May the Mayan Calender Come True!

Happy New Year everyone. In light of 2011, or should I say the setting sun upon 2011, I would like to express my deepest and sincerest condolences to politicians, lawyers, Wall Street crankers, administrators, managers, corporate CEO's, and greedy HUMVEE drivin' "stick my d#@k anywhere" bastards who care nothing for their fellow man. I'm sorry but your time is up. Get the F#CK out of the way! 2012 is going back to the masses, for the Mayan Calender says so...according to experts.

I think it's time for people to be more concerned about the end of their world instead of the end of THE World. Let's come together and...figure it out!

I Love Max

I'm sure the title of this post may be embarrassing to my son, but he'll get over it. The title is really a reminder for me, because in the heat of battle of wills between father and son I forget.
I do enjoy the emotion of the angry son, it reminds me of myself, and in the unleashing  of his "the world  revolves around me" attitude, I feel my fire has been stoked. I'm like, "Bring it on baby!", I got 32 years on you and... oh...wait a minute, I sound like my father. Hey...I am a father! This is how my father felt. This is exactly what my father wished upon me. I'm awake now! I tell myself to calm down. I douse my fire with a little understanding and forgiveness. I tell my son, " I love you" and he responds with, "Whatever!". It's at this point that I stoke my fire with a log of experience, wisdom and "who do you think you are?" I quickly remind him that if he would like anything from me he'll have to change his attitude. After all ... I have the resources: car, money, shelter and I know how to shut off the water heater. Have a nice shower tomorrow morning. I'm going surfing...where the water is already cold!

Leaves

Today's the day, not like any other day
Today's the day when all the seasons fall
The high colors weigh heavy upon the leaves
Gold plated they fall...not weighted, but spirit like
Spinning, rocking and waving
Finding their way home 
They are true love and they know it, giving back everything they took

-Me

Fog

The fog rolls in like second hand smoke from another world and passes through the screen door forest of green into my grassy meadow scene
A room once sunny, now cold and not so funny
The vapor gathers on the the once happy leaves and falls like rain...a pitter patter of pain
The earth becomes  damp and soft , the sky not so aloft
Now I wander through this atmosphere lost and disappeared

-Me

Fish Story

This is Max's first fish caught in Echo Lake British Columbia and there is a story behind it. It was the morning of June 29th, the water was cold and clear, the trout were hungry and so were we. Pulling off the dock armed with rods, reels and tackle we proceeded southwest to the opposite shore. Upon arrival, we deftly opted to use #1 black French spinners. If your a fisherman, you know what I'm talkin' about. If your not...well, it really doesn't matter. I just like to sound like I know what I'm talkin' about. Anyway, after a few casts, we started reelin' them in. They were small but feisty. We let 'em go for we were after the BIG ONE. Sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for because it was at that moment, BAM! We got a hit! Now, I know what your thinking. Your saying to yourself, "I see that fish in the picture and it can't be more than thirteen inches and maybe 1&1/2 lbs." Well let me tell you that this fish had heart, baby! It might as well have been fifty lbs, because she fought like a harpooned whale. She dove deep, wrapped herself around a submerged tree 4 or 5 times, anchoring us and our boat. Max and I looked at each other dumbfounded and after a short discussion of fishing ethics and knowing that if we just cut the line the fish could be trapped and die, we...or I should say Max decided that I should go in after it.
I consider myself a waterman. I surf cold water, I swim cold water even without a wetsuit. But that day I was a warm fisherman in a dry boat on a cold Canadian lake thinking that there's plenty more fish in the lake. Max on the other hand considered it our moral and ethical duty to save this fish from a agonizing death and eat it ourselves. On top of that he pumped up my ego by telling me what a "awesome cold waterman" I was and "Dad! Who would be better suited for this task than you." Plus it's totally funny to see your dad cold, wet and in his underwear (Ya...freaking hilarious!). So, it was at this point I disrobed and donned my "sucker" suit and dove into the icy water. After my diaphragm stopped to spasm, I took a breath and dove down to the submerged tree. My last thought was, 'this f@#king fish better taste good'. Upon reaching the tangled trout with the heart of a whale, I grabbed the monofiliment and yanked. Snap! The line and the fish were in my hand. I surfaced to find Max clapping and saying, "Now we'll have a story to tell!"

"Whale Heart" was yummy.

