Black Hills History

Today was the first time I saw Mount Rushmore. Upon seeing it, I was moved almost to tears thinking of what it stands for in this great country. George Washington. Abraham Lincoln. Thomas Jefferson. Teddy Roosevelt? Once again proving the old adage, it's not what you know, it's who you know. Seeing Roosevelt up there makes a person scratch their sunburn scalp. (OUCH!) But when you read and listen to the history of this monument, the reason Teddy is up there is because his buddy, Gutzon Borglum, was the artist who made the monument. By the way, I wasn't really moved to tears. I think man made government is corrupt, and the history of this monument is no different. It was funny to me that in a speech a park spokesman gave on the monument, and on the plaques that are peppered throughout the park, they speak of the controversy that was involved with getting this monument made, but political controversy. They gloss over the fact that this whole area, which was "given" to the Lakota Indians by the U.S. government, was taken back from them once gold was discovered in the Black Hills. How, by the way, do you give something to someone that owned it in the first place. That is like me coming to your house, taking everything in it, and then coming back a few years later and giving you a house full of your own belonging. But I digress, they also gloss over the fact that this area was sacred to the Lakota tribe, and that they did not want to see their mountain turned into the faces of the men that allowed them to be pushed from their land. What a slap in the face. I don't believe in all the "spirits" mumbo-jumbo that the American Indians believe are associated with the Black Hills and surrounding areas, but I am also not one to gloss over the fact that the American Indians got hosed. But it is easy to look at this beautiful countryside and understand why the Europeans that came here coveted this land so much. The wildlife, the deep green of the grassy rolling hills, the mountain-like formations that surround the area. It's a beautiful place. Now, is worth living here? Well, I have run into two separate people from California and asked them both what the winters are like. The first one said that it wasn't that bad. When it snows it usually is warm enough that it will melt off within a few days. She also said it doesn't get terribly cold. She would recommend living here to anyone. The second family that ate dinner next to us, the father of the clan didn't paint such a rosy picture. He said winters here are miserable. Last winter it hit 30 degrees below zero. That's not wind chill, that is actual temperature. He said they could take a glass of water outside, throw the water up in the air, and it would be ice before it hit the ground. Now that is cold! He said the snow may melt after a few days, but then it's usually back in the single digits before too long. Needless to say, this California couple is looking to move to Florida before the next winter hits. I am going to go with what the gentleman had to say about South Dakota winter. So, in summation, Indian's got the shaft, and not a place to be in winter.

Hot Springs Adventures

Well, I have left Stinkin' Lincoln and am writing this blog from Hot Springs, South Dakota. I have never been here before. It is a very beautiful place. Much like Colorado's foothills. Hot Springs itself is not the greatest town I've ever been to. I expected it to be a tourist town which it is, however, it is not in the class of tourist town that Steamboat Springs, Aspen or even Estes Park is. I will say it has a spectacular golf course. The course is even a municipal course. Usually city owned courses are not anything to write home about. But here I am writing home about it. According to Golf Digest, it is the number 1 rated municipal course in the country. I had a pretty good round of golf, especially having never played and adding to the equation, it was hard. But the most exciting thing that happened today was when I was looking for one of my golf balls in the tall grass and I almost stepped on a snake. This happened not once, but twice. The first time the group I was golfing with found it quite funny. One of the guys said they hadn't seen me move that fast in about 7 years. We have had an enjoyable time. Much laughter, and flatulence. Just the way all guy trips should be. Tomorrow we are planning to venture farther north. We will either do some spelunking at Wind Cave National Park, or checkout Mount Rushmore. Plus, we might hit the happening town of Rapid City. Not because we want to, but because we have to. I had a bit of an accident with my cell phone. We found out some people we know are staying in the room below us, so reverting to our younger days, we started jumping and falling on the floor to annoy them. The only thing we succeeded in doing was breaking my cell phone. I had a pocket knife, keys, my wallet and my phone in one pocket and when I fell, the many items all in one pocket proved to be too much for my cell phone. I have been wanting to get a new phone, but the timing is not good. But it is really hard to send and receive text messages when the screen is smashed to bits. Maybe I will just muddle through the rest of the week and do some deep research and get myself a dandy of phone. I will keep you posted. Tune in tomorrow for an update on our Hot Springs adventures.

