Ripped from the New York Times:

There it was, in black and white: roadside attractions like the Corn Palace, the World’s Largest Ball of Twine and the Boll Weevil Monument are in crisis. As preposterous as this may sound, apparently vacationers no longer see a trip to the Geographical Center of the United States as a ‘hot-damn’ holiday. It seems that now days, they want adventure: mountain biking, hiking, rock-wall climbing.

Puh-leeze! The last time I tried climbing a rock-wall was that unfortunate September night when I tried to escape for the state penitentiary in Arizona. And you all know how far that got me. And I’ve never described that period of my life as a ‘vacation’. But now that I think of it, I do remember the social calendar quite fondly. There was that one sultry evening, when the sun was setting and the red glow flooded my cell through the barred window. My cellmate, Scotty the Body was lamenting…
Oh my god, that is so not appropriate for the blog. I am so sorry. Excuse me please.

Now, as I was saying, we all must do what we can to save the quirky wayside tourist traps.

Let us all make a resolution for 2011:

If I can’t get there in a limousine with a full service bar, I won’t go there.

National Fruitcake Day

Yes, December 27th is National Fruitcake Day.

I'm not sure who we should credit with such a monumental homage to the umbiquitous fruitcake, but lets just kind of let it roll off our shoulders and forgive and forget.

Pop Quiz:

What is the meaning of Boxing Day?

a. It descends from an unfortunate custom of the middle ages, when most families were dirt poor, very large and could afford only one gift for all their children. Seriously, one gift; not one gift per child. Peace being the theme of Christmas, all the progeny enjoyed the gift equally, sharing magnanimously for that one day. But the day after Christmas, the kids duked it out to see who would claim the present.

b. It’s a new age holiday, referring to breaking down all the boxes your Christmas presents came in and recycling them. Haste makes waste, you know.

c. It refers to an old tradition of the aristocracy. The day after Christmas, the ladies and lords, the dukes and duchesses, les marquis et marquises, het markgraaf und markies, (ad nauseum) boxed up all of last season’s accessories and threw them on a bonfire. They needed to make sure the hoi polloi didn’t steal them.

d. No one has any idea. It is just a ploy by the UK and Canada to get another holiday.

e. While it is true that its origins are unknown, all plausible explanations point toward assisting the needy and those who serve. It is the traditional time for alms for the poor. So go ahead and give. Your time or your money, both work. There is a reason for the season.

Merry Christmas

Happy Winter Solstice

May this winter be all you hope for.

Total Eclipse of the Moon.

For the first time since 1632, a total eclipse of the moon coincided with the Winter Solstice. I missed it because it was cloudy and it was in the middle of the night.

Quite frankly, I believe it is rather rude to schedule an eclipse of the moon after 9:30PM. I think all future lunar eclipses should be at mid-day so that more people can enjoy them.

Sally Forth

I'm not sure, but I think they're making fun of me!

National Champions

NCAA Division II Football.


Minn-Duluth 20, Delta State 17.

I'd burst into UMD's fight song, but I don't know what it is. So, I'll just hum a stanza of "Mighty Oregon" and call it good.

Congrats, Bulldogs!!!

Requiem for a snow-shovel.

Oh, Ullr, my beloved Ullr
For a decade of winters, we have shared
A passion, a devoir, to make the drive passable
Together we have stood, alone in the harshness
Together we have braved the most wicked of storms
For a decade of winters, we have communed
We have savored the challenge
Of the ever-lengthening drive
But Ullr, fair Ullr
The meanest of snows has broken your bow
Has damaged your blade
My heart breaks, as I know there is naught I can do
To save your soul
So, Ullr, brave Ullr,
Help me to know
Is any part of you recyclable?

From "Pardon My Planet"

Well, isn't that disappointing. I guess I'm going to have to return mine.

Championship Alert!

Minnesota-Duluth 17, Northwest Missouri St. 13

Seems it isn't just the Ducks in a National Championship Game.

GO BULLDOGS

And some updates on the Natty (National Championship) celebration.

Perhaps the best start is to quote (okay, paraphrase) a conversation Richard and I had:

Mac: There is so much to do before the big day. I don’t know how we will get it done.

Richard: Don’t get overwrought. We’ll just do our normal minimal decoration. We’ll put up the tree the weekend before Christmas. A bough here and there and all will be…

Mac: What the hell does a tree or boughs have to do with Oregon being in the national championship? We’ve got walls to paint green and yellow, crèpe paper to hang, dogs and cats to color. Oh, I did you remember to check on porcelain paint so we can make the bathroom accessories match?

