Your daily redneck moment

This Might Staple You in the Face.

2009-06-04T23:39:00.003-06:00

Today, I reupholstered a chair. My friend Sarah's computer chair was well... showing it's age, and the requisite use and abuse. Specifically, having been close to three small children.

It was time.

Naturally, we decided this at eleven thirty at night.

I'm sure that what Sarah's mother, attempting to sleep in the next room heard was something like "I don't know what that goes with. Maybe this fabric? No. This one? Eww. Hmm... OH! I know what this sort of pattern is good for. UPHOLSTERY!"

"Eww."

"No, not huge chairs. Like the seat on your computer chair."

(Silence)

(Already dismantling the chair) "Let's reupholster it!"

(Silence)

(Ka-CHUNK. Ka-Chunk kachunk kachunk. BAM! Bam Bam Bam! Ba-Bam! .... Taptaptaptap. .... kaChunk.)

"This might staple you in the face."

Bap bapbapbap.

"Let's go get a hammer."

The chair turned out great. Nobody got stapled, accidentaly or otherwise, and it looks professional. Kachunk is now a verb. We did make an unholy racket, but really, isn't any time always the right time to use the staple gun?

(Note from the honorary hick Sarah: Now it needs paint... And at least the staple gun wasn't a chainsaw.)

Yee-HAW

2008-10-04T21:52:00.003-06:00

Post 100! I used "yonder" in a senence the other day. That was exciting.

I don't have anything really deep for all ya'll today. Instead, I have a Garth Brooks video. I would have a Billy Joel viedo, but all of those were either crappy karaoke or had embedding disabled. So here we are.

Speaking of Garth Brooks:

Advice I never got... and that I won't tell my kids

2008-09-29T23:40:00.006-06:00

"You can't expect anyone else to respect you until you can respect yourself."

My grandfather never told me that.

My father never told me that.

My mother never told me that.

In fact, they never told me shit. But that's okay, because most of the things parents tell their kids are lies. They tell you you can be anything you want to be. That the sky's the limit. What they don't tell you is that, to borrow a phrase, you have to paint the inside of your box the right shade of blue. They tell you that if you try hard enough, you can go to an Ivy League school. They don't tell you the truth, that you'd better work extra hard or you're stuck right where you grew up. They say that if you tell the truth, you won't get in trouble, but you always do anyway. They say that timeout is a position of shame when it really means you thought for yourself.

My dad told me that if I worked hard, he might be able to help pay my way through community college. And that I'd damn well better graduate, or he won't waste his money. My mom explained just how much shit life can throw at you when you haven't earned it. They never told me I could be anything I wanted, because they knew it wasn't true. They saiid I could be anything I made myself. There's a critical difference.

Half of what I learned, they didn't come right out and say. That wouldn't have made sense. They showed me. They made me learn that I'd better either take action to make something better, or shut up about it not being to my liking. They proved that sometimes you just had to tough it out, but you'd better not give up, because the world will just kick you in the teeth when you're down.

They also showed me that hard work can change almost anything. Grandpa was a self-made man. You might say that dad was a self-destroyed man, but that's not really a fair assessment. Point is, this man hit the road with $100, a car, and a girlfriend, and made a success of himself, despite the best efforts of physics. Between them, my parents showed me that the only one who could destroy you was you. Even if you told yourself that it was someone else.

Growing up with my parents, I learned that when you can't change the situation, you've got to get out of it. If you can't leave, you're fucked. Make the best of it.

Shit happens.

More shit happens.

So stop whining about it.

Crying at Costco doesn't help anything.

"You ain't dead, get it off yourself."

If it looked like a bad idea at the time, in hindsight it was a horrible idea that you're lucky to have survived.

Even if it looked like a good idea at the time, see above.

Don't drink. Don't smoke. Don't join the Army.

People die. Death is forever. Adults can't explain this, so don't ask them to.

They didn't tell me any of this, they showed me. I don't know if they meant to, but I'm glad they did. I learned it better that way. Of course, the other half of what I learned were things I taught myself. Like when to leave a room. How to heel. How thinking for myself was the only way to keep things straight, when everyone else wants to manipulate you.

That calling someone a manipulator and then acting like the good guy, the savior from this evil manipulator, makes you just as guilty.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me... until someone picks up sticks or stones because of those words.

People lie.

Hit back.

Screaming does nothing when nobody will come running. They will ask why you didn't scream for help, like having screamed instead of defending yourself would have been better. Then you'd have been creamed by the other guy, and then offered no protection OR retribution.

Even if someone comes running, they can't be there forever. In the 15 minutes in between the call and the flashing red and blue lights, a lot can happen.

Getting the police involved rarely reduces your problems.

Sometimes street justice is the only justice.

Sometimes there is no justice.

Justice is most often about revenge.

That when it got right down to it, you were no better than anyone else. Get used to it.

You don't deserve shit. Nobody does. Earn it or shut up. But be confident in what you've earned. Don't let anyone take it. Don't let anyone tell you it's any less. If they do, don't believe them.

Lives are like national parks: people walk in and out, leaving their trash and leaving tracks, but you can't keep them out. You wouldn't want to. Whenever you're a guest in someone's life, no matter who they are, try and leave them a little better than you found them. Same with national parks.

Squirrels are good judges of intentions.

Goals are like the ice cream truck: when you finally reach it and get your ice cream, you realize it cost more than you expected and isn't as good as you remembered. But like when the ice cream truck drives by every Saturday, don't stop chasing your goals.

Live for the moment. The next one isn't guaranteed.

Grandpa practically let his kids raise themselves, just stepping in to guide them when they were truly lost. My parents didn't mean to make me raise myself, but I'm glad they did. They showed me more than they ever probably knew about themselves.

Back to the quote I opened with, "You can't expect anyone else to respect you until you can respect yourself." That's the most important thing I ever learned. School doesn't teach you the true meaning of respect. You parents sure as hell don't. They mean "blind obedience" when they say respect, when really that's not what it's about at all. Martial arts doesn't teach you what respect means. They can all teach you the symptoms, but fake sincerity is hardly sincere. You have to learn it for yourself.

I intend to raise my kids by example. Even a bad example can turn out a good kid, you know.

lolsbians

2008-09-28T23:44:00.003-06:00

Like lolcats, only sexier.

I have done that. Just recently, even. It is very true. Good news is, most of my arm hair grew back. Which is a perfect segue into our next picture:

I would have been caught. Please be gentle, mistress!
Or not, if I've been bad and need to be punished.

On that note:

I've been busy

2008-09-19T23:45:00.006-06:00

Perhaps it's a little tough to read, so here's a zoomed-in version:

FEATURED! I am extremely proud of myself right now, to have written a featured instructable. Maybe my first two 'ibles ever weren't featured, unlike my buddy Skunkbait, but then again the rest of mine have been quick and tossed together. So again, hooray for having my first "serious" 'ible featured!

In other news, meet my second-favorite fish blog.

Baseball, anyone?

2008-09-17T22:23:00.003-06:00

Whoever the two people are who have actually played Moldy Pumpkin Machete Baseball, would you please stand up? Was it as fun as it sounds, or more so? If I built a small air cannon and shot a pumpkin out of it at a machete I was holding, would that be as stupid as it sounds?

What else?

Oh, yeah, I feel like an asshole, but I really don't hate you. As far as I'm concerned, things don't have to be weird, or awkward, or anything else but friends.

Redneck philosifizin'

2008-09-12T22:08:00.005-06:00

Have you ever sat and just watched a fire? I mean really watched it. It's tough to start at first, and sometimes it seems like the harder you try, the farther away that magic spark is. Of course, accidental fires are notoriously easy to light. But once the fire is lit, it's alive. It's got a mind of its own, and its both stubborn and fickle.

The flames leap up from the fuel, dancing across it like the northern lights brought to the ground. No two tongues of flame are ever exactly alike, but there are patterns that they always follow. Its interesting to note, however, that once the initial flush of flame dies down, the entire pile of fuel begins to glow. Looking in amongst the sticks, it is obvious that the air itself, everywhere in that space, is combusting. The fire is comprehensive, all-encomappassing in amongst its fuel. Most people fixate on the leaping flames, but it is obvious where the real beauty lies. The true elegance of a fire rests in its heart.

After forest fires and lightning strikes, snags and stumps have been found smouldering, even after heavy rain and weeks of time since the main fire passed through. The fire crawls into the heartwood, into the roots, into the secret nooks and crannies that every tree has. In some respects, fire knows trees better than any other being on this earth knows them. Putting out a smouldering stump can take hundreds of gallons of water, or a dozen people hacking it into little bits and spreading it out to cool, or both.

But fire isn't actually free. It is bound to systems and rules, just like we are. There are certain paraneters within which an enber can live, grow, become a flame. there are other parameters where fire dies quickly of exposure. Without its food and its air, the fire starves. If put in too small a space, it snuffs itself out. Embers and flames love company, but if you put too many of them in the same space, none of them have the resources to live.

Wildland firefighter and priest Peter Leschak wrote that when he dies, he hopes he may return and roam this earth as a wildfire, turning up wherever lightning or a careless match might strike, engaged in an earnest battle with firefighters, but extending them a certain professional courtesy, so to speak. He understands that although a fire will always burn itself out of its own accord if not snuffed sooner, fire will always be back. It's an integral part of earth's natural balance, here before we were, and here long after we're gone.

Wristwatch motorcycles

2008-09-09T23:57:00.003-06:00

I just ran across this post showing all sorts of motorcycles, made entirely of old wristwatch parts. They are amazing in their detail, even when the artist took liberties with the laws of physics. The sheer aura of coolness is overwhelming.

If I can't get one of these pre-made, I need to go make friends with a watch repairer and try and build one myself.

The greatest hot rod song ever written

2008-08-22T01:09:00.002-06:00

I will gladly explain it if you don't get why it is the greatest. What other song has epic sports cars, totalitarian governement, high-speed pursuits, and the unparalleled musicianship of the three men of Rush? It's not just a good-time song like the Beach Boys wrote, it is an intricate tapestry of nostalgic pleasure in the midst of the Priests' dystopic rein. I cna't think of another song where the protagonist risks a death at the hands of the mountain, or worse, a non-death at the hands of the Thought Police. I could go on about how much I love this band, but I really have to sleep sometime soon. Good day.

Gonna buy me a Mercury and cruise it up and down the road.

2008-08-22T00:20:00.006-06:00

I am a diehard Mercury fan. Any Merc, big, small, new, old, running, rusted out, I don't care. I believe in american cars and American bikes. I don't like the fact that they're not built in America anymore, but the Big Three are classic American marques. That's why every car that's ever occupied the driveway has had Ford, GM, or Mopar badges, even rentals. There just is no beating them. Of course, at hill climbs and rallies, I do occasionally love to hear an Italian engine wail and howl like it's tearing a hole in Hell itself. But it's the growl, roar, and bark of the American V8 that I love the most. If I can't get that, a well-tuned V6 can do a tidy job. Dare to be different, right?

You should have heard the fellow on the other end of the phone at a certain famous mail-order parts company when I asked about anything that might maybe kinda work on a front-drive 1993 60 degree six inhabiting the engine bay of a Cutlass. He tried to help, first by trying to talk me out of it, then by giving me prices and sources of parts that might not work, but might just do the trick. The target is around 400, so it might never happen, but he helped all he could. I've got my work cut out for me if I want a high-power V6, offroadable tow rig/city cruiser.

Of course, the other car is already a "little hot rod." It's a '07 Merc Milan six. 220 horse out of 183 is pretty good. But I get the feeling it's being held back. The low end is great, but the transmission is a bit shifty. It tends to pick the gear I'd like it to, you just have to speak its language. Off the line is great (even with the auto, you can pull a great holeshot. The converter stalls around 900 if you go easy on it, or up to about 1300 if you stomp on it. By the time it shifts gears, the engine is already making as much power as the four-banger does wide open. Like I said, the pull at low rpms is pretty fun.

Handling is crisp, predictable, and smooth. I find the power steering to have a good amount of resistance. I've only felt the vehicle skid once, and that was on a wet road with the traction control off. I call it "active Positraction." I mentioned the responsiveness and low end earlier, but that's on a good day. On a bad day, things are jerky, opening the throttle is just a suggestion (the computer gets final say, since it is infuriatingly drive-by-wire). Response is not crisp, but compared with the ocean-liner handling and throttle response of the Olds, it only annoys me when the person in the right seat is being impatient and wants faster starts, later stops, and general disregard for gas milage and parts longevity. Well, she should know her daughter better. When she gets impatient and says "speed up to 60 faster" she should know that that means all four windows down, pedal to the metal, engine spooling up past four grand, exhaust note loud. I may be a hotrod enthusiast, but I'm secure enough in the machine's ability to not have to show it off. My mom just likes to get there now, even if "there" is a red light. She doesn't like not being in control.

So back to what I like to call "on-ramps with a pissed off nervous backseat driver." The Milan is not a straight-line car. It does the quarter in 15 seconds at a hair over 90, or so I'm told. I intend to get it up to Bandimere soon and get timed in an E.T. class sometime this year. I'm confident it'll lose. 0-60 in nine seconds. Those numbers are bad for a car of this magnitude. Where's the lead brick?

The car itself is the lead brick. Coming in at over two tons, it's one heavy mutha. The speedometer goes to 120, the revs are limited at 133, but the car doesn't even want to do 90. I'm sure with a long enough road 133 could happen, but I don't know where that blacktop would be. I felt it complain at 87 and asked to do more last summer out in the flatlands with my dad at the helm. Besides a Corvette or a red Barchetta, I can't think of a better mountain backroads rallymobile. But if fast acceleration is needed from 55 on up, it's not gonna happen. The low end is promising, but the stock tune can't deliver.

Of course, none of that amounts to a hill of beans, the favorite thing for my family to do in that car is to cruise it up and down the road.

Montgomery Gentry--Speed

2008-08-04T02:37:00.000-06:00

Ain't it the truth?

Din't rock the jukebox-- play me a country song!

2008-08-03T13:50:00.003-06:00

I have come to the official conclusion that you probably don't have enough country music. No matter who you are. I intend to fix that. Montgomery Gentry have got some great songs, like "Back When I Knew it All," "What Do Ya Think About That" and "Hillbilly Shoes."

Embedding is disabled by request on some of'em, so here's the links. Check the fiddle in Hillbilly Shoes.

What Do Ya Think About That?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QytPoRLEhF0

Back When I Knew it All

Hillbilly Shoes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glyGjAyw9sM

All Night Long
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWu911G7RxA

Can you beat this?

2008-07-29T00:07:00.005-06:00

The other day I was having a debate with a friend of mine over who was whiter-trash. We've set the bar pretty high over the course of trying to one-up each other. So here's a short list.

You might be white trash if:

You have ever watched someone beat a belligerant drunk party guest with a string of dried chiles.
You were ever on the recieving end of such a beating.
You have ever heard a tornado warning and hid under your trailer.
You have ever ridden in the bed of a Ford pickup.
You have ever ridden in the bed of a Ford pickup at 75 miles an hour and were still able to hear the Alan Jackson song playing in the cab.
You once went two months without eating anything that hadn't been microwaved.
You have ever bought breakfast, lunch, and dinner at a 7-Eleven.
You have ever proudly sang the song "Upper-Middle-Class White Trash".
You began singing the chorus when your friend said that.
You know anyone who actually "stopped to pee, got some gas and won the lottery!"
You will drop whatever you're doing to go to a pig roast.
You have ever seen roadkill and thought "I bet that'd be good with some A-1 on it."
You keep your James Bond tapes in an A&W box.
You can name twelve barbeque joints within driving distance of wherever you are.
You have gator meat in your freezer.
You have a snakeskin belt from a snake killed by anyone you know.
You know anyone who goes by the name "Cornbread".
You know how to ride a non-riding lawnmower.
You have ever gone to Wal-Mart in search of shoes, because you accidentally left on vacation with no shoes whatsoever.
You're not ashamed to wear a bright red Rocky's Autos hat.
You will drive 900 miles to watch someone drive 500 miles.
You will drive 200 miles to watch someone drive 12.42 miles uphill.
Freestyle Snowshoe Boulder Jumping sounds like a good idea.
You have ever hit a tree. While walking. In the summer. On purpose. More than once.
And, most of all, if you have ever participated in a contest over how white-trash you are.

Getting in the Holiday Spirit

2008-07-26T00:40:00.003-06:00

This is the coolest Christmas light display I have ever seen. That includes the concept of Tim Taylor's 12 million candlepower house, and the decorations the people down the street put up every year.

This allegedly cost that guy $10,000 to set up and program, using 88 different control channels. In order to not annoy the neighbors, he put up a sign instructing viewers to tune into a low-power FM station to hear the music. As far as I know, he does this every year now.

Last year, I scotch-taped a few LEDs to the window, and hung one string of lights. Badly. It's not quite the same.

Tips for salesmen

2008-07-24T23:45:00.004-06:00

Funny story. Don't be this tool. Seriously.

A few weeks ago we had just pulled into the driveway and gotten out, when a door-to-soor salesman walked up to us. Of all the rotten timing, we manage to get home just as this guy's walking through the corner of our lawn, now making a beeline for the car. Too late, he's spotted us. We can't just throw it in reverse and gun it. Remove your hand from the gearshift please.

I figure we'll let him say his piece and scurry off, since that's usually the fastest way to get rid of a salesman, short of acting like you're not home, or audibly cocking a gun.

"Have you ever considered vinyl siding?"
My mom says, "No, we don't want any."
"You never have to paint it, it's weatherproof, and affordable."
"I really don't think we're interested."

This guy just wasn't getting the hint. Then he said it. "It's available in a variety of colors. It'd be real easy to cover up some of this ugly brick."

The whole neighborhood is brick ranch houses. No siding to be found. This tool just didn't get it that he might be barking up the wrong tree. There's a reason we live in a brick house. Mom's approach wasn't working. My turn to talk.

"I don't know who you think you are, but let me give you a word of advice. Don't go callin' my house ugly and expect me to want anything from you except to leave. Now get out of my driveway. And stay off my grass while you do it."

He didn't want to leave, but this time he got the hint. I don't think he ever called someone's house ugly again. At least not that day.

The redneck to-do list

2008-07-21T22:25:00.002-06:00

First of all, I would like to know how I wound up with the honey-do list. I was snaking the drain of a sink I don't even use today when I realized, "Holy crap, I've been doing stuff my mom has been nagging my dad to do. When did that happen?"

So to counteract and delay the honey-do list's evils of pulling weeds, returning dog shit to our neighbor's yard where the little shitter lives, cleaning dishes that have been soaking against my explicit request, and watering the lawn, I have drawn up my own official to-do list, which is as follows.

Complete portable jacob's ladder for sparking motorcycle helmet
Get another motorcycle
Get it running
Go to the Rocky Mountain Concours d'Elegance and dig the Munro Special '20 Indian Scout 45
Get the rest of our motorcycles running
Join a high school rugby team
Aquire and hotrod a 50cc scooter to do an honest 55 for any sustained period of time, more than once
Attach a tow hitch to our Olds
Hotrod the Olds
Get Brushfire Customs off the ground as a business
Graduate high school
Build a machine to race up Pikes Peak

I'm not sure whether those are in chronological order or by drop-everything-else-and-do-it priority, but whatever. There's some NASCAR-watching, NHRA-following, family reunions, shooting, barbequeing, wild-game-eating, and all that in there, too, but that's kind of par for the course, y'know?

Weekly Gearing

2008-07-10T00:23:00.003-06:00

Seeing as I build crap as a hobby and an income (and build even more crap when I'm bored... they know me at Home Depot), I've been hanging out on Instructables with other people who like to build stuff, too.

If we're given the choice between an easy solution and a free solution using junk we already have, rednecks will usually pick using the junk we already have. And trust me, your average redneck has a LOT of junk. The people on Instructables like to take the DIY approach, too, and write step-by-step directions so that anyone else who has the same problem can fix it themselves, too. Even if they decide they want to turn an old Apple computer into a toilet paper dispenser, which has since been dubbed the "iPood" by the commentors. However I think we all agree, nobody would want an iPood Shuffle or Video.

Me and a couple of other people on the site have decided to put together a weekly podcast of interesting happenings, contests, and notable inventions we've run across. We really don't plan on talking much about the nitty-gritty of how to do it, since the steps are already available and illustrated on the site, but we will be talking about the great, the awful, and the just plain "WTF?" inventions on the site. Kind of a weekly digest and who's-who.

The infamous Killerjackalope of Northern Ireland, the not-so-infamous spoonty of Australia, and yours truly of Colorado will be hosting.

So if you'd like to listen to "Weekly Gearings," we expect to have the first episode put together and available by sometime next week. More details pending. First we have to figure out who's paying international rates for a conference call!

(Just kidding, file transfer is both free and magically delicious)

Kiteboating

2008-07-10T00:14:00.002-06:00

If we had wind and water (mostly consistent sea-breeze type wind), I'd probably be first in line to attach a boat to a kite out on the reservoir. But since we don't, I'm trying to design a ducted-fan-powered wagon-like-object to take out on the plains. Like an airboat, only funner. But since Tim Anderson is out in California, where sea breezes are common, him and all his friend kitesurf. So it makes sense that they'd decide to attach a big kite to a little boat and see what happens.

That's what happens.

No, actually, I hear that it worked pretty well. they did drive to the beach like that, though. Note the guy riding hood ornament up top of the truck. Who knew anything would be able to make a Ford F-series pickup look small?

Redneck decoration 101

2008-07-05T01:38:00.004-06:00

http://myredneckworld.com/

Ran across that the other day while I was looking at the Google Analytics for this page. I want that wooden motorcycle! That is badass. The real "riding" lawnmower is pretty cool, too. If our yard weren't so damned hilly and obstructed, I'd have to see about getting me one of those. But the last thing I'd need is to lay it over, 'cause we all know it'd be too heavy to pick up alone, and the mower blade would be spinning.

In fact, WAY too many of those photos look really familiar.

I like the gingerbread trailer, too. The front lawn on that one is spot-on perfect. And it's not just trailer park folks that do that, either. I've never had to live in a trailer park myself, but I've crashed with a lot of relatives who do, and it's true, everything you hear. We all have stuff in our front yards like a gigantic truck, or a car that's getting washed, or a car up on blocks. One feller (whom I believe is my 2nd cousin's husband, or maybe he's my second cousin, I'm not sure) who comes to my uncle's Thanksgiving party every year really likes old tractors. So we sold him one. It was an old Ford that had been used as a mountain logging tractor. See, they'd put the wheels on backwards so they got the most grip going backwards, then they'd drive up the hill in reverse, since that was the lowest gear. My grandpa bought it in the late 40s or early 50s for use in his construction business. One time he nearly ran over my dad with it. He parked it on the hillside that day, in 1956, where it sat and rusted for fifty years.

Then my dad told cousin Jim the tractor story, and Jim said he'd pay cash for the tractor if it was for sale. Why what a coincidence, it just happens to have gone on the market.