Things that are funny to a 12 yr old...and his father

First of all I apologize for not updating this blog for the last couple of weeks, but Max and I were in the Canadian bush (he he he... I said bush) for awhile. And that brings me to what I intended to blog about.
Max and I spent many hours in the car together driving through the great northwest passing street signs with names like: Wackawilly, Chuckanut, Nooksack River (which Max and I officially christened Nutsack River of course!) and my all time favorite... Sexsmith Drive which had a Super Lube on it. Those Canadians have a awesome sense of humor for that last one. Now all this may sound juvenile and benign to some of you, but when you've been driving for hours and have had nothing to eat but sugar and caffeine it's f@#king hilarious and we laughed till we cried. And as we were driving through Washington dairy land, my son, not remembering the word udder, told me to "checkout the size of that cow's milksack!". It was at this point I had to pull over in order to avoid peeing my pants, because all we could think of was what it would be like to kick a cow in the "milksack"! These were BIG milksacks.

Road Trip 2011

Max and I are going on a father/son vacation to camp, trout fish, drink beers ( ya, ya, ya Max will have root beer), white water raft and find as much trouble as possible. This will truly be a trip to remember, hopefully for all the "right" reasons. I've been a parent for twelve years now and I have no illusions of expectations or naps, alone time, becoming a rock star or professional surfer, and having sex with my wife without having to explain that "I wasn't hurting mommy". Actually that last one's a lie. After a woman passes an 8 pound baby through her vagina, there's nothing on a man that could compare, but I'd like to think I still can. Anyway, my point is that  I have no expectations but Max probably does and that's where the possible trouble lays. So...I am going to adopt the happy-go-lucky mentality of Goofy and everything will be okay. Like in all Disney movies, there will be a happy ending. Now I will leave you with this video as Max and I set out on our adventure. Please stay tuned for excerpts from our trip as I will keep you posted. No doubt it will be entertaining.

Shots and Slugs

I put slug & snail bait around my flowers, otherwise I would have no flowers. Every morning I go and check the carnage and I'm amazed at the congregated masses of shrivelling slugs being baked by the morning sun. I begin to reconstruct the scene and I'm reminded of a party. It starts with a couple beers (slugs love beer by the way) then someone pulls out the tequila bottle (I think worms like tequila). Time to do shots. You give in to the peer pressure, "Its just one shot man!". And of course you give in because you're no pussy and besides its only one shot. It goes down smooth and easy. Then you become the Antichrist urging others to join in. It feels so good. " I can't feel my lips." " I know man, its awesome. Dude... I'm so buzzed!" You become master of the obvious. "Dude the tequila's gone!" Now it hits you. Things are happening fast. The world's spinning. There's laughing, crying, hugging. Deep secrets are being shared and hopefully forgotten. The sun's coming up! MUST...GET...TO...BED. You can't walk. You can't talk. Its goin' to hurt...BAD! Your a slug! You took the bait.

Gopher Song

Here's a song I wrote about a man vs. gopher. I put it to a rough cut video filmed entirely on a cell phone. Enjoy!

Yaaa... I'm hot

I'm sure some of you have read that there's a syndrome infecting middle aged men. Its called "hotness delusion syndrome"(HDS). The cause is a drought of middle aged men and an abundance of single middle aged women. Now I just want to say that I'm married, so any ego I thought I had has been crushed into little pieces, burned and turned into ash. In other words...I've been vaccinated for this horrible syndrome. I still think that the girl at the beach the other day who stopped to tell me I just ran over my wetsuit really wanted to check me out. Alright, I realized I was wrong when I went home to my wife for a booster shot and it dawned on me that the girl was really just saying, "Hey dude, you just ran over your wetsuit!". That was a close call. I almost came down with HDS.

Me and my "vaccine" for HDS.

I'm a lucky man to have such a resource on hand. My wife is hot and smart and she reminds me of who I am...both good and bad. I feel bad for the men who have not been vaccinated for this horrible disease, but for the man who keeps texting my wife...STOP!

Kosher salt on pork isn't

I gave a friend a recipe for a pork marinade yesterday and one of the ingredients  was kosher salt. I laughed at the irony of this. Then I began to think of all the possible uses for kosher salt if it were a magic Jewish pixie dust.
A Jew wanting to take a walk on the non-kosher side of life could carry this magic salt in a small pouch to sprinkle on anything they fancied that was non-kosher. Feelin' like having a ham sandwich, sprinkle, BLAM!... kosher. Want some blood sausage, BLAM!...kosher. Wish to bring home your non-Jewish girlfriend to meet your parents, BLAM!...she's Jewish. Hey Jewish princess...foreskin gettin' in the way when you go down on your gentile boyfriend? BLAM!...its gone. Wow! Think of the implications of that last one. All the pain of circumcision wiped from the earth.
Anyway, this is all fantasy. Kosher is kosher and pork isn't, no matter how must magic Jewish pixie dust you use. And once that salt touches that pig, BLAM!...call the rabbi.

Hey tweaker! Stay away from the power tools!

