Night Shift Sucks!!!

I am exhausted. Being a night worker for most of my life, when I do have to get up early, I find it a strange feeling to be tired before the crack of dawn. But I like it. I love being able to go to bed early and, subsequently, being able to get up early. I used to LOVE to stay up late and sleep the day away when I was younger. Even after getting married, I like to stay up late. There was a short stint where I tried to get up early and go to bed as soon as I got home. The problem with that was, I would rush through my jobs because I was so tired, and my workmanship started to slide. I made the adjustment of making sure I got both my 8 hours of sleep and slept as late as the next days activities dictated. But now, here I am, almost 37 years old. I am not old yet, but I am not really young either. Therefore, I have gone from loving these late nights, to wishing I could lead a more normal life. I think I would still stay up late from time to time, but there is a lot to be said for seeing as much sunlight as you can in a day. As it is now, I sometimes feel like a vampire, without the casket and blood sucking of course. This is especially the case in the winter months. Work all night until 3 AM, get something to eat, watch a little TV, write a blog, go to bed at 5 AM, get up at 1 PM and you get 3 maybe 4 hours of sunlight. No wonder I feel like driving my car off a bridge into the Missouri River in the winters.

It's not just the sunlight that I miss while sleeping the day away. There is also breakfast. When you get up in the afternoon, the only place you are getting any sort of breakfast is IHOP (aka ICRAWL), or McBrandon's. As a result, I partake in a breakfast feast anytime I can. I love breakfast. Pancakes, French Toast, eggs, bacon, waffles and toast. Not all at one sitting, mind you, but those are a few of my favorite things.

Now, all this being said, I will never be a morning person. I won't be one of those bubbly obnoxious people that come in and get in your face and yell, "GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!!". Those people should all be hearded into a cattle truck and driven to ________________ and _______________! (Please post in the comments what you think should be in the blanks, I'm too tired to be witty.)

Well, for some reason I find myself craving French Toast. Ithink it's time for some midnight breakfast. Cheers!

Man's Best Friend

Dogs are cool. The amazing thing about that statement is that I grew up a cat person. I always wanted a dog, but the folks are cat people and on top of that, they always said dogs were too messy. Which is true. They can destroy your house, if you let them. They can leave doggy landmines everywhere in the backyard, if you let them. They can be annoying, if you let them. My wife was always a dog person. While we were dating, her brother had a Dalmatian named Pepper (original, huh). Pepper is the reason I started to like dogs. Pepper, was not perfect behaviorally, but they didn't let him get away with anything he pleased. On top of that, he was cool none the less. He could say "I love you", as long as he was getting a treat afterwards, of course. He loved to go on walks in the country. He would run into a corn field and you would see the birds scatter, and then he would come out with some species of dead animal, which we would have to try to wrestle away, otherwise soon Pepper would be rolling on that dead animal. Looking back on that, it brings a smile to my face, but at the time, not so funny.

In 2001 we got our first dog. She is an English Mastiff that we named Lucy. Her full name on her AKC card is Lucy Annabelle Josephine Hudson of Caledonia. The Hudson of Caledonia part is the name of the breeder, we aren't that pretentious. Lucy was the cutest puppy in the world, or so we thought. Owning a puppy is much like being a parent. No matter how ugly your kid is, you think your little darling should be in a Baby Gap catalog. Lucy is bowlegged, she has back problems, her head is too small for her body and her teeth look like they need braces. But she is our little darling girl. However, a couple of years ago, we decided to get another English Mastiff. It was a fairly easy decision since the breeders we bought Lucy from had a 10 month old male they needed to find a good home for and were willing to give it away for free. Enter Howard Milton Elvis Hudson of Caledonia, or Howie for short. Howard is the quintessential English Mastiff. We read several books on English Mastiffs before we got Lucy and they said that Mastiffs do not bark much. Lucy barks at everything from a leaf blowing by to a blue haired lady in neon clothes from the 70's and blue blockers. This was just one Mastiff myth that Lucy dispelled. When Howie came on the scene, however, he was everything the books said a Mastiff would be. Howie just wants to be loved. He wants to be everybody's friend. That is unless you mess with anyone or anything in our household, from the cat to his "momma". Which at that point you get the privilege of hearing a bark so loud that it makes the fillings in your teeth vibrate. Mastiffs don't usually bite, but they will stand on top of you and not let you move until the owner says it's okay. So in closing, my word of advice is, if you meet someone with a Mastiff, you probably should become fast friends with their owner. But don't dare try and fake it, the Mastiff, much like myself, can see through your facade of crap. Nice doggy!

