The Land of Milk and Honey and Ice.

I went home this month. I went to where my first memories were spawned. I lived for a good deal of my childhood in this cold place. I also spent many a summer there, until adulthood. I caught some fantastic fish in the Snake and baskets full of suckers out of the Teton. Those summers were great days– summer crushes on much older college students (don’t ask, I’ll never tell), building rockets, way too many chores, eccentric college students, motorcycle rides, never ending MTV (especially Headbangers Ball), fights with the “locals,” library reading programs, movies at both old theaters, getting caught stealing at Food Center, building motorcycles, swimming nearly every day, the city water slide (a lame sprinkler park?), homemade Ninja weapons with my crazy Rexburg brothers, fights with my crazy Rexburg brothers, going to work with Dad (how’d you pull that off?); I could go on and on. The Rexburg area has been good to me. I went there after my flop of a mission and healed my troubled soul a bit. I miss this place more than any other.

So, my family and I went home for Thanksgiving. A good time was had by all. It was good to see some of the local landmarks that are tied to my heart. It was even gooder to see everyone.

This is the Teton, it meanders through my Grandmother's property, I was so sure that I would find a super-secret trout hole there. I still cling to this delusion, even after hordes and hordes of suckers and whitefish.

I used to dream of restoring this old stinker. Maybe someday, most likely not. OK, not ever.

My favorite memory of this trip. Going to the Izcalli. By an odd coincidence, Rexburgers who I have never met, read this on occasion. You must go here, it is delicious.

The kids had Wendy's disgustorama instead of Izcalli's and stayed in the Trooper, they preferred this because of the toys in their Kids Meal.

I especially enjoyed the great view of my old friends, the Teton peaks, as I drove to St. Anthony to meet an underworld character who I will post about later. I did not get a picture and I regret it. Those stunning mountains have enamored me since I was just a wee lad.

Here's to cousins.

I am not ashamed II

In a much earlier post I listed my favorite guitar solos. It was a fun post because everyone commented on their favorite guitar work. If you recall, I thought that the best rock solo was by Vernon Reed of Living Color in the song “Cult of Personality.” It is the kind of guitar work that one either loves or hates. The video above is a live version of that song done on The Arsenio Hall Show a very, very, long time ago. It is a raw version of the song, and the solo, while not completely dissimilar to the recorded version, is not the same. I like the this version of the song as well as the recorded solo because it is very jazzy and betrays Reed’s jazz roots. I’m not sure people who don’t play guitar will appreciate it. Enjoy.

Weekend Report

This last weekend was interesting. The Goddess and I got out on the town without the stinkers. I believe that this is the second time since our first child was born (10 years ago) that we have been on an overnight date. We didn’t do anything super exciting. Some good friends came along to keep us company. It was an evening of fine conversation and exquisite food.

We enjoyed the grub at Tucanos, a posh Brazilian meat house in the river bottoms of Provo. It is in a strip mall area that is awash with falseness. The kind of place that you could cruise for stupid rich girls when you were a teenager. The kind of place that gives meaning to the lives of the insecure. It is where someone goes that doesn’t know how to live. And I was there eating meat. And it tasted like Prometheus was in the kitchen. Delectable.

We stayed at the Days Inn and the next morning went shopping at some of the Goddess’ usual haunts. This time we ate at The Gallo Giro in Provo. This place is the real deal. If you are ever in Provo, you need to eat there.

Soon thereafter, we went to Grandma’s and got our kids, whom we missed. Sunday morning was Stake Conference (or better known as No Church Day). Some folks get all worked up about missing Stake Conference. I don’t consider being stuck in a hot building with 1000 other people, taking kids to the bathroom, taking cranky toddlers into an overcrowded waiting room, and barely hearing the message for two hours, a spiritual experience. It is an exercise for a zealot and I leave angry. My attitude is likely to change as my stinkers get older. Don’t worry, I am not doomed to apostasy; just good old pragmatism (the enemy of zealots everywhere).

All in all it was a nice weekend.

I am not ashamed

Before you laugh, let me explain a few things. This was the most unjustly attacked band of the early 90's. The guitarist, Reb Beach, was one of my teenage musical idols. If you listen to both solos with an open mind, you’ll hear why. Grifter, you may recognize the dude on the skins. I still think Kip Winger has a great voice. If you remember, this was the band that Beavis and Butthead’s moron friend really liked. That was the beginning of the end for their spotlight. Lars Ulrich liked to take pot shots at them as well. With all due respect, I think that Lars could learn a thing or five from Rod Morgenstein. At any rate, enjoy.....and you can laugh now.

