The Tragic Sibling

Last week my sister got us tickets to go to the rodeo. I think rodeos are great, fascinating and on the whole a very entertaining experience. However, this rodeo included a non scheduled event.

During the team roping event, the heeler was riding his horse back to gate after his partner had failed in roping the calf. I didn't pay much attention to him as I watched handlers preparing another calf in the chute. My attention was brought back to the heeler when I noticed his horse topple over sideways. I looked over just in time to see him hop off of his horse while it's legs started kicking and the horse started convulsing. It looked like it had fallen over and it was rocking itself back up to stand. Then it's legs started twitching and the front legs curled up. Within moments the horse was surrounded with help, it's saddle and halter were removed and a section of steel fence was brought out and placed behind the horse. The announcer began this long and meandering explanation of the time and money an owner puts into a horse and how these times are difficult for an owner. His voice was a creepy monotone other than how he began a sentence talking higher and by the end of a sentence his tone trailed out lower like a balloon letting out all of it's air. I didn't quite understand what was happening. Within a few moments they rolled the horse over onto the gate, everyone picked up a section of gate and they hauled the horse off. On with the rodeo. I assumed it had a seizure and would be fine. I talked to my sister on Thanksgiving who found out it had a heart attack. By the time they had rolled it over onto the fence it had already gone to that great big pasture in the sky.

It just got me thinking, "Why does nothing normal happen when Lori (my sister) is around?" Every time I talk to her she tells me these off the wall completely unbelievable stories that make you say "What the Hell...?" Normally I wouldn't believe omeone that spews such lofty lore, but she usually has reliable alibis and evidence that these things really happened. I am just going to ramble off a few just off the top of my head.

One time when she was walking to school a deer confronted her and actually chased her home... a nice sweet innocent, doe eyed DEER, like Bambi!

On a dare she agreed to approach and knock on a reputed and abandoned haunted house front door. As she was raising her hand to knock on the door the door knocked by itself. She and all of her friends ran away, she being the closest to the door and furthest from the car became the last one down the porch. As she jumped off of the porch a branch caught her shirt. Fleeing to the car the car, the branch pulled her backwards andthrew her to the ground. by this time her friends were in the car and were about to leave her. She got up and to the car before they left. And no-- this did not come from an episode of Scooby Doo.

Riding in the back of my dad's truck when it was struck by lightning

Hearing a police chase in her neighborhood and finding out the next day a high speed chase had ended less than a block from her house when a driver of a car smashed into a patrol car and then shot himself.

Wrecking on a three wheeler and injuring her hip and having my brother who she called "The Ethiopian" and could not have been 100 lbs wet, picked the three wheeler up off of her. Then having to ride in the back of a truck (same one that was hit by lightning) many miles down a dirt road that stabbed at her injury with every bump and pot hole.

Getting so sick with her first child that when I mentioned the words "Scrambled eggs" she had to scramble herself and her now fertilized egg to the bathroom to call for her friend "Ralph" in the toilet.

Having to deliver that baby by emergency C-section after a long and arduous labor.

Having a bone spur in her heel. After the surgery she stayed in my bedroom because it was closest to the bathroom. Every time I had to use the bathroom I dreaded it because she would ask for something else "Sterrrrrrrrrr, could you get me more ice for my ice pack?" "Sterrrrrrrrrrrr, can you get me some more Tylenol?" "SterRrRrRrRr, can you get me another blanket? I was OK with the first 100 or so requests. But, my patience eventually wore thin. I can't remember if she had a reaction to penicillin or if her pain medication started making her loopy but she finally got to the point that when I walked by the bedroom door she was saying "SterRrRrRrR!!!! There's mashed potatoes on the ceiling!" I looked at the ceiling and then at her and back at the ceiling "What do you want me to do?" "Get them off!" she groaned. They are making me sick!" I shook my head and started using the bathroom downstairs.

