She's got a smile that it seems to meReminds me of childhood memoriesWhere everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky.

Now and then when I see her face
She takes me away to that
Special place.
And if I stared too long,
I'd probably break down and cry.

Which is almost how I feel right now.
Because I no longer get emails from my friends. My wife gets tons of them. Nice, detailed emails, filling her in on the goings-on and asking after her. But, oh yeah, she doesn't have a blog to relay everything happening in a one-way communication format that her friends can read and then use as a basis to ignore her. And more's the pity.

But me?
Nada. Well, almost nada.
Word to the good people at Netflix. Shout out to Netflix, for letting me know you received Arrested Development Disc Two! Keepin' it real.

But, as for the rest of you voyeuristic bastards who check here every damn day to be entertained by the Duder... Zip. Zilch. Bubkes.

You know who you are.

Oh, I know you're checking in. Don't play coy with me. That little hit counter at the bottom of the page tells me that the Dude Abides had 100 unique visitors today. You erstwhile friends of mine are coming here in droves.

I am watching you, Fockers.

And I will take you down.

I will take you down to Chinatown.


--
OK, enough with the desperate self-pity. Let's get to the good shit. (But if I don't feel sorry for me, who's gonna?)

Did you know that the reverse barbs of a porcupine quill can cause it to work its way through your body, say from your foot and come out your knee?

Cool. Chiggity-check it out.

--
Um, I'm really glad I have pepper spray now.
This dude is a Bozeman native who got mauled by a bear. (Obviously)


His friend saved his life with pepper spray, so he started a pepper spray company.

As his marketing pitch, he just tells his story and shows the pictures.

Incredible. Thanks to Nessie for the hook-up with that link.

--

Guilty confession: I love the song "Bust a Move." The fact that Flea played bass on the song lends a faint whiff of credibility to my guilty pleasure, but still... I'm a 35 year old, white, Montanan-by-way-of-Wisconsin product of the '80s. Whaddya want from me?

--
Regarding the Harrier Hawks, I thought that, as George Harrison said, "This bird has flown." There has been a lot of work in the meadow-cum-100 acre park lately, as they are doing some excavation on one of the fishing ponds. I had not seen them for a while. Alas, I have found my dive-bombing friends, alive and well, 2 miles north and east along my running route in another field. The four bird family unit is still intact, but, damn, those kids are getting big. They are probably hassling dad for the car keys as we speak.

--
I received an email from one of my two remaining FRIENDS that had a hilarious quote in it. I lifted it intact:

"Speaking of which, I have read lately that the libido of a 45-year-old woman is roughly equivalent to that of an 18-year-old man. That Mother Nature? She's one funny bitch. A few years before menopause and she deals the trump card."

--
Iraq... I have some new names.

Operation Un-Fuck It? Operation Ooops? Operation Say We Won and Let's Go Home?

--
And as for you non-emailing, non-calling bastards, may you inhabit a circle of hell reserved for musical theater, replete with campy props, wink-wink nudge-nudge humor, lavish orchestration, over-acting beyond Shatner, and an eternity of down-on-one-knee Jazz Hands.

I don't need you.

All I need is this thermos.

And this paddle.

And this chair.

And this ashtray.

I don't need you.