So the nest weekend, it's still hot as hell, even though it's November, and now the whole family is up halfway up the hill looking at this tractor. Jim brought his wife, his truck, and a trailer. You guessed what that means: papa's goin' hunting and bringin' back a big'un. And what a catch this tractor was. Thing is, it was about 40 feet from the road, grandpa parked it in gear, and now we can't get it out of gear. Oh, this thing was going nowhere.

It took a couple of hours, four people, a truck, a tow chain, and a prayer, but we got the tractor off the mountinside and onto the road without tipping it over. We just had to drag the stubborn hunk of rust. Then, with more effort, we got it onto the trailer and got it chained down. Tractor in his possession, cousin Jim payed up in cold, hard cash.

The next Thanksgiving, Jim had wallet-sized photos of his new favorite tractor to pass around. He had gotten it back out to his kustoms shop way out in flat ranch country, wrestled it off the trailer, and left it where it landed.

Right in front of his porch, next to the mailbox. It had a couple of field-find cars and what might have been some sort of railroad equipment to keep it company. Over turkey, he informed us that it was quite a conversation piece.

The final test will be next Tuesday. It will be multiple-choice. A score of 70% or better means you pass Redneck Decoration 101 and will be able to move on to Redneck Decoration 102: Proper uses of cinderblocks.

Oh, shit.

2008-07-04T03:46:00.005-06:00

If I haven't already made you sit through my whole gun-rights opinion (oh, you'd know it if I had), you don't know that I believe in the right to posess, carry, and use handguns if it proves necessary.

But this is going a little far. Don't get me wrong, I know several people who might buy and use a pair of these pants. There's a reason I don't visit these people. They're generally a little trigger-happy, and I'd rather remain bullet-hole-free.

If you've never spent some time in the South, be it ranch country like Texas and parts of Colorado (yes, I know that's a geographical screw-up, but the culture's plenty similar), or the plantation country of the Deep South, then you don't know what I'm talking about.

Without getting into the "you can have my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers" speech, let me just point out that rifles and handguns are an integral part of America's collective culture. There's a reason Colt called it the Peacemaker.

Of course, we all know that guns (and the nutcases that own them), can contribute to some real old-fashioned hell-raising. We don't want that, now do we? And that's why the sort of people who would buy pants just so they can keep their Colt ready to kill with at a moments notice are probably the sort of people we really shouldn't be allowing to have a handgun.

But whether or not they have a screw loose is irrelevant. What really matters is the fact that even though it's a little dangerous for everyone involved, these people have a right to own their guns, and pants to carry them in.

Mountain Rednecks

2008-06-27T00:04:00.006-06:00

A little while ago I mentioned Jeeping in an MG 1100, towing a big trailer with an Olds Cutlass, towing someone out of a ditch with a Mustang (with the tow rope just tied to the back of the frame). We've also driven a Mercury Milan all over Hell and back on washboard dirt and Indian reservation roads... at 80 miles an hour. By God, if we're going to break it, we'll break it during the warranty. My grandpa has hauled lumber and bags of concrete up dirt Cascade backroads; I know because I was in the bed of his El Camino one time for a supply run. You'd think he was haulin' shine or something.

Mountain rednecks may not always have four-wheel drives, but we'll act like we do. Cars can take a lot more than you'd think. Guys in a Subaru 4WD drive like little old ladies offroad. Of course, they're trust-fund hippies mostly. And not like one little old lady from Pasadena, either. Boy, she drove that Super Stock of hers. Give a mountain redneck that same car and he'll be going rock crawling. Give an average flatlander a dry creek drainage and a Volvo and he'll be parking the Volvo. Give a mountain redneck those same two things and he'll show you a fun day.

Remember this guy? I figured I'd give him another time around on the front page. It's just so....perfect.

If you're offroading on an impromptu cross-country road trip, the proper way to drive is, contrary to what that jumpy man with the clipboard told you when you were 16, actually with one foot on the gas, the other on the wheel, no shirt on, and the entire upper half of your body out the window. Even if you're driving a damned Prius, this gets you cred.

Like this man.

According to him, Priuses have enough ground clearance that if you're not all uptight and greener-than-thou about it, they make okay off-road vehicles. Plus, having your Prius towed out of a boulderfield five states from where you live is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This one made it through that trail okay, though, apparently.

Now I want to put a Chevy truck IFS with a four inch lift under a Prius, weld on a skidplate, do a mini-tub, put on 20-inch beadlocks with offroad tires, and take that to the next offroad competition just to see if it works. This comes from the same place as my desire to put a 426 Hemi in a Geo Metro, with Positraction rear and a four-speed close-ratio box and watch Corvette guys embarrass themselves.

I think I need professional help with this. I'm not sure whether that should be psycholog-i-mica-tal or someone to hold things in place while I weld. I'll get back to you on that.

You might be from Colorado if

2008-06-24T23:43:00.003-06:00

A winter statistic: 98% OF AMERICANS SCREAM BEFORE GOING IN THE DITCH ON A SLIPPERY ROAD. THE OTHER 2% ARE FROM COLORADO AND THEY SAY, 'HOLD MY SODA AND WATCH THIS!'

For rednecks, especially those of the mountain trailer trash breed (you've met us, even though you might not know it), that above sentence is usually uttered while at the wheel of a 12-year-old sedan.

NOW: You're from Colorado if you'll eat ice cream in the winter. Are you kidding? I stock my freezer with popsicles first thing in December. And we're not the only ones in the Costco line with a jumbo pack of Orange Dreamsicles, either.

When the weather report says it's going to be 65 degrees, you shave your legs and wear a skirt. That's in the spring. In the winter, the shave-legs-and-wear-skirt point is 47. Shorts for guys (and those of us who wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt) is at a clear 42 degree day.

It snows 5 inches and you don't expect school to be canceled. No shit. Five with seven more on the way means get an early start, the school won't be starting late.

You'll wear flip flops every day of the year, regardless of temperature. No, we'll wear Birkenstock sandals. Flip-flops don't happen until late May; the snow will suck them off your feet.

You have no accent at all, but can hear other people's. Actually, I must disagree here. Colorado has a few accents, which no non-Coloradan can pick up. Mostly, you can tell if someone's from the Front range, ranch country, the Western Slope, or right up Jack Frost's asscrack on the Divide. You think I'm kidding. Spend a winter in a trailer in Buena Vista.

And then you make fun of them. Okay, we'll make fun of people's accents, but mostly northeaserners. "Hey, nor-easter! That 'sat-ah-lights' means snowplow. No, you don't get snow where you're from. You ain't seen nothin' yet." Sometime's that's followed by "Hold my soda and watch this."

'Humid' is over 25%. Damn straight. And this constant 45% we've been having means our swamp cooler won't function, except to give us new and creative mold problem. Really, the other day, I held a board meeting with all the various strains of mold that want to live in our bathroom. The toilet mold isn't getting his damage deposit back, the shower mold is getting evicted before he even gets to move in, and the mold that wants to happen on the ceiling because of the damn swamp cooler malfunctioning got hit with agent orange.

Your sense of direction is: Toward the mountains and away from the mountains. Is there any other way? March me across a compound hill leading into a drainage that will run 40 miles before it hits flat land, and I will be able to point where we came from. March me out on flat land and ask me the same thing, and I will get it very wrong.

You say 'the interstate' and everybody knows which one. Well, we only have two. Say "the highway" and everyone knows what you mean, too. Just give a number, like "24, 25, 285, 17," (ut-hut-hike!), and folks will know whether you mean Interstate, U.S., or Colorado road, too.

You think that May is a totally normal month for a blizzard. June's pretty normal, too, in Jack Frost's asscrack, oops, I mean the Divide.

You buy your flowers to set out on Mother's day, but try and hold off planting them until just before Father's day. There's any other way?

You grew up planning your Halloween costumes around your coat. I went as a fireman one time just so I got to wear heavy canvas duds. Another time I went as Chewbacca just so I could wear fur to stay warm. We only had three dry Halloweens when I was growing up, and one of then was 17 degrees.

You know what the Continental Divide is. Who doesn't?

You don't think Coors beer is that big a deal. They bought the whole town, of course it's a big deal. It just isn't any good from a beer or supply chain standpoint.

You went to Casa Bonita as a kid, and as an adult. And take every visitor there, too.

You've gone off-roading in a vehicle that was never intended for such activities. Can you say "Jeeping in an MG 1100?" How about "Towing a big-ass trailer up a dirt mountain road with a '93 Olsmobile Cutlass" Been there, done that. How about "Towed someone out of a mild Colorado ditch with an '83 Mustang?" Hell yeah. I always say, if you get stuck anywhere in Colorado, wait and a local will help you. If you get stuck within 90 miles of Denver, call me, we'll get you out.

You always know the elevation of where you are. 5373 feet.

You wake up to a beautiful, 80 degree day and you wonder if it's going to snow tomorrow. Or thundersnow. I didn't know that was possible until it happened. I thought the Reds had attacked. With a nuke.

You don't care that some company renamed it, the Broncos still play at Mile High.

Every movie theater has military and student discounts. Seriously, is that abnormal?

Everybody wears jeans to church. Some folks ride quads to church. I saw one feller ride a horse one time.

You actually know that ** South Park ** is a real place not just a show on TV. You also know that the really weird people are just over the pass on either side of South Park.

You know what a 'trust fund hippy' is, and you know its natural habitat is Boulder. Drinking Fat Tire Ale and saving the whales.

But where else do you have such a Postcard view from you front/back porch! Somewhere that's NOT Boulder.

You know you're talking to a fellow Coloradoan when they call it Elitches, not Six Flags. Fuck Six Flags. It will always be Elitch's, (both spellings are acceptable), and not to see Elitch's is not to see Denver.

A bear on your front porch doesn't bother you. It does tend to bother other people, though, so you'll probably throw a firecracker at it. Tom did that once, the bear jumped straight up out of his dumpster, hit the ground running, and never came back.

Your two favorite teams are the Broncos and whoever is beating the crap out of the Raiders. Except last season. The Broncos were' not on that list last year, but Elam was. Trading him was the dumbest thing that franchise has ever done.

When people out East tell you they have mountains in their state, too, you just laugh. They're hills. That's why y'all are called hillbillies. We've got hillbillies here, too, but here, they live in the FOOThills, and the real dangerous moonshiners, hunters, and general backwoods boys live up past the foothills, in the front or second range of the MOUNTAINS.

You go anywhere else on the planet and the air feels 'sticky' and you notice the sky is no longer blue. It's been sticky around here lately, too. Wouldn't it suck if the overall change in climate patterns that "global warming" is going to cause put us smack dab in the middle of a cold, wet zone?

It's a BOWL of MEAT!

2008-06-21T22:36:00.004-06:00

And your point is?

Hey ya'll, if you have ever been called weird by your neighbor while he was grilling a squirrel, we might have the same neighbor. He's got no room to talk, he's grilling a damn squirrel.

Everyone knows, squirrels are best when fried.

One of my friends has a great recipe for pigeon. It's a little gamey, but that's a plus. Brazed rotisserie pigeon is actually very good.

That's the kind of friend I should be hanging out with. I don't know why I have nearly vegetarian friends. Actually, yes I do. You're alright in my book... even if you won't eat beef.

I can understand somebody not liking rattlesnake kabobs, or maybe broiled ostrich, but beef replaced chicken as the main meat staple of the American diet sixty years ago. Maybe going to a place called Noodles and ordering two sides of beef (no pasta) is a little carnivorous, but you would be amazed how good and fall-apart juicy their beef is. But, no, "It's a bowl. Of meat." Like that's somehow wrong. And you call me weird. It is a bowl (a tiny one for $4.32, at that). Of meat. People need meat to survive. At least this people does.

If you think PETA means People Eating Tasty Animals, we're on the same page. We didn't get to the top of the food chain just to eat plants. So let me just put together a list of critters, cuts of meat, and good ways to cook them.

Ostrich: I like dark meat when it comes to poultry. I'm not entirely sure how Craftwood Inn cooks it, but their ostrich is worth every penny. It is tasty, fall-apart juicy, and glazed in some kind of amazing sauce. If you want to have this big-ass bird, don't try and do it yourself, go to Craftwood Inn in Manitou Springs, Colorado and get their ostrich, off of the dinner menu, not the appetizers. You'll need a reservation and a collar. While you're there, get the cheese soup. Or maybe buy that for your less adventurous friend.

Squirrel: I said it already, fry it. Non-native squirrels are considered invasive pests, in addition to good when battered. I personally recommend without batter, though. Make sure it is done through: wild critters can have all sorts of nasty things. Fry in vegetable oil, not fatback, in order to get the most squirrel flavor. take the guts out before cooking, but you could leave the fur on if you want. Cooking/cleaning-wise, it's somewhere in between rabbit and fish.

Rabbit: I have limits. Rabbits are pests to farmers, and multiply like, well, rabbits. Farmers will shoot them on sight, and then either leave them twitching to die, or take them home. If you ever see a farmer shoot a rabbit and leave it for dead, go find it and break its neck. Don't let it suffer. I won't eat a rabbit that was purposely killed in front of my eyes so we could have it for dinner. But if I saw it shot and left for dead, or I know it was killed just for dinner purposes, but I didn't have to watch, I'll eat it. They're big enough you need to drain the blood. Clean and cube. Make rabbit stew. Let it sit on the heat for at least four hours. Six if you can.

Rattlesnake: Best when pregnant. Then you get eighteen for the price of one! Although a funny joke (if slightly macabre... I do love a girl who can shoot sarcasm from the hip like that, though), don't do it. First of all, rattlers can bite poisonously for more than an hour after they're dead. Let someone else get the snake. Only ever kill snakes if they pose an immediate threat to people or livestock: snakes control the rodent population, and a rat problem is worse. If you want to kill a viper, shoot it with a low-speed firearm, but not from too close a range. It will strike at the hot bullet. You can try to use a shotgun, but you'll put a lot of holes in the purty skin, and you won't be able to make a belt out of it. Cut the head off (if it isn't already blown to smithereens) and hold the mouth shut. Tape shut, even, for at least an hour. Incinerate, not in a cookfire. Snake, especially rattler, but watersnakes are good, too (good luck surviving a cottonmouth hunt) is very good when put on a kabob and fire-roasted. You can also pan-fry, make jerky, or make a meatloaf or crabcake-like dish. Keep the rattle and display.

Pigeon: My friend won't share his recipe, and I'm not in the mood to bag a pigeon and experiment. As far as I can tell, it is citrus-marinated and fire-roasted or rotisseried like a chicken. I think he bastes with a simple syrup every now and then. Fully cook it. Don't be afraid to burn the outside if you have to in order to get the inside done.

Antelope, deer, elk, or moose: This is an art in and of itself, but jerky and old-fashioned barbecue are popular options.

Wild Boar: As with all wild animals, especially ones that forage through trash and scraps like pigs do, take your grandmother's advice: make sure it's good and done or you'll be good and done! Trichinosis is very real, and very insidious. Cook your meat well done and that risk is eliminated. Wild Boar is good cooked like a Hawaiian pig, roasted on a spit, or butchered and cooked like a beef roast. Craftwood Inn also has great boar. I highly recommend it. I'm not sure precisely what they do, but it's magic.

Frog: Egg battered and lightly fried is popular, but I find that the legs are still a little off in terms of flavor and texture. I personally prefer cooked on a griddle. Make sure it's well-greased, preferable with bacon fat, fatback or other animal grease. Cook until browned, but do not burn.

Snail: Not escargot, snail. The kind that eats your garden. Cook like the meat course in a fondue meal: in boiling oil (maybe it's an oily beef or chicken stock, I'm not sure). Think of the meat course at The Melting Pot. Make sure it's salty (the oil, not the snail). Use one of those tiny forks to get the snail out of its shell once it's all cooked and dead and stuff.

Fried ant: Crunchy, nutty, and delicious. Don't do it yourself, buy it ready-made. I wouldn't eat the ants in my yard, that's for sure.

Mealworm: Yes, that is the worm in the bottom of the tequila bottle. No, you don't want that one. Tequila is mean stuff, and getting to the worm means drinking a lot of it, and then arguing with a bunch of other drunk-on-cheap-tequila people over who gets the worm. It's an honor in some circles. I've seen the cops show up to break up tequila worm fights. Don't mess with that. Mealworms are tasty, but put them in an eggroll or spring roll in place of another meat, like chicken. Fry. Enjoy.

Prepare for complaints from a dainty friend or two.

The redneck garden & lawn

2008-06-18T00:37:00.004-06:00

It's true: I garden. I'm secure enough to freely admit it. Thing is, I don't garden like most people do. I also apparently don't garden like most rednecks, but that's because I encourage plants, then let them adapt to neglect. It works. Just neglect the yard that came with your house, and you'll get a dirt lot. The lawns that developers and homeowners plant are like your ex-girlfrined: high-maintenance and moody. Don't mess with that. Get a new one.

Most people have gardens that involve plants that would normally not be caught within thousands of miles of each other, require constant attention, and tremendous amounts of water. These gardens are often immensely beautiful to look at, but I wouldn't be caught dead having one. The effort of maintaining it alone would probably kill me.

I don't see how they do it.

I can't say that we don't have some out-of-place plants, but the ones that we do have fend for themselves. Between the front and the back, our yards have two grape vines, three maples, one locust, two stands of aspen, two apple trees, two cherry trees, a plum tree, an apricot tree, a pear tree (no partridge, though), incredible numbers of evergreen shrubs, seven dwarf spruce, a peach tree, enough lilac bushes to form a wall of lilac 100 feet long and three feet deep, sumac, five rose bushes, one "wild tea rose," at least thirty crocus flowers, a planter full of King Irises, one small iris of unknown origin, three snowball plants, blue columbines, three huge clover plants, lots of grass, dandelions, huge amounts of morning glory growing in the sandbox (of all places!), an unknown blue wildflower (a lot of 'em), and the most thistle you have ever seen in your life. Huge amounts of moss, too.

Some of those are "weeds." The only one that I'd get rid of, though, is all the thistle.

None of those get watered, except by rain and snow, and with a very light shower with the hose if we haven't gotten any rain in two weeks, and right before the 4th of July (we want it damp in case a firework goes awry).

All of them are thriving. Last year we had so many grapes that we literally couldn't give them all away before they went bad. We had three crispers full of grapes in the fridge for a while. We froze some. And I'm not even counting the parts of the vine that have grown onto our neighbors' properties. In fact, we talked to them and said that all the grapes that grow on their side of the fence are theirs. Feel free to cut the vine at the fenceline if you choose, too. They chose the first option. That vine is 15 years old, and has never gotten more water than Colorado naturally provides for the last ten of them.

The grass doesn't even get watered. How do we do it? First of all, we didn't buy grass from the hardware store. We got it from the side of the highway, when that grass went to seed. That grass knows what's up. Most of the grass grows in partial shade from our house or one of our huge maples, which, I'm sure, helps.

I don't know how much water fruit trees are supposed to get, but I'm sure it's more than ours get. They are all 15 years old, but still very small in comparison to what a "properly cared for" one would be. The fruit is smaller, too, but that trees are used to it, and the fruit's just as good!

In fact, most of what's growing in our yard got to be there by natural selection: that is to say, it was planted next to a lot of other plants, watered unti it took hold, and then very carefully and strategically ignored. They had to earn their spots. Now the surviving, hardy plants have choked out the less hardy ones. In fact, I feel that we are very close to perfecting the Emerald Green Zero-Water Colorado Yard.

It's true. Every spring, I let the grass grow as tell as it wants until it goes to seed, and once those seeds drop and have been rained on, I mow. The H.O.A. bitches about it every year, but we just ignore them. We don't rake our fall leaves, or our grass clippings. We let them insulate the ground and trap water. The un-raked yard, come spring, sprouts faster than the raked yard. I checked. The un-raked grass clippings help hold hater in the soil in between summer rains. They kae a big difference, too. Both of them put nutrients back in the soil, meaning no need to fertilize. That alone is invaluable.

Come the height of summer, the grass turns brown, except after rains and the obligatory two-week sprinkle. Then it turns green and grows a few inches. The rest of the plants, being green at High June, balance out the brown highway grass in between storms. If you're considering this method, mow right before a certain(!) rainstorm, or a regularly scheduled watering. Don't mow it when it's grween, and definitely don't mow the brown stuff and then let it sit without water. That's very bad for it. You'll sprout dirt.

Remember how the H.O.A. would always bitch about my yard looking like an abandoned property? Well, once we showed them our water bill for July of one year that our yard was particularly green, greener in fact than most of our neigbors' yards, they backed off. The yard is ugly as all hell in spring, but come summer, this style of gardening is cheaper than xeriscape (and looks better, too), uses less water than any other yard in the area, and frees up enough water to do better things with.

Any of ya'll remember the watering restrictions we had for five years a little while ago? We filled a swimming pool, ran a swamp cooler, washed two cars once every two weeks, had a very green yard (including the grass!), and continued all our usual household water use, and still came in with the lowest water bill. We even got a letter from Denver Water thanking us for using less than the target they had set! Go figure.

You should have seen the neighbors steaming mad after they saw us do all all of that!

------------------------------

Funny story, in fact. For a while there it was actually a ticketable offense to wash your car in your driveway, but we could legally water the lawn on Mondays and Wednesdays for an hour or two. Car was dirty, lawn was brown. Solution?

You guessed it, repark the car on the front lawn, wash, dry, repark in driveway. Park other car on other part of lawn. Wash. Dry. Repark in driveay.

In fact, one time Denver Water came around while I was washing the car, did a double take, and started fixin' to write a ticket. I just told them that we park that car on the lawn, and I was just watering the lawn around the car. The guy thought about it, chuckled, and asked why we park on the lawn when we have a two car driveway with only one car in it. I just explained, "Park it on the lawn, don't gotta worry 'bout bumping doors, got all sorts'a space, an' plus, it ain't like we was gonna park it on the street, where it's more likely to get hit or sumthin'."

I'm sure he didn't believe me, but it was plausible deniability for both of us. He just siad, "Alright, that's a new one" and went on his way.

--------------------------

So that's green gardening: the redneck way. Using mostly native, hrady plants, even a semi-arid zone can be green with almost no effort or water.

Ya'll have a great day!

Bring your own beer... to the steakhouse

2008-06-18T00:00:00.003-06:00

While I was in Alamosa, chowing down on some prime rib, two men walked in. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I could have met one of 'em before... his face looked so familiar.

He was the one carrying the six pack.

And they let him do it.

Off-topic

2008-06-17T01:16:00.000-06:00

Please read my newest post on my off-topic blog. I know it's kind of out of the way, and the content that I post over there is usually much more of a drag than what I've got to say in this blog. I can't say that this one will be any different. But please read it anyway. You don't know how much it would mean to me.

Don't need no accurate terms!

2008-06-15T21:33:00.004-06:00

The term "redneck" originates from the fact that we are generally white trash with blue collar jobs which require us to work outside, or we happen to hunt, fish, and four-wheel, enough to have essentially a perpetual sunburn. My dad has that problem. He's got a permanent sunburn in a "v" on his chest from keeping the top bottons unbottoned on his shirt when we went hiking one time. Never went away.

But we rednecks also wear mullets a lot. Short in front, long in back, covering our neck. I don't know about ya'll, but I've never gotten a sunburn through my mullet. So the literal use of the term doesn't fit. Ha!

