I wish there was a way to get rid of my student loans.

It is too bad I didn't purchase a house that I couldn't afford, or stocks that were likely to fail. My pal Uncle Sam would then come along and bail me out of my own predicament.

When are conservatives going to realize that Republicans have been wearing a mask for decades.

Quit empowering these fools.

Queen - Innuendo

I haven't posted a video for quite a while. I didn't want my blog to become a video showcase of my interests.

Anyway, this might be one the most perfect pieces of music in existence. The lyrics are pointed and thoughtful, the harmonies perfect, the guitar is sublime and a bit mysterious, all backed by a pulsing rhythm section. I also like the video, with its surreal imagery.

It is too bad that Freddie Mercury is no longer with us. He was special.

Enjoy.

First Things First

I love fishing!

I never do enough of it.

This time was special. It was special because it was the perfect fishing day. Which is rare, so rare in fact, that it is the first time that it has happened to me. I have also had a perfect fishing night, but only once.

The day was perfect. The sky was slightly overcast. The wind was blowing mildly, like the hot breath of Jezebel. My boys were with me. It wasn't just the weather that was perfect, it was everything. We left on time. The truck has no serious malfunctions, the boat had no serious malfunctions, everyone had a life jacket, everyone remembered their license, we had enough gear, the gear that we did have was in good condition, and we caught fish like we were the last source of bait left on the planet.

The fish varied in size from normal planters to big ol' suckers. We caught Rainbow Trout, Cutbow Trout, Cutthroat Trout and even one Tiger Trout. The highlight of the day for me was catching the Cutthroat seen below. It is the biggest Trout I have ever caught.

I eat the fish I catch if they are large enough. I don't have any problem with the catch and release crowd, although they seem to have a problem with me. I think that once in a while, it would do them good to harvest some of the fish that they catch. Killing and eating food is a lesson that can only be learned by doing it. I believe that doing this fosters a complete respect for the creatures that are killed for my benefit. It makes this gluttonous fat guy a little less gluttonous.

Beer Can Man

A few weeks ago, I spent a whole week doing Professional Development (teacher training) at Brian Head, Utah. The course was a fascinating survey of the impact of the spruce beetle on the forest in the Brian Head area. The never ending interplay between all manner of species within a given ecosystem is overwhelming.



It should come as no surprise when, in the middle of nowhere (shouts Pee Wee Herman), I found a pile of soda and beer cans. Who is this foul jackass that spreads his filth in the form of Busch beer and Tiki Punch cans? Every "remote" place I’ve ever visited has been first befouled by the Beer Can Man....why?



On another note, I may be changing my mind about the right to take ATV’s on trails. Without exception, everywhere there was a road or an ATV trail, there was trash to be collected (proving Edward Abbey right). Perhaps this seems like a no-brainer, but the amount of garbage present along rutted roads versus hiking trails was staggering. And by staggering, I mean utterly shocking and aweing.



We are swine! People are absolutely filthy dirty when they go into the wild.



On yet another note. Is there anything more phony than a resort town? I couldn’t wait to come home and wash my hands of cabin/mansions, stylish outdoor clothing, bike pants, timeshare condos, bike pants, and cabin architecture. Park City, Jackson Hole, and Brian Head all stink to me like the rich and disconnected. One can’t purchase the quality that comes from an experience, when that experience was packaged by a salesman at a posh outdoors store.

We trapped about 50 chipmunks. We were doing population studies of small mammals in various ecosystems.

This is what my friend the machinist calls "ass time." He said it...not me.

We had one trapping area that was just about at the top center of the edge of this canyon. The canyon is called Cedar Breaks and it is incredible. Whilst trapping there, I strayed from the group for a few minutes and walked to the edge. I am glad I did.

"What our economists call a depressed area almost always turns out to be a cleaner, freer, more livable place than most." Edward Abbey

O Captain! My Captain!

This post is long overdue. I am sorry. I should have written something between today and last time that I posted. Life has a way of getting busy quickly. Life also has a way of changing dramatically and at the least expected times.

My life has changed.

