Oregon 47, USC 20

Oregon, our Alma Mater,
We will guard thee on and on,
Let us gather 'round and cheer her,
Chant her glory, Oregon!

Roar the praises of her warriors,
Sing the story, Oregon,
On to vict'ry urge the heroes
Of our Mighty Oregon!

Synopsis of Sibling Call: October 25, 2009.

Beth started the Sibling Call at precisely 6:00PM (PDT). Her precision was amazing. At 6:01PM (PDT), Beth deftly connected with Karla, after a brief reminder to Trudy that we weren’t going to include her this week.

Our dialogue was rich and robust. Naturally, we spoke viciously and with great cruelty about the two siblings who weren’t involved; making fun of their spouses and their children, ridiculing their appearance and how harshly the aging process has hit them and denigrating their intelligence. It took all of two minutes. We mostly just nodded in silent agreement.

No conversation with Beth is complete without an in depth and articulate discussion of the dump facilities at rest areas in South Dakota and Iowa. This may come as a surprise to many of you, but apparently you can flush the septic system of your motor home there for no charge. The discussion is always invigorating; no matter how many times you have it.

We talked about upcoming vacation plans: Beth to Florida and Las Vegas, Karla to Las Vegas, Mac, with some good fortune, may get all the way to Mosier sometime before Christmas. There was some brief contemplation regarding the “other” siblings and their plans for Yosemite, Hawaii, Santa Barbara… you know, those mundane, overdone “hot spots”. We yawned and changed subjects.

And then I kind of drifted off into a soft haze. I know we were still talking, because my mouth opened and noises came out, but I have no idea what we could possibly still have been discussing. At some point, I realized I was home alone and there were dogs demanding attention. I wandered off. I returned. I’m not sure they really knew I was gone.

The Sibling Call ended at 7:15(PDT)ish.

Report respectfully submitted by the Soon-to-be-ex Secretary General of the Sibling Call.

Sorry to see you go, Soupy Sales.

The last pie has been thrown!

We Call It “The Pick”.

This is the 15th anniversary of the greatest moment in Duck football history. No, this is the 15th anniversary of the greatest moment in the state of Oregon’s history.

And I quote:

"Huard's gonna go back to throw the ball... sets up... looks... throws toward the corner of the endzone... it is... INTERCEPTED!!! INTERCEPTED!!! THE DUCKS HAVE THE BALL!!! DOWN TO THE 35, THE 40!!! KENNY WHEATON'S GONNA SCORE!!! KENNY WHEATON IS GONNA SCORE!!! TWENTY!!! THE TEN!!! TOUCHDOWN!!! KENNY WHEATON!!! ON THE INTERCEPTION!!! THE MOST IMPROBABLE FINISH TO A FOOTBALL GAME!!!" - Jerry Allen.

That is pretty much how we all describe it.

It had been a pretty ordinary season for the Ducks: pretty much an even keel, no great wins but a couple of serious losses, but still 4-3. Ahh, the good old days. But it was:


OREGON VS WASHINGTON


Oregon had lost the last 17 out of 20 games to the hated Huskies. They led, but the Huskies were on the Duck’s 9 yard line. It was going to be another bitter…

But it wasn’t. Oregon won 31-20. They beat the (spit on the floor) Huskies and won all the rest of the games of the season, returning to the Rose Bowl for the first (and most recent) time in 37 years. Remind me to go into the whole Rose Bowl story later. There is a bitter irony involved.

Just raise a glass to Kenny Wheaton!

MIGHTY OREGON!!!

This One Caught My Fancy

I guess you had to be there, then, and have to be here, now, to find the riot.

One Day You Wake Up

And fall has come!

I Refuse to Grow Up

I read an article yesterday about 15 things that men can do to halt the aging process and look younger, longer. It was ludicrous piece of journalism, regurgitating the same worn out advice; like eating a well balanced diet, exercising regularly, not smoking, drinking in moderation, using sun block every time you go outside the house… you know, stuff that all those “health” gurus have been droning on and on about for decades.

Phooey on them.

I have my own five rules to looking younger.

#1. Sun block does nothing for anybody. If you really want to look younger, you must religiously avoid, not only the sun, but all bright lights. Let’s be brazenly honest: men of a certain age look their best in a pitch black room. The quality of image fades as the intensity of light increases. Anything brighter than a candle at fifty paces is a detriment to the appearance of the vast majority of mature men. It may be cruel, but life often is less than benevolent.

#2. It doesn’t really matter what you eat. More important is who you eat with. Eat with people who look older and significantly more grizzled than you do. Frankly, I look better eating a Mickey D lunch with some old geezer from the home than I do eating an ass-flattering salad with my co-workers. It is simple parameter of fact: youth is comparative.

#3. Don’t smoke in public. This has nothing to do with any of the unfortunate health related side effects of tobacco, this has more to do with rule #1. Cigarettes give off light. They must be avoided in public places at all cost. Jonesing isn’t a good enough excuse.

#4. Exercise is not going to do a damn thing to make you look younger. Get real folks, a wrinkled man, laying in the gutter and sweating like a pig after walking around the block doesn’t look any better than the kindly old gent sitting in the rocking chair on his porch. All the crap you read about “exercise making you look like a 20 year old rock star” is just marketing hype from the big exercise equipment manufacturing companies.

#5. Promote the consumption of alcohol. You look better in the mirror after your fourth cocktail. You look better in public after the public is on their fourth cocktail. This is pretty basic stuff, people.

A picture of me, looking my best.



Eating Cheetohs while I suck down my fifth drink, in a pitch black room, reclining in the easy chair with an 97 year old man next to me. I don’t get better than this.

I Can't Resist.

I don't know how long this link will be good, but the Saints are here.

http://www.thedalleschronicle.com/news/2009/10/news10-06-09-02.shtml

And you appear to have to cut and paste to make it work...

October 5, 1943

From the October 7, 1943 Ridgefield Reflector, or the Local Astonisher as Dad liked to refer to any small town weekly.

“POPULAR YOUNG COUPLE TAKE (sic) MARRIAGE VOWS.

At an informal but lovely ceremony Tuesday evening, Miss Juanita McCracken, daughter of I.B. McCracken of near Vancouver, became the bride of Robert Cornelison, son of Mr. and Mrs. B. S. Cornelison of Ridgefield.”

And so it began, 66 short years ago. Bob and Juanita tied the knot, and started the Cornelison Nut House.

Rocks.

I remember, from some archaic science class back in my youth, that there are three different kinds of rocks: Ignatius, Sedentary and The Other Kind. (This may not be an indisputable fact, nor the technical names, but don’t mess up my memories with your scientific superiority.)


It should be noted that when a large stone jumps up and grabs your big toe, causing you to trip and fall on a gravel walkway, all three kinds of rocks laugh.