Man Skills

I am not a man without man skills. However, I am sure that compared to my dad when he was at my age and thinking of my grandfather while I was growing up and my man skills do not compare. I think back to my grandfather working on his cars, changing the points or putting in a new alternator in an afternoon, building a storage rack for all his junk and getting out the old wood chipper to make some mulch. Looking back on my father, he built a huge addition on his house, and a couple smaller ones, not necessarily finishing them all, but getting pretty far into them. Plus he worked on his own cars. In fact, to have a mechanic work on your car was disgraceful. Plus, having run his own business he was constantly doing man stuff to his machinery.

I will say it again, I am not without skills. It's just that I don't have the level of skill that my dad had at 36. Probably around the time my dad was 36 I remember waking up one day to my dad tearing out the wall in my closet so he could make the door wider. He did it totally unannounced. In fact, I think he just decided that day he was going to do it. I could do that, but it would take weeks of planning and research. Nope, not dad. The funny thing is, dad has never been one to go out and buy nice tools. He would rather figure out a way to do it with hand tools. But, I do thank him for that. Because usually his trying to do things that way would end with dad being so frustrated he would cuss out that damn 2x4 for not coming out of the wall. After all, he was using a hand saw, hammer, and chisel to get that pesky thing unattached from the wall where it had been happily living nailed in with eight 18 penny nails for the past 40 odd years. Darn that 2x4 to h-e-double toothpicks! Watching him get that frustrated for all those years made me realize that even if I purchase a tool that I will only use once or twice a year, if it saves me that aggravation, it is a tool worth having. But, as my father said in jest years ago, but still has a ring of truth to it, I have a lot of nice tools, too bad I don't know how to use any of them.

Then there are my vehicles. Both grandpa and dad always did their own work on their cars. Today, I don't even change my own oil. I know how, it's just that to me, I feel like the hour it would take me is worth the $24 it costs me to have someone else do it. Plus grandpa and dad always dumped their used oil in the back alley or in a vacant field. Today, that is a giant no-no. We have to take the time to take it some place for them to recycle it. I figure if I have to drive someplace to get rid of the oil, I may as well drive to Jiffy Lube and have them take the used oil out of my truck and put new in while they are at it.

As far as doing other things on my vehicles, they really don't make cars the way they used to. They are so complicated that you almost have to have a mechanic look at old Bessy if she starts having trouble.

So, I guess what it boils down to is that times have changed. We don't really have as much time as we used to. As a result most men my age don't have near the man skills that their dad had and that's bad and sad. Maybe it's just a fad. I doubt it and that makes me mad, but just a tad. But, I am glad that I took time to put pen to pad. Please, stop this lad.

Sorry, sometimes you just gotta rhyme! Anyhow, it sure would be nice to go back to simpler times. Maybe when the bottom drops out of the economy, because of the like of Home Depot, we will all have more time on our hands.

Blog Medley

Today is a new day. Therefore I am over my wonderful experience that I had last night at the big box stores. The conclusion of the story goes a little somethin' like dis: Rather than wasting my time driving to the stores, I let my fingers do the walking. I first called Menards, because you save big money at Menards, and just as I thought the guy I dealt with last night didn't pass on the message. I get the Pro Desk, the real thing this time, and the gentleman I was talking to was able to quote me a price right there and then. Strange. Next was Home Depot, the lady took my name and number and was going to call me back with the prices. Never got a return phone call. Guess who I am going with?

Now on to something different. If you have been reading my blog with any sort of regularity, you may have read about the garden I planted in the spring. Regardless, here is my garden update. The strawberries we planted last year went insane. We must have picked a couple gallons of strawberries. Then there was the dog's share. Lucy will eat anything. Apparently, her two favorites are strawberries and tomatoes. It must amaze her that there is just food every time she goes there. Well, that is until the first freeze. Then for two months she is confused as to why there are no more tomatoes out there. But, she usually finds a frozen green one she can suck on.

Next we have our squash and cucumbers. Usually we plant more squash than we need because we always have two of the three plants die. Last year, none of the squash plants survived so I planted four this season. As luck would have it, (It's just an expression, calm down!) not a single squash plant died. So, if you want any squash, come on down to Stinkin' Lincoln. The cucumbers have done equally well. That means pickles galore. (Kind of sounds like a character in a James Bond flick.)