Many of you know that I pursued my undergraduate degree in History Education. I thought it a noble pursuit to be a teacher, especially in the discipline of History. Like everyone else, I struggled, and bled, and fought my way through college to obtain a degree. Then I graduated and found the job prospects to be sparse. It turns out that most history teachers are also coaches. I really should have known that (insert clown horn noise here). Please understand that I don’t bear any real grudge towards high school sports. However, I think that high school sports are wildly over funded, serve a tiny fraction of the students at a school; all in the name of a vocation that one in a million kids will be able to do professionally. Most importantly, I don’t think that coaches, in general, make good history teachers. History is supremely important! In my view, the main purpose of history is to teach critical thought. Incidentally, that is the main job of all of the soft sciences.

I have digressed.....badly.

So, there I was; fresh from the university and nowhere to go. It was depressing. Really, really, really, depressing. I soon picked up work in the automotive field and eventually working for a city doing an obscure, ill respected form of law enforcement known as code enforcement. And I was happy as bacteria in a petri dish. I really was.

Then my life changed. A job opened up at the local high school, indeed the same high school where I student taught a year ago. I was encouraged to apply, and I did, and I got the job. It was quick and unexpected. In fact, really unexpected. I am so happy and also very sad all at the same time because, for the first time ever, I am leaving a job that I love.

I hinted at this my last post. Now it is official. My time as a code enforcement officer is soon up. Now I shall have my shot at the noble profession of teaching. It will be a "good practical sort of immortality" as John Muir so eloquently stated. I shall be teaching history and science. Wish me well, and I welcome any and all ideas!

10 Things I am Grateful for

1. The gruff guy on his Harley the other morning. As I walked by his steel horse, "The Wind Beneath My Wings" by Bette Midler began playing. The Harley with a stereo seemed as out of place as this dude and Bette Midler.

2. Desert flowers, grasses, and the occasional Emerson Lake & Palmer record.

3. Hidden opportunities and uncertain futures. (hint, hint)

4. Arrowheads.

5. Odd time signatures.

6. Glasses.

7. Lonely prairie graves.

8. Cheap, plentiful, .22 cartridges.

9. Black hair, black eyes, angry lips, and mischievous smiles.

10. Barbie, Iron Man, Halo 3, & baskets on pink bikes.

11. Blowtorches.

What Shall I Do?

It is time for my annual "big concert."

Which one should I attend?

I am thinking of The Police, Journey, or Candlebox. I am steering towards Journey, as The Goddess told me she would go with me.

If there are others in the Salt Lake area, that you think I would like, let me know.

If only King’s X or King Crimson were touring.

Borinquen

This is my favorite photo of the whole trip. The Goddess and her brother at the beach that they frequented as children.

Wow.

Just wow.

I recently had one the great experiences of my life. Sorry that I haven’t posted in a while. I have a legitimate excuse. I just spent nearly two weeks in the land of my wife’s ancestors; Puerto Rico. What a beautiful piece of Earth! I can see why Puerto Ricans love their island so much.
The greatest thing I took with me from Puerto Rico was a sense of the "largeness" of our Earth. ‘Tis a good thing to realize our own little boundaries and preconceptions.

The Goddess & yours truly enjoying the sun and sand

These folks were so hospitable. They put all six of us up in their home. They fed us. They drove us anywhere that our hearts desired. They laughed with and at us. They talked of serious and light hearted matters. I learned about a culture and history that is not my own, but I feel a great obligation to understand. I feel like I know my wife better now. I learned so much about what being a family is all about. The idea of taking care of each other and taking time for one another is not lost on them. If you are reading this mi familia, know that I am grateful from my little toe to the tip of my tallest hair for your unmatched hospitality.


The beach. What can I say? Is there a bad beach? Not on Puerto Rico. The weather was perfect. The wildlife was new and exciting. We rode the coast on a Sunday afternoon. Bikers were out in swarms (there are few, if any, Harley snobs there). Live music was playing. Dominicans were frying the finest foods on the sides of the highways. There were political rallies that make ours look like sacrament meeting. Smiling faces and beggars at stop lights. Little Iguanas and big Iguanas. Lizards, lizards, and more lizards. The food was so good, my tongue wanted to slap my face off. Warm rain. Fresh lemonade every stinkin’ mornin’. Happy children and tired eyes. Rich, Old World Spanish culture. Swimming every single day. Folk music (gosh, I love street musicians). Colorful homes. Laid back people who I believe have the capacity to enjoy life better than we do. Ten percent higher cost of living. Horribly dubbed eighties action movies. Hospitality, hospitality, hospitality!!!!