I just found out that on Saturday she went to cut down Christmas trees with my brother "The Ethiopian" in Wyoming. A storm swept through the area and turned all of the roads into ice sheets. Stressful moments ensued and she began peppering her children's now not so innocent ears anymore with more sailor talk. And I don't me the words like Jib, Ahoy, port, poop deck, knots, and hull either. My brother of course said it was fun.

I have been told that to the observer, I am the opposite. I seem to emerge from the hurricane with pressed pants and neatly combed hair. Catastrophe might happen around me but I seem unaffected. I would contest that although eventful situations do occur to me, I am either too dense to notice, to naive to realize their importance or simply fail to observe the magnitude of the events. An earthquake might level my home but I might just look at it and say "Hey! I must have hit another growth spurt! I don't remember being able to walk onto my roof from the front lawn! This is cool!" Life might be difficult for the fool, but it sure is exciting!

Mehhh! So what?

I am a generally placid and calm person. Or as some would say "simple minded" However, a blossoming bed of angst has been growing inside of me for quite some time that has only been expounded by recent events. So if you usually come here for my senseless observations, you might want to look away, because this could get ugly. I have decided this as the day I unleash a vile diatribe on an unsuspecting blog.

As long as I could remember I have had a keen interest in mechanical items, motorized machines and mostly cars. When most kids were doing normal things like dating or just hanging out, I was either fixing cars, driving cars or looking at cars. Simply stated, I like cars.

When I was 11 or 12 I was in our back yard jumping on the trampoline. It was fall, the air was crisp the leaves were changing as the trees prepared to cast off their green summer coats and scoff winter with their scraggly nude bodies. my skyward bounds were interrupted by a mystical howl that smacked of tire melting, drive line snapping grunt, ungoverned, needle pegging speed possibilities and just a hint of rage. At the time it sounded like a race car growling out retching threats to the neighbors. I leaped off of the trampoline and ran around to the front of the house looking for a stickered four wheeled Thoroughbred sitting in the driveway. Instead I saw a giant, brown four door land yacht parked in the driveway. The thing was a cesspool of ugly. White vinyl top, whitewall tires and the rest was dirt brown. I gaped in surprise. My brother was perched behind the steering wheel. He spotted me, smiled, started the car and revved it a few times for me. My amazement persisted. How could such harmonious beauty, purr out of such a detestable beast? I later learned to look past the exterior of the car and see it for the beauty that it was a four door 1971 Cutlass, or as it is still fondly referred to at my house "Labamba". My brother sold it, but I was able to own the same great car several years later. It began my infatuation with the GM A-body style car. The A-body hosted what I would consider the pinnacle of the muscle car era. The Pontiac GTO, Buick Skylark, Buick GSX, Oldsmobile cutlass, Oldsmobile 442, Chevy malibu, and the chevelle were all constructed off of this body style. All of them gorgeous. All of them offered with engine pakcages crammed with horsepower and torque. GM owned Chevrolet, Buick, Pontiac and Oldsmobile. They allowed each division to design configurations based on the A-body with their own specific engines. Each division saw it as a challenge to make a better, faster car than the others. It was a great time in the American auto industry. GM Realized, for a brief moment what the public wanted.

The good times didn't last long. The chips and salsa ran out the mariachi band ran out of songs the economy in America began to slow and we had an oil crisis. The big 3 auto companies, GM, Ford and American Motors begin suffering from new emissions legislation. cars got smaller, less powerful and more cheaply made. I can't think of a single American car made from 1974 to even 1989 that I could honestly say "Now that's a great car!" Nope. They were all crap. The big 3 seemed to lethargically pump out sub-standard mediocrity.

The government began regulating more heavily safety and emissions. American car manufacturers responded half heartedly, lobbied heavily against all of the mandates and skimmed along only meeting the minimal requirements.