Richard: Mac, we will have a Christmas tree, we will do our normal greenery through the house. We will not paint any walls green or yellow. We will not dye the dogs. And I will never, ever check on lemon and lime porcelain paint.

Mac: You heathen, you heretic. If we don’t do all I say and the unspeakable happens, who do you think I will blame?

Richard: Mac, you’re going over the top. Don’t make me call the local insane asylum.

Mac: They would be on my side.

Richard: Damn, you have a point.

There are still some impasses to get over.

I find beauty in ice

Now, don’t be telling Richard I said any such thing. I will deny it vehemently.

Other thoughts:

I am saddened by the death of Elizabeth Edwards. I can’t truly say I know much about her, but I always felt she was honorable and good.

Let’s commemorate all those survivors, still here and since gone, and the victims of Pearl Harbor, some 69 years ago.

The Obligatory Picture

This time lifted KATU News.

The Quack Heard ‘Round the World!

Before it gets lost in the noise: UMD 24, Augustana (SD) 13. Go Bulldogs!

So, my four decades as a Duck fan has finally paid dividends. Gone are the 70’s and 80’s when, frankly, being a Duck wasn’t all that much fun. I will never again hear that the Ducks are the best winless team in the nation. There will never be another Toilet Bowl (1983 Civil War: Oregon 0, Oregon State 0, the last scoreless tie in NCAA Division I football.)

Today, I watched the Civil War on TV at my friends’ house in Washington. A bit odd, going north of the border to join a flock of Ducks, but it worked. Oregon 37, Oregon State 20. QUACK!!! QUACK!!! QUACK!!! Such a glorious day in the neighborhood.

And yes, there is much to do between now and January 10th. I’m wondering if Max and Spike would wear duck lips for 3 hours. Do you think Ralph and Trixie would let me dye them green and yellow? And will Richard let me paint his body in appropriately colored paint?

I guess only time will tell!

World AIDS Day

Remember the millions who have died: commemorate the millions who are living with AIDS. It's not over, folks.

QUACK!!! QUACK!!! QUACK!!! QUACK!!!

Pretty much sums it all up!

(Photo lifted from ESPN.com.)

Random musings.

This is not a proclamation of fact, but it is possible that I am too old for this crap.

Perhaps it is time I:
A) Found a sweet young thing with a passion for shoveling snow.
B) Bought a snowblower.

I just need to check out which is lower maintenance.

I’m Dreaming of a White Thanksgiving!

Hey, just doing what I can to get Karla in the mood to cheer on UMD as they start their quest for the NCAA Division II championship on Saturday! (It’s kind of Duluthish outside!)

You may be asking yourself, “What is Mac doing home at this time of day on a workday?” Well, there is a long, horrendously funny story about me getting Richard’s car stuck in the driveway this morning. But, I won’t bother you with details.

All those ill-willed anti-TSA comments.

Okay, perhaps I am desperate, but why would I be opposed to some handsome young man fondling my gonads so I can board a plane. I’m thinking it is the first bonus airlines have added in a few decades. No, I don’t get a meal with my flight. Yes, I have to pay for my drinks. But, my god, for the price of an airline ticket, I get groped and fondled and allowed to let my fantasies run free. And this is a bad thing?

Flying is going to be fun again!

Home Ill.

I was home yesterday, sick with an undisclosed illness. It was something like sleeping sickness, but to the best of my knowledge, I haven’t been in contact with a tsetse fly. I did, however, lie in bed for about 21 hours yesterday. But for a few pet-induced spells, those 21 hours were spent sleeping.

I like to think of my pets as beings that will hang with your through the tough points. I like to think of my pets as dogs and cats that love you for who you are and want to nurse you through the hard times. Hell, I would be frickin’ happy that they knew that I am partially responsible for them having food in the bowl every day.

Yesterday crushed my dreams. Ralph beat me with his tail until I submitted and let him out into the rain and mud. Max abandoned me at the first sign of infirmary. Trixie lay on top of me: gentle minds might say she was trying to keep me warm. Sorry, I know she was just trying to crush me and praying to never be groomed again. Spike tickled my face with his whiskers ever 24 minutes to make sure I was still annoyable. I mean alive.

If I am ever sick again, I am going to a hotel: a pet-free hotel.

UMD 45, Minn State-Mankato 21

The game postponed on Saturday was played on Sunday.

Bulldogs are in the playoffs (first round bye)!

Random notes from the Fête du Bon Père.