In fact, I am two shades more tan than dracula. I don't know why. My dad burns a beet red very quickly, and my mom tans deep as can be. I don't burn or tan very much.

Don't get me wrong, both have happened, but it takes about twice as much sun exposure as most white folk, and the burn or tan fades very quickly. I met several people on the Dunes that had burnd more through SPF 15 in one day than I did in three, no sunscreen required. I'm pretty sure this is not a good thing. My dad burned through SPF 70.

I know that a sunburn happens when the UV rays have damaged cells. It's actually a mild, topical radiation burn. Tan happens when cells produce a chemical, melatonin, that helps block those rays. So if I don't burn or tan much, it either means that my cells aren't affected by the radiation as much as most people's would be, or they just don't react properly. As far as I know, I've done the kind of damage that UV can cause, but without the redness and inflammation reaction that leads to healing. Or maybe my skin just doesn't overreact. But when I do actually get a sunburn, which only happens from long periods of very intense exposure, even a mildly red one itches and burns like hell. Think poison ivy with a saltwater loofah chaser. That probably isn't good, either. But in any case, this is knida freaking me out. Anybody else got this problem?

1/1000 of a mile in 30 seconds

2008-06-15T20:38:00.006-06:00

Sandboarding worked both better and worse than I expected. For a prototype made of skates, a shelf, and a couple of chunks of plywood, it exceeded expectations. I was pretty much the only one on the sand capable of going downhill for a distance. Trouble is, that trip downhill was always slower than just walking, and turning was impossible. I knew that sand had a higher friction coefficient than snow, but I didn't fully appreciate the difference.

I have come away from this experiment with many lessons and ideas for improvements in my design. For one thing, I would make the board much lighter. It was a bitch to carry until we fashioned a shoulder strap system. Lighter would also mean that there would be about 20 pounds less weight on the board/sand interface, meaning less friction.

The board needs to be much bigger, in fact. Preliminary calculations have shown that I would need 11 square feet of contact to get some serious speed, at least using wood. We can't make the board any longer, since then it won't fit in the trunk, so it needs to be wider. Almost three feet wide. That's not going to cut it, but it would be worth a try.

Also, sand is extremely abrasive. You knew that. I just spent four days sanding my sandboard with 80-grit the hard way, and it removed between three and five coats of latex paint (I know how many times we painted that shelf). This reinforces my descision not to use an actual snowboard, even the P.O.S. that I have, since it would have ruined it, and the odds of finding another $25 P.O.S. are slim to none. I want that board for snow. I was going to go to Wal-Mart and get some Teflon kitchen spray for the board, but further thought revealed that if steel spatulas scrape off non-stick on pans, the sand would make short work of the whole can of teflon spray. That idea was scrapped.

Steel plate seems like the logical idea, since it can be thin and strong, but the weight kinda worries me. It was suggested that we could attach a steel plate to the bottom of the wooden board and see what happens.

We knew that whatever we put on the bottom would get scratched to hell, so we had to come up with something durable and slippery. The possibility of custom-pouring a glass bottom onto a rigid steel board was tossed around. That would be hella fun, but I'm not sure it's a good idea. Our neighbors chuck enough empty bottles onto our lawn to more than make up for the glass requirement, though! If only they knew that I've been making glass nick-knacks out of them and selling 'em for a pretty penny, maybe they'd stop doing it. Nah!

Since there is always at least a 10mph prevailing wind at the Dunes, often faster, and quite a bit of flat land, I do believe that it would be an excellent place to kiteboard. That's basically kitesurfing, only on land in motorcycle gear. Falling sucks, and will rip you up! I'm tossing around the idea of putting footstraps (not boots, straps) on a board and attaching large tires. Balloon tires. The Sand Dunes Visitor Center has two sand wheelchairs. Brilliant inventions. They have huge soft rubber tires, easily two feet in diameter and eight inches across. Turns out they only take two to four pounds of pressure, and that they had to get a special pressure guage in order to be able to check them, which they got from an ATV supply store. I'm pretty sure that ATVs use inner tubes, and if so, I would be using an inner tube as the outer tires on my kiteboard. I'm a bit worried about puncture-resistance, though. Does anybody have experience on the subject? In fact, does anybody have experience with handling a power kite, or own a mountain board?

Even as it is, the sandboard was a people magnet. There's something about being both brilliant and batshit crazy that just draws people and questions. I love talking to people, even fielding questions about my various schemes. Really, don't avoid someone who's doing something that probably means they're a few grains short of a sandpile, ask 'em about it! Hot rodders may build cars because they love building cars, or driving their dream car, but we do love it when the person at the other gas pump strikes up a conversation. Whenever you invent something cool, it's nice to know you're not the only one who thinks it's cool. Or even just weird.

Der uber-pumpkin

2008-06-12T01:40:00.002-06:00

Have you ever had a pumpkin last seven months without rotting? Neither had I, until this year. Last October, we went out to the pumpkin patch to buy a pumpkin, which we intended to carve into a jack-o-lantern. What wound up happening was we set the pumpkin in the kitchen and proceeded to walk around it while we did other things.

Such was the state of things for several months, until some time after New Years we realized that that really was a pumpkin from two months ago, and it hadn't turned to mush all over the floor yet. At that point, a friendly competition began over who could guess the date of the pumpkin molding the most accurately.

Even our furthest prediction only got us into mid-March.

So we proceeded to watch the pumpkin carefully for a few weeks. Weeks turned into a month, and a month into several. Finally, between Cinco de Mayo and Memorial Day, the pumpkin (which we had now dubbed the Uber-Pumpkin--I'd like to buy an umlaut, please?) finally got a few spots of mold. The mold didn't actually compromise the structural integrity of our friendly neighborhood uberpumpkin until Memorial Day weekend, at which point we declared an end to the experiment and proceeded to remove the toxic gourd from our back patio (we had decided to put it out there) in "the best way possible." You know what I'm getting at. Moldy Pumpkin Machete Baseball.*

Originally invented by Wes Sturr of Eastern Wyoming, the game consits of taking turns lobbing the moldy pumpkin (usually a jack-o-lantern in November, but this was a special case) at one another, and swinging at it baseball-style with a machete. Once the peices are too small to hit anymore, or all the parties are too grossed out to continue, the game is over. Whoever got the last hit wins.

We don't keep machetes around (shame on us), so we just ground a coarse edge onto a peice of steel flatstock. Ta-da!

With der uber-pumpkin eliminated, life could continue.

*I honestly thought I'd never get to use that tag again, but I actaully did.

Redneck sports

2008-06-12T00:37:00.005-06:00

Give me a baseball bat and a baseball, both about three inches in diameter, and I can't get them to connect to save my life. Give me a broom handle and a soda can, and suddenly I have a .900 batting average. I don't get it either.

So I'm building a sandboard. I've modeled it more off of the "snurfer" than modern snowboards, but it has elemets of both. Not having bindings that I can fit my workboots in and not having snowboard boots, I decided to bolt the uppers from a pair of inline skates to the board. This way or may not work, I'll find out sometime between tomorrow and Sunday, when we go to Alamosa and I actually get it on the sand. So all ya'll ain't gonna hear from me for a while. As a matter of fact, I hope the dunes are as big as I remember them. That could be a dealbreaker.

As for the truck and the wheels from the red wagon, I have taken the regular wheels off of a longboard-type skateboard that I have in order to be less likely to be tempted to try something that will result in more road rash. What I really need is a mountainboard. Those things are cool, and much more useful and fun than regular skateboards. Plus, they don't have the same talent that skateboards have to almost break my neck.

The plan is to put the wheels from the wagon onto the longboard deck, bolt on some straps like a mountainboard of wakeboard would have, and do the land version of wakeboarding. It is really a pastime in the flatter areas of the country, to get dragged by your buddy's truck as you stand on something with wheels. In fact, I don't even need a truck, I just need two people: one to watch me from the vehicle and make sure I'm alright, and the other one to drive the vehicle. Motorcycle, truck, car, El Camino, I don't care.

Alternately, if I can figure out how to work and obtain a kite, I intend to kitesurf on land with it. That would be fun beyond words, and would even be worth driving out to the flatlands to do it. Or even hilly open space.

Listen up dumbass!

2008-06-10T23:23:00.005-06:00

This is a public service announcement brought to you by Common Sense. If you are unfamiliar with Common Sense's portfolio, let me direct you to such stunning works as Run When You Hear Police Sirens, Get Underground When You Hear Tornado/Air-Raid Sirens, Come in Out of the Rain, Don't Smoke Near the Tanker Truck, and Stay Off Other People's Property After Dark Especially in Texas.

It has recently come to my attention that wrist injuries are by far the leading injury among snowboarders. I suppose this shouldn't suprise me, since experience has shown me that snowboarders are just as dumb as skateboarders, only snowboarders' brains are chilled, making them run even slower.

I really hate skateboarders. No, let me rephrase. I really hate skateboarders who think the ability to not fall off makes them better than anyone else. But they always forget that apparently the process of learning involved several sound smacks of the head on pavement when they calculate that opinion. Unforunately, that cooler-than-thou attitude prevails among them.

Of course, afficionados of one boardsport are likely to try and enjoy another, so it is only natural that that same keeping-up-with-the-Joneses-and-trying-to-out-dumbass-each-other crowd would be drawn to snowboarding, which is basically skateboarding, only different. Both cultures seem to love the idea of doing tricks, or as I like to call them, temporarily breaking up with the ground and then getting back together, only now she's pissed. I've skateboarded. I've snowboarded. They're not the same. Don't tell me they are.

Of course, when I say I've skateboarded, I mean to say that I have gotten one foot onto a skateboard, and sometimes two, before going some small distance and landing on my ass.

In both skateboarding and snowboarding, it is commonly considered cool to teach yourself. I think that's really just a great way to prove yourself to be a real world-class tool. Formal lessons? Fuck those. I'll just ride up this mountain strapped to a board which changes the physics of my body entirely, then discover that I have to come back down somehow. That somehow is probably by spending most of my time on my face, ass, or hands, and spending very little actually upright and in control.

Ever seen a car parked on a hill, but without the parking brake set? Seen it slowly take off and pick up speed down that hill, all the while being an unguided two-ton missle? Unlike in skateboarding, where you run out of hill, in snowboarding, the inexperienced boarder has basically made himself into the human version of that car. Trouble is, the car doesn't unexpectedly catch an edge and slam windsheild-first into the pavement. People do.

People who never learned to fall properly, which is an accurate desription for most participants in all land-based boardsports, will stick out their hands in front of them when falling. If they fall backwards, their stick their arms out behind them. No, no, NO!

I've done it couple of times. Precisely twice. Both times I failed to catch myself onto my wrists, for which I consider myself lucky, and instead injured my shoulder such that I couldn't even lift a glass with that hand for a couple of weeks. Every other time I've fallen, I've tucked my arms in. It's only when you're tired or uninformed that you will want to stcik a hand out. That will do one of two things: one, it will put a tremendous shock through your wrist and quite easily break it (give up that piano, guitar, drum, or video game career!), or two, it will act as a large lever and turn you into a human slot machine. It will wrench your shoulder back and leave you in too much pain to move, eyes rolled back in your head, making all sorts of strange and otherworldly noises, not to mention the new and creative string of obscenities you will suddenly find yourself employing. You've just hit the inconvenience jackpot!

It is everyone's natural instinct to stick a hand out when falling. I dohn't really know how this got naturally selected, since sticking a hand out never results in something good.

When you catch an edge snowboarding, it is like you have been tackled by a pro football defensive lineman who hates your guts. Really, try it when you're going down a slope at speeds otherwise only attainable in a car. Not gonna do that again, are ya?

But it happens again and again as you're learning, and as you traverse terrain you don't know, even as a hot-shit "expert." Especially icy spring slopes. But if you fall once onto your hand and once the proper way, you'll immediately learn what not to do. No more having to think about it. Trouble is, nobody seems to even know how to fall, let alone employ it.

Pull your damn hands in!

Now you got no excuse. You know what will happen if you keep falling the way you have been, and you know how to properly fall. Flailing about like an uninformed animal and breaking your wrist is not cool, and will not attract the ski bunnies.

Besides, they're already in the hot tub with me.

You coming to the rave in the DC-9 tomorrow night?

2008-06-09T21:24:00.007-06:00

"We laid rubber on the Georgia asphalt. Got a little crazy but we never got caught. Down by the river on a Friday night, pyramid of cans in the pale moonlight. Talkin' 'bout cars and dreamin' 'bout women. Never had a plan, just a-livin' for the minute!" --Alan Jackson, Chattahoochee

_____________________________

It can be incredibly stressful to be in a combat situation for months on end. A lot of the time, the only way to stay sane is to go a little bit crazy. What would you do when you're off-duty? How about on-duty?

Some pilots, just for the fun of it, would get buck naked over Kuwait in the first Gulf War. Ever been in the cockpit of a fighter? From the looks of it, that would be tough but not impossible. That's what the cruise control is for.

On the Carl Vinson, pilots and trainees joke that the soft serve ice cream that comes out of the machine in the mess hall is dog feces. Now that I think about it, the way it comes out of the machine does bear a striking resemblence. I don't think I'll have soft-serve ice cream for a while.

Dark humor really is the only way to deal with the fear and stress of walking the line between life and death, where the only way you get to stay on this side of it is by working out your own salvation. When you're climbing a rock face that will take you more than one day, you'd have to sleep in a suspended sleeping bag called a bivvy sack. Mountain rescue workers call body bags "long term bivvy sacks." macabre, but necessary.

So that's really the only way I can explain these guys. They may be flying a mission, but that doesn't mean that they can't goof off a little, too. I think this is a very good reason that military airplanes should not have CD players. Of course, tank guys found a way to patch a CD player into the onboard audio, so you never know...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGl0LNohfb4

The embed code is acting up again. Just for reference, that is a C-130 cargo plane the're flying. Or not flying...

Spare some soap?

2008-06-08T23:54:00.007-06:00

It just hit me that my parents keep a glass jar full of soap next to the bathroom trash can. I've walked past it for years. I've stubbed my toe on it. But it just registered that it is the soap equivalent of a spare change jar, only more useless.

Every time we'd empty one of those big jugs of Softsoap, we'd trun it upside down on top of this spare soap jar and let the last few drops drip out. Over the past 15 years, we've saved--wait for it--alomst a half a gallon of soap! A buck-seventy-five! And we never have used this soap, either. In the process we've stubbed our toes countless times, wasted probably what amounts to an hour just trying to get the one bottle to balance on top of the other, and managed to totally forget about what this little redneck modern-art sculpture was originally for. Maybe we're saving it for the apocalypse, or when the store is sold out of soap. Yeah, right. You spend three decades dead broke poor, though, and I guess old habits die hard.

I got to thinking, what is this even here for? Nobody could tell me. It just seemed like a good idea to keep doing. Why are we keeping this? If we got rid of it we'd have a lot more space.

So of course I emptied the trash and turned another bottle upside down on the jar.

Gotta be good for something, right?

Apparently I'm a freak.

2008-06-05T02:08:00.005-06:00

I recently had to fly to Sacramento for some urgent family business. That meant four hours on a plane each way. I hate airports. Last year I flew back from D.C. through Chicago-O'Hare. I'm never going there again. O'Hare, I mean. Even if that means a five-stop redirect. That airport has the largest number of delays, and those delays are on average the longest in the country. It's up north and near enough to the lakes to get very consistent foul weather. And y'know what the best part is? The seats they have at the gates are not designed for long-term seating. They're not like the seats at Dallas, Denver, Sacramento, San Deigo, Washington-Reagan, Phoenix, Ontario, LAX, and all the other airports not managed by Catbert. The seats at O'Hare are designed to get you up and out of that seat as quickly as possible and, since your plane still isn't here, into the shops to spend money you can't afford to part with.

That said, I love flying. I'd rather not have had to fly at all these past couple of days, but you take what life gives you and make the best of it. And that means the opportunity to enjoy being in a large metal object on top of thousands of gallons of fuel, going 600 miles an hour eight miles above the earth. That scares most people shitless. It makes me happy. I don't know why. Ever since I saw an airliner coming in for a landing, I've liked that concept. Then when I got to fly in one I discovered that there really is no feeling quite like the one you get just after the plane has left the runway, where it settles and then --whoosh!-- powers into the sky. That is really an unmatched feeling of raw power.

Flying is such a fragile state. You're either flying or you're not. There's no grey area. If any of the precious set of circumstances that sustain flight go awry, the flight ceases and the forcible reaquaintance with the ground begins. There's not a damn thing you as a human can do about it. Much like life itself. But you're high enough in the air that you get to enjoy the ride in a somewhat macabre way. Every time you leave the earth in an airplane (or on a motorcycle, for that matter), you are gambling. You have bet everything you have that that fragile set of circumstances will hold. And that's actually kinda comforting. It's impossible to have a bad flight that landed in the intended manner.

But here's what's really bizarre. Apparently I'm the only person on the planet that finds airplane seats comfortable. I'm not talking about just the sort of comfortable where you can live with it, but the kind of comfortable where you begin to seriously consider buying one and installing it in your car. Really comfortable. And I mean coach seats. Not even business class. I flew Southwest this week, which is all one class and open seating, but even on United where coach packs you in like you're in the backseat of a mid-90s extended cab pickup, it's comfy. Ya'll can shoot me with the tranquilizer dart, radio-tag me, and take me in for further study now if you want.

This wasn't always the case. When I was younger I practically had to schedule a chairopractor visit at each end as a part of a vacation. Now I'm five foot four and not getting any taller (I come from a large family of small people). Seriously, our family reunions have an average height of 5'5".

My point is, airplane seats were apparently designed for someone with my precise build and set of bone/soft tissue injuries. For everyone else, they are desgined to give you those injuries. Seats in cars nowadays are like forward controls on a motorcycle--a big fuck-you to short people, since both assume you're at least 5'6". The one pleasant exception is the Chevy HHR, which has sensible seats and a headrest that doesn't actively attempt to break your neck. Seats on airplanes are a big fuck-you to all human beings, or at least they're supposed to be. I'm sure if the airlines read this, they'll commission a redesign of the seats. But until they do, the infamous airplane seat is incredibly comfortable to me.

It was funny, when we got into San Diego, I stood up to let the people next to me out. Quickly. In the middle of this motion, I began to anticipate a sound whack on the head from the overhead bins. As it turned out, the bins were barely higher than the top of my head and I did not crack myself in the skull. I did literally come two paper-thicknesses away from it, though.

Wild, huh? I never woulda thunk, but this little discovery of being the same size as the crash dummy they designed the plane around means that the actual act of flying is a blast.

Well, except for the bathroom. So damn tiny you can't even put both feet next to each other, but have to put one foot half on top of the other.

Laundry day... and the next three days

2008-05-31T01:58:00.004-06:00

Sunday is laundry day. On sundays there is not a cloth towel to be found anywhere in the house. So of course it is logical to hang up a replacement towel. But after you've cleaned the towels, should the paper towel still be on the towel rack on Thursday? You be the judge.

I think it's classy, though, that my dad actually went to the trouble of hanging the paper towel on the rack, rather than just letting us exert the tremendous effort of PULLING ONE OFF THE ROLL that is literally four inches above this towel rack.

It didn't even register for me that a paper towel on the towel rack might be a bit odd until after I had washed and dried my hands, at which point I had to grab a camera and do a writeup.

Oh good god, it's brilliant.

2008-05-31T00:57:00.002-06:00

So I was clicking around on Instructables, and I ran across a guy who wanted to heat his pool. One of the commentors pointed him to this site. I evny the fact that I didn't think of it, but it is something I would have invented on my own if I wasn't okay with having cold water when it's hot as hell here. I just wear a wetsuit.

The guy who wanted advice on how to heat his pool wanted to put a 55 gallon drum in it so it's just above water level and light a huge fire in it. Big fire in your pool. Brilliant. I told him to seal the barrel, pipe in compressed air, and submerge the barrel, therfore getting the pool hotter faster. The concept of (gasp) a proper pool heater has not been mentioned. Of course, sealing and submerging the barrel takes away most of the fun of having a bonfire in the middle of your pool.

If we ever have an inground pool installed instead of our aboveground vinyl Thing, I'll make a point of biulding in a firebox. I want a fire in the middle of my pool, too. I do declare that's the best idea since flashpowder in small paper balls shipped in unpadded boxes. (a.k.a. Popper fireworks). Maybe I'll even install a full barbeque firepit in the middle of the pool. Forget swim-up bars, how about a swim-up rib roast?

Get up and get out of here. Now.

2008-05-30T00:29:00.007-06:00

You are never too poor for good toilet paper. Even if you have to steal it. Some folks, when leaving a hotel room, go down a cehcklist: Ashtray? Check. Towels? Check. Shampoo? Check. Coffee? Check. Toilet paper? Check. Personally, my checklist is, Shampoo? Check. Coffee? Check. Styrofoam cups? Check. Toilet paper? Check. Apparently I'm not the only one.

If your suitcase contains all the shampoo and coffee from every hotel you've ever stayed in, you might be a redneck. Of course, you're paying to have consumed that stuff anyway.

One time we even took the Do Not Dsturb sign because the damn hook part ripped off while we were trying to get it over the doorknob. We duct taped it to our car window while we slept in our seats the next night.

I've noticed that the coffee quality decreases as hotel fanciness increases, and vice versa. Seriously, have you ever had Sheraton coffee? You don't want to. The only exception was the fancy hotel in Kona Hawaii, but that figures. The Motel 6 in one little podunk town in South Dakota that we stayed in on our way to Sturgis had the best coffee I ever had. I made a point of getting six bags.

My theory about this is that the shitholes want you to get up and get the hell outta there as soon as possible, so that they can move the next people in. And they know you'll come back for the coffee if you're ever in town again.

Of course, hotels actually have functional toilet paper. Truckstop toilet paper is translucent. You want a couple of rolls in your suitcase that won't get number two all over your hand. No wonder so many people keep a stock of toilet paper from the hotels they've stayed in on a road trip.

Gearhead habits and redneck lawns

2008-05-30T00:18:00.005-06:00

If you cried at the end of World's Fastest Indian, you're probably a bit of a gearhead. I'll pass you the Kleenex.

If you sell cowboy furniture, walking sticks, and steel roses to pay for your Indian habit, you might be a gearhead.

If you have over five hundred horses in your garage and none of them are animals, you might be a gearhead.

If the first time you saw your house on Google Earth you couldn't help but say, "Man, what a dump!" before you realized, oh, that's our house, you might be a redneck. In my defense, that was right after we bought it as an abandoned property.

If, fifteen years later, your house can still be mistaken for an abandoned property at first glance, but hey, it's a mighty spiffy "abandoned property", you might be a redneck.

If you have more lawnmowers than grass but your lawn is covered in green plants anyway, you might be a redneck.

If you have the second-greenest lawn in the neighborhood and all you do is ignore it, you might be a redneck in a yuppie area. They work so hard on their yards that the yard can't live without them.

If you've ever had a yard that consisted entirely of poison ivy, you're probably that poor fella in the Reader's Digest last April. That was a freakin' hilarious article. Life lesson, don't take off your clothes when there's poison ivy around.

If you're in a hole...

