Local Dog a Vicious Music Critic

I knew Babel was running too long for me to get back home in time to feed Paco.  I should have left with thirty minutes to go becasue I'd already seen the best part of the movie.  But, alas, I did not.  And somewhere, somehow our little dog got into my rock n' roll collection.  It's all down hill from here.  Next he'll be jamming to Iron Butterfly and toking a hookah.  He does, however, show some promise by not damaging The Beatles 45.  Willie Nelson did not fare so well.   I don't know if it's country music in general or if he, being so young, tried to stuff the Willie record in the CD player and got frustrated, but Paco showed no mercy to an Angel Flying too Close the Ground.  I'm just happy it's not me having to pass those shards. 

Denver Broncos a Charitable Organization

On behalf of the Denver Broncos, the City of Denver and Bronco fans everywhere, I'd like to be the first to congratulate Peyton Manning on receiving a free game.   On this day of our Lord, October 29th, 2006, Mr. Manning, professional quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts, will get to run his offense with no noticeable interference.  The Denver Bronco defense will allow Mr. Peyton Manning to look like a 6' 5" Southern-bred Gandalf.  Typically the sport of American football requires two teams to take the field at one time.  At any given time during a competition you'll be sure to spot not only one team's offensive squad, but the other team's defensive squad sharing the field.   The offensive squad tries to maintain possession of the football, or "pigskin", while the defense works to impede the offense's progress to the end zone, where for each visit points are rewarded.  Today Mr. Manning and his squad of eleven qualified offensive players will not at all be impaired by efforts of the Denver defense.  As an added bonus, the defense, often financially and emotionally motivated to assault or "tackle" the members of the opposing offense, will do their best to refrain from establishing any obstacle to the offense's momentum.  However philanthropic this all seems, the Bronco organization has even more to offer.  Tackling the quarterback while he possesses the ball is called a "sack".  There will be no sacks.  Not even touching will be allowed.  Peyton shall receive the privacy and time he needs to build a drafting table and draw up the necessary play to put on an aerial spectacular not seen since the last time the Broncos played Mr. Manning and the Indianapolis Colts.   Please enjoy!!

The Denver Broncos' gift is deductible as most of the league can now write the hapless bastards off. 

Friday Night!!!

Me and the wife are going to get a little wild.  So I called her and told her to dress up like a teenage boy...

But we were hardly the most tasteless... 

Snow Day

Let me be up front and say that it might not have been the best day for a drive.  Leaving Denver at 6am I ran into the Ice Capades of Doom.  I think the Blue Danube Waltz might have been the perfect soundtrack for the ballet of cars and SUV's skating effortlessly about the highway. 

Once I got out of the city things were good.  Paco and I saw a whole lot of wildlife including some Big Horn Sheep.  Our little puppy nearly went apoplectic.  His fur rose into a majestic strip from his head to his tail.  With his Mohawk in attack mode he let out a flurry of barks set to a bass line of growls.  And then he ran and jumped into my arms.  That's the kind of sacrifice you don't see much anymore, but Paco did indeed put himself between me and the ferocious herbivores. 

And then off to Walden.  Where school was in session despite two and some feet of snow.  Every man woman or child who has a plow or the common pickup with a plow attachment was driving around and pushing snow.  The local newspaper editor spotted me and rejoiced in the exuberant volunteerism.  I reminded him that any opportunity for a Chevy owner to show how much their truck can push or pull as compared to that of a Ford, or the recently upsurgent Dodge, or Ford over Chevy versus John Deere, is one they'll not be sure to miss.   A tiny Bobcat scooped up the snow left behind by a truck that had burst throw a drift and narrowly missed a tractor backing out of a gas station.   Somewhere a waltz was playing.  

After a stop at the bank, where Lucille works when she isn't judging the local Spelling Bee that her sons, Jason and Jeremie, won for several consecutive years, and where Shiloh works, too, all in the small part that isn't being remodeled by the big banking company that just bought them and weren't about to have an affiliated institution looking like their long-deceased grandma's living room,  I  went and visited Randall. 

