The Firkroy Zone

A note to all of my idealist friends:

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 17 Aug 2012 17:51:00 +0000

If you want the world to be the perfect place that you have in your mind then follow these steps to get there from here:

Take a realistic look at the world for what it really is.
Listen to information from sources that you don’t normally get it from.
Stop demonizing people who have different views than your own.
Have pleasant conversations with people who have different views, and try and understand where they are coming from.
Start questioning your beliefs, and check to see if they are factually accurate. The truth can’t hurt you.
The world is the way it is today because of things that happened yesterday. Pay attention to history.
Problems in the world have a root cause, and those causes usually aren’t what you think. For example if a person is sick with cancer you may think that cancer is the root cause, but why the person got cancer in the first place is the real root cause.

Why did I write this? Because I think the world would be a better place if people started thinking about what they say and do, and stopped relying on others to think for them. If everyone started doing this then the world would become closer to the perfect place I would want it to be. But I’m not an idealist so I won’t hold my breath.

What's with that Daryl Chronicles thing?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 25 May 2012 20:06:00 +0000

Writing covers a huge gambit of expression and functional need. Everyone knows that there is a big difference between reading a medical journal, Dr. Seuss, The Wall Street Journal, and a paperback novel. I think writing can be one of two things. Functional like a news story, commentary, of how to do something. Or creative, as in Poetry, or story telling. I'm probably over simplifying but you can beat me up later if you really feel the need to.

The Daryl Chronicles is a way for me to write with my imagination and to tell an off the wall story. Simply put it's fun to do. Am I trying to please anyone? No, I'm not. If someone like it then great! It's always nice to have someone like something you have done. But I'm really trying to just write the story that is stuck in my head, and to put it out in a way that I myself like. Does that mean I won't listen to what anyone has to say about it? Nope. I view it as a journey where as you get better as you go along, input helps you look at it in a different way.

Right now I have been posting my episodes on Expats Post but I do have plans for the story and have been thinking about grouping episodes together then putting them on Scribd and other places so people can read them on their e-readers and computers, and more focusing what I'm writing to niche audiences.

I'm going to start using this blog for more that just my articles going forward please feel free to drop me a note.
Dan

Weekends Are A Blast!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 23:49:00 +0000

The weekend started with a blast! My neighbor Daryl blasting 70s music from his car radio that is, and no Daryl to be found. I didn’t see his rusty step van / shuttle craft sitting around, and being from outside of this world Daryl probably got an urgent call from the mother ship. My other theory was that there was a beer festival, or a weirdo convention someplace that he had to rush to. I think I’ll go with the mother ship explanation.

The rest of Saturday was a rollercoaster ride of grocery shopping, the library, little league, and ending with me bringing my boys to sing at a gala charity event. I felt a little under dressed as I watched them perform in my shorts, and sweaty T-shirt but we barely had time to get the boys changed after a baseball game, and unfortunately I was still in my baseball watching duds. They enjoyed singing to the –half paying attention- group of wine sippers, and I’m glad the crowd was drinking it up because their money was going to support autistic kids. I think my boys enjoyed being at the ritzy affair even for a short while, but as we were walking back to the car they inexplicably started bugging me about buying them cake. Fortunately for me in my rush to get them to the event I left my wallet sitting on my desk at home, so no cake today! All I wanted to do is go home and sit down; sometimes kids have to give dad a break.

Sunday started off with the usual Sunday newspaper comics, and a cup-O-Joe. I then move on to other news, like the story about the 40 pound cat. At first I shook my head and then I remembered I had a cat named Bear, he was a mild mannered black cat that was great with kids but had an eating disorder. Other cats would stop eating when they were full but not Bear, that cat could really put away the kibble. One day I actually saw him get stuck in the cat door while he was trying to chase some feline interloper, he made it through the door but it wasn’t pretty. Bear was a hearty cat, and one day I accidentally backed over him with my car! He survived, and I rushed him to the cat emergency room, and after several hundred dollars in X-rays they couldn’t find anything wrong with him. He was a bit crooked for a while but he was OK. I just loved that cat.

“He took your stuff, he took your stuff!” is the sound of Sunday morning in my house. Sundays is when my 12 year old talks to his friend -who is in Sweden- on Skype while they work together in an online game called Minecraft. His 8 year old brother is his cheerleader as he makes his way through the imaginary world they are playing in.

“How much pork do you have? And how many arrows?” he shouts. I take two ibuprofen tablets and decide to do some writing. The sound of a blender mixing waffle batter also enters into the noise.

The words “I’ve got a set of gills too, and guys we are going to have to stay together” echoes in my brain.

“Can you refill my coffee cup?” I ask my lovely spouse as she takes her turn working in the kitchen. I did the dish cleanup to get everything ready for her waffle making.

“No I’m not shooting at you I’m trying to hit the spiders! Oops, sorry I think I hit you with an arrow senior” hit’s my brain.

The timer is set for one more hour and I kick them off of the computer so they can enjoy the beautiful warm spring day, being a cave trolls at the keyboard is not an option. To drown out all of this noise, I have my ear buds in listening to the old 70s group “Heart.” My wife is in Graduate school and has me proofreading her papers, ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz. “Coffee, fill er up stat!” I say as I try and keep my brain from daydreaming about fun things like sandy beaches and drinks with little umbrellas in them while I'm proof reading.

I received a political advertisement for Matthew Robinson on Saturday, and was looking at it Sunday morning. I had compared Matthew to Opie Taylor in “Opie for Congress! And Other Batshit Crazy News!” and was wondering when I would see some of his Koch brothers funded advertisements. When it arrived Saturday I immediately scanned it and sent the picture of Opie –Matthew- to a gentleman named Bob who is making a film. He was searching for a larger picture and this was serendipity. I’m helping to spread the word about the Robinson -whack job- duo and their quest to feed me radiation. The funny thing is that I actually agree with one of his talking points in the flyer. Apparently he believes in only using our military to protect our country in case it’s attacked; which I basically agree with. But, he and papa Robinson also want to balance the budget by cutting out school funding, and putting senior citizens in poverty. I think they have been sampling way too much radioactive waste over at the Robinson household.

Sundays have always been my favorite day of the week, Saturdays are busy but Sundays always seem more peaceful especially when you get to sit outside and read under a big umbrella in the sunshine. In the evening the doors were still open, and a chorus of a thousand and one frogs could be heard emanating from the yard down below. I saw two garter snakes today, and our little dog visited my neighbor next door, not Daryl but Daryl’s buddy, you know the one who threw fish on my roof. She barked at him for a while before crawling under the fence when I called her to come back home. She gave him a good talking to; it’s funny how people seem to get what you deserve sometimes.

The weekend is now over and the kids are in school. Spring has sprung, so I don my tool belt and start swinging my hammer. I have a room to finish, half a house to paint, and endless other things to do. If I see Daryl I’ll let you know, and for some reason I have a feeling he’s up to no good.

In Case You Haven't Heard, Mondays Suck!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 16:36:00 +0000

Garfield the cat has always warned us about Mondays, but has anyone listened? Nope, I don't think so. But it's the truth, they suck, and they especially suck when you get two in a row. How can you get two Mondays in a row? Monday is a sneaky bastard, when it's a holiday, or even an extra day off from school. Tuesday then fills in for Monday. So sometimes you get two, count' em two, Mondays in one week.

Monday was a real bastard this week. Monday was the last day of Spring break for the rest of the family. Preparations had to be made for Tuesday, the first day back from a week off. This in turn made Tuesday a Monday. But Monday is a hog and couldn't just let it go this week, as it had to have both days. So while I was out getting ready for Tuesday, (the real Monday), Monday reared it's ugly head to show everyone who's boss. After the boys urged me to wash my Chevy Blazer because it sat under a tree for a week that made it dirty, I caved in and went to the car wash. Monday wasn't happy with me cleaning my rig Monday needed to take down a Toyota Prius.

Now you may have heard me call the drivers of the Hybrid gas and electric cars “Pious Prius drivers,” but I'm going to have to take it back this time. With my Blazer still dripping from it's car wash I decided to try to make a left turn onto one of the south bound lanes of a busy 4 lane road that had a turning lane in the middle. Monday decided that it would complicate things, and as I pulled out to turn all Hell broke loose. Monday made a driver decide to turn into the lane I was to go through, Monday turned the driver behind him into a speeding maniac, and made a south bound Prius appear from nowhere all at the same time. With very little time to react I hit the Prius with the corner of my right bumper.

The driver of the other car made it to the curb, and I followed and parked behind him. I screwed up, mainly because I shouldn't have tried to go left at that spot in the first place. He was simply traveling down the road, and I hit his car. I waited for traffic to clear and opened my door. I noticed that I had a dent in my bumper and that was about it. Not a big deal at all, but his car was a mess. His front end was messed up, and his driver's door was crunched.

The other driver got out of his car. He was a gentleman that looked to be in his 60s, and he headed to the sidewalk where I was standing. I started apologizing profusely. Everyone was OK, the man was smiling and told me “don't beat yourself up it was just an accident.” But I kept thinking I shouldn't have made a left in that spot and should have gone right and figured out how to turn around someplace. We exchanged information, and even had a witness show up. My kids couldn't help themselves and had to get out onto the sidewalk and see what happened. They were fine, everyone was fine, and Monday had it's big laugh.

I mentioned that my insurance agent was just down the street, and I suggested that we head there and just take care of everything at once. The driver of the Prius agreed, and we paid a visit to my insurance agent of many years. She was on the phone when we arrived but was off shortly afterwards and I explained to her what had happened. She was fantastic, she gave us accident forms to fill out that she would mail to the DMV for us, and started taking care of my victim. She even recommended a body shop for him to visit. If I had to run into someone this was the guy I wanted to run into. I apologized some more, we shook hands, and he headed to his car. I chatted with my insurance agent a bit about my overall coverage then headed home.

After using a couple tie straps on the plastic of my bumper I finished my errands with the boys. We headed to Wendy's hamburgers for lunch, and I broke my no beef eating diet just this once. The rest of the day was fine, but Monday was waiting for me again on Tuesday.

No, I didn't crash into anything Tuesday morning, but 6:30 a.m. felt like it crashed into my head. I was used to getting up late for the week of Spring break, and now here I was having some coffee and making breakfast for everyone, lunches for the three that had to go to school, and starting off my week in a daze. This morning actually felt more like Monday, and I have way too many things to do. If only I could deal with it like Garfield and put a blanket over my head and sleep through it. It was a frantic morning but then with everyone gone I had my serenity.

I took time to relish the one triumph that I had on Monday. I found the right mixture of boric acid, sugar, and water to wipe out my ant problem. I placed the mixture right on their trail in a small dish, then the pesky little buggers drank it down like tainted Kool-aid. They took doggy bags back to their queen, then died later from lack of insect Pepto-Bismol. BWAHAHA, I am an Ant Bully! It serves them right crawling into my box of granola, and just for your information ants taste like crap.

“Die you little bastards die! BWAHAHAHA!”

As a Chihuahua uses me as a ladder to get down from the back of the sofa I am thankful. Instead of telling Monday to stick it, I'm going to use this hour to write before I start working on my daily drudgery and I'll ask Monday to be kind to me. I'll buy it a doughnut if it's good. I'll write praise for Monday and stop condemning it.