2008-05-29T23:17:00.006-06:00

...Stop digging. Don't get me wrong, I loved Boyd Coddington's taste(rest his soul) and thought he was a good, salt-of-the-earth man (ironic, no?), but this guy did everything ass-backwards when he went out to Bonneville.

For the past 40 years, there has been a mining operation going on near the Bonneville racecourses, where the miners collect the water runoff from the flats and direct it into huge setlling ponds, collecting potash from it. Then the salt would just sit there, when it should have been sitting out on the racecourses, building up a foot and a half thick. At one point, there were just a couple of inches of salt on the Flats. That's nowhere near enough to have Speed Week. That's the recipe for Stuck in the Mud Week.

Salt, when it has been wetted and allowed to dry, forms a surface very similar to concrete, or maybe plaster of paris. Anyone who went to Southmoor while they still had the Upper Field is familiar with this--it was dirt, but practically concrete. Out on the Slat Flats, though, the mud underneath the salt is frikkin' quicksand, just about. We can't have vehicles breaking through to that at five miles an hour, let alone 200.

Starting in 1997, Save the Salt was started; a program where the water from the holding tanks would be pumped back out over the Flats. In other words, they been repaving.

Of course, if rain hits right before Speed Week or the salt pumping hasn't deposited enough, the courses and the whole shebang have to be moved somewhere else.

You standin' on unstable ground, boy.

Here's the story of Boyd Coddington's visit in 2007, as published on the Bonneville website, http://www.saltflats.com/

_______________________________________

Back to USFRA Home Page

Bonneville can be a tough place.
As you may have heard, at SpeedWeek 2007, Boyd Coddington star of TV’s American Hotrod show had a very tough couple of days. Boyd and his wife Jo were running a beautiful roadster, hoping for a class record, with a full TVcrew recording their racing efforts. As you will read, things went from bad to much much worse for the Coddington crew.
Ron Christenson (long time USFRA volunteer) was working the Speedweek 2007 Event in his usual position as Radio Announcer on 1610 AM radio announcing the event. He captured these photos and this inside story from his ringside seat.

Photos and Narrative by Ron Christensen

Thursday afternoon the Boyd Coddington race team, complete with a film crew for Speed TV's "American Hotrodder" was heading from the starting line to the 3- Mile after Jo Coddington (Boyd's wife) had just spun their roadster at about 180- MPH (and come really close to backing into the Timing Slips stand at great speed.) The motorhome headed for the return road just as it was supposed to do. Unfortunately it broke through the thin salt (the SpeedWeek tracks had to be relocated to a risky area after the rains a couple of weeks before the event). We normally wouldn't have been driving in this area as it is quite a distance east of the usual location of the track.

With the "American Hotrodder" film crew shooting away, the Coddington group tried to get the motorhome free but it had sunk in up to the axle and even with lots of digging it would not budge. So they called a tow truck to come and pull them out. The mood of the Coddington crew was sort of giddy . . . the seriousness of the predicament hadn't seem to have sunk in nearly as well as the motorhome had. They were all standing around laughing and drinking beers, having a great time.
Two vehicles (a very large wrecker and a flatbed) arrived about two hours later like the Lone Ranger and Tonto to the rescue . . . . The Coddington crew was certain it would be out of there in minutes and heading back to the casino in Wendover for dinner, gambling and more beers! Plans didn't quite work out as hoped as both rescue vehicles promptly got stuck not far from the motorhome. It should have been obvious that if the motorhome broke through, a big heavy wrecker didn't stand a chance. So there were now three stuck vehicles. The wrecker crews were heard to say something like "We'll just get 'Big Blue' in here . . . no problem!" More beers came out and the party continued.

At about 6:00 PM, I had to leave the salt about that time to go to the workers dinner at the Nugget and a party at an old friend's home in Wendover.
When I returned at about 10:30 p.m. to my radio trailer to spend the night I noticed there were lights in the area of the motorhome so I drove over there. Things had gone from bad to critical at the scene. The Coddington crew's mood had made a 180 degree change from when I left. They looked very sullen and an air of gloom hung over the group. I then surveyed the scene. "Big Blue" (the wrecker that would save the day) had arrived after I left and had been trying to pull the big yellow wrecker from the nice soft mud into which it had become so comfortable. The yellow wrecker which had been sitting so peacefully with the salt surface firmly against the undercarriage when I left was now at about a 40 degree angle with mud coming up about 6 feet to the door of the cab on the left side. It was wedged firmly into the landscape with its right side tires about a foot off the ground and about 100 feet of 4-foot deep trench indicating where Big Blue had dragged it in an attempt to free it from the clutches of the desert.

The dragging had only gotten it deeper into the mud. And to make matters even worse, Big Blue had gotten itself in about the same situation, sinking into the mud about 4 feet as it attempted to pull the yellow wrecker free. And in a last ditch effort to get the motorhome out it had managed to damage its boom winch and a tow cable was now stretched tight like a huge steel guitar string between it and the motorhome. The damaged winch would not release and they could not remove the cable. It was about 3 feet above the salt and about 1050 feet long which created quite a hazard. One of the Coddington crewmen had borrowed some orange cones from the race course return road to mark off the cable so no one would drive into it. Unfortunately one of their own crew drove their mini van right into it as he attempted to drive between the cones!

I struggled not to laugh at this comedy as it unfolded. Another pair of cables stretched between Big Blue and the yellow wrecker. Big Blue was sitting at an odd angle with its right rear wheels buried firmly in the mud. It looked a dog cleaning its backside on the carpet. Somehow they had managed to free the flatbed which they had backed in to try to free Big Blue and it too had become stuck again, this time much worse than before. The three rescue vehicles were in a nice tidy row, half buried and held in the firm grip of the clay-like mud that lies just below the surface of the salt. The scene resembled some sort of elephant hunt with three slain carcasses lying dead on the playa. The motorhome sat unmoved in the same spot it had found itself in when it started this fiasco, no doubt chuckling to itself at the mess it had created!

The muddied and sullen Coddington crew divided up and some of them stayed in the motorhome while another group left in the mini van with a fresh cable burn on its nose. It was pitch black out with no moon and they had no idea how to find their way back to the access road. I explained that they just needed to drive to the dike behind the starting line then follow it around until they encountered the row of cones that marked the route to the access road. I returned to my radio position at the starting line where I started to prepare the Cherokee Hotel for the night. I watched as the Coddington crew left in the mini van and drove past the starting lines then proceeded to head off in a northerly direction instead of following the dike to the west as I suggested. I could imagine them driving off into the darkness and getting stuck in the muddy area towards the mountains. A perfect end to their evening!

I decided to rescue them from another disaster and I chased them down in the Jeep then guided them to the coned route to the access road. They still had the water hazard at the end of the access road to negotiate. I explained that they MUST keep the relocated row of cones to the immediate right of their vehicle at all times as there were now 3 to 4 foot deep holes hidden under the surface of the water if they ventured off the marked path. I returned to my trailer and wished them luck.

The next morning the scene at the motorhome was revealed in all its glory! You can see the carnage in the photos. I wonder how or if they will "replace their divots." About 10:00 a.m. ANOTHER huge wrecker arrived. This one was even bigger than the big yellow one and it was equipped with a third axel on the back. They carefully backed it up and removed the motorhome, the flatbed, then "Big Blue." When I finally left they were still working on pulling the big yellow wrecker.

Your friends at the USFRA encourage you to be careful out there. Bonneville can be a very tough place!

Back to USFRA Home Page

______________________________

These folks have obviously never lived in real snow country. Treat the mud like deep snow, respect it, and it might not swallow your truck. Trouble is, unlike snow, mud doesn't go away by July. I mentioned a while back that if you get stuck in Colorado, wait and we'll dig you out, it's what we live for in the wintertime. Well, that and summer. That's really what we're doing, filling time while we wait for summer. Anyway, after all of this, we coulda gotten these boys out of that jam, without the huge three-axle wrecker and all the to-do. Of course, the mountain contingent might not dig 'em out, they were just so daggum stupid. But you can't just throw big iron at a break-through problem, just like you can't just floor it on the salt. One'll eat your truck, and the other will eat your tires.

Merry racing!

The proper way to drive

2008-05-28T22:47:00.006-06:00

Like this man.

I think I need professional help with this. I'm not sure whether that should be psycholog-i-mica-tal or someone to hold things in place while I weld. I'll get back to you on that.

The space toilet is broken

2008-05-28T22:36:00.003-06:00

And I find this absolutely hilarious. I'm familiar with the havoc that a broken toilet can wreak upon and earthbound family. I wonder what the plumbing bill is to fix a toilet thousands of miles up in space? I tell you what, though, if you can get your toilet fixed any time of any day here on earth if you call the right company, they ought to be able to fix the space toilet.

Small Town Southern Man

2008-05-24T23:08:00.004-06:00

Alan Jackson's video would be embedded here if embedding weren't disabled for it. Here's the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUhaqUHGeQU

I just got back from my cousins' graduation party. Four of 'em graduated this year, and two of them (the closest two) were among the first third-generation of graduates from the school. Of course, "party" in our family is code for "pig roast and a keg." Since it was Frontier Days, there was not a CO2 cartridge to be found within literally 50 miles of Colorado Springs, not even for a beer deliveryman's family, so one of the boys got one in Lamar and drove in with it. If they hadn't found one, I'm pretty sure someone would have either shot a hole in the keg or attached the shop air compressor to it.

I always forget how much I love being out in the sticks with the ranchers until I go back. The spaces are big, the buildings small, the trucks required and the roads undivided or dirt. Life is a hell of a lot more simple. The high school had its biggest graduating class ever with 58 graduates. They had all been going to school together since they started school. Peyton is a small town. I also noticed that my family are all very short, since it was the first time I'd seen 'em since elementary school. They're good people.

More tornado fun!

2008-05-24T22:37:00.003-06:00

First of all, all ya'll Coloradans, remember that twister up Ute Pass a while back? When I saw the news about that I didn't believe it at first, until they showed the section of Highway 24 that goes past Scenic Acres and our cabin. Then the praying and frantic calling began, but it didn't hit anything me or my dad grew up with.

Alex C. commented with a really funny story about a friend of her brother's. Apparently he was in his dorm room in Washington D.C. when his friends decided to play a joke on him. They told him a tornado was coming and he flipped out, turning on the shower for some reason and hiding in the closet. They found him later. I assume he got them back worse later.

Back in the mid-late '60s a dust devil went through the Palmer High baseball field. It came through the backstop, over home plate and the pitcher's mound, and exited the field between first and second base, in the middle of a game. All the guys, including my dad, decided to se what it was like andrushed into the dust devil. It was windy.

Also, if you're ever in Cascade, don't buy anything at the Swis Miss. Neighborly feud over a cross burning.

Brainstorming and more serious storms

2008-05-23T22:05:00.003-06:00

You've probably heard about the tornadoes yesterday in northern Colorado. One of them wiped out the Kodak plant in what I believe is officially Windsor. My cousin's husband works at the Budweiser can plant less than half a mile from there, in Milliken. Severe winds hit their house, and the family hid in the closet, since they apparently have no basement. Go figure. No major damage reported. The really criminal thing, though, was that the managers at the can plant did not even inform the workers that there was severe weather outside or that they were under a tornado warning, and the tornado could be seen decimating the Kodak plant. They waited until the shift was over, and mentioned causually "Oh, yeah, we nearly got hit by a tornado earlier. Have a nice day." They weren't given the opportunity to take shelter, nor did they even know that their families were in severe danger. As you can imagine, the workers were pissed off.

Milliken was without power or phone service for several hours. When our call finally got through, we learned what happened.

Lemme tell you about the process of making aluminum cans. In order to finish them, they must be cleaned with hydroflouric acid. This is evil stuff. Unlike most acids, HF does not cause burns to the skin. It penetrates through the skin without you even necessarily knowing that you have any on you, and binds to the minerals in your bones and blood. Imagine your bones dissolving from the inside out. That's what this will do if you get too much on you. The first aid is to cut off the blood supply so that it doesn't spread through your body, and then to apply a calcium cream to hopefully bind most of the HF. The toxins from dissolving your bone, though, can kill flesh in and of themselves, and the combined effect is similar to a snakebite and frostbite, where you have flesh dying, severe pain, tenderness, and swelling.... all from the inside out.

My cousin's husband once had an extremely dilute HF solution (less than 0.005%) drip a drop onto his hand while he was rinsing some racks. He didn't think anything of it until half an hour later, when it felt like someone had smashed his hand with a nine pound sledge. Since it was dilute and it was too late for the cream, he had to suffer that pain for almost a week while his body eliminated the toxins and repaired the damage.

Now imagine this stuff flying through the air at 200 miles an hour. Damn straight you're scared.

This Budweiser can plant employes almost a thousand people per shift. Let's disregard all the people downwind. If that plant had been hit during production, which came within a hair's bredth of happening, imagine now having all that uncontained acid in the air, with all these people near it. That's not something I would wish on my worst enemy.

_______________________________

Now here's the brainstorm part. I've got a third of a gallon of gasoline that has thermally degraded too much to use in an engine, but is still basically gas. I need to get rid of it. I've thought of a few ideas, but I'm sure there's a better way. How would you get rid of it?

You might be a redneck

2008-05-22T22:47:00.002-06:00

If you hide under your trailer when there's a tornado warning, you might be a redneck.

If you have a truck that couold haul that trailer across a boulder fieled at 70 miles an hour without flinching, but you hide under the trailer anyway, you are a redneck.

If the amount of CDs you take with you on vacation is measured in gallons, you might be a redneck.

If you have ever oiled your boots with 10w-30 because you had it laying around, you might be a redneck.

If your lawnmower always starts on the first kick, you might be a redneck.

Hispanics have large, close-knit families. So do white trash. If we know any family at all, we know 300 relatives. As far as we're concerned, if your third-cousin's brother-in-law married an Osmond, the Osmonds are now your family and are entitled to come to your annual pig roasts. If your great aunt's grand-daughter is graduating from high school, you are invited and will think nothing of driving 250 miles round trip to get there.

I like flowers and I'm okay with that.

2008-05-22T22:01:00.004-06:00

Not as in, show up at my door with flowers, ladies. Show up at my door with an El Camino for sale, and we'll talk. I'm talking about plant-wise, flowers are very good plants to have. It's often observed that rednecks rarely have any grass. That's true. But, frankly, I couldn't turn my lawn completely dirt if I dug it up and shipped away all the plants. With the eception of where I spilled mineral spirits that time, and the one corner that the power company poisoned, plants love our property. Back when we owned a cabin in Cascade, plants loved that, too. You'd be amazed how quickly trees and grass and God-knows-what would sprout after a rain, even if the property next door couldn't get jack shit to grow.

My theory is that this unintentional green thumb is because I'm not picky about plants. Thistle? Bring it on, but stay on the property line, please. Wild rose? Upwind and not near where I'm walking, but stick around. Crocus? Where have crocus not sprouted lately? Grass? Only if it wants to be there all on its own. Elm? If it doesn't sprout in the middle of an open space, it gets to stay, but no bigger than a shrub, please. Lilac? Everywhere it wants to be. That odd, low grass that looks like rosemary and blooms an incredible blue? Great! Dandelions? Yes please. Mushrooms? How'd they get enough water? Let 'em stay, keep the dogs away.

If it's green and wants to live there all on its own, it's a good plant and can stay. Clover? Sure. Weeds? They never need watered. Dirt turns to mud, mud gets on cars, the cars rust. I don't have time for bare dirt.

Anything that flowers is especially welcome in my yard. King Iris are amazingly purple, huge, and fragrant. My preferred cologne may be eau de unleaded, but when I'm not working on that, the sweet smell of flowers is a welcome event in my yard.

I'm also not ashamed to leave my grass clippings in the lawn (for something that doesn't get watered except by rain in a place that's almost desert, you would not believe the amount of grass that grows here) and let those clippings turn brown and decompose. Saves me money on fertilizer and all the effort of raking it. Plus, it must keep water in the soil or something.

Life will find a way. Ignore your yard long enough and green things will move in with no effort on your part. Even if it's poison ivy, just stay on the concrete and it'll keep would-be trespassers away. Even grass will get used to it... well, mine has.

Are you a Democrat, Republican, or Southern Republican?

2008-05-14T23:41:00.003-06:00

bfisk has a very interesting question, and an errily accurate description of what different people will do when faced with danger. And it's freakin' hilarious.

Redneck home theater

2008-05-14T23:12:00.003-06:00

We rednecks like to be proud of the things we've earned. Especially when we've earned a five-foot TV or a stereo that can literally blow out our windows. Although we don't always keep up with the Joneses the same way other people do. Namely, we'll have a five-foot TV and three-inch speakers. We'll invite everyone over to watch the race and hear those 800 horse beasts on our new stereo, but we'll be watching it on an 18 inch TV.

Rednecks will watch a brand-new plasma TV sitting on milk crates. I've seen someone put their TV up on jackstands. We'll sit in overstuffed leather furniture and watch a six-inch portable black and white TV. We'll buy mountain property so our brand-new big-screen CRT television won't implode. There's a guy in Cascade who bought that property and built that glorified shack so that he could have a four inch larger television than out on the plains (they really did used to implode). We don't care.

Don't believe me? Next time you're at someone's house to enjoy their superior electronics, think about it. Something's probably amiss. Dolby 5.1 surround sound, but a two-channel cable signal. So? It's 5.1 surround anyway. Maybe they're the first one on the block with an HDTV. But they're still using rabbit ears for half their channels. All ya'll might not usually be rednecks, but you're being gloriously unsophisicated when you only have one high-end item in a system with middle-of-the-road gear. A chain is only as strong as it's weakest link, but that doesn't mean we won't buy a titanium link to put right next to it.

Redneck, White and Blue

2008-05-13T19:43:00.002-06:00

In case it got buried for some of ya'll, I do want to post another link to my politics/off-topic blog.

If I had a spare couch....

2008-05-12T00:19:00.003-06:00

Who needs a tire swing when you have a sofa swing? I've put an overstuffed recliner on the remnants of a glider before and used it as a rocking chair for a while, but I must say, I've never hung large furniture from a tree. Yet. The tiki torch is a nice touch.

Ha!

2008-05-12T00:04:00.002-06:00

Having apparently lived under a rock, I was just in process of filling out a Digg registration form, and it apparently it asks for your gender. But instead of just giving the options Male and Female, it gives an entire list. Guy, Girl, Dude, Lady, Fellow, Bird, Chap, grrrl, Gentleman, Damsel, Beau, Belle, Male, Female, Transgender, and None of the Above. One can tell these folks have a sense of lightheartedness. I had to look up a couple of 'em. I wonder how they came up with the list?

In Defense of Kyle Busch

2008-05-11T23:18:00.006-06:00

It seems that almost every redneck loves racing. A lot of us love stock-car racing the most, since it's on TV every weekend, and we will plan our weekends around the races. Some of us will drive 900 miles to watch them drive 500 miles. Personally, I think NASCAR is good competition, but the "stock" part is realy gone. That is not to say, though, that the OEMs (major carmakers) don't provide some great gear for those boys.

First, let me be clear: I am a die-hard fan of the Unser racing dynasty. They are my favorite racers. The Old Man of the Mountain was competitive for years on one of the world's most unique and challenging tracks, which I have had the good fortune to grow up near. NASCAR can't hold a candle to Pike's Peak.

When it comes to today's NASCAR lineup, though, I rooted for old Ironhead before his unfortunate death at Dayona. After that, I'd love to see Dale Earnhardt Jr. go on to match his father's greatness. I think he probably has the skill, but he hasn't really hit his groove. This season, although the move from DEI was a necessary change for him, I don't think he really has his heart in it. He's content with finishing behind someone. He may not like it, but he doens't hate it so much that it pushes him to win.

Kyle Busch, on the other hand, has that drive, that desire. He has an excellent team this year, and it is obvious that Toyota has the know-how and technology to compete with Detroit. A lot of people really hate Kyle this year. He won Daytona, and he has continued winning since then at an inredible rate. Last week, he apparently crashed Dlae Jr., which made him even more hatable, but that's racin'. Unfortunately, being stuck away from a TV and out of video tape, I missed the whole damn race. That's a cardinal sin on par with missing Denver vs. Oakland.

He may be the the man everyone love to hate, but he reminds me of Dale Earnhardt Sr. He has drive, the doesn't apologize, and he doesn't care if your cheer or boo, as long as the crowd is loud. That says something about the man's character. Now that doesn't mean I'll be putting a number 18 sticker anywhere anytime soon, but the kid deserves what he's earned.

Glorious absence of sophistication, right here, people.

2008-05-08T22:16:00.004-06:00

Wow, youtube is really unhappy about letting me embed anything right now. So I will give you the link, and inform you that these people have come up with a better way to put one's pants on. One leg at a time is no fun, and is so last century. Plus, what better way to waste an afternoon than jumping out a second-story window into a pair of Levi's 501s? Maybe have a spare set of pants stashed in case you ever need to climb out the window and hop a fence when her "boyfriend" gets home early. Infinite applications...

Check it out.

Redneck Recipes

2008-05-06T23:14:00.005-06:00

I mentioned that we really DO have a lot of uses for bacon grease. One of them is to just leave it in the pan when making scrambled eggs. Makes then ten times better. Another use for bacon grease is lamp fuel. Seriously, I've seen it done. It's a little inefficient, but you have a hell of a lot of grease and not much parrafin when you're a farmer. Think of "backwards" farmers in Missouri. You probably just pictured someone I'm related to, and if they ever find out what you called them, you in for a whuppin'.

Remember, we take pride in our barbeque, and it is a talent handed down from father to son. Then the son comes up with his own way, and repeats. I cook by smell, not time. If it smells right and looks done, it's done. There is a large grey area in the term "right." This is why barbeque is an art. It will take trial and error for you to learn what's "right" for you. Volumes are deliberately vague.

Here's another redneck recipe. Chili. This chili has won chili cookoffs. This chili has fed families for weeks. This chili is MINE.

You'll be needing

2 pounds of chuck steak
some taters
two big-ass cans of tomato paste
one normal can of chicken stock
three big carrots
an onion
some Stubb's Smokey Mesquite BBQ sauce (trust me, no substitutes)
the talent to light and feed a hot, extremely smokey maple fire. NO ACCELERANTS!
roasted semi-mild peppers-- buy from the dudes by the highway and freeze.

Grill your steak. Chop everything. Put tomato paste, chicken stock in stewpot on grill. Stir. Smokey fire, close lid. Wait a few minutes. Stoke fire. Open lid. Stir. Repeat until 2/3 to 1/2 original volume. Add a glob of BBQ sauce. Stir. Taste. Add more to taste, keep it a little weaker than "it oughta be". Add fixin's. Stir. Stoke fire. Plenty of smoke. close lid (your pot is ALWAYS uncovered). You should have a medium-hot fire. You know your grill, it's thermometer, and the lies it tells. You know what medium-hot look like in the language of thermometer-lie. Keep your smoke going for as long as you have patience for, and ten minutes after that. Taste. Serve. NEVER cover it while it's hot. This'll keep and keep and keep.