Let's Play Word Association: Computers... Sledgehammer

No matter where you live, computers are frustrating. Saturday, I was trying to help my buddy gain access to our wireless modem. I looked high and low and I could not find the password for our network. For nearly 2 years the password was on a sticky note that was stuck to our modem. Mysteriously that sticky note disappeared. Most likely I removed it when we got our second laptop, and then failed to put it back in it's proper place. My wife would no doubt say that sounds about right. You see, I have disorganizational tendencies. Anyhow, my buddy and I decided the best course of action would be to make the network an insecure network. I proceeded to turn off the security measures, which by the way, ended up being a total waist of time because he still couldn't access the network and in turn locked myself out of my own network. What I failed to think about was that once I turned off the security I didn't have the password to turn it back on. So, for the next 3 days I had to use my neighbors wireless network to get my email, and play Texas Hold 'em on the Internet. Fortunately, the manufacturer of the wireless modem we use has excellent tech support. It still took 3 lengthy phone conversations with people from India to get everything up and running again. Those folks from India crack me up. If you have never experienced trying to troubleshoot a computer problem with a guy who speaks "English" with a HEAVY Indian accent, you are missing out on an experience of a life time. First off, they tell you their name, and it is never Ajatashatru, or Rajanigandha, it's always David, or Michelle. Second, they never divert from the script that is in front of them. Then if you ask them a question that they don't have a prompt for they say something totally off the wall. Sad to say though, is that most of the people that barely speak enough English to call it English are better at what they do than most American techs. So, I should be happy that all things are up and running the way they are supposed to and I don't have to borrow my neighbors Internet connection anymore. Then again, maybe I have figured out a way to save $50 a month. I wonder if he has cable television?

Traffic Part III

Before I set out on my latest rant, let me say that I am totally and completely guilty of what I am about to talk about. Let it be known, though, that I never did it until I moved to Stinkin' Lincoln. Therefore, I guess I am a convert of sorts. A non-willing cult member of Stinkin' Lincoln. But that doesn't mean I accept it. I fight against the tendency that is a staple of Stinkin' Lincoln driving. Now, on with the rant. Since starting this blog, I am constantly on the lookout for topics to blog about. So, as I was driving to work today, I come up to a red light, shocker I know, and there was one car already stopped at the light. I pull up behind her and notice she is at least a car length and a half from the crosswalk. Immediately I think, Traffic III. So, here we sit, talking about our next Traffic installment. You see, Stinkin' Lincolnites have this aversion to stopping anywhere near the cross walk. It's like they saw that old Mento's commercial and they think if they get too close to the crosswalk, someone is going to open their car door and crawl through their car to get to the other side. The worst is when they act like the crosswalk has the Swine Flu and they don't even get close enough to trip the sensor that tells the light that it has a car waiting for the light to turn green. As a result, we sit there... and sit there... and sit there, usually until someone that is coming from the opposite direction trips the sensor. I don't know why they do it. But it is annoying. It's always funny when I a friend from Omaha is riding with me in Lincoln, and they say, 'Why is that person stopped so far back from the intersection?' I wish I knew my friend. But what's embarrassing is when I am driving is Omaha with a friend from Omaha, and they say to me, 'Why are you stopped so far back from the intersection?' After making a Homer Simpson-like noise, I immediately pull the car up across the cross walk. And of course, some pedestrian wants to cross and gives me the bird because I have pulled up too far. Yep, Stinkin' Lincoln is a curse that I can't shake. Pray for me.

Lincoln Fare

I am in no way, shape or form a wealthy person. However, I do enjoy, when able, the finer things in life. A good meal, a nice bottle of wine, a fun filled vacation and so on. But here in Stinkin' Lincoln, finding a place to enjoy a good meal or a nice bottle of wine are few and far between. It is nothing like Omaha where there is a fine restaurant per capita. In addition, there are classy lounges that you can go and get an adult beverage. Here in Stinkin' Lincoln, these types of places do not survive. There used to be a fantastic steak house here called Stackwoods. It was AMAZING! Stinkin' Lincolnites didn't support it. Yes, the average Stinkin' Lincolnite enjoys Applebee's over a great steak dinner. The "best" restaurant in town is a brewery called Lazlo's. It is a pretty good place, actually. But for it to be the most popular place to eat in Stinkin' Lincoln says a mouth full about the people. What should be the most popular eating establishment is Venue. It's a place that would do well in Omaha. Fantastic fare, great wine list, and good bar. Yet, one can go at anytime, without a reservation, and get a table. Why is it that Stinkin' Lincolnites prefer Applebee's and Lazlo's over a nice restaurant, you ask? Simple. They are cheap. Stinkin' Lincoln could be the diamond capitol of the world if you gave each citizen a lump of coal and had them stick it in... their wallet, since they seem to need a pry bar to get those suckers open. When you see a Stinkin' Lincolnite open their wallet, it's like that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when they open the chamber that the Ark has been stashed in for eons, and the air comes rushing out because it hadn't been opened in so long. Same premise. Stinkin' Lincolnites have two rules when it comes to restaurants they will support: 1) Preferably it will be a chain. Applebee's, Outback, Perkins, Village Inn, and Bennigan's are the places of choice. 2) It better be cheap. Otherwise the server will be only getting a 3% tip. Oh, who am I kidding, they will do that no matter what. Yep, Stinkin' Lincolnites give 'til it hurts. Unfortunately, they have a very low pain tolerance. So, should you find yourself in Lincoln, and are looking for a great place to eat, try Venue at 70th & Pioneers, or Dish at 11th & O. Easily the two best restaurants in town. The second tier of places to eat would be Outback (because my little sister-in-law works there) at 48th & Vine, Lazlo's either at 7th & P or Highway 2 and Old Cheney or Fireworks (Also, owned by Lazlo's) at 85th & Old Cheney. But give the server a heart attack by tipping well. They will either think you are from out of town, or one of Jehovah's Witnesses. Bon appetit!