#1. I’m not admitting that I ate too much, but I did have to be carried to bed on a stretcher. (Thanks, Ralph & Trixie!)

#2. Minn-Duluth’s football game against Minn State-Mankato was postponed due to snow. Wusses! Oregon never postpones its games due to snow. We have a great new invention called the ‘snow-shovel’, and we know how to use it!

#3. It is true. Ice cream isn’t nearly sweet enough without being smothered by a huge ladleful of Johnny Sauce.

#4. I almost made a major faux-pas. I always guard our secret family recipes with the utmost caution and concern. I understand the grave importance of keeping the nitty-gritty details out of the hands of the common masses. I know that if you give ‘John Doe’ the clandestine procedures for preparing macaroni & cheese, the next thing you know there would be a perverted version out there with peas and bacon bits mixed in. Such revolting aberrations are crimes against nature. The bastards responsible should be brought up in front of the tribunal in den Haag (The Hague) and tried for their crimes. The dirty sons-of-…
But I digress.
I was watching The Game when Richard coyly called out from the kitchen, “I’ll turn on the oven for you if you tell me what temp the mac & cheese should be baked at!” I almost blurted out the answer. But for the grace of a moment of senility I would have foolishly given out a family secret. But you have to give it to Richard. He is wily.

#5. Five out of six members of my household prefer a low scoring Duck football game. There seems to be a large demographic of the residents who don’t enjoy earsplitting duck calls or loud screams of “Kill the [expletive deleted] Dawgs. Rip their [expletive deleted]head off and stuff it up their [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted].” Apparently such outbursts make certain members of the household nervous. So, the vast majority of the dwellers of this abode thought yesterday’s game was the most enjoyable of the season. With that said, Richard did admit that at times the silence was worrisome and more than once he sent Ralph in to make sure I hadn’t expired.

I don't know where Trudy found this card.

But I must admit it is pretty poignant.

I’ve decided to spend my birthday in the South of France.

Reality has little bearing on how I fritter away my day. Trust me; retreating in to my personal fantasy world is much more appealing than dragging out the veracity of this cold, sun-less day. Truth be known… No! No! No! We are not going there.

I am in the south of France. Mes pieds sont dans le Mer Méditeranée. It is sunny and warm. There are beautiful people to my left and beautiful people to my right. I look great. I am young and virile. I have a bottle of 1997 Bollinger Blanc de Noirs Vielilles Vignes Francaises champagne chilling beside me. I am sophisticated, suave and debonair.

The balmy sun warms my very soul as I lounge in the gentle breeze. Why look! It’s Ed McMahon coming my way. He has a check in his hand from the Publisher’s Clearinghouse. Under different circumstances, I would find it a bit macabre, getting a check for $1,000,000.00 from a dead person. But today, it’s fine.

And I’ll be hornswaggled, but isn’t that George Clooney sidling up next to me. He looks deep in my eyes and says, “If only you were single, I’d whisk you away with me.” He raises a fist to the gods and shouts , “Damn that Richard, if only I had found you first!”

Mesmerized by his intense gaze, I mutter, “Richard? Who’s Richard?”

As the sun set’s on another beautiful day in the South of France, my limo picks me up from the shores of the Mediterranean and carries me home. Tomorrow may not be as great as today, but I will always have the memories.

The First Snow of the Season.

Today was the day. Saints are dancing in the yard. Two happier critters would be hard to find.

Richard called me this morning to bring the news that it was snowing at home. “Yee Haw”, I screamed! “Oh, I mean, umm… damn, you gonna be okay?” He actually seemed somewhat light hearted in his response, as he told me to go to h-e-double l. (For a brief moment I thought he might break out in song, but don’t worry. I was mistaken.)

So, we all laugh at work and finally 4PM rolls around and I leave to go home. Nothing unusual: until I hit the four-way stop where East Marina Drive hits Highway 35. And then I notice the big snowflakes hitting the windshield. “Hmm, all the way down here”, I think to myself.

I know you are all thinking, “Thank the good beings that Mac is prepared for everything. We are sure he had no problem getting home, because he has lived in Hood River for almost 24 years, and because he has seen snow before Halloween and because he saw the weather forecast calling for snow down to 2,000 feet.

Oh, you loving, loving innocent people. Yes, I knew where my studded tires were (under the deck), and I knew where the bags of sand I put in the back of my pick-up were (beside the driveway). I was driving my deathtrap home with no other recourse.

