QUESTIONS! to all your answers.....

Why is it that y-o-j is of no use in Path Words,

but j-o-y is? Same letters.

Why is the wonderful aussie word "roo", (meaning kangaroo)

of no utter meaning in Yankdom?

Why can I fine 7 little words in 9 scrambled letters

but I can't see the 9 letter word?

Where are all the Scrabble players that used to be?

When, Oh when will I find time to read the 720 page book

I just got from the library,

A Team of Rivals?

Why, when we're now 4 days UP from the BOTTOM

(December 21)

do I not notice the long dark night being shorter

and the short (sometimes) bright day

being longer?

A+; how was yours ?

My sister and I used to swim at that lake right by the freeway. I think it was that one. I think it was my sister. It was in the summer when it looked a lot less like a steaming cauldron of icy vampire infested water. And it is a quarry, or sort of a pit scraped out in the mud. Never mind the details.

The teenager drove all the way to grandma's on the freeway, and all the way back, which was nice although it does not actually entitle a person to play rap music on the car radio (why do teenagers hate to be lectured unless it is via their music? I even hate for people to talk to me on and on without giving me space to say anything back or maybe run away from them. Rap music isn't the only kind of music that is like somebody hectoring you: there is a kind of frantic jazz that feels the same way. Oh, and show tunes. Or anything by Barbra Streisand or Whitney Houston.) I got to eat leftovers from my brother's family's holiday feast the night before. I really like doing that. Why can't I just go to my friends' houses and open up their refrigerators and browse whatever they have available? I could throw out moldy things as those presented themselves. The joy of not cooking and the joy of thriftiness and the joy of exploring all mixed up together and packed into a rubbery container with a lid that almost fits, who wouldn't like it? Besides some gifts selected just for me, I also got to take home quite a few things that didn't fit the nieces or they didn't like them. So did SWMBT. Good things, like fleece sweatpants and the sort of slippers you can walk around outside in, while you are being lectured via music over headphones, if you are a person who enjoys wearing slippers outdoors and lecturing music, for example.

Some of us took the hyper dog for a walk down a steep hill (the slobbery tennis ball kept getting away) and through a graveyard (oldest birth date logged, if you count having to do math to get it : 1812) and up a different street and around a twisty street and back up the hill, then (minus dog) to the backyard of a neighbor who was away in Hawaii who said we could let the hyper dog run in the enormous back yard, but first we had to check to see if their chickens were cooped up. They had a GREAT chicken run: a couple of pens connected by chicken tunnels (not underground tunnels but made of wire) with interesting doors that could segment off the different areas and a intricate folding double door system to allow or disallow access to the giant yard. Think of those plastic cages for gerbils connected by plastic hoses, and then make it much larger and turn it into chicken wire and you have the idea. I am impressed and inspired. That yard had its own hyper dog needing interaction with us and the spit covered tennis ball. One side of the dog was white and the other side had a certain amount of spots. It reminded me of a car I had a long time ago in Texas with different things painted on both sides, that somebody told me would be really useful because I could rob an icehouse, then just turn the car around and park it in the other side of the street, and nobody would catch me. I guess the dog could run at you from one direction, bite you, then run away and when out of sight turn in the other direction and sit down. "Uh, not me. I have spots. Wag wag wag."

After that we gathered up all our loot, took Mom/Grandma back home, watered her flowers for her and cut up her gift fudge and accepted some, and went back home. The End.

two more shopping days until one shopping day left!!

so, i've been noticing that all the "tarjét" commercials are coming pre-laced with a handy "countdown" calendar. in case you are too lazy to actually remember what today's date is, they tell you, in a friendly "flip-off" calendarway. they even imply that "tarjét" is so convenient that a roly-poly sandy clause will--get this!--RUN to make the closing bell. i'm a bit embarrassed to mention that the reason i know about these commercials is the vast amount of bad TV the landlord and i have been watching recently. he was sorely disappointed to miss last sunday's two hour survivor finale for a christmas party. i celebrated missing it by watching two hours of sportscenter. including chris berman's "the blitz". chris berman can SU(* *& *&^^S.
next on the agenda, we have the high cost of sled use. as a christmas gift to my boss (my portland buddy calls me a "suck-up" for this), i purchased a gallon of "VES Gold" 2-cycle sled oil. for $42.99. apparently sleds can only run on oil that is refined by artisan elves schooled at the prestigious OPEC school, from oil shale that is water-extracted on the dark side of mars. (remember that the $42.99 a gallon doesn't cover the actual gasoline part of the internal combustion reaction.) good thing i haven't had a day off in two weeks and that i won't for another two.
third on the FBC calendar: small towns. apparently i made the list of "eligible bachelors" over in the "snowsports school." while i am obviously eligible and certainly "in demand", i'm a bit taken aback by the drama and gossip it takes to be considered "eligible". most importantly, i'm worried that people in the "snowsports school" are talking about me. just the name "snowsports" gives me the "unfinished metal" shudders. or the "ceramic belt on ceramic belt" shudders. while in ballard, i was equally--possibly more than equally--"eligible". i mean, i'm a bike mechanic, for goodness' sake. in these trying economic times, considering as well the "green thrust" of our economy, a bike mechanic is like the archangel gabriel. and yet i never once heard of two neighbourhood women clamouring for my worthy attention. now i'm in the hills, telling eighteen year old "food handlers" who get paid 47 cents an hour to "stop pitching me attitude" and getting $175 speeding tickets and alla sudden my stock is "blue chips". hm. food, then, for thought.
fourth, i really like slaid cleaves. like "listen to all three albums i own at least once a day" sort of "like". i know these things, too, shall pass, but for today, i feel like a fourteen year old emo kid circa 2001 who just discovered chris carraba. for those who may have suggested i check out "insurgent country", i have this to say: i can't find but one album of his in the entire puget sound drainage. sonic boom can't see him with the HUBBLE. (thanks, aaron mcgruder.) how's that for "insurgent"?
fifth, and maybe most important, i'm wearing my black ibex wool jersey. it makes me refined and sleek and fast and awesome all at once. watch out, ladies!!!

