Old News

Hi strangers and old friends, I've set up shop across town, quite literally. Here's how:

1. I quit blogging at this site for a number of reasons
2. I got separated in 2007, divorced in 2008
3. I moved from Michigan to North Carolina
4. I started a remodeling business
5. I set up a blog at Wordpress, just to noodle with and keep writing a bit
6. The new Spiffytown was set up
7. I got married in 2009

I haven't been avoiding most of you, it's just been a busy and change-laden time. If you'd like to catch up, send an email or comment at the new digs. I go by db grin now. This oughtta be the last post at this here site.

Not Dead

It seems I keep getting lots and lots of traffic here at Spiffytown. I don't think it's from the reggalers I used to hobnob with; most visits seem to result from image searches. But, in case you've been wondering, I'm not dead. I don't miss the snow, literal and metaphorical, of my old life. I've been building a business, trying to pay bills, and coming to terms with myself in different ways. Haven't been writing much, and I miss it. That's all I came to say really, leave a comment or drop a line to stay in touch.

150 Is All I Can Do

Hi friends,

This is my 150th post. And it's the last from this place. *

A lot has happened since my launch into the bloggosphere.

I've made a ton of friends, almost all of whom I consider true friends.

I've had a 17 year anniversary. Then moved out.

I've discovered what it's like to undergo a divorce. It's not over yet.

I've experienced real loss and deep sadness.

I've experienced real joy.

At moments like these, it's easy (for me) to get moopy and sad, but I shan't. I've had a blast with Spiffytown, and will keep in touch. Just not here.

Thanks to Tiff, Jeff Kay, Wordnerd, JC, AC, Tracy Lynn, Renn, Stew, Sparky, Hyperion, and Wordsmiths.

Thanks also to those on my blogroll.

Stay connected, it's worth it. Send me your email address, or leave comment in the comments and we'll keep in touch.

I'm planting a tree in honor of Daniel 'Blitz' Krieg (AKA Dr. Syn, Buerger King, or Lenny Harris - I loved that guy). I invite you to do the same. Put a plaque on it in his honor, or at least let his family know where it is.

*I will post the picture when the deed is done. The Blitz Krieg National Forest will grow.

On Hold

I had occasion to call my mortgage company last week to try to sort out some difficulties. I got the standard, "Your call is important, which is why we monitor calls. That and we're going to use everything you say against you. Please enjoy the music" greeting.

Then the 'music' started - and it creeped me right out. It sounded like Edward Scissorhands was pissed off at the piano, banging away with all his might in E flat minor. It was the music from a silent horror film or some such, and the 'musician' knew the audience had a wicked hangover and was doing his best to make it worse.

Highly appropriate to the occasion.

******

Speaking of music, the local classic rock station has Jazz Brunch on Sunday mornings, 4 hours of 'cool jazz' - very little would be considered classical jazz with the highly polished, overproduced musicians-trying-to-impress-each-other style. I rather like it once in a while. My daughter calls it elevator music. Once last year we were riding over some hills in the car, and she announced, "Going up!" to emphasise her point.

******

Last night I was talking with a friend about Star Trek. Shut up, you know you watched it too, dork.

Anyway, we got to thinking, "What if the Enterprise was crewed by rednecks?"

The sound effects alone would lend a whole different feel to the show. The computer's voice would have a thick southern drawl, and call Captain Kirk 'Sugar.' If the self-destruct sequence was initiated, you'd hear, "Aw shit, now you gone n' done it!"

The doors wouldn't have the cool whoosh-squeak sound; it'd be more like tobacco spit.

Sulu would shout 'Yeeee HAW!' and make vrooming noises when piloting the ship through the Gravel Pit Nebula. Chekov wouldn't quit honking the Dukes of Hazzard horn.

Scotty would be seen squirting starter fluid into the warp core.

While it was up on blocks in Kirk's front yard.

I'd watch that show.

Chirp Chirp

It's been a busy couple weeks. The weeds have grown around here, the crickets, frogs, and frog-eating snakes have taken over the place. I'm scarcer than ever on the interwebs, as life and work have their way with me. I'll be back as I can, and there's a Wordsmith story due tomorrow. I'll cook it up tonight and post by deadline.

