Just Like Grandpa

Well the fence building project was a smashing success. It's finished and my cousin has a beautiful privacy fence, that from the outside appears to be a fortress. That was his objective. So after we wrapped up the last few boards and screws, put our tools away, and cleaned up the yard a bit, my cousin treated us to Famous Dave's. Now I'm the type of person who can go, go, go, all day long, and the minute I stop working and relax, my muscles start to feel very fatigued. Then I drink a beer, and forget about it! So as I'm preparing my plate full of barbecue scrumptiousness, I accidentally drop my napkin on the floor. As I bend over to pick it up, I release a groan out of partial pain, partial protest that I dropped it in the first place. Someone asked if I was in that much pain, and I said, "Well, my dogs are barking". I know for a fact, everyone in the room under the age of 35, probably had no idea what that phrase meant. It was something my grandfather used to say all the time, when describing how his feet felt at the end of a work day. I used to think some of his sayings were a little on the corny side, but I would never tell him that. Now that I'm older, and starting to feel the ill effects of working like a 25 year old, but in a 44 year old body, these sayings of my grandfather seem to fit. It's kind of a funny way of saying, "My feet are killing me", and not sound quite so whiny about it. Everyone knows your feet hurt, but whining about it makes them irritated with you. So I find myself, as time marches on, using these once 'ridiculous' sayings, that Grandpa used to say. I guess I'm just practicing to be the old guy someday.

Tom Sawyer

My cousin asked me several weeks ago to help him build a privacy fence. Of course I obliged before considering anything else that might be happening in my life on that date. So this is the weekend I've lent my 'grunt skills', sprinkled with an occasional carpentry skill. (Thank you carpenters, for teaching me little tidbits). So my cousin has called on family members (current and ex), along with a friend who happens to be an electrician. He's in a construction trade, surely he knows how to build a fence! So there's not one of us who has been trained as a carpenter, but honestly, a privacy fence is not rocket science. Now my cousin, who happens to be an auto mechanic, announced early on in the project, that he's just not built for this kind of work. He is correct. His mind is geared (sorry for the pun) toward machinery, and making mini combustible explosions of fossil fuels, within a cast steel or aluminum block. His job requires a little more precision and little less brute strength most of the time. So throughout the day, while most of us were digging holes, setting posts, mixing concrete, cutting through tree roots, putting up pickets, he was doing things he felt more comfortable with. He worked hard, but in a different manner. There was a moment when he had a stroke of genius, and put together a post extraction contraption. It involved wooden posts bolted together, a chain, and a pulley system with a tool called a 'come along'. We had some remaining metal posts that needed to be discarded, but were firmly cemented in. This engineering marvel made the job ten times easier. He also spent the day 'gophering'. We needed 10' 2x4's, more bags of concrete, new sawz all blades, and beer. Unlike Tom Sawyer, he was on site for the majority of the day, but like Tom Sawyer, he did get his fence finished with a little help from his friends.

Boys and Their Games

I remember growing up in Northwest Omaha, the neighborhood I lived in was teeming with kids. A blue collar, semi Catholic neighborhood with kids from newborn to teens. I was seven when we moved to this part of town, and was somewhat heartbroken when I had to leave behind my two best buds (Trevor and Bill) from the Benson area. Little did I realize, the area of town we were moving to had so many kids living in it, that I was bound to find some new friends. In a 2 - 3 block radius, we had enough kids to play football, baseball, kick the can, hide and go seek in the dark, war, snowball fights, racing dirt bikes on a homemade trail on a vacant lot, and did I mention football?. Myself and another kid my age were about the two oldest on the block. I take that back. There were teenagers, but they were too busy smoking pot, and making out with one another. So then there was our age bracket, in which I was one of the oldest. So when it came time to square off and make up teams, I was usually a captain. Since my cousin lived four houses down the street from me, he was an automatic first round draft choice on my team. It didn't matter how good he was, blood is thicker than water, thus the first round status, along with the big paycheck. My main opponent, James, has a brother the same age as my cousin, so his first choice was also obvious. Then we started drafting for talent. There always seem to be one or two kids left over, so we had some replacements if someone needed a spell. The competition was fierce, and sometimes ended up with opposing players standing toe to toe, ready to go at it! And you thought that was only in professional sports. This was all at a time when there were no special training camps for kids interested in sports. We had leagues we could join, but no off season training for individuals who excelled. The street out in front of our house was the training camp. This is where all great athletes started, in the streets, vacant lots, playgrounds, frozen ponds, empty parking lots, wherever kids could find enough room to play a game. So last night, I had to tune in to the NFL draft to see where my new favorite football player was going to reside, and which team I would now have to root for. While watching Mr. Suh get drafted to the Detroit Lions, it took me back to my adolescent days playing in the street with my friends. I just got to thinking about selecting our teams and teammates, and things really haven't changed from the time we were kids, to the time a person is selected to play in the NFL. Sure, the pay is better, but picking your team is no different than sandlot ball. Little did I realize, I was not only playing backyard football to become a star someday, but being a captain was also training me to be a general manager.

