Chucky's back!

I was sitting here in this very spot looking at a few classified ads, when something yellow, something hideous, something menacing caught my eye. I clicked on the ad and to my moistening eyes, appeared one of the most glorious visions I had ever seen.  There he was, draped in sunflower yellow and looking as tenacious as ever -- my old snowblower, Chuck. My fingers began quivering as I opened the image gallery. This wasn't the exact Chuck.  This one was covered in years of dust and dirt.  But gleaming under that layer of filth and grime I could see decals that were in place that Chuck had long since lost. Bolts still in place where Chuck had years since lost his. Chrome still glistening where Chuck had began to rust. This wasn't Chuck.  This was Chuck's younger, more hungry, girlfriend just left him because he lacked all sensitivity, looking for a fight, scrappy, brother. (And he's pissed that he's missed a few seasons)  And better yet, Chucky was priced at a bargain basement price of $50. Even though it was late, I made the call to the seller as I was putting my shoes on and trotting out the door.

45 minutes later I was backing out of the previous owner's driveway, smiling to myself the way a bank robber would after a completely successful heist. I had done it. Purchased another truly spectacular snow blower for a completely reasonable price. 

Old Man Winter I am sure is sitting in an ice cave somewhere in the Antarctic looking over a map of North America placing tiny pieces that indicate cold fronts, snow storms, ice storms, avalanches and bitter cold temperatures. Planning a strategy for this year's attack. At some point tonight I am sure a penguin will waddle in, salute and say "Wah wah" (Chuck's back) at which point Old Man Winter is sure to violently ask the penguin to repeat what he just said, Then sweep all of the pieces off of the map in a tantrum and then collapse on the floor sobbing silently to himself. He can cry all he wants.  I will have winter in my yard under my conditions, strictly enforced by Sheriff Chucky. Hot turds on a tin roof! You hear me? Chucky's back!

Babies

I got to thinking.  It must be really tough being a baby.  I am glad I don't remember my experiences. Aside from the obvious perks, sleeping all day and having the ability to just crap your pants whenever you feel like it and then have it magically just whisked away, the rest of it seems pretty rough.

First of all, can you imagine reaching your arms up and having your head so big that you can neither touch the top of your head or touch hands together when reaching around your head?  So, now you got this giant head on this tiny little, weak neck.  Your head is flopping all around.  Strange people are picking you up and talking in annoying voices to you.  You open your eyes to see what is going on and all you see are fuzzy shapes.  Now everyone is laughing at you.  While you were trying to check things out, apparently you inadvertently went cross-eyed.  Laugh it up jerks.  I got fresh poopie that I am sending into the diaper right... about... now! Kapow!

Now you are hungry.  You are thinking some pizza sounds nice.  Maybe some steak.  Nah, you get a super duper big gulp the size of your giant head (that equates out to be like a 300,000 oz) drink of the nastiest thing on the planet... milk.  Worse than that, there is a good chance it came from a powder mix, blech! Hey you big turd! I hate milk, so guess whose brewing a nice, juicy mess in the ol' diaper? That's right!  This kid is! Kablow!  Take that! I am so gonna wake up 10 times or more tonight when you are trying to sleep.

ER

Last week Mandy and I had to spend the night at the hospital. It wasn't because either one of us was sick.  The pediatrician just wanted us to spend the night at the hospital so that we could be there for every one of the twin's feedings all through the night, which are every three hours.  I am not sure why.  Perhaps so that they can make sure we know which end of the baby to put a diaper on and which end to plug the bottle into.  Perhaps so that they can laugh at us as we waddle in on 2 hours of sleep and try to feed two kids.

At the hospital they have something called "Hotel stay".  It costs $15 and you need a doctor's order to stay there.  They stuff you in a labor recovery room or a broom closet.  There is a couch that they claim you can sleep on, but it is too short for anyone except a midget. And then there is a hospital bed, with the side thingies and the buttons and everything and the plastic covered mattress.  There is also a TV and a bathroom.  The TV didn't work and the light switches were scattered in random places all over the room, so it took me about 5 minutes to figure out how to turn them all off.

Before they will let you stay, they want you to pay your $15.  Because I was checking in at night, the only place in the hospital that can take your money is the emergency room.  I am instructed to go to the other side of the hospital through several very dark and extremely creepy hallways of the hospital.  I was actually more surprised that I did NOT see a ghost of a skinny old frail man in a robe towing an IV pole behind him pleading for my soul, than if I actually would have seen this.

