June 29, 2008
The floods have returned, much
later this time, but with their usual ferocity;
perhaps even more so than usual. But the floods
came in June this time, which is very abnormal;
at least, it's abnormal for the three long, arduous
years that we've roosted here at Jackson Acre.
Normally we flood in March, which is an annual rite of
passage here at Jackson Acre, much like the spring
breaking of the pack ice in the Arctic or the annual
return of the buzzards to Hinckley, Ohio (Carrion
Capital of the World!).
But the monsoon rains came in June. Four and a
half inches in less than twelve hours, to be exact. We
awoke to the gurgling sounds of the sump pump going
off every eight seconds. Waking up to this sound
is normally NOT a good sign, no matter how you look at
it. Although I suppose you could say that waking
up to an absence of that sound would probably
be a worse sign, indicating a complete failure of the
pumps, backup pumps, backup to the backup pumps, and
various alarms that we have established within and
around our sump pump pit. Our sump pump has
better hazard monitoring than some Russian nuclear
reactors!
Ripping open the blinds confirmed the return of
Lake Jackson.
It was a short-lived body of water and by five o'clock
that afternoon half the back yard had drained out,
leaving Jackson Swamp in Jackson Lake's wake.
Coming home from work that evening, the first thing I
noticed upon exiting my car, besides the lower water
levels, was the unmistakable stench of something
dead. It was a road kill smell, the kind that
wafts briefly into your open car window on a warm July
afternoon as you pass a long dead and bloated raccoon
rotting on the berm. And my first thought is,
hmmm, there must be a dead raccoon drowned under one
of my pine trees around here.
So I walked around the yard and surveyed the flood
damage, fully expecting to find a dead raccoon wedged
under a tree somewhere. Instead, I was surprised
to find an extraordinary number of dead worms all
around the yard. I'm talking hundreds of worms,
everywhere! I can only assume that the water
levels rose so high so fast that the poor worms had
nowhere to go and couldn't escape drowning.
The dead animal smell hung around for a few more days,
but no dead animals turned up. So now I'm
wondering if the dead body smell might be coming not
from a single dead body, but rather from the hundreds
of tiny dead bodies rotting about my yard.
Wait til I tell you about the "tadpoles" we discovered
in our vernal
pools here at Jackson Acre.
Wondering
Where To Find More Worms?!
June 22, 2008
Summertime!
The First Day Of Summer just passed us by here
recently. Was anybody paying attention?
Did anyone do anything special to commemorate it's
passing?
Yeah, me neither. Summer's these days are less
of a big deal than when I was a kid.
Do you still remember summers when you were a
kid? Three months of endless days to do whatever
you darn well pleased, as long as you weren't caught
by the neighbors and you didn't burn anything major
down ("major" defined as anything someone
lives in or keeps their stuff in). Those summer
days found us hanging out at the pool, riding bikes,
camping in the woods, stealing produce from the neighbor's
garden - you know, good old-fashioned wholesome fun
stuff!
We were constantly being yelled at to go outside and
play. And we always did, mainly because we
didn't have central air and the house was a frickin'
oven in August, just as hot inside as out, but at
least outside you could ride your bike up and down the
street, pretending to race motorcycles and creating
your own breeze to cool you off as you pedaled as fast
as you could. This was in the days before every
bike had gear shifts, when you actually had to pedal
faster to go faster.
Rarely did we hang out watching TV. This was
mainly because there were only three TV channels back
then and all they showed during the day was "The
Price Is Right" and yucky soap operas.
There were no weekday cartoons! The only time we
watched cartoons was on Saturday morning, and then it
was usually only Bugs Bunny or Tom & Jerry.
In fact, the only people who had more then three
channels were the rich people down the street who had
cable TV AND central air conditioning.
And all cable TV did was give them better reruns to
watch!
You know, come to think of it, there weren't as many
mosquitoes or ticks back then, either. And the
bugs back then didn't carry any deadly diseases like
they do now - there was no West Nile Virus, no Lyme
disease or Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. In
fact, many a night we stayed out playing hide-and-seek
until well past sunset, waiting for our parents to
holler for us to come home, and never did we have any
more than a few random bites. Mosquitoes were a
pest back then, but nobody was actually afraid
of them.
Nowadays I yell at my kids to go outside and
play. Mainly because if I don't, they'll sit
around and watch stupid cartoons all day, never
actively using their minds or imagination. I
sound just like my parents! And now I'm
living in the rich house, with air conditioning and
satellite TV (even better than cable!) and a fridge
that dispenses water and ice cubes.
But my kids have to be in before dark, before the
mosquitoes come out, because we don't want our
children to die. And now they have to slather on
the sunscreen when they're going outside during the
day, because we don't to get skin cancer. And we
make them wear helmets when they ride their bikes, not
because they're pretending to be Vikings, but because
we don't want them to suffer brain trauma when they
crash. Did you wear a helmet when you rode your
bike as a kid? Yeah, me neither.
And what about the registered sex offenders living in
the area?! Now we have to worry that some
predator might drive by and snatch our children.
Nobody knew what a sexual predator was thirty years
ago! At worst, there might be a few neighborhood
perverts, but they never really bothered the kids
(unless you went to a Catholic church).
Wow, everything really was better back when we were
kids.
Feelin'
Rebellious and Ridin' My Bicycle Without A Helmet!
June 18, 2008
So we’ve entered the realm of
lousy summer television viewing.
Some of you may be familiar with this extremely
parched part of summer, when the pickin’s are slim
and it’s well nigh impossible to find anything on
network television to satiate your thirst for
thoughtful entertainment.
So last night I was watching “America’s Got
Talent” and noticing my brain quietly slip away.
I hope to high heaven this show doesn’t get
televised beyond America’s borders, because it does
NOT paint a good picture of America and the average
American. Watching
this in Iran, one might think all Americans are
burlesque dancing, yodeling, ping-pong paddling,
Britney Spears impersonating, attention-starved freaks
(we’re not, right?).
Talent?!
And with that picture of America firmly in their
jihadist minds, is it any wonder that they want The
Bomb! Hell,
I want to drop The Bomb on America after watching this
summer television dreg!
Now the best part of the show (and I use the term
“best” rather loosely) was watching the
seventeen-year-old boy whose talent involved baton
twirling. No,
I don’t know if the boy is gay; does it matter?
This poor boy has already suffered a multitude
of jeers and teasing over the years because he stuck
determinedly with this dream of his, a dream to twirl
in majestic and fancy ways.
And despite those over whelming odds and
insurmountable opposition to male-twirling, the boy
has soldiered on, spinning his stick like a drum major
on crack.