It didn’t get worse as I climbed the hill out of Hood River proper. The highway was still clear at Pine Grove. But despite the flat between Pine Grove and the Odell cutoff, there was suddenly snow by the side of the road, and slush in the middle. It was still very passable. Got all the way up to Willow Flat and there was no problem: slow going, but no disasters. Then just as I am turning the corner to the former viewpoint (there is no longer a viewpoint: the trees have grown too big), I notice cars littered along the road. And I do mean littered. Three or four of them are in the ditch. Many more are spread eagle across the highway.

I panic. I pull over to the side of the road. I put on my emergency break and start to get out of my pick-up. It starts to slide. I really don’t know what to do, but let it slide into the guard rail. That is why they are there, right?

So, I pull out my chains. Does anyone have any idea how much I hate to put chains on my truck? I would rather have a root canal! But I was ready to do it. Then a snowplow went by. I threw the chains on the passengers seat, I let the traffic get by, then skidded on to the plowed highway.

I am home. I am happy.

And yes, it is about three inches.

So Much to Do.

Just get cleaned up from the All Saints’ Day debauchery and you turn around and it’s time to get ready for the Fête du Bon Père. There’s the macaroni to harvest, Saints to rotate, candy corn to prepare, felines to appease, ice cream to lovingly hand-crank, walls to launder, and the Johnny Sauce to tap from the Johnny Sauce Tree. So much to do; so little time.

And, of course there were those highlighted football games on Saturday.

As I am sure you are all aware, UMD squeaked by Minnesota-Crookston, 55-7. I tell you, it was a nail-biter. GO BULLDOGS! (Am I the only one who was stunned to find out that the University of Minnesota has a campus in Crookston?)

But their canine compadres, the UW Huskies (or Huckin’ Fuskies as they are referred to south of the border) took it in the shorts. It was a little embarrassing. Ducks 53, Dawgs 16. It was kind of like clubbing cute, adorable puppies.

I cheered a lot: the duck call was used often and at full volume.

There were delicate explanations that I needed to give to Ralph and Trixie when all was said and done. Actually, Richard gave the explanations. I just asked for forgiveness on Sunday. I don’t mean to insinuate I drank too much during the onslaught, but, technically speaking, I don’t remember the end of the game.

I think I will have to behave myself just a touch better when Oregon hosts the Arizona Wildcats. Max has a tendency to kill first and ask questions later.

Just do it.

Return of the Quack!

Okay, now I am just showing off. I now know how to attach YouTube flicks to my blog. Damn, I'm only a decade behind real life.

Some of you may remember last year's "I Smell Roses." This is the 2010 version.

My god, we are past roses, we want more. And a special nod to Joey Harrington, the Oregon quarterback in 2001, when the #2 ranked Ducks didn't play for the national championship, because... Oh, jesus, I get worked up just thinking about it.

Go Ducks!

A quick shout out to the Bulldogs!

It's not just the Ducks having a banner year! UMD (Minnesota-Duluth) is ranked #1 in NCAA Division II football for the first time in the school's history.

So I think that would be "Woof, woof, quack, quack."

Mighty Oregon

Hey, look what I just learned how to do!

Preparing for the annual All Saints Day festivities.

You think Halloween is a big deal? Pshaw! You try celebrating All Saints Day in this household.

First, it was decided that we needed to come up with a theme for the celebration. After all, all great parties have a premise, something all the guests can wrap their minds around and make an integral part of the carousing.

“All Saints: 24/7: 365: All the time,” was Trixie’s suggestion. While I fully understand that the phrase does aptly convey the reality of the situation, Richard and I were somewhat concerned about codifying the idea into protocol. Sorry Trix, not on our watch.

Spike suggested, “All Saints: Outside: Whatever the Weather: All Day”. While that is a wonderful idea and there are certainly aspects that Richard and I supported with all our hearts, the reality is not as promising. While Ralph and Trixie do lack opposable thumbs, the do have bodies built something like battering rams. We don’t want part of the post-party clean up to include replacing the back door. Damn, we like it, but it’s not workable. Thanks for the suggestion.

“All Saints: Quiet: Serene: All the Waking and Sleeping Hours”, was Richard’s suggestion. You should have seen Ralph eyes turn mean. If looks could have killed; well, let’s not go there. Dead in the water.