You can adjust this recipe. One of my favorite ways is to dump in a bunch of hot bacon grease. Another use for the grease is to mix it with Worstershire suace and marinate your steak in it before grilling. You'll thank me.

You ain't in Washington no more

2008-05-06T23:00:00.003-06:00

I got this email the other day... rang so true. Folks, when you go to the South (primarily redneck country), you're not in your element anymore. Don't make fun of 'em, okay? Especially not in front of no 10-year-olds (you'll see why). I ain't from the South, Colorado born and raised, but a lot of this is true all over the country to some degree. I might amend the "four men in a pickup truck" one, though, to also include:

"If you get stuck in a snowstorm anywhere near civilization, don't worry, two or more people (odds are, they're going to be mountain rednecks) will be along with shovels and tow chains. 'Ya'll ain't from aroung here, are ya? See, we don't go uphill this time of the year.' It's what we live for. In the winter, at least. Even if the folks in question only have cars, trust me, they'll get you out of three foot snow. We know what we're doing; don't interfere."

The North and SouthThe North has Bloomingdale's, the South has Dollar General.

The North has coffee houses, the South has Waffle Houses.

The North has dating services, the South has family reunions.

The North has switchblade knives; the South has Lee Press-on Nails.

The North has double last names; the South has double first names.

The North has Indy car races; The South has stock car races.

North has Cream of Wheat, the South has grits.

The North has green salads, the South has collard greens.

The North has lobsters, the South has craw fish.

The North has the rust belt; the South has the Bible Belt.

FOR NORTHERNERS MOVING SOUTH . . . In the South: --If you run your car into a ditch, don't panic. Four men in a four-wheel drive pickup truck with a tow chain will be along shortly. Don't try to help them, just stay out of their way. This is what they live for.

Don't be surprised to find movie rentals and bait in the same store.... do not buy food at this store.

Remember, 'Y'all' is singular, 'all y'all' is plural, and 'all y'all's' is plural possessive.

Get used to hearing 'You ain't from round here, are ya?'

Save all manner of bacon grease. You will be instructed later on how to use it.

(I've been made fun of for this, but it's true. Bacon grease is an excellent foodstuff, and should not be wasted.)

Don't be worried at not understanding what people are saying. They can't understand you either.

The first Southern statement to creep into a transplanted Northerner's vocabulary is the adjective 'big'ol,' truck or 'big'ol' boy. Most Northerners begin their Southern-influenced dialect this way. All of them are in denial about it. The proper pronunciation you learned in school is no longer proper.

Be advised that 'He needed killin.' is a valid defense here.

If you hear a Southerner exclaim, 'Hey, y'all watch this,' you should stay out of the way. These are likely to be the last words he'll ever say.

If there is the prediction of the slightest chance of even the smallest accumulation of snow, your presence is required at the local grocery store. It doesn't matter whether you need anything or not. You just have to go there.

(except here in the Rockies, instead of the HILLS, where if anything less than three feet is predicted, your presence is required at work. Don't worry, we'll dig you out the first few times.)

Do not be surprised to find that 10-year olds own their own shotguns, they are proficient marksmen, and their mammas taught them how to aim.

In the South, we have found that the best way to grow a lush green lawn is to pour gravel on it and call it a driveway.

(Seriously, you want green stuff, act like you don't give a damn about it)

AND REMEMBER: If you do settle in the South and bear children, don't think we will accept them as Southerners. After all, if the cat had kittens in the oven, we wouldn't call 'em biscuits.

Politics? Religion? Oh, yes.

2008-05-06T00:27:00.001-06:00

By popular demand, I have started my other blog of half-coherent rambling (which is better than most of politics) and extremely pointed comments. It can be found here. Enjoy.

Mower update

2008-05-05T22:16:00.003-06:00

This past weekend I got together with my dad over fixing this dang mower (hopefully two people are less likely to make a dumb mistake), and we set about dismantling the carburetor. A complete caburetor rebuild should fix the issue... right? We know it was fuel or air, and we know that the way it's delivered is the carb. We've seen carb rebuilds fix this before. It took a day and a half to get it all done (including an evening at the Golden Super Cruise eyeballing rare vehicles).

50 combined years of mechanical knowledge. Oh, we should have shorter crabgrass by now. Not.

The mistake we made was to forget the float valve seat. Have you ever had your toilet tank overflow because of a stuck shutoff? That's what happened to us, except it was gasoline, and it was because we left the hole too big. Oh that wasn't embarrassing. Half a gallon of gas everywhere was perfectly safe, too.

Long story short, we found our mistake, fixed it, and apparently put the governor (automatic gas pedal) back on wrong. We didn't need no stinkin' notes on how it was before we took it off.

Now the motor lugs at idle, or sticks at high revs. Think, above redline. Mower blade blowing up by your feet? Nah.

Now it's personal. It'll get fixed, even if we just have to kick it until it behaves.

Global Warning Goddammit!

2008-05-03T00:46:00.003-06:00

In other words, it is May, and I have hereby declared it sandal weather. Despite the fact that it is 40 degrees. Fahrenheit. My remedial science knowledge tells me that if our little corner of the world is warming because of emissions, it would be 40 degrees Celsius, and I would have been able to feel my feet today.

Having spent a very fun winter wearing thick and heavy clothing, and gotten sick of it, the warm days of May are the correct time to begin with the redneck fashion disasters we are known all up and down the trailer park for. But please, people, let's not forget that the "I wear it because it's comfotable and if you can't keep your lunch down that's your problem" rule also applies to socks with sandals. It's classic. And I plan on doing it several times in the coming weeks, until it actually is Colorado's fourth season: hot-as-hell. This is not to be confused with Arizona's second season, hot-as-all-hell-and-then-some. The first season being kinda-not-as-hot-but-just-wait.

So, yes, join me in the sandal protest of this cold front. Denial always works... at least I don't believe it doesn't, right? Plus, trust me, unless you really need work boots, you don't want to be caught in workboots when the season strikes.

While I'm on the topic, let me reiterate some of Jeff Foxworthy's redneck fashion tips, as well as add some of my own.

If your back is so hairy you have been shot more than twice with a tranquilizer gun, say yes to a shirt. Especially one with sleeves.
If your body is the same color as Dracula's, but your arms aren't, stick with a t-shirt.
If your stomach blocks your view of your shoes, cover it up!
When cuffing your pantlegs, keep them below the tops of your socks. Especially if you're wearing sandals.
We all love polished belt buckles, but make sure it won't does not shine sun in people's eyes. But at least they won't be able to punch you for it as long as you face the sun.
Tuck your shirt all the way in, or all the way out.
Don't wear one-peice jumpsuits unless the warden says you have to.

Also, other warm-weather redneck fun & safety tips:

Warm gas is vaporous gas. Light up your cigaratte after you fill up.
Waterskiing is ALWAYS a good idea. Unless it's not.
Your car really WILL run on moonshine or other hard liqour, but only if it's carbeurated or FlexFuel. Don't bet your buddies on it until you've proved in your driveway that you won't be the only one running on Jim Beam, though.
Running an engine on alcohol will shorten the life of your beloved truck, lawnmower, motorcycle, outboard, skateboard, go-kart, small airplane, weedwhacker, chainsaw, helicopter, toothbrush, or whatever else you happen to try it in.
Always check the slope for barbed wire BEFORE going running down it at full tilt. Even if it's your property, there might be some there, and it leaves large holes.
And most of all, CHECK TWICE, SAVE A LIFE. MOTORCYCLES ARE EVERYWHERE!

The Last Honest Place in America

2008-04-25T21:47:00.003-06:00

Have you ever gotten a wrong-number phone call from a pharmacy saying your prescription is ready? Did you call them back and inform them that you don't have a prescription there, and they have the wrong number? Why?

How about when you got your photos back from the one-hour-photo place; have you ever gotten someone else's by mistake? Even if you had all of yours, did you go back and tell the people at the photo shop? Did you try and find the person and inform them that you had their photos and were giving them to the photo place until they can come pick them up? Did that person call you back and thank you? That took effort, why'd ya'll do it?

If you answered yes to any of the above questions, might it be because you know that whatever you had really meant something to somebody?

See, like all ya'll rednecks already know, we were raised to know right from wrong, and to always do the right thing. Sometimes we slip and do some evil, but when it comes to hurting someone we don't know just by being lazy, we can't really live with ourselves until we set things right. The "well, the other person might be an asshole and deserve it" theory doesn't really hold water. When you do the right thing, you'll meet good people.

Recently, I accidentally received an envelope of another lady's photos when I went to get my latest batch developed. Rather than ignore them, or do the easy thing and throw them away like she expected whoever had them would do, I made a point of returning them to Costco's photodesk and calling her and letting her know that I had gotten the photos and returned them to the photodesk. She was so glad she called and thanked me profusely, but that's not the point. The point is, she had photos of her son she thought she'd never see again, and my conscience is no longer nagging me, "Hurry up, don't just ignore them, they mean something to someone. That's what you'd want."

Turns out she is a very nice lady, and didn't think modern big-city people would help her. Apparently, though, she has lost jewelry at that same Costco before, and it was returned to the lost and found promptly. Who'd have thunk? We rednecks do like to look out for each other.

Do a good deed, accept a good deed, pay it forward.

Politics? Religion?

2008-04-14T22:17:00.004-06:00

Folks, as I'm sure you're all aware, this year is a major turning point in history, and will turn out to be marked as a major turn for the worse or better for the United States and the world given time. I have done my best to keep politics and religion out of this blog, being"serious" issues that don't necessarily fit with the lighthearted, entertainment tone and atmosphere I'm going for. Being a politics junkie who is fond of waxing philosophic about the role of religion in our society, though, that has been tough, and I have a lot to say about things. Before I get started soapboxing, though, I want to ask my readers' opinions on whether I should include my commentary and somewhat cynical notes in this blog, not at all, or start a secondary blog in which I post all that. Please give feedback in email or comment form, and, as always, keep on rockin' the redneck way, ya'll!

Note: I know they're kind of buried, but I do have two new posts right below this one, so scrolliing would be good right about now.

Redneck lawns

2008-04-14T21:48:00.003-06:00

Speaking of lawns, let's talk about the sort of lawn your avrage redneck maintains.

The average redneck lets his property grow wild, except when that means that there's something in his way. Then he takes quick, decisive action to solve the problem.

Oftentimes, the problem is that to maintain the suburban grass that came with his house, the redneck will have to water it. A lot. Who needs that?
"Normal" Solution: Water a lot, stress about grass, replant yearly.
Redneck Solution: Don't water it and hope something local moves in.
Effort involved: none.
Payoff: Lower water bill, wildflowers sometimes (for the missus), no maintenance.
Drawback: Neighbors complain (solution: ignore them)

Another issue is that the local grass, such as crabgrass or the scrubgrass which likes to grow by the side of the highway, grows a lot, and if it gets too long, one can't stand barefoot in one's own front yard.
"Normal" Solution: Poison it and plant non-local grass, bust butt trying to make it grow, stress
Redneck Solution: Mow occasionally.
Effort involved: Low to moderate, unless one loves using the lawnmower, or can ride it (even a self-propelled push-mower is good for this)
Payoff: No cut feet
Drawback: Must mow

Suppose you own a larger chunk of property, and just letting it grow wild won't do. For example, you want to turn the field into a dirtbike park.
"Normal" Solution: Spend much money excavating, bringing in soil, getting rid of soil, stress over maintenance
Redneck Solution: Ride dirtbike on it until it gets the hint
Effort involved: None, you just get to ride a bike
Payoff: Dirtbike park, no cost
Drawback: No large jumps

Suppose you own a larger chunk of property, and don't want to mow it all, but don't want the scrub to get thick.
"Normal" Solution: Expensive landscape work
Redneck Solution: Apply gasoline and burn occasionally
Effort involved: Minimal when done often enough, must dig firebreak at edge of burn
Payoff: Fire. Rich local grass, no scrub, no mowing
Drawback: Fire. Can get out of hand. Yuppie neighbors that just bought farm next door call county fire department.

Suppose you own more motor vehicles than you have garage space for.
"Normal" Solution: Sell some.
Redneck Solution: Park on lawn.
Effort involved: None
Payoff: Can keep vehicles, hold paintball/airsoft in yard if large enough and not attached enough to vehicles to keep non-technicolor
Drawback: Neighbors tend to complain. Dunno why.

If you have a lot of trees on your property, especially large fruit trees and at least one hardwood, you have a lot of trimmings, fallings, and fruit.
"Normal" Solution: Eat fruit, let much rot, throw away wood
Redneck Solution: Eat fruit, throw parties and give away fruit on good years, Make preserves. Let wood lay around and decorate the place as it ages, when properly seasoned, use as fuel for cookfire. Use large branches from occasional major trimmings to decorate, make items to sell.
Effort involved: None, unless you make preserves or dislike using chainsaws every five or so years
Payoff: More firewood than you can burn, delicious food
Drawback: Crapload of wood, fruit, tough to use at proper pace to avoid large woodpiles

'Tis the Season

2008-04-14T20:59:00.005-06:00

That's right! It is spring, and we all know what that means. You guessed it, dusting off the old lawnmower and cutting that there grass. This is, of course, if you happen to live in the city, where you can't do the normal redneck thing and burn your grass first thing in the spring like we do way out in the sticks. It helps it grow real fertile, but I'm pretty sure the neighbors wouldn't be too crazy about it.

Is it really true that out of all our modern technology, the best tool for troubleshooting a squirrely lawnmower is to poke it with a stick? Apparently. We had a lawnmower that we got used out of a large-item-pickup pile that just needed a little tweaking and it ran fine for over a decade. It might have taken a little bit of effort to get it to turn over in the spring, but it worked every time. Finally, a couple of years ago, it died once more, and rather than re-gap the plugs (that was the issue), we decided to buy one of them newfangled bagger models so we didn't have to rake all the clippings. Craftsman. Tools of champions, right? Not so much.

The first thing it did was shake to spark plug wire clean off, right out of the box. With that fixed, it gave us a year and a half of faithful service. This year, nada. Zip. Major air intake and fuel delivery issues, all made worse by a malfunctioning governor.

We decided to elect a new one.

After a combined fifty years of mechanical knowledge examined and troubleshooted the critter, we came to the studied conclusion that we need to call Craftsman. We've never messed with a centrifugal governor before. But that's not my point. Unless I get a redneck on the other end of the line when I call, that doesn't matter. What matters is the way we troubleshot it.

When priming and pulling didn't work, I let it rest to let any fuel evaporate out of the chamber, and repeated. Still nothing. Gas tank's just been filled. Oil tank's dry. Close examination discloses a gas spot and an oil spot right where the mower sat in the shed. No tools used yet.

With the oil tank topped off with straight 30-weight, she's all lubed and runs for a few seconds and quits. Maybe it's a fuel delivery issue-- gas turns to goo in fuel lines, carbs, and anywhere where a gooey substance can pobbily cause you sorrow over even a few months. But it wasn't an issue for a decade... so maybe it's the air side of things. That one's easy.

You take off the filter cover, check the filter. It's almost solid mud. Good lord, how'd this thing ever run? You've got a garage full of mechanic's tools. How do you clean it? A stick. It gets in between the filter pleats better than a finger, and a few solid whacks get all the dust out that'll move. While the filter's off, you notice an odd lever, caked in... you guessed it, mud. How do you clean it? Same stick. Scrapes the mud off just fine. At this point, you get some twine to tie the safety, put the air cleaner back on, prime, and pull. It runs for a few seconds, then quits. You try again, this time holding the lever you noticed earlier fully open with... you guessed it: a stick. This doesn't solve your issue, but it helps smooth the rough idle a little. You toggle the lever again, and decide that must be the lever working the governor, which is that dohickey you've never thought about before on top of you carb. Motor vehicles don't have governors.

You're stumped. You decide to stare at it and see what it does as the motor idles rough and dies again. Turns out it is fluctuating wildly, and pulling shut at the wrong time. AHA! Now you need to hold it open and see if that fixes things. If so, you've found your problem. You have a very specialized tool to control the position of the lever in question: a stick. Poking it with a stick reveals that while it's part of your problem, it's not the main problem.

Total times that you've used a stick as a tool: at least four distinct tasks, multiple times.
Total times that a stick wasn't the best tool for the job: 0

Apparently, when troubleshooting a machine such as a lawnmower, a stick really is still the best tool for the job.

Problem: Fuel delivery, air (new filter needed), governor.
Solution: Poke it with a stick until it works or you know what you need to take apart.

Way to land, dude.

2008-04-08T21:32:00.005-06:00

I've heard a lot lately that the proper way to snowboard is upright, on one's board, not flat on one's face. The main reason for this is probably the road rash I have all over my face right now from landing on rough spring ice. Other than that, though, I have had a great time on a snowboard, feeding my need to sometimes walk a knife's edge between getting home safe and coming home in a pine box.

I don't really know why some people love to take their life into their hands, toss it around, and bet it all on red 13 for a couple of spins. We all know that eventually, sooner, rather than later, our numbers will come up and we'll wake up injured or worse. Some people live timidly for decades, avoiding anything that might cause them pain, and drop dead of a stroke with a thousand regrets, or get hit by a bus, or a drunk driver, or lightning. Other people live twenty-some years, but enjoy and savor every minute. Most people don't know where on the spectrum they'd rather be.

I do know that "hey ya'll, watch this!" and getting hurt often go hand in hand, but we rednecks love to showboat, risk something (like our trucks), and be able to look back on good times. A lot of folks think that if you do dumbass stunts, you're automatically a redneck, and if you're a redneck, you'll be doing dumb things. Tha's not really true, but we do love a good risk now and again, even those of us who would rather not flirt with disaster most of the time, like me.

Motorcycle Musings

2008-04-01T00:55:00.005-06:00

If every time you read the letters "HD" your mind reads "Harley-Davidson" even if you're reading about a TV, you might love motorcycles.

If you know more about two-wheeled history than any other sort, you might love vintage motorcycles.

If you can sing along to "Vincent Black Lightning," you might love vintage motorcycles.

If you have a motor oil stain on your carpet, you might need a garage for your bike, you gearhead, you.

If the phrase "Move the Scout, I'm trying to watch TV" has ever been uttered by someone you know, you might have motorcycles in your blood.

If that phrase is generally followed by "But it's too cold to ride it!" you might be a Coloradan.

If you can tell a story involving the words "and then we got to Sturgis," you might be a biker.

If you have more Sturgis t-shirts than you have socks, you might be a biker.

If armor is a consideration when buying a leather jacket, you might be into motorcycles.

And, most of all, if your solution to having too many bikes and not enough money is to build one more and a shed to keep it in, odds are you love motorcycles.

What could possibly go wrong?

2008-03-23T16:29:00.004-06:00

Let me get this straight...

You build a giant slingshot, very near to a large stand of trees. You strap yourself into it and have your buddy on a his ATV tow you at least 100 feet and then let you go.

You do not bring a helmet.

You do not bring a change of underwear.

What could possibly go wrong?

http://video.msn.com/?mkt=en-us&vid=33c89eca-bd1f-4ea4-8d97-f429c2b9cee0&playlist=videoByTag:tag:most%20watched%20viral:ns:MSNVideo_Top_Cat:mk:us:vs:0&from=MSNHP&tab=m1192124571607&GT1=28114

If I could embed, I would. Sorry.

Are all rednecks bigots?

2008-03-18T23:42:00.001-06:00

Skanky Jane asked me a while ago, "Are all rednecks bigots?" I've had to think about this for a long time, but my final answer has to be no, not all of us. Unfortunately, a disproportionate number of us are. It would appear that the same cultural conditions that are likely to lead to the tendency to take a straight line from problem A to conclusion B, regardless of the issues in the way (making them a redneck), is also likely tolead them to jump to conclusions about people. The tenacity to not give up when things get difficult also tends to lead to a tendency to not admit we're wrong. Mix in the fact that the racist South is the birthplace of most rednecks, and you get the tendency for a randomly selected redneck to also be a little bigoted. Sometimes more than a little.

Let's review the sorts of pop culture examples that lead to the perception of being a racist, sexist, and generally bigoted person as being synonymous with being a redneck.

In the closing scene of Easy Rider, Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper are riding their motorcycles out of New Orleans and a truck comes up behind them. Pickup truck--redneck mark #1. One of them says to the other, "pass him, let's give him a scare." Accent--redneck mark #2. You will note that they are probably socially conservative (like the vast majority of rednecks are) based on their antagonism towards Hopper, as well as their close haircuts and the demographic makeup of the region they come from. The man riding shotgun then pulls out an actual shotgun, points it at Hopper, and shouts derogatory remarks at him. Hopper flips him off, and the redneck shoots. Please note the use of stereotypical redneck traits immediately surrounding a man who shows himself to be a murderous bigot. Thus, a Pavlovian association is formed between redneck and bigot in the viewer's mind, even when someone the judge to be a "redneck" displays no bigoted behavior. Fonda stops to check on Hopper, then rides in the direction they and the truck were going, to go get help. By this time, the shooter has convinced the driver of the truck to turn around and check on Hopper. We are unsure whether this is out of human concern, or to make sure he's dead. The truck passes Fonda going the other way now, back towards Hopper, and the trigger man pulls the shotgun again as Fonda draws near, and the shot hits the tank on his motorcycle, causing a large fireball and blowing him to Kingdom Come. As the truck drives away and credits roll, one can hear the two men laughing.
Given the tendency for rednecks to grow up in the South, and the the American South's history as a racist, sometimes sexist, generally intolerant cultural area, it is not statistically suprising that many rednecks are a little right-of-center on the mainstream political spectrum. Rednecks tend more than the general U.S. population to be

somewhat racially biased (many without even knowing it-- heck, everyone is, just some more so than others)
wary & unaccepting of outsiders (remember, small-community upbringing is a common formative factor for rednecks, even if that is just a neighborhood or trailer park within a big city)
more outspokenly critical of anyone whom they have concluded to not be straight, especially men. This escalates to violence much faster among rednecks than among, say, your average New Englander.

However, I believe that since prevalence of these stereotypical (and accurate) redneck traits drops as cultural setting changes, it is the setting causing both these bigoted behaviors and redneck-ism, not redneck-ism causing the behaviors.

I hope that's a satisfactory answer, ma'am.

Is that for you?

2008-03-18T22:35:00.004-06:00

And other embarrassing moments avoided since the invention of the self-checkout machine.

Are you stuck doing the shopping for your family? While someone you love is in dire need of immodium? "I love you, but not that much..... oh, all right. But you owe me. We ain't changing the channel during Indy this year."

This has been a major embarrassment averted by... Checkout Machine!

A lot of fathers and husbands know this one:

*ring*

"Yes, Honey?"

"I need you to pick up some... sanitary products."

"Some... you mean... wait a second, I am a grown man. I ain't goin' up there and putting that on the conveyor belt. I gotta see these people every week."

*puppy dog eyes on other end of phone*"Pleeeeaaaase?"

Relax, sir, your supermarket is equipped with.... Checkout Machine!

It's not just at the supermarket, either. Sometimes you're at the library picking up an embarrassing movie that just came in. I believe in keeping human librarians employed and always checking out my stuff that way, but sometimes an exception must be made. For example, your documentary about gay activism has just arrived, and a glance around the room reveals that only the uber-conservative librarian with the icy stare is on duty. This could be deathly awkward, especially since you're in there every week like it's a Blockbuster.