Here's a touching story I thought you should see (thanks to my friend Dave):

In 1986, Mikele Mebembe was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from NorthwesternUniversity. On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the ai r. The elephant seemed distressed, so Mikele approached it very carefully.

He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant's foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gen tly as he could, Mikele worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Mikele stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled.

Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Mikele never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Mikele was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Mikele and his son Tapu were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Mikele, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1986, Mikele couldn't help wondering if this was the same elephant. Mikele summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Mikele's legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn't the same elephant.

The Interwebs Needs One

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

So Much To Say

There have been so many thoughts, observations, and happenings that have sleeted through my mind over the last month that make me smack my head and say, "That would make a great story!" But they've gone unwritten. Some snippets will stick in m' haid and leak out later, when I have the leisure required to maintain a writing hobby. A couple things to log though:

Um, the motorcycle crashing wasn't severe. It was enough to cause some damage that's still not healed up: A blunt-force contusion on my elbow and a busted turn signal. And a scratch on my helmet. Other than that, all is well. Here's what happened, and feel free to mock me like most of my coworkers did.

My day job's parking lot was sealcoated a cuppa weekends ago. Nice, shiny blacktop. It rained for days and days after that. I was leaving for lunch on my vroomscooter (heh - just made that up) and turned to go out the gate and down the drive. Suddenly, at around 8 MPH, I found my wheels making way more of a turn than I was (or was it way less?). At any rate, the bike slid out from under me sideways, skidded 30 feet to a stop, dribbling gas and turn signal lens parts along the drive. I was unceremoniously dumped on my right side with all the force gravity and other various laws of physics could muster. I was wearing my leather jacket (thankfully) and hate to think how much bone meal I'd have left on the parking lot otherwise.

************

I've ended my career at the Kwikee Mart, due to high powered schedule issues at the day job. And I know on which side my bread is buttered, so any extra hours will be spent making the world a better place for construction workers rather than for Squishee drinkers.

Yes, I'm aware construction workers can enjoy the occasional Squishee, stop splitting hairs at me.

*************

There's a post on the interwebs that got me thinking (and reacting) more than usual. So there's only one thing for it: To offer the other side of the pancake.

First, go see Kingfisher's post. I'll wait. Now, I like and respect Kingfisher a great deal, but I couldn't agree a whole lot less. I offer this in the interest of open-minded discussion of ideas, rather than pretending to be an all-knowing end-all authority on existential matters. More discussion is a good idea.

I fear that much of the rambling which follows will be useless if one rejects the very idea of God's existence. But it comes from a perspective I've wrestled and reasoned out for most of my life, and I can say I wholeheartedly believe it.

Without faith it's impossible to please God. Faith takes humble acceptance of things not seen or fully understood. A recurring biblical theme - the greatest wisdom of man is confounded by the simple truth of God. It takes a childlike (not childish, immature) faith to understand, accept, not miss it. I would assert that it takes far more faith to believe that all things that we see happened by convergence of just the right elements and energy, and creative accidents continued to advance life to the stage we now see. That doesn't happen anywhere else in the observable universe - chaos and decay are in charge without intervention. If God's an invention, then it's pure foolish grasping. As CS Lewis said, you either have to believe Jesus is who he says he is (the divine son of God), or he's a madman, on par with one who says, 'I am a poached egg.' One can't simply say he was a great teacher and reject the bit about his claims. Cafeteria style truth isn't an honest practice. If God's a revelation, then it's due reverence, awe, and thoughtful consideration. Nowhere does the bible say to reject reason or science or observation. The senses are designed to inform us, not betray us. The black-and-white assertion that one must either accept Carl Sagan or the Bible leaves little room for discussion. I believe in Carl Sagan, and have learned from and had my curiosity piqued by him. I also happen to disagree with him on philosophy. To 'know' is to farking END CURIOSITY, which is why scientists become scientists. To explore. To question. Every answer produces more questions. I would think this exhilarating, not infuriating, to intellectuals and scientists. If WE are created in God's own image, then that alone evidence of importance. If God alone is worthy of our worship, then he must believe us important. If God deems us worthy of redemption, that's the ultimate trump card. It takes humility, not hubris, to accept truths greater and more durable than we are in favor of demanding to know - with acceptable proof to our satisfaction. Is the only answer to unsatisfied questions that God MUST be a cruel taskmaster?