I'm a healthcare professional and in my line of work I have seen many strange and gruesome things. A few stand out in my memory: frappacino bottle in rectum, failed suicide with shotgun to face, snorting mercury and my all time favorite...tweaker vs. power tool.
Now most of us would agree that crystal meth is a dangerous drug, but others believe it enhances their being making them super human in intellect, stamina and strength. Their mind has converged with the cosmos and now they understand all things. But unfortunately their dopamine receptors are fried beyond repair and the four days without sleep has short circuited their frontal lobe (the area of reasoning and judgement). We now have a wonderful catalyst for the following recipe for disaster. Lets throw in some malt liquor and a power tool to make it savory...mmmm. The smell of fresh blood and alcohol is the aroma your shootin' for here. It always gets my heart pumpin'. Anyway, I digress.
The tweaker in this story needed his 40oz of Old English 800 to suppress the shakes, before he picked up the 1/2 horsepower grinder with the cutting wheel mounted. "Just gonna to do a little bodywork on my Pinto at 3AM, since I couldn't sleep." Well tweaker, too bad that grinder missed castrating you on its way to nick your femoral artery. Please don't reproduce. Now make a better choice with your second chance. Start by staying away from the power tools.
The moral of this story is that if you see a tweaker leaving Harbor Freight with their new circular saw, realize that your healthcare costs are about to go up right after the tweaker figures they can use their lap as a steady cutting surface.

Crunkilicious

That's right, I'm down with the beats. Those heavy chest thumpin', head bobbin', crunkilicious  beats. There's nothing like driving down the street with my son beside me as I play the speakers at a concussive volume, bobbin' my head to Panytraid, Freeland, Bassnectar, Portishead and the sorts. All the while my son has his head buried deep into his hoodie like a faceless gnome. He's embarrassed as he slouches further down into the passenger seat like a melting cartoon character. "This is lame dad! Turn it down!" Instead, I turn it up and roll down the window. I want share these delicious beats with the whole world. And...oh ya, this is my car beeotch! You don't like it, then plug your ears and reflect back on the multiple times you embarrassed me. Word!

What fun is it if the egg doesn't break?

My son said to me after the recording...and my exclamation, "What fun is it if the egg doesn't break?" I thought about that and the answer is a profound, No Fun At All! I thought about the egg as a metaphor for life. If we didn't die, then eventually life would become no fun at all. If that is too deep for you, then just watch the video. By the way, I was going to poach that egg if it survived. I hadn't had breakfast yet.

What if you had taste buds in your stomach?

My son and I had crepes today and they were awesome. I could still taste them on the way home and I had a thought. I asked my son, "What if you had taste buds in your stomach and you could enjoy what you just ate for hours?" Then of course my 12 yr old son said, "What if you had taste buds in your anus?" Well being the thoughtful father I am I said, " I guess everything you ate would eventually taste like sh@t." Then my son rounded off the conversation with, "So... a fart would be like a burp." FACT!
As you can tell, I artfully redirected this conversation so that it would be educational.  It's important to discuss the the nuances and possibilities of life with your child. I enjoy these father/son talks.

Patchouli Man

This is to the patchouli scented man I gave a ride to today...thanks for not killing me. My son would have been all alone for the weekend living off quesadillas.  My mom always told me not to pick up hitchers but she's dead now and she can't tell me what to do so, Patchouli Man, you got a ride. Anyway I wanted to wish you luck in your travels and dedicate this little ode to you:

Thumb in the air and your dread lock hair

I stopped to give you a ride

You stepped off the curb and offered me herb and I said "No thank you... I have to drive."

You buckled up and smiled your crooked smile and I began to drive the miles

You shared your name and I lied about mine, sorry I gave you that line

But I did not know you and I did not trust you and in the end you proved me right

You stole all my change and stained my seat

Now all I smell is your stinkin' feet

Actually the Patchouli Man was a cool dude who was clean and smelled like, well...patchouli! I just thought the limerick sounded better with some conflict. I really did lie about my name though. I guess the only righteous one in this story was the Patchouli Man.

Welcome to my blog of random thoughts, experimental ideas, philosophy, travel and adventures. Stay tuned for whatever I feel like putting on this page which will most likely be more exciting than say...your life. Why else would you be reading my blog if your life is sooo exciting. Sound condescending? Well, ya! It makes me feel better to put myself above others. It says, "I'm important!", but  in reality I'm like you, just trying to live and let live have some fun along the way and share my experiences with loved ones and others. I will not get intimate and I'll try not to get too deep (but sometimes it's in my nature to do so). So...enjoy and in the end maybe I'll prove that life isn't some cosmic joke or at least I'll reveal the punch line.