The Par-tay was Bully!

The par-tay was off the hook, or whatever the kids are saying these days. I don't even really know what that means. Off what hook, and why is that a good thing? If I see something off the hook, that means I have to pick it up and put it back on the hook to avoid my wife picking it up and asking me why it wasn't on the hook. I'm just sayin'. Seriously the party was pretty fun. It was well planned by my wife and her little sister, and I am pretty sure that planning started at least 6 months ago. We had Bo Bo's Bouncy House for the kids, which they enjoyed immensely. That is, until the mechanical bull got going. Those kids dropped Bo Bo like Snoop Dog drops something hot. Again, I don't know what that means. I am so unhip. Sorry, I will stay on point from here on. One of the guys that works for us knows a guy that rents a mechanical bull. We got a super sweet deal on it, but normally it's $1200 for the day. But he had an after prom party tonight so he came up from Omaha set it up at our place for 5 hours and then headed out, and for that we got a DEEP discount. I stand by the old adage, it's not what you know, it's who you know. It's funny the people that end up being good on the bull. There was one kid here, probably about 10 years old, that could not be thrown off that bull. He was like Jello on springs, or maybe a drunk guy in car accident. He just went with the flow. Then, after watching this kid ride the bull at least a dozen times, his dad gets up there. It quickly became apparent where the kid got his elasticity. Like father like son. Then my wife and the little sister decided that cupcakes would be served instead of a cake. That too worked out well. Then we have our dogs. It's interesting how if you bring one or two people into the yard the dogs freak out and want to investigate the situation, but if you bring in, oh, 150 people or so and they couldn't care less. They just laid around for most of the afternoon trying to find a bit of shade or fan to lay next to. Plus they probably got fed 10 cupcakes each, not to mention chips and sandwiches. I would venture to guess that cleaning up the yard landmines tomorrow is not going to be a job for the faint of heart. As I lay here next to one of my dogs, I can hear his stomach gurgling and churning. That can't be good. Then towards the end of the party, many found humor, and others looked on in horror as the dogs decided they were thirsty and went over to the tubs of soda and started lapping up the ice water that was keeping the drinks cold. I personally found it quite humorous. The afternoon ended in a water fight, as most graduation parties do. Today it was inevitable because of the 90 degree heat. The water fight commenced once the bull was off to it's post prom party. Wow, if that bull could talk. Once again, I don't know what that means, but I think it means I hope the owner of the bull disinfects that thing every once in a while. I am not overly familiar with a post prom party, but I would think there would be young and inexperienced people drinking beer and then getting on something that spins them round and round and up and down. Much like my dogs' current stomach condition, that can't be good.

Par-tay

Okay, I have to be quick here. In moments my wife will come bursting in, with coffee in hand and for me none-the-less, to kickoff party day. The little sister has graduated and it's time to throw down... that's not right, is it? Regardless, there is work to be done. My shop must quickly be converted into party central. All the businesses trucks, trailers, and equipment must disappear. Apparently I am a magician today. One quick funny detail before I have to depart. Literally there is one giant raincloud over our house. I looked at the radar and there was this little tiny blob of red over Stinkin' Lincoln and happened to be directly over my house. Well, I hear the coffee coming, talk to you all soon!

Prohibition Lives

In my last blog I ended with the mention of closet drinkers in Stinkin' Lincoln. I have no problem with people that choose not to drink adult beverages. Though, I must say, I find it a challenge to trust people that don't partake of alcohol, at least occasionally, nor do I trust a person who doesn't let the non habitual curse word fly if he stubs his toe on the corner of the dresser or smacks his thumb with a hammer. Still, I don't have a problem, per se, with those that choose to do neither. Some people that don't drink, just plain don't like the taste, or they may not be able to drink for health reasons. But people that don't drink and put on airs about it or make you feel like you are weak for drinking, that just chaps my hide. Even more annoying is when people make a big deal about drinking in public, but when they get home they head for the closet, turn to make sure no one is watching, and head into their fully stocked bar made to look like an innocent walk in closet. Sometimes it feels, or how I imagine it would feel, as though it is Prohibition all over again. There are speak easies in every basement of every home of Stinkin' Lincoln. It's funny that Jesus' first miracle recorded in the Bible was turning water into wine, and yet people tend to avoid that evil drink in public. The irony is that since this is a college town, there is a bar for every student, plus two for each football, basketball, baseball, and volleyball player and from what I understand 3 each for Bo Pelini and Doc Sadler. I will have to dig into Stinkin' Lincoln lore to find out why it is drinking is so taboo. But first, with all this talk of libation, I must partake! Cheers!