Randall recently had to put his dog down.  His girlfriend is gone too.  He didn't euthanize her she just took off.  So now after 18 years of living an isolated life in Walden he's ready to leave.  So I went and looked at his place.  It's for sale.  It needs a floor.    And if the house is 600 square feet, 450 of it is filled with drums, speakers and Randall's massive six-string base that looks more like a stretch of highway than something an undernourished and effeminate rock star is supposed to hold for the duration of their reunion tour with REO Speedwagon. 

Randall is very cool.  He is the second hippy I've ever met in Walden.  We chatted about the house for a while but since it's pretty small so was the conversation and we ended up sharing stories of dogs we've had to 'put down' and the real estate visit ended in a tearful embrace.  

Speaking of the endangered hippy.  There are three Democrats in Jackson County.  The years of abuse have left   them sad and delusional.

Then I went to the River Rock Cafe that sits right next to the movie theater that's been  closed since cable came to town and where Nick and his father Rick encouraged me to move to Walden and start a radio station.  They agreed it would have to be country.  I genuinely appreciate their encouragement. 

My final stop was in Gould, a suburb of Walden, and I only mention it because it was here where I was able to gather a great example of a hick sticky note (not to be confused with a "hicky" note.  That's when bored prom dates go out to the reservoir and suck and bite cute little messages on each other.)  My dad was gone but he must be commended for leaving me some firewood and for his brevity.  The corporate world should take a few notes on expediting their communication. 

 

And then Paco and I went home. 

Ladies...he's single

So in imploring my friend Jason to vote for me in the radio contest, he responded with this impassioned speech :

I'm a fan of Jared Ewy's show.  I'm not a fan of partisan politics and
conservative vs. liberal rhetoric.  I used to be an avid listener of NPR, but now when I listen, a lot of what I hear is people complaining and demonizing and feeling victimized.  Instead I want to listen to people who have a vision and are working towards making their vision reality.  I want to listen to the guy who has a plan to raise minimum wage for workers in
Mexico.  The gal who's raising money for an orphan adoption program.  The group that's working towards ending homelessness in this country, etc.  I am
more interested in those who have a bias for action and are working towards creating, building, organizing something rather than putting their energy towards making the "other side" wrong.  The coin is still going to have two sides at the end of the argument no matter how much George Washington's face hates the state capital (or whatever building that  is).  I support the guy who can get the support of both sides and work towards a common goal.  Envisioning and creating a better future rather than fueling the tired old argument.  I want to support the guy who can paint a picture of what he thinks the world should look like and enrolls people in sharing that vision and building that future rather than the guy who enrolls people in spitting on the guy whose view he disagrees with.  I used to be a pessimist and focus
on how messed up the world is, and the world agreed with me.  Now I'm an optimist and I choose to take action on things that I would like to change about the world.  I would like to start working on solutions and new possibilities for the world (my world, the world) rather than on
perpetuating the comfortable old feeling of doom and resignation.  I want to hear about the guy who starts a fund to help that hispanic family that was in the car accident you speak of, and I don't care if he's a Christian or a Druid, I'll support him all the same.  I want to be motivated to be in
action to create a better world for myself and everyone else (which is one and the same anyway).  If I focus on building concensus on how wrong my opponent is, then I will eventually build just that:  A formidable opponent.
If on the other hand I work towards achieving my vision, my goal, and leave my opponent alone (or even give my opponent love), then it will take the wind out of my opponent's sails of discord, and eventually my opponent, now that he no longer has an opponent, will have to start focusing on
building his own vision too.  And I think we might be surprised how similar my vision and my opponent's vision really are once we take the conflict out of the equation.  I'm a fan of Jared Ewy's show and of Jared Ewy's power to enroll people in his vision of the world.  I believe your humor, your charisma, your likability, your quick mind, your ease with words, your ability to paint a picture in other's minds with just a few clever words will be powerful tools in making your vision of the world a reality.