The boy thinks he has talent.
And he’s determined to show us.
So he gets out on stage with his baton, lights the
ends of it on fire, and proceeds to twirl the sh!t out
it! He’s
twirling it around his neck; he’s twirling it over
his shoulders; he’s twirling it between his legs.
Never once does he appear to burn himself or
drop the baton. Then
suddenly there are three burning batons and the
boy’s doing leaps and flips and throwing the things
up in the air as he leaps and flips, catching them
every time, spinning those things like no girls
business!
And when he finished, he knew he’d nailed it.
Hell, everyone knew he’d nailed it!
The place went nuts with clapping and whistling
and cheering. The
boy’s mother was crying, and Jerry Springer was
beaming, and The Hoff looked amazed and slightly
aroused. Then
the boy’s mother sobbingly told us about all the
parades her son was in over the years and how he had
to cope with all the snide remarks and rude comments
the crowds uttered as he strode past, leading the
procession with his steady twirling.
It was touching. And
out of the corner of my eye I saw the wife wipe a tear
away from her eye.
“It’s okay, honey.
They put him through to the next round.
He might even win the million bucks,” I said,
trying to reassure my heart-touched spouse.
“Huh?” she replied.
Confused, I actually looked over at my wife, something
that does not often happen whilst watching television
(often times, when sitting with the couch recliner
kicked out, I’m not even aware that she’s in the
room with me). Looking
over, I noticed that my wife had NOT been wiping a
tear away. She
had actually been scratching her forehead in some
contemplative fashion as she read her book.
“What are you talking about?” she said, looking at
me like I was some brain-addled ninety-year-old man
trying to discuss the physics behind cold fusion and
getting it confused with cold oatmeal.
That’s when I realized that she wasn’t even paying
attention to the show and had no idea what the heck I
was talking about.
And then I realized how pathetic it was that I
was the only one of us actually watching the stupid
show, and I suddenly felt manipulated and used by the
show’s producers.
All that heartfelt sobbing and baton twirling
suddenly made me feel dirty and a little effeminate.
“Nothing, honey,” I said, trying desperately to
regain my masculinity.
Then I asked myself why we were even watching this
crap when we have thirty hours of other, more
entertaining shows sitting quietly in our DVR,
patiently waiting for us to enjoy. Or maybe I should follow the wife’s example and try reading a book for once.
Now where'd I put that Spiderman comic book I was
reading a few months ago?
Strutting Like
A Drum Major On Crack!!
June 15, 2008
Man,
has it been a wet spring here at Jackson Acre!
How do I know that, you ask? I know this because
the sump pump continually reminds me of this.
And the latest way it informed me of our wet spring
was by dying on me.
But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. I have
other, non-Jackson Acre, flooding news to share.
Thursday evening saw torrential downpours visited upon
Grandview, Ohio, about the same time I was enjoying a
beer with friends at a favorite pub of mine. And
as I was sipping my beer, admiring the tumultuous
rainfall and watching the street fill up like a
swimming pool, I noticed the water slowly rising
around my car.
Ten minutes later the water peaked and within thirty
minutes the streets were relatively clear. My
car, however, had about a half inch of water sloshing
about the floor on the passenger side of the
car.
After shop-vaccing out what water I could
(approximately one quart), the next three days found
my car parked in the garage with the windows, doors,
and sunroof open as I tried to dry the carpet.
The sloshing noise and musty smells are rather
annoying.
The rain gauge at Jackson Acre has recorded about four
inches of rain over the last six days. The swamp
in the back yard has returned and the mosquitoes are
quietly gathering forces. The sump pump's been
pretty steady, going off every minute for the last
three weeks.
In fact, the sump pump's not slowed down at all
yet this spring. Typically not a good
sign. An even worse sign is when your sump pump
decides to die when it's been going off every
minute. This happened last night.
The backup sump pump kept up with the flow of water
long enough for me to pull the dead pump out of the
pit and put the old pump (the one that was here when
we bought Jackson Acre! Who knows how old that
thing is?!) back in. I tightened all the hose
clamps and we were back in business.
Fortunately, my sump pump has a lifetime warranty, and
this is the second pump that will be replaced under
that warranty. But I can't return it to Home
Depot (blatant plug!) until tomorrow, so here's hoping
the old pump can keep up. Late last night (or
early this morning, depending on your perspective) I
thought maybe the old pump had died, too.
It was about 2:30 (AM!) when the neighbor's Great Dane
began barking hysterically, waking me up out of my
usual fitful sleep. I laid there for a moment,
waiting to hear the sump pump, to make sure all was
still well, when I heard a strange gurgling noise as
the pump went off.
Strange. It's never sounded like that before.
I kept listening, waiting to see if it still sounded
like that when it went off again. I waited,
waited, waited, and ... more gurgling.
Not good. Especially at 2:30 in the morning.
So I ran downstairs, expecting the worst, and almost
found it.
Water was spraying like a geyser out of the sump pit,
drenching the basement floor and everything else
nearby. I looked down into the pit of Hell and
saw that a hose clamp had broken off the pipe coming
out of the pump. And every time the pump went
off, half the water sprayed around the pipe,
not up the pipe.
And it sprayed all over my legs, in addition to
everything else nearby.
Ten soggy minutes and one new hose clamp later, the
problem was solved.
The neighbor's Great Dane, however, was still barking
hysterically.
So not only does my own puppy wake me up at all kinds
of ungodly hours, so does the neighbor's dog!
Wondering when
I'll ever get a good night's sleep!
June 8, 2008
Light
news from Jackson Press tonight.
I do believe a general lack of sleep is beginning to
catch up with us, here at Jackson Acre.
Lack of sleep, you ask? Always poking your nose
into things, aren't you?
Yes, we've found it a bit hard to actually find a good
night's sleep around here lately. New sleep
patterns and all, partially because of the new puppy,
partially because it's summer, and partially because
the universe is secretly screwing with me.
You see, the first reason for our general tiredness
(not quite tired enough to call it exhaustion) is due
to our new Bowflex. We've started our Bowflex
exercise routine, striving to reach that Bowflex body
we've seen in all those commercials. Now we're
already probably in the best shape we've ever been in,
even better than when we were twenty years younger,
primarily because of all the drinking, smoking, and
carousing done in our misspent youth. There's a
whole lot less carousing going on these
days.
And there are several other factors contributing to
our general lack of energy. Let me paint a
picture of a typical night. First, we finally
get to bed about midnight, after making sure the puppy
has gone out for a final night-night potty. We
usually lie awake for about twelve minutes, filled
with dread over the thought of going in to work the
next day.