The Summer of my Unencumbrance

Too often I acquire projects, especially if they are of a mechanical nature. Over my college years, I found quite a few projects. The idea was that when I finished college, I would magically have oodles and oodles of time to restore, repair, rebuild, etc. During classes, I found my mind wandering to magical restoration land, wherein I solved various and sundry mechanical maladies. I saw in my minds eye (to use church argot) myself as the weird guy that drove his weird motorcycle/truck/car through town and turned the stunned heads of my fellow villagers. What I really became was the super stressed out guy that maintained a fleet of motorcycles, three wheelers, cars, trucks, SUVs, go-karts, rabbits, chickens, and a 102 year old home with a 60 year old coal furnace. Don’t let me forget to mention my church callings!

I had an epiphany while talking to my boss one day. She said, “People with so many projects don’t realize how much energy they put into keeping all of that stuff.” So true. I never had time to enjoy any of them, because I could only afford to do the bare minimum. Most of my motorcycles were never even touched. In fact, I felt suffocated by the very things that were suppose to bring me joy.

I must admit that this little realization caused me to be ruthless to some of my machines. You see, they were hurting me and I was a bad master. It was like that cute puppy you bought and now you don’t have time to love. And the puppy has a problem known as a butthole. And that butthole poops everywhere. And you have to clean the poop. What I am really trying to say is that my machines have metaphorical buttholes.

Metaphorical Butthole #1
1970 Suzuki TS125II Stinger. I had some real hangups parting ways with this one. I love the lines on this bike. The picture you see here is not mine. The picture is of a bike that is restored.

Metaphorical Butthole #2
1973 Kawasaki F11 Enduro. The hills of Eureka won’t be the same without you.

Metaphorical Butthole #3
1973 Yamaha DT250. This was another classic. Alas, I have other, better toys to play with.


Metaphorical Butthole #4
There was also an old go-kart frame, which I chopped in half and threw in a dumpster. Goodbye and good riddins.

Metaphorical Butthole #5
In addition, there were quite a few bikes and assorted parts that made their way to my trash can.

Well, I’m not quite finished getting rid of stuff, but I am well on my way. Wish me luck in this endeavor. It has been a relief encumbering myself no more. I find that after each of the offending items is removed, I feel peace and breathe a little easier.

“The things you own end up owning you.” Tyler Durden

Dream Theater - Instrumedly (Live At Budokan)

There is no better band when it comes to pure musicality than these guys. I dare you to count the mode changes, key changes and time signature changes.
Please take the time to listen to this on a set of headphones or good speaker system. It is 12 minutes long, so plan ahead. I could barely breathe after I heard it the first time. What else can I say? I wish I had the skills of both Mike Portnoy and John Petrucci.

Not Another Project!

This little gem is a 1973 Honda CT70. I picked it up for an undisclosed amount from a fellow Eurekan. It is going to be our new project. A while back, I got on this kick to build a go-kart. My oldest son and I (in the red shirt) drew up some plans based upon 20" BMX bikes. It was going to be awesome. We even put a bulletin up at the post office stating our need of old bicycles. We received around ten. Including some sweet GT frames, which we just rebuilt for my two boys.

Unfortunately, things began to go awry. I just couldn’t make the design not clunky and nasty looking. Not to mention the amount of usable steel on the bike frame was a lot less than I had originally anticipated. So, we decided against pursuing the go-kart/bicycle idea further. But, I still had a promise to keep.

I went to the local motorcycle guru here in Eureka and he had this thing rusting in his yard. After a little bartering, it was mine. I think it is the perfect setup for me and mine. The bike is a dual sport. Meaning that it is legal both on and off street. It is an automatic, good for the Goddess, and beginning riders. The best part of the deal is that there is an unlimited amount of parts to be had, because they are being reproduced by a Chinese corporation. This includes a 125cc motor that can take this steel pony to speeds of over 70 mph. Tempting, but I don’t like the idea of a ten year old riding that fast (or even half that fast).

Lately I have been reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I recommend this book heartily. The best part of this project is that it fits right into my idea of quality in so many ways. I will be learning how this bike works extensively because every part will be taken off and inspected. We have already begun stripping it down to the frame. My boy likes the idea of "militarizing" it. As a result of this, we purchased a special gunsmithing paint in olive drab. Stay tuned, but don’t hold your breath. Our estimated finish time is the spring.