Nah! Monday can stick it where the sun doesn't shine! Up yours Monday! Pfffffffft!

I'm a dead man.

Dan's A#1 sugar ant killing sauce:

Make a mixture of:

1 cup water
2 cups sugar
2 tablespoons boric acid

Mix and serve. It takes a couple of days for them to fill up and croak.

Opie for Congress! And Other Batshit Crazy News!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 19 Mar 2012 16:22:00 +0000

You may remember Art Robinson from my travel guide to Lane County Oregon. Well he's at it again! Art, also known as Old Fart Robinson, ran for congress as a Republican a couple of years back. Art, a self proclaimed expert on nuclear waste, had stated that “a little nuclear radiation is good for you.” He lost to the incumbent Pete DeFazio. It's election time again and the “Old Fart” will be running again but this time he has a devilish plan. Art's plan involves his son Matthew Robinson, (with a striking resemblance to Opie Taylor) who will be running against DeFazio in the Democratic primary. Art's plan for Republicans involves them changing party affiliation to Democratic to vote for his son. If Matthew won, then Art could run against his son instead of DeFazio. Call me nutty, but I would think any self respecting Republican would have enough integrity not to go along with such an overtly dirty plan. I can only conclude that Art thinks people are stupid. The Koch brothers, who are hell bent on having the world run by crazy people, are financing both “Old Fart's” and “Opie's” campaigns, so we should be seeing many, many, many, bulletin boards, Facebook ads, and magnetic signs on car doors representing these two yahoos. I'm turning green just thinking about it.

Speaking of green, I'm writing this on Saint Patrick's day and there's nothing more appropriate than a good beer, and a shot of Jameson. Well, many of our local drivers have been warming up for Saint Patty's day by drinking a few too many pints of Guinness and crashing their cars into stationary objects. On March 5th a car slams into a house, and on March 7th a car runs into a tree, but last Thursday a drunk smashed into the Serenity Lane substance abuse treatment center. There were a couple more drivers that ran into trees and traffic poles, but running into Serenity Lane has got to take the cake. I'm guessing the driver had blurred vision and saw “Abusive Substances are a Treat,” and was just stopping in for free samples. I'm sure all of these drivers are feeling pretty miserable right about now, and are probably out tyeing one on to drown out their misery. Telephone poles should be very afraid about now.

In other Old Fart news, do you remember Harold Camping, the California preacher that hustled money from people to put up billboards all over the country proclaiming the end of the world? He predicted Christ would come and get him and other followers on May 21st of 2011. Well, the world didn't end, and it didn't end on his revised date either. It didn't end on any of his revised dates. Anyway, the 90 year old preacher is giving it up and asking God for forgiveness for the sin of trying to predict Judgment day. I wonder why he bothers, as very soon he should be able to tell God personally.

Ah, here is a nice piece of news. Marilyn Hagerty of North Dakota is an Internet sensation after writing a glowing review of The Olive Garden in the Grand Forks Herald. She normally reviews such fine establishments as Kentucky Fried Chicken and Subway Sandwich shops, but this time she was going for a classier establishment. She was surprised when her review went viral and stated “I don't get it, I mean, I'm sitting here minding my own business yesterday morning, trying to get my Friday column finished off so I could play bridge. And all of the sudden, all Hell breaks loose.” I envy Marilyn, and maybe I should start reviewing big chain restaurants. I'm heading over to McDonald's later for a McSalad. Do you think if I gave a glowing review of that dressing squeezed out of the packet my review would go viral? I can only hope.

In the category of “Can you be a bigger Dumb Ass than this” news, bigamy and Facebook don't mix. The headline read “Facebook “friend” offer reveals that man has more than one wife.” Facebook, in it's effort to connect users through “friends” they may know, lead two Washington women to finding out that they were married to the same man. This lead to Alan L. O'Neill, a corrections officer, being slapped with bigamy charges. Wife #1 went to wife #2's Facebook page and saw her husband with another woman and a wedding cake. BUSTED!

That's all the news I have for now. Have a great day.

BBQ Tofu, Onion, and Pepper Burritos

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 17 Mar 2012 02:00:00 +0000

I've been changing my diet more toward being almost completely vegetarian and I thought I would share with you a burrito I invented that is pretty yummy.

Ingredients:

2 onions
2 cloves of garlic
Soy Sauce (I use low sodium)
1 Red Pepper
1 cup of water
Burrito size tortillas
1 container of firm Tofu
BBQ sauce

I takes a day to prepare the Tofu so I will go over that first. Drain all of the water out of the container of Tofu. Place the Tofu brick between layers of paper towels, then place a heavy weight on top. Here are instructions for doing it. I use a frying pan with a tea kettle full of water. It's important to do this so the Tufu will soak up the liquid from the marinade.

While the Tufu is being drained of water finely chop onion and mince the garlic and add it to about 1/4 cup of soy sauce to make the marinade.

When the Tufu is ready slice it into about 1/4 inch slices. Place the slices into a bowl or plastic bag with the marinade and let it soak overnight.

Warm your oven to 280 degrees Fahrenheit, spray an oven pan lightly with oil then place Tufu strips into the oven flipping them when they are brown. It should take about an hour to dry out the moisture from the Tofu. Cut the Tofu into the desired size and had a coating of BBQ sauce, mix then it's ready.

Dice the remaining onion and green pepper and place into a pot with the one cup of water. Boil the onion and peppers until they are tender.

Place the pepper and onions onto tortillas with the BBQed Tofu and roll into a burrito.

Enjoy!

Batshit Crazy! And Firkroy News

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 21:44:00 +0000

have said it before and I'll say it again, my neighbor Daryl is a batshit crazy nut job.

Now before you jump all over me for being unfair, I will say this. I've seen Daryl come to the rescue of a spider walking on the back of his sofa, and one year he actually gave away the same kind of squash he has rotting on the berm in front of his house. But when was it that I decided that Daryl indeed was a crazy SOB? Was it when he cut all of the limbs halfway up his trees, and then spent months running three wood chippers in his front yard? No, that wasn't it. Was it the solar panel that's attached to a car battery that runs his boom box in his front yard? No that wasn't it either. “So when the hell was it Dan, AKA Firkroy!?” You may be asking yourself right now. Well let me tell you, it was when the glowing grid of lights that crisscross his so called front yard illuminated for the first time. Of course the Christmas lights running back and forth on the cargo rack of his Toyota minivan did add to my opinion, and the glowing orb on his flag pole, and the other glowing orbs on the roof of his house. I'm still waiting to see the minivan lights glow, but I'm sure I will see them glow soon. What the hell are you waiting for Daryl? Make em glow baby!

OK, so now your asking yourself “Didn't you say Daryl was a space alien Firkroy!?” Yes I did make that statement, I truly did, and I stand by it. Daryl is a batshit crazy alien dropped off on our planet because he annoyed his neighbors in the Alpha Centauri star system. The glowing grid of lights in his front yard are a pitiful attempt at trying to get his fellow ETs to pick him back up. Of course they simply say “pffft, Fat chance!” but he still feels he has to try.

What I'm still trying to figure out is if his wife is an alien agent put here on earth to make sure he doesn't get out of hand, or just a codependent earthling who hasn't gotten enough therapy to allow herself to leave yet. Well if she's an alien agent put here to keep him in line then she's failing miserably. So she must be a codependent batshit crazy human! Batshit crazy or not I wish that she would put a leash on her man. In reality other than her inability to control her crazy alien mate, she does seem to be the sane one in the house.

OK, on to other batshit crazy stuff. Today's The Register Guard had a story entitled “Free-spirited mayor shakes up small Washington town.” And below the title it read: “The pony-tailed, pot-smoking leader is feeling some resistance.” Mayor Eric Strawn of Tenino Washington wears Bob Marley T-shirts, streams reggae music from his laptop, and has a medical marijuana card. He gets paid $600 per month as mayor and works at a beef-slaughtering plant. When asked about his work at the plant he said “People ask me. 'Oh, you kill cows?' I say 'I just cut their heads off.' It's a job that has to be done.” Strawn wrote a proclamation honoring military veterans from Tenino but Dawna Kelly-Donohue a city counselor of 14 years let loose with an email about his grammar stating it was full of grammatical and contextual errors. Strawn fired back at her email message by stating that she had written “a metaphorically troglodytic message to the new Mayor.” I guess he's adding a new bike/skateboard/basketball area to the city park, cool. I love small town politics.

In Deer Park Texas a sting operation on the police department break room netted one of their own. Officer Keven Yang was caught on tape stealing his fellow officers food and drinks from the break room refrigerator. Yang was suspended for 30 days without pay for the thefts. When questioned Yang said he was merely taking it upon himself to clean out the old items from the fridge. Maybe he shouldn't have used his mouth as a garbage disposal.

In Hendersonville North Carolina a man had his entire $49,000 venomous snake and lizard collection confiscated. The authorities found out about the reptiles when Walter Kid was hospitalized after being bitten by one of them. When the police inspected his house they found the reptiles stored in unmarked Tupperware containers. Kidd's attorney stated that they weren't a danger because he kept them at his home. But I would have to agree with the authorities that mixing up a container that contained a Cobra with yesterday's meatloaf could be a problem.
In other North Carolina news, I want to send my condolences to the family of Gary Banning of Havelock who accidentally drank gasoline from a jar sitting by his kitchen sink. After taking a gulp he spit out what was left in his mouth and got gasoline on his clothing. This was upsetting for Mr. Banning so he went outside to have a smoke... he will be missed.

That's all of the batshit crazy stuff I have for now, have a great day.

EXTREME FIRKROY! TO THE MAAAaaax...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 19:38:00 +0000

Make sure to say “TO THE MAAAaaax” in a very low voice.

While visiting Scott's Bikes & Boards last week I was reminded of 1975 and summer days in Portland. My cousin Casey and I were skateboard enthusiasts and spent much of our summer careening down Mt. Tabor on our boards. Many times we did it the scary way by laying on our backs like present day street luge riders. I remember thinking to myself at the time that I was only 2 inches from the pavement, and it would hurt if I lost it, but I just concentrated harder on staying on. We also had races down the volcanic cinder cone that is Tabor in a catamaran style. We did this by sitting on our boards and then placing our feet on our partner's. We raced as teams to see who could make it to the bottom first. The closed off reservoir road that we used ended at a road that cars traveled on. We would all stick out our thumbs and catch rides in the backs of passing pickup trucks that were going up. We didn't wear helmets, and I ripped more than one pair of blue Levi's cords in pursuit of my thrills.

I was also a bicycle fanatic and loved taking my bike everywhere. I had a series of banana seat clad Schwinns and Huffys when I was a kid, and I've kept bicycles in my life to this day, but my love for two wheels branched off when I decided I wanted to ride motorcycles. When I was 16 the only thing I could convince my dad into letting me have was a Honda trail 70 with folding handlebars. I took it into the woods and did some serious exploring with it. My neighbor Jeff also had one and many times we would ride together. I remember having my cousin Casey on the back one day when a coyote jumped out from the brush and started running beside us. I didn't think we looked like a road runner, but I suppose coyotes only chase road runners in cartoons.