It's Miller Time!

(Sorry, but I couldn't resist having a picture of Marisa Miller on my blog. She's pretty.) What a week! Saturday night I couldn't sleep. On top of that, I had a public talk in Wahoo. On one hour of sleep I got up and gave possibly one of the most unintelligible talks I have ever given. Then I came home, slept for a hour and a half, and went to work for 10 hours. Monday, 12 hour work day. Tuesday, I had a talk at our meeting I had to prepare for. Wednesday, 12 hour work day. Thursday, 12 hour work day. Now, I get to sleep for 4 hours and then help get the house ready for my little sister-in-law's graduation party. But after that, IT'S MILLER TIME!!! I am going to enjoy these 2 days off like none other. That is the great thing about working hard, when you get some time off you truly appreciate it. I would hate to be one of those guys that owns a business, but just collects the checks. You really can't enjoy a week off if you don't work that hard the rest of the time. A few months ago I had some surgery on my shoulders, and because of the nature of my work, I could not do any manual labor from September 30th to around March 1st. At first I thought, 'This is gonna be great!' But after I had recovered from the first surgery, I was ready to get back to work. Problem was, there was still another shoulder to get worked on. The next 2 months were like they were in slow motion. I was bored out of my mind. I can see why some guys have a really hard time with retirement. Both of my grandfathers worked in one form or another until they just could not do it anymore for health reasons. My mom's dad volunteered his time in the ministry. Then when he decided he couldn't do that anymore, he tried just going fishing all the time, but eventually he got a job at Younkers selling suits. My dad's dad cleaned after he retired, and was always doing something around the house. I always thought I couldn't wait for retirement. To be able to just hang out at the house and watch the sun tea brew. Spend some quality time with my guitar... er, wife. But, I think I am going to be like my grandfathers before me. Or maybe I could be like my neighbor. He actually has a year long schedule for maintenance on his house. April 15th, rototill garden, April 16th, clean gutters, April 17th, plant garden, etc., etc., etc. Hard work makes the fun times all that more fun. (Especially for my neighbor who always has a coffee cup in his hand, that smells nothing like coffee, and a great deal like booze.) For me, the beer tastes just a little bit better. Funny things are hilarious. Food tastes better. Sunsets are more beautiful. Sleep is more enjoyable. The beer tastes just a little bit better. Yes, I think it is safe to say we were all designed to work hard. If for no other reason than to make the beer taste better, even if I have to drink it in the closet like the rest of the Stinkin' Lincolnites. More on that later.

A Poet I am Not, But I Give It All I Got

Creativity is an incredible thing. I do enjoy writing, always have. But I wouldn't say I am an overly creative writer. Really, I am mediocre at best. I will read other blogs, better yet, actual journalism in newspapers, and I am blown away by some of the creative topics that people come up with to write about and the way they are able to express themselves. Amazing and captivating are two great adjectives to describe these types of writers. Poets are by far some of the most incredible writers. Anybody can sit down and write a story that rhymes. But to make it sound beautiful and to actually tell a story without making the words sound forced. When I try my hand a poetry it usually sounds pretty stupid. Oh, how I do love my cat, mostly because she's not fat, and she can fit in a hat, but now she's dead because she got squished flat. Usually when I am in a pretty creative mood, that is actually not a good thing. Because it probably means I am a little depressed or something like that. But I think that is the case with most people. You look at song writers, and you see that many times some of their best stuff comes out when they are going through some adverse times. Just the other day a guy I know and myself were discussing the new Dave Matthews Band CD that is coming out at the beginning of June. A couple songs have been released on iTunes, and though they have not been the greatest thing Dave has ever written, the songs are certainly better than anything he has put on paper the last 7 years or so. I feel the reason is the band just lost LeRoi Moore, their saxophone player and founding member, to an ATV accident last summer that eventually lead to his death. It's pretty safe to say that Dave and company have got pretty cushy lives going on, and to have the death of a close friend must have torn him inside out. Thus the great lyrics. I feel the worst thing you can do to an artist is give him a bunch of money and make his life too comfortable. What is he going to write about that people will be able to identify with? Make them put all their money in a trust fund that they can't touch until they are 55 years old. Keep the adversity flowing and you keep the lyrics flowing. That's why I choose to be in the middle class. There is enough adversity associated with the middle class to be a middle class writer, but not so much adversity that I putting out Pulitzer Prize stuff. Wow, what would my life be like for me to be able to achieve that? Yikes!