Then we have our tomatoes. Last year, we were the envy of the entire neighborhood. The plants were lush, and huge, so much so that I wish I would have taken a picture. As it turns out, it was a case of a blind squirrel finding a nut rather than me knowing what I was doing. This year, we have all but struck out. We planted four plants. One died, one has some sort of disease, and the other two are producing tomatoes, but they are the worst plants I have ever had that survive. Very few leaves, so the tomatoes are getting scorched by the sun.

Well, this was by far one of the most boring blogs I have written. Tomorrow, I will do better. Unless of course I find something else to gripe about. But, it's the weekend, what could possibly go wrong? (Put that on my tombstone.)

Circling the Drain.

This post is not for the faint of heart. Put the women and children to bed and take off your rose colored glasses, because we are going to talk about reality and not some made up wonderful thing that doesn't exist. Let's just call a spade a spade and let it all out for just a moment. We are going to talk about big business. Corporate monstrosities that all have this system of things circling the drain. I have one corporation in mind, but why just pick on them. Because no matter which angle you look at any corporation they are all alike. I am in no way speaking of those of us that have a nice small manageable business that only works in our little part of the state. I am talking about those greedy slime balls that want 100% of the market share in their particular niche. I am even talking about the greedy people that own property all over the country and rent it out without ever doing a single thing to keep up that property, and apparently not doing a background check on the low-life's that are renting out said property. In fact, let's start with that, SLUMLORDS. Our neighborhood is peppered with rentals. There is the six-plex in the house that is only 2000 square feet to the south of us where we see the millionaire owner about once every two years. There is also the duplex to the northwest of us where the owners live in Dallas, Texas that I haven't seen since they purchased the house three years ago (I found their phone number in the public records website, HEHE). I love how these slumlords just let the weeds go crazy, let the animals destroy everything inside and out, and find these people that smoke pot as much as a DMB fan sitting up on the lawn or at the very least deal it. Let's destroy quaint neighborhoods from arms length as long as I make my money and those people don't live next to me.

Next we have BIG BUSINESS. Tonight, I went to both Menards and Home Depot to try and order some siding for my garage and more importantly if I can get it by the middle of next week. (For those of you that know me and my garage, yes, it's finally happening. It's amazing what a letter from the city will do to get you motivated.) I had actually priced the siding at both locations a little over a year ago. I went to Menards first because "you save big money at Menards"! I go up to the "Pro" Desk and this kid with a peach fuzz mustache asks me if he can help me. Immediately I think, "Oh, GREAT!". So, I reluctantly tell him what I need and when can I get it, and he started to fumble around with the computer and he said, "I don't know what kind of siding that is." I pointed to the wall behind him and said, "I think it's that stuff there on the display wall that's labeled B4." He says, "Oh, right!". He fumbles with the computer some more and says, I can't seem to find it, hang on. He goes over to this other guy, who actually looked a little more competent (it was a mirage), and told him what I was looking for. Without even looking at the computer he says, "I don't think we carry that", and just stares at me for a second. I say, "Well, they priced it for me about a year ago and they carried it then, would you mind checking the computer for me?" He reluctantly goes to the computer and looks at it for, oh, I would have to say a second and a half and says, "Nope we don't carry it." I said, "Well, last year when they priced it for me they had to call the supplier to get a price, because it's a special order item." He stares at me again and says, "Yeah." "Well, could you see if there is someone you can call to get it ordered?" Menards guy says, "They are probably closed right now." Another stare. I say, "I don't suppose you could take my name and number and find out for me tomorrow and call me with the info?" "Oh yeah, I guess I could." I am sure I won't get the call, but, at least he has now been trained on how to handle this type of a situation.

Now, to Home Depot. I walk in and they too have the siding I need on display. I ask the kid text messaging his girlfriend behind the "Pro" Desk how much it would be and how long will it take to get here. He grits his teeth and shakes his head while turning a deep shade of red (didn't mean to stress the poor guy out with a complicated question) and says, (The things in parenthesis are the things I wanted to say.) "Well, I don't work at the Pro Desk, (Then why are you here?) but I think it usually takes anywhere between a week to two weeks to get special order items in. (Well, which is it, could you find out for me?) Maybe you could come back tomorrow between 8 AM and 5 PM. (But I am here now.) There will be someone that can help you then. (You mean to tell me that there isn't a single person in the store that knows how to do a special order?)" Realizing that I have once again been had by the big box store, I just said, "Oh, okay, thanks."

What I had to deal with is a symptom of the disease that is BIG BUSINESS. Instead of hiring enough competent help, or training people how to do things, they get the kid that just wants to sit there and get paid $6.50 per hour for it. It's all in the name of the all mighty dollar. As long as the corporate fat cats are getting their $1.5 million annual BONUS and making the stockholders money, who cares about the customers, who cares about the mom and pop stores that could be doing a better job that they put under, who cares about offering a quality product, who cares about the people they do business with. It's because of that attitude that the economy is in the shape it is in. Big business is going down and it's going to take the whole system with it.