Fear not, Checkout Machine now lives in libraries, too! (She doesn't have to know)

Or maybe you're out and about with a friend, and stop off at Safeway for some food. While you're there getting all the fixin's for a good meal of strawberries and fake whipped cream, you realize how this probably looks. If you stand in line to have a chashier ring you up, that means that both the casheir and the bagger might be getting the wrong impression, and you and your ladyfriend might get followed by some aspiring filmmaker. Solution to your strawberry fix and people getting the wrong idea:

The greatest invention since sliced bread (except not really. You can ring up your own pre-sliced bread with it, though): The Checkout Machine.

Let's talk about Cool Whip for a second. This is a fantastic invention. I'm pretty sure it's not actual cream, or if it is, there is a lot of other stuff in there with it. Cool Whip, unlike aerosol whipped creams, has a very low coefficient of collapse. That is I'm-pretty-sure-I-just-slept-through-math-class-ese for Cool Whip doesn't melt as fast as canned whipped creams do.

This property makes it ideal for topping desserts which must be made and then survive the journey to the barbeque inact. This propety also makes for some fun food fights, and allows it to stand fluffed in a bowl for weeks from manufacturing to consumption. Previously, making whipped cream was a very labor-intensive task, and, having no binders, your creation had a tendency to melt and run before you could really enjoy it. Seeing a problem, some redneck took the shortest route from point A (whipped cream a hassle, but delicios) to point B (whipped cream easy and cheap, but still tasty). In case you ever find yourself without a map on this route, it is somewhere near Route 66 and Everywhere, and at exit 252 you can get off and find Cool Whip. I can't speak to whether or not the Cool Whip will give you directions back to the interstate.

It makes sense that Cool Whip is a staple in the Midwest, especially, as part of the all-American diet. I can't say I've ever been to a get-together worth bein' at that didn't have Cool Whip. My aunt's and my cousins' weddings have all had Cool Whip in among the fancy "or-derves" once the officials had let out and the reception of liqour and stories began. Every good barbeque, reunion, and Thanksgiving dinner has had Cool Whip available, and at many of those even the non-Cool Whip vittles were housed in Cool Whip-brand tupperware. In case you haven't noticed, Cool Whip is as much a part of many rednecks' culture as using too much hairspray and growing a moustache (generally not the same person).

I am personally partial to aerosol sorts of whipped cream, given their different flavor, when getting whipped cream to top food with. You can't tip your head back and spray your mouth full of whipped cream from a plastic tub. Of course, you can't dip things in a spray can, and like I said, once sprayed, it has the self-life of an ice cube in summer. Hats off to the inventor of Cool Whip, you are a real redneck of genius. (I didn't just rip that off of a Bud ad). Hush now.

Speakerphone was invented for a reason, and that's not it.

2008-03-09T22:43:00.005-06:00

Standing in line at my local Subway shop, I got to witness an odd bit of what happens when redneck behavior collides with the portable speakerphone. The man ahead of me was next up to order and since apparently he couldn't remember what his wife wanted, he put it on speakerphone and had her talk to the dude making the sandwich, who, understandably, was annoyed. She nagged on him stuff like "make sure you get enough mayo on it. Is he getting enough mayo on it?" Which left us wondering, what evil hath this man unleashed upon this unsuspecting restaurant? When you have someone order through speakerphone, anywhere, you're a redneck. You've solved your problem. You also apparently don't give a rat's ass that it's very annoying to everyone else.

It's always white folks doing this, too. I don't know why, but it's your average "Wal-Mart when it's not on rollback IS fancy" crowd that breaks cell phone ettiquette the most.

Speakerphone is excusable when you're at the pet food store and she wants to talk to you and you want to get 50 pounds of Purina in the cart. Speakerphone is not excusable in the grocery store, at restaurants or drive-ups, or in any other situation where you could use the earpiece. In fact, if you're ordering a sandwich, have her say what she wants, write it on your hand, THEN get in line.

Basically, before you hit the speakerphone button, think. I've gotten the urge to do the speakerphone thing whilst completing one of my mom's inane "call me for details" shopping lists many times, where she'll write vague things that send you all over the store, and then talk to you like you really care what frozen dinner she gets. Dinner is not a committee process. Anyway, if I can resist the urge to put it on speaker, drop it in my shirtpocket, and stroll the isles, so can you. So just think of that little story and have a laugh next time you're tempted.

Oh hells yes

2008-03-07T19:17:00.003-07:00

I had always kind of laughed at the fantasy football guys. That is, up until I was just kind of tooling around NASCAR.com today and found the little fantasy NASCAR link. No good can probably come of this for me, but I consider myself pretty good at picking winners, so I'm giving it a try. If anyone else here happens to also do fantasy NASCAR, comment or email me-- I figure I'm not the only one who has noticed the game.

I really have way too much random knowledge.

2008-03-06T20:48:00.003-07:00

I do. I'm trying to gather more car-related knowledge and less fish-related knowledge, so I'm going to have to share some more fish info with you to get it out of my head.

Blowfish guts are toxic, but the muscle is not.

While Canada and the U.S. generally get along on everything, there has been continued bitter dispute over North Pacific salmon waters since time immemorial. Each country has a line that they're not supposed to fish past, but we all know how well that works. So next time you order some sushi here's an exciting thought: you may be eating illegal fish.

Now, have you ever noticed that no matter who your old neighbors were and who your new neighbors are, the new ones seem worse at first? Well, let me set the scene for this one: The original owners of two 50-year old houses both sell around the same time. They had always kept to themselves, but seemed like nice respectable people. New people buy the houses. One is bought by somewhere between three and half a dozen college-age students who probably aren't in college. There are usually three cars in their driveway and one more, which could fit in the driveway, which they like to park in front of your house. This little peice of shit wannabe sports-car import makes it tough to get out of your drive, and blocks you putting your trashcan where you always have on trash day. The second house was bought by a three-generation white trash family, based on what you've seen of them-- grandma, grandpa, young mom (and no father), and at least two school-age children. They keep to themselves and don't park in odd places, but pretty soon you start finding Docshund poo in your yard (theirs is the only tiny dog on the block, so you know). Who annoys you more?

Well, in both instances, you mount a passive-agressive campaign, putting your trash can right where you always put it even though the car is way too close to it, and begin scooping up the dog poo and tossing it back on their land. None of you yeild and neighborhood staring matches are common. How does it resolve? Well, you're still getting little brown presents every day after a long time of this. As for the young punks with the car, turns out they're car guys too and you're now on good terms (with the import parked on their side of the street). Why the shift? You both sized each other up when they moved in and decided you couldn't possibly have anything in common with them and thus decided to act like some Arab states do towards Israel: ignore them and hope they'll go away. But when they were out on their porch drinking beer, you just happened to be tuning on your Oldsmobile and ya'll got to talking. Turns out they're not violent, trashing the house, orinto drugs like they looked like at first. You're not uptight squares, creepy weirdos, or nearly as insane as you looked like at first. You're both interested in getting as many miles out of your beaters as possible, and come to be something near to friends before they're out of beer and you are convinced that you don't have a compression leak. You don't mention their annoying car out front (they do ask what the turning circle of you car is and if you ever have trouble getting out of the driveway), and when you're done talking, one of the guys moves it over in front of their house. That night, you don't call the cops when their keg party (which is suprisingly non-messy come morning) gets loud. You now officially get along with these neighbors and talk sometimes when you're both hanging out on the porch on weekends.

Moral: well, you figure it out, it ain't that tough.

Now, here's a redneck moment my chemistry professor had the other day. Remember, this is a bright, college-educated guy we're talking about here. When he figured out that people were stealing his calculators in between classes, though, his solution was to duct-tape them to three foot lengths of 2x4, when he could have just locked them in his desk. That would have been no fun, though.

The grass may be greener on the other side, but it still has to be mowed

2008-03-05T01:56:00.003-07:00

According to my friend, the world record for watermelon-seed spitting is 3.6 yards. 11 feet, people. I've never measured my best shots. But I know that as soon as watermelons are available at King Soopers, I'll be out in the backyard with a camcorder and a tape measure. I know I'm mighty good with a sunflower seed.

Believe it or not, we got on the watermelon seed topic by flipping through and making comments about an atals we found in study hall. In it, there was a picture of a man dressed in old-school Inuit gear, furs and all, riding a caribou. The caribou didn't seem suprised. Neither did the man. There is something, though, that just seems like a bad idea when it comes to hopping onto a grazing caribou. Maybe it's because "hey ya'll, watch this" are famous last words. I know some people who would try to ride a caribou after one or two beers.

U-Hauls, muscle cars, stump rot, and cooking

2008-02-29T21:26:00.005-07:00

I'm not really sure when this turned into The Weekly Redneck Digest of Meat, Fire, Motorcycles, and Women, but it has. And I'm okay with that. I kind of like not touching my computer for a week.

So first, a story. Get used to it, I tell a lot of stories. Yesterday at the light rail Park&Ride I saw a U-Haul. Yes, a big ass van, which you can now rent for $20 a day. This made me wonder, why would anyone rent a U-Haul and then take the train to get someplace? They're obviously not moving. Then it hit me. You get headroom, space for passengers and stuff, lots of power, and it's in good condition (generally). If you get in a car wreck and have to rent without a reservation, you can only get a compact car for that price. How shameless do you have to be to rent a U-Haul as a daily driver while the shop fixes up your ride? Well, it takes a lot of nerve. I like the idea. I don't like having to ride around in an underpowered Japanese econobox, hitting my head on the rear window (all 5'4" of me) when someone else is in shotgun. That's when I miss my full-size ride, even with it's little gremlins. Those gremlins don't whack you in the head and cramp your legs. If you rent a U-Haul as a daily driver when you're not moving, you're redneck. Face it, buddy. You ought to be on a Budweiser Real Men of Genius ad. High-five.

Another story. I still have an original Xbox. I still use it. I just found my favorite game, Sega GT 2002. It had fallen behind the TV. So you ain't going to see much of my ass for a while. Send me a suggestion or comment and I'll get back to you, but only after I'm done dragging my 427, 814 horse blown '70 Chevelle. If they had Xbox live for this, I wouldn't even be going to class. Or work. You'd have to roll a grenade under my chair to get me out of there.

So I listed fire in my new description of my blog. Why? I love fire. I love watching fire. I love improving fire. I love cooking with fire. I ran into some of my old friends last weekend, and guess what we did? Yep, fire. They like to take Purell, spread it on newspaper, light it, and then scatter powder such as non-dairy creamer into the fire (like a grain-dust explosion). Not being the criminal sort, they do this on their own property on concrete. But, see, I knew we could do better. Bigger, longer-lasting fire can be achieved with rubbing alcohol. You can burn more stuff, hotter, with stump rot. Oxidizers are fun. Colors can get involved with barium, for example. You can blow things up with just rubbing alcohol. We like blowing things up, but we'll do that later. Turning a soda bottle into a gumball cannon, though, was pretty badass. We had fun with that. That's just our competitive nature: take something cool that they've done and do it better. They're probably working on something cooler right now. I'm okay with that.

So, women. One of my favorite subjects. This is going to have to be a separate post-- I've got a lot to say, but I can't think of any of it.

Motorcycles: For a few years now I've been telling my dad to excavate his crap out of the garage so we can get his motorcycles running again. Given that he's finally started listening to me about "we are going to get at least one of them restored and running before I turn 16," that looks like that could actually happen. Whoo. Classic Massachusetts iron. I also am in the market for a used dirtbike. Just FYI, if anyone happens to have one laying around in the Denver area.

Meat: I feel guilty that my friend has decided to blog about fish (God knows why), has nothing fish-related to talk about, and I know more than I should about fish. I know more than I should about a lot of things. So, here we are. One way to fish in shallow, narrow streams is to spot your dinner, sneak downstream of it, and build a rock dam all the way across the water flow. All the way. If the fish can get out downstream, you're going to be going hungry, so get it right. No need to stop the water, just make sure there are no fish-sized holes. Now, grab a big stick and sneak up (really quiet) behind the fish. Make sure your shadow never goes over or in front of it. Now, whack. Yes, whack the fish. Get it out of the water as quick as possible, too. Once you've got ahold of it and have it on shore, no need to be cruel, put the injured soon-to-be dinner down and clobber his head with a rock. No pain, instant death. Anything over three inches should be gutted. Cook and enjoy (or eat raw--I reccommend cooked). When you're done, don't be an asshole, dismantle the dam. Chuck Norris will come find you otherwise. Now copy-paste, I insist.

Also, more useless fish knowledge: Some salt-water fish are poisonous, but all freshwater fish are edible.

More food: Yes, I'm writing while hungry, can't you tell? In consideration of my readers who stick to a more suburban diet, I promise I won't discuss how tasty pigeon is, or how to cook snake, not in this post. Anyway, I've noticed that when I'm only getting food for myself, I'm a very simple person. If I want beans and ham, I'll open a can of Busch's Maple-Bacon Baked Beans (put 'em on top of your head and your tounge will beat your brains out trying to get to it), open a package of sliced ham, put the ham in the can, turn on the stove (or light a fire), and cook them both at once. Then I'll eat out of the can. But when I'm cooking for other people, I get fancy. I can get real fancy. When I make hamburgers and take them in my lunch, I literally have to fight people off, it looks and smells that good. When we have company I'll cook anything that we have on hand to order. I know a lot of recipes that are just "yeah, that looks about right", but folks love when I'm the grillmaster at the 4th of July barbeque. Seriously, come over sometime and I'll make you apple pie over a wood fire and you will want seconds.

When I'm on my own, if I want mushrooms I'll grab some mushrooms out the fridge, add butter and microwave. If I'm making mushrooms for you, you're getting sautee'd mushrooms in a freakin' root beer-pineapple glaze and carmelized apricots. I can't help it. I don't know where I got this tendency from. it's freaking me out.

The best idea I've EVER had

2008-02-21T21:34:00.004-07:00

Well, maybe it's not. A lot of things look like a great idea until I think them through. Then I usually realize that it won't work, I'm too lazy, or it'll probably get me arrested. But I'm going to write down this idea before that moment of enlightenment comes.

Let me set the scene. I live on a hill. A hellishly steep hill. You know, the one that goes from Alameda to Highway 285? Well, if you are ever in Denver, you know what I'm talking about. Everything for a few miles is tilted at an angle, rendering it impossible to get home in the winter, play basketball in your driveway, get into your driveway at all, or find level land that's not privately owned for miles around. You can get on a bicycle at my house and get a speeding ticket before you get to the grocery store, if you are a speed demon and don't use the brakes. I've come real close. But see, the problem is getting home.

You can't ride a bike back up this hill. I don't care who you are, you can be a champion Tour De France mountain rider and you will be stopping for breath before you are halfway home. There is no way to get enough torque, even if you get a flying start and stand on the freaking pedals. Last year I decided to pull one of the big gears off of the front of my bike and stick it on the rear, giving me a much lower gear ratio. I still walked the bloody thing home. I'm getting real sick of this.

I know it's still winter and all and I should be complaining about powersliding onto the lawn when trying to park in the driveway, but I kind of enjoy when my dad does that, and we haven't had enough snow to cause that recently. I've been working under the assumption that it's summer for the past few weeks, and I'll be doing that until it actually is.

Anyway, my new master plan involves the weedwhacker in the shed. I know that this probably is a very bad idea, but what better way to get into trouble over the summer? That's what summers are for.

I really wish my dad had ever taught me bicycle maintenance, but I guess I can't hold it against him. He grew up in steeper country than me. I don't know if bicycle maintenance is a subject he never learned, or if he just never shared it with me. Anyway, being almost totally pedal-bike-illiterate and yet being a gearhead with a love for motorcycles, my solutions are trial and error (mostly error). I know I can solve my problem with what I have on hand, I just can't figure out how. And, when all else fails, add a motor with enough torque to help me get home.

You have no idea how tempting it is just to take the Kowasaki to wherever I'm going.

But I know that would be cheating, get me grounded, probably arrested, and it hasn't run since the '80s.

So I'm back to working out a solution to my problem while keeping my bicycle primarily human-powered. My lastest theory is to take the 12-volt motor from our weedwhacker and gear it onto the sumnabitch. Silent, lots of torque, and it's not like we really needed that weedwhacker.

Now I'm going to bed before I stop and realize that there's SO many things wrong with that idea. G'night ya'll.

Warning: Unauthorized cars will be shot

2008-02-21T12:58:00.005-07:00

This is a zoomed-in portion of a photo of some grafitti on a brick wall out back of what appears to be a warehouse. The graffiti in question says "Whatever you destroy we'll create it again." That's all meaningful and deep and stuff, but I couldn't help but notice the sign on the wall.

Unauthorized cars will be towed away and shot.

Welcome to our little corner of the world, where if it sits still long enough, it's probably a target.

Rest in peace

2008-02-12T21:52:00.007-07:00

I have just learned that my friend Don Henderson's mother died this past Sunday, February 10th. I ask that he and his family be in your thoughts, prayers, and whatever else all ya'll do to try to will something to happen. He will be taking a break from posting his vector artwork as arrangements are made and mourning is done. I encourage you to check out his art at that link, you'll be blown away.

Now, I'm not really that into the Bible and religion and all that as a literal truth, but I do find that the cultural effects of religion, even if it's over a false idol, can be very beneficial. Just because I'm not convinced about God and Jesus does not mean that I don't try to live by the 10 commandments, or I won't recite the Lord's Prayer before emarking on a particularly risky activity. Even if there's nothing on the other side of this life, you can still be a better overall person on this side by listening to parts of what the Bible says. Just because there may not be an actual God or He may not grant what you ask for does not mean that it won't help you get through a trying time by unloading your issues on Him and asking for help. You could be suprised how often help does come in one form or another. It's up to you to decide where that help came from. Just knowing that many people are united in support of you can work wonders. So with that in mind, let me offer this.

Lord, we ask that you accept Mrs. Henderson into an eternal life in Your kingdom. And please be with all of the people that have been touched by her passing, but were touched even more by her life. We did not know her, but if her son is any indication, she was a good mother and a good woman. Thank you for helping her through her recent surgery and giving her that much more time with the people she cared about. Now that you have called Mrs. Henderson to be with You among the blessed and the righteous, though all the people she touched are saddened, please give them closure and the strength to carry on.

Rest in peace, Mrs. Henderson. You will be missed.

Amen.

Salt of the Earth

2008-02-08T21:15:00.001-07:00

Every good redneck needs a kickass belt buckle. Wait, that's not true. I ain't good, and there are probably some good redneck folks who just haven't found the perfect chunk of metal. Well, look no farther. The people of B & K Rocky Mountain Enterprises can help you out.

If any of you want an explanation on why we wear a quarter-pound of brass just above our groin as a status symbol, well that's your problem. No, I'm kidding. That really does confound some people. First of all, you have to understand that the redneck man's idea of lookin' good and the non-redneck's idea of looking good are fundamentally different. Some of us rednecks have no fashion sense (check Wal-Mart). Jeff Foxworthy has put together a list of tips to help those rednecks with their problem. For the rest of us, t-shirts change from day to day (right, people?), pants change when they get dirty, hats are intermittent, coats are either too hot or too cold, but no matter what, you are ALWAYS wearing a belt. And you gotta fasten it. The belt buckle is the item of apparel that sums up who you are or what your greatest acomplishment is. Looking at a redneck man is like reading the tech sheet for a custom motorcycle. Look at a redneck man when he's dressed casual, and you will be able to tell from his belt buckle if he's ever won anything, and if not, what his passion in life is. You will be able to tell from his t-shirt what kind of truck he drives, what radio station he listens to, who his favorite band is, who he roots for in NASCAR, or where he went on vacation one of the past 21 summers, depending on the day. (If you ever see a t-shirt that says "I've been to timberline and it looked just like a dirt parking lot" ask him what shop he got it at). If he's wearing a hat, you'll be able to tell what redneck culture he fits in with best, what kind of vehicle he drives, or what his favorite sport to attend is. If he's wearing a jacket, you'll know what he smokes or what his favorite sports team is. Whether or not his belt matches the color of his shoes tells you if he gives a rip about what you'll think of him.

But like I said, it's his belt buckle that will tell you the most about him.

B & K is a real mom & pop company, run by good, salt of the earth people. Your belt buckle ever breaks, you ship it to them and they'll fix it for ya. Because even though that may not be good business (not charging for it and all), that's being a good person. That's integrity, standing by your product.

They sell some of the most fantastic belt buckles I've ever seen. You can profess your love for America, your love for freedom in general, your love of American motorcycles, your love for fishing, or your love for cars, among other things. Guess which one I own and wear (hint: check my profile picture).

If you're not in Denver, call and ask about the belt buckles they sell and how you can get one at one of these numbers. 303-798-6718 or 303-730-2067. Please remember that it's very bad form to call outside of traditional business hours and that those will be calculated for the mountain time zone.

I'm definitely a Coloradan

2008-02-07T23:24:00.000-07:00

And damn proud of it. But, anyway, I'm not here to profess why I love my home state so much, not in this post. Im here to talk about what I just got in email. I'm too lazy to verify if he actually said any of this stuff, but the following are attributed to Jeff Foxworthy.

_____________________________________

Jeff Foxworthy on Colorado .

( It was only a matter of time before Jeff Foxworthy took a couple of shots at Colorado !)

You are a Coloradoan if ............

1. You switch from 'Heat' to 'A/C' in one day.

2. You know what the ' Peoples Republic of Boulder' means.

3. Your sense of direction is: towards the mountains and away from the mountains.

4. You're a meat-eating vegetarian.

5. The bike on your car is worth more than your car and you have your own special bike lane.

6. You're able to drive 65 miles per hour through 13 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without even flinching.

7. You take your out-of-town guests to Casa Bonita even though you would never go there otherwise.

8. You think your major food groups are granola bars, tofu and Fat Tire Beer.

9. You design your kid's Halloween costumes to fit over a snowsuit.

10. You think that sexy lingerie is wool socks and flannel PJs.

11. You know all 4 seasons 'almost winter, winter, still winter and spring blizzards

12. You've been tear gassed in a riot to celebrate a CU/CSU victory.

13. You can never figure out why your out-of-town guests faint from altitude sickness on a picnic to the mountains.

14. You can drive over a 12,000-foot pass in 4 feet of snow, but can't get to work if there are 4 inches of snow.

15. You know the 'correct' pronunciation of Buena Vista .

16. When you visit friends at sea level, you can drink a case of beer and not get a buzz.

17. Your car insurance costs more than your car.

18. You have surge protectors on every outlet.

19. April showers bring May blizzards.

20. 'Timberline' is someplace you have actually been.

21. You know what a 'Chinook' is

22. You know what a ' Rocky Mountain Oyster' is.

23. You know what a 'fourteener' is.

24. .But you don't know what a 'turn signal' is.

