Monday, February 19, 2007

When you call my name, I salivate like a Pavlov's dog
Yeah when you lay me out my heart is beating louder than a big bass drum

Hey there. Sorry for the delay.

A lot has happened since we last talked. Since my last post, Blain's mother passed. God bless her soul; she was a really sweet lady. Ovarian cancer is a bitch. Blain was able to spend the night by his mother's bedside the night before she departed. I probably shouldn't be writing this. but it that's life. Blain is like a little brother to me. I like to think I can take him under Duder's wing, and school him in the ways of the Jedi. The Force is strong with this one.

Blain, I am terribly sorry. I can't imagine.

Your mom was a sweet, sweet lady.

I am glad I met her.

My thoughts and love are with you, young Jedi.

May the Force be with you.


Since I last posted, it has snowed over 40 inches. Yeah. Three feet, four inches. (And, trust me, you can do a lot of damage with four inches.)

I have been making up for lost ground.

The Dad mentioned that it got boring when I obsessed on snowboarding. Since I have been on obsessing on snowboarding for the last 10-12 days, I haven't posted.

I agree with the Dad. I wrote so extensively and so effusively about carving and bouncing in powder, the thrill of adrenaline, choking on cold smoke powder, heart pounding in my throat, my entire life riding on the strength of my legs, ripping through trees, catching a rock, kicking my tail into a tree, gliding and sliding, bouncing like a Mexican jumping bean on a skillet of crackling, sizzling oil that I thought you might not be interested anymore.

No, I currently do not have a helmet (it's broken), and I would appreciate it if you kept your emails and comments to yourself. Frankly, I don't give a shit if you think I make a bad example for your kids. Your kids shouldn't be reading this. If they are, that's on you.

((Besides, if your kids are reading this consistently and you are worried about them ... well, why don't you have a talk with your kid and commend him on his great taste.))

(((And, if you are still reading this, and you are about to cuff your kid upside the dome, you just may want to examine just why you are reading this.)))

What did you expect, anyway?

I write, you read.

That's the way it works.

Step aside, and nobody gets hurt.

I like walking backwards.

It is all a tiny city, made of ashes.

Frozen in fear, captured in lava.

You don't really care what I write, anyway.

If you can intersperse something strange in between the pictures, well... that's something, now isn't it?

Soon, I am headed for warmer pastures.

Much warmer pastures.

Tropical pastures.

Who cares, really?

Gandalf was a badass. Perhaps even more badass than Jesus. Except, of course, that Gandalf is a fictional character and his exploits and prowess are all the product of imagination and good intention.

Completely the opposite of Jesus.

Except, if I could bet on Jesus, Ditka and Gandalf in a cage match?

I'd have to take Ditka and the points.