I for one couldn't be happier.

Tis the Season... Almost.

There I was sitting in the finest steakhouse this side of the Mississippi waiting at the bar to be seated. When I notice a football game on the bar television. (The TV was also dating back to the 1960's.) I look a little closer at the game and it's a Texas vs. Texas Tech game. It being July, I knew it was a replay of an old game, but I couldn't take my eyes off that game. Yep, it's getting to be that time again. Football season!!! Those months between August and February are some of the most cherished months of each year for men and the most despised by many wives. My wife has learned what football season is for me. A time to watch football, but only on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are like the sabbath when it comes to football. Except during bowl season, of course. I say my wife had to "learn" this because she comes from a family where they would rather read a book than "waste time watching an entire" football game. Dorks. That's okay. I would rather watch a football game than read some book on some stupid subject I will never need to know anything about. Don't get me wrong, books are great. I love them. But, I am selective about what I read. If it's not about something I have to learn about, like scuba diving, or who I should take in the 7th round of the my fantasy football draft, I would rather spend my time doing something else. Sorry, my attention deficit disorder seems to be taking over again. Back to football. My wife has adapted well to being a football lovers... lover. If I go to a Husker game or go watch it at a friend's house, she either watches the end, or listens to the game on the radio to see what kind of a mood I am going to be in when I get home. If the Huskers lost, she knows it might be best to ask me to take care of some miscellaneous chore the following day instead of the moment I get home after a loss. She even has taken time to learn about the game a little bit so she can pretend she cares when I talk to her about a certain play. I am happy to say she no longer asks me what inning the game is in and she knows the team in red is the one to cheer for.

In just a few short weeks we will be deep into preseason football on every level. Then, a couple weeks after that, the real thing kicks off. (Pun intended!) I can't wait to see what Bo Pelini puts on the field this year. Will his new quarterback be able to fill the shoes of Joe Ganz? Will Big Suh show the country he is the real deal and dominate like he did last year? What players that we haven't heard of will come out of nowhere to stamp their name on Nebraska Football forever? Then there is the NFL! Being a Denver Broncos fan, I am anxious to see what the new coach will do. Will he look like a goat or a king trading away his star quarterback? Will the defense finally start looking better? Then there is my fantasy football team! Oh boy! How I do love fantasy football. Yep, football is part of me. Every year after the Super Bowl, it's hard to know what to do with yourself after that Super Bowl MVP tells you he's going to Disney Land. Answer me this: Why is it every other sport seems to go on all year, and football only takes up half the year. Seriously! Baseball, April to October. Basketball, October to June. Hockey, October to June, eh. With football having the shortest season, I am going to savor every moment. The only downside to football is, you get done with the season and you finally notice winter is here. Yuck!

Milwaukee's Best

First off, to all of my fans, I am so sorry for not being around for the last several days. My wife and I went to Beer USA, also known as Milwaukee, Wisconsin. It was a pretty cool town. Much cooler than I thought it would be, to tell you the truth. Sorry to my readers who may have kin-folk from there. Although, why didn't you share this gem of the Midwest with me earlier. If you haven't been there, let me try to draw you a picture of it. Beer, especially German beer, brauts, and fried fish are a way of life. Normally, I am a gin and tonic kinda guy. But, when in Rome.... So, I got my fill of Hefe-Weissen and Miller's. One of the highlights to the trip was going to a steakhouse that has been around since the 60's. It's called 5 o'clock Steakhouse. I am not really sure why, because we had reservations for 4:30, so dinner doesn't start at 5 o'clock. Anyhow, it was amazing! I saw it reviewed by Rachael Ray. She listed it as one of the 10 best steakhouses in the country. I don't have enough information to call it one of the 10 best, however, I will say it was the best steak I have ever had in my life. If I had the means, I would fly back once a year just to get that steak. Plus, I wouldn't waste my time with side dishes. I would just get the biggest steak I could down in one sitting. Maybe a little salad, because that was pretty good, too. But, no bread, although, that was also amazing. Hot sour dough with butter and honey. Holy cow, I just had to wipe the drool from my mouth. I may just have to get a second mortgage on the house to support my new char-grilled steak habit. Thanks a lot Rachael Ray! (On a side note, how does that chick not weigh 350 pounds? Have you seen her eat?)