The Max started, “All Saints: Why the Hell Would We Spend a Full Day Celebrating Those Mangy, Flea-Infested Representatives of the Underworld? Why Would We Give Them a Day of Honor? Isn’t it bad Enough That We Have to Live Everyday in Close Quarters with These Odiferous, Foul-Smelling and Ill-Mannered Beasts? You Want Me to Join In a Fête For These Animals? Move On to the Next Contestant: Oh, and If I Hear That Goddamn Duck Call One Time Tomorrow, So Help Me, I Will Rip the Larynx Out of the Bastard Who Is Blowing into It. And If Anyone Picks Me Up and Dances Around the Room with Me While He Desperately Tries to Sing “Mighty Oregon”, So Help Me There Will Be Hell to Pay: All Saints Day, My [Expletive Deleted] [Expletive Deleted]. If Those [Expletive Deleted] Animals Did Anything Around the House Besides Shed Their [Expletive Deleted] Fur, I Might Be Impressed…” Max is still finishing his theme. It isn’t going to pass the muster, I’m sure. But it is possible that the Duck Call segment may pass Five to One if voted on separately.

I think you can begin to see the troubles we were having; little unity, many opposing ideologies.

I suggested something warm and fuzzy like, “All Saints: Peace on Earth: No More War: All Is Calm.” Everyone looked at me like I was a crack pot. Damn, this is a hard audience.

Finally Ralph spoke, “All Saints: Gluttony: Excess: All a Big, Bad Dog Wants.” The choice was unanimous. (I have a big, bad dog costume, don’t worry!)

Guess who is 124 years old today!

Happy Birthday

Update on the roses.

Just wanted to let you all know that we gave Richard’s little rosebush to Mrs. Murphy. I think she was pleased.

Quit your gnashing. This has nothing to do with my love of the Oregon Ducks. Anything Mrs. Murphy might have said or done was of her own free will. I can’t help it if she chants the glory of Oregon.

I smell roses.

I hear your snide comments.

“Oh my god, here comes another rambling commentary about the Ducks.”

“I hope the football season doesn’t last much longer. I’m not sure how much more of this banal drivel I can take.”

And you, second row, third from the left; I heard your rude comment about how you would rather have a root canal than have to listen to me screech my way through ‘Mighty Oregon’ one more time. I’ll remember that one when I’m selecting your holiday present.

Get a grip folks: this has nothing to do with the University of Oregon’s football team. No, this is simply a plant that Richard received after doing a narration at the Columbia Gorge Sinfonietta’s performance this afternoon.

Do you all think I am really that one dimensional?

Calculate This, BCS

Oregon 60, UCLA 13

Yes, I stole that headline from the Oregonian. I’m not even sure I got it exactly as printed. So, I admit to possibly plagiarizing a story from Portland’s daily newspaper.

Now before you all cry about ‘running up the score’, how many of you remember November 8, 1975, when UCLA beat the beloved Ducks 50-17. I do. And yes, that game was in Eugene. Or November 6, 1976 in Los Angeles, when the Bruins beat Oregon 46-0. Shed no tears for the Uclans. The power has shifted north.

And yes, I am basking in the glory of the Ducks winning their first game as the #1 ranked team in the nation. (Ranked #1 by everyone, except the BCS, which can go to hell for all I care! Remind me to rail on mercilessly about the stupidity of the whole BCS crap some day.) Anyhow, I am pretty sure I will spend another week bloated by the top ranking for my heroic Ducks!

And today is the 16th anniversary of ‘The Pick’, the play that changed Oregon football forever. Go Kenny!!!

Yes, I am content.

Just a quote.

Health food may be good for the conscience, but Oreos taste a hell of a lot better.

-- Robert Redford

I couldn't agree more.

Adieu, June

Mayfield won't be the same without you!

Pictures from Weddingpalooza

Okay, I admit that I am not a gifted photographer. Unfortunately, Shannon and John's wedding was sub-par, even for me.

A great picture of something.

I love the composition of this picture. Not one face to be seen.

At least one picture turned out of the bride and groom!

QUACK!!! QUACK!!! QUACK!!!

Research all the arcane and obsolete history books you want; study the Paleolithic Age, the Bronze Age, the Dark Ages, the Renaissance, the Industrial Revolution and even the 1950’s and I promise you will never find the phrases “Oregon Ducks’ football team” and “ranked #1 in the nation” used in the same sentence. Seldom will you even find them in the same paragraph.

But today there is dancing in the streets! According to all the polls:

UO is #1!

Counting the family

Jane's got "1" down pat, and I'm sure Puds is going to make it all the way to "4".

Off to Utah

And Weddingpalooza

It warms my heart.

The Rutgers University football team plans a minute of silence in their game tomorrow against Tulane, in honor of Tyler Clementi.



You go, Rutgers!