Much Ado About Nothing

I am about to head to work for the night. It's funny how a person will wait, and wait, and wait until the very last second to do something they have no desire to do. We are in the middle of a large project and are a deadline. The more time we spend on this project the less we like to be there. Tonight will mark the halfway point, and the guys and myself are starting to get grumpy. As a result we are all getting there a little later and later. It's not a huge deal if any of us are late. We are working 12 hour nights, so I am not going to get upset if someone is 10 or 15 minutes late. What really stinks is we are locked in all night. About midway through the night, I start wishing I could just step outside and enjoy some fresh air, while one of my employees is smoking next to me. I probably shouldn't let him smoke inside, but man is he grumpy if we don't let him light up a couple times a night. Well, this blog was pretty much about absolutely nothing, and not even remotely funny. I will try harder next time.

Maiden Voyage

I have been slowly but surely working on our basement bathroom for the past 10 months now. Now, you may think, 'TEN MONTHS!!!', but as I told my plumber, if you knew my dad you would realize that I am way ahead of schedule. But that is a blog for another time. It was a pretty big undertaking. We live in an old house built in 1917. Therefore anytime we do anything on the house, especially if you have to get a building permit for the project, it requires a great deal of work. With this project, we had an old nasty bathroom that we had to totally gut and start over. When you do that you start running into building code issues. The plumber had to move pipes under the basement floor to make everything kosher, then some of the existing pipes were only an inch or two under the slab, so the building inspector made us redo it. From what I understand this is Stinkin' Lincoln standard operating procedure. That was basically how the whole project went. But now we are at the point where it's all tiled, the shower is operational minus a shower curtain, and today, we had the toilet installed. Joy of joys, two toilets in our home, one for her and one for me. That is pure luxury my friends. I woke up this afternoon after working all night and my wife said that she left the toilets maiden voyage to me. I have yet to use it, mostly because the door is in the process of getting painted, but I want our first time to be special. I want to have newspaper in hand, and it be one of those moments where you run to meet your toilet while unbuttoning your pants long before entering the bathroom. Pure poetry. I think tomorrow will be our day.

Fun with Your Friends Car

I was exchanging stories with Todd, one of my employees, tonight about teenage pranks. He told of a friend that had a Geo Metro. One night Todd and some other friends had an idea, and knowing Todd I am sure there was, at the very least, alcohol involved. They decided it would be funny to sneak over to their friends house and physically move the Geo Metro. They took it and put it between two trees, with the front bumper touching one tree and the rear bumper touching the other. I can just picture this guy coming out the next morning to find his car pinned between two trees. Todd did not say how the guy got the car out. I assumed he did like Austin Powers when he was trying to turn that golf cart around in the tunnel, inch forward, inch back, inch forward, inch back. I'm smiling just thinking about it.

My story was actually a prank on me. A friend of mine had a cleaning job, I don't recall the name of the place, but it had a Diesel mechanic on duty 24 hours a day. Well, it seems that the mechanic that was on duty at night would usually get pretty board, so he would try to create ways to liven things up. On one particular night, I just stopped by to say 'Hello' to my friend. I couldn't have been inside more than 15 or 20 minutes. When I came out, I hopped in my car, a 1983 Pontiac Grand Prix, started her up, put her in Drive and gave it some gas... nothing. The RPMs went up, but the car would not move. Checked to make sure I was actually in Drive and not Neutral. Everything was okay there. I think to myself, "Oh no! I hope my transmission didn't go out!" So, I hop out and take a look under the car, and what do I see? Funny man mechanic put my car up on blocks! The reason I didn't notice was because he only had the tires about an inch off the ground. I jump up from the ground and the first thing I see is my friend standing at the door with the mechanic laughing their heads off. It's funny how you can look back at things like that and laugh, because at the time I didn't see the humor in it. But now years later, I realize how incredibly brilliant that prank was. It makes me want to go out and pass along this wisdom. But knowing Lincoln, the cops would have me arrested before I even had a chance to get even one wheel off the ground. Kill joys!

MY Spaghetti

One of my absolute favorite meals, is one that I make. My wife is a phenomenal cook and loves doing it, but at least once a month she will give me free reign of the kitchen and I get to make spaghetti. I started making spaghetti when I was in the 6th or 7th grade. I had spent years under the expert tutelage of my grandmother. Pretty much every time I would go over to spend the night with my grandparents, we would make spaghetti, and over the years I learned the basic premise for putting together everything to make a decent sauce. My grandmother was a pretty good cook back then, but she never put enough salt, herbs or spices in her food. So, since that first time I made her sauce on my own, the sauce has underwent an evolution to where it has become MY sauce. (Don't tell my grandma, she would shoot flames out of her eyes and her head would spin if she knew, perhaps followed by vomitting pea soup, but I can't be sure.) I use canned tomatoes that were grown in our garden, basil and oregano, also from our garden, and various herbs and spices that are all part of MY secret recipe. I have never let my grandma taste MY sauce, because... well, if you know her, you know why. But I guess regardless, I have her to thank for teaching me how to cook... but I won't give her the satisfaction. No, I will just thank my wife for letting me mess up her kitchen and turn into Gordon Ramsay. "YOU CALL THIS A SALAD!? THIS WILL NOT BE SERVED WITH MY SPAGHETTI!"