Traffic V: Traffic Lights

It's been far too long since my last installment of Stinkin' Lincoln Traffic. Today we will be discussing traffic signals. Without looking back at my previous Traffic blogs, I am sure I have mentioned the fact that the people down at the department of roads here in Lincoln apparently have misplaced the instructions on how to program their traffic signals. Beyond the fact that when you are driving down a given street, most likely, you will hit every stop light red, there are a couple other features of a traffic signal that most normal cities utilize, that are considered frivolous in Stinkin' Lincoln. One feature in particular that I wish they would activate, is setting the traffic signals to flash red, yellow, or green after everybody goes to bed. There is nothing more annoying when I am driving around at night doing my work, and I have to sit and wait for a light to turn green when there isn't another car for miles. That is except for the Stinkin' Lincoln policeman sitting in the parking lot just waiting for someone to "blow the light". What's always kind of "funny" is when you are sitting there for 5 minutes waiting for that stupid light to turn green, and you finally see another car approaching that has the green light. Then when the car is a block away, the light will finally turn green for me and the poor sap has to wait for his light to turn green.

Another feature that used to annoy the snot out of me, but now I am kind of used to it (part of my coping skills), is the lack of turn arrows. They have a left turn lane, though they are almost all too short, and they have a left turn arrow at most of the intersections with turn lanes, but rather than using this feature, the city chooses to only use those left turn arrows between the hours of 5-6 PM. The rest of the day, those turn lanes will be 8 cars deep and the only people to get through the light are the first two people in line that turn when the light is going from yellow to red. The best though, is when you are behind someone that is the next person in line and when the light turns yellow, they just sit there. I kid you not, one time I sat behind a person that sat through 3 cycles of that light before they turned. That person is either a saint, or a retard, and take a guess as to which way I am leaning on that one. (I apologize to all of my retarded readers. I am not saying you are all retarded, I am saying, for those of you that are, I apologize for using that term.)

So, there you have it, more reasons why I am now on a blood pressure medication. More reasons why I hate this place.

I Gots Skillz!

Monday night was round two of SCUBA training. In preparation for the class, I was to read another chapter from the manual I was supplied. It pains me to say but, all my teachers, guidance counselors, principals, and others that were in charge throughout my crappy Omaha Public Schools education, were right. You really do set the stage for your study habits and learning skills during those first 13 years of school (almost 14, always the underachiever). Yes, much like when I was in school, I waited until the last minute to do my reading, and didn't get it all done, and just had to skim over the last dozen or so pages to find the important stuff. Yes, and also much like when I was in skool, I muddled my way through when I had to. I only missed one question on the test and I was good to go back in the water again.

Once in the water, things seemed much easier and more natural this time around. We went through a few training exercises, most of which were pretty easy. What I am starting to notice is, they train you on one aspect of safety, such as how to share air with your buddy should you run out, and then start adding on to it. This time, instead of just pretending we were out of air, the instructor went and turned off my tank. I then signaled my buddy I was out, and we were to "ascend to the surface". Being that we were in a pool only 8 feet deep, we swam the length of the pool to simulate the ascent and then we were to just swim back to the deep end to get into another exercise. When we got back to the deep end, we were to stop sharing the air and I would use my own regulator. I grabbed my regulator, and broke off from my buddy's spare regulator. Now, when you put a regulator in your mouth that has been dangling in the water for a while, it's full of water, so you have to blow out the water before you can take your first breath. So, I went to exhale the water out of the regulator but I had made a mistake. When I broke away from my buddy's regulator, I had just exhaled. It's a little difficult to try to blow the water out of your regulator with no air in your lungs. I pushed every ounce of air out of lungs to try to get the water out of the regulator and then breathed in... water. Fortunately, we were in only 8 feet of water, so I just pushed off the bottom and launched myself to the surface, coughed the water out and everything was fine. But I think the instructor thought he was going to have a panicked student on his hands. He came up and immediately was trying to calm me down, when I think he was the one that was freaked out. I could see him thinking, "Did I remember to have him sign that waiver that releases me from all liability?" But I was fine, my parents had a pool when I lived at home, so I knew what to do when I accidentally sucked in some water. But, he did remind me what I could have done differently. You see, there is a purge button on the regulator that will open up the valve and release air. I could have just pushed that button instead of trying to blow the water out of the regulator with no air in my lungs. In fact, I think from now on, I am just going to push that button instead of trying to blow it out manually. It's just safer that way.

Other than that little incident, everything went pretty smoothly. We even had a little time at the end of class to goof around and practice some of learned skills. That's right, I gots skillz!