This Isn't Really a Post

This isn't really a post. I'm cookin' up a new one, it'll be hot and ready soon. I just wanted to let all who care that I have added a few pictures to some previous posts...... if you care to look.

Paul Gilbert of Mr. Big Fame

I loved his version of this. If you remember the original, you'll realize how different this remake of it is. I love how he is singing whilst tapping during the chorus. It's just sick how he can do that! Enjoy.

An ode to Whodoggy and Ibid

This song reminded me of you two. Since you goofs are the same age, and have a lot of the same tastes which are tragically acoustic.

Flymo

A few of you may remember this thing.

Simply put; it was the bane of my summer existence. This was suppose to be the latest whiz-bang sophistication of lawn mowing in the '80s. It wasn't. The Flymo should have been named the Dragmo, because I would just drag it across our Rexburg lawn whilst cursing my Dad for making me perform feats of manual labor.

I think back now about my chores and that damnable chalkboard that magically assigned them, and I find myself amused and a little ashamed. I am amused because the chores seemed like they were impossible to get done. They were my own personal Everest. I am ashamed because I could drag out a chore like mowing the lawn, which took, at most, 30 minutes. Only two hours and fifty-nine minutes later I would finish a shoddy job; pissed and winded from the work of avoiding work.

Back to my Dad, the Flymo, and cursing. I would mow the lawn and because the motor was so noisy I would vent my frustrations verbally. My language would have done a Sailor proud. The part that still makes me chuckle is that I could see my Dad watching me....and laughing! This, of course, just infuriated me at the time and so I would cuss louder and with extra vulgarity. His reaction was only to laugh harder.

I love this memory now.

I get to relive it with my own children, and I find myself laughing when they lose thier silly tempers.

Such is fatherhood...I guess.

Crazy Kid

My daughter was in Bible school a few weeks back. One of the things they were doing was making homemade cards for soldiers.

Inside the card she wrote, "Good News! You’re still alive!"

This is the same kid that when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she responded with, "A banana or a Rainbow Maker."

I love it. A little ray of sunshine in a rainy world.

Einstein - Kids in the Hall

The Kids in the Hall - Trapper

This reminds me of summer nights in Rexburg. I loved this show.

Rush was a great experience.

Neil was spot on as always. I kept thinking as I was listening and watching, "This is surreal, that is Neil Peart down there and he is really playing and I am watching and gee whiz that roll was awesome." Among other things. His kit was a brilliant red. There was a camera directly over his head and it was a treat to watch him execute in such detail. He completely revamped the solo that he has played in one variation or another the last few years. He still switched kits, but the electronic kit sounded like nothing I’ve heard. He did an ode to swing that was much longer than the solo found on the Rio DVD or Different Strings. My friend, the music teacher, went with me and loved this part of the concert. Mainly because there were horns playing...stinking horns! It was obvious that the drum solo was a tribute to Buddy Rich (who really was the master). I never saw the professor smile.

Alex played well. He didn’t switch axes very often. He was playing what I believe was a customized Les Paul with a Floyd Rose and all the goodies. He also played a white hollow body of sorts. He sounded great. I think that he wasn’t mixed well, (see my last paragraph). He seems to be the goofiest one of them and the most likely to dance around and stuff. He had his row of toy dinosaurs on his amps. Again, the camera work was most appreciated by those of us in the poor seats, or poor lawn area rather. I even got a little insight on how to play the intro to Spirit of the Radio thanks to the cheating camera. It is a crying shame how underrated Alex is by the masses. Some never seem to get their due.

Geddy owned the show. This guy knows his bass biblically. He stole the show with his bass and keyboard skills. I was blown away that he could play both instruments and sing for three and a half hours. He was also the sense of humor behind the show, which is important. He really shined during some of the newer stuff like The Main Monkey Business and especially Malignant Narcissism. He also didn’t switch instruments very often. I think that he played two different Jazz basses for the duration of the show.

The highlights of the show were Passage to Bangkok, Tom Sawyer, Malignant Narcissism, Freewill, Spirit of the Radio, Subdivisions, and The Main Monkey Business. Really, I enjoyed every song though. This was by far the loudest thing I have ever endured. In fact, we moved to the back of the venue out of sheer pain. Finally, my friend found a used napkin that we shredded and stuffed in our ears in desperation. I should have expected this, it was a rock concert after all, but never again without ear plugs. I don’t remember Van Halen being that loud. It has been two days since the sonic assault and my ears are still ringing.