So gals snatch him up.  And please know the above picture was taken after a night of camping and drinking so it may not be his best look. 

Today, Wednesday, October 18th, Paco gets "Cut"

I often wonder if human males were offered the same deal as male dogs, "you can live and eat here for free but we get to cut your nuts off," if we'd take that offer.  I think there would be a lot of single guys running through the streets, humping strangers and digging through trash cans for food.  And I won't be so crass to call the other option "marriage."  Mostly because I don't want to be out in the street.  It's cold out there and my wife's work has great benefits. 

In Paco's case I really do feel like I'm letting him down.  Like yah sure we're best friends but I'm going to have to lop off your sack so we can stay that way.  One neat thing about his looming 'procedure' is that people throw out  castration as an idle threat all of the time.  You hear things like "you'd better stop doing such and such or I'll cut your nuts off" or any other variety of empty assaults.  But now I can really follow through.  All day I've been waiting for Paco to do something really bad so I can tell him if he does it again I'll have his man berries yanked.  When he wakes up tomorrow he'll be sure to never chew a shoe or jump up on a guest again. 

Unless of course he emerges to find his groove glands gone, and feeling he has nothing left to lose, plays fetch with my balls.

Haunted House. No, really.

After visiting some family Sarah and I went off and hiked around the Virginia back country.   It is our duty as white, college educated Americans to be as naive as possible.   Well, to be fair, I'm much more the doe-eyed sucker  than Sarah.  She  grew up in Baltimore.   She moves around a lot and crawls under windows.   Some days, when I get home from work earlier and I can pick her up from the train, I'll see her walking along the street and I'll excitedly honk and holler out the window at my hot wife.  She maintains her stoic focus on the road ahead and completely ignores my calls.  The first few times I barely managed to see through my tears to get back home.  Now I understand.  Where she's from if someone honks and hollers at you you're about to become a drug mule.  In my hometown of Gould, CO if someone beckons you, even when they're toting a gun, you assume the best and go running for human interaction and maybe some beer.   So it is with this blind enthusiasm that I dragged my wife--several times she tried to escape by staring straight ahead and walking away as if she didn't know me--to the darker parts of Virginia's Cumberland Gap National Forest.  It was there, or about four miles from the actual park, where we meandered around the town off Ewing, VA.  At the corner of VA County Road 744 and CR 858, is where I encountered one of the more frightening visions of my life. 

Just off 744 we'd spotted some land for sale.  Adjacent to that plot was a big white house.  Completely confident wearing shorts, my wool socks and black Crocs, I approached the home to see if anybody was home.  I noticed it too was for sale so thought I'd break the ice with the homeowner.  My clothes said, "Hi, I look like I'm from another planet.  The one Rush Limbaugh tells is full of sushi-eating elitists that hate America.  How are you?"  But I wasn't thinking in those terms.  The day was beautiful and I was happy to be near the wild.  As they'd say in the South, Sarah and I were just "toolin'" around the back country.  I remembered hearing that from some of the more flavorful locals when I was growing up, and since people in Walden, CO are sure people who wear wool socks hate America, I figured I could use it in conversation with whomever or whatever answered the door.  So I knocked.  I assumed someone was there because there were two side doors wide open and something that sounded like a vacuum was running inside.  I knocked on the front door.  Nothing.  I went to the shed and looked in.  There were some bones, some animal heads and election year signs that reminded passers-by to vote for "Ikey Joe".  I couldn't see which office Ikey was hoping to obtain but figured someone named Ikey would  have some credibility issues.   I walked over to an open door on the side of the house.  It looked like an abandoned pantry.   Rotting and bowed wood made for shelves that matched the aging planks that did for a floor.  Not giving up is something I'm known for especially when giving up is the best possible option.  So assuming that no one was home and seeing that the home was for sale I decided I'd just check and see if the front door was open.   This was a nice home with newer, white siding and despite the bones and animal heads and dilapidated outbuildings it just felt safe.  So I wandered back to the front door, pulled open the screen door and gave the knob a twist.  It opened.  At first I let it creak only a crack.  No dogs attacked or shotgun blasts ripped away my head so I let it fall all ajar.  I'd expected a nice foyer or at least a pleasant country living area with some painted saw blades as wall hangings.  This was not the case.  This looked to me like the main entrance to the home yet it shared the same pocked and rotting floorboards as the shed.  It was dark inside.  The one small window on the front of the house was curtained.  The dark gave way to the light of the opening door.  The bright, southern day at first gave me a glimpse of some opened soup cans on a counter.  I don't mean a counter off which you'd normally want to eat food.   This was more of a workshop bench.  A surface perfect for eating something straight out of the can.  My eyes adjusted to the specifics.  The can had offered beans.  There was a spoon in one can and then I noticed stacks of cases of beans, kind of Costco style.  I imagined a southern fellow "eatin' beans".  It seemed to me like a southern event like we'd consider skiing.  "Whatcha doing this weekend?"  "Oh, eatin' beans." 