When I left home all bets were off and I started buying and riding anything I wanted. I owned dirt bikes, and street bikes, I wanted to experience it all. One winter I decided to purchase a Honda 350 from a friend in Phoenix Arizona. I flew out and spent a few days in Phoenix, then rode the Honda 700 miles back to Sacramento California. I was freezing my butt off going over the Grape Vine on Interstate 5 just north of the Las Angeles sprawl. In the years to come I didn't let bad weather slow my motorcycling down, and I remember commuting on Interstate 880 in the bay area of California in the middle of winter riding my 85 Kawasaki ZL 600 Eliminator. I would wear a bright yellow rain suit and put a gallon of Rain-X water repellent on the inside of the windshield of my helmet. I remember cutting through cars one day when traffic was stalled (legal in California) and having a guy in a pickup truck roll down his window and spit on me as I went buy; good thing it was raining. I rode the ZL 600 on that same road coming home at 110 miles per hour one day, the cars that I passed seemed to be sitting still, but the bike was running smooth with only a slight long wobble caused by the windshield. I suppose I could have gone even faster but I didn't want to push it.

About 10 years ago I owned my last motorized two wheeled vehicle, it was a Yamaha 250 scooter like Tom Hanks rode in the movie Larry Crowne. My wife wouldn't let me get anything larger, but if it made her happy I was happy too. I rode that scooter every day to work rain or shine, except when it was icy, I finally gave it up but it was a lot of fun. Now that I'm at that age where I need to exercise or rot, so I've been concentrating on my first love, my bicycle.

Looking for a bottle of chain oil for my Fuji Hybrid was the reason for going into Scott's Bikes & Boards the other day. I had a great conversation with the tattoo clad skater that was managing the store at the time. They had some beautiful long boards and I found myself longing to get on and cruise down Mt. Tabor. We had a nice conversation about each other's knee surgeries and I decided that careening down Mt. Tabor at this point in my life wasn't a good idea. The chain oil he sold me rocked! Well as much as chain oil can rock, but it does repel water and grime like a champ. I purchased a yellow rain jacket over at Bi-Mart to round out my foul weather riding attire. I'm not going to let a little rain stop me from getting the anti-rotting exercise that I need.

I would like to get a couple more bikes at some point. I need a mountain bike to ride with my older son on the dirt trails, and a tandem to use with my younger son, and my wife. I think my legs falling off would be the only thing that would ever stop me from riding bicycles. My motorcycle days may well be over but I've been fascinated by 3 wheeled Piaggio scooters as of late, but I don't think one is in the cards anytime soon. Having some maturity is one of the good things about having your first kid at 40, and not being bug squash is important these days; my boys deserve to grow up with a dad.

Miraculously, my boys didn't inherit my thrill seeking genes, it's one less thing I have to worry about as they grow up. Instead I have to worry about the little pack of girls that seems to be following my 12 year old around. My wife has been giving him the low down on wild adolescent girls, and I've been doing my part in filling him on what his life would look like being a dad at 14. Hopefully he's been inoculated against stupidity. But the thing about stupidity is that resistance requires frequent booster shots.

Lucky for me, I survived my bouts of 110 Mph stupidity.

All of My Groupies

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 23:03:00 +0000

You would think with a title like that I would be talking about my panty throwing fans, and I suppose if I had any panty throwing fans then even I would be a little surprised. But panty throwers isn't what I want to talk about.

After sitting here at midnight watching two snails crawl around a lettuce leaf placed in our fish tank, my thoughts turn to all of the different groups of people I connected with today. My interactions varied, and my head had to switch gears with every group. It was like riding a bicycle in the Tour de Pants of the brain, but without having to wear tight pants.

I spent time today with a group of people who I've never met in person, but I've know some of these people for over 15 years. I started playing the multi-player game called Subspace on my brand new Windows 95 running computer in 1997. “Meet people from around the world... then kill them” has been their motto forever. But if you think I'm talking about a game where gibs. (short for giblets) are splatting on the computer screen then you would be wrong, this game involves little space ships like the early video game Asteroids. You team up with players and shoot the little ships of the opposing teams with your little ship, and when you blow up, you get a fresh little ship. The game is very social with people talking to each other constantly, and about any subject. There is a lot of smack talk, but you also get to meet and talk to people from everywhere. Players have names like “Axe Demento,” “The Prince of Pain,” and “Mr. Bhole.” I'm known as “A Boomstick!” in the game, and am known for my witty retorts to noodle brains that don't know how to use the English language. Noodle brains like to communicate using text messaging shorthand words like STFU noob, lmfao, and OMG. I actually changed my name in the game from “Firkroy” to “A Boomstick!” sometime back because of the online column that I created and subsequent blog. I didn't want stupid people following me around the Internet, and I think a few of them have a grudge. Which brings me to my next group, The Expats.

The Expats is my writing group that ultimately came together after we simultaneously had a Popeye the Sailor moment and declared “That's all I can stands, cuz I can't stands n'more!” with an online website where we originally met. We ate our spinach, and then like washed ashore shipwreck survivors we had a gathering on Facebook. It was amazing how much we all clicked together. Our love for writing, and more importantly, writing with integrity created a stronger bond than I think anyone could have imagined. I couldn't have asked for a greater community of writers to hang out with. They give me inspiration every day to be more creative, and the confidence I need to move forward. I just love this eclectic group!

Another group that I just recently started working with is Oregon Veterans' Heart. Formerly the Eugene chapter of Veterans for Peace, this group of veterans is committed to making a real difference in our community for veterans. They are involved in the Egan warming center that provides shelter for the homeless when it gets cold , and with the Truth in Recruiting program through the Community Alliance of Lane County. The goal is to counter the misinformation that military recruiters share with students, and to promote alternatives to military service. Veterans' Heart is one part of my lifetime journey of self understanding and healing after my 15 year involvement with the U.S. Military. I volunteered to create a website that is still in the works, and to help with other activities. It gives me great comfort being around people who understand how I feel, and who care so much about others. There is a communal knowledge that runs through us, and an understanding about what each of us has gone through. Sometimes it just feels nice to be around people who understand.

Another journey in my life started when I found out I was a parent of a child with autism. Membership in this group was free, and doing everything in my power for my child was the only option. We have networked with many parents who also have children with similar challenges, and have embarked on a lifetime of learning about the unique person who is my son. We support great programs like Bridgeway House in Eugene Oregon that serves the needs of children with autism and related developmental disabilities while educating and supporting their families. They put on a play once a year, that is not a fund raiser, but rather a showcase of what these kids can do. So much effort is put into helping these kids sometimes we can loose track of how amazing they are. My wife has embarked on a Master degree in Special Education with an emphases on autism as a result of our son's needs; she's an amazing woman with a fortitude that I didn't know existed when I married her. The military instilled a “failure is not an option” attitude toward life in me that has helped me push forward through tough times. That kind of tenacity came to my wife naturally.

Which brings me to my favorite group of all, my family, without them I'm really nothing. My spouse has saved me from myself more times than she realizes, and my kids are my world of joy. Yes, they can be challenging, but would I have ever grown up at all without them? I doubt it. They keep me on my toes and teach me what it is to be human. I watch my children with amazement when they accomplish things I never imagined they could, and I can see my influences on them every day. If it weren't for my family I would have never known the joys and challenges that parents experience. Being a parent is the toughest job I have ever had, but it's the most rewarding thing I've ever done.

Groups are always in flux, and don't stay the same throughout life. New groups will find me, and old groups will have new members. I haven't seen The Prince of Pain in some time, and I just got to know Axe Demento who is working on writing a novel. I think Mr. Bhole will probably always live up to his name, but he provides me with cheap entertainment.

My family will always be the most important group in my life, real friends will always be there for me, and I for them. Because your groups and the people in them are really what life is all about.

Save Me From My Neighbors!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 06:32:00 +0000

Today was a beautiful winter's day, a little chilly but nice enough to enjoy the out of doors. The only problem was that my neighbor Daryl was enjoying it too. Is there any way to escape your messed up neighbors?

Today I come driving home from the library with my two boys in tow and what do I hear blaring out of Daryl's work van parked in front of his house, The Little River band at 125 decibels! And just so you know, 125db is when pain begins, and my head was throbbing. He's made sure that we can all enjoy his FM radio station complete with commercials. Every door of this van is wide open, and he has the volume turned all the way up. I guess the boombox that is connected to a car battery, that's connected to the solar panel in his front yard must be out of order, so he had to improvise. He's walking around moving lumber from here to there and doing all sorts of other crap.

As I walk into the front door of my house I notice that my wife has the windows open to let in some fresh air as she works at her computer, and she looks perturbed. She informs me that she's been looking for a boombox to blare classical music out of our front door to drown out Daryl's noise, but she couldn't find one. I think for a moment and come up with a solution. I attach my iPod to a set of amplified speakers and we are in business. I hang the speakers out the front door and start broadcasting Mozart as loud as I can get it.

It was rather pleasant in our house for about an hour with Mozart tickling our ears, most of the music was going outside so it wasn't overly loud in the living room. Outside was very different story, Mozart from my iPod was competing with Classic Rock from “BOB FM.” It didn't take long for Daryl to give in and turn off his tunes. He closed the doors of the van, then rumbled down the road in ole Rust Bucket. I'm still convinced Daryl's not from this planet and his rusty van is an alien space craft that makes frequent trips into outer space. But what was really puzzling me was why did Daryl spend days sanding the rust spots on his van? He even had his buddy -who threw fish on my roof years back- out there sanding with him. What do you think he did after he was done sanding away all of that rust? Absolutely nothing, no primer from a rattle can, no Scooby Doo paint job, nothing, not a damn thing. His van is now half painted, and half bare rusting metal. Maybe he needs rusting bare metal spots to be able to make contact with the mother ship, I don't think I'll ever know.

So for the moment I had relief from Daryl's noise pollution, so I called my sister in Florida on Skype. She had recently moved there from Oregon and her and her family are now enjoying the nice weather. While we are talking she stops and yells to her husband “He's at it again!” I ask her what's going on, and she tells me that their hillbilly neighbor is shooting off his guns. That's the trade off you get when you move to the country. You may be away from cities and the annoying neighbors named Daryl, but you trade Daryl for a neighbor named Floyd who likes to shoot at critters in his yard when he's not doing cookies with his ATV. It's America and our hillbillies have got to have their guns and motor sports damn it!

I've decided what I want is land out in the country, with no hillbillies, no vegetation to have to constantly whack, and no chickens! But I don't know if that's even possible. I suppose you could do chicken farming in a way where the chickens eat and peck the vegetation down, then it might be a possibility. And I suppose if you do your homework you could limit your exposure to hillbillies. I would think if a sign in front of the house next to the one you're looking to buy reads “No Trespassen, Git!” would be a good indicator as to why the house you are looking at is such a fantastic buy. Also look for the presence of teeth in the local inhabitants, or lack there of. Missing teeth is always a good indication that you may be in the middle of a hillbilly infestation. I will admit that the prospect of cheap moonshine produced by the locals has it's appeal, but I would rather buy my booze from the store.