Sorry Grifter, they did not play The Trees or Red Barchetta, but I hardly noticed. And I love those songs.

Well, it’s one huge venue concert a year for me and this one was worth every penny. Until next year......

Helmet

This brings back such great memories. This performance is awesome. So tight.

Thank God for every breath.

I picked up a case of Walking Pneumonia a few weeks back. I hope you guys can forgive me for not posting. I found this experience coupled with the recent tragedy in my little community most sobering. The weight of death and its certainty has just brought me so down. Time is a cruel thing. Life is too fragile and I understand so little about it. Just that I love it and fear its end.

Suddenly, parenting is almost too much, because the loss of a child seems unbearable. Suddenly, my relations aren’t close enough. Suddenly, my friends mean more and some acquaintances mean less. I waste so much of my precious time. And worse yet, I know these feelings will fade in a way and I secretly want them to. I wish life could be the even time signature that I am used to. I will never be the same...once again. Change is good, but it also hurts. I need peace, and it seems so hard to find.

Oh, and I swear a blood oath to you that this will never become a video blog, but I will be posting videos off and on.

Chaucer and Dad and J.R. and anyone else who care to chime in-

This is an emergency and sorta’ awkward.

If you had the choice to see Dream Theater or Rush, but not both, who would you choose and why? I have seen neither. I would value your opinion. My apologies if this is inappropriate. I’m not sure what constitutes proper etiquette on these things anyway. Many thanks.

King Crimson

There is an awful lot going on in this song. One of my favorites. Also, I am trying to figure out how to post videos.

Dear Damsel in Distress,

I miss you. Where have you gone? It seems that in every movie that you have been in lately, my gender can no longer rescue you. Also, where did you learn Kung Fu?

Why the spinning round house? Why the ‘tude? Why the anger? Why the masculine muscley muscles? Was it V.I.P? That utter tripe. Was it Barb Wire? Was it the disproportionate fighting chicks in Street Fighter and its ilk? Was it Seven of Nine?

I don’t know when you changed. It wasn't that long ago. I miss the girl next door: vulnerable, non-butt kicking character you once were. I wish you would put a little meat on the bones, and unlearn the kung-fu. I wish your body was normal and you were fine with it. I wish your lips and chin weren’t pumped full of goo. I wish you were sweet: instead of the harsh war-scarred attitude you’ve had of late. I wish you didn’t look like a Bratz doll and I wish my daughter didn’t think that you were pretty. You’re not.

You have covered up your vulnerability and replaced sweetness with testosterone. A strong woman is not necessarily the one with the capability to pull off a flying roundhouse.

I miss you.

G-man

Eureka lost one of her daughters on Saturday.

May your brown eyes brighten heaven the way they brightened our community.

Farewell little one.

Some random musical ramblings.

Robert Fripp is a genius. Aside from wasting a ton of time this weekend, I have reinforced this musical maxim. King Crimson are just so spanking good at what they do. I can’t help but love prog, it never gets old. I watched an old video of Elephant Talk on the mighty Youtube, it is most impressive.

The only bad part is that I feel torn between Belew and Fripp as a guitarist and then watching the incomparable Bruford; he makes me need to pound the skins so bad I can hardly stand it. I wish I did not love both instruments. I’m really not that good at either, but I do enjoy myself. If you like prog rock, check out King Crimson. Also, check out a group called Aphrodite’s Child. I am still getting used to them, but I love Four Horsemen (Thanks Joneseph and DZ).

Van Halen is in a continual state of letting me down. After yet another botched reunion attempt that ended in failure, I think I am done with these jokers. I hope that Edward can beat his addictions, he is unique; I just hope he doesn’t leave us unnecessarily early. Mike Anthony has been replaced by a 15 year old, which is just wrong. The Van Halens snubbed the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. David Lee Roth didn’t even show up. What a disgrace. To top off the insanity, Velvet Revolver wouldn’t play Jump. I didn’t know it was Velvet Revolver being inducted, why did they have a say in the matter!! They so totally screwed up Runaround that I was speechless. I could have farted the song better than they played it. What an utter wasted opportunity. Imagine if the original lineup had walked out on stage and played "Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love and Jump and then Sam Hagar came out and sang Right Now and Amsterdam. That would have been classy and shocking. At least Sammy and Mike were gentlemen enough to mention the rest of the band in civil terms. This may be the most botched induction in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s short history. It was worse than the Blondie debacle.