Evil Twin

When something doesn't go quite right, I like to blame it on my evil twin. Amazingly enough, there is usually someone in the world who resembles you rather closely. There is one friend who insists my wife looks like Sandra Bullock and I look like - NO, not Jesse James - rather, Gerard Butler. I don't really see it. I'm afraid if Gerard Butler looked remotely close to me, he wouldn't be nearly as famous. And if my wife resembled Sandra Bullock, she would have ended up with Gerard Butler. Of course, this resemblance issue can sometimes lead to mistaken identity. I'm sure if Gerard Butler were to do something completely stupid in public, the paparazzi aren't going to surround my house. But, with a few minor alterations, I might be able to pull off being Gerard Butler for a brief moment, and possibly get my picture, along with a caption mentioning Gerard Butler, in the National Enquirer. But really, that's too much effort put into something that would not benefit either one of us. Regardless, there is still somebody (maybe more than one person) out there who resembles Gerard Butler a little closer than I do. And I'm sure somebody is wandering the earth right now, who looks a little closer to me than Gerard does. Due to some recent observation by my wife, is the reason for this blog entry. We were watching a music program, in which Dave Grohl was the drummer. He teamed up with a few other rockers to form a group called, Them Crooked Vultures. Watching him play drums was very reminiscent of a certain drummer from the Muppets Show. Next chance you get to see Dave Grohl play drums, think about Animal. He truly does have an evil twin.

My Memoirs

I've been thinking of publishing my memoirs. If you have five minutes, you should be able to finish my book/page. At the age of forty-four, I'm pretty sure I've used up more than half of the years I've been allotted here on earth. I still have yet to do anything earth shattering, or at least noteworthy. Instead, I've fallen into line with millions of others, who unknowingly, have shuffled through life just existing. I may have accomplished a few, small, noteworthy things that matter to a couple of people, but nothing quite interesting enough to make it on page 12 of the penny saver newspaper. So my memoirs should be rather short. On the other hand, I could write a book on all the things that interest me, but have yet to do. Now that could go for a few more pages. I can ramble on just about any subject, whether I know something, or am just buffaloing my way through. I may be onto something here. I'm sure I can embellish enough to make my 'intended memoirs, but never found the time', sound much more appealing than someone's actual memoirs. If this hair brain idea were to actually succeed, I would have something to put into my memoirs.

Mr. Hyde

It's allergy season again boys and girls! Time for itchy eyes, sneezing, the roof your mouth itches, runny nose, plugged up nose, puffy eyes, etc., etc. I'm sure there's more symptoms, but no need to be a downer, right? Thank God for allergy relief medicine. Even if it is only temporary at best, at least it gives you a measure of relief. Of course, as is the case with anything chemically produced, there are going to be side effects. In my case, I forego sleep, and live on the edge. Just ask my family. When not under the influence of the tiny little pill, my eyes itch non stop, and are usually blood shot. It appears I've been puffing the 'J', dancing with Mary Jane, caught in a ditch weed fire. The only differences are, I'm not having a Big Mac attack, and paranoia is replaced with misery. Instead of everyone assuming I'm firing up a bowl, I take a pill, and it all goes away. But here's where the transformation takes place. This is where the good Dr. Jekyl is morphed into Mr. Hyde. I have a tendency to tie up and gag my inner editor, and say what's on my mind. If it comes out wrong or harsh, I have no apologies. The old adage, 'If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all', should apply, but I can't stop myself. So an apology is in order for all of mankind, during allergy season. I'm not really myself until May. If I say harsh, mean things after May 1st, then you really had it coming. Prior to May 1st, please consider the source and accept my apologies. If you have to slap me, let me remove my glasses first.