Not all of my neighbors are crazy nut jobs. We have always had a great relationship with our neighbor Bill next door to our right. We watch their miniature horse when they go on trips, and their daughter and her boyfriend house sat for us while we took a trip to southern California. They did a fine job and the dog and the two cats were only slightly traumatized from the experience. I thought our little dog was going to need CPR when we arrived down the street. He was out being walked, and if he had been wearing doggy pants he would have crapped them when my son called out his name as we drove by.

I don't think you can truly get away from having neighbors unless you are in the 1% and can buy enough land to be out of hearing range of hillbillies shooting at varmints. Personally I'm hoping for an island with a mountain tall enough to avoid Tsunamis. That's were my house will be, right on top of that mountain. I could go down from time to time and collect coconuts, bananas, and go fishing like Gilligan. Maybe I would make my own rum so I would have something to sip as I lay underneath my big umbrella at my mountain retreat. Well hell if I could afford an island, then I guess I would have my rum delivered by porpoise. I would probably get very bored living on the island because I wouldn't have any nut jobs to write about, but I suppose I could hope for some castaways from a ship wreck, or maybe a pirate invasion.

Ok scratch the island idea, the thought of having to dig tiger pits to protect myself from pirates sounds like too much work. For the moment I'll just put up with Daryl.

It's Just Another Rainy Day

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 21:43:00 +0000

This morning when I dunked a bag of Irish Breakfast tea, together with a bag of Pomegranate Green into the same cup, I wondered to myself “do you think this combo might make my cup explode?” Then I pushed the thought out of my head. It's a dreary rainy day that would make even the Walmart happy face cry. The tea packed a nice punch, but needed some honey.

I spent the morning getting the kids off to school, running to the grocery store, then made nachos for lunch with the wife. We enjoyed them while watching an episode of Scrubs on Netflix. I'm sure I spotted a periscope in the lake in my driveway, I would have suspected the Russians but the Cold War has been over for years. I think the squirrels have gone high tech and are simply going after the nuts that are buried somewhere under the water.

In my local newspaper (The Register Guard) there is an article about two young activists who are suing the governor of Oregon for “violating his duty to uphold the public trust and protect the state from impacts of climate change.” Yes, I too wish the governor would get on that big bubble dome he promised for the state. It would protect us from climate change, intercontinental ballistic missiles, and speeches spewing from the mouth of Newt Gingrich. While our two young friends are at it could they also sue Newt for making millions of people vomit. It's just a thought.

In other news an 82 year old bush pilot from Willow Alaska was being chased by an agitated moose when he was saved by his 85 year old wife who hit the beast in the head with a shovel a few times. Grandmas are tough as nails in Willow. I wonder if they make moose strength Tylenol?

Another granny in Connellsville Pennsylvania said a bearded stranger in a pointy hat gave her the seeds to the four-foot tall Marijuana plants growing next to her tomatoes in her back yard. She just wanted something pretty to accent them. Sheesh, let the old lady have her pot plants for gods sake. And speaking of pot, The New York times reported that the reason that Australians are so laid back is because they consume more marijuana than anywhere else on the planet. Intoxicants -the article states- are at the center of most social life in Australia. I guess down under really means down under the table.

To tell you quite honestly this is the news that I enjoy reading in my local newspaper. The rest of the news is just too grim. The news is full of megalomaniacs trying to further themselves in the public eye, and the side affects of their destructive sociopathic ways. The people in charge of us -for the most part- want to have it all, and spend most of their time working to convince the rest of us how they deserve to have it all. Most of us want to live our lives in some sort of peaceful manor while being able to feed and cloth ourselves; but for a few, that's simply not good enough. They call their troop to war! “Our enemies are your enemies” they say. “If you're not with us then you're against us” they proclaim. “Greed is good” is printed on their flag.

I tire of those greedy bastards, and it's a rainy day.

An Inspirational Moment

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 18:00:00 +0000

Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.

I'm not a religious person, and you won't hear me saying “It's God's will” or anything resembling it, but when deaths and layoffs happened at the same time I was in for a ride with the aftermath. It was like getting my slate wiped clean to start over again. I decided to embrace the changes, listen to my inner voice, and then unexpected things started to happen.

I've come to the conclusion that for the most part I don't have control over my life. I may think that I do sometimes, but for the most part, life seems to be driving me. But before you say to yourself “Dan you're so full of crap” let me tell you this, if someone would have told me that a series of events would result in me staying at home running the household while my wife goes back to school a couple of years ago I wouldn't have believed it. But one thing lead to another and life guided me down the path that I'm now traveling. I suppose I could have fought the changes and tried to force some other kind of outcome, but I don't think it would have lead to a better outcome. Staying at home washing kids cloths is a drag, but I also am able to do things that let me be creative, and to help others.

So how does railing about how politicians that are really Coneheads fit into the “help others” category? Sometime pointing out the lunacy of a situation makes people think about it. When we take a step back and think, then magic starts to happens. Sometimes the “Oh shit!” moment happens, and a realization that the world is a more messed up place than anyone could have ever imagine. At this point, we can either become alcoholics and drown out the world, or decide on how we can all by ourselves make some sort of positive difference. The way I started doing this was by doing a self assessment.

I took a good look at myself and wrote down what I really love to do, my passions, my strengths, and the things I'm obsessive about. Being obsessive about something is important to me because if I don't have a drive to do something, then I'll stop doing it. If something is too painful to do then I won't do it well. If only I could use that excuse to get out of washing dishes, or changing the Guinea Pig cage. I'll never admit to doing a good job of cleaning animal cages.

One day many years ago something clicked in my head and I decided I wanted to be a writer. I had atrocious spelling, and had to re-teach myself most of what I blew off in school. Years ago when I was in the military I took a couple of composition courses through University of Maryland that helped me get back on track, and then I started self-teaching myself how to write. Now I compulsively tap away at my computer to give myself personal enjoyment, and hopefully some of what I write may actually help someone. I put my passion for technology to work in other ways, by helping friends with their problems, and helping my veterans group by building them a web site. I've just started working on it, and will turn it loose on the world in the near future. Most of the members of this veterans group are technologically challenged, so by doing something that I enjoy and is relatively easy for me to do, I get to help this group reach out to help many more people. It's not that hard to make a difference in our messed up world if you are doing something you love to do.

Going with the flow, not fighting things that I can't control, and putting my heart and soul into the directions that seem natural are bringing me down the ever changing path in a way that I feel good about. I'm not sure about what's around the corner, but I'm sure it will be an adventure. Hopefully there is a dish washing, cage cleaning robot in it, I can only hope.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 19:40:00 +0000

OK now that Christmas is over, you survived the traffic, the big dinner, and the credit card bill, it's now time for a new year, a new beginning, an apocalyptic end to the world!

2012, isn't that when the world is supposed to end? Isn't that when the Mayans ran out of rock to carve on, isn't that when Nostradamus said everyone will get gas from eating too many Big Macs? Will Newt Gingrich become president?!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” I say as I hide under a bed!

OK everyone get a grip. We all know, well some of us know, that bad crap will eventually happen to planet earth. And bad things do happen on a regular basis, like big earth quakes, tsunamis, volcanoes erupt, crazy guys get big bombs, you know the normal bad things. Heck one day a big rock could fall out of space and squash us all like bugs; it's happened before. Big dinosaurs once looked up into the sky as one squashed them with a fiery ball. They were clueless because of their small sunflower seed sized brains (like chickens), but it must have been one hell of a barbecue.

Hummmm, let's talk about other things like New Years resolutions. I think most of us think about new beginnings in the new year.

What will it be?

Loose weight.
Exercise more.
Eat Better.
Get more money.
Find a way to get your asshat boss fired.

We all have our lofty goal that most of us fail at. You have to really want to do those things in order to accomplish them. If your love of Ho Hos is greater than your love of jogging in the rain then which one do you think will prevail, eh chubby? My motivation for exercising more is the painful body parts that remind me that if I don't move I will rot. So yes, I will be doing more exercise because pain just sucks. But fudge is coming after me from every angle and I don't know what to do! A little fudge won't kill me will it? I'm not allergic to walnuts.

I think this is going to be an interesting year. We are going to have a presidential election and we are going to have people acting like total nut nuts because of the 2012 end of world predictions. And the fun part is we get to experience the craziness the entire year! The election isn't until October and the end of the world isn't expected until December.

So Whooo Hooo! monkeys with pants will be freaking out selling their cars, houses, and... pants. Religious fanatics will be passing around the Cool-Aid, and seeing Jesus in their burnt potato chips. People will be giving money to heathen pet sitters who won't be ascending to heaven when the rapture hits.

So Happy New Year! Now go get good and drunk, put the taxi service on speed dial and have a blast. While your drunk tell your asshat boss he's a... well an asshat. You can tell him on Monday you were drunk and thought he was your neighbor Daryl, so he won't fire you.

Tonight we are celebrating a day early and hiring a sitter and going to see a movie call “My idiot brother”. It's showing at a small movie theater where you text for a beer refill, and waiters deliver food to your seat. I can't wait!

A Firkroy Christmas Special!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 00:21:00 +0000

Christmas, a time of joy, a time of brotherly love, and a time for self reflection. Gatherings of family and friends in a festive atmosphere always makes for a time that everyone looks forward to. Before we can have the merry making, we need to do a month of shopping for the right gifts. The Internet makes it easy for some things, but other things we have to shop for the old fashioned way, by getting in our automobiles and dealing with the horrendous parking. In our family re-arranging the living room comes next, then bringing in the countless boxes of Christmas decorations, plates, candles, and assorted things to be plugged in from the garage.

One of my favorite parts of the celebration is our yearly trek out to get our Christmas tree while listening to Christmas music on the radio. We got out to a tree farm just outside of town where we were greeted by a Santa waving and meeting cars as they came in. We all got candy canes, and decide to go look at trees that have already been cut. You can go out into the field and saw one down if you feel like it, but luckily for me my wife spied a Noble Fir that she had to have pre-cut right off the bat. They put the tree in a machine that shakes off all of the bugs, and loose needles, and then I had them run it through the bailing machine for easy transport. When we got home we put it into it's stand, and added water. The kids have gotten to the age where they can decorate the tree for the most part, and it was fun watching them adding ornaments while giggling with excitement.

My children both love Christmas, the lights everywhere, the goodies they are going to consume, and their endless gift list for Santa. A guy showing off his remote control helicopters for sale in the mall was a big hit with them. He was selling me hard and offering me deals if I bought them today. He wasn't aware that I read the same book on sales, and I wasn't getting a twisted arm on this day, damn it! But the kids will get their stuff, and I will get to shop at the Holiday Market filled will items created by our local artisans. Oh, did I mention the home made fudge, I love the fudge...Ho Ho Ho.

As a card carrying heathen I often take a squinted view of the whole Christian part of the Christmas experience. I tend to look at the whole thing as an extended solstice celebration but that's just me. I have no problem with people believing that the person who saved them from burning in hell for eternity had a birthday, and now it's time to have a big consumer orgy. (I figure if there is a hell then mine will be filled with chickens pecking away at my ankles and screaming “No barbecue sauce for you!”) But it would be nice if those same people would stop trying to make everyone else conform to their beliefs. If I'm not into stoning people to death for Jesus like it says in “The Good Book” then that should be OK.