My little letter to Eddie: Dude, a porn star girlfriend? Making soundtracks for porn? You are Eddie Van Halen! You are the father of modern guitar, among the likes of Jimi Hendrix. You are not some starvin’ street guitarist. I am sure you could put out solo music, I’d buy it. Hell, tell Alex to put out a solo album! Why? Why? Why? You need to go on a long motorcycle ride alone, I mean for weeks. Or a wildlife retreat, with jerky, beans, and dried fruit. And I mean somewhere wild, not some Californian rich boy getaway. Purge the pampered rich guy from your system and become hungry again. The world misses you.

I was recently forcibly baptized into the world of Indie music. A friend (who shall remain anonymous) had me listen to a playlist of 102 songs. I had only heard maybe 3 of the bands on the playlist. I admit that it was a scary experience to step away from my usual progressive rock fare such as Rush, Dream Theater, and King’s X. Usually, I need a lot going on in my music for me to enjoy it, and I wasn’t sure about Indie stuff and its acoustic oddball simplicity. Let us not forget the usual snobbery expressed by the purveyors of evil Indie music.

So much for my expectations. For the most part I truly enjoyed myself. And I even heard one song that was a spiritual experience. I consider this most fortuitous, yeah even serendipitous. I estimate the odds of finding a song so moving to be one in a thousand, and I was able to find this diamond in a playlist of 102 songs. As usual, my perspective has been broadened and once more I will never be the same.

What was the song you ask? It was The Trapeze Swinger by Iron & Wine. Not the studio production, but the Itunes exclusive live cut. When I first heard this song I think my heart stopped beating, my eyes misted, and my mind filled with the rushing sounds, smells, and raw emotions of young love. Thank you Mr. Beam and your lovely sister too.

Why do we limit ourselves so often? There is a whole ‘nother world out there.

I ask you friends, family, and acquaintances. What have been your musical surprises?

Jaime,

If you read this again please e-mail us. We have lost your contact information.

This weekend was fantastic! I worked hard, which always feels rewarding. I like it when work is where I rest and home is where I work. I even enjoyed a few epiphanies.

It started off kinda’ crappy. The Goddess tried and failed to start the ever temperamental Trooper. She ended up hitching a ride to dance classes. I then tried to start it, and walked away in a state of total discouragement. I didn’t even mess with the thing for the rest of the night, such was my dismal attitude.

Friday morning seemed promising. The Trooper mysteriously started. The Goddess and I drove around town for a few minutes running errands. At the post office it died an undignified death. I walked home and towed it back with the Warhorse (Bronco II). A quick check with a spark tester betrayed the problem; almost certainly the ignition control module. It is a common problem with this particular GM ignition system. I am grateful it failed somewhere close. I was bummed. I didn’t really want to spend Memorial Day weekend fixing something. It turned out to be only about an hour of work.

Saturday was spent carving up the landscaping of my tiny, manageable yard. There were flowers planted aplenty.

Sunday, oh terrible Sunday. Church is always too early (and too often). I am woefully lazy. Yet, during the festivities of the second hour a strange thing happened. It began with my friend Darth Boecks whisking me into the Family History Room. From there, he proceeded to interrogate me, asking me lewd and specific questions about my ancestry. It turned out to be pretty fascinating. Later after the festivities were over, I went home and called Whodoggy, and we were pulled into the dark side of family history. The trouble was neither of us could remember our paternal great-grandfather’s name. One of us made the brilliant decision to get Original Voodoo on the tele with us (using the space age technology known as a conference call). He expanded our knowledge of the family name and all was good and well. Then it happened.....Whodoggy noticed it (damn him).....our parents are 5th cousins!!!!! There you have it. One could say I have been baptized again, because basically everything I’ve ever done wrong or stupidly happened because I am the product of an incestuous relationship!!

Thanks Mom, thanks Dad for the straight shot to heaven.

Monday dawned a new day. Have you ever noticed how a lot of movies for kids feature the promise breaking Dad? Yeah, well that’s me. One of my offending promises was a tree house that I started building 2 years ago. My poor kids, my ambitions were greater than my capacity to deliver. This weekend I fulfilled my promise. My children and I constructed the tree house. And it is a good house, built upon the rock of my belated kept promise. It features such things as a hardwood floor (2 x 4's), windows (without glass), 2 levels (there really is no 1st level), a great view (of a tree), and a natural wood finish (weathered scrap wood). They love it!
Woe is me and my overactive conscience.