Just because things aren't the way I prefer doesn't make them malignant, cruel, or spiteful. I could trip on a steel ball and curse it, just as an olympian celebrates his record-setting shot put. I could glory in the beauty of a mountain at sunrise as an unseen climber falls to his doom on its harsh and icy face. A tree that provides me shade blocks my neighbor's view. Or, a favorite among the inspirational email forward crowd: the traffic jam that makes me late could be what saves me from going over a collapsed bridge. I believe there is room for the harsh and unyielding laws of physics/ nature AND God to coexist.

Yes, interpretation is subjective, belonging solely to the individual. Knowing we have "The Correct" interpretation is a luxury we aren't afforded. That takes faith.

Yay for Cows

This was a perfect late summer morning. The hints of frost were adorning the hay fields on the way in to work, inviting one to traipse (frolic, if you prefer) through the aromatic flora, inhaling the beauty of God's green earth. Until one realized that such nonsense would get one's socks all wet and allow a thousand ticks to infest one's shorts. Since my last visit to my home on the webz, I've been working like mad, building bridges, crashing motorcycles, and living the life of... of, well, I don't know who. But most is well, and I miss my friends & thought I'd say Hi. So, Hi.

Move Along

As most of you have noticed, there isn't much reason to come by here lately. But today, there are things to read. Just not here. Try International ___ Day.

New, AND Improved

For Kingfisher.

Don't take it personally, buddy.

My New Wallpaper

Don't take this personally.

Unless, of course, I meant it for you.

Wordsmiths for August

Francis pointed to a dark section of the square. “see it? Harrison Ford’s face, the one he’s making when he says ‘we are going to die.’ Get some more dark colors in there.” “I don’t see it,” mumbled Henry. He shuffled the brightly colored pieces like an expert poker hustler, twirling 3, sometimes 4 pieces in one hand, over and through his long fingers. His left hand trembled slightly as he reached for a dark green, his cigarette barely holding onto a long snake of quivering ash. “It’s right in front of your face, idiot!” Francis practically screamed. Henry was becoming irritated at Francis’ constant niggling insistence. And the rudeness was getting out of hand. He put on what he thought was his strongest voice, and quavered, “You stop talking to me like that. You don’t want me to get my stick out again, do you?” Francis didn’t. He was suddenly quiet, remembering the last beating. He had gone unconscious for three days, and while things were always strained between Francis and Henry, the tension was noticeably worse since then. Henry’s face softened. “I think I see it! There, right?” he said, pointing with the dark green. Francis nodded, a manic smile appearing briefly. He placed the piece and filled in the details with blues, browns, and yellows. Satisfied, he leaned back and took a last puff on his cigarette, ash dropping onto his rumpled shirt. It was all he could see anymore. Not just that corner, but the matrix had taken over his little apartment. He didn’t even notice the boxes stacked up in every corner of the small room, crowding his kitchen, desk, closets, floor. He found them at garage sales, EBay, toy stores, pawn shops. What started as a hobby had silently slipped into an addiction, an obsession that cost him his job and his girlfriend. Everywhere he looked, he saw patterns – and had to capture them in light. Hot glue dribbled from the gun, which was always plugged in and ready to add the next panel. He had the colored pegs sorted in trays at his fingertips, ready to express the pictures that were so obviously there. Francis wasn’t helping. In fact, it was Francis who turned this into his life’s work. Nothing was as important as spotting the next pattern to Francis. It was he who insisted on the 2nd, then 3rd, then 120th Lite Brite set, and his idea to cover the walls with them. Lots of people talk to themselves. Not everybody gives a name to their alter egos. When they get a name, sometimes they get their own personality. Henry was aware of Francis’ growing control and autonomy, and he didn’t like it. Beating his own head with a stick brought brief relief, but he always came back. And this wall is what he had to show for it. It could be worse, Henry thought as he inserted the final peg.