an animal ate my insoles

A raccoon or a rat. An observer has theorized "They smelled dead and this was very attractive." Dude. That is a very revealing comment.

steel is also an "alloy".

my mom just asked me for a christmas list. here goes:
1) a HUM-V.
2) a "tat" with the word "RESPECK" in "olde english" script across my scapulae.
3) really expensive jeans.
4) a calfee bamboo frame hung with full Di2 and some ZIPP 808s.
5) one a them "flat brim" hats all the cool fixie kids is carrying.
6) tight-fitting t-shirts with lotsa stuff on em. best if they cost a lot.
7) "tall Ts". size xxxxlarge-long. brighter and flashier is best.
8) a pedicure.
9) 1991 reissue "air jordans".
10) an H2.
11) a membership to the hair club for men.
12) velcro.
13) 70s-era gym socks i can carry as arm warmers.
14) an H3
15) righteus new "alloy" wheels and "mudders" for my H3.
16) anything by fiddy.
17) two cases a hennessey.
18) a .44 magnum.
19) tinted windows for my H2.
20) girls to match my various "wardrobeways".
20a) girls to massage my shoulders while i'm driving to the club to "get tipsy".
21) ice for my lobes.
22) some righteous "skullies".
23) a couple r-f 16" subs for my HUM-V.
24) a "knuckle tat" reading "HUMM ERH3".
25) more velcro.
26) a kegerator.
27) a lifetime supply of coors light for my kegerator.
28) a house in which i can install my kegerator.
29) Au for my freshly waxed chest.
30) visa gift cards with enough cheddar for a salon who'll wax a dude's chest.

'sgone be tight!

Su casa es mi casa

I have stolen the following words from the clubhouse and sprinted furtively out the back and down the slick street with them and I will make something with them that I claim is my own, which I will have to keep a secret from you or anyone who knows you, for fear of lawsuits.

snobbery hobbery
regret it til I forget it
"Throw as much wood as you can fit in the stove and maybe some diesel, too" cold.

It is a compliment, but still when you discover this theft, it sucks to be you. You feel so violated. I wish I still drank beer, specifically the slightly skunky smelling kind, Rolling Rock for example. Those tasted exactly like they smelled which was so great that it made a person confused and itchy. Smelling and tasting would be hard to give up.

Did you ever imagine trying to describe a sense to somebody if the sense didn't exist and you were proposing it? Seeing for example would sound completely crazy. "You will have 2 squishy sort of gelatinous round parts of your body and you will POINT THESE at something, and light will bounce off the thing and some of it will bounce into your gelatinous part, or both of them would be better yet, but not absolutely necessary, and this will enable you to KNOW THINGS about the thing. But you can only know things about the side of the thing facing the gelatinous body part, not about the side of the thing farther away from the gelatinous body part. Also if something is between the gelatinous body part and the object, this flat out won't work." The only people who would even stick around to listen to it without hitting you with a frying pan would be people you wouldn't really want to talk to. People who play really complicated video games for hours, possibly.

Anyhow, where did all those labels come from? Did we vote on those? That's what happens when somebody lets the blog dashboard get damp. I'm borrowing a few of those, too.

gifting horses.

