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This was a breakthrough weekend for me. No yard work or housework, just adventure. I took the boat out Saturday (no, not a hot date at the Taco King, dammit!) and drowned some worms in one of the many beautiful lakes around here. The brothers in-law (my brother in-law and his brother, so that makes brothers in-law, right? Damn, I really should crack open Strunk and White this decade) caught basss, trout, crappie and bluegill. I steered the boat and peed in a Gatorade bottle. We ended up going catch and release for the trip, so I think we all ended up happy. Or as happy as three guys with no fish and a bunch of fish with fresh piercings can get.

Later that afternoon, we went to Post Falls pond so that I could catch something. While I finally caught some trout, the exciting part at the pond was my grand physics experiment. Early on, I decided to experiment with friction. Interesting stuff, friction. So pleasurable under the right circumstances, yet so painful when you’re sliding down a rock-strewn embankment on your hands, feet and arse, about to pitch into a pond. I ended the day with two trout, a bruised bum and some not-so-micro derm abrasion on my hands. Fun!

Not much happened Sunday in the fun department, although I did see something for the first time in the year I’ve been up here in Idaho: A fire truck had its siren and lights on, and most of the drivers on the road actually pulled over. Usually drivers around here just speed up or ignore ambulances (like the brilliant local tow-truck driver who ended up ramming an ambulance yesterday), but not yesterday. Must be something in the air. I’m sure it’ll all blow over by the end of the week.

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I admit it: I am not a big fan of racing movies (or really stupid teen movies), so it is not going to be much of a stretch, but I think I’ll avoid this film.

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So . . . my multitasking (or, as these folks phrase it, “childlike flexibility”) may just be a sign of the times. All grown up and immature — I’m not alone! Does this mean I can still pee in the pool?

In local news, Ironman Coeur d’Alene kicked off today, but I missed it due to sleep. I may be a child at heart and mind, but I’ve got the body of a 38-year old. Staying up to watch SNL just wiped me out. Or maybe it was discovering how unfunny SNL is these days. Bah, humbug! Anyway, I still have to stretch and maybe water the garden, or my child-like innocence will be shattered when the wife comes home and cries at the sight of all her plants dying in the 99f weather. In the words of Mahatma Ghandi, “Holy crap, it’s hot!” Or something to that effect.

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It’s good to see where the President stands on flag desecration.

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Well crap, the day just got a bit darker and colder. Sure, it’s 70+ (Fahrenheit, not any of that pansy euro-centric celsius crap (yes, I’m pandering to my base readers here, all you Freedom-fry munching, gun-toting mouth breathers)) and not a cloud in the sky, supposed to hit the 90’s this afternoon, but still, cold and dark. Why? Because Chris Regan at Mythstory has failed me. The bastard’s still running June 22nd’s day in Mythstory. Where’s my 23rd? Well, hell, I’m just going to have to skip over to Girls Are Pretty for “The Couple That’s Impaled Together Day!”

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Another sign that I am getting older: I don’t like LOUD! My mother bought my son a cap-gun while we were visiting, and now I have to listen to the constant banging as he pulls the trigger over and over. We’ve at least established that it is not to be used indoors. Now we just need to establish that he doesn’t need to yell “BANG!” every time he fires it. That, and have it somehow accidentally left under the tire of my truck.

And a quick shout out to iso book club of Camp Hill, PA: Thanks guys, but I’m still not gay. Ah hell, let’s put it in writing:

Hi guys,

Just thought I’d drop you a note and let you know I’m still not gay. I’m sorry if this disappoints you, but I just can’t seem to shake this whole heterosexual thing. So, in light of this, could you please stop sending me your book club enrollment offers? At the moment, I still prefer to choose what I read based on the merits of the work in question, not on the sexuality of the author of the work in question.

Below is the address you are using to send me your offers:
<address redacted>

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I’m back, and ready to stay home indefinitely. Two days down, two days back, with screaming, yelling and temper tantrums the whole way. Then there was the kids’ behavior. Ugh. Next time either I fly, the kids stay home, or we get a soundproof barrier to put between the kids and the wife. Or a cone of silence for me. I will write more once I recover.

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I’m two days into my vacation and I am running out of exciting things to do. Day one was spent going to the dump and tossing out bags of maggot-infested diapers (a big shout of thanks goes to the MHUDS, D&M, for not taking care of their kid’s crap-sacks themselves. Thanks guys, really. I live for this stuff). I planned an exhilarating day of mowing, weeding and yard work for today, but the golf-ball sized hail and torrential downpours have put that on hold. So, what’s a guy to do for fun? I suppose I could go vacuum my shop or something.

Tomorrow we leave for Humboldt. Hopefully the birds (they look more and more like Brewer’s Blackbirds and not starlings every day, thank god/God/whatever) will figure out how to hunt down moistened cat food kibbles on their own while I am away, otherwise it is going to be a lean week for them.

Vacation hasn’t been all dump-runs and other domestic thrills, really. I took my daughter fishing yesterday as well. We spent a couple of hours at Fernan Lake, reeling in the perch and one bass. Sure, pretty much everything had to be released, but Lils still found the fight on those 1+ inch perch to be pretty exciting. After fishing, we packed up a couple of bags of garbage and headed home. Nothing like dealing with other peoples’ garbage to complete the perfect fishing experience.

Here in the Idaho Panhandle they’ve slowly replaced their racist zeal with an all things California-hating zeal. Housing prices too high? It’s the damned Californians. Gas prices too high? It’s the damned Californians. Property taxes too high? That’s right, the damned Californians again. Trash everywhere? Must be the Californians. To which I say, get the hell off the trailer steps and look around, you morons! The Californians who move up here are here because they are interested in living somewhere more rural, somewhere less spoiled. They aren’t likely to be the ones dumping trash everywhere. You don’t like the high property taxes, the high housing prices? Convince your neighbors to sell their homes for less. It’s certainly not the buyers who are asking to pay more. Okay, enough ranting, I need to go stretch.

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Never ever use Heritage Financial Service. For anything. The female MHUD (once again, Mormon-Human Underground Dweller) is screaming and crying (can you guess that she was a high school drama queen?) because another promised closing day has been cancelled. There was something about changing her diaper and spoon-feeding her baby food, because she’s done, can’t take it any more. Oh joy. Thank you, Rob. Thank you, Heritage Financial Service. The sad thing is, the excuses for why they can’t close are not getting any better. First, they claimed the MHUDS were shopping for a new loan, which turned out to be a lie.

I missed the next three or four excuses, although there was something about the paperwork, which Rob claimed would take 24 hours to get back, being late. Yesterday’s excuse was that the house was appraising too high compared to the selling price when the washer and dryer were added in. Uh yeah, $240,000 for a house, and less than a thousand for a washer and dryer pushes the home value up too high?

Now it sounds like the radon abatement system is holding things up (or radiation abatement, if you are Mr. Brilliance, a.k.a. Rob). This one is actually a good one: Supposedly the lender wants the radon abatement system in before they’ll close on the house, but the MHUDS can’t put in the system until the house closes and it is their’s. This should hold things up pretty much indefinitely. When you want the absolute worst service, call Heritage Financial Service.

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