Homework

I was just checking on our poor neglected blog. If our blog were something different, like... a dog (Whatever, it sounds like blog) It would be sitting in the back yard, skin and bones with a nervous, dejected look on it's face. It would be tied to it's house with a short lead of chain. The area covered by the chain would be clearly marked by dead grass, dust and poop. It would spend most of it's time sitting and shifting anxiously on it's front legs. Occasionally it would yelp a small bark of hunger and thirst.
I have the day off to catch up on my homework. If my homework were something different... it would be a parakeet laying lifelessly in the bottom of it's cage. It chirped a few times the first day we had it. I soon realized it would never learn to say anything cool like "Polly want a cracker" or "too legit, too legit to quit". I quickly grew bored of it, never fed it and it died. But today! I have warmed up the defibrillator and am prepared to resurrect the parakeet... I mean my homework. But then I saw the poor dog out in the back yard. He sure looked like he wanted a fresh bowl of water, a heaping scoop of Atta Boy someone to play fetch with and needed a good brushing.
I am sure I will get around to the dead bird sometime today. just as soon as I make sure there is NOTHING else in this entire world that is mildly calling out for my attention. Even if it is going outside, laying down in the grass with a ruler and trying to watch the grass grow.

IT IS HERE

My new website is up and running!!!!!
www.randompen.com
go there now and check it out, and tell all of your friends about it.

Halo

Today for lunch we set up an XBox in the media center today and played Halo on the projector. This was me:
"Hey a gun! How do I pick it up?"
someone appears out of nowhere and drops a sticky grenade to my back and I die.
I re-animate somewhere else.
"Where am I?" I wonder to myself. I feel the controller rumble in my hands and I see bullet flashes around me. Trying to look around I end up looking straight up in the sky and launching several grenades on myself and I die.
I re-animate somewhere else
"Hey a four-wheeler!" I start heading for it. Someone who is invisible and has a sword runs out of nowhere and cleaves me in twain and I die.
I re-animate somewhere else. Not wanting to repeat any of the previous mistakes I stand still for a moment and look at my radar. There is someone behind me! I turn around just in time to see someone charge me and shoot me point blank in the head and I die.
Yeah... I am pretty good! There is a reason I don't own this game and why I am not as good. I had a roommate in college that owned 007. I LOVED this game! It was like crack cocaine! I couldn't put it down. I stopped doing my homework. I stopped eating. I found excuses to miss work and school. I stopped shaving and combing my hair. I wore a bathrobe all day long. If I did venture outside I tried to make it during the night and I scurried everywhere I went. If it was in the day, I would hunch over, squint at the bright light and use my arm to shield my face from it's rays and hiss at the burning UV rays. I realized that if I were to continue living, this game and I had to part directions. I have no doubt Halo and I would have the same relationship if I invited it into my home. I just don't know if I can find an answer to the questions I would get of: "Daddy, Why didn't you sleep last night or the night before" "Daddy, why aren't you going to work today?" "Daddy, why is our house so DARK? I'm scared!" "Daddy, Why is your face SO scratchy?" "Daddy, why did you just shoot that man on the game with a sniper gun and then run up and use all of your bullets in your other gun on his dead body and then laugh like you were a monster?" "Mommy! Daddy said a naughty wor-rrrd!!!"

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.