Hopefully the danger has past. Comments are now instantaneous, so please leave them.

I should have walked in UVSC’s graduation ceremony on the 27th . The fact is, I just didn’t care to. After all those years it just felt like one more thing I was making myself do in the name of my diploma. I am a little saddened that I didn’t see my professors one last time, but I think I was an average face in a sea of students anyway. Originally, I was going to walk so that my children would see it. You know....... it’s for the children. Then the thought occurred to me that they actually had to live the process! So, a boring commencement probably wouldn’t drive the point home.

At any rate, our commencement wasn’t nearly the deal it was for my friends at our rival school down the road. It was Kevin Rollins, the CEO dude from Dell who spoke at our ceremony. Incidentally, I think it was the same guy that spoke at my brother’s ceremony (will you check on that bro?). Up the road at the BYU, the VP of the USA enlightened the valley with his glow. It was a good choice for him to come here. As controversial as it was, it probably would have been more so anywhere else. Alas, I was working during the thing.

Speaking of my alma mater, it will be changing formats and becoming Utah Valley University July 1st of next year. This is all good and well, and makes me very happy because it has been a long hard fight. It is a sad thing, but Utah culture finds very little value in education. Sure, our legislators will deny it, but their actions have ALWAYS told a different story. For far too long they looked at UVSC as BYU’s junior college. Kudos to Presidents Sederburg and Romesburg for a hard fought win.

Just think, now there is at least one place in Utah Valley where unhampered, academic, critical thought can take place.

I’m sorry, I just had to. You know how us high-schoolers at UVSC have a chip on our shoulder.

There is nothing quite so narcissistic as making a mix CD - DZ

As I’ve gotten older I find myself leaning more and more to the left when it comes to most things political. It is an odd position to be in considering how utterly conservative I’ve been in the past. I look forward to the yearly ritual of reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Heck, I was listening to Rush Limbaugh when I was in eighth grade. I discovered him all by my lonesome while messing around with an AM radio one summer morning. And I still like him. I think that he, above all others, articulates the layman’s conservative philosophy best. I enjoy Michael Savage and G. Gordon Liddy’s shows for their grittiness and wit. Incidentally, I like Al Franken for the same reason. Sean Hannity showed his true colors when he visited my alma mater a few years back and doesn’t get a second of my listening time.
Alas, I have spent too many hours these long years studying history and I have slowly turned away from conservative philosophy. I haven’t turned my back on it, but there are things I shall never believe in again.
So, there it is. Shocked? Will you never read this little blog again? Are some of you gearing up to disown me? I didn’t think so.
I am not a true liberal by any definition. I won’t vote strictly along party lines. I must confess that this state, from the original theocracy to the current Republican monopoly, has had lousy government. I chalk that up to a political party that has never had any real challenge and therefore no real accountability. So in Utah, I vote anything but Republican. Some say I am a sinner.
The problem is that there are only two real options on the ballot and I don’t totally agree with either. I hate gun control, I love the environment and think we have a responsibility to it, I detest corporate welfare and think it is the end of the free market, I like small business, I think that copyright law is outdated and the RIAA is a sanctioned mafia, I am weary of middle class shrinkage, I think that eminent domain and the recent supreme court travesty is horrid, I could care less about the supposed "character" of our leaders (history backs me up on this one), I think the National Guard and the Reserves are depended upon far too much to enforce INTERNATIONAL policy, I like Ted Nugent and Megadeth and Rage Against the Machine, I think that Dick Cheney should be allowed to speak at the BYU and that people have a right to protest his politics, blah, blah, blah, etc., etc., and finally etc.
I will vote as an individual because I am an individual.