This time of year brings out the Christmas militants, they are everywhere with signs in their yards promoting “Put Christ back in Christmas” and condemning the phrase “Happy Holidays” as a conspiracy to tear down the very fabric of the celebration of the birthday of the one who saved them from burning in the fires of hell. It doesn't matter that the Christmas tree is a Pagan invention, or that Jews are celebrating Hanukkah at the same time. You better be promoting Jesus and if you don't then you must be waging war against Christmas! There is no war against Christmas, believe it or not it's just paranoia. The real war is in the minds of those trying to deal with the conflicts between their religion and reality. That Satan guy isn't fabricating contradictory information to your beliefs, reality is simply what it is, reality.

I had Jehovah Witnesses show up one Christmas morning while I was in my bathrobe, they looked at me up and down like I was indecent. What was indecent was showing up at my doorstep on Christmas morning at 8AM!

I remember saying “Go away” and closing the door. They “hurmft” and went next door to spread their message of “No friggen fun for you!” to my neighbors.

I've been thinking about putting up some sort of protection from religious militants for Christmas morning. I'll have to watch the movies Home Alone 1, 2, and 3 to get some good ideas. I'm thinking a generous amount of ice, tar, and pointy things is in order.

Now you may find me a bit sacrilegious, but I don't mind. I think Santa is still going to leave me a bottle of cognac under the tree if I've been good. I'm not sure if I'm going to cook another turkey on the barbecue or not, we had a turkey for Thanksgiving and maybe the gobblers need a break. A pig might have to be sacrificed, and a ham served for Christmas dinner. It's nice to change the glutenous meal from time to time.

This year my wife and I are both missing our parents as we both had one pass away very close together, My wife's mother Marge, and my Dad Al will be in our hearts this year and very much missed, we love you both.

Now, everyone have a wonderful holiday no matter what you believe. If you think there is a war brewing against your beliefs then turn off Faux news, take the little pills the doctor gave you, and have some eggnog with a lot of booze for god's sake!

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Have a great Kwanzaa, Fabulous Solstice, a Happy Holiday, and a Wonderful New Year!

And if I left anyone out then Happy (fill in the blank)!

Coneheads Are Running Everything!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 18:26:00 +0000

At this time of the year it always seems hard for me to get off of my butt and get some writing done. Not that I'm sitting on my butt, it's just that there are so many things to do. With the holidays here and with ¾ of the family in school I end up playing Mr. Mom to the Max! My two young boys are mess making cyclones traveling in circles around the house throwing Legos and kick boxing each other, all the while making dirty dishes and wiping their little paws on the furniture. I'll be the first one to concede that I don't enjoy being the household janitor, and I don't like continually washing dishes and filthy kid cloths, hell who does, it just sucks.

When the kids get home from school I have to crack the whip on the little homework slacking mess-makers, and it usually ends up being more work for me than it is for them. They are learning about fractions, and nouns, and the groans of despair that can be heard with every page of work. This makes me the student of calmness and Zen, and helps me expand my knowledge of the local beer trade.

“Am I just a slave?” is a favorite proclamation of the miniature masses when I ask them to put away their newly washed boxer shorts into the proper drawer. I know what your thinking. “Why not just get the kids to help?” Well I do have them help to some extent (with a lot of effort on my part) but you just can't give them a to-do list and expect everything to be done in a satisfactory manor. Maybe I'm just being a perfectionist, but when I ask to have the garbage taken out, I really do expect a new bag to be put in the can before you jump back on the couch for another episode of Scooby Doo.

Talking about Scooby Doo, have you seen any of the countless Scooby Doo movies that are being cranked out of Korea? They really are very good, but when you reveal the man in the mask you will see that Scooby Doo is really some guy named Mr. Pang who works for a company named DongWoo Animation. I have to stop and wonder, what are they putting in Scooby snacks, Kimchi maybe. Is the Mystery machine really a Kia minivan? Are the bad guys really spies sent in by North Korean mad man Kim Jong-il? He has an excuse for coming off as a mad man you know, and you do realize by now that Jong-il is simply a demented Conehead alien.

OK, OK, you've all heard this alien conspiracy stuff from me before, and you may be thinking “Did Dan stop taking his medications again?” But hey, I'm no loon! All heads of state, and people running for office are Conehead aliens. Have you looked at the American presidential candidates lately? Take a real close look, they may look human, but when they open their mouths it's all “Your positive perception of me is vital to my existence.” when they speak. I swear they have all had plastic surgery, and wear makeup. Most have had half their brains removed (presidential candidates), and others simply wear big cowboy hats (Texan politicians), but rest assured they are all Coneheads. If you went to any of their houses on Halloween you would be given six-packs of beer, and fried eggs.

Fried eggs made me think of food, and on the food front I decided to make this week soup and salad week, or at least for the next few days. I had the -manna of the gods- chicken fried steak at Sheri's restaurant the other day, “mmmm boy.” was it good. But I'm feeling the need for more roughage. Oh, and don't listen to anyone who would put down chicken fried steak they're obviously Coneheads on Vulcan crack. But seriously, I do need to eat in a more healthy fashion if I intend on living to a ripe old age. So I try to have regular salads and cut down on piles of wheat and red meat. We had a Chef's Salad tonight with the other white meat (oink), and tomorrow it will be a chicken noodle soup. Yes, I had red moo cow meat in the chicken fried steak, but all of the veggies, and soup are the antidotes.

Do you ever wonder what aliens are doing with our moo cows? Do you think they're turning them into burritos? Yep, the damn aliens are turning our cows into burritos, and putting themselves in charge all over the world. You've seen the pictures of the gray big eyed creature that was supposedly held at Area 51 haven't you? I believe there may indeed have been an unfortunate accident that caused this alien to get stuck on the planet of the apes.

This particular alien must have really screwed up in order to let himself be captured by primates. Maybe he was sitting on the toilet when his spaceship crashed into earth.

“This is Mesloid calling the mother ship, I'm approaching earth, come in...” the alien said into his intergalactic communicator.

“Oh man I shouldn't have eaten those last three moo cow burritos!” Mesloid says as he runs to the can.

Meanwhile, “Beep, Beeep, Beeeeeep, GET OFF THE CAN DUMB ASS!!” His control panel screams. On his dashboard the red “Going to run into a planet” light comes on, while he's preoccupied with other business.

Wham!

He starts to wake up, blinking his big oval eyes. He starts to realizes he's not in his spaceship anymore, he's actually on a cold, hard table with bright lights overhead.

“Well this just sucks!” says Mesloid as he realizes that he's on the wrong end of an anal probe.

The only reason all of this hasn't been made public is because of the Coneheads who are running everything don't want you to know about it. They are in league with the gray big eyed aliens, and they want our cows.

OK, I've said enough for now, it's time to put on my aluminum foil hat and to sit down and watch “My Name is Earl.” on Netflix and pretend that aliens really don't exist.

A Seargent's Story, of the Great White North

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 04:35:00 +0000

It was a hard decision to make, re-entering the Air Force after being out for over a year, but it was 1982 and the economy just stank. I had to trade my Swiss army knife for a tank of gas to get to the military recruitment office to raise my right hand once again, and swear to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Unfortunately for me I was living on North Dakota street at the time, and someone in the assignment office must have thought it would be real funny to give me orders to Grand Forks Air Force Base in North Dakota. A Strategic Air Command SAC bomber base poised to strike the USSR right over the North Pole.

I was able to get an advance on my travel pay and purchase a used Volkswagen 412 to drive across Idaho, Montana, and into North Dakota in the dead of winter. I had never driven on snow packed freeways for hundreds of miles before, and I was sort of enjoying the adventure. I had a tire blowout in Idaho and was able to purchase some used studded tires that came in very handy. The heater didn't exactly work very well in my Volkswagen with no radiator, so I spent a lot of time scraping ice from the inside of the window that accumulated from my breath.


Per Potentiam Pax, Latin for Peace through Power.

After a couple days of driving, and sleeping at a rest area in my car in sub zero weather, I finally arrived at Grand Forks. Not exactly what I would call a winter wonderland with it's flat bleak landscape, and blowing snow snakes. Coming from a place where you always saw hills and mountains the flatness everywhere was unreal. I was able to get a room, and the next day showed up at my duty assignment, the Radio shop at the 319^th Avionic Maintenance Squadron. I rang the doorbell to the secure room and I was greeted by a familiar face, John Treadaway an old high school acquaintance that I had run track and cross country with in High School. I really couldn't believe I was going to work with someone I went to school with, but those High School days were long gone, and we never really developed a friendship. I was a Sergeant and he was an Airman First Class with a chip on his shoulder. I suppose he looked at me as one of the authority figures that he had a grudge against.

After processing, and training on B-52 bombers I was assigned to the swing shift; 4PM to Midnight. The swing shift supervisor's name was Staff Sergeant Johnny Blane. Johnny was great to work with, a charismatic leader who knew how to motivate his people. I soon became second in charge, and after testing, and making the cutoff was waiting for a promotion to SSGT myself. Johnny was on top of his game, but his life took an unexpected twist after a random piss test. It came back positive for THC, the active ingredient in marijuana. The Air Force had a zero tolerance policy toward drugs, you could get drunk every night if you wanted to, and if the police weren't involved, nobody cared. But don't Bogart that joint my friend, because if you did, they would find out, and make you miserable before they shoved you out the gate.

Johnny claimed that his brother had sent him some funny brownies as a joke, and that he wasn't a pot head. Of course it didn't work (it never did), and Johnny was demoted, forced to clean toilets for months, then booted out. At about this time I received my promotion, and took Johnny's place as the swing shift supervisor. Johnny got married to a woman in our shop before getting busted, and she got orders to Alaska. We received a post card from Johnny months later with a picture of him surrounded by a table of pot. I guess those brownies really must have been addictive.

SSGT Daniel LaFollette re-enlisting in the Radio Shop. I drew the Garfield in the background.

I was a pretty easy going boss, all I really cared about was that we got all of our work done. If we got everything done we would get off work early on Fridays, and head into town for Margaritas. Lunch usually consisted of boxes we affectionately called box nasties. When mystery meat sandwiches on white bread where placed in our box nasties, someone would usually declined to eat theirs and the Glad wrapped questionable food item would become a baseball. Mystery meat sandwich baseball was always a good lunch time activity in the shop, and we tried to remove the meat and bread chunks out of the million dollar satellite communication radio tester before we left for the night, but the day shift supervisor did find a chunk of meat one morning, no big deal it was blown off as being left by a sloppy eater. It was handy to have a lock on the door because of our secret equipment in the room, this way nobody ever hit a sandwich home run just as the Squadron Commander walked in. SAC officers just didn't have a sense of humor.

Grand Forks was really a depressing place in the winter, and most of the time it seemed to be winter. The only thing that there seemed to be able to do was go to bars or restaurants. They had great bars, and drinks like the Suffering Bastard in a skull mug were my favorite drinks, I don't think it was safe to drink more than one of those unless you liked a pounding head in the morning, they really lived up to their name.

living in the barracks as a Staff Sergeant meant I had my own room; it did however come at a price. I was put in charge of half the hallway on the third floor, and I had the key to the room where the vacuum cleaner was stored. Anyone wanting to clean up after hours would could come to me asking for the key. It became a little annoying when I received a knock on the door at 1 AM from a drunk (Suffering Bastard) who wanted to use the vacuum.