Proof Reading

I have to be very, very careful with this post. I can make myself look like a total bozo if I fail to proof read. My beef is mainly with professional writers though. I am far from a professional anything, especially writer. But it seems as if it is everywhere. You can't reed a column in the sports page, New York Times, or an internet publication without running into the annoying typo, grammatical error, or just plain nonsensical sentence. I have a confession to make. It annoys me so much, that I emailed an editor of the Lincoln Journal Star and asked him who's job it is to proof read stories that are sent out to be printed. I know, I'm a jerk, but I have a therapist now. He, the editor, not my therapist, blamed it on time constraints and deadlines. (Aren't those the same thing?) I can understand that to a certain extent, but it seems to me that in recent years it has become commonplace to be enjoying a well written article and have a sentence that makes no sense whatsoever mess up your reading rhythm. Usually I blame myself first, "Oh, stupid me, I misread the sentence." But no, I go back and read it again, and it still makes no sense. Maybe it's just me, but I would like to think I am not the only one that has noticed this lack of pride journalists seem to take in their writing. But then again, does anybody take pride in anything they do anymore? (Disclaimer: Any mistakes found in this blog are due to time constraints and a lack of sleep.)

Handy Man

That's me! I enjoy fixing things and doing things around the house. Especially things that do not make me curse. It used to be when I was younger, I would blow my top if ever one little thing went wrong. I could not understand why things would not go perfectly. I have come to learn that things never go perfectly, so I keep my cool much better then back then. Though, I will say, if I smack my thumb with a hammer, duck and cover your ears. Being that I do not have kids, I have the luxury of not having to worry if my 3 year old will pick up the occasional vulgarity that might slip out, because my 3 year old is a dog, and he really doesn't say much. But I digress. Back to the theme of this blog. My handiness. I trimmed trees yesterday and today. It was an excuse to break out my chainsaw, which I haven't used since last year's storm that hit Omaha. Quite possibly there may be nothing more manly than a chainsaw. To hear that roar of that throaty two cycle engine and to see that chain slicing through the branch, and to smell the mixture of exhaust and freshly cut green wood, pure adrenalin. Reminds me of "Home Improvement". When I watched it, I never really got some of the jokes, until I bought my own home. The way Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor would soup up his tools so they were a danger to any living thing within 100 yards. I find myself sometimes thinking, I wonder if there is a way I could get another half a horse out of this buffer? But, with a chainsaw, there is no need to soup it up, unless you got a really wimpy one I guess, but who does that? I mean, besides my dad? I have to say though, being handy is a blessing and a curse. It's great when I am fixing something I want to fix or (say with a deep manly voice) clearin' some trees, but it stinks when you get (DUNT-DUNT-DUN) THE LIST. "Here are a few things I would like you to get done in the next week or so." Of course they are always things that would take the average handy man a month to complete. And though I am handy, being the average handy man might be a bit of a stretch. For me, THE LIST usually takes about 2 months to complete. But when it is done, I feel like I am on top of the world. Well, I should probably say, "Ta ta for now!", because I have a date with THE LIST first thing in the morning. Ta ta for now!

Let's Play the Feud!

People are different here in Stinkin' Lincoln. I am not referring to people I know, but people in general. Lincolnites, if you will. They seem to have a chip on their shoulder. Maybe it is an inferiority complex that is ingrained into Lincoln society. They try to compete with Omaha in everything. "Well, if they have a convention center, we need one, too." "Well, if they have the Old Market, we will have the Hay Market." My theory is that it all goes back to 1867. That is the year the town of Lancaster became Lincoln, named after the recently assassinated president, Abe. The story behind that goes a little something like this:

In the Nebraska Territory during the mid-1800's, the majority of the population resided south of the Platte river. Due to this fact, many south of the Platte felt it might be best to become part of the Kansas Territory. To quell this move, Territory government offered to move the capitol to Lancaster. Now, here is the part that I feel has left a bitter taste in the mouths of the people of Lincoln to this day. Of course, Omaha did not want to lose it seat of Territory capitol. Ever the intelligent bunch, Omahans devised a plan to put the kibosh on the capitol being moved. Apparently, folks south of the Platte, were Confederate sympathizers. (I always wondered why there are so few African-Americans here.) Being keenly aware of this, a representative of Omaha said that if the capitol was to move, Lancaster should be re-named after the late-great President Lincoln. Much to Omaha's surprise, Lancaster representatives were the ones to second this motion.