SCUBA: Round 1

My first SCUBA class was Saturday evening. The pool we went to was at some rich guys house out by the Elkhorn river, west of Omaha. After taking a test on the first two chapters in our SCUBA training book, it was time to get in the water. Before we were allowed to don the gear, we had to take a swimming test. It sounds just like what it was, basically prove we could swim. Four laps in the pool, and tread water for 5 minutes. It had been a while since I had been swimming, and even longer since I had tested myself to see how long I could tread water. Back in my thinner and trimmer days, I beat a friend of mine in a water treading contest. I had to beat 15 minutes and I did. But I was a little nervous and wondering if I still had it. One thing I forgot, fat floats. So, I got through the treading water part of the test with flying colors. Sad, but true. Finally, it was time to get strapped into our gear and see what this breathing underwater thing is all about. The instructor, Skippy (yes, Skippy, and very aptly named), who is a computer programmer by day, and SCUBA instructor by night, showed us how to get the tank set up properly. Next, we got into our SCUBA outfit and it was time. He told us to put the air breathing thingy (regulator, or second stage to be technical) in our mouth and take a breath. Next, he told us to put our face in the water and take a nice slow deep breath. So, I did, and came up choking on the water I pulled into my lungs. Skippy said, "Put the regulator in your mouth first, dummy!". I told him he needed to be more specific next time. (That part was made up.) So this time, I put my face in the water, and took and a nice deep breath out of my regulator, and then exhaled. It's a very strange experience. Here you are, underwater, and breathing out of a regulator, and it feels the same as breathing the way God intended. Then, for the following 2 hours, we went through our training. There were two things that freaked me out a little. The worst thing was when I had to take off my mask, and then breath through the regulator for one minute, then put my mask back on, and clear the water out of it. I am one of those people that almost HAVE to plug there nose when they go underwater. Which, I was allowed to do this, but it still is kind of a weird experience. It's almost like that mask is your own little dry room, separate from the underwater world you are actually in. A safe-haven, if you will. To remove it is like removing your last vestige of familiarity. However, I survived. The other thing I didn't enjoy, however, it was more because we were simulating my buddy running out of air, and I had to give her my spare regulator so she wouldn't die. So, she gives me the signal that she is out of air, I reach for my spare regulator and the hose was caught on something, so I took the regulator out of my mouth and handed it to my buddy and I had just enough hose to get it to my mouth. My instructor then used some hand gestures that I am unfamiliar with, but I think he was trying to say I was an idiot. Because I am never supposed to take my regulator out and give it to someone else in an emergency situation. Because then, even if it is just a second or two, you have two divers without any air. But, when we got to the surface, we explained to him what had happened and he said that was actually some pretty quick thinking on my part. You're darn tootin'! But, I felt bad that I had almost killed my best friends wife. I wonder if we would still been friends had she died? Anyhow, later she said her regulator was in her hand the whole time, so if she needed air, it was right there. So, then I didn't feel so bad. But that still hasn't taken away the sting of those gestures from the instructor.

So, tomorrow is lesson #2. I will probably give you an update in 24-48 hours. Until then, keep your regulator in your mouth and take slow, deep breaths.

ZOOM ZOOM Ain't Got Nothin' On This!

I am a car guy. Always have been, always will be. That is unless cars are all done away with and we go back to riding horses. But until then, I will admire the wonderful invention that is the automobile. I am especially enamored with classic muscle cars. Give me a GTO, 442, or Camaro any day over the over engineered buggies we ride around in today. Those cars were 4 tires on a hunk of steel, with a seat, a steering wheel and a 350 horse power engine. But, if I could choose any car, I would have to go with a Corvette. As far as a year, I am not too picky. I would take anything between the years of 1968 and 1972 and if someone gave me one, I would take a '73. I would want it to be red (for Husker game days, of course), and I go back and forth on whether I would want a convertible or if t-tops would suffice. Oh, and without a doubt, it would have to be a manual transmission, because I want to do my part for the economy by laying rubber from here to Omaha and as a result have to purchase new tires every couple of months. As for an engine, well, I am sure I will get strung up by my thumbs by all the "Go Green!" people, but I would want a gas guzzling 454 Big Block. Yep, I would be able to pass everything except a gas station. The reason I lean towards a 'Vette is one simple reason: They are FAST! You see, the boys at GM figured out a way to get an already powerful vehicle to be even faster. They got rid of the heavy steel body and planted a fiberglass body in it's place. This knocks off 300 pounds compared to a GTO. Most likely then, you could race a GTO with a linebacker in your trunk (for traction) and still win.