I could write pages and pages. But, it has taken a week and a half to work up this trite post that does little justice to the experience. It was a once in a lifetime event, which cannot be topped. I am so glad that we were able to take all of the kids and the Goddess’ parents and brother’s family. Having them there enriched the experience all the more.


At any rate, go there! It is beautiful beyond description.

This was kind of a rite passage into my newly acquired status of Honorary Puerto Rican. This is as close to Puerto Rican as I'll come because I don't drink or dance! But I did make babies with one......top that!

Blood on My Hands

I spent the weekend with blood on my hands. I do not say this with some sort of redneck pride, which you must know by now I detest. You see, I raise chickens and rabbits. I do it for a multitude of reasons. Firstly, I like to control (at least to a small degree) the food that my family eats. I think that modern practices of meat processing and commercial farming leaves too much at risk. I did not have to go to PETA’s web site to learn this; I saw it first hand. Secondly, I think it is good for my children to have the responsibility of caring for something. Every day, they have to feed and water the rabbits and chickens. Every so often they get to clean the hutches and coop. And this weekend they participated in the slaughter and butchering of these creatures. Thirdly, raising and eating these animals brings me closer to living.

It is always sobering to kill and should not be taken lightly. I really believe that this is the reason that the Word of Wisdom so strongly emphasized that meat should be eaten sparingly. I found, to my shame, that I am hypocrite in this regard.

The process was not enjoyable. However, it brought a deeper sense of being alive than I experience during the zombie cubicle living routine that I am slowly losing my soul to. As I went through the tedious work of killing, plucking or skinning, gutting and preparing the meat; I couldn’t help but feel that we are all so disconnected from life, we have become californian. Everything we do is canned. From our meat to our entertainment to our architecture. It all comes in neat, sterile packages. There is no emotional exchange that takes place. In other words, when I eat a rabbit that I have raised and butchered, I think about the life that I took so that I could have life; and I eat less and with more reverence. It is the same exchange I feel when eating an animal I have hunted or fish that I have caught.

I mourn that our culture has lost this thing.

I am not ashamed again

This song was my first exposure to Megadeth and Trent Reznor.

Isn’t that cool?

Now that I have started recording and writing music, I appreciate Reznor’s pioneering talents all the more. As far as Megadeth is concerned; I enjoy them so much more than Metallica. Before I start getting hate mail from metalheads make sure you understand what I am writing here. I like Metallica, but I like Megadeth more. It is as simple as that. No hate. It always has been a ridiculous rivalry.

This little song is an amalgation of Megadeth’s Symphony of Destruction and Trent Reznor’s mixing skills. The Countdown to Extinction CD is Megadeth’s opus. It is one of the few tapes that I managed to wear out.

Mysteriously, this tape disappeared, along with Alice in Chains, Sepultura, and various t-shirts. I wonder where they went......MOM!

The Latest Obsession

The Professor and Z-man have really gotten me back into video games. It is that damnable Halo! I have gotten myself addicted, and I have drug my family along for the ride.

I have always had an infatuation with video games. My uncles had an Atari 2600 and I spent countless hours fighting with my Ida-bros just to have a chance to play such classics as Pac-man, Pitfall, and Empire Strikes Back. At about this time I and a few other grandkids unearthed an odd Pong system at another set of Grandparents. Hours were consumed on Pong. Then my Momma married Beach Grandpa. Lo and behold! He also had an Atari 2600 that we abused until the power supply input broke off inside of the case. I always managed to find a console at the D.I. and we played many a game of Combat, Asteroids, Circus, Breakout, & Snoopy and the Red Baron. Good times.

My infatuation led to a fascination with computers and later I was playing such greats as Castle Wolfenstein, Dune II, Doom, & Blood. I miss the days of playing from a 5 1/4" floppy! Along came the arduous task known as college and my gaming days were few and far between. All the while, The Professor was tempting me with his N64, Dreamcast, and Xbox. Then I traded a fishing rod for an Xbox. Now I find that a night without at least one round of Dr. Mario on the old game box is a wasted evening. My wife and I refer to it as my "Halo Therapy."