Dust Bunny

Yes, it's time for spring cleaning! Afraid to look under the couch, or behind the fridge? Yeah, me too. You know the lovable little dust bunnies are under there hiding. Unfortunately, they only come out of hiding when you have company, to make your visitors feel a little unsanitary while they're at your home, and to totally embarrass you. They usually consist of hair, dust, lint, cobwebs, and an occasional potato chip stuck in the middle. They're usually found in company with lost pens, crayons, pennies, and dog bones. They somewhat resemble a tumbleweed, and if they caught a gust of wind, would start rolling across the prairie, gaining momentum, transform into a dirt deer, and able to consume small children or the family pet. So time to get the dust bunny extractor equipment out, and suit up. Now if you examine a dust bunny closely, say under a microscope, and break down the components that make up the individual particles, you would find that we have the same chemical/compound elements in our bodies, as do the dust bunnies, all the way down to the potato chip. Without getting into a heated debate over evolution vs. creation, there's a fair amount of credibility in the statement, 'From dust you are, and from dust you will return.' So please clean up the dust bunnies before I come visit. It's rather embarrassing watching someone's DNA peaking out from under the TV stand, then roll out onto the floor.

Precious Commodity

In my estimation, 'sleep' is about the most important thing (outside of air and water) my body needs. A good night's rest, or a much needed nap, or a nap followed by a good night's rest, is just a highlight in my life. Lately I've formed a habit. Not necessarily a good habit. I'll come home from work in the evening, and the natural progression of things goes as follows: 1. My wife will ask about my day, and I usually respond with all the stupidity I've plowed through for 8 - 10 hours, just to accomplish 4 hours worth of work. 2. We will then discuss supper ideas if she doesn't already have it in progress. 3. Get a little snack to take the edge off, accompanied by a beverage of choice. 3. Watch some news. 4. Eat supper. 5. Get sucked into the couch in front of the television, and next thing you know, I'm bobbing and weaving like a professional boxer. 6. Kick the kids and toys and books and shoes and remotes, etc. onto the floor, and assume a horizontal position. 7. Nappy time :) It seems lately, that I have to take a nap, usually starting around 8 PM, just so I have enough energy to make it to bed. Last night was no different. My wife finally woke me around 9:30, and poked and prodded until I moved my sack of bones off the couch. I protested ever so slightly, about being made to go to bed, (nobody enjoys being awaken before their good and ready). I now see why the dog gets upset when I catch him on the couch, and smack him in the hind quarter, to get him off the couch. The only difference is, I'm allowed on the furniture, he's not. So off to bed I go, and sleep rather soundly until my alarm goes off at 6 AM. Apparently my body needed that much sleep last night. But there are other times, I won't go to bed until midnight, wake up at 5 AM, and be ready to go. I wish I could level out this 'sleep pendulum' I've found myself on. I know part of the problem is, once I stop working or moving around, my battery wants to conserve energy, and go into a sleep mode. Another theory my family has come up with is a condition called, 'tight skin syndrome'. After eating a meal, the extra weight in your stomach pulls on the skin from your belly button all the way to your forehead. If your skin lacks elasticity, the extra weight pulls your eyelids shut, giving the appearance of sleeping. Scientific enough for me! That's the excuse I'm going with.

New Venture

As we all know, there's always something new for me to try. I just can't be happy with the way things are, culinarily speaking. Last night, I used my gas grill in a way that I've never done before. I've been rather adventurous with it since purchasing it a year ago. Prior to that, it was always charcoal. I still prefer the taste of food prepared over charcoal, but gas has opened up a whole new world for me. Outside of charring several different types of meats, I've done a fair amount of veg on the grill, and once used the additional burner to fry cajun style chicken in an iron skillet (the boss insisted on keeping the mess and odor outdoors). Many may have caught wind of my next food exploration, due to my Facebook junkie wife, that I'm going to make a wood fire pizza oven, and start creating, what is known as, artisan pizza. Now that the snow has been gone for two solid weeks, people are asking if I've finished my three month long project. Due to the hype, I guess everyone is a bit anxious to get their share of the pie (pizza). First step is finalizing a location in the yard, clean up the sticks and dog poop, and excavate. Free manual labor is welcome. But in the meantime, there is a poor man's version of artisan style pizza making. According to last year's taxes, I qualify! I recently purchased some unglazed Mexican saltillo tile. It's a soft red clay tile with NO finish (very important, so your pizza does not poison you). You have to purchase a whole box, even though I needed only two. So I have extras to break. This is a key element in baking your pizza. The raw clay tile retain heat, and draw moisture from the dough to help move along the baking process. So last night I put the grill, and the newly installed tile to work. The maiden voyage was a smashing, tasty success! Called a couple of close friends, otherwise known as 'guinea pigs', at the last minute, to help experience my new experiment. When they left, I got the vibe that we're still friends. My oldest daughter enjoyed it also. She wanted to invite her friends over for the leftovers. It was too late and they had other plans. All in all, it was a lot of fun, and 'yes', there will be future pizzas cooked this way until the oven is built.