“I -hic-” “need the vacuum cleaner” A swaying, slurring young man said to me as I opened the door.

“It's 1 o'clock in the morning go back to bed man.” I say to the weaving drunkard, as I squinted through one eye.

“I um, got a pile of ralph here, and a pile of ralph there” He says to me still looking like he could hurl again at any moment. Apparently he had barfed all over the hallway in front of his room.

“I'll tell you what, you let your ralph dry up, and then you can get the vacuum cleaner in the morning” I say to him with a half awake smirk, and shaking my head up and down.

“Oh -hic-, good idea” He said stumbling back toward his room. I went back to bed, I had to be at work at 7AM and needed my beauty rest.

2:12 AM I am awakened by screaming, apparently someone stepped barefoot into our drunks puddle of ralph. A lot of profanity ensued but then it died down after a few minutes.

6AM I get up to go to work, I see our now hungover suffering bastard cleaning up his puddle of vomit. Apparently he was passed out in his room, and didn't hear his victim stepping into his mess.

No harm done, nobody punched, mess cleaned up, nothing to report.

Yes, there was a lot of drunkenness, and I remember on New Years Eve one fellow swinging outside of the second story barracks window in a make shift New Years baby diaper. He luckily didn't kill himself and provided a few minutes of “look at the jackass” entertainment. I had one friend who would be drunk every other day, and on a hangover on the rest. He used to stop by my room and play video games on my Commodore 64 computer. He would always offer some of his B&B or Drambuie and I actually grew to like the stuff after a while. That same friend had a wealthy family and when we both got orders to Europe, he offered to let me come along with him across the Atlantic. He was going to live on this small ship in Spain and planed to captain it himself. I don't know about you but I really didn't want to depend on a drunk to get me across the Atlantic ocean in a boat. I've often wondered if he made it, or if he ended up swimming with the fishes.

I had the honor of attending Non Commissioned Officer Leadership school at Minot AFB down the road also in North Dakota, in the middle of winter of course. In the Air Force there is a saying “Why not Minot? Freezen's the reason.” Corny yes, but it was a way of passing along that this wasn't a choice assignment. My school was 6 weeks of concentrated training on how to supervise, and handle subordinates. We had an inspection every morning, and we had to sort of march on the ice to the classroom. It didn't take long for me to be pegged as a funny man, and the instructor who couldn't pronounce my name dubbed me SSGT La La. Some of the material was pretty dry and I did my best to keep them entertained when I could. To tell you quite honestly it was one of the best experiences of my life.

Grand Forks wasn't all fun and games, and my job was deadly serious. Working around B-52 bombers loaded with nuclear cruise missiles meant having to go through checkpoints where if you forgot your password you ended up on the ground with your face in the snow with the barrel of an M-16 pointed at your head. You always performed work in pairs and if your partner started sabotaging the plane you were required to take them down with any force possible. Simply working around aircraft is hazardous, especially large ones. One of our bombers exploded, and burned to the ground with four people inside after an electrician pushed in a circuit breaker that had popped to a fuel tank boost pump. I remember going out to retrieve a portable radio out of the small pickup truck that had melted in front of the plane with a pair of tongs; a chard winter boot had been tossed into the bed of the toasted truck.

The cold war is now over, the nukes are gone, and the base no longer hosts a wing of strategic bombers. The base has a different mission now, serving as a squadron of in-flight refueling planes. In many ways I really miss my time at Grand Forks, I think the harsh weather and the semi remote location made everyone closer, but I don't think I would really want to live through those winters again. I still communicate with a few people I knew then in a group on Facebook. I keep looking for the drunk that sailed his boat across the Atlantic, maybe some day I will get a surprise and he'll turn up alive.

Spacy

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 20:52:00 +0000

While sitting here listening to “I Ran” by A Flock Of Seagulls I was thinking about outer space, specifically outer space TV shows and movies. Over the years I've become quite a fan of letting myself get amerced in space dramas. Star Trek with it's military order, and all of that exploration. Star Wars with it's Good Force vs Dark Side bad Force theme. Like all good nerds my very favorite was Firefly that lasted for 14 episodes and a movie. It was like the space wild west with smuggling.

Ever since I first saw Han Solo I've loved the space smuggler, and often played one in space games. I've joined virtual smuggling gangs, and have lived out my space smuggler fantasies. We would work together to smuggle contraband through space patrolled by the police, the navy, and groups that weren't too happy with us supplying to people that they didn't like. All of the unimaginative smack talk, and the “HALTs” as I ran away from my pursuers with my load of embargoed contraband always gave me a terrific rush. I always talked to my pursuers when I could to give them complements on their piloting abilities, or ask them about their intimate relationships with Wookiees. This usually threw them off long enough to bust a smart move and land at a friendly base.

I have no doubt that aliens live among us, have you taken a good look at your neighbors lately? What is that strange panel in the front yard, and what is living in that pond on the other side of the berm? Baby aliens? Space chickens maybe? Does a space chicken cluck? Do they taste good with barbecue sauce? That's a silly question we all know everything tastes good with chard on barbecue sauce. And those things growing in your neighbor's front yard, are you sure they are zucchini, and not body snatching pods?

Of course a lot of what you see on a show like Star Trek is a little implausible, inter species mating with half this, and half that as offspring. I mean hell you don't see half cat, half dog combos running around.

“Meow, rar rar rar” Is what a Chihuahua / Maine Coon would sound like before it bit and scratched your ankle to shreds. Give it a space helmet and call it an alien, then send it out on a little space ship with a crew of Guinea Pigs. What would happen if the Borg tried to assimilate their ship?

"We are the Borg, you will be assimilated." and "We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own..."

The Borg scan their ship.

“Oh, um, never mind.”

Maybe there are places on earth filled with aliens, and maybe they have erected huge antennas like the Eiffel Tower, or the “Space” Needle to talk to their planets. Maybe they congregate on earth in hot spots like San Antonio with its Tower of the Americas. All of those places serve food that could be contaminated with mind control powder that makes you shake your head up and down when Glenn Beck talks. Maybe the ten gallon hat is really an antenna to relay messages to the mother ship! Maybe “YEEHA!” really means “We are the Borg resistance is futile.” It's just a theory, you never know.

Tonight I'm going to drink three beers and stick my thumb up in the air while wearing a towel on my head; maybe I can hitch a ride to a new world. I could just toddle around experiencing all of the wild things there are to see without the expense of an expensive spacecraft. I'll watch out for those damn Vogons, they might recite some poetry and I would be in real trouble. But I think if I drank enough beers I wouldn't really care, I hear Vogons like to sing drinking songs.

But if it weren't for the expense I would love to have a space ship. It would have to be able to visit other solar systems without taking a life time to get there. I'm not to worried about the Borg, alien probes, or Siths. The universe is unimaginably vast, completely amazing, and we are all bits of it. I can feel it coursing through me when I lay quietly in silence, even without wearing a ten gallon hat.

A Treasure Hunt With a Map!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 20:49:00 +0000

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

Here is a short pictorial journey of a trip I took with my family a couple of years back through the Oregon Outback. It was a quest for the Steens Mountain, the Hart Mountain Hot Spring, and Plush sunstones.

Located between French Glen and Plush in the Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge in south western Oregon the Hart Mountain Hot Spring is an oasis in the middle of nowhere, and a welcome refuge in the wilderness to wash off some of that desert dust. We spent a few days at the base of the Steens Mountains fairly close to Frenchglen, and were making the 80 mile trek across the desert to Plush, a so-called town that has a Store/Gas Station/Bar combo.

But Plush is no ordinary place, it's the last place for gas and supplies before embarking on the washboarded road to the sunstone mines. Sunstones can also be collected for free on Federally owned land managed by the BLM. Here is a treasure map so you can find your very own trinkets. We camped out in the desert and picked up stones for an entire day.

On the Steens Mountain road

A dry lake bed

Hart Mountain Hot Spring pool

Hart Mountain Hot Spring

Hart Mountain Hot Spring pool

The desert can be beautiful

Entering the Refuge

An Antelope

The road down to Plush

A flat just as we hit pavement

Finally at the sunstones

The ground is full of them

My treasure

Rosemary Potato Soup

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 15:48:00 +0000

With Autumn in full swing, I thought I would share with you one of my favorite soups. This flavorful potato soup will warm you up on those chilly Fall evenings, and have you coming back for seconds.

Rosemary Potato Soup

12 strips of thick bacon

6 cloves garlic, minced

2 onions, chopped

2 tbs of oil

¼ cup of flour

½ gallon of whole milk

6 russet potatoes, diced

2 tsp. Rosemary

Salt and pepper to taste

Cook bacon until crisp, break it up into small pieces, then set aside.
- I usually cook bacon on medium heat with a lid. This helps the bacon cook uniformly, but you will need to keep an eye on it because it doesn't take long for bacon to go from crisp, to -setting the fire alarm off- burnt.
In the pot you're going to make the soup in saute the onions and garlic in your oil of choice.
- You can use olive oil, but peanut oil works better for cooking, and is still heart healthy.
Add flour to the sauteed onions and garlic to make a rue.
Add potatoes, rosemary, milk, bacon to mixture.
Heat until potatoes are done while stirring frequently.

Yes, that is a lot of soup, you can cut the recipe in half or better yet, freeze small containers of the soup and enjoy it whenever you want.

Enjoy!

Eggs, Drunken Birds, and Peeps, Oh My!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 18:27:00 +0000

With owning chickens comes collecting eggs. Fresh eggs was one of the excuses that my wife gave me for springing the little pecking, clucking, escape artist surprise on me a few years back. With six chickens you we usually get three or four eggs per day. They have to be cleaned off, then packed away in the refrigerator. Now one thing I learned while working with assembly lines for many years is that you want to use your oldest stock first, in a production environment we call this First In First Out or FIFO. So in order to ensure we were using our stock of eggs properly I instituted a FIFO process by taking a marker and marking arrows on the top of the carton. Eggs come in one side and get taken out from the other side, this seemed to provide ample amusement for my wife. If I can't manage suppliers in Singapore anymore, then I damn well will manage the feathered suppliers that poop all over my back yard.

And speaking of birds, our Mountain Ash out front is starting to drop it's berries, and you know what that means? Drunk birds of course. Every year our Mountain Ash, also known as Rowan in the UK produces bright orange little berries. The berries get ripe, then they start to ferment on the tree. Flocks of Cedar Wax Wings swarm the tree, get drunk, and start hitting our windows. We have tried stickers of hawks on the windows, and all sorts of other things to try and make them stop breaking their drunken necks but nothing works. Our cats have started their own restaurant under the window. The other neighborhood cats show up at their reserved time, get seated, then wait for dinner to fall on their plates. I guess it's an efficient way of taking care of the suicidal little drunkards. But I would rather they joined a twelve step program.

This week I had my oldest son home for a couple of days with some sort of stomach virus. I took him in to see the doctor, she said he would live and off he went back to school the next day. It's really amazing how one child can throw off your whole day. It's hard enough trying to get things done without someone hanging around making comments about everything you do. I like to talk to myself when I'm researching or writing, and my son will pick up on whatever I just mumbled and make a song out of it.