The door had sopped it's free fall open so I pushed it the rest of the way.  The light poured in.  The only dark part was my shadow cast across the room.  I noticed how big my head is.   Whenever I see my shadow I wonder why more people don't comment on the physical enormity of my head.  And it was just up from the top part of my medical enigma of a skull that I saw something that paralyzed me with fear.  I didn't know I was paralyzed with fear until I tried to move.  I could only stare ahead at what was on a table in the middle of the room.  I think I made a squeaking sound. 

The beans were not alone.  They had company.  Or at least had company before it was killed and put in the casket on the table in the middle of the room.  I can't stand those idiots in horror movies that hear a monster roar or the unmistakable sound of someone getting ripped in two and still wander into the scary, dark place.  I was that idiot.  I stepped into the room.  I got a much better look at the grave centerpiece.  It was a coffin.  It was silver with gold handles.  It was small, not much longer than five feet. 

It had been pried open.  

I tried to take another step but couldn't.  Up until Saturday I did not know what people paralyzed with fear do beyond be paralyzed.  But I now know what I'd do. 

"Hellloooo!" I shouted at the coffin and to whomever might hear me.  I'm not sure if that was the best idea, seeing as I was sharing the room with what could be a dead person who might have been living until he brought it to the wrong person's attention that they were alive. 

My brain scrambled around my giant head for some ideas.  And then I found myself running.  When I was six and my brother was 10 we were fishing near the quarry across from Earl and Belle's Trading Post when a bull charged out of the willows at me.  Twenty-six years later it felt like I'd never stopped.  I'm a natural frightened sprinter.  I don't remember if I closed the door or if I much heeded the busy paved county road 858. 

Sarah was walking down the dirt driveway when she was struck with a vague sense that she might know what was heading her way.  It was working way too hard for how slow it was going and despite it wearing her husband's clothes its eyes were big enough to be proportionate to it's huge head.  It stopped right in front of her.  She too might have been paralyzed with fear but turned out she was only annoyed by my yelling "you've got--you've got to see (panting), got to see what's in there.  It's the scariest thing you'll ever see!" 

Sensibly grounded in the face of such irresistible temptation she said no.  She's learned this restraint from the many invitations she gets to smell my burps.

I told her about the coffin in the house fifty feet from where we were standing and she told me it was rude to go into other people's homes.   I'm not sure the rules of etiquette regarding coffins. 

We walked around the property for sale and I thought about Sarah and I fitting perfectly the mold of the young couple first to be killed in any slasher movie.  We found an acorn perfectly balanced on the barb of a fence.  That even scared me.  I thought it was a sign left for wayward trespassers.  Only now do I take it literally as a sign of getting stabbed in the nuts.  But last Saturday I was very serious about death.

So maybe the coffin in the bean eating room is just a convenient place to put a casket, but now that I'm a thousand miles away I'm kind of hoping it's something more exciting like murder or a home mummification job or both.  

Oh, btw, I Googled "Ikey Joe".  He's the elected treasurer for Lee County, Virginia.