Hopefully this has given you some gift ideas. My anniversary is coming up in September, and I know my wife would love a Corvette for our anniversary. If that doesn't work for you, my birthday is September 29th. Personally, I don't celebrate birthdays, but that shouldn't get in the way of your observance of the pagan ritual. If that doesn't work for you, there is always Christmas or Hanukkah. Once again, I don't participate in either pagan ritual, but if you want to do it, I don't judge you. If that is what you want to do, I can't stop you.

He Sank Like a Stone!

I have decided to learn how to SCUBA dive. I have a couple friends that have gotten their certification for diving, and it sounds like a lot of fun. I have to say though, I think it would be an expensive hobby. First of all, you have to get to some place where there is water worth diving in. I don't want to dive in some gravel pit, or mud bottom lake, so that will mean a trip to the ocean. That is expense number one. Before I can do that, I have to get certified to dive. I got a pretty good deal and it's still a heap of money. Before I can take my certification class, I have to buy SCUBA gear. Mask, $35. Snorkel, $10. Dive boots, $25. Fins, priceless. Just kidding, they are actually anywhere from $50 all the way up to $200. Guess which pair I decided on. The funny thing is, I put on the $50 pair, and I was so excited they didn't hurt my feet like those $5 ones that were at the pool the last time I went swimming. You know the kind I'm talking about. There is no left or right foot, they are just straight, and your foot has to conform to them rather than the fin conforming to your foot. My point is, as long as they aren't like those fins, I don't know what I am missing with the more expensive pair anyhow. So as you can see, it's a lot of money for something you are only going to get to do once maybe twice a year. Fortunately, there is a guy I know that lives in Grand Cayman. So, all I have to do is go to the island, and I am set. Just don't tell him, because I really don't know him that well, so I will have to do it while he is up here on the main land.

I start my classes this weekend. So, should I drown, who is willing to carry on my blogging torch? If you are willing, I will bequeath all my advertising revenue to you. That's right, and no need to thank me.

Brandon Goes to Menards

Well, I am in a writing mood, so I will go ahead and post my experience from my trip to Menards. My day started out a little rough, so my trip to the hardware store wasn't my usual stroll through paradise. I had my list and all I wanted to do is get in, get out and get on with my life! I headed straight for the suspended ceiling supplies, loaded up my flatbed cart, and started to make my way to the checkout. On the way there I was a little worried about the 12 foot piece of "wall angle" that was sticking out quite a ways out the front of the cart. I cautiously passed each aisle hoping each time someone would not come out of the aisle and run into it. I made it fine, which was amazing considering the suspended ceiling materials are in the opposite corner of the store in relation to the checkout area. I get in line, which was about 3 people deep, and when I am about to be the next person helped, my wife calls and asks me to get her something she needed while I was there. I took myself out of line and stowed my cart in a safe place. Of course, what she wanted was a seasonal item, and they were all out already. So, I head back to the line, and to my surprise there is a line with only 1 person ahead of me. I wheel my cart up close to the checkout counter, grab myself a Diet Pepsi, and start to wait patiently. Now, at this particular Menards, they have pallets of merchandise staggered next to each checkout line. In between each pallet, there is a space for people to walk through should they want to go to a different line. My 12 foot piece of wall angle is hanging out the back of my cart just enough to block one of those walk ways. Can you guess what happened next? Yep, an 8 year old girl comes running towards my line through that walkway, and before I had a chance to say anything the girl ran into it, bending it to a 90 degree angle, and tripping the little girl. After gathering up the now double angled wall angle, I looked over at the little girl with displeasure, and she immediately broke into tears. I am still not sure if it was because of my look or if she just scared herself. I then look at who I assume is the girls grandfather, and he looks at me like I am an idiot for having that piece of metal out there where someone can trip over it. I have never wanted to say, "What are you lookin' at!?", to someone so bad in my 36 years. So, once again, I pull myself out of line, and start the hike back to the opposite corner of the store to get a replacement for the now damaged wall angle. I make it back to the checkout, which, as Murphy's Law would have it, is now 5 people deep. I wait in line, guarding each walkway like a linebacker guards the end zone. I finally make it up to the checkout, and I am greeted by the rudest teen aged cashier I have ever met. She was annoyed the ceiling tile didn't have any UPC's on it. She didn't notice I had a Diet Pepsi in the little basket on the cart, and was annoyed when I pointed it out after she gave me the total. She then hands me the receipt without a word. As I start for the exit, thanking my lucky stars this event is coming to close, I am cut off by an eager man who was apparently more excited about leaving the store than I was. I finally head home and call my dad to tell him all about my eventful trip to Menards. I told him I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on!? But then, my father in his infinite wisdom, says, "You know it's a full-moon tonight, right?". It then all made sense. Though I am a little sceptical, I do to a certain extent believe that the full moon has an affect on people and their behavior. In fact, the root word for "lunatic" and "lunacy" is, that's right, you guess it, "lunar". To top it all off, this is a full moon in Stinkin' Lincoln. People are already a little off here. Imagine what it's like when people are out there itching to be howling at the moon! So, hopefully you survived the lunar madness, and can now look forward to everything getting back to normal. That is, as normal as it gets around here.