"Um, alright, uh huh, that's interesting, uh, huh ,uh, huh" he will start singing. Talk about throwing your train of thought out of the window.

And this has been upgrade week, I turn on Ubuntu, and it wants me to upgrade from 11.04 to 11.10, I turn on iTunes and it wants me to upgrade my iPod to version 5, Windows is downloading a boat load of updates. Don't I have better things to do with my bandwidth than down load hours worth of updates? I don't see any real improvement, but I'm sure they are there. I can't tell any difference at all between iOS 4 and iOS 5. Maybe iOS5 contains Steve Job's consciousness.

*Shrug.

Meanwhile on the home improvement front, I got the opportunity to replace our stove top that had one more burner finally give up the goat, so the taste of power tools is fresh. That taste got me working on plan. Even though I have a small two bedroom house, it has two garages. The space isn't being used efficiently, and I need another bedroom, a man cave, and more storage. So I drew up my master not so evil plan today. Oh the thought of shopping for more power tools, it just doesn't get better than that. Well, maybe shopping for more computer hardware would trump it. Which reminds me I'll have to wire my man cave workshop, so I can listen to tunes, and do research. I really need a little place to escape to.

Well I better get busy, and if you aren't able to read this right away because you are protesting "The man" on Wall street, or some other street around the world, then I forgive you.

"Power to the Peeps!"

Firkroy Is Getting Into a Routine!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 15:34:00 +0000

My transformation into the house frau is almost complete. With my spouse as a full time student it is now up to me to ensure that the household keeps running, the kids are fed, the homework is done, and that pigs don't start moving in to play monopoly. It's no easy task when you consider that we have two school age children, and a menagerie of pets.

I spent the entire evening for the past few days helping my oldest son -who is now in middle school- get caught up with his homework. Apparently when he came home last week and declared that he had no homework, or that it was done in ten minutes, he was sadly mistaken. Well the jigs up and it's not only sad for him, but it's also sad for me having to be the flame under his butt that helps him play catch up for the next few days. To his credit he understood the error in his ways, and spent the hours needed to keep him out of Saturday school for students that don't like to do homework.

The real saving grace in all of this is the fact that he has some very proactive teachers, and most of his assignments are on a web page that I can access. I can even print out an assignment if he somehow neglected to bring it home. I was up late last night answering email from my son's teachers, and took a short nap after the kids got off to school. Anyone who thinks our teachers don't work their asses off is smoking Wacky Tobaky. I was writing and getting answers to email messages from two of his teachers at 11:00 PM at night. I saw my oldest son's math teacher at the end of the next day, and she looked beat. I think a lot of parents of sixth graders are trying to dial in the school routine for their children. I can only hope that maybe, just maybe soon, some of my son's teachers will actually be able to have some sleep when the rest of my fellow parents of sixth grade students get a clue.

Building a routine from scratch can be a painful experience, but I'm a process guy. Or well I used to be when there was a manufacturing industry to speak of in this part of Oregon. Gone are the days when I managed repair departments, built assembly lines, and ran customer support departments. I used to develop systems for quickly turning around broken barcode scanners, and how to manage customer support issues with a high level of integrity. But now I create check lists for my son in hopes that he will remember to wear pants to school. Not that I think a middle schooler would be caught dead walking to school without pants, but I don't want him to be late.

After having to run back to school to get text books, and knocking on windows to get the attention of the school janitor, he started to understand this was not something he could let slide. We now go over a check list when I pick him up, leaving stuff at school is no excuse for not getting homework done, it just means he has to go back in and get it.

In between dropping off kids and picking them up from school I do glamorous things like grocery shopping. I started doing more frequent smaller trips verses a large grocery run once a week. I'm having a hard time with planning meals for the whole week at the moment; I'm not sure if I'm just being resistant to the new task, or maybe I have bigger things on my mind. I do enjoy thinking about what we should have today for dinner, and then going out to get the ingredients. My wife really doesn't care as long as she doesn't have to cook it. But if you get a large basket of Italian prunes from the Farmers Market don't be a glutton, because you will pay, and I'm not just talking about the price of that extra bottle of pink stuff you'll have to drink.

I've melded the dinner cooking with the homework schedule in a way that gives predictability to the children, and time for me to actually accomplish making the meal. My first child gets his "back from school down time," then I pick up the second child. The first one does homework while second is getting his down time, then dinner prep, dinner, then second one does homework.

Meatloaf was on the menu last night! Well actually two of them. If you make one large meat load it takes too long to cook, so I like to cook two smaller ones. I mix lean ground beef with ground turkey, then add sauteed onions and garlic, along with raisins , spices, and bread crumbs. And don't forget the Ketchup!

A meatloaf sandwich sound pretty good right about now doesn't it, but no Italian prunes on the side. I don't think I can take any more of them... Although they are pretty tasty hummmm...

Now some of you may have recalled that my neighbor Daryl a few months back was distressed. He was walking up and down our street in agony after a doctor fresh out of vasectomy school botched the job, and left Daryl with a grapefruit sized scrotum. Now, when I was in the Air Force they used to scare new recruits by telling them that the inoculation they were about to receive would be administered by getting a square needle in the left nut. Well guess what, that treatment cured Daryl!

After receiving the square needle in the left nut treatment Daryl hung up the sweat pants and started wearing jeans again. Gone are the days where he wanders the streets thinking "will I ever ride my 10 speed again?"

Have a good one everyone, and watch out for Daryl, he rides that 10 speed like a maniac!

Firkroy Has an Aching Back!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 13:54:00 +0000

Yes, it's nice to receive something free, but does it really have to hurt so much?

My wife is in the other room on the phone when I hear “We got it! Yaaa Hooo!” We were the first ones to respond to a message that was put out to the parents of my son's social group for autistic kids. Long story short, the organization owned the large wooden play structure, but it had been used by a family who lived on top of a steep hill behind an automated gate. I thought it was a strange arrangement but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I called the woman that lived in the house on the hill, and after a brief conversation she told me that she would text me the phone number of her nanny, so I could make arrangements with her to get in the gate. She is a doctor, and texting is her preferred way of communicating.

Now I may be Mr. Technology, but I really don't like texting, and being constantly tethered to something like a smart phone is not my idea of a good time. I had a Crackberry when I was on the road selling processors and diodes to most of the state, and it made sense for me to be able to see my email on the road, or to be able to find directions to a factory. But most people don't really need these things, and I'm constantly getting stuck behind some jackass staring at his wiener poking away at his gizmo as the light turns green.

A well placed “HONK!” usually gets him rolling, but I really think smart phones are the worst things that have happened to traffic in recent history. I use a $10 Virgin mobile phone that can painfully spit out a text if I really have to, but it's small and makes clear calls.

For two days I wait for the text message from the lady on the hill that never came. Finally I decide to use my cheap ass phone to send her a text message. “7777” gets me an S, “666” an O, this is just painful. I finally get the message out, and she finally responds back to me with the phone number of her nanny.

I contact the nanny, then go out to the house on the agreed upon date. The nanny let's me in the gate after a buzz at the intercom, and I maneuver down a narrow winding driveway with a drop off on one side, and stuff to run into on the other.

“Backing into this place with a trailer is going to be a nightmare” I think to myself.

But it's what has to be done, and “No guts, No glory” has always been my motto. The play structure was old, a little rotten where it had touched the ground, but I decide I could just make it a few inches shorter and it will be OK, so I decide it's worth the effort. I then made arrangements to come back the next Monday to start work.

Monday rolls around, and I drive out with the my old trailer that's made from half a Toyota pickup in tow. I have to drive into the wrong lane in order to back the trailer into the driveway entrance, but I manage to do it without getting killed. I get out of the car and hit the intercom buzzer. Then I wait, and wait, and wait. I then hit the buzzer again, and wait. Finally a man's voice says “yeah.”

“Hello” I say cheerfully, “I'm here to start taking away the play structure.”

“Oh, OK” the voice says as the gate starts to swing open. Backing my Blazer down that driveway was a real nightmare, with the drop off, the turns, and shrubs in pots on the other side, I really had to put my skills to the test. The man of the house was standing by the garage, a tall man that looked as if he had spent some quality time at the gym pumping iron. He watched me back up with a little concern, but once I stopped, he introduced himself, we shook hands, and he headed back into the house.

I had hoped that Mr. “Arnold wanna be” might have helped me with the dismantling of the kid castle, but it wasn't in the cards. I got to work wrenching off nuts, and loading seventy pound wooden chunks into the trailer. After a few hours I was sweaty, dirty, and experiencing new aches and pains, but I had managed to load the trailer, and made arrangements to return the next day.

I started driving down the hill, and across town looking like Jethro Bodine; a soak in a cement pond sounds good right about now. Everything was strapped down with bungees, and I'm sure I violated some sort of laws by having things stick out all over the place, but luckily no officers of the law were interested today.

The next day I once again arrive at the house on the hill. I back into the driveway entrance out of traffic, and hit the buzzer. I wait, and wait, and wait, buzz again, and wait... no answer. I resort to (yuck) texting the doctor again, “222” for C, “33” for E. It just sucked texting this lady. No reply, so I just sat there.

About ten minutes later a different lady arrives, this time it's the maid. She asked how long I had been waiting, and I pleasantly told her about ten minutes, and it was no big deal. She lets me in, and I slowly back the trailer down the trail of death once again.

It had been raining the night before so this time it was muddy around the play structure. When I got a chunk detached, I would make my way up the slipper wet grass and run it through the garage to the trailer. But today it seemed like the maid was adding obstacles. There were two open buckets of what appeared to be paint thinner that I had to tip toe around, bicycles that hadn't been ridden very much, and all sorts of things that could get bumped and fall down.

I worked for hours, and was starting to imagine driving away from this house of pain, and never coming back. A slim smile was coming over my face when with about fifteen minutes worth of work left, the sprinkler system came on.

“What the hell, you've got to be shitting me.” I say to my self.

I'm muddy, sore, skinned up, this was just icing on the cake. Do you think they could have at least turned off the (insert favorite profanity) sprinklers while I was out there? I guess not.

Well, I've only got to do a few trips through the sprinklers, so I trudge through getting a few nice cold showers lugging up the last pieces; at least some of the mud got washed off. With my mission accomplished I strap down my chunks, and do another Jethro back home with my final load.

I get a text from the doctor at about 7PM saying “she thought you were coming at 10”

I wasn't sure who she was, but I poked at my $10 phone, and thanked her.

Sometimes the things that you have to do are hard, but the satisfaction of knowing my kids will get years of enjoyment from this play structure (after I fix it, and put it back together) was well worth getting hit with the lawn sprinklers, and trudging through mud.

Yesterday we headed out to a farm, and I lugged two fifty pound pumpkins into the minivan for my kids, I guess I must really love the little stinkers. And who knows if I keep lifting heavy crap maybe I too will start looking like Arnold.

Firkroy Is Dealing With Those Firken Chickens Again!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 15:24:00 +0000

My allergies are acting up, and I think I'm starting to imagine things.