About 3:30, the backup sump pump alarm will go off,
always for no apparent reason and always loudly.
It goes off so often around here that it's a little
like the boy who cried wolf. I don't think the
wife even hears it anymore. Last night the sump
pump took the night off, so it's role was covered by
the dead batteries in the carbon monoxide detector,
chirping to inform me of their impending death.
By 4:30, the puppy has to pee again. Usually the
wife takes her out, since I have to get up to go to
work in two hours and need as much uninterrupted sleep
as possible. Puppy always comes back a little
frisky after draining her bladder, so it take another
twenty minutes before she finally settles down to
sleep.
At 5:30, the birds all around the house here on
Jackson Acre all start chirping, singing, calling,
cawing, and crowing. I'm quite amazed that they
all start up at the same time. And they're quite
loud, so they wake me up and I have to groggily reach
up and shut the window, so I can get another hour of uninterrupted
sleep.
At 6:30, my alarm clock goes off and the first waves
of dread start washing over me, followed quickly by my
brain choosing some inane song to play over and over
in my head. See our essay on "Fake Plastic
Trees" from last year.
I've also found that eating something after 10PM tends
to disturb my sleeping capabilities. It's about
10:30 and I'm munching on Cheez-Its. I wonder
what we'll dream about tonight?
Cheez-It!
Cheez-It!
June 4, 2008
Well, severe weather is moving
thru central Ohio as I write this, which means that
all the local news channels are going “LIVE” as
they preempt normal programming to deliver real-time,
up-to-the-minute weather reports to everyone in Ohio.
They’re LIVE, people!
LIVE!! It’s
got to be important if they’re LIVE!!!
Right?!
Well, what this really means is that the weathered
talking heads will continue to tell us the same thing
over and over, in only a handful of different ways,
for the next three hours as we watch bad flashing
graphics depicting actual weather conditions
everywhere in the state!
They’ve evidently forgotten that old and
proven journalistic advice – tell them what you’re
going to tell them, tell them, then tell them what you
told them. Then
be done!
And I was so looking forward to that rerun of “Law
& Order: SVU”!
Note – yes, I’m being facetious here.
I’ve never suffered through an entire episode
of Law& Order, as I’d rather watch something
funny and slightly more uplifting on my television,
instead of something “ripped straight from today’s
headlines!” Today’s
headlines are full of depressing tales about the sick
and twisted deviants lurking in our populous.
And until castration and public hangings are
once again considered viable punishments, the deviants
numbers will probably continue to grow.
And, yes, I think the castrations should be
public, too. And
we could call for volunteers to perform the
castrations! That’d
bring out the deviants, wouldn’t it?
However, I digress.
Back to the weather nutjobs.
Now the anchor for our local Fox news station
is reporting on the weather, relieving the
over-stimulated weatherman.
Evidently it’s been a slow news day.
He’s now telling me what to do if a tornado
approaches, as if I never attended elementary school
and practiced many, many tornado drills in my day.
Hell, we still have tornado drills at work.
And I find they are a great time to sneak out a
fart or two amidst the cowering crowd, just to keep
things entertaining!
Oh, and he’s advised me to leave my house trailer,
should I be sitting in such a residence as I watch him
prattle on. You
know, house trailers as tornado magnets and all.
Thank God for Tivo, or at least for my Direct TV’s
crappy equivalent.
I’ve decided to take advantage of this lull
in normal television programming to catch up on some
motorcycle races stashed on my DVR (digital video
recorder – the modern version of a VCR – video
cassette recorder for those of you who might be a
couple technology generations behind).
Well, I hear thunder in the distance and the talking
heads are still excitedly chattering away about storm
cells and rotations.
Probably time to grab the weather radio,
wind-up flashlight, some power bars, and the family,
and head down to the basement to weather out the
storm. I
do believe the talking heads are advising us to huddle
under the stairway, amongst all the dust bunnies and
wolf spiders.
Or I could just let the kids and dogs stay
asleep and step outside to enjoy Mother Nature’s
light show.
Oh, and June 5th marks our second anniversary here at
Jackson Press! Civil Servitude has entered the
Terrible Twos!! Can we live up to the
reputation?
Trying to not
get struck by lightning whilst enjoying the lightning
strikes!
June 1, 2008
Well, we're into June
already! Where'd May go? Oh, that's right
- I turned 40 in May ... the memory's already starting
to go.
Jackson Acre plans for June include completing our
drainage project. I'm very excited! This
should be the final step to our complete domination of
drainage problems in Jackson Acre! And this
should fix the bloody persistent sump pump!
I knew it was time to proceed with Phase 2 when I
noticed how little water was now draining into the
sump pit, maybe a drop every minute or so. This
means the water table at Jackson Acre has finally
dropped below the level of the sump drain pipes.
It was finally time to excavate!
So today we dug! Or I should say, today I
dug! This obsession with poor drainage at
Jackson Acre is my folly and I will not subject my
family members to helping me in this cause.
After an hour of digging I found the other pipe in our
yard. And then the hole promptly filled up with
water from the pipe. But now we know where the
other source of the water saturating Jackson Acre
is. All we need to do now is reroute the new
pipe to the old pipe and - voila, problem solved.
Or so we'll hope. We won't really know until
November when the winter rains start back up.
But I have hope, that thing which causes we humans to
march onward in the face of superior adversarial
numbers, boldly making our way to certain doom.
On the puppy news front, I must report that I slipped
up in my duties and the house is no longer poo/pee
free. I wasn't watching Daisy the other day when
she sniffed her way into the family room and tinkled
on the carpet. I managed to catch her before she
saturated the carpet, but now she wanders over to that
same spot whenever she has to potty and tries to go
there first.
Actually, I've been thinking about doing the same
thing myself.
On a related note, Ginger's taken to vomiting first
thing in the morning, usually around 5:00 AM.
You know, a perfect hour when no one in the house is
awake or even conscious. And then, out of a dead
sleep, you hear the "hornking" noise, that
unmistakable sound of a dog (or maybe a cat) trying
hard to regurgitate whatever it is they still have in
their stomach. Probably to eat again.
The act of Hornking sounds something like this -
"hornk, gork, hornk, gork, hornk" and then
the beast lets loose with a wet gagging sound as
something sloppy hits the floor.
Fortunately, as soon as my subconscious mind hears the
first hornk and jolts me awake, I know I have another
three or four hornks before the vomit erupts. So
far that's been enough time to grab Ginger and carry
her over to the tile floor in the bathroom.