Happy Bathday to You!

It was bath-day for the dogs tonight. My wife and I sing the dogs "Happy Bathday" to try to calm them, but it usually just results in them trying to stuff their giant Mastiff bodies under something that only their head will fit. I guess they figure as long you can't see their head, there is no way you can see the rest of them. The dogs being the size they are, we find it easiest to just stick them in the tub and scrub 'em down. Howard, the younger of the two, and bigger, hates bathday. We have to coax him into the bathroom and pickup the front half of this 170 pound dog, and then he will finally help you out by bringing his back legs into the tub himself. He then stands there, legs shaking, head tucked into the corner and only taking his head out of the corner to look for opportunities to bolt. Upon completion of the bath, he then jumps out, lets us towel him off and then heads to our bedroom to stick his head under the bed and pout for the next hour. He won't look at us, he won't take a treat from us, he just lays there looking pathetic. Meanwhile, back in the bathroom, we have Lucy, who has happily made her way into the tub all by herself. Back in her younger days, she would act like she was about to be put to death when you took her in the bathroom. Since she is now 7 years old, and has a touch of arthritis, she seems to enjoy a nice warm bath on her arthritic joints. She has this kind of funny thing she does when her bath is done. Our second floor consists of 3 12x12 bedrooms and a small bathroom. But she makes good use of the area by running from room to room shaking the water from her body and snorting like a Brahma bull. She then tries to grab the towel we dried her off with, however, we only made that mistake once. We give her an old shirt, or rag and she stands on it with her from paws and bites it and pulls with all her might. The rag usually is torn into a dozen or so pieces and Lucy is happy.

I know it's boring listening to someone tell you stories about their stupid dogs. Much like when you tell me stories about your stupid kids and/or pets. But today, it was either that or listening to me piss and moan about something else. I have plenty of material for that. Tomorrow, I will tell you about my trip to Menards today. That was actually pretty funny now that I am removed from the situation. Until we meet again!

Common Courtesy, Not so Common

Let's talk manners. I think it goes without saying, but I am going to say it anyway, people with manners are a dying breed. People just do not say please, thank you, excuse me, etc., anymore. I am curious how this happened. I think I understand why most young people don't have manners. It boils down to, how can you expect the young ones to have manners when their parents don't have manners. But why on earth don't the older people have common courtesy? Most people my age and older were taught by our parents, grandparents, teachers, employers, neighbors and strangers how to be courteous to others. So, why did all the Manners 101 courses fail us so miserably? You can be at a public gathering and someone can make you get up from your seat, step on your toes, knock over your Coke, and you don't get so much as a grunt out of them. The funny thing is, when I do the same thing, and say excuse me, or sorry, peoples faces light up, and all is forgiven. Those expressions are very powerful. Yet people seem to deliberately avoid expressing them. Again, I ask, WHY? The truth is, I don't know. Sign of the times I guess. But, I find it interesting that men in prison use the expressions excuse me and I am sorry more than supposed civilized people. Then again, I am not worried about being beaten to death with a pillow case full of unopened soda cans, or stuck with a shiv in the dining hall, all because I didn't say sorry for stepping on some psychos shoe. Wouldn't that be an interesting society. You bump into a pregnant lady in the grocery store and she proceeds to chuck unopened cans of soup at your head. Or you step in front of a seemingly mild mannered gentleman at a sporting goods store and he smacks you in the knee with the baseball bat he was about to purchase. Then again, I guess we do kind of live in that kind of society. You would think in a day and age when people "go postal" and have "road rage" that people might be a little more courteous. You never know when the person you don't say excuse me to is just one "dis" away from going out to the car and getting their 9mm. Fear can be a pretty good motivator. But apparently not when it comes to manners. So, if for no other reason that to keep yourself safe, but more importantly other people deserve our respect. Treat people the way you want to be treated, and I am telling you, I like it when people use the peculiarly uncommon, common courtesy.