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

"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.

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

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.

It's a BOWL of MEAT!

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

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!

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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.

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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!

Listen up dumbass!

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.

I like flowers and I'm okay with that.

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.

You ain't in Washington no more

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.

Salt of the Earth

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.

Time to do a little guest writing.

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.

More tips

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

1. 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.
   
   
2. 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.
   
   
3. 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.

Anecdotes

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.