Yaba-Daba-Doo

Happy 50th Birthday
Fred & Wilma & Betty & Barney

The most recent AP NCAA Division 1-A football rankings.

#1. Some unimportant team that is just waiting to lose a game.

#2. I forget. Totally insignificant team.

#3. Who cares?

#4 THE OREGON DUCKS!!! QUACK, QUACK, QUACK!!!

#5-25. Yawners.

Tips for looking your best.

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, avoiding the sun… 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. 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 seem 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 a salad with my co-workers. It is simple parameter of fact: comparative youth.

#3. Don’t smoke. This has little to do with the health affects of tobacco, this has more to do with rule #1. Cigarettes give off light. They must be avoided in public spaces.

#4. Exercise is overrated to the point of exhaustion. Think about it for a moment. You exercise, you sweat. Your clothes start to cling to your body. Every roll of fat is accentuated; every wrinkle shines. And that makes you look younger? I don’t think so. Better than exercise is to wear loose, non-descript clothing that covers the vast majority of your body. I’m thinking about getting myself a man-burqa.

#5. Feel free to drink as much as you desire, but remember that the key to successfully looking younger and healthier is to make sure that everyone around you is totally polluted. Folks, I look ravishing after you’ve had about a dozen cocktails, your eyes have crossed and your forehead is resting on the table. That is my finest hour.

The Plight of 93% of Irish Barley.

Only seven percent of the entire Irish barley crop goes to the production of Guinness beer.

Obviously that begs the question: Why do they even bother to produce the other ninety-three percent? I mean seriously, the barley that is rejected by Guinness is destined to an inglorious life. In the words of that old Irish barley folksong:

If I can’t be Guinness, I don’t wanna be!
If I can’t be Guinness, there is no place for me!
If I can’t be Guinness, there is no purpose that I can see!
If I can’t be Guinness, just put me out of my misery!

Fact of the Day

In Phoenix, AZ it is against the law to walk through the lobby of a hotel with spurs on.

Now some of you may understand why I always got in trouble when I visited Arizona.

Quote of the Day.

Man invented language to satisfy his deep need to complain.

~ Lily Tomlin

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

In 1948, 63% of Americans were opposed to racial integration in the armed forces, according to a Gallup poll.

If Truman would have put the desegregation of our armed forces up for a vote, how many of you think the U.S. Army would still have all-black brigades?

Oregon 189, Other Teams 13

It ain’t rocket science, my friends; it is fact. The Ducks are good.

But was anyone else wondering what the weather was like on September 18, 1914, in Long Lake, Washington? Happy 96th, Mom!

Mirrors are evil things.

With thanks to Pearls Before Swine.

Hood River lurches into the future.

When I moved to Hood River, there was one stoplight in the entire county: at the corner of May and 12th Streets. I’ve been told it was a recent addition to the county’s landscape.

But the next thing you know, there is a stop light at 13th and Oak; then at the eastbound and westbound exits #63 off Interstate 84; then at 12th and Brookside; and finally at 12th and Pacific. We were all reeling from all the year-round Christmas lights. With that said, for the entire time I’ve worked at the Hood River Inn, I’ve never had to encounter a stop light between home and work. That all changed today.

A county with one stoplight in 1987 has nine stoplights as of today. They illuminated the stoplights at East Marina Drive and whatever the street is named that intersects with East Marina Drive just south of the bridge to Washington, and the eastbound and westbound exits #64 off Interstate 84. There are now three stoplights between my home and work.

I am not panicked. I do remember stoplights, and know how to react to them. But what is this world coming to?

Greetings from Portland, Oregon

Yes, I am in the big city attending the Ecotourism & Sustainable Tourism Conference. Inspiration and motivation in America's most sustainable city!

Yesterday evening, a freetime from the conference, I spent hoofing around Portland's Historic Gay District. On the upside, Portland has a Historic Gay District. On the downside, it is my old stomping ground. I have a little problem with the term 'historic' being applied to the haunts of my... I can't even call it my 'youth'; more like my 'misspent early 30's'. But I swallowed my pride and toured the sites I used to frequent. 20 years later, and nothing is the same. Including me!

Sigh.

QUACK!!! QUACK!!! QUACK!!!

The football season has begun.

It was a squeaker, but the Ducks beat New Mexico 72-0. Nearly chewed my nails back to the nubbins!

Before you go any further…

Step into the kitchen and make yourself a big, stiff drink! (Okay, some of you may keep your booze elsewhere than the kitchen, so feel free to go to that location.)