Finally I make it over to the ER.  There is a desk with two attendants.  It looks like a regular admittance desk to see a doctor.  There is a wood divider between the two admittance clerks, that affords a portion of privacy between two people if they were checking in at the same time.  Just enough privacy that the two can not see each other, but can still hear everything each other is saying.  As I enter the room there is a girl staggering towards the desk.  She is in her pajamas, her hair is swirled and twisted like the sky on a stormy night.  Her face is gaunt and her jaw is hanging open like a worn out handbag. When she reached the desk she collapsed forward and caught herself on the edge of the desk with her arms and her head resting on the desk.  I paused and considered the situation.  If I were her, I think I would just want people to A. Don't talk to me. B. Leave me the Hell alone and just get me a dang bed! So, I casually wandered up the the other admittance clerk and told him that I needed to pay for a hotel stay.

On the other side of the divider I can hear the other clerk "Can I help you" "Ug... I...ug...don't feel good..." Not looking up from her monitor the clerk kept asking her questions "What's your address?"  The poor girl played along and jumped through the hoops that were asked of her speaking without pausing like every sentence was one word "eleven-forty-two-East-three-hundred-south-Logan-Utah-eight-four-three-two-one. Ug"  Finally she began ending her sentences with barf.  I didn't know what she was puking in, but I could tell it was in some sort of container and not the floor.  The clerk was just getting warmed up and was not going to stop until they had all of her insurance information, contact information and emergency contacts.  I completed my transaction and left.

As I walked away I thought "It is a good thing she didn't have a stab wound, a severed limb or stroke"  mainly because I would not have been able to deal with blood or freaky symptoms less than I did with the puking. But because I couldn't help but think that if there is any place that should have the policy of "Let's get you comfortable and not dying or feeling like dying before we go through the minute details of something like "So, let's talk about how you are paying us, and then we will see what we can do based on what you tell us."

As bad as this sounds, I just couldn't see a government employee or agency sitting there being more attentive or more capable of helping.  You know because I always get such wonderful customer service when I go to the DMV, call the IRS or need to go to the court house. I'm just saying.

Now watch this.

Drivers

Tonight I was driving home and a car passed me.  I saw it coming in my rearview mirror and it was changing lanes by just casually drifting from lane to lane without signaling.  I said to myself "Self, hundred bucks says this driver is limp wrist driver"  When the car passed, I looked over and I was right.  I didn't have a hundred bucks, so I owe myself another hundred.

What is the limp wristed driver? How did I know?  Can I learn to identify drivers too?  Easy there Johnny!  Stay with me and you too can be a professional driver identification personnel (or P.D.I.P) just like me.  I have combined years of observation and hundreds of thousands of miles to form this very informative and highly stereotyping list (hopefully to the point of being offensive) of drivers, and what you can expect from them.

The first, not because they are the most heinous or prevalent, but because I had just mentioned it, are the Limp Wristed driver.  The LWD drives with his arm propped on top of the steering wheel.  This driver is so chill, relaxed and cool that he cannot even be bothered with the laborious task of gripping the steering wheel.  His hand hangs limply from his arm over the back of the steering wheel.  Thus the name "Limp wristed driver" This driver, does everything smoothly and lazily.  a lane change is a smooth drift into another lane.  signaling, is way too much effort.  This driver just flows around like a breeze.  He is chill.  He is relaxed.  He is usually scanning the other cars for the ladies.  He may or may not be a catch.  But to himself, he sure is. This is the type of driver that usually runs head on into a telephone pole while checking out a jogger. I give the LWD his space and don't follow.

Next we have the 9 and 3 driver.  One hand is on the 3 O'Clock position on the steering wheel and the other is on the 9 O'clock position. This driver usually does not use the back rest of their seat.  They are sitting straight up and looking intently on the road ahead.  The visual scan that we learned about in driver's ed is employed here.  Check the road. Check the speed.  Check the mirrors.  Check the road. Check the speed.  Check the mirrors...  This driver scares me.  I figure if it takes that much mental energy, just to safely operate the vehicle, I fear what happens when something other than the ordinary occurs. Think of these drivers as a computer running at full CPU.  When a new application starts.  Everything freezes.  This driver is usually the one that applies full brake pedal when a traffic jam is encountered.  This driver is usually rear ended or else they might panic, swerve and dodge into on coming traffic.  This driver is responsible for your skiddish and erratic driving patterns during rush hour traffic. Stay away from 9 and 3.  Because they are usually going at or below the speed limit, this is easy to do.