And then she hornks up a vile looking concoction,
thinks about licking it up again, then she goes back
to bed. Oh the joys of having two dogs!
Hornking my way through life!
May 28, 2008
Well, reality has officially
changed at Jackson Acre.
We have now completely given our lives over to the
puppy. Daisy’s existence here has
restructured our entire schedules around her wakings
and sleepings. We live to serve and entertain this amber little beast hiccupping
her way around the house.
Daisy’s first night at home was relatively (and
thankfully) uneventful, no accidental bowel movements (or
BMs) or pee-pee
in the bed (yes, both
dogs are now sleeping in the bed with us).
Daisy and the missus stepped out about 4:30AM for
a little tinkle, which is to be expected, since
Daisy’s bladder is about the size of a walnut, but
no accidents in the house yet.
Woo-hoo!!
One important thing I’d forgotten about newly minted
puppies is how sharp their little needle teeth can be.
Yesterday I noticed several fresh scratches and
puncture marks on my left forearm. Looking like
a right-handed heroin junkie who shoots up more often
than breathes, I spent at least a minute trying to
figure out what had happened to me and my arm.
I
studied the haphazard array of track marks up and down
my arm and considered the possibility that maybe I'd
stumbled through some unfriendly shrub
while doing yard work at Jackson Acre. Trying to
determine which shrub was the likely culprit so I
could hack it to the ground this weekend, my train of
thought was rudely interrupted when young Daisy bounded up to me and
promptly bit my big toe.
Mystery solved!
Having an eight-week-old puppy in one’s house is a
perfect reminder (or practice) of what it’s like to
take care of a new baby.
Forget living your own life in your own house
at your own pace;
you’re now a slave to when the little one wants to
eat, wants to sleep, needs to poo or go potty, wants
to play.
Human or canine, they're all the same basic
needs. And
while neither infant nor puppy can speak, both do lots
of whining in between BMs.
In fact, safeguarding the house for a puppy is
a lot like safeguarding for a baby.
I would challenge anyone to tell the
difference. For
example, one
must make sure the basement door stays shut so the
baby doesn’t fall down the steps.
One must be careful not to step on the baby.
One must keep the baby from chewing on the
laptop cord and electrocuting itself. One must keep the baby from pooping on the
floor. One
must keep the baby from rolling in the poop on the
floor. One
must keep the baby from eating the poop on the floor.
I'm sure you'll
agree the similarities are uncanny!
Right now the amber blur is resting in momma's lap, on
the couch next to big sister Ginger. We'll see
how long that lasts.
Rolling in life's poo and lovin' it!
May 25, 2008
Very busy weekend here at Jackson
Acre! Four days of extended excitement!!
Where to start?
Well, I took Friday off and that morning the missus
and I went to pick out our new puppy. More on
that in a second. Friday afternoon I helped my
fifth-grade daughter's class dissect squids.
Trust me when I tell you that cephalopods smell pretty
bad on the inside. However, that did not deter
the fifth-graders from chopping and slicing
away. A great time was had by most!
Saturday was jammed packed. First, I picked up a
used Bowflex that I bought off a gentlemen on Craig's
List. After six weeks I have no doubt that I
will look like that one guy in the Bowflex commercial
who's 49, in the best shape of his life, and playing
in a rock band! I just need to start looking for
my rock band!
Saturday afternoon was the family reunion at the
in-laws that was fun and entertaining. We then
dashed from that to go spend a family evening at the
movies. We decided to make it a double-feature
and see both "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of
the Crystal Skull" and "The
Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian".
Four-and-a-half hours of Hollywood
entertainment! Indiana Jones was
entertaining. I'd give it three out of five
stars. I still think the first and third movies
were better. Prince Caspian was the better of
two, with a slightly more developed storyline.
Sunday we rested. At least until our poker game
started in the early afternoon. I tried to cut
the grass, but my stupid tractor tire was flat
again. That's all we did on Sunday.
On Monday we brought puppy home. Very much like
bringing a new baby home! Make sure she doesn't
chew on the lamp cords, clean up the poo, and feed
them every three hours. The new baby's name is
Daisy (her official name is Jazzan Fandango Daisy) and
she appears to be settling in nicely. Ginger (Jazzan
Ginger On My Mind) has been very good with the puppy
so far, with no apparent jealousy. We'll see
what happens tonight when we all go to bed.
I
suspect I'll be sleeping on the floor!
Wondering if it's quieter in the doghouse?
May 21, 2008
Mediocrity in
government.
Isn’t mediocrity the norm? Is
there a such thing as
excellence in government? Personally,
I think excellence in government is a myth.
And mediocrity in government has been the
inspiration for Civil Servitude for these last few
years, so I can’t treat it too badly. It
has served me well.
The longer I work for the “gubmint”,
the more I believe in my theory that government
attracts mediocrity. My theory goes
like this: government tends to not have the best pay
or benefits, and the work is generally not overly
rewarding, often thankless. And in
government, the usual reward for a job well done is
often more work. This quickly
becomes an excellent disincentive to excel in any way
within government.
That said, I firmly believe
that many people working in “gubmint”,
who have both talent and ambition, eventually leave
government once they’ve had enough of government’s
BS. The thinking behind this theory
goes something like this – those who can leave, who
have the ability to leave for greener pastures and
better opportunities, will leave. Capability
leaves; mediocrity remains.
And eventually even the middling stragglers working
for “gubmint”, the
ones not quite good enough to get away, the ones too
slow to escape the net or too dumb to avoid the trap,
they, too, eventually get discouraged and aggravated
at the whole mediocre system. And
so the entire system then devolves to a lower overall
level of quality. So we muddle
onward, delivering lackluster service, wasting money,
skirting ethics and otherwise upholding the grand
stereotype that is your impression of “gubmint.”
Now to those of you working for “gubmint”,
like me, I wish to apologize for possibly offending
your capability and/or ambitions. I
do not wish to disparage your reasons for working for
government, whether you’ve worked there a year or
thirty years. All I can speak to is
my own experience here and that is what I’m poking
fun at. I'd like
to think that, at one time, I actually had both talent
and some small measure of ambition.
But I’m basically lazy, so “gubmint”
work is the right pace for me – unhurried,
relatively low stress, long deadlines. Laziness
fits well into “gubmint”
work, so I’m right at home there. In
fact, I think laziness could play a major role in my
mediocrity theory. Laziness could
be considered a lack of ambition, but I’m not
ambitious enough to bother following this train of
thought.
In fact, we’ll conclude this discussion later.
I’ve put in enough effort for one day.