At any rate, a coworker, who shall remain nameless, addicted me to Guitar Hero. It did not help matters that The Professor brought his version of this game during his last jaunt here. My wife, bless her brown little soul, was hopelessly addicted as well. The Professor returned to his castle in Academia, and we had no more Guitar Hero.

Alas! I heard a rumor that one of my scouts had a broken PS2. This was good...because I can fix broken. After a little horse trading, I held in my manly, fat hand one beat up, slightly grimy PS2 Slim. A little solder, some research, some more research, an internet order, some patience, and a little elbow grease was all it took to have this baby playing again. Now the Goddess and I can play Guitar Hero to our hearts content. The kids eat cereal every night, but they’ll last until this obsession runs its course.

The unit all bare naked and stuff, ready for repair.

My trusty aide. He performed quite a bit of the surgery himself. He also reaped the rewards! I am glad that he got to experience the rush of fixing a problem like this. It was a great experience doing this with him.

One of the offending items. The laser assembly. Notorious for failing in the Slim models. It is highly unlikely that this whole unit is bad, I may install just the laser and keep this assembly as a spare.

And we all lived happily ever after.

Perhaps this is too personal?

I have had the unbelievably good fortune of marrying my first love. She and I met many years before it was proper to date with the object of marriage in mind and somehow we just couldn’t let go of each other. We spent our youth together, and in many ways, we grew to be the same person.

Those of you who know the Goddess, know what an impulsive, passionate, and slightly crazy individual she is. It is one her greatest attractants. If I told her that I wanted to build a cabin in Siberia and live off of the land, she wouldn’t hesitate to see it as an adventure, and we could walk out the door that same minute. I wouldn’t trade her fiery Puerto Rican temper and passion for anything on this Earth.

Her most endearing quality is her unfailing, unflinching, sense of honesty. I have never met a person so honest. Even when it meant certain heartache, she would speak her thoughts. The older I get, I appreciate this sort of thing all the more. The great thing about a person with this attribute is that you always know where you stand.

I just wanted to say something that had a tone of gratitude. My fair wife is something I find myself grateful often these days. She makes life good and bad, but unlivable without her.

We’ve come a long way baby. There no words for where we are.

Achtung! Spoilers Ahead

Warning! This post is jam packed with spoilers for "No Country for Old Men."

I found some peace in a most unlikely place during the Christmas break. I watched a movie with the Original Voodoo and Whodoggy entitled "No Country for Old Men." The movie was shocking, intensely gripping, and a great letdown (which I loved). This might be one of the most perfect movies ever made.



As I have perused the internets for the insight of others. There seems to be one scene that has become controversial. It is the scene where the old sheriff Ed Tom Bell returns to the scene of the crime where Moss was killed. I think that the simplest answer is the answer. I believe the Chigurh is really behind the door, and Ed Tom Bell simply missed finding him. If Ed Tom Bell would have looked behind the door, violence would have ensued, most likely resulting in the death of the sheriff. A .38 is no match for buck shot at close range and Chigurh would have simply shot through the door, having the advantage of surprise and superior firepower.



Back to this idea of me finding peace from this here violent movie. Simply put; it was Chigurh, who I think represents the uncertainty of death that we all face. There was a thread of rhyme and reason to his killing, but one thing it was not, was fair. Just like death, it never seems fair. Every character I was rooting for, was killed in this movie. Except for Ed Tom Bell, and I wasn’t really invested in him until the very last lines of the film. Moss was toasted by the Mexicans. Moss’ wife was killed by Chigurh. By the way, she was a true heroine, most unlike the super-acrobatic-invincible-skanks I so loathe in most newer movies (think Keira Knightley in King Arthur). She faced death without bargaining. I fell in love with her simple, resolute bravery. The only person I really wanted dead in this movie was death himself; Chigurh. And he never does die. Ed Tom Bell never catches him and fades into what seems to be a contented retirement. Life never was meant to be fair, and I found a granule of peace in the portrayal of that fact in this movie.



I never got my way when it came to this story, and I say that it’s about time.

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.