Additionally, Detroit began to become laden with unions that drove up price of production and made the car manufacturers less competitive to global competitors. After 9/11 the economy slowed and car sales began to sputter. However, union workers for GM went on strike demanding more health insurance and better pay. Motions such as this demonstrated that the unions were not interested in the well being of the company that fed them, because they were too obsessed with their own problems. In effect hobbling more their race horse. Because of this Detroit began purchasing as much foreign parts as their unions will allow them. Japanese manufacturers on the other hand have built U.S. Factories to increase their domestic parts content. They have done so with a non unionized labor force and therefore are able to remain competitive.

Every car sold today has a domestic parts content label on the window sticker. You can look and tell how much a car is made domestically. Ironically, If I were to go buy a mustang, 65% of it is produced in the U.S. A Toyota Camry is 80% domestic. Buying American no longer necessarily means buying a Ford, GM or Chrysler.

In 2002 on the 35th anniversary of the Chevy Camaro, Chevrolet announced it was no longer producing their most historical car citing lagging sales. That is when I was done with GM. For years they had produced lack luster and boring cars. I could almost hear them mumble in monotone voices "And for this year we are making a... (drum roll) a car. it has wheels. buy it." What did they expect? Almost as if they were punishing their loyal fan base they yanked away the camaro. One time I went with my sister to an easter egg hunt. At the end of the Easter egg hunt, my nephew had a huge armful of plastic eggs filled with candy and money. He got frustrated, began crying and threw all of his easter eggs down. Kids scampered from everywhere and picked up the now dropped eggs. He looked around at his disappearing eggs and began crying more. This is the mental image I have of GM. As soon as GM dropped the camaro, Ford hired on Carrol Shelby and redesigned their new mustangs. Carrol Shelby could spit on the floor and it would look awesome (and probably have 400 horsepower) I Absolutely love the new mustangs. Although they haven't capitalized on the idea yet, I think they are starting to get it.

In 1992 Dodge reinvented itself and began production of the Dodge viper by taking a V-10 truck engine, sending it off to Lamborghini to have them tinker with it a bit and them cramming it in a beautifully styled two seat sports car. The car turned a lot of heads and brought thousands of people to the Dodge dealerships with money in hand. I don't think much of those sales were of Vipers themselves. I think it was the idea of driving something that looked similar to the viper. Most of the new dodge cars had the same iconic four square grills. The trucks were redesigned and looked similar to a Mac semi truck. Car and truck sales turned the corner for Dodge. For a brief moment they got it.

Speaking from a completely biased and untested theory, as this whole entry is, I think Americans like our Japanese cars for what they are, fuel efficient, extremely reliable, good cars. That is what they have always been and that reputation is what is saving them now. in this market, that is what we want, a car that is cheap to run, sips gas and has a high resale value.

European cars take a small portion of the market, but will always maintain their status as a car for the more affluent. Such as Lamborghinis, Ferraris, BMWs, Jaguars, Lotus', Volvos and the Volkswagons somewhat fit in this category.

Korean cars are sure trying. They make a cheap car that is fairly reliable. Their reputation isn't quite as good as it should be, so they will keep trying.

When I look at ads for new American cars, the pictures are always somewhat ethereal. Panels and windshields are just a bit too shiny to be real. Backgrounds are blurred. Their are no distinguishing features between any of them. It is more monotone "Look here. It is a car. buy it. It has a steering wheel. buy it." They have forgotten what works. They have proved they can't or refuse to compete with Japanese reliability. So I say abandon that notion. Go with what works. Make some fantastically insane car that has a thousand or so horsepower. You will only sell a couple thousand, so what? People will come into the show room with dreams and aspirations of that juggernaut car. Send them out the door with a more affordable but well styled car. People will say "is that they new Ford Freakshow?" and they will say "Nah, it is called "my pretty pony" but it has the same shift knob as the Freakshow" and people will go "WOWWW! AWESOME!!!!" Americans love power. We have proved that with the SUV craze. They are totally ridiculous. larger than we ever need. 99% of them never go off-road and are ever used for anything more than a single occupant car. But we love them. Make a car that has some crazy capabilities that we will never use. It's the idea that we could do that whatever thing if we wanted to, but we probably never will. Make it amphibious. Give it panels that make it suitable for atmospheric re entry. give it a bubble and a turret where you could in theory, mount a machine gun. Make it transform into a robot at a push of a button... Blow our minds with fantastic and stupid things. We will all come running from our Hondas and toyotas like kids to an ice cream truck. We like to say we are civilized and want to save the planet and our money, but when offered a car that comes apart, turns into a riding lawn mower a massaging lounge chair a wood chipper a dishwasher a power sprayer a vacuum cleaner and a death ray gun. We will take the converting car... with the racing stripes please... oh and cup holders that preferably holds a 96 ounce drink.