The blue hair.  While actually quite rare, we all know a blue hair.  It is the old lady, or sometimes man, who all we see is the top of their head and their eyes peering between the steering wheel and the dash.  They can't see the road, so they just guess based on objects they see whizzing by them in their side windows.  They drive slow and bob back and forth between the lines.  I make sure I pass the blue hair and get safely in front of them.  They often will not see you and will run into the back of you while you are sitting at a traffic light or sign.  Beyond that, the blue hair is basically harmless.

Mommy.  Mommy is usually operating an SUV.  Mommy usually has a DVD playing for her brood of children.  Mommy's windows are smeared with sticky hand prints and the seats of her car have years of french fries stuck between them. Mommy is usually talking on the phone.  Mommy is also oblivious to the fact that she is well exceeding any speed limits.  Mommy usually tail gates because she can just ride the bumper in front of her rather than checking her speed.  You may think Mommy wants to pass you, but if you get over to let her pass, she will slow down and drive next to you.  Mommy can also veer into other lanes as she glances over her shoulder to say "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KIDS WANT NOW? TIMMY STOP HITTING SALLY!  BILLY GIVE JOHNNY HIS TOY BACK!"  Mommy isn't that much of a threat. Mommy just has her attention divided amongst many things.  Just speed up until you encounter another vehicle traveling quickly, get over and Mommy will latch onto the bumper of that car.  Those two will sail on merrily down the road and hopefully find all the speed traps for you.

The Asian.  I don't know what to attribute the Asian driver's habits to.  Culture? Spacial ineptitude? Suicidal tendencies? The Asian can be intimidating until you understand his habits.  You can easily predict the Asian's movements by asking "What would be the most dangerous thing they could do right now?"  Once you identify what that dangerous stunt will be, sit back and watch the Asian perform that very stunt. Drive safely and defensively around the Asian and they will avoid you.  Once you demonstrate safe driving practices, they will move on and look for a much more haphazard situation.

I also find every region of the country has their own driving "culture".  If you find yourself saying "The drivers in Nebraska are crazy!" then you are failing to understand the driving culture of that region. Like the joke about the elderly woman who hears on the news of a driver on the interstate driving the wrong direction on the road.  Panicked, she thinks of her husband who is out travelling in the same area.  Quickly she calls him on his cell phone and warns him of the dangerous driver going the wrong direction, to which he replies "One car going the wrong direction?  They are all going the wrong direction!"

In California I quickly learned that the roads there must be damaged by sunlight or something.  If there was so much as a sliver of light between my front bumper and the car in front of me, someone would slide in and occupy that space. You just get right on that bumper and go.  All traffic moves like a giant snake.

In Utah where I drive, everyone thinks of it as a race.  People in the left lane are the elite.  The competitors.  The champions. The lane to the right of the left lane, those are the non-competitors.  People who are only driving for the sake of getting to a new location.  People in the right lane are merging, exiting or getting paid an hourly salary while on the road.  Sometimes a non-competitor will enter the left lane.  It thereby becomes the responsibility of the other drivers to teach the violating driver and display displeasure by riding their bumper.  In California this is regular driving and therefore California driver's are seen in Utah to be rude, but in fact they are driving they way they were taught to drive, by not letting the road see daylight.  If the offending driver fails to notice their fauxpaux, the drivers will pass on the right as fast as possible and then merge back into the left lane as close to them as possible without actually swiping off their front bumper with your rear bumper.  Most driver's will take the hint and get over at this point.

As you can see, there are many other categorize, sub-categories and hybrid categories. But these are the most identifiable and the most easily dealt with groups.  I hope you find this informative.  Now get out there and drive!

Rnnin' just ain't no fun

Today I started a new blog. Tomorrow I begin the journey

http://runningaintnofun.blogspot.com/2010/07/journey-begins.html

Checkit ooouuuut!