There, I’ve done my part to ensure that you live longer. Apparently, there is now a study out there that says that heavy drinkers outlive abstainers.

So mothers, make sure your teenage children have plenty of gin to get them through this three day weekend.

And you’re welcome! I'm happy to do my part to guarantee your longevity!

A bit of family history

The Sunday Oregonian, Portland’s newspaper, had an obituary last Sunday for E. W. Firstenburg. (It’s not like I read the obituaries on regular basis, but in this Oregonian, the obituaries were at the end of the Metro section. And yes, even though I do not live in Metro Portland, I do read the Metro section on a regular basis.)

The name rang a bell. I read the death notice. He had worked at the Ridgefield State Bank starting in 1936, eventually buying it in 1950. Hmm… Ridgefield rings a bell. I finally pulled out the newspaper that reported on Mom & Dad’s wedding. And in the column next to the article headlined “Popular Young Couple Take Marriage Vows” was another article with the caption “Bratlie and Firstenburg Buy Sherwood Bank.” I assumed I had discovered my only reason to recognize the ‘Firstenburg’ name. But when I reread the article on the far side of the front page, titled “Shower at Stevens Home Honors Young Couple”, I realized the Mr. and Mrs. E.W. Firstenburg attended Mom & Dad’s wedding shower.

E.W.’s wife, Mary, died in 2009. They were married for 72 years. One of the last outside links to my parents is gone. And I didn’t even know they were still so close by.

Next time you raise your glass, remember the Firstenburgs.

You’ve all heard the catch phrase.

Forty is the new thirty: fifty is the new forty.

Let me submit to you: fifty-three is the new ninety-seven.

I worked in the back-forty yesterday. I had kind of let it be Saint-Heaven and had ignored its degeneration. But Ralph and Trixie have finally settled, somewhat, so I felt it was time to reclaim the wilderness.

Armed with shovel, rake, hand saw, clippers, gloves, trowel and a determination only negated by my physical strength, I attacked. Lord knows I did a good three hours of hard physical labor, spread out of eight or nine hours.

And today I am paying in spades. Getting out of bed this morning was agony. No, getting out of bed wasn’t agony; that was a thrill ride as I tumbled off the mattress. The agony didn’t start until I hit the floor. I would have crawled to the kitchen, but my arms weren’t capable, so I slithered on my belly.

The only part of my body that doesn’t hurt is a small portion of my forehead (upper left quadrant). The rest of the pain on my face comes from an unfortunate encounter with a mulberry branch.

It’s time to trade Richard in on a young, sweet yard-boy.

One might think…

… that after five years, I would be used to orphandom. Or is that orphanhood. There is so much still to learn.

But no, I still miss Mom and Dad.

I'm not saying the shoe fits

But it is so damn close. ("Pickles": the comic strip... I say this so no one thinks I did the comic myself - just trying to avoid a jail term.)

Diary of a Mad Jurist

I spent the day in jury duty. I am not angry, but the panel is out as to whether I am crazed or not.

I can’t actually say I like jury duty, but I do find it interesting and I learn from the diverseness of the experience.

Today I learned how to get out of serving on a jury. All you need to do is show up five minutes late, drunk off your ass, have a trial date on the next business day for the court and have your defense attorney work at the same firm as the defense attorney working the case to be tried that day. (And no, I didn’t personally get out of duty today, but thanks for asking.)

And, us unbelievable as it may be, in Hood River County, the jury does not have the right to impose the death penalty for serial jay walking. Boy, were we stunned.

It’s my civic duty and I am proud to have served, even if there is a serial jay walker who will live to cross the streets in the middle of the block one more time.

Let the technological wars begin!

I hate to sound like a nimrod, but… well if the shoe fits, wear it.

My cell phone and I had a minor argument last night. It seems the poor little mechanical cousin of satan was nearing a power failure and felt the need to announce its predicament to everyone in the house. With its last, faltering breath it issued an awkward squawk to let us know that a lasting silence was eminent. Okay, it wasn’t its last breath and a lasting silence wasn’t eminent. Every time I started to doze off again, the little scalawag screeched. This went on for a significant period of time before I reached the unfortunate conclusion that I was going to have to do something: something drastic.

Richard is such a pragmatic and logical man. As I came back up from the basement with the sledgehammer in my hands (so many of life’s little annoyances can be resolved with a gentle tap from a sledgehammer), he suggested that I just turn the little feller off, rather than smashing it to smithereens. However, in the dark of the night, that is easier said than done. I carried the little miscreant out into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door for light. Ahh, the light came on. The little bastard screamed the night away in the refrigerator.