But you blubbering, lazy self serving imbeciles in Detroit don't get it. You show up in Washington in corporate luxury jets asking for money on the tail end of a bank bailout... after representatives just returned from their home towns where they were grilled and blasted for giving any money out in the first place. Bad timing, bad form. I hope you all go into bankruptcy. I do. Maybe you can shed some of your unions, rethink your strategies and begin drawing up plans for that car a car that levitates and can radiate a shockwave that will blow out every window and cause short term hearing damage to everyone/thing in a one block radius.

Awful horrible shame!

Recently I was tricked into getting a Facebook account. Really! I was duped, scammed and suckered.

What happened was that I got an invitation from someone to join Facebook. I had NO idea who this person was. I could not see a picture of this person until I joined Facebook myself. I originally ignored the invite. Then curiosity festered. I scratched at it and picked at it until it was a gaping wound.

I couldn't imagine who this was, how they knew me and how they got my email. I signed up for an account and found out it was a friend of one of my nephew's.

Since then I have become Facebook friends with several people that I went to high school with, Jr. high and even grade school.

On top of that we had a new home teacher come over to our house. Through casual introductions he and I figured out we went to high school together and graduated the same year.

I pulled out the yearbook and looked. I remember his face from high school, but graduated with a class of 700 students. I didn't remember him.

All of this remembering back to high school and even before unleashed a torrent of memories. Some good, some bad, most of them sad with an overlying theme of embarrassment. Horrible, disfiguring embarrassment.

I was (am) so tragically awkward, most of my memories of school are humiliating to the point where I want to slap my head and self affirm my admittance into the all time hall of shame.

When this life is over for me and I sit before that judgement seat and all of my actions are replayed in high definition, surround sound with subtitles and directors comments turned on, I have a notion that through most of it I will have to hide my face in shame while I mutter "Why did I wear tha-- oh no! There's a clean pair in the drawer! IDIOT! Your gonna pick that aren't you--OH GROSS! NO DON'T WIPE IT--! NOOOOO! I guess that explains why those girls didn't like you. Dude! You got some broccoli stuck in-- you can't... you can't hear me... I am not going even bother. NO! Don't say that! Do realize how stupid that sounds? What were you thinking? OH! I am sorry I asked... Is this movie over? Do you have the remote? Can we just fast forward through this Jr. high bit? "

Surrealism

On my commute I take the new Legacy highway. For those unaccustomed it seems ridiculous, but for reasons unexplained gets me to work faster. Legacy parallels I-15, meanders along like an inebriated snake and has posted speed limits at 10 miles slower than I-15.

I can also count on plenty of sweet roadkill raccoons, laying face up, legs splayed out and bulged like over inflated balloons.

Less commute times and more awesome scenery. It's a win-win.

Today as I was wandering my way back home, I hummed around a corner and saw an unexplainable sight. I have put the scenario to much consideration, but have yet to devise an answer to why things were the way they were.

My attention was first drawn to the flashing orange beacon blinking a caution to drivers from its perch on top of a UDOT incident management vehicle. In front of the incident management vehicle sat a tan Toyota Celica with its hood propped open. I waned close and could see a middle aged woman and a UDOT employee standing in front of the car. I noticed they were not looking at the engine or the car. They were facing a fence. The fence runs both sides of the parkway and separates the road from a walk way/ bike path that also runs on both sides of the parkway.