Today was a three cupper, well maybe a five or a sixer if you count the cups of Earl Grey I made after the coffee pot was drained. I love to to take the tea bag and put it against my nose, then breath in the aroma before dunking it in a microwaved cup of water. The smell alone invigorates my morning; Jean-Luc Picard would be proud.

You've probably heard about a lot of great things about Oregon, but what you may not know is that the Willamette Valley is allergy central. With all of the greenery comes pollen of every sort, and mold spores to boot. My allergies have been acting up, and I'm not happy about it. My best friends right now are antihistamines, and a plastic bottle. It squirts salt and baking soda water up the nose that will soon be enjoying an Earl Grey embrace.

The house is empty, and I'm going about my domestic duties. I need to run to the store later so I can get the ingredients for turkey chili, and corn bread for tomorrow, “Mm mm mm.” But tonight we are having chicken in a crock pot. But as I'm tossing in a few more onions into the pot, and a cup of white wine, what do I hear? Chicken noises coming from the front yard? Are the ghosts of chickens past coming to haunt me for roasting up yet another of their brethren?

Nope, one of our chickens escaped from their gulag, and found its way into the front yard.

With some strategic gate opening, and herding of the dumb cluck, I manage to at least get it into the back yard. If plucking wasn't such a hassle I would have herded it onto the gas grill, and given it a bath with a bottle of Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce. But if I had done that I would have been branded a pet murderer, and family harmony trumps finger licking good every time.

Meanwhile back at the Firkroy command center, I'm working on my media empire. Spending time adding content to Google plus, and adding more people into Twitter. One of my goals is to have everything pointing at each other. My blog, Twitter, BrooWaha, and Google plus all working in harmony, like some sort of the digital circle of life. My Facebook account is the red headed step child, and isn't getting any love; I'm only using it to check on relatives from time to time to see if I need to attend a funeral.

Facebook still calls to me though, “Come and play Farkle Firkroy.”

“No you evil voice, go away.” I think to myself.

But it persists, “Uncle Del just scored 22,243 points! He's whooping your butt, you better come play.”

“No, no, back un-clean one! Do you see this? Yeah, that's right GARLIC, and I'm not afraid to use it.”

I come out of my daydream, and find I have the garlic powder shaker in my left hand ready to douse my laptop. I quickly grab my left wrist with my right hand and jerk it away, just in the nick of time.

It's funny how people who deal with technology start to look at certain institutions as villains, and others as their buddies. Facebook, Microsoft, and HP are on my stinker list right now. Microsoft has been on my “PU” list ever since they tried to take over the world in the 90s. I will have to admit that Bill Gates has been really trying to make a positive difference in the world lately, but his successor Lord Ballmermort is another story. When I see the current Microsoft CEO -Steve Ballmer- I see an uncanny resemblance to “He who shall not be named.”

“Doh!” Now I'm screwed, I named him, Steve Ballmer that is, and his VPs are going to swoop in on their Segeways, and start shooting me with their Windows 8 wands, and I'll have to use my magic Google Chrome shield to protect me.

“Curse you Lord Ballmermort you, you, screaming Cue Ball!” I yell, pointing my papermate wand into the air.

I've really got to stop this day dreaming nonsense. I blame it on allergies, I think all of those little white pills are making me loopy.

I think I'll go and check on that chicken that's cooking in the crock pot, I think it needs more wine.

Firkroy is Stayin' Alive, Stayin' Alive!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 15:24:00 +0000

Firkroy is hitting the path, and getting things moving.

Part of the “Keeping me alive program,” along with eating bowls of oatmeal in the morning, and not eating big chunks of cow, is bike riding. With the kids in school, I now have more flexibility with my time during the day. I ride my bike with my older son to his school, and then continue on for a thirteen mile trip along the Willamette river, on the bike paths of Eugene.

It's a pleasant ride along the river, groups of elderly people can be seen walking along the path, as well as bike commuters, hobos, and falling leaves. There are also people selling hand made jewelry laid out on blankets in the grass as I ride by, community gardens, parks, and that big “O” on Autzen stadium. I slow down as I go through the delta ponds, a small wildlife refuge with Western Pond Turtles that like to sit atop logs, beached on little islands in the middle of the water. There's also a beaver dam with ducks bobbing up and down trying to get at whatever is beneath the ripples. The Oregon State Beavers and Oregon Ducks may have a contentious rivalry on the gridiron, but in this pond beavers and ducks are in harmony.

I have a Fuji cross bike that I've had for several years, and I've made a few modifications to it. I've added fenders, changed the peddles, and replace the seat post. All in the name of making my bike fit me just a little bit better. My wife gave me a pair of black mountain bike pants, and later, a matching black long sleeve bicycle shirt. Mountain bike pant look more like regular shorts than Tour de Pants bicycle pants, which is good because I'm not ready to look like a ballet dancer wearing tights. I look a little more like Darth Vader, and if I added a cape and helmet, I could practice using “The Force” as I'm riding along. I could pick up and move whole groups of strolling old ladies out of the way, or I could part clouds of hobo cigarette smoke like the Red Sea, with a wave of my hand. Oh so many possibilities, but alas I can only use “The Force” for good.

Other bike paths in the area have less traffic, and you can find big packs of the Tour de Pants riders clad in their colorful advertisement laden bicycle gear. Just don't get in their way, they would rather run over babies than break formation. They're getting in shape for the Tour de France so watch out... Most won't even make the Tour de Springfield, but I suppose they can have their fantasy.

Upon arriving at home after my commune with two wheels and nature, It's time to go to work. I've ramped up my eBay sales, and like a Ferengi searching for a profit, I've been sniffing around for things for sale that I can pick up cheap, and then resell on eBay or Craigslist. Sales as a profession is hard to do correctly, but the challenge can be rewarding. But, selling to some of the people on eBay is anything but rewarding; some of them are real pieces of work. I've had a few people who didn't pay after winning my auctions, and I've had to go through the process of getting my selling fees back from eBay on more than one occasion, after buyers renege on their end of a deal. About six years ago I had one individual click on a “Buy it” button on a Vespa like scooter I was selling, he then turned around and give me negative feedback because he was confused by how the system worked. I had a not so pleasant conversation on the phone with this Ding Dong, and it wasn't pretty. As a result, I try and avoid selling anything a dumb person might want. I have a low tolerance for financial dealing with idiots; if only someone would invent the IQ filter. Craigslist is a little better, but sometimes I ignore email replies that I know are from people that I don't want to deal with, or Spammers.

And we all know what we would do to Spammers if we could just get our hands on them around here, “spit.”

Here lately, I've been getting the itch to throw some pots; I'm a potter amongst other things, and the kids have reeked havoc on the dishes that I made years ago. But first I have a bedroom to add for my oldest son, and more house painting to do. I've forgotten what boredom feels like a long time ago, and I have a feeling It may have something to do with that little voice in the back of my head, coming from my spouse with her honey do list in one hand, and a cattle prod in the other. But it's just a hunch.

The zucchini that I purchased last week was made into zucchini bread! Oh the splendid aroma of zucchini bread, with a chunk of melting butter running all over it. “Mmmmmmm.” Oh, if only I had more zucchini, then maybe we could make more of that wonderful nutty bread.

But Wait! Maybe Daryl from from across the street has more zucchini he wants to unload...

Run run run, “Knock Knock Knock,” on Daryl's door.

“Anyone home? Yooouuu Hoooooo!”

“I'll help you with more of those zucchini Daryl!”

“Buddy?”

“I see you hiding behind that curtain!”

“Open up! I need more zucchini!”

“KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!”

“Come on, be a pal!... Buddy?...”

In This Corner... Firkroy!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 15:23:00 +0000

It's Firkroy vs Hackers. Now go to your corners and come out fighting…ding, ding, ding!

One of my laptops started barking out “Warning, Warning Will Robinson!” at least that's what it felt like when the Microsoft Security Essentials popped up the first bubble that said I had a threat. I clicked on the resolve the issue button, but of course a few moments later it popped up yet again. Like a dog scratching off a flea I may have picked off one, but there are a hundred more hiding between the hairs.

So I resign to going through the drill by updating my free malware elimination software (Malwarebytes, and SuperAantispyware), then I re-booted the laptop in safe mode, I then ran a full scan with the first one with not even a burp, then they appear, 547 bad nasties detected! So after over an hour of scanning, and using the digital equivalent to a Raid bug bomb on them, I do another complete scan this time with the other checker, and find nothing wrong. I'm now safe to re-boot my laptop, and use it.

If hackers would keep their bad behavior targeted on big corporations I wouldn't mind them so much because they would be helping to keep hard working IT people employed on a regular basis, but these ass wipes pick on everyday people.

“What kind of punishment should they be subjected to?” I think to myself.

“Hummm, let me see:”

Death by hanging? No, too quick.
Death by Guillotine? Again, too damn quick for those bastards.
The electric chair? Now that would be entertainment! Maybe cook some eggs on their foreheads as they fry.

Here is my list of more creative ways of killing perpetrators of malware:

Being kicked in the nads by their victims to death! But only after being force fed a bottle of cheap Viagra purchased from a spammer. Then the victims get to repeatedly kick the Viagra spammer.
Being turned over to 1000 jocks for wedgies until dead. Then hung from a school flag pole.
Made to watch replays of Notre Dame making touch downs until dead. Actually making them watch any kind of football on TV would probably kill them.
Made to give Tech. Support to hillbillies until dead. That's just mean.
Made to stand in sunlight until dead, I think it would only take 10 minutes tops. I don't think they go outside much so they would quickly become a pile of ash, like a vampire hitting sunlight.
Deprivation of all Sci-Fi involving space ships until dead. (that one might even kill me)
Take away their computer for life... then they would kill themselves.

The nad kicking event sounds like a real money making opportunity, and I could sell tickets. Now how to get the word out without spamming, hummmm.

Now I can understand the interest in cracking a code, breaking into something that is supposed to be secure, and there are groups of hackers that are actually helpful, and help organizations find vulnerabilities in their systems. But most of the time, malware is created by criminals; the type of people who want to steal your personal information, your habits on the Internet, your credit card numbers, or any other nefarious thing this bunch of bastards think up to rob, or make money off of you.

If you haven't figured it out by now, the criminals sort of piss me off. Yes they have given me plenty to write about, and lots of opportunities to help people solve their problems, but I would much rather not have to deal with these jerks.

One way you can limit the damage these punks can do to you is to not use Windows. You can go and go out and buy a MAC, and that can be a bit spendy if your on a limited income, or you can check out the latest version of Ubuntu. Ubuntu is a completely free Linux operating system that I highly recommend. The computer I'm using right now is completely running on Ubuntu 11.04 Linux, but you can download a CD image, and try it on your own computer without making any changes to it at all. You download the CD image, burn it to a CD, then boot your computer from that CD to try it. It can also be installed to work side by side with your windows installation. I've tried many versions of Linus over the years and this is the first time I can actually say that I like a Linux installation over Windows.

On a completely different subject, and to those of you who read Firkroy's Revenge regularly. I did the grocery shopping this week, and guess what was on the list... zucchini. I had to buy six of them at the grocery store. Sigh, now I wish I hadn't hid from Daryl last week when he was going door to door unloading them. They were pretty cheap at the store, so I guess they was trying to unload them too.

Monday is kick a malware punk in the nads day, so get busy!