25. A bear on your front porch doesn't bother you nearly as much as a Democrat in Congress does.

26. Your golf bag has a 9-iron, a 3-wood and a lightning rod.

27. People from out of state breathe 5 times as often as you do.

28. Having a Senator named Nighthorse doesn't seem strange.

29. Thunder has set off your car alarm.

30. You have an $800 stereo in your $300 truck.

31. You think a red light means 3 more cars can go.

32. Where we're going, we don't need roads!!

33. You know where the real ' South Park ' is.

34. You can recognize the license plates of all 50 states on sight.

35. Driving directions usually include 'Go over_________ Pass. '

36. You've checked for ticks.

37. You've dressed in shorts, sandals, and a parka with a hood.

38. You've gone snow skiing in July and.........

39. You've played golf in January and.......

40. They were in the same year!

41. You've urinated on the Continental Divide just so it could run into both oceans.

42. You know what a down slope and an up slope weather pattern is.

43. And the most important: You get a certain feeling of satisfaction from knowing that California and Texas are both down stream.

44. You have barbequed in ski gear

45. You actually understand these jokes

_____________________________________

I am now going to list which ones apply to myself or to people I know.

1. It happens a lot.

2. Yes, I do, and I find it to be a yuppie term for a yuppie community that really isn't like what it looks like to snarky suburbanites. Not that I dislike Boulder, I just wanted to make that clear.

3. That's 100% true. I went on vacation to Idaho last summer, tripped me out. I nearly got 180 degrees backwards a few times, and other times I had to wait for the sun to visibly move in order to figure out which way was which. All ya'll mountain rednecks know what I mean. I know where I am in Colorado and which way I'm facing just based off of a few mountain peaks.

4. Once my cousin told me about why she's a vegetarian.... over dinner at a steakhouse.

6. That's how my parents moved back to Colorado. During a blizzard on Ratton Pass.

7. A lot of people can vouch for that.

8. I object to this one and the stereotyping of all Coloradans as neo-hippies. I also resent the stereotype of hippies that you're using. However, this one fits my 7th grade science teacher to a "t."

9. I went as the Abominable Snowman one year. I was going to be Chewbacca, but the snow had other plans.

10. Don't knock it until you've been that cold. If it's that cold in the house and my girl came to bed wearing wool socks and flannel PJs, I'd be like, "yes."

11. True. Horribly, horribly true, but not funny. You forgot the fifth season, though: hot as hell. It goes like this: Winter, still winter, spring blizzards, hot as hell, almost winter again.

13. No, I can't figure that out. My solution, though, is to bring a small oxygen cylinder like for oxyacetelyne welding and have them open that up into a bag and breathe into that for a while. That's what I, a 5280-footer, had to do when I hauled my cameras up to 13,500 feet for the Pike's Peak Hill Climb, on foot from 13,000.

14. Hey, you get an excuse, you use it.

15. Yeah, I do. You got a problem with that?

16. I haven't tried it with beer, but I do know that I'm like a freakin' fish at sea level. I can barely do 30 seconds here holding my breath, but in the ocean I can pull closer to a minute and a quarter.

17. Hey, it's the hailstorm's fault that the car's totaled, not mine.

18. I have expensive electronics, I live on a high high pont in a lightning-prone area. That's just common sense.

19. Like I've been telling anyone who asks about the weather, I am now going to just labor under the delusion that it's summer until it actually is, even if I can't feel my hands when I go outside. If winter needs to reach me, I'll be ignoring the May blizzard.

20. Yeah, you got a problem with that? Driving up to timberline counts as a white-trash Colorado vacation.

21. Grumble grumble grumble grrr.

22. And it's fun to tell the ignorant what they are after they've eaten a few. That said, rocky mountain oysters are tasty, as long as they're well-cooked and you don't stop and think about what it is.

23. Doesn't everyone?

24. That's my mom. She signals after she's already halfway in the lane.

25. Congress itself bothers me, not just one party. But yes, a bear on my front porch wouldn't really bother me. I practically grew up in the mountains of Cascade, what do you expect?

26. I've seen it.

27. That's true, man. I hadn't really noticed until we flew back from sea level one time and I could barely walk a few blocks without sitting down.

28. Nor does meeting a man whose driver's liscense actually listed his name as "Drillbit" at the gas station one time. He smoked Camels, looked to be as old as the hills, and still got carded. Go figure.

29. Thunder, lightning, and one time, hail.

33. Yeah, I do. Luckily, it's not like the other one.

34. Just about.

35. Yeah, they do, and I'll write them on a napkin for ya. If you're nice I'll even tell you if the pass in question is closed.

36. That's just logic, man.

37. Add in a huge old film camera under that parka (to keep 'em dry) and you'll have my dad and I on vacation in Yellowstone during a rainstorm.

41. It's a rite of passage.

42. All too well.

44. I admit that I added this one, but some of the other ones were obviously added by someone in the email chain. Like I said, I'm too lazy to verify all of these.

45. Tragic, ain't it?

Long Way Home: A Bigfoot Story

2008-02-04T20:40:00.000-07:00

This is an award-winning film made by a guy named James. We call him Bubba, 'cause that's his nickname. Watch the whole movie. If you can't do it in one sitting, just make a note of where you left off. I haven't timed how long it is, but he says he hasn't got the whole movie up on youtube yet.

Why is it that I only want to play the harmonica when I'm sick?

2008-02-04T19:53:00.000-07:00

It's true. When I'm healthy, the word "harmonica" doens't even cross my mind. But as soon as I catch some sort of cold, flu, or other disease that I don't want to get all over my harmonica, I'm in the mood to learn to play it. I'm not really sure why. I can't play the harmonica to save my life. My harmonica playing makes Penderecki sounds like Mozart. Don't get me wrong, I think Penderecki is a genius, but an atonal genius.

Having realized the fact that I only want to play the harmonica when I'm sick, I've decided that I'm just going to go ahead and get germs all over the thing because it doesn't really matter anyway if I'm not going to play it while I'm healthy. I also figure that I'll either figure out how to carry a tune on it or someone is going to smash it, whichever comes first.

Let's talk about the harmonica for a minute. It's a great instrument when played skillfully, but the learning curve is very sharp. Either you can or you can't play it. It's always the people who can't play who like to prove this fact in public with a tip jar sitting in front of them. Whatever happened to skillful street musicians? Even in the winter when there's less competition, you're not going to make enough money to buy an iced tea.

Who invents something like the harmonica, anyway? I know I could just go look up the sucker's name, but I mean, what kind of person wakes up and says to hisself, "I'ma gonna take a plastic comb-thingy and put it in a metal case. And then I'm gonna put ten holes in that case for the air to get out. And I'ma call it... What am I gonna call it? I'ma call it a harmonica. It's gonna be a mucial instrument."

That's like looking at a bottle of burbon and an apple and saying, "I'm gonna make applesauce with this. In the microwave." That's the sort of thing that would make me wonder if you've at least partially consumed the contents of the bottle of burbon.

To all of you harmonica-challenged out there, here's a site that I have found enormously entertaining, if not very helpful. After a few hours of working off of their tips, however, I have at least figured out what note to start on. Now go forth and annoy those around you.

Where they heads at?

2008-01-30T22:37:00.000-07:00

I got an email from Alex C. (you go, girl!) asking me to talk about the iced tea in restaurants. Is it really true that almost every food-service joint on this earth has forgotten how to brew iced tea? I hope not, but it looks like it. After doing a comparative survey (otherwise known as getting thirsty in different parts of town), I have concluded that the lost art of iced tea is not hopeless.

Want iced tea at KFC? Well, you're shit out of luck, my friend. Even when the local water doesn't taste like rust, the tea does. My only explanation for this is that they use powdered tea, and powdered tea is bitter. Very bitter. Undrinkable, really. I'm not even sure they're using powdered tea leaves in my neighborhood... maybe just ground-up leaves off the trees. After cars have run over them, on a bad day.

No sugar. Why no sugar? The only sweetened teas I've found were sweetened with corn syrup, making them very sticky. The iced tea at Johnny Rockets is like this. Don't get me wrong, I love their burgers, but their tea is KFC's with some syrup added. Palatable, but not recommended.

Fancy restaurants like steakhouses and that place with the gumbo don't use bitter tea, but they either sweeten with fake sugar, or the tea is mixed weak and not sweetened. Or, perhaps, they quick-brew it and then add fake sugar. In any case, don't order it unless you have to. There is one steakhouse here in Denver, kind of in the "bad" part of town, that sells its food for incredibly cheap and yet makes the best beefsteak I've ever had. These folks have good tea. It tastes like it is probably a commercial brand but not an instant one, and they slow-brew it and then add real sugar. If you're looking for steak and iced tea in Denver, drop by Cowbobas.

Oddly enough, the only real traditional tea I can find is at roadside diners 60 miles from anywhere out on the interstate. You know, the sort of place where the waitress calls you "hun," you can stand a spoon straight up in the coffee without it touching the cup, and everything's as greasy as the oil pan of your Chevy small block.

In conclusion, a lot of fast-food places have even further sacrificed taste for convenience, nice sit-down places don't really care about how their tea is, as long as it looks like iced tea and was made from leaves, and it's the small, uexpected, out-of-the-way places that really care. And even if they don't care, they still do it the way they were taught, the right way. I don't know why most folks who put "tea" on their menus have the nerve to serve something distinctly different than the tea we all know, or why they think that's good for business, but all I can say is, "Where they heads at?" Don't be like those tools: if you're going to do something, do it right.

Time to do a little guest writing.

2008-01-24T22:33:00.000-07:00

Seeing as I'm not hungry right now, this post will contain a lot less description of what critters are tasty, containing instead information about fish.

First, here's how to fish the stereotypical redneck way: Get a cooler to put the fish in, some dynamite, and some matches. Go to the fishing hole and make sure there is nobody around. Light the dynamite, toss it in the water, and gather the resultant fish into the cooler. Repeat as necessary. Any explosive will do if you can't find dynamite.

However, as you all know, I like to go beyond the stereotype and examine all of the ways that rednecks behave, and discuss instances where people who are otherwise rednecks behave in a manner that is not unsophisticated.

When a redneck man goes fishing, he often will do it with his buddies, searching for bragging rights. In these cases, the best lures, gear, and boats that money can buy are often involved. This is fishing the yuppie way, and I personally do not have the money or the constitution for it. But when a man goes fishing, he is doing it in a redneck manner (even if in other parts of his life he's not a redneck) when he uses his daddy's old broken fishing pole, or a pole he bought at a yard sale, or his tackle box contains as many woodworking tools as it does fishing gear. Hand-dug American worms are another point of pride among fishermen like this, the guys to whom it's not honest if you didn't have to try. That's redneck ingenuity.

Noodling for catfish is a way that rednecks and hillbillies have been known to fish. This is a process in which a large catfish is caught by the redneck wading in the water, sticking his arm in an underwater hole, and if a fish bites him, it's probably a catfish. It'll hang on, too. This is one of the most efficient ways to catch catfish, but it is also one of the most dangerous, as catfish have innards (don't ask for the technical term) down their throat that will cut you up pretty bad if you twist your hand around too much. Also, catfish territory is also alligator territory, so you never really know what you're going to get bitten by.

Now you've got your fish. Here's some popular ways to cook your fish. Remember, just because you have an oven in your house doesn't mean that you see the need to use it when you have other approaches that work just as well. We're just hungry rednecks, not high-class chefs.

Cooking fish in a dishwasher is a famous approach. I've never tried this, but I hear the way it's done is the same as formally poaching a fish in a paper bag in the oven, only you use aluminum foil. My favorite seasoning is Worcestershire sauce, but I hear that my cousin knows a guy who makes great Jack Daniels catfish in the dishwasher. My cousin tells me that the key is to make sure it's only set on "dry" or something, similar to thawing in the dryer. If you use the whole cleaning cycle of your dishwasher, you'll have aluminum and fish everywhere. basically, season your fish, make sure there's a lot of liquid marinade in the foil, and then seal up the foil good and tight. Put through the dry cycle on your dishwasher and serve.

My preferred cooking method (other than over a wood fire) is to wrap my food and put it on the engine block of the car for a long trip. It takes some practice, like cooking over wood without a thermomter or timer, but the resultant fod is delicious, if only becausr you have a hot meal when you arrive at your destination. It is possible to overcook things with this method. More detail on how to do this method later, after I've done some sleeping.

I'm not really insane.

2008-01-24T00:10:00.000-07:00

I just love good food. Those of you who know me know that I love meat. Beef, elk, venison, fish (I will do a review of the best-tasting fish if you want), rattlesnake ( a must-try for all of you), snail, chicken, turkey, crab, shrimp, buffalo, antelope, rabbit, squirrel. Wild boar is delicious. So is pheasant, but pigeon is better. Pork. Bacon. Ham. Have you ever cooked a honeybaked ham, sliced it, and then fried those slices in a skillet? I have. Put baked beans on that and you have the breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions. My point here, however, is that a few nights ago it was going to be a low of -2 degrees. Fahrenheit, and I'm apparently the only nutjob who thinks that's good weather to have a barbeque. Winter, due to its cold temperatures and forbidding ice, is a major damper on my carnivorous diet, and I decided that I wasn't going to put up with it. Now my ski gear (and everyday coat) smells like maple smoke and I like it.

It takes a true devotion to meat, potatoes, and baked beans to be willing to dress up in goosedown-lined pants (did I mention that goose is tasty?), thermal underwear, two flannels, wrap a scarf around your face, put on a Carhartt coat and start grilling. Chuck steak is the best cut to grill, by the way. Good flavor, good texture, doesn't cause flareups, and is cheap. The butcher will tell you it's stewmeat, but don't listen. One of these days I hope to shoot a snake and grill it. Anyway, if you've ever grilled in subzero temperatures, you're probably a redneck. If you're interested in how to not screw up the food, get frostbite, melt your clothes, or even how to get the fire started when it's damn cold, ask and ye shall be told.

I hear it's traditional this time of year to toss some shrimp on the grill, too. I might do that next time King Soopers is having a sale.

It's gonna be a cold day, Tater.

2008-01-15T17:34:00.000-07:00

The title is an adaptation of Ron White's quip about how after he hides M&Ms in his bulldog Sluggo's jowls, Sluggo will look at Ron and say, "It's gonna be a good day, Tater."

My uncle used to live in a trailer in Edwards, Colorado. For those of you who don't know, all of Eagle County is damn cold. This man is a mountain redneck, like many people I am related to. He nearly died a couple of times of that cold until he went deer hunting and bagged a deer big enough to make a blanket out of. He sent it out to get the leather cured ("But leave the fur on!"), and would sleep under that through the winters. He said it was incredibly warm, but when you got up in the morning, if you could exhale and see your breath hit the far wall, it was gonna be a cold day. Of course, that's having no furnace. When you wake up and can see your breath in a heated house, you have a problem. It's gonna be a cold day. I don't even want to consider what tomorrow is going to be like. This morning, my breath didn't hit the far wall, and it's cold in here. Like I said, if you've been running the furnace, you should not see your breath on a mild night.

Let me give you a taxonomy of rednecks. The second-most famous rednecks are the Plains rednecks. Their natural habitat lies primarily in Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and parts of Nebraska and Colorado. Culturally, they thrive on wide-open spaces and tend to have an affinity for horses and ranching. They keep to themselves and like pickup trucks, but mostly as work vehicles, not for being a yahoo. They are generally the cowboy type. hank Hill from King of the Hill is a Plains redneck. The Plains redneck, culturally, tends to do best when allowed to operate with a small-town mentality. If a small town is not available, a neighborhood association will probably be the largest circle of influence that the thinks at. These are often the most partiotic of Americans, and the most mature, being family men, and wont go looking for trouble. Most "white trash" people who fit the definition of redneck would fall into this category, both by geograhpy and by culture. Hunting is a big pastime for the plains redneck, as are other forms of long-gun shooting. The Plains redneck is also the most likely to shoot you if you trespass on his property, and in most states where these people dwell, that is legal.

The eastern redneck dwells in Missouri, Arkansas, parts of eastern Texas, northern Louisiana, Florida, and Georgia. The stereotypical NASCAR fan is comprised mostly of characteristics drawn from the eastern redneck, although other redneck species enjoy the sport. The eastern redneck is the most common redneck in popular culture. The Dukes of Hazzard are best classified in this group. Cars, trucks, speed in general, drinking, and the stereotypical dumbass stunts that most people associate with the state of unsophistication that is being a redneck are all interests of the eastern, or common redneck.

Don't confuse being a redneck with being a hillbilly. I don't have the time to define "hillbilly" and clarify things, but let me say that the two are not mutually exclusive.

The mountain redneck is a unique sort of redneck native to the mountainous regions of North America. Combining traditional redneck traits with a certain mountain ingenuity, the mountain redneck is the Midwest's answer to Appalachia's hillbillies. Mountain rednecks are found all throughout the Rocky Mountain region, mainly clustered in Colorado and Wyoming. The original mountain men of the wild west are considered by many to be the first mountain rednecks.

The high mountain region is, by nature, less forgiving than the more temperate climates of lower altitudes. The mountain redneck has adapted to face these challenges by placing different values on various sorts of mechanical goodies. The street-custom pickup truck of the East is largely supplanted in mountain redneck culture by a more functional truck, including the SUV (not the crossover type, where it is a car with an SUV shell). The Chevy Blazer is to the mountain redneck what the Ford F-150 is to the common redneck. The mountain redneck also tends to be more reserved in his expressions of jubilation, as it is quite easy to go overboard and fall 1000 feet or get stuck and freeze out in the middle of nowhere.

The main discerning feature in determining whether a specific person tends to fall into the mountain or common redneck categories is, actually, their original geography. Coming from a mountain culture and being a redneck makes you a mountain redneck, unless you do not apply your specific twist to the situation. For example, in the situation above, if my uncle did not live at such a high elevation, he would not have that problem, and thus he must either leave the area, freeze, or use the unique skills learned by those who have literally frozen their asses off before.

The entertainment forms enjoyed by the mountain redneck trend more towards hill climbs than with the common redneck, as well as placing more of an emphasis on winter sports and rock climbing. The rodeo is still popular, but far less than in an area consisting of a mix of Plains and Eastern rednecks.

Some people also include the Dakotas and north-eastern Wyoming in the mountain redneck category, as their winters are harsh and the badlands are a unique geographical problem. The experts are still debating this, as we wait to dispatch a delegation of rednecks to South Dakota to counterbalance the reporting bias caused by the fact that there is not much non-biker redneck traffic through the region.

__________________________________________

Also, please note that a common redneck behavior is the towel-steal. Hardly unique to the redneck population, stealing hotel towels is actually a a mainstream activity. However, finding an excuse to stay at the Motel 8, such as attending a race, every time you need a new set of towels even though you can afford new towels from a store is likely to peg you as a redneck, since you don't see why it may make you look trashy to have towels in your bathroom monogrammed in Sharpie next to the Motel 8 logo. At least it's a nice monogram.

My name's Jean, I am a politics junkie, and I do not have a survey problem.

2008-01-13T02:43:00.000-07:00

Seriously. The only things that I will not tape over to record a political event are motor races, music, and home movies. I would probably tape over porn to record the '08 election results (one tape for every news network, mixed down to one after the night is over) if I ran out of blank tapes, and had porn on tape.

Being the politics junkie that I am, I am a huge fan of this blog, which delves into the math of the elections. I love math, too. Math is delicious. Give me politics, math, and motorcycles, and I will never leave. Give me any two of the above (Paul Sr. from OCC should run for president), and I will be happy all day.

As for my survey problem, unlike some people I know, I do not have one. I am not addicted. But when I ran into this one, I had to try it. You will probably not be finding all of Side 4 on myspace, as I can't get my bloody master tapes digitized. (If you --anyone-- could teach me how to digitize music, especially in quadrophonic but stereo and monophonic are fine, you would be my hero and I will send you cash).

DIRECTIONS:Go to the Wikipedia home page and click "random article". That is your band's name.
Click random article again; that is your album name.
Click random article 15 more times; those are the tracks on your album.

Now, being a fan of 5 minute and longer songs, this would have to be a double-LP. Yes, I do mean vinyl.

Band name: Recoil. That is so badass, I wish I had thought of it.

Album name: Ralstonia Metallidurans (Say that five times fast.)

Side 1:
1. Stopping Power
2. Capitoline Triad
3. Aubin Nom (I took the liberty of taking wikipedia's (name) and translating it)

Side 2:
1. Pogonia Coat of Arms
2. Komatsu 830E
3. Penken
4. Mayrhofen

Side 3:
1. Minnesota's 5th congressional district (okaaay.... wait, I can write a song for that!)
2. Duke of Brunswick-Lunenburg
3. John Jasperse (I can totally write a song for that, too.)
4. Coventry Bears

Side 4:
1. USS Camden (AOE-2) ( I may drop the AOE-2 bit for the song...)
2. Seagate ST1 (Dude, 12-gigabytes?! That small?!)
3. Slade Hall (this would be fun to wite, too)
4. Burns Flat (I'm dropping the Oklahoma part)
5. Rocketplane Kistler

You know what I just learned reading about Burns Flat? "It is near the Clinton-Sherman Industrial Airpark which is a licenced spaceport expecting to start commercial manned spaceflight starting in 2008." HOLY CRAP! I was not informed.

I seriously cannot wait to go record the songs for Side 4. Just because ya'll will never hear them is because ya'll are lazy, and need to ask people. I've already asked people. They tried to sell me a new recording machine, after having been the ones to sell me my beloved four-track.

AAAAARRRRRGGGHHHHH!

2008-01-05T05:57:00.000-07:00

My most articulate title yet. I just went to get some food out of the fridge, and what do I find? The fucking thermometer has fallen apart. Not only had it fallen apart, but it had then gotten frozen to the inside of the fridge. So now, our fridge freezes stuff when we don't want it to, made a thermometer designed to go to -20 crack, stuck said thermometer to the fridge wall with a layer of ice, and I still can't find my favorite shot glass that's in there somewhere.

My solution? I went outside, took the thermometer off the porch, put it in a freezer size Ziploc, and put that in the fridge. It's temporary, until we buy a new fridge thermometer. It'll be in there a while. Outside, I know it's darn cold. In the fridge, I need to be more specific.

What else? Oh, yes. I have recorded a small blues album. And I saw on the news that Purgatory freezes over at night this time of the year. This means that if I can ever get it off the master tapes and into mp3 format, I may consider getting a myspace page to put it on. Can anyone help me with this problem? Is there a program or something? How do I do analog to digital?

Speaking of music, you need to hear this band, everyone. No redneck is complete without his bluegrass and/or country. Johnny 3 Note. Unfortunately you missed "Tear my Still House Down" which was basically the best song ever, but if you ask nicely they might put it back up. They play every Thursday, I think, at White Fence Farm, admission free. You will be blown away.

In other news, Taylor, no one told you about that song because we thought you knew. Sorry.

Good ideas and bad ideas

2008-01-05T02:46:00.000-07:00

As you've probably noticed, I harbor a strong dislike for snow. This dislike for snow went from mild irritant to full-blown pet peeve last winter. I'm sure you heard about the 90 days of snow that crippled the Midwest? Don't get me wrong, I love sledding. I am addicted to snowboarding when I don't have to pay through the nose to do it. I wouldn't mind getting suspended for a snowball fight. My contempt for snow lies in its tendency to turn into ice, and that ice to turn into work. Work for which I do not get paid. If I got my ass in gear, I could offer the only ice-removal service that I'm aware of in the area. Snow also makes a horrific mess of my beloved car. The mag chloride destroys the paint and rusts the frame. We've clipped our trees trying to get in the driveway, too, and caused damage to the cars. Overall, I hate snow when it is on paved surfaces or my family's cars.