Mt. Whitney

A week ago today I was just arriving to base camp on Mt. Whitney. Since returning I have had lots of questions about my trip. To address them all I have set up a little Q&A for all general knowledge regarding my trip.

Q. Where is Mt. Whitney?

A. It is in California -- it's this whole other country.

Q. How tall is Mt. Whitney?

A. 14,494 ft. above see level making it the tallest peak in the continental United States.

Q. How long is the hike?

A. 22 miles round trip. As far as time to hike? I am not sure. Somewhere around 11,000 feet the air becomes thin enough that reality becomes a swirling vortex of bright colors, abstract thought patterns and air gasping, mindlessly staggering about.

Q. Geez, sounds tough. Why would you do that?

A. Simply stated, bragging rights. When I die, I couldn't imagine myself looking back and saying "I am sure glad I passed on THAT opportunity. That would have been VERY difficult!"

Q. What if any, special preparations did you take.

A. That is a good question. I found that growing the common Friendly Mutton Chops (or FMC, for short) was sufficient preparation for my needs.

Q. How long after my milk's expiration date can I safely consume it?

A. Who submitted this? This has nothing to do with Mt. Whitney. Let me tell you a little secret. Rotten milk and fresh milk smell exactly the same. Milk is gross fresh or rotten. Don't ever drink it raw. EVER!

Q. Would you hike Mt. Whitney again?

A. The more the pains and aches of the trip fade, the more that answer shifts to the affirmative.

In summary, it was a great trip. It might be my ego talking here, but I think sweet lady Mt. Whitney took a liking to me. At one point on my descent I looked over in a small indention in the snow and pristinely nestled and preserved was a $5 bill and this little note.

Upon returning to base camp I also found a penny that was minted in the year I was born and found that marmots had visited, urinated and crapped in everyone's tent except mine.

Being at that altitude gives you a good idea how it will be for yourself if you jumped forward 40 years. Small hills that you would otherwise scramble up, present formidable and air gasping challenges. I felt like superman when I returned to lower elevations.

Here is what I wrote in the guest book:

Why did Captain Kirk climb the mountain?

Twins

Recently my wife's twin sister moved in while she gets started in a new school program, finds a new job and gets on her feet a little bit.

After only a short time of this, I only have one observation... or reaffirmation. And that is that twins are crazy. Absolutely, undeniably insane. Individually, perfectly normal. Together, a set of twins will conjoin into a robot with a strobe light head, one chainsaw arm, one puppy dog arm a gumball machine midsection that shoots strawberry flavored moth balls that travels on a monster truck tire instead of legs.

This transformation seems true with any set of twins that I know. I am usually confused, entertained, scared, humored, and alarmed to varying degrees, that if monitored would swing about wildly like a tachometer on a rally car racing on some street course weaving through a sinewy old world township with cobblestone roads and frequent hairpin turns.

Let me illustrate with with a slightly (but not much) exaggerated situation. Our kids are with their grandma and grandpa for a week. Delighted by our recent release in responsibility, Mandy and I went on a date. We sat in the car for a few hours just talking about anything and everything we could think of. We came home and Mindy was just finishing a movie. Mandy started talking to Mindy. I sat on the couch with my brow furrowed. I couldn't figure out what Mandy was talking about. Mindy replied with a comment that seemed absolutely out of context from Mandy's. sort of like this:

Mandy: "One time I asked dad why the sky was blue"

Mindy: "My car has new tires on it"

Mandy: "I decided the sky was blue because blue is pretty"

Mindy: "Sometimes you can get used tires, that are just as good as new, but waaaay cheaper!"

Mandy: "Some lakes are really blue"

Mindy: "The word 'tire' is weird"

The conversation continued on like that and they started interrupting each other and talking louder. Their body language indicated that they were getting angry. I sat there staring, trying to figure out what was happening. Their conversations began to tighten and revolve around a smaller and smaller handful of topics. I tossed in a few thoughts about the dozen or so topics they seemed to be talking about then openly admitted that I had no clue what was happening. They both explained in unison what topic they were discussing and were both in perfect agreeance. It was like watching a Japanese game show... or tennis.

Did I mention Mandy is pregnant with twin girls? Can you imagine how much time I will be spending in the future with a confused scowl on my face watching interactions and wondering what is going on? Considerable amounts of time, my friend, considerable amounts of time.