Standing on the opposite side of the fence, ears perked attentively, neck careened over as far as it could extend out, stood a horse. He seemed to have a keen interest in what the people were doing and they likewise had an interest in him. It didn't look like the regular sort of interaction you would expect like the people having an apple and cooing "Oooh! who's the pretty horsey? You want this apple? The cutesy wootsy horsey wants an apple! don't ya!" The horse staring intently at the apple muttering to himself "Shut up! Just give me the frickin' apple. Ya bi-ped freaks!" No, it wasn't that sort of interaction. It looked more like the horse was listening intently and the people were saying "It just started sputtering and then it died. It has plenty of gas and I just had a tune up and an injector service done last week... Wilbur has taught you a thing or two about auto mechanics hasn't he Mr. Ed? What are your thoughts?"

Laying on the ground next to the horse with a lethargic and bored look was a dog. There was no one attending the dog or the horse. How they got on the walkway is mysterious and a bit in congruent too.

I might have dreamed the whole situation up too because on the same drive I thought I saw a sign that said gas was $1.83. I better stay away from those poppy seed muffins.

Good Brother

Last night, I was getting Walker and Shelby for bed Shelby already had a bath, was in her jammies and Walker was just getting out of the tub.

Walker and I began our dual of creative wits. Walker creates diversionary and delayment methods to prolong the moment he actually gets put to bed and I think of new and ever more excruciating or horrifying threats to persuade him to go to bed.

I was reading the news online, Shelby was playing with her dolls next to me. She had lovingly and gently placed two dolls in a tiny red wagon, positioning them so that they faced each other. Then she neatly folded a blanket and placed it over them to keep them warm. Singing them songs she pranced around the house taking her dolls for wagon rides. Walker came in the office/guest bedroom hopping on one foot, still soaking wet from the bath and a blue towel draped around him. He plopped on the bed, holding his foot "OW! Ow! ow!" he cried. I recognized this for what it was, a tactic. A poorly played tactic. My turn. I played the uninterested and unsympathetic card. I kept reading "Mmm, that's too bad. Now go get your jammies on" There was no way he was winning tonight. Walker's turn. "I can't walk! I think my foot is broken!" he said. I kept reading "How did you break your foot?" I asked, then cursed myself. I just let him score a point. We both knew if he could lure me into an inquiry conversation, bed time was getting pushed back. "I don't know? I think I must have stepped on it with my other foot! Ow! Ow! ow! I can't walk on it!" I reverted back to my original tactic to see to see if I could regain control of this match. "Get your jammies on." I mumbled.

Shelby hopped into the room pulling her dollies, Walker was laying on the bed face down. his legs hanging off the bed. Shelby came over to the bed, leaned over so that she could look into his face and then she picked up a pillow and I said "Yeah Shelby! Hit him with that pillow! He's not minding me." She stopped and glared at me like I was pure evil. "NO!" she shot at me "He's a GOOD brother!" she said. I watched her curiously as she pulled her dollies out of her wagon, put the pillow on the wagon and helped Walker into the wagon. After she had him situated she pulled him in the wagon to his room so that he could get his jammies on. Just before Walker disappeared with the wagon around the corner he flashed a smile at me as if to say "I win!" I flashed a smile back. One day, I am hoping I will learn to be the grown up in these situations.

Ladies and Gentlemen! I give you CHUCK!!!

Saturday I put the last finishing touches on the latest mechanized mayhem residing in my garage. I apologize for any confusion I may be creating by renaming a previously named object. But I have settled on the name Chuck. These machines come with a predisposition and tendencies that you really can't determine until you first hear them run. The name Reginald was suggested and I liked it. However, the name Reginald holds a certain heir of nobleness, pride, properness and hoity toityness. Someone named Reginald probably wears a silk jacket at home, swills wine around in a crystal glass and can identify the year and vineyard the drink originates from. Reginald probably has a butler named Jeeves that conducts his ordinary affairs and Reginald has initials embroidered on his linens in a classy serif font. This snow blower did not seem to hold any of those attributes.