Another Teevee Post

This is kinda like the ol' Teevee Dinner, where you just haul it out of the freezer, pull the foil back over the frosty mystery cherry pastry dessert, and heat for a Tasty Nutritious Meal from the Future. Yes, another drive-by tagging has occurred, and I am the latest victim. The only way to break the curse is to foist the tagging upon you, gentle reader. Then, only then will I be free of it. Thanks for your help, 'ppreciate it. 1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Multiples. Proper name after my Dutch great grandfather. Nickname after my mom's cousin. Middle name after Sean Connery. 2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Monday. 3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Yep, when I'm writing for something other than myself. I'm a draftsman, write in all caps and like it to look good. When I'm journaling, however, it's sloppy uneven bastard script/ printing that even I have trouble reciphering. 4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Pimento loaf. No, salami. No, roast beef, shaved thin. Anything with fully cooked animal parts and sacks of dextrose, and goes with firm ripe tomatoes and mayo. 5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? One of each. I'm immensely proud of them both. 6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? For a little while. Then we'd drift apart, calling infrequently with enthusiastic cries of 'We should get together more often!' 7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? No. Have trouble trusting people who do. 8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. In a jar. 9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Depends on who with and where. Victoria Falls maybe? I just don't want to be this guy. 10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Fruity Pebbles, up until recently. Got a box of Krusty O's, surprisingly good. Maple & Brown Sugar Malt-O-Meal, always the best. 11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Usually not, but sometimes. Just to mix things up. 12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Yes. Until it comes to self-control, then I'm strong like jello salad, with bits of mandarin orange and marshmallows. No coconut though. Bleah. 13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Hudsonville Moose Tracks with a sprinkle of malt powder on top. Or French Vanilla with a sprinkle of instant coffee. 14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Posture. 15. RED OR PINK? Whatfor? If you can paint it, red. If not, pink. 16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? Lack of follow-through. 17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My kids. 18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO pick up 3 pieces of feral litter today? Yep. 19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Olive pants, brown Red Wings boots. 20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? A chocolate chunk cookie, with fresh hot coffee. Breakfast of champeens. 21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The Media Player's on random, spinning one of 3570 tunes. Currently it's Kutless, Winds of Change. And the secretary chewing her breakfast. 22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? The melty green-red-blue one that's scraped out of the armrest after a long day in the sun. You might call it bruple. 23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Cut grass. Cut pine 2x4's. Fresh coffee and OJ in the morning. Old attics. The neck of someone you love. Campfires. Lilac bushes. Eucalyptus trees. 24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Coworker 25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? OMG - yes!!! 26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? The occasional football game. Or the ones that end up on "World's Worst Injuries Caught On Tape." 27. HAIR COLOR? Is 'dwindle' a color? If you're asking favorite, it's red. 28. EYE COLOR? Blue. Like the sky. Earth sky, not Martian. And not when there's a tornado coming, that's more green-brown-yellow-gray. 29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Have 'em, but prefer glasses. Which have been busted and sitting in a drawer for 3 years, doing me lots of good.The world has soft edges and blurry signs, as far as I know. 30. FAVORITE FOOD? Home cooked. Any thing that starts with 'You gotta try this!' 31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy Endings. Mostly. Hey, isn't that the name of that massage parlor down the street? 32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Die Hard IV. Entertaining, sure. Quit caring about the characters after they survived the gas plant blowing up (their 14th explosion survival) by climbing into a van, which was then tossed through a wall. Of course, they walked away from it. 33. FAVORITE FLOWER? Venus flytrap. Or dogwood blossoms. 34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer. Shirtsleeves trump parka every time. 35. HUGS OR KISSES? Kisses. Hershey's or French, again depending on who with (whom?) 36. FAVORITE DESSERT? Wordnerd's Onion Souffle. It's like savory cheesecake. O.M.G. 37. MOST LIKELY TO discover latent superpowers and save the world? JC 38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND to spam of any nature, including for products I actually buy? Me. 39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Just finished Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett. The list of his books I haven't read is growing alarmingly small, he'd better get cracking on some more books. I'm shopping for my next read tonight. 40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? A set of drawings, files, coffee cup, dual monitors, dual Aquafina bottles, ridiculously stylish desk lamp, and an assortment of formerly airborne lint. 41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT? Didn't. No teevee. No time to watch anyway, worked twice. 42. FAVORITE SOUND? I can't tell you that here. 43. FAVORITE CANDYBAR? Butterfinger Crisp, when absolutely fresh. 44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? Indonesia. 12 time zones to the west (or east) and 43 degrees south. 45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I have a pretty good BS detector, combined with a strong filter. I think lots of things that never get said. Play drums and bass, but not at the same time. I also have other powers, different from the ones previously mentioned. 46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Grand Rapids MI. They haven't named a wing of the hospital after me yet, but I'm hoping to get my name on the eyeball shelf of the spare parts closet some day. 47. WHOSE Smoking Fish tee-shirt did you get in the mail this week? My very own, with a personal note from Jeff Kay. Holy crap in a Bundt pan! OK, you are now IT, unless you did the proper ONETWOTHREENOTIT! chant, in which case you're off the hook. 18, 37, 38, and 47 are Do-It-Yourself questions, you can ask yourself anything. G'head, it's easy!