i'll begin with an admission: i like beer. beer tastes good. two pints of it generally gives a warm feeling; maybe a bit more willingness than usual to speak about what's on my mind. while it hasn't helped me dance, as the bumper sticker says, it has given me another outlet for one of my favourite hobbies: snobbery. some might not agree with me that this is a generally good thing, but i say that without snobbery, i'm quite close to nothing. being one who avoids absolutes, i tend to aim for the middle of the beer continuum. porters, browns, reds, ambers, and pales. i don't like many "american lagers", which are like "american 'cheese'". budweiser, miller, coors, pabst blue ribbon, rainier, all of those canned beers. hand me a "spaten pils" and i'll drink it. elysian's "perseus porter"? done. PBR, though? gives me heartburn. this isn't a metaphor. it seriously gives me heartburn. don't think i haven't tried to like it. hipsters dig PBR. bike snobs dig PBR. ski bums dig PBR. musicians dig PBR. i drink it and i regret until i forget and then try again, cycle after cycle.
i'll continue with another admission: i dig tips. i don't get tipped very often in the bike world, but i do in the ski world. i haven't figured this dichotomy out, but i also haven't really tried. i bring it up every time tipping arises in conversation, but i don't really listen to anyone's thoughts or provide my own, and thus remain voluntarily ignorant and a bit hypocritical. which are two more of my hobbies.
i'll add a story: last april i made an adapter plate for a customer so he could swap his alpine and tele setups easily while using one pair of skis. it involved a demo binding, some steel plating, a drill press, some rain and 8 hours of labour. when i was done, it was a passable setup, if a bit janky. fast forward to today, and a customer walks in with a similar setup, this using a UHMW plastic sort of materièl in place of the steel plating; otherwise it was identical. today's customer, however, had broken the demo plate part of his binding, causing what i'd call an "awesomeness void". my boss happened to be skiing with him, and his term for the incident was a "crash". i loaned the customer my own skis, sent him on his way and set out on the attack. details aside, it took three hours of wrangling, some free-to-the-customer parts and a lot of dremel grinding before i yelled "i win!" and handed the customer his skis back. my boss said it was a learning experience and sent the customer on his way, free of charge. NOW. . .were i in the customer's position, say in girdwood AK, i'd have proffered what cash i had in my wallet in gratitude. not so, this customer. he simply grunted and walked away, returning a few minutes later with a twelve of PBR. no pepto, just PBR.
i'll add a conclusion: unless things have changed, SHITTY BEER DOESN'T PAY RENT. while i have seen a couple cans of rainier in my landlord's fridge, the only non-currency currency i've found that i can use in lieu of rent is free-range, farm-fresh eggs. in the 18 pack.
that is all.

35 is the new 24 years, 5 months and 12 days.

we were over in the elk last winter getting pizza and drunk when i refused to allow my eldest coworker (we'll call her "carrie") to pay for her share of the pizza. her boyfriend was out of town, and my younger coworker (we'll call him "jj") and i decided we needed to make sure she wasn't lonely. by this, jj and i hoped to mean "make sure carrie's totally shitty by nine o'clock". by the time jj and i had reached the elk, she was already at least a sheet and a half in, with a fresh martini in her hand. when i said, "no, you may not pay for the pizza," she said "cash, i'm not sleeping with you." hm. this was new for me, cos while i assert that language is interpretive, i usually make the assumption that when one offers a kindness, he or she is generally rewarded with a "thank you" or is refused on the kindness alone. in scanning my statement, which i think actually took the form of a negative grunt, i found no expressed or intrinsic sexual type advances. or even moderate first-base type advances. in fact, grunting is usually accepted as a sure way to show neutrality or disinterest. maybe i'm "noncorrect". anyway, i like skiing. makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, even if my hands feel like pizza bricks, which is why i thought of this brief and past-tense scene.
in other news, it's cold. like "lobster boat in january off the northeast coast of labrador" cold. "throw as much wood as you can fit in the stove and maybe some diesel, too" cold. "wait at the bottom of the chair hoping a pretty girl comes along to cuddle with even though you don't know her and she's likely to punch your lights out" cold. i don't know how this came about, cos it's also WESTERN WASHINGTON. something about "modified arctic air" and local TV weatherperson catnip. heads tryna "clearify" just "how cold it's gonna get tonight" with more than a touch of schadenfreude and a loopy grin.
in other other news, i'm tryna "clearify" whether it's more lonely in phinney ditch, where i'm outnumbered by uninterested women, or in the white river drainage, where there are no women. every year, i think "maybe this is the year" and then it shows up, and i think "maybe next year." then i crave a 1554 and some waffle fries and a pudding cup and a juice box. (no, not that kind.)

Gift of the Kninja : a seasonal story

Chapter 1
"No plastic cling wrap? Did you run out?"
"Oh. No; I don't buy it. I had Grandma's after she died! It was in a cool 1980's box. But it ran a few years ago."

Chapter 2
" Look what I bought just for you at the grocery store! TA DA. Plastic film wrap."
"Frick. I was going to buy it for YOU, for Christmas."

(editor): Lacks something. Could we change this so that either you or your visiting sister cuts off a part of her body? Did anybody cry at all during any part of this? Or hugging? Was hugging involved?

look for us to be posting soon on Crankster

Crankster from the Issue of November 2, 2009: newyorker.com (a new site for anti-social networking. 24 members from the site shown in the paper copy of the New Yorker. What are you looking at? Don't you have things to do? Cheez and crackers.)