Justice is sweet when served cold.

Bon Anniversaire à ma sœur. (Happy Birthday to my sister.)

Karla, your birthday card would be on the way, but the USPS forgot to pick it up from the kitchen table yesterday (and today)!

They are such losers!

Prop 8 overturned.

Life is good.

And before you think it was “liberal, activist judges and lawyers” who nullified the proposition, read the quotes from CBSNews.com.

The judge who rule on the case was described as, “The longtime federal judge was appointed by President Reagan.” Admittedly, judges can change their conservative for liberal stripes (or vice versa), but he wasn’t one of those commie sympathizers nominated by a Democrat.

But the big surprise was the two lawyers who worked for gay rights.

“Former U.S. Solicitor General Theodore Olson delivered the closing argument for opponents of the ban. He told Judge Walker that tradition or fears of harm to heterosexual unions were legally insufficient grounds to discriminate against gay couples.”

“Olson teamed up with David Boies to argue the case, bringing together the two litigators best known for representing George W. Bush and Al Gore in the disputed 2000 election.”

Hmm, could gays and lesbian be the unifying force in this country?

And in keeping with the theme of the blog.

That's all, folks!

Lourdes: the last stop.

I know, most of you are thinking to yourself, “Holy cow, how long can he makes this damn travelogue last? This is worse than that time Cousin Ferdinand and his wife, Magnolia came over and made us look at all 500 of their slides from their vacation to the Great Plains.” Well folk, I’m pretty much thinking the same thing. So in the interest of ending this thing in a timely manner, lets take a quick look at Lourdes.

The sanctuaries, including the grotto where Ste. Bernadette had the apparitions of Our Lady of Lourdes.

Boulevard de la Grotte. True DisneyCatholique!

But in truth, Lourdes is actually a very cute small town, at the foot of the Pyrénées.

And the Pyrénées are drop-dead gorgeous. I would love to have a few days to explore the mountains.

Coincidence? Or a sign from the powers that be?

We had been home one week. Richard got his monthly old-person magazine put out by the Association of Ancient Rinkled People. (They keep sending stuff to Dad at our address, too!) Anyway, it had an article of the 5 best places to retire abroad. And there, in black and white, listed as a totally awesome place to spend your golden years, was the region of Languedoc-Roussillon, France: as in Nîmes, Uzès and Le Grau du Roi.

Well, you think that didn’t raise some interest around the old homestead! We did stop at every realtor in the south of France and look at the pictures in the windows. We did grab 4 or 5 publications listing real estate for sale in the départments of Ardèche, Vaucluse, Gard, Drôme, Hérault, Landes, Pyrénées-Atlantiques and Hautes-Pyrénées, but we did not put a down payment on any property. I am regretting that caution at this moment.

I’ve always said that I was going to buy a villa in the south of France… you never know!

Mer Méditerranée – Le Grau du Roi

Technically speaking, we are still in the south of France, I just felt it was time to mix it up a little.

Le Grau du Roi is an amazing little town on the Mediterranean Sea. It is too far west to be considered part of the French Riviera (Côte d’Azur), but who cares? Both Richard and I fell in love immediately.




The Mediterranean Sea is pretty amazing. I could get used to that lifestyle!

Look! Mes pieds sont dans le Mer Méditerranée!

Le Sud de France – Nîmes.

When you think of Nîmes, you should automatically think of denim. Denim was first made in Nîmes. So Richard and I wore our Levi’s when we traveled there. It was hot; we were foolish. Fortunately, Nîmes is shaded.

It also has the most amazing coliseum, said to be the best preserved of the Roman era, but not the largest. It, like the theatre in Orange, is still in use. They are setting up for a rock concert.

Le Sud de France – Uzès.

I have already mentioned Uzès and how much I liked it. I’ll post just a handful of pictures to show the beauty of the town.

The tower at St. Théodorit:

Rue St. Théodorit, billed as the most picturesque street in Uzès.

The Uzège was the first Duchy of France. I offer no explanation. The Duke and Duchess of Uzège live here. Parts date back to the 11th century.

And the Place aux Herbes, Uzès’ quaint main square.

Le Sud de France – Orange.

Orange is a small city (population about 30,000) about 20km north of Avignon. It has the distinction of being the warmest city in France (average annual temperature). It also has this amazing theatre from Roman times.


So, we came, we saw, we touristoed; at full speed. I’ll explain the rail system to Orange later. (This is a view looking over the rooftops of Orange.)


One truly amazing thing about the theatre; it is still in use.