Oh Hai

Yarr, things be reeee-diculously busy around here, so I'm just poking my head in to point you in the direction of the Monkey Barn. Hyperion's orchestrating a sort of campfire story with a Harry Potter theme, and I for one am interested to see how it turns out. I contributed a chapter, and a bunch of other Barners are too. Go! See! Have a nice day! I'll quit bossing you around now!

Feedbag

I was up all night again last night. Can anyone tell my why microwaved pizza rolls are so very gross, all leathery and oozing molten mystery goo that tastes vaguely freezerpizzalike, but after the 3rd one you get a craving for the rest of the box? I'm sure they'd be reasonably tasty if toasted properly in a real heat oven, but I was at once disgusted and enthralled by these highly nutrutious lil' suckers. And no, it was not a case of the munchies, simply lunch. Real dinner last night was something I'd never concocted before, but boy oh boy was it some kind of spot-hitting good. I had a pair of round steaks defrosted, and had to cook 'em up. I'd planned on grilling or broiling, but got no grill and I've no experience broiling. No proper veggies for a stir-fry. Rooting around in the larder, I found some bleu cheese, potatoes, onions, and yon steaks. Sliced a pocket in the steaks, stuffed in some cheese (a very carnal experience, that), and set it all to fry... 15 minutes later, the yummiest of quickdishes. Leftovers will be just as good. I watched someone dump 15 (fifteen!) liquid creamers into a 16 ounce coffee this morning. Then added a shot of 'cappuccino' (the powdered machine-made fake sugary stuff) to the mix, and a small handful of ice. In my first office job (a draftsman for a church architecture outfit), I started having coffee every day. It'd be doctored up very precisely, with 1 1/2 sugars and a splash of cream. It HAD to be the right color, or t'were no good. Several years later, I started to realize there were just to many variables to manage, and more hassle than enjoyment. It's crap like that which taught me to drink my coffee black. That way, I'm in & out, no waiting, nobody making faces at me, no mess to clean up - and the bonus is that I can actually tell if the coffee's any good. Turns out I like good coffee. Any particular way you have to have your coffee (or tea)?

137

This is my 137th post. Why is that number significant? It ain't. I just wondered how many I've done here, so now we all know. Remember the bug story from the other day - the moth that invaded my personal space? That was nothin'. I was riding home on a very hot, very windy Tuesday. I parked my bike in the garage and noticed something prickly in my leather jacket, on the sleeve. Nothing new, as there is a mesh liner with some Velcro which sometimes pokes at my bare skin. But it kept poking me, so I tried to adjust the sleeve while unbuckling my helmet. That didn't help; in fact it got worse. I made it to the door, with neighbors watching as I dropped my backpack and jacket and began beating the sleeve against the wall. I had collected a very angry wasp up my sleeve somewhere in the last 2 miles of my commute. The little bastard stung me 8 times on the soft, frogbelly white underside of my forearm. Never found it, I think she survived to sting again. If you see one, squish it for me, won't you?