From the first pull of the pull chord, it sputtered and then settled into a horrifying rumble that sounded a lot like a war chant. It is a no frills, brute strength, no complaints, get it done and move on sort of snow blower. My brother suggested Chuck. I liked it. Chuck it is.

I took it out of the garage and took it for a few test runs down the driveway. Chuck is a monster. You have two controls- speed and a clutch. To engage the clutch you squeeze the left handle. You just better hope you don't fall down. It stays engaged unless you squeeze the handle. Left engaged it keeps churning in a straight path chewing away at anything in it's path until it either ran out of gas or dropped off a cliff. Even in the slowest speed, letting the clutch engage results in Chuck either popping a wheelie, or if you pull up on the handle bars, it will peel out until it gets up to speed. Chuck is not messing around. Chuck is single minded and Hell bent on clearing your driveway and Chuck is NOT safety conscious. Safety items were obviously developed between now and the time when other snow blowers like Chuck were made and probably developed because of snow blowers just like Chuck. There are at least 30 different ways I could loose, a finger a limb or my eyesight by using Chuck. I wouldn't have it any other way! If it isn't dangerous, it isn't worth doing.

As you may have noticed, we were fore casted for snow all weekend long. I didn't even see a flake fall. When it comes to winter, I think the best offense is a good defense. As soon as I wheeled Chuck out of the garage I heard a grumble way up North as Old Man Winter took notice, recalled his plans and tried to come up with a more sustainable attack. Naturally I was disappointed.

Glitter, just say no!

Today when we went to church we were a good 20 minutes early. As usual in our ward, 20 minutes early still doesn't afford you a seat on a soft bench. That's frustrating, because Ungermans on time is a shocking event. Ungermans 20 minutes early is apocalyptic in scale. A feat we have pulled off several times recently which is even more amazing.

We nervously strolled down the aisles to find every empty aisle reserved with books. Finally we found an row unoccupied with one single caveat, it had apparently become the victim of a senseless glitter bomb. There was glitter everywhere on the bench and on the floor. We reluctantly took the seats knowing that the rest of the day we would be sparkling like a diamond necklace. Or at least our butts would be.

The incident punctuated my contempt for glitter. I have a friend who used to clean a school. The teachers out right banned glitter because it is worse than cancer. It gets on everything and the next thing you know, you are standing in the shower picking glitter out of your belly button saying "Now-- how did glitter get in there?"

In today's legislative laden society, I think we should outlaw the public use of glitter. In my opinion, it is worse than public farting. It spreads quicker and the effects are much more damaging and long lasting.

If you gave me a choice between an IRS audit and a letter with glitter in it. I would pick the audit every time.

Fort Knox. Allegedly one of the most secure areas in the world. If they really wanted to protect all of that gold, I would think all they would have to do is sprinkle the stacks of gold with glitter. and go ahead and leave the place unguarded and the front door wide open. Thieves would walk in, see all of the glitter and mutter in disgust "Oh! They have glitter everywhere! It isn't worth it! Let's go! If we get this U-haul back before 6:00 maybe we can get a partial refund."

Fantasy Basketball

I joined a Fantasy basketball league last week. The Fantasy Basketball League (or FBBL for short) draft was today. Maybe if I am bored I will wander over to see what happened.

I follow sports about as closely as most people follow advances in the ball point pen industry. I picked my draft list simply by how reading the players names made me feel. For example. Carlos Boozer, as his name suggests, might be an alcoholic. Probably misses a lot of practices and the ones he does attend complains from suffering the effects of a hangover. Not a good player.

I figure I picked my players as good as either a monkey pulling names out of a hat or by throwing darts at a board with player's names on it. Or possibly the combination of the two. So, let's just say a monkey throwing darts at a board with names on it. A lazy eyed monkey. So, that is my team name. Lazy eyed monkeys.

Go team! Yep, that's my mascot-- the one throwing poop at the crowd.