President's day

On President's day Walker asked me what you are supposed to do on President's day to celebrate the holiday. After a moment of reflection, I realized this was an opportunity to teach my son about the awesome legacy that has been bestowed upon us by many generations of this, our nation's leaders. I didn't know what sort of tradition I should enact at that moment, but as I opened my mouth the ideas flowed through me. I knew at once what tradition our family could do to instill that sort of appreciation in each of us. I told him "Walker, on President's day... the way we celebrate is to have our haircut. Not only do we have our haircut, but we eat a bowl of chili while having our haircut." I am not sure why, but he did not seem to believe me.

Summer is here again!

Last week Shelby and I were totally thinking on the same wave length. She set up a mat in the hall and put all of her play food on it and made the announcement "Summer is here! come have a picnic!" I am getting the itch to go somewhere again. When I leave work I see the planes taking off and the thought always comes to me "I could be on that plane! I gotta go somewhere!" I just don't have money when to use when I get there. I hate being broke.

A sport? Really? Hobby maybe... sport...mmm nope.

In an ongoing effort to try to understand those of you who participate in sports not necessarily of my direct affiliation I have often discussed and contemplated how it is that golf and bowling became classified as a sport. This source of wonderment stems from a single arbitrary tidbit of criteria that I decided qualifies a sport the lofty title of "sport" and it is thus:
If it can be performed, with little or no hindrance and is often played while consuming alcohol... then is it a sport? I realize this opens a whole new debate and I think there should be leagues where a particular sport is played ONLY while intoxicated. I certainly would not want to participate in these sports but would absolutely LOVE to spectate such events.
Back to my original thought. I like to bowl. I have tried golf. I understand many people like to golf. That's great! I agree with Mark Twain who said golf is a waste of an otherwise perfectly good walk. I don't think either past time is a sport. Your comments please.
Now...Back to my second thought which sparked a third thought. with all of the baseball steroid witch hunt going on, I realized something. I don't care. Baseball is secondly more boring than golf to watch on TV. To see in person it is mildly entertaining. Most of the time it is the pitcher poised on the mount suspiciously eyeing the opponent on first base. Watching for the count. He spits. He straightens his cap, scratches his crotch. Eyes first base, spits, scratches his crotch again, straightens his cap does a little zen meditation, spits scratches his crotch winds up... and throws a quick toss to first base. The guy on first base is safe. First baseman lobs it back to the pitcher and we sit for another 5 or 6 minutes as the pitcher tries to lull the opponent to sleep. I don't think I am the only one that feels this antagonistic boredom towards baseball. It has become too bland. Here is an idea. Add one more player to the field for the offensive team. He can be the stocky roid rager with arms the size of my waist and no neck. He is similar to a linebacker. He can cream whomever has the ball. For every out the the offense has, they get to add one more linebacker. The pitcher can still scratch his crotch if he chooses, but if he hangs onto the baseball too long... he is going to be scratching his crotch with the back of his head. One more thing... after every inning every player has to guzzle a bottle of beer. Look out American Idol! America just got a new favorite past time!

Chudleigh... don't go away!!!

I know how much everyone loves to hear about my snowblower. That is just how exciting we are! We got another storm yesterday. Mandy told me on when I was driving home that we got about 2 inches. When I pulled in the driveway, I actually got stuck. It was about a foot deep from drifting. Chudleigh wouldn't start. Everything looked fine. I pulled the spark plug and checked for spark. No spark, but as I was holding the tip of the spark plug to one of the metal fins on the engine, I received one hell of a shock from the spark plug cable. Cleaned the plug and tested it. Good spark now! After I reinstalled it, Chudleigh howled to life. But something sounded different. It wasn't the usual jubilant growl. It was more of a disgruntled groan.
Last week I was in St. George and Mandy had to use Chudleigh. I don't think I told her to use mix gas and it was a good possibility Chudleigh was gulping down booze straight from the bottle and not the mixed drink he so prefers. I added some oil to the gas. Not sure but he seemed happier, but not 100%. As I plowed he would just die without warning and seemed to lack power. I hope this is the last storm of the year because I fear I might have to give Chudleigh some major TLC before he is feeling his oats again. I fear that if Chudleigh dies, the only thing that can fill his place would be a four-wheeler with a plow. Second thought maybe Chudleigh should die. Ah! I have a feeling a snowblower would be just as difficult to sabotage as it is to keep one running smoothly.

Runners - please explain yourselves

I was pondering an exercise that I can not seem to wrap my head around the joy of it.

Running.

I have given this past time an honest shake and... I am at a complete loss of words as to why people do this as an excercise. Even an exercise people enjoy! If you are a runner... please tell me the secret to euphoria, not so that I will want to join you, but that I will stop praying for your soul every time I see you haphazardly clomping down the street, red-faced, out of breath looking like you are a few heartbeats short of death. I always think back to the movie Back to the Future III. Where Marty is in the old western bar telling all of the cowboys about the track team he is part of back home. One of them blurts out "Running! What the HELL kinda fun is running?" And they all burst out laughing at the absurd idea. When I have run in the past, I receive the following onslaught of symptoms:

- Persistant pain in my feet.
- excruciating pain in my legs.
- Agonizing pain in my knees.
- debilitating stomach cramps.
- My lungs burn and my throat feels like it is being scorched by the very winds of Hell!
- My head pounds as my brain bounces around in my skull.
- My back aches like I have been laboring on the railroad, all the live long day.

Every fiber of my being chants to the pounding beat of my heart in rhythmic accord "STOP! STOP! STOP!..."

Don't get me wrong, I think running has a great purpose and design. When I see an angry bull charging me... or Donny Osmond... I RUN!!! And I am grateful I can run! But, to just run to run? I get these flashbacks of my gym coach wearing a white polo shirt, green sweats pulled up to his nipples and a whistle dangling around his neck as he stood by the track screaming at us "Run faster wimps! My grandma runs faster than you maggots!" Curiously though, I never saw him run.

After shouting a few demeaning comments at us, he would disappear to his office and pour over pictures of him in high school when he was on the football team... and marinate in the memory of the time he threw the touchdown pass and after the game Cindy Jones from the cheerleading squad gave him a hug and said he was "Awesome!" He would would caress his cheek where she had kissed him and as a tear dripped off of his nose, his face would turn red and he would slam a fist on his desk, stand up quickly, and shout "I AM AWESOME! Cindy said I was once! Now let's go crack some pre-pubescent skulls and he would storm out to the track and sputter out a barrage of belittling comments.

I don't know if you realize this but Marathon derives from the legend of Pheidippides, a Greek soldier, who was sent from the town of Marathon to Athens to announce that the Persians had been defeated in the Battle of Marathon. It is said that he ran the entire distance without stopping and burst into the Senate, exclaiming "Νενικήκαμεν" (Nenikékamen, 'We have won' or 'We are victorious') before collapsing and dying of exhaustion.

Only a group of runners would gather around that poor dead soldier, smile to one another and exclaim "That was awesome! Can you believe he ran the whole way and DIED! We should try that!"

After talking to several runners who have run marathons they all share similar stories of chaffed nipples, loosing toenails, puking, wetting themselves some have even defecated themselves. Can you see how I am missing the boat on how this is fun? I present this as my evidence... now, it is your turn runners... Help me understand your tormented and pained world. Thank you!