Patience

I'm late.

Okay, so last month Wordsmiths Unlimited came back online. And I was all excited, since I love that outfit and I'm a big fan of the idea, the creative fun, and reading all the concoctions that come of it from other writers. It's like a chili cook-off without the beer, pain, or flatulence.

And then I watched the deadline come and go. I've got lots going on, sure, but I still hate being late.

Rather than mope about it and offer a weak shrug and "Oh well, there's always next month," I figured I'd write the story I'd half-baked when there was still time.

For those new to the premise: The Wordsmiths come up with a photo and a challenge. You write a 500 word (or less) story to go with it. Open to all. Easy peasy, right?

Patience The creak of old rope was barely audible over the gentle thrash of surf. A crackle and pop, then the rattle of various tools as one of them rose from his hammock. "Think it's a good year?" "Hard t' tell, they cert'ny look hardy enough. But sometimes the runts surprise you." The younger one packed up buckets and toolboxes with ziploc bags full of multi colored tags, a tagging gun, shovels, and a large knife. His floppy tan hat flapped about his ears in the breeze. The older one stayed in his hammock, greasy hat pulled over his eyes, a toothpick wobbling around under the brim. A hairy foot hung out one side, lazily rocking his large frame back and forth. "Boy, that was a good hatch. Did you see how many made it? It was better than the year they put up nets, so many got in! Those ‘no trespassing’ signs sure cut down on traffic, we practically have the place to ourselves!" "Yep," came the grunted reply. Too much talking could ruin a good afternoon, he thought. "Well, I s'pose it's time to git," he said as he hefted himself upright. He took the large cast iron pot off the tripod and set it in the sand, doused the embers, and took another spoonful of soup. “Sure did turn out good this year, I think 40’s about the right number.” They were here every year at this time, a tradition going back three generations. The turtles would hatch, they would tag as many as they could and observe weather and predator activity for the university, and then they would enjoy dinner on the beach. They earned a small stipend for their work, but the perk they looked forward to most was the meal. The older man covered the pot and hoisted it into the pickup, strapping it in. He tucked a red plastic tag in his pocket, and tossed a large empty shell in the cab. The sun set over the beach as a herd of new turtles swam deeper into the ocean. Many were picked off by much larger, hungrier creatures who were expecting them. One finally made it to a safe resting place in the brave new world. He was sporting a shiny new red tag.

So Much Interest

Since Hypnotoad is getting more comments than I ever did, here's more. And, in case you didn't know, it's no fun to catch a bat in your full-face space helmet while cruising down the boulevard. Okay, maybe it wasn't technically a bat, but it did have a wingspan and batlike color and silent flight. And when it crawled along my chin to have a look outside, I freaked out like my face was stuck in a hot oven full of bees. The mothbat nonchalantly flew away, and that was that. I have more exciting bug encounters, I'll tell you about those next time. Got any YOU'D like to share, to set the mood?

Shorty McShorterson

Cuppa tings as I speed through on my way to enormous productivity: Last week there was a Fark animation contest for all the Photoshop wizards. Some really good and inventive stuff there, but this one really got stuck in my head. If you've lurked in Photoshop contests before, the jokes will make more sense... but still worth a visit! Hyperion asked about Hypnotoad... I'm not hardly clever enough to make that up, but thanks for thinking I could. A brief summary is here (Wiki knows all). All glory to Hypnotoad! I'm here to serve, baby. Have a great day!

Spiffytown Times

Well, it HAS been a while, hasn't it.

I've missed the community of bloggy friends and daily visits and ongoing commentaries. Here's a snippet of what I've been up to, no guarantees of any sort of regularity for now... but the daily post isn't coming back for the near future. Still no computer at the apartment, and there is no shortage of overtime to be done working on real work. I was assigned a project on Friday, and asked if it was another hot job. "They're all hot," said the boss.

So, I'm here on a Saturday to try to keep up and wedge in a little post.

