flowers. One of them seems to hop at an angle, possibly the result of being in the wrong place (my garden) at the wrong time (while I was digging) or a naturally occurring genetic defect. Unfortunately their legs are not big enough to be worth looking up recipes, the kids have taken a liking to the frogs, and my dog won't eat them.
I have also found snakes, turtles, and rabbits in my yard, as well as seen the occasional coyote strolling along the gutters late at night or early in the morning. Granted, with urban sprawl and the encroachment of man on wildlife habitats there is expected to be some interaction between animal and man. However, there is no standing water in or near my hard to attract the usually wet loving animals. There are no large trees or natural sources of protection that would appeal to an animal as a place to make a home. The only thing I can think of is that they must be attracted to my natural aura. I developed this natural aura as a survival technique to lure animals to my location in order to murder and eat them.
Watch out little bunny rabbit, if you get into my vegetables I'll turn them into a side dish and you into the main course. I really do prefer the taste of rabbit to duck.

Not A Red Headed Child

Check out Red Headed Children for pictures of the latest Little Morty to enter this crazy world.

The Land of the Freaks

Having recently spent upwards of fifty non-consecutive hours traveling America's highways I am amazed at how non-visually stimulating some parts of this country are. I've heard that it was scientifically proven that Kansas is, in fact, flatter than a pancake. I now believe that to be true. I've heard of the long lonely strips of highway passing through the Utah desert. Now, I can say that I've been there myself.
What astounds me are the number of solitary homes one encounters hundreds of miles from the last signs of civilization. A beautiful mansion tucked up neatly into a high mountain canyon. A sweeping ranch house with a 360 degree view of perfectly flat horizon. What's with these people? Did they find some loophole in the "love thy neighbor" commandment? What jobs do they work, and what's the commute like?
These are not your average red-necked American, who given the opportunity will join with several of his siblings and cousins to buy some real estate and place on it their assortment of slightly used mobile homes. It's obvious that these people share a sense of adventure. Why else would you name your community "Tornado Bait" or "100 Year Flood Acres?" These are the remnants of the brave pioneers who forged the settlement of the west. Their mark is still visible in the form of trailer courts on the outskirts of towns like Vail and Aspen. These hardy individuals who resist the offers of their rich neighbors to buy out their land just to get rid of all those rusted out cars and lawn furniture that used to be living room furniture.
Let us all stand up and salute those brave individuals who give country music fans something to make fun of. Let us thank those whose example has led to many a housing community ordinance. Finally, let us honor those who exercise their right to bear arms, possibly the last line of defense against foreign invaders or the land buying tactics of those freaks with money who want to live where only the rednecks can.

Multiple Guesses

With "No Dumb Kids Left Behind" policies being enforced in schools we see more and more evidence that kids are being fully prepared for life. Learning for the test is the way life lessons present themselves, and it's good that our educational system is beginning to match.
How often have we seen one of our favorite fictional characters learn something new, a new skill or a new appreciation for people who are different, only to be able to apply that lesson in the next 30 minutes to two hours. The next week, however, they are back to their same old lovable selves, be they dumb and trusting, or smart and bigoted.
And how do we measure the lessons learned by the youth of today? The time tested multiple guess test. The solutions to all life's problems are easier when you face them equipped with the knowledge multiple guess tests teach. When in doubt pick "B." Unless of course the test was designed by left-handed individuals, in which case "C" is the better than random answer. In true and false, it's much easier to satisfy false, because 99% true is still false. Whenever two solutions look equally plausible, check for an all of the above. Or, if a solution does not present itself right away, none of the above is always viable.
Last week I was presented with a typical life situation. The man with the black and white disco car told me I could either "pay the fine," or go with him "down to the station." Neither of the alternatives seemed overly appealing so I quickly responded with trusty old none of the above. I was soon rewarded with a pair of matching bracelets and ride in a semi-luxurious automobile.
Later, while waiting at a railroad crossing, another multiple guess dilemma arose. Should I A) Stay in the car like a good prisoner B) Continue kicking at the glass dividing the front and back seats hoping that it eventually gives in, or C) Fake a medical emergency and make a run for it once the door was opened?
I never knew that paramedics still had to use the defibrilator paddles even if you insist that you were only faking. Why wasn't that on your test, huh Mr Iowa Test of Basic Skills? Education is leaving people seriously unprepared for life.