I think the people of Lincoln have resented the fact that Omaha forced them to take on the name of a man that most of them despised. That resentment has been handed down generation to generation without anyone even being aware. Now, keep in mind this is all theory. But, why is it the preponderance of Lincoln feel Omaha is such a terrible place. The feeling is Omaha is filled with crime no matter where you are, it's dirty, and ironically, it's traffic is terrible. When Omaha is growing like a morel mushroom, I hear people in Lincoln saying how much faster Lincoln is growing than Omaha. Quite possibly the most telling thing about Lincoln's aversion to Omaha is how in spite of there being more square miles available in Lancaster county to the north of Lincoln, they continue to encourage growth in the south side of town. For those of my readers that are geography-challenged, that would be in the opposite direction of Omaha.

It's such a shame Lincoln and Omaha cannot learn to like each other. LinOma could be such an awesome place. But like the lion's share of things in this world, politics gets in the way. Imagine LinOma International Airport. Imagine the NFL's LinOma Tornadoes playing at LinOma Stadium. Imagine LinOma beach... oh, I guess that already exists, but imagine a really super cool LinOma beach! The possibilities are endless. But until the hatchet is buried between these to cities, all we will have is the LinOma feud. (Which Omaha will always win!) Can't we all just get along?

Viva Las Vegas!

When we stepped off the plane and made our way to baggage claim, it became very clear to Vanessa and I that we were not in Nebraska anymore. My wife and I have ventured out to several big cities, including New York. Las Vegas makes New York look ho-hum. Vegas is a freak show. The only thing that is missing is a bearded lady... no, a fully tattooed man... no.... It's all there. You got street vendors trying to sell you everything, most of it immoral. People walking around on the street with cocktail in hand. And I don't recall seeing a single police officer. Above all else, the cost to be there is prodigious. (Look that one up!) It may be inexpensive to get there right now. But don't be fooled my fine feathered friend, everything else is double the price it is here in the great state of Nebraska. Fortunately, no pun intended, we met up with some friends of ours on the second day we were there. My wife and I had never felt so out of our element. To have our friends arrive made this crazy place bearable. While I can say with complete confidence that it was an interesting experience, I can't say I will be going back soon... unless of course they have an incredible deal on Expedia.com again!

Leaving For Las Vegas

To paraphrase Bob, of “What About Bob?”, I’m flying! I’m flying! As I am typing this, I am 56,000 feet about the earth. I, of course, flew out of Omaha. Not because the airport is so much superior to Lincoln’s, with me, it’s all about price. The Mrs. and I are head to Las Vegas. In three hours I will feed the slots and bettin’ on red 7! Not, really, but you were worried for a sec there weren’t you. In reality I will be sweating my butt off in the desert sun. It’s supposed to be in the low 100’s while we are in town. They say it’s a dry heat, but it’s still miserable. It’s kind of like saying, I’m not throwing up, I just have the dry heaves. Nobody is ever happy to have the dry heaves. Actually, if you are to that point, you may as well puke and get it over with. I apologize to my weak stomached readers. But it’s true.
We will be taking in a couple shows. I can’t say what, because whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. I will say that everyone keeps their clothes on. Well, I have to go, the stewardess, or flight attendant, or whatever the heck they call themselves these days, is about to take drink orders! Scotch and soda, please!

Confession

If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy, and momma ain't happy. After her perusal of my previous blog, my mother is disappointed in me. The revelation that I was not the perfect youngster proved to be a little too much. I refer to my winging rubber balls at on coming cars. All I can say is that thing they always say about peer pressure is true. The devil made me do it. Bad associations spoil useful habits, and so on. So, since momma ain't happy, I figure it is a good time to confess all of my... well, some of the stupid things I did during my youth. Heck, she's mad already, and she's not really the type to get that much madder. So here we go:

I played hide and seek in a cemetery, and on a golf course in the middle of the night, but I did not vandalize anything. I went in the sewer system and explored the underground world, but I did not sacrifice a goat to the demons. I was part of a band of youngsters that took a fire extinguisher that shot water and sprayed people in their car, usually resulting in a car chase, but I never got into a fight. I drank before I was 21, but I never did drugs. When I was in the second grade I threw a rock at Bud's Place, a neighborhood bar, breaking a light in their parking lot, but it was because there were other kids doing it, and they had terrible aim. I hit it first shot. It was AWESOME!! But I am very ashamed. Also in second grade, I kissed Bree Kennedy in her mom's garage, but there was no heavy petting involved, we were 9 for cry'n' out loud. Okay, I take it back, I got into fights, but they all deserved it. Well, except one time, but it was more of a boxing match. I made a neighbor kid drink mud water, but it was his own stupid fault, I told him it was chocolate milk and he believed me. Oh yeah, and I threw potatoes at a concert I should not have been at, but to my knowledge I didn't hit anyone. At this same concert there was a mosh pit, and some guy slammed into me really hard and then acted like he wanted to fight. Next think I know, one of my friends, who shall remain nameless, but his initials are N.M., comes out of nowhere and puts the guy on his back with a hit that would have made Bo Pelini proud. I always found it best to have friends that were bigger than me, so they could bail me out of such situations. Well, there you have it, some of the lame brain shenanigans I pulled when I was younger. Really for the most part, I was a pretty good kid. But I guess we all did things we are ashamed of. So mom, what's your story?