Plus, I’m going to be dissecting squids with
my fifth-grade daughter’s class on Friday, so I need
to go sharpen my knife! Mmmmm, calamari!
Mediocre and sort of proud of it!
May 18, 2008
I was trying to think of
something funny to write about in today’s Jackson
Press News and I’m coming up a little short.
I’m currently watching last night’s
“Saturday Night Live”, which has been fairly
amusing so far. This
is saying quite a bit, because I personally think
Saturday Night Live peaked back in the days when Chris
Farley was falling down on the furniture and Adam
Sandler was singing about The Lunch Lady.
Actually, I think Saturday Night Live peaked
even earlier than that, back in the Eddie Murphy days
of Gumby and James Brown skits.
But we’ve already discussed Eddie Murphy, so we
can’t go there again.
And I’m wandering off on a tangent, now, so
where were we?
I think watching Saturday Night Live is jamming my
sense of humor, dumbing it down to the level of fart
jokes. And
now the wife has changed channels and we’re watching
“Desperate Housewives”.
Check that, the wife is watching “Desperate
Housewives”, I’m just glancing up from time to
time to see which housewife is doing what stupid
thing.
The humor on “Housewives” is of the soap opera
variety, which means it’s not as slap-sticky like
Saturday Night Live.
Housewife humor is kind of like knock-knock
jokes, which I consider to be inferior to fart jokes,
except when told by three-year-olds who have recently
discovered knock-knock jokes and think they are the
funniest things they’ve ever heard in their lives.
And that’s all the funnier when
you realize that the three-year-olds have only been
alive for three years, so their exposure to humor has
been miniscule, at best.
But they bring the humor in those knock-knock
jokes to life when they recite them to you over and
over and over and over and over.
For example –
Knock,
knock.
Who’s
there?
Boo.
Boo
who?
Don’t
cry. It’s
only a joke.
Or –
Knock,
knock.
Who’s
there?
Cargo.
Cargo
who?
Cargo
beep! beep!
And then there’s the way the
three-year-old’s knock-knock jokes would eventual
devolve to the point where they made their own jokes
up. Here’s
a glowing example.
Knock,
knock.
Who’s
there?
Cat.
Cat
who?
Cat-kitten.
And you know what?
I laughed almost every time, because it was
even funnier the way they would laugh at themselves
after telling their goofy little jokes.
Future Comedy Writers Growing Up!
May 14, 2008
Progressive Insurance has a new commercial out,
another in their series of commercials that try to
make one think that buying insurance is just like
shopping at K-Mart, complete with flashing lights,
ringing bells, and checkout girls with gaudy makeup
and oversized fake eyelashes, looking like Elizabeth
Taylor in the 1963 movie "Cleopatra".
You know the one I'm talking about. You've had
to have seen the other Progressive commercial, called
"Checkout", where said checkout girl rings
a bell and announces into a PA that "We have a
savings of $350! A savings of $350!!"
Then she gives the customer lots of extra features
that don't cost anything and the customer says
"wow". Checkout girl quickly replies,
"WOW!! I know! I say it louder."
Well, the commercial that bugs me right now is their
"Toys" commercial. You can find it here,
on Progressive's web page, labeled "Toys"
(oddly enough). You can also watch
"Checkout".
In the "Toys" commercial, a couple are
checking out with our gaudy, Cleopatra-esque
Progressive checkout girl. The wife notices all
the stuff the husband is buying and asks, "Honey,
what's all this?" She looks at the
insurance packages and murmurs about the motorcycle,
RV, and boat insurance hubby is buying, even though
they don't actually own any of those things.
Hubby then replies that, yes, actually he does
have those things. Well, actually, they
have them, referring to him and the wife, as if
he is reluctantly sharing these toys with the misses
now that she's found out that he has them.
This makes the wife look understandably confused,
since she obviously didn't approve of such an
expenditure! And we've got to be talking about
at least $150K, right?! Have you priced RVs
lately??
Obnoxious Cleopatra Progressive girl notices the
wife's confusion and in a daring bid to save the
husband she yells "Surprise!", thereby
implying that hubby was buying these things as a surprise
gift for the wife. Now everyone looks
confused.
Personally, I think this really implies that hubby is
sleeping with obnoxious Cleopatra checkout girl and
that he's buying the toys for her, as they prepare to
run off together in the RV, seeing the country and
living like hippies.
I think Progressive's intended implied message is that
hubby has saved so much money buying his insurance
from Progressive that he had enough money left over to
actually buy the motorcycle, RV, and boat he's now
insuring! Imagine saving that much on your
insurance?!
Well, here's the reality of Progressive insurance: I
switched to Progressive for my motorcycle
insurance. Guess how much I saved.
$150K? $150?
More like $15.
Where's my obnoxious Cleopatra checkout girl ringing a
bell and announcing my massive $15 savings over the
store PA? How come I didn't save enough to
actually buy my motorcycle?
I'm feeling a little gypped. Maybe it's time to
shop around for insurance again ...
I Say It Louder!!!
May 11, 2008
Well, my 40th birthday
has come and gone and I want to thank everyone who
came out to join us at Jackson Acre for the
celebration. I
greatly appreciate all who came out to Jackson Acre
for the festivities and I hope everyone had a good
time. I
certainly had a lot of fun.
It was so much fun, in fact, that I’m toying
with the thought of having another 40th
birthday celebration next year!
We’ll call it the 2nd
Annual 40th Birthday Celebration!
Of all my birthdays, I would have
to say that this one has been the best one in a while,
although my tenth birthday was also pretty good.
That would’ve been 1978 and I vividly recall
it being a Star Wars-themed birthday.
On that birthday I received Star Wars action
figures and a Star Wars Landspeeder vehicle for my
action figures. The
Landspeeder was cool and held my Luke Skywalker and
Obi-Wan Kenobi action figures, with little wheels
hidden underneath that made the Landspeeder look like
it was floating on the air, just like in Star Wars.
It was cool.
But as cool as that Landspeeder was, this birthday’s
gifts have also been pretty cool.
This was the year that I finally got my second
tattoo. And
this was also the year that the wife and I got to see
Van Halen in concert (which is why I never got around
to posting the strip for May 8, because we got back
from the concert late).
And I got to go back to Big Bend and paddle the
Rio Grande again this year.
Other reasons why this birthday has been a good one?
Well, since I bought a new motorcycle this year
I need to get a new helmet, so I’m shopping.
And plans for drying up the swamp on Jackson
Acre are under way, so here’s hoping it’s a
success.