A cuppa two tree weeks ago I had yet another trip out east to deal with a project that hadn't died yet. We started it in '05. Final final inspection, and my presence was required. We passed with flying colors, having gotten the inspector, the GC's new personnel, our installer, and our customer all on the same page. The success was overwhelmed by spectacularly bad performance by NWA (aka Nincompoops With Airplanes) yet again. This time it was a legitimate weather problem in my destination, but still... Is it normal to load 150 passengers on an airplane, let them sit a half hour (or until it gets up to appropriate temperature to bake a cinnamon roll, whichever comes first), then unload them, then do it twice more? After that, is it normal to leave the gate to the cheers of all hardy souls who haven't made alternative plans, then sit on the tarmac for 3 hours?

Naturally, all connections were broken. I got to spend quality time in Detroit's Metro Airport again... hours' worth. That's a long-ass airport, with a train running the length of Terminal A. I went to the rebooking gates, but the line stretched all the way past the mid-terminal shops and bars. With an average of 10 minutes per customer, and at least 180 people in line, I figured it'd be better to walk home. Or rent a car, either way. I went up to the nearest gate with an agent and asked if there were any flights to Grand Rapids. He said yes, it was at gate 76 - at the end of the terminal. I finally arrived there 10 minutes later to find the gate had been changed to gate 41, right next door to the rebooking gates. At least the agent at 76 got me a seat before sending me packing again, near the front of the plane. And there was time to have a beer in the only open bar. The plane arrived, it was actually going to leave the airport, and I discovered my seat was in THE front row, 1st class. It was my only time riding with The Privileged Class (did you know 'privilege' means 'private law?' Thanks Terry Pratchett). The flight attendants are way friendlier up front, and they give you snacks and free alcohol if you want it. Even if the 26 minute flight doesn't allow beverage service in the main cabin (where the peasants ride).

One good flight out of four ain't bad... is it?

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I've put 1000 miles on the motorcycle since I got it. Everyone I know who has a bike has a story of near-death experiences, but I hoped to be the exception. Last night I decided it'd be a good idea to wear a flashing neon light after a car pulled up behind me in the left-turn lane rather fast. In fact, it pulled up so fast the tires screeched as it stopped centimeters from my taillight. I forgot momentarily that the thing has an engine and tried to paddle it out of the way by foot, like an overturned turtle.

In all the experience has been awesome (nevermind the bug collection on my shirt and knees). The smell of freshly mowed hay in the morning (it's much better before it goes through cows), the subtle changes in temperature I find sailing through forested areas, and the up-close sensation of speed are immensely gratifying. So far I haven't had to ride in the rain, but I got a rain suit just in case a July blizzard pops up. Could happen here.

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I'm working overnights at the local Kwikee Mart to pay the new bills. It's changed my outlook about humanity: People are gross. Folks dumping Squishees all over the place, dropping litter as soon as they go out the door, and thieves of all stripes are highly irritating to me. Not to mention lazy or careless coworkers - or manager (the guy could win a Worst Customer Service Ever Award).

Although, the drunk people have been highly amusing. There are plenty every night, but especially on Thursdays. The store is at the entrance of the largest apartment complex in Michigan (around 1700 units), so the variety of humanity is stunning. Lots of regulars, but folks just passing through need their Squishee fix too. And when they get sloppy drunk and stagger around the shop, it's usually great fun for at least one of us.

One couple was walking around for 20 minutes. The hippie chick was just screaming about the prices of sammiches and candy bars. She was smiling the whole time, but badgering her highly pierced guy friend about every item he touched. She sashayed around in her ragged dress and silver bangles and hemp necklaces, unsatisfied with everything but laughing at it all. Finally their last item was on the counter, and the guy announced that he was gonna turn gay. She shrugged, paid for the stuff, and they left the store. I turned to get some coffee, and I heard her peek in the door and shout, "Hey, Mr. Slurpee Man!" I looked, and she had her tank top over her head, dancing like she was collecting beads on Bourbon Street.

I wasn't sure how to respond, so I gave her a friendly wave and they were gone. The hippies too. I observed that my rack is bigger, to my double dismay.

More drunk people and boobie stories to come, but I must go...

Won't you tell me what you've been up to in the last weekerso?