Traffic Part II

One thing that really gets to me about this place, is traffic. You can not want to get anywhere quickly. If you try, you are just setting yourself up for disappointment. Today for instance, I made arrangements with an employee of mine to help me go to the dump to pick up some compost. As usual he was late. Not just Brandon late, but one hour late. I was pretty sure the dump closed at 4 PM, he said he would be at my place a quarter until 3 PM. 3:48 PM he comes rolling in. Under normal circumstances, it's probably 15 minutes from my house to the dump. I knew I had to do some fancy driving to get there on time. From my house until you reach 'O' street it is just one lane, and for some reason that only the zombies know, going the speed limit is a big no-no here in the capital city. But once I hit those two lanes, it was time for me to shine. I was weaving in and out of traffic, making good time. Then I was cut off by a trucker and got stuck in a zombie-jam. It was like we were moving in slow motion, only the clock was going at it's normal pace. Finally I broke free from the pack, and promptly ran into a 25 mph speed limit zone. Finally the speed limit goes back up to that break neck speed of 35 mph, only to go back to 1 lane. We arrived at the dump at 4:04 PM, and found out they are open until 4:15 PM. Though it is a strange time to close, I didn't argue and was able to get a bountiful truck load of rich black compost. But the point is, to try to get from one place to another quickly in this stinkin' town is futile. The only thing that is accomplished is a persons blood pressure going through the roof from the road rage that accompanies Stinkin' Lincoln driving. It makes me want to go to Nobbies in Omaha and pick up a container of rubber balls. When I was young and stupid, some friends and myself would take rubber bouncing balls and as a car was coming at us from the opposite direction, we would throw the balls at the car as it was passing ours. The ball would bounce back and forth between our car and theirs making a god awful noise. Back then it was just a harmless prank, today, it would be a form of road rage. Well, I guess it would be better than using my car like a battering ram. Hmmm, I wonder if they sell those rubber balls by the pallet?

Shroom Hunting

Friday, my wife and I loaded up the kids (our two English Mastiffs) and headed off to an undisclosed location for 26 hours of roughing it in the woods. It was an absolutely beautiful weekend. The highlight had to be hunting for Morel mushrooms. This was my first time hunting for the highly coveted treat. I, not being a huge mushroom lover, was drawn in by the hunt. There is nothing like tromping through the woods on a perfect spring day, having no idea what-so-ever what you are doing. Our first pass through the wooded area produced nothing but scratches from the thorns, tick bites, and flatulence from the huge breakfast we consumed before the hunt. With heads hanging low we started back to camp. It was then that the third person in our party, you know him as sticky pants Josh from a previous post, came running towards us and said he was spying on another hunting party that found an abundance of the elusive fungi. Apparently, we were going about things all wrong. You have to get down and dirty, become one with the forest. Plus it helps to spy on other people that are finding them, go in and scavenge any they may have overlooked. We took our booty back to camp and prepared them for consumption. As I said, I am not a mushroom lover. However, on this occasion there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to sample something I can not afford to purchase at $20 a pound. I sampled them two ways. 1) Breaded and fried and 2) Cooked in butter. To my surprise, I enjoyed them. They taste nothing like mushrooms. I did enjoy them breaded and fried a little more than the batch cooked in butter. That being said, I would eat them either way again. I hope that this was not the last time I go hunting for mushrooms. It is now in my blood, along with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever from all the damn ticks! Vile creatures!

Don't Burn the Pig

My two cents worth about Swine Flu. Everybody needs to sit back, take a deep breath, and calm down. I am not saying that it's nothing of consequence, because it is. But, it is not nearly as horrible as the media wants us all to believe. I had a doctor's appointment today for something unrelated (sorry, that is all I can say because of HIPAA), and I decided to ask him if Swine Flu was something I should be concerned about. He said, "No more concerned than you should be for Human Flu". He said they are virtually the same thing. He said a little under 4000 people die each year from the Human Flu, and we are no where near that so far. I am starting to believe that the media should be held accountable for their actions. I believe very strongly that the recession got much worse than it would have because the media kept saying that a recession was imminent. Jerks. Also, my favorite quote that has come out of this media hype was when a reporter asked Paris Hilton if she was concerned about getting Swine Flu. Her answer, "No, I'm not concerned. I don't eat pork." I was just impressed that she new that pork was swine and swine was pork. She ain't no dummy!