On a related note, many guests mentioned to me that
the yard looked good and dry and they were very
surprised to NOT see any water in the back yard.
Evidently lots of people expected to see a
small lake behind the house, complete with gondolas,
ducks, and a dock!
Trust me, we cleaned Jackson Acre up as best we
could for the party and it turned out pretty good.
The beautiful weather also helped make things
seem nicer than they usually are.
Today we’re back to normal: we got three
inches of rain and the usual wet spot has standing
water as I write this.
Anyway, turning forty has been lots of fun and I got
to do a lot of fun things this year.
It’s like I’m forty going on twenty!
And I want to thank everyone who helped us
celebrate here at Jackson Acre, because you certainly
made my passing into the 40’s more enjoyable.
And
those of you who didn't make it? Well, look for
my second annual 40th birthday party next year!
Thanks for celebrating with us!
Forty Going On Twenty!
May 7, 2008
Well, I had to renew my driver's license a couple
days ago. Not a usually pleasant experience,
especially if one has to stand in line at the BMV.
It's everything the comics make it out to be, except
there weren't any screaming babies in line with me
today.
The best part about renewing your license? It's
got to be those lousy photos. You know what I'm
talking about, those horrible mug shots that make
everyone look twenty pounds heavier and anemic, like
famished vampires after a thirty day bender, dark
circles under their eyes and grimaced looks on their
faces.
Yeah, that's how I look on my license.
Renewing my license is also a good way to reflect on
the previous four years. And it gives me
something constructive to think about standing in line
amidst the screaming babies and smelly
ex-cons.
I typically reflect on the physical things, like how
my weight has changed (it usually increases), whether
or not my height has changed (no shrinkage yet - still
6'3"), have I've lost any more hair (no!), is my
hair still blond (not really, but the lady behind the
counter said I have more blond than gray, so she went
with blond, although it's really more like dirty
brown).
Once I reached the counter, I had to go through the
eye test. Usually this is easy, but I suddenly
got worried when I couldn't see the flashing light
that the little old lady kept asking if I could
see.
"Which side do you see the flashing light?"
"I don't see a flashing light."
"Tell me which side has the flashing light."
"I don't see a flashing light."
And this went on for what seemed like an
eternity, until I finally saw one of the solid lights
on my right flash once.
"The right side!" I sputtered, hoping I had
seen the correct light flash so this could all be
over.
I must've been right, because the little old lady then
shuffled me over to the backdrop for my picture.
Sounding like my mother, she told me to sit up
straight and look into the camera.
"Smile," she croaked. I grimaced.
When I showed my license to the wife, she asked why I
looked funny in the picture. I explained to her
that if I had to show my license to someone, like,
say, a police officer, I probably wouldn't be in a
good mood. So why smile? The grimace was
more appropriate.
The wife thought I looked constipated.
Sit Up Straight And Smile, Young Man!
May 4, 2008
I'd like to say that I screwed around all day,
which is why I don't have anything to write about for
tonight's news from Jackson Press.
The truth is I spent most of the day doing yard
work. Cut the grass, trim the weeds, that kinda
stuff. Not a whole lot of playing going on this
afternoon.
And can you believe that it's already May?! And
Mayor Percy hasn't written his April Mayor's Memo
yet! Guess Mayor Percy's screwing around, huh?
Nothing witty in this space ...
April 30, 2008
Expectations.
For some reason, that word is on my mind right
now. You know, like "Great
Expectations", the book written by Charles
Dickens that I never read. Heck, I didn't even
see the movie.
Merriam-Webster defines expectations as "the
act or state of expecting; something
expected." Basically, it means you're
waiting on something. Maybe I'm thinking about
the word "expectations" because I'm waiting
for my children to quickly and quietly get
themselves ready for bed. You know, teeth
brushed, jammies on, under the covers, lights
out. There aren't a whole lot of steps involved
in this ritual, yet it seems to take hours and lots of
yelling to complete.
So my expectations for their successful completion of
these seemingly simple tasks has sunken to
subterranean depths. On a plus note, I
successfully spelled "subterranean" without
the help of Spell Checker, although I did booger up
"successfully" by adding an extra
"s" in my excitement over successfully
spelling subterranean!
Regardless, my children can't seem to get ready for
bed without sniping and squabbling about things that
shouldn't concern them right before going to
bed. You know, stupid things like who has whose
stuffed zebra or where did so-and-so put the other
one's current favorite such-and-such (replace with any
of the following: book, doll, toy, shirt, shoe, sock,
underwear).
Low expectations, to the say the least.
It's a successful evening when neither parent has to
threaten to whallop someone's behind or banish child A
from child B's room. We've even taken to
staggering bathroom time. For example, child A
is supposed to brush her teeth fifteen minutes before
child B, thus eliminating any chance that both
children will be in the same bathroom at the same sink
at the same time, because God knows that if that
unfortunate event were to happen it would cause the
very space-time continuum of our universe to unravel,
much like the stitching on a cheap, made-in-China,
knock-off designer label Raph (yes, the "L"
is missing) Lauren men's suit sold for rock-bottom
prices on fleabay.
And, no, you cannot determine which child I am
referring to when I use the code words "child
A" and "child B", because I will warn
you that the first-born child will not always be
labeled as "child A". In fact, the
child I like better at the particular moment I'm
writing this will be referred to as child A. And
they will continue to be referred to as child A until
such a time when they will eventually fall out of my
favor and are either replaced by the other child, the
previous child B, or the dog, hereafter referred to as
dog A since we don't yet have a dog B.
At this moment, child A is sneaking down the hallway
with a big poop-eating grin on her face, holding her
index finger up before her lips in the classic
"shush" sign. She's evidently going to
try to scare mom A when mom A leaves child B's bedroom
after tucking child B in. Child A thinks this is
funny and continues to snicker to herself, said
snickering being loud enough that mom A HAS to
know that child A is out of bed and goofing off around
the corner, despite all the yelling that has already
transpired this evening in getting said children ready
and into bed.
Child A is now doing deep knee bends and marching in
place in the hallway, poop-eating grin growing ever
larger. Emboldened, she shifts her hiding place
from the hallway into the kitchen, which will no doubt
prompt mom A to ask dad A (moi') if I happen to know
where child A is. How do I answer? Do I
give up the child for mom? This query is the
classic child-spouse conundrum - which one takes precedence?
Who is more important? Who do you save and who
do you let die? The plane's going down and there
are only two parachutes, one for me and one for
who? Child A or mom A? It's like one of
those ethical questions that has no correct
answer. It's the classic no-win situation, the
"Kobayashi Maru" test as seen in Star Trek
2, quite possibly the BEST Star Trek movie
EVER!!! Click here
to see that great scene if you've never seen the movie
(and shame on you if you haven't and you call yourself
a Star Trek fan! FAN BOY!!).