So, Richard Dutcher is leaving. I can’t say I am wholly surprised. Art and Mormon culture seem almost incompatible. I wish him well. I have loved every movie he’s made. I especially think that States of Grace was packed full of meaning. In fact, it was one of the better movies of the year.
He really is the Godfather of the Mormon film genre. I found his movies to be a breath of fresh air in a culture that has gone stale. I await Fallen and think that he is alone in uncharted territory with the subject matter of the movie.
In the meantime, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we all just do our best to be Christian and not make any misguided or zealous judgement calls. Why don’t we smile and genuinely mean it when we happen upon circumstances like these or when dealing with someone not of our faith or who has left our faith. You know, live by example. We should pay attention to the old adage that we should never miss an opportunity to keep our mouths shut. There are far too many cowards who share the Mormon religion and have a lot of nasty, mean things to say about Dutcher. They seem to be overly concerned with being good Mormons and end up being lousy Christians (thanks DZ!).

As Mormons we can be better.

Be nice, be happy, love much.

.......it is better to tell an R-rated truth than a G-rated lie.
Richard Dutcher

Now that I am not eating, breathing, and crapping school. I’ve tried to reignite some old hobbies. The first which is playing the guitar. I’ve got a cool looking strat knockoff that my Pop built me many moons ago. I just love this thing. He built it with just a humbucker and a volume knob. I think he did this because of my love of Edward Van Halen’s famed brown tone and the single humbucker, one volume pot Frankenstrat that he played. He even strung it with the same guage strings that Van Halen used. It has been an awesome axe.
As far as tone, the guitar has the twang that is heard by most strats (I can hear all of the Les Paul players snicker). However, I am from the early 90's, late 80's school of playing and I like a sound that has a lot of treble and bass, with just a little mids. So, a Strat style sound through a Mesa Boogie style rectifier is right up my alley. Besides, with amp modeling technology these days, I can achieve the tone of my deepest desires with almost any axe.
The old girl needs a little fixing. When I am strumming or picking, if I strike the volume knob the guitar will go silent until I smack the volume knob again. Also, sometimes when I flex the tremolo, I’ll hit the volume knob causing the same problem. I think I am going to replace and move the volume pot. At the very least, I’ll be replacing it. I also really, really need to give her a bath. I may or may not install a Floyd Rose tremolo system on this. I swore those off a long time ago, but I just love their capabilities too much to give up on them. Mark my words, one day one of my electric axes will have a Floyd Rose or the like.
Sorry, no pictures yet, my digital camera has been a blessing, but at the same time, it is a finicky old dog.
Incidentally, you can buy a copy of Van Halen’s original axe from Fender, its only $25,000!!

Sorry to hear of Kurt Vonnegut's passing. He couldn't have lived long enough or cranked out enough writing to satisfy me.

I cannot convey the real sadness I felt upon learning of Jeff Cooper’s death. Every month I awaited Cooper’s Commentaries. I even used his writing as a tool to help me with my schooling. I would read a little Cooper before writing a paper. I loved how he referred to himself as "we." It was so aristocratic, but not snobbish for the sake of snobbery. How I would hope that a little of his wonderful prose would rub off.

Cooper was a harvester of excellence. I found his words inspiring. He was so much more than the father of modern pistol fighting. His writing hearkened me back to a time of simple chivalry and order that probably never existed on a huge scale, but ought to have. Cooper also was a philosopher of the highest caliber. Anyone who read his work for any period of time could see that the point was rarely about guns.

Fair winds and following seas Marine.

If you'd like to read some of Jeff Cooper's works they can be found here:

http://dvc.org.uk/jeff/

I spent the weekend with Beach Grandpa building bunk beds for my stinkers. I am so grateful for the ability to build and fix things with my own hands. There is something holy about making or repairing things.
The bunk beds turned out very nice, in fact, they were nicer than I expected. The wood looks and smells good. They are sturdy enough for my wife and I to sleep on the top bunk. They are miles ahead of the crap-mart press board bunk beds which are selling for around 200 dollars.
Another advantage of building these beds was the low cost. We were able to build something in the $400-$500 range for around 130$.
The best part of the whole deal was the memories made & the memories revisited. When I was a boy, my Grandad built some bunk beds for my brothers. In fact, he built all sorts of things, including a small mill for making his own lumber. He was one of a kind and dabbled in some interesting mechanical contraptions. One of the coolest oddities I remember him tinkering with was a small tractor that ran off of steam. He was taken from us far too early by Alzheimers. I wish so much that I could have learned more from him before he passed on.
I felt that I communed with Granddad this weekend as I fashioned something for my children. And I hope that they will appreciate and feel the love of Fathers, Grandfathers, & Great-grandfathers as they dream of silly kid stuff.

By the way, I got the plans on the web. If you are interested they can be found here:

http://shoppingmatchmaker.com/freebedplans.htm