This brings me to my story. Yesterday I was out removing ice from all the paved surfaces around our home. The melting is also getting on my nerves. When it stays below freezing, the snow sticks around for my snowsport pleasure, and can be plowed off the streets. I only have to deal with it once. But when it gets above freezing, it forms lakes and lakes of ice every night. On a bloody hill, so I can't even go skating on it. I just have to chip it off every freakin' day, before dawn so it's still brittle enough to chip. Yesterday, due to passing out at a really bad time, I found myself outside at three in the afternoon. Just as the ice was too hard to shovel and too soft to chip. If you ever want hours of frustration or maybe a really dastardly punishment for your kids, send them out to remove ice on the first 45 degree day since the snow fell.

Anyway, as I found myself just getting pissed off enough to feel like doing and/or watching something stupid, something stupid dutifully showed up. A boy on an ATV going up an icy hill with King Soopers bags. This would be the ideal way to get around, except this poor bugger had a little 1/2 horsepower air-compressor engine in it. No torque. He couldn't even spin his wheels, all he could do was get off and push it uphill. At one point he got it to where he could spin his wheels (after taking half an hour to go up half a block), and his dad, who was with him, hopped on the back and they proceeded to creep up the rest of the block, revving the engine at the redline. This made my day.

I felt sorry for them, and was tempted to run inside and sell them a better hillclimbing engine, but logic got ahold of me (I want to use that engine and they couldn't afford it) and I just watched the whole absurd spectacle unfold before my eyes. I have never seen an ATV be that hopeless, with that small of a motor. It looked like a kit vehicle, or perhaps one that they put the small motor in so that they didn't have to license it. I don't know. All I know is that they had the right idea but the wrong execution. If anything had gone wrong, I've seen bad bad things happen to vehicles stuck on that hill.

Also, I think I'm going to start an ice removal business and get a little more cash tucked away for when the shit hits the fan. Spekaing of which, look out for my little philosophical piece on the various ways shit can hit the fan. Coming soon to a blog near you.

An excellent invention

2008-01-01T23:23:00.000-07:00

The world has been in great needof one of these, even though we didn't know it. This invention, the so-called "safetybike" was invented by, well, the guys you see in the video. As one astute commentor pointed out, "Your think tank was filled with beer, wasn't it?" This is something that I would probably build a version of and ride at some point. If I ever get around to it, I'll post photos. A wonderful example of what could be described as redneck ingenuity.

Notice the gloves and helmet. An excellent idea.

The wheel behind the driver's head confuses me.

You don't have room to talk

2008-01-01T22:55:00.000-07:00

Let's talk about eligibility. About having room to talk.

If you moved to Phoenix and stayed for 20 years without air conditioning, you are not eligible to complain about the thermostat being set too high.

If your definition of "High Definition" is when you can see at least half the picture, you are not allowed to compare VHS to DVD or Blu-ray.

If you wear velvet regularly, you are not qualified to say "You're going out in that?!"

If you eat fast food, no complaining about restaurant food.

_____________________________________

If your moving boxes are liquor boxes, There's no "might" about it, you are a redneck.

Speaking of liquor, some rednecks save money on hard cider by buying non-alcoholic and letting it ferment.

New year's parties: the redneck way. In fact, this applies to any wintertime party, and cooking in general. When there is a foot of snow outside, having to --and especially voluntarily-- going outside to cook dinner implies that you are unsophisticated, and probably don't think all the way through whether or not things are a good idea. Especially if you do said cooking in a t-shirt.

______________________________________________________________

While I'm on the topic of New Year's, these folks have come up with a great video about the proper way to do New Year's resolutions.

Advertisements and the people on TV who should not be breeding.

2008-01-01T18:28:00.000-07:00

There are many ads this time of year (and any time of year) that really piss me off. The first one is the weight-loss ads that are all over the TV. We all know that people overeat around this time of year, and these piranhas want to sell their speed and their snake oil and their herbal poisons to people who don't now any better. I can't watch anything on TV without these ads showing up. And I wind up shouting at the TV.

Lemme tell you, all these "this is bad for you" and "that is the wrong thing to eat" propaganda campaigns really make me mad. I have known people that have ate "unhealthy" and smoked and drank, and they lived into their 70s and 80s, without modern medical paranoia. How'd they do it? Well, first, they ate real food. Not processed food. Some of 'em raised their own critters before they ate 'em. Real food, even if it is eggs and mayonaise and whole milk and lard, is better for you than all of these chemistry-lab ingredients that are in modern processed foods. Eat canned foods if you don't have time to prepare meals. I was at the supermarket last night, and guess what I found in ice cream? Cellulose gel. Let me repeat that again. Cellulose gel. That's wood gel. That's the gel form of smokeless powder, for crying out loud. I don't want that in my ice cream! Do you know what's in Minute Maid? Glycerol ester of wood rosin. I don't even want to know how the fuck that's edible.

But suppose you eat just like you normally do, and still can't lose weight. Here's a thought that will lower your energy bill and help you lose weight without lifting a finger. Lower the thermostat a couple degrees and dress like you would if it was warmer. You'll burn more calories to stay warm. Put on some socks and you'll be fine.

Another solution? Chew gum at all times in between meals. Then it'll be too much of a hassle to go get a snack.

Lose the remote for a while. Having to get up to change the channel and adjust volume burns caloies. It also encourages you to be less of a couch potato. And, frantically looking for the remote is a good cardiovasular workout. Who knew?

But suppose you are still desperate and want to go buy whatever the lastest really expensive craze is. Well, my first response would be to shout that you're gullible and lazy. You're wasting money. Go shovel your diveway before you get a ticket. That burns calories, too.

Speaking of weight loss, and commercials, have you seen the commercial for the diet pill where, "in clinical trials, 78% of every pound lost was pure body fat." Where's the other 22% coming from, smartass? Your brain? Muscles? Bone? I'm not sure I really needed that femur... Water? Intestinal lining? That sounds like the diet pill equivalent of dysentery. No, thank you.

Now you've heard what I like to shout at the TV when a weight loss ad comes on promising some magical cure.

It's time to talk about the other things they sell on TV. Things I like to shout at. The things that convince you that you have a problem that you never had before and that the only way to solve it is four easy payments of 19.95! Call now and we'll admit that we're overcharging you by at least 19.95, because we'll waive the first payment!

A prime example of this is those gloves that they have that will sand the skin off of your potatoes. That's a brilliant idea, but there's really no way to wash them. But what really annoys me is the fact that the people who have the poblems in those ads are always acting like retards. The knife sharpener ad has the guy smashing the loaf of bread with his hand behind the knife, which he is not drawing across the bread, only pushing down on it. Then, the sharpener, regardless of what it did to his poor knife, has apparently taught him how to cut bread, as he uses light pressure and cuts ACROSS the bread effortlessly. Plus, who doesn't have sliced bread nowadays? what are you cooking it yourself? And you never stopped to learn how to cut it? Shame. In the sandpaper gloves ad, the woman is going to hurt herself or something the way she's peeling them. You don't peel a potato by having a seizure and stabbing it repeatedly.

And have you seen the ad for that food processor thing that's too complicated to use? Yeah, that. It looks simple, but how the hell are you gooing to store all those "bullet" containers? They'll roll all over the place!

There's another ad for some kind of slicer that will slice all your vegetables for you in more steps, time, and cleanup than it takes to slice them yourself. The woman in that ad is going to cut off a finger or something, too, the way she's holding the knife and then sticking her other hand right under it. I don't chop that way. Then they show her with an onion on the cutting board --whole and rolling all over the goddamned place-- and she just freaks out and starts whacking at it with the knife. She doesn't need a slicer, she needs medication.

Now, one infomercial I can say that I really enjoy is that one for the uber-sharp knives that'll never go dull or they'll send you replacements. You know, the one where they cut sheetrock with the knife, and then without changing cameras, toss a pineapple in the air and slice it in half? That is bad-ass. Like a samurai sword. I want one of those. I've got sheetrock and bricks to cut, and I could get a pineapple. That's the coolest thing to do with a big knife since Moldy Pumpkn Machete Baseball.

Holiday spirit

2007-12-06T19:10:00.001-07:00

Many of you are wondering whether you turn into a redneck around the holidays. That's mighty handy, because it gives me something to do. Maybe the holidays are the only time you're not a redneck. That's fine, too.

Many people have no problems giving fruitcakes as gifts. I believe the reason for this is as some sort of metaphor for dumping useless things on the laps of people who bother us. Most people believe that it is not a metaphor, that fruitcakes really are useless. This is not true. Just because you don't eat the fruitcakes you receive does not mean that you don't use them in some way.

How do you normally deal with a fruitcake until you can get rid of it? If your partner bought you something you didn't like for your birthday, you might keep it, you might discreetly return it. But it is found almost universally tacky to pass on that gift to someone else as a gift. And yet, the preferred fruitcake disposal method that I have encountered is to pass it on to someone else. Sometimes even at the same party. Other times, people will keep it for a year and ship it to the offending gifter, postage due.

These are unsophisticated solutions, especially taking the fruitbrick from Aunt Bea, walking halfway across the room, and giving it to Cousin Sue.

Another instance where we will behave in a different manner around the holidays is with our neighbors. The rest of the year, our relationships with them are often cordial, fleeting, and full of assumptions about the other person's opinion of us. But when the holiday season draws near, things simplify to a lighting contest. Bigger is better. Simple, unsophisticated logic.

Many of you are likely great friends with your neighbors around this time of year. You might help each other with your decorations, or go to the same parties. There is no major competition between you. You might think that this keeps you safe from making a redneck out of yourself. You're wrong. You'll see.

While I'm on the subject of holiday parties, I would like to talk a bit about Thanksgiving, the holiday that just passed. Turkey Day is often a great time for families to get together, catch up, and park on the lawn. When the party is in a remote part of Penrose (which is itself pretty remote), a paved parking area is logically out of the question. The area of ground undergoing lawn-pattern-baldness because you're letting it grow wild is a very good place to park a fleet of vehicles. They'll even knock back some of the taller weeds. That degree of parking flexibility, though, will not be available to suburbanites, or those who find themselves hosting a large shindig in their apartment, condo, or loft. Think ahead before hosting a get-together this Christmas if you live in an area that doens't have the appropriate parking. Your well-trimmed and fed Kentucky Blues won't take kindly to a visitor's Taurus. It is rather rude and will redden your neck when you allow 30 cars to park up and down your residential block just to keep them off your grass.

Reposted from www.asofterworld.com

2007-11-30T23:17:00.000-07:00

Why, you ask, am I reposting a story told by Joey of A Softer World fame fame on a blog dedicated to crap relating to rednecks? I'll tell you why. Because I felt like it. I have other reasons, though. Resons like the fact that if you pull that sort of stunt in real life, you will have a deer hunting accident. Or wander in front of an errant train. Or maybe just get your ass kicked so bad you'll feel it after you're dead. See if you can relate to the man's frustration as the tool on the other end pulls all of this.

Yesterday I played chess on the internet against a stranger.
He kept saying "Hurry up. Why u so slow? this isn't poker." Poker? "Yea. this
isn't poker or checkers. Move." Poker and checkers are both faster games than
chess, I told him. Chess is a thinking game. "No. why u think grandmasters
always only play w clock?" So, I played faster than I'm used to, and made some
serious mistakes. He was making mistakes too, but I was only seeing them
afterward. It is very frustrating to lose against someone you know you could
beat. I was down a bishop and a knight, and I resigned. "Too bad your no good."
he said. We started another game. "That's ur move? are you really stupid?" and I
played more aggressively than I should have. I got excited, and lost my queen
because I wasn't looking. This is two games in a row I lost, and I wanted to
win. I told him, one more game. "ur funeral." he said.I took my time. I thought
about my moves and I thought about his moves and I put the pressure on, slowly.
When I get angry, I become very careful. I don't know if that's how you get
angry. I become very careful and very focused. When he started trading pieces,
he made mistakes. With every exchange I got a little something. A pawn. Some
space in the center. He kept wasting moves, retreating his pieces. And then I
got him. He had no move. He was going to lose a rook for a pawn. So you know
what he did? He said "I am going to let you win, so that you can be happi about
winning 1 game at least." and he moved his queen to where I could take it for
nothing. I got so angry. I told him to take his move back, but he said, "no I
said you could win."So, what could I do? I resigned. Chess is very serious
business, by the way.

Update

2007-11-30T18:55:00.001-07:00

Wow, it's been a while. Thanksgiving really took a chunk of my attention, it looks like.

It is a redneck behavior for your scale die-cast car and motorcycle models get their own dedicated cabinet, and your ceramic food-ware doesn't. Many of you gearheads out there know what I'm talking about. Let's share photos of our collections.

What else..... oh, yes. I have been asked to embed a certain sort of video here. I've given up on that. Sorry, Moonbeam. You find one, I'll embed it.

I have another axe to grind. Snow removal. Those of you who get a serious winter every year know what I'm talking about. Use the proper implements to remove that pesky stuff. A grass-blowing lawnmover, while it will suck up and throw dry snow, will do nothing but rust in the face of wet snow. So don't try it, or you'll have a nasty rusty suprise in the spring.

If you do destroy your lawn mower via snow-removal, take the engine out and get rid of the rest. Don't stick it in your fucking shed and buy a new one. A 16 horsepower engine is good for highway speeds. A rusty lawnmower shell is good for nothing.

Other bad snow removal methods:

If you live on an appreciable hill, it might look logical to try to remove the 2-4 inches of snow with a snow shovel that you're holding out front of your Radio Flyer wagon. It works, but you need extra weight in the wagon and it is tough to keep the shovel under all the snow. It is also difficult to guide the snow to the side. Steering is also a problem. Falling out of the wagon isn't fun, either.
Using a heat lamp to melt the snow off will remove snow, but it is slow and will result in ice.
Purposely playing music loud to try to cause an avalanche off of your roof, thus avoiding danger of the snow weight causing structural problems looks good on paper. Gabled roffs are at the optimal angle for an avalanche, and if you have gotten two bouts of snow, one should come off easily. Causing vibration to loosen the snow, similar to tumbling the walls of Jericho, sounds plausible. Issues with this approach:

Unless you have four-foot-tall Peavey concert PA speakers on the first floor of your house, hooked up to a Korg, Marshall, or other concert post-amp, you will not get a loud enough bass range to do anything useful. You will only fry something expensive.

If you do have the above, consider your attic space. It is likely insulated, which will deaden the effect.

Another issue: You will likely damage your hearing in the attempt unless you use construction earmuffs. You may also damage windows. Duct tape won't fix that, bucko.
An ice removal tip: Use a heavy metal rod, not a sledgehammer or hammer of any sort.

Better ways to acomplish the same thing as the above:

Forget the wagon. Just hold onto the shovel, put it at about a 15 degree angle towards the street, and take a run at it. You'll act like a human snowplow. No more lifting.
Use mag chloride. table salt isn't as effective.
Get in the attic and bang on the underside of the roof. Not too hard, as you don't want to disloge nails. It will work quite well. You will also likely itch like hell from the insulation, so cover up before you get up there and tuck in your shirt, duct taping your sleeves and pantlegs tight. Now go fix that window.
You can also use mag chloride on ice. Or, use a big flat-tipped iron rod, to break it up. Mag chloride only works if the temperatures are going to stay out of the teens, though, from my expreience. If you get sheet ice on your driveway, you can use the chunks like frisbees.

Please tell me if I have suggested a new thing that you had never thought of, or if I missed anything.

Note: the best snow removal method known to man is to pay the neighbor kids to do the whole job.

2007-11-21T02:41:00.000-07:00

Joey at A Softer World has published many great, funny, and insightful comics. Lately, they have been accompanied by a glimpse into the workings of his rather twisted mind. Today I checked the site (www.asofterworld.com for those of you how can't see that above link) and found the following wonderful story.

My first year of bible camp, Adrian was too young to come too. So it was just
me. There were girl cabins and boy cabins. There were miles of woods on all
sides, except for the ocean. We swam. We played orienteering games. At night we
played manhunt. It was a two week long party. Church three times a day, but
whatever. My mom never took me to church. Fifteen minutes sitting on a wooden
bench singing old pop songs with the words all changed around wasn't so bad. Who
doesn't like to sing?

The second year was even better, because Adrian
came too. Every day, we would spend our daily allowance at the tuck shop and sit
on the beach eating candy. Adrian and I have always agreed about candy. We ate
lunch together in the cafeteria. We were in different cabins, of course. But we
played on the same teams for team games. At home we fought more and more at that
age, but at camp we were brothers.

Year three, they took everyone in my
cabin into the main building and sat us all down. "There's cake next door for
everyone who has accepted Jesus into their hearts," they told us. "If you can't
find Jesus in your heart, we just want to sit down and talk to you." I couldn't
tell. How do you know if Jesus is in your heart? I wanted him to be. I wanted to
follow my friends next door. But I couldn't find him. I stayed and talked. My
mother, an atheist, was going to hell. They said a lot of other things, but
that's what made the impression. That's what I blurted out, a month later, when
my mother found me crying in my bedroom, hugging my bible. I had been sleeping
with it under my pillow.

You have never seen a woman as angry as my
mother that night.

That was Adrian's last year at bible camp, too, but
for a different reason. A few days later, one of those counselors threw a jelly
fish on his back down at the beach. And, maybe that isn't so different. They
seemed like adults to us, but those counselors were teenagers. They were just
kids, too.

Thank you for the story.

More tips

2007-11-12T01:27:00.000-07:00

Some things are just bad ideas. See these photos for more.

If you break a bone, do not make your own concrete cast. Even if you set the bone right, you WILL get burned something awful by the hardening concrete. It's better to let a doctor do it. Don't use plaster of paris, it is too brittle unless you get it perfect.
Never clean with gasoline or deisel, you will light something on fire. It will look cool, but it will also make a bigger mess and destroy stuff that you really need. Plus, fuel is too expensive.
Jumping off of any sort of roof onto a trapoline will cause you pain. Maybe not the first time, but there is a law of physics which basically says that it will. See tip #1.

Moldy Pumpkin Machete Baseball

2007-11-12T00:12:00.000-07:00

Some of you may be wondering I have found myself short one machete, one moldy pumpkin, and one person who will throw a moldy pumpkin at someone holding a machete. However, here's how it goes.

I learned this from a Government and Politics professor who grew up in Wyoming. This is both entertainment and a way to cut up and compost the moldy jack-o-lanterns one always has after Halloween.

When he was little, sometime in early November, Mr. Sturr would take my professor and his brothers (aged between 7 and 12) out to the back alley to dispose of the year's old jack-o-lanterns. The boys would take turns holding the machete and chopping at the pumpkin as Mr. Sturr threw it at them. Whoever cut their pumpkin up small enough in the least throws (while staying the cleanest) would win.

It sounds incredibly fun, and is a brilliantly elegant way to take the normally unpleasant task of jack-o-lantern disposal and incorporate a game aspect. Professor Sturr now has his wife throw the lack-o-lanterns at him every November, and uses his father's machete to continue the tradition. Redneck ingenuity and dedication, right here, people.

Anecdotes

2007-11-10T01:15:00.000-07:00

Note: there is a difference between antidote and anecdote. If a rattler bites you, do not read funny stories out of Reader's Digest to try to feel better.

Today in traffic I saw a truck that was at least three vintages of Rustoleum. This guy had obviously repainted it on his own in patches. Which would be fine, if he had not written "For a good time call" and his phone number on the tailgate. This man saw a problem and went to solve it in the most straightforward manner he could think of: give everyone his number. He used the tools at hand admirably. He was displaying redneck ingenuity. At some point, you might act similarly to this man and not notice.

For example, Myspace or blogging.
Many rednecks do not own nail clippers. Instead, we save the money and use the tools at hand: wire cutters.
Dog bowls are really nothing special. That said, a hubcap is not a dog bowl. However, if you have used your hubcap as a dog bowl, wash it before you put it back on your vehicle. Also, wash it again before you take it back off and put food in it-- road dirt is bad for your hounds.

If you use hubcaps as dog bowls with any frequency, do not be like my neighbor and let your dog enter other neighbors' yards. I admire your ingenuity but am tired of putting the hubcaps back on the Olds every morning covered in dog drool.
It is perfectly acceptable to fix your own backpack. It is also perfectly acceptable to do it with equipment you bought at the Home Depot.

Getting the Family Together

2007-11-08T23:22:00.000-07:00

This is what happens when you get my family together.

At my great aunt's 60th wedding anniversary, she invited the whole family. That meant four different clans. If you're familiar with the town of Lamar in southeast Colorado, they own a tree farm there.

135 blood relatives came. A large portion of the town also showed up, including the whole fire department.

The aboveground pool had frogs in it.... that were put there on purpose. It was a game for all the youngsters (you know, up to 25 year old or so) to try to catch them. Whoever got the most would get an extra bag of fireworks that night.

The food and seating were shaded by tents-- tarps duct taped between 2x4s. Not because they couldn't afford proper tents, but because that would take more effort. We barbequed three sorts of canned meat and had an impromptu chilli cookoff. My second cousin Dusty won. The whole affair was being cooled by a swamp cooler-- the one they had just unbolted from their roof and set on blocks facing the tents.

After we ate, we decided to ride ATVs. Everyone who didn't bring their ATV decided to figure out a way to attach a gas motor from one of the old lawnmowers (five lawnmowers, one patch of grass on the whole property) to anything with wheels by some kind of belt. That and slingshots made from the elastic out of old underwear (again, not because nobody could afford it, but because if it don't fit no more, do something else with it) kept folks entertained the rest of the day.

At some point in the late afternoon, several young fellas from my mother's father's uncle's side of the family (gettin' complicated?) pulled up late for the party in their pickup truck, saying "Sorry we're late, Danny forgot the cannon."

...?

Yes, they had built a cannon out of some old pipe, bolted it to the pickup bed, and proceeded to start shooting bowling balls across the field. Then we'd race to go find them on our ATVs (or lawnmower-bicyles) and bring 'em back so we'd get to shoot. The fire marshall had a good time with this, too.

Speaking of whom, bear in mind that all fireworks that blow up or leave the ground (all the fun ones) have been banned in Colorado for around a decade. That's why the whole fire department was invited-- so folks could shoot off bottle rockets and other, bigger ordinance and not get arrested. Wine and dine them, and they'll give you permission, with or without a licencse.

It got dark, and the best frog-catcher got extra fireworks. There was quite a show. The aforementioned four-year old (see previous post), being only three at the time, was only allowed sparklers and smoke bombs... and the occasional small cracker when there were a few adults around.

At some point shortly after midnight, folks started packing up to leave.

This all seemed perfectly logical and rational to us, even the guys (no relation, just local boys) who thought about seeing if a generator would run on Jack. My point is, get much of my family together, and whether they admit it or not, there will be many redneck moments.

How about yours?