So I wait for the question that will force me to
choose sides between child A and mom A. It is a
decision I do not wish to make, since forsaking child
A now, at this tender age, could inevitably leave
lasting scars that might come back to haunt me should
I ever need to move in with child A when I eventually
grow old and senile and incontinent and my adult
diapers need constant minding. This is after
outliving wife A, of course!
I am fortunate. Child A gave up her hiding place
and went into bed relatively easily after mom A yelled
at her. No need to reveal my allegiances just
yet.
Expectations. I actually had no expectations for
this little essay yet look where it got me?
Now you have something new to think about.
Carry on.
April 27, 2008
Another inspired editorial cartoon! Click here
to enjoy.
So we've got more idiotic government employees in the
news again. And this time, it's a doozy of a
story!! Booze, babes, language that'd make a sailor
blush! Click here
for the story in our own local Columbus Dispatch.
According to the Dispatch, Ohio Attorney General Marc
Dann's office cultivated an atmosphere that sounds
very similar to the environment one sees in the movie
"Animal House", with "...
staff members in adjacent work areas shouting
obscenities toward each other ..." and "...
a casual work environment that often extends into
alcohol-lubricated evenings in which work and personal
lives blur."
Evidently Marc Dann has a potty-mouth and he encourages
those who work with/for him to also have potty-mouths in the workplace. As stated in the
Dispatch, "Dann's defenders said the
occasional use of profanity is typical for any office
environment and that the attorney general is trying to
encourage freewheeling dialogue."
Freewheeling dialogue, people, in the same vein as an
Eddie Murphy stand-up monolog back when Eddie was
beyond profane and still very funny! Click here
for an extremely R-rated clip of Murphy talking about
his family cookout. WARNING - ADULT CONTENT WITH
PROFUSE PROFANITY (and
VERY FUNNY).
And, as one would suspect, this free-wheeling,
profanity-laced environment just further illustrates
the problems we have when certain morons get into
office and abuse their power. As if government's
reputation isn't bad enough already - not factoring in
the whole nepotism thing, which can sometimes help
government - we have Marc Dann hiring his buddy,
Anthony Gutierrez, as Dann's general services
director.
And evidently Gutierrez likes his booze. So much
so that he allegedly came in to work one morning after
a rough night of drinking and "... reeked of
booze and vomit and boogers or vomit were hanging from
his nose." I solemnly swear I
will never allow myself to get into a situation where
I have hangover boogers or vomit dangling from my nose
in public! Gutierrez told a coworker "... that
he had been 'so drunk the night before at Easton that
on his way home he must have fallen asleep and when he
hit the state Suburban on a guardrail, that's when he
woke up.' " Again, from today's
Dispatch.
Now let me remind you Ohio taxpayers that this
exemplary government employee is on PAID suspension
while a sexual harassment complaint is
investigated. Is anyone surprised that sexual
harassment charges came forth from such a
"freewheeling" workplace?
The sad thing is that this mess just reinforces my
sour view of government employees. And, yes, I
am a government employee - I speak from experience
here people!
You see, I believe that government tends to attract
and retain the most mediocre of workers, because
anyone with talent and skill and ambition will
eventually tire of the BS one must put up with to get
anything done in government and will eventually leave
government to find real jobs! Yes, I believe I
am a fantastically mediocre employee! In fact, I
try to excel in my mediocrity!
But Marc Dann and his minions have taken government
employee worthlessness to a whole new level!
We've gone well beyond mediocrity here, beyond
asininity, beyond laziness! We've reached a new
plateau!
What shall we call it?
Let's call it Gutierrez-anity!
Boozin' And Swearin' With The Best of 'Em!!
April 23, 2008
"Ghost Hunters" is back on the air!
Yay!
Just when you thought television was dead (with the
exception of "Battlestar Galactica" and
"Friday Night Lights"), back comes
"Ghost Hunters", further reinforcing our
belief in ghosts here at Jackson Acre.
In fact, the wife and I think we had our own personal
encounter with a ghost here at Jackson Acre the other
night. The kids were in bed and we were in the
family room watching "American Idol" when we
both heard what sounded like a kitchen chair scraping
across the floor, as if someone - or something - had
bumped into it and moved it out of their way.
"Did you hear that?"
"Yeah, what was it? Is one of the kids
up?"
I looked into the kitchen, waiting for one of my
children to come into view, probably wanting a drink
of juice or a cookie or something. You know,
something sugary right after brushing one's teeth
right before bed.
No children stepped into view.
I got up and walked into the kitchen, checking to see
if a child was hiding next to the fridge, screwing
with their parents. Nothing. So then I
tried to figure out which chair I thought I heard
move. We have six chairs and all of them made
the same chair-leg-on-floor scraping noise. So
much for that theory.
"You heard a chair move, right?"
"Yeah, is one of the kids up?"
"No."
"Hmmm, must be Ace."
And with that, my wife pins our entire supernatural
personal experience on the ghost of our
sixteen-year-old border collie mix, Ace, who died two
years ago. And as he got older and feebler, Ace
occasionally bumped into furniture, like kitchen
chairs. And being a border collie, which is a
herding breed used to herd sheep, cattle, children
(you know, anything that herds), Ace always had this
intense need to keep track of everyone in the
house. So he'd cruise from room to room, making
sure he knew where everyone was at, keeping track of
his herd.
I guess Ace's still here, keeping an eye on us.
At least that's what we told the kids. The ghost
of old Ace isn't quite as scary as the ghost of some
stranger who died in your home at some point in the
past.
Yeah, that's a pretty freaky thought!
Wondering if ghosts count as dependants on my taxes
...
April 20, 2008
This weekend was about Spring prep at Jackson Acre,
which mostly consists of oil changes in the various
tools and toys I possess. And by tools, I mainly
mean my lawn mower, lawn tractor, and generator.
The only toy I have left is my latest motorcycle, but
all require oil's lifeblood to function!
So I took a freshly charged battery out to the tractor
in the shed, fully expecting my "well
maintained" 24-year-old John Deere 111 lawn
tractor to fire right up, which it did. And
since this particular beast was not "well
maintained" by its previous owners, the former
residents of our acre before it became Jackson Acre, I
consider it a gift from God every time that old
tractor decides to start up and run.
Well, the tractor started up on the first try (thank
you God!).
I then shift into reverse to back out of the shed and
see the flat front tire. So I turn the tractor
off and march up to the house to fetch the tire
pump. After six minutes of pumping I see no
noticeable change, other than my elevated heartbeat
and increased perspiration. Aren't these signs
of a heart attack?! That's when I realized the
tire is tubeless and I have no idea how to properly
inflate a tubeless tire.
So back up to the house to Google "How to inflate
a tubeless tire". Thanks to the miracle of
the internet, I find instructions that tell me you
can't inflate a tubeless tire with a hand pump.
Really?! So I fetch the generator and my compressor
and lug them both - separately - from the house to the
shed. Ten minutes later I get the tire inflated
in twenty seconds. Now we're good to go!
Then it starts raining.
Exactly 54 minutes after starting the tractor for the
first time this year, I finally drive it into the
garage for it's oil change. Then five hours and
a half-quart of spilled oil on the garage floor later,
I've got fresh oil in the tractor, generator, lawn
mower, and motorcycle. I even got to use my $12
angle grinder to sharpen the tractor mower blades!
All in all, a very manly day spent doing manly
garage-type stuff. But I still haven't cut my
grass!
On a related note - we're finalizing plans for the
40th Birthday Bash at Jackson Acre. It will be
Saturday, May 10 and e-vites will be emailed out this
week. Relax, you're probably on the list.
Wondering how many goats it would take to keep my
grass cut ...
April 16, 2008
No grand essay on deep thoughts or asinine human
activities in this dispatch. I'd like to just
get me duties done and sip a glass of scotch before
going to bed.
I'm watching something on Sumo wrestlers on the
National Geographic channel as I wait for Ghost
Hunters to come on. At the time of this show's
taping (it's funny that I use the word
"taping" even though I'm quite sure that
most television is shot on digital video) there were
an unprecedented two yokozunas, or sumo grand
champions, in Japan.
The rank of yokozuna is determined by the total number
of tournament wins and rarely has there ever been two
yokozuna at the same time. Click here
for everything you never wanted to know about sumo
wrestling, which is actually a rather fascinating
sport when you really sit down and study it.
Rest assured, sumo wrestlers are athletes and the
yokozuna are the cream of the crop, quick powerhouses
who possess amazing strength and surprising quickness,
important factors in a sport whose matches usually
last less than twenty seconds.
The two yokozuna weigh around 325 pounds each.
To achieve and maintain that mass, the average sumo
consumes 10,000 calories a day! Yes, you read
that right - 10,000 (10K) calories PER DAY!!!!
And the best part?? After ingesting each huge
meal, they immediately take a nap to insure none of
the calories is burned off! Every meal is just
like Thanksgiving Dinner, over and over - eat a tremendously
huge meal packed with tons of calories, then curl up
on the couch for a nice nap. Maybe watch a
little football as you wait for the tryptophan to kick
in so you can doze off.
To put the 10,000 calories into perspective, the
average American consumes between 2,500 and 3,800
calories per day. And, trust me on this, we
Americans eat well, so you can be sure that a healthy
number of calories for the average American is going
to be under 2,500.
Another interesting show making its rounds on National
Geographic channel? Check out "The
Human Footprint", which
gives you a very visible and understandable accounting
of the average natural resources that an average
American consumes in his or her lifetime.
Americans are natural resource hogs and there is no
physical way the Earth can provide enough natural
resources to sustain this lifestyle.
So, suffice it to say, I'm worried that my kids adult
lives won't be as comfortable as their parents.
And don't even get me started on our slavish
dependence on foreign oil!!!
Waiting For Hydrogen-Powered Flying Cars and Algae
Farming To Cure All Our Problems!!!
April 13, 2008
Tall Tales From Texas!
I posted some pictures from my Texas trip. Click
here
to reach our super-secret-eyes-only "Extras"
pictures page.
The first picture (top left) was taken at the Big Bend
National Park entrance the morning we arrived.
The second picture (top right) was taken somewhere on
the river between Castolon and Boquillas. The
third picture (bottom left) was taken on the U.S. side
of Mariscal canyon, which rises around 3,000 feet
above the Rio Grande river and runs along for almost
ten miles . Beautiful and rugged country!
On that particular hike, up on the canyon rim
trail, we ran across lots of "poo",
little pockets of brown pellets left behind by what I
can only assume were Texas jackrabbits, which are
considerably bigger and scrawnier than our own fat and
fluffy Ohio rabbits.
How do I know it was poo, you may ask. Good
question (as always).
Well, being the avid outdoorsman that I am, someone
always curious about the natural world around me,
especially the foreign and exotic world of southern
Texas, I did what any good naturalist would do. I
picked up the poo, squished it between my fingertips,
and smelled it. No, I didn't taste it. When squished (it was very dry,
as one would expect in a desert environment), it was
composed of grass fibers and it smelled like the
bottom of my lawnmower at the end of summer.
The last picture (bottom right) was taken on the
Mexican side of the river somewhere along the Sierra
San Vincente ridge, about 2,000 feet above the river
and our last campsite.
Poo seemed to be a recurring theme on this trip, as
there were countless poo jokes, especially whenever
someone would borrow a trowel (click here
if you don't know what a trowel is used for when
camping in the backcountry) and wander off into
whatever brush they could find for privacy. The
poo theme reached new heights on our last evening on
the river when we tried to burn horse poo.
Horse poo? you ask. What were you thinking? you
ask. I would have to counter with "Is it
not obvious?!!"
Think about it - people in developing countries the
world over burn cow and horse poo for warmth and
cooking (yeah, I know - yuck). These kinds of
poo are primarily made up of dried grasses, which are
a great fuel source. And since our last campsite
was littered with small piles of donkey and horse poo,
evidence that we'd picked some kind of local equine
hotspot, and it was a particularly cool evening with
temps in the low-50s, someone made a joke about
burning poo for warmth. That little joke then prompted someone else to try lighting the poo, which prompted
me to run off and get my camcorder so I could record
the event for posterity (or defense in case of
potential prosecution)!
When I got back to the group they were assembled
around a selected small pile of poo. Someone
then lit the poo
and it started burning with a good sized flame.
It was working! It was burning! It was
very exciting (which says tons about how easily
entertained one is after not seeing television for a
week)! It smelled
like burning grass and sulfur.
Then everyone
laughed and someone confessed that they'd poured stove
fuel on the poo to get it to burn like that. The joke was
on me. But, joke or not, that poo continued to smolder
steadily for another twenty-five minutes after
the fuel burned off, a valid proof of concept.
After careful contemplation, we decided that the poo's moisture content was just a
