I hate cats, so this picture may seem out of place. However, what my eyes beheld upon my arrival home tonight should enlighten everyone to the appropriate nature of this picture. Before that let me say that this isn't one I took, I tried multiple time to get a photo of the trespassers, but they ran before I could snap the pic every time. Anyway, when I pulled down the sand covered path to my home, the light from my headlights bled across the front yard spreading it's illumination until if fell on the west side of the domicile. I which point I observed no less than 10 cats run into the surrounding underbrush. This is somewhat expected as I had noticed a strong cat urine odor around the house, but I couldn't figure out what was up with all the activity. As I approached the house I understood, for echoing from the interior was one of the most horrible sounds this earth hold. The sound of a cat in heat.

In all my years on this world I have never been denied entrance into a man fort, until that is, the ho ho hoopla of 2010. The incident took place shortly after arival, a impromptu fort was constructed using a blanket and three bar stools. If I may step back from my tale for a moment to comment on the inferior construction of this fort, a blanket and 3 bar stools does not a good for make. In a pinch I guess I could understand, but this particular unit lacked any support to anchor the blanket to the stools, and combine a low friction fabric like fleece with a lower friction surface like stained wood, and you are practically begging for collapse. but they couldn't even be bothered for a few old yellow pages to ensure integrity. Back to it, little did I know, nor expect, that the treachery would come from my own camp. My wife secured entry into the fort with my nephew on pretext of fun and merriment, the plan was then to coax him into allowing me to be part of the group. So you can imagine my horror when I knelt to enter and was not only refused but met with hostel actions. However.....

Let me start by saying that I am truly, madly, and deeply sorry for being so long without a post. I have been out of state and short on time prior and post vacation, and had almost none during. Now, on to the the post:

I am not going to come out and say that a totally gnarly heal strike took this thing off the wall in a fury of frustration and straight glory. I'm not going to tell you that I pulled up to a bathroom and after a long and frustration day I just needed a quick bathroom break, and as a reward for my clean living and hand washing I got a crotch full of unfiltered tap water. I am not implying that this was the proverbial straw that snapped the camels back like so much kindling, in no way am I suggesting that in a fit of fiery red furry this feverishly forced me to fling my foot in a fast fervor dislodging the sink from the wall. All I am telling you is that this sink is no longer attached to a wall and I have a picture of it.

I am growing older every year, and with those years comes a continuous stream of epiphany-esque realizations about the world around me. So when I saw this today, I was struck with understanding that my subconscious mind must having been forming for several years. You see when you happen upon a real life mystery machine in a gated community you may think "wow, that's hilarious and awesome." Which is exactly what the owner of something like this would want. Along with a better understanding, the years have given me an attention to detail, and what I saw filled in the blanks. First, the rust around the wheel wells, second the aged and decaying console, third the rear sectioned off, forth 3 of the 4 wheels were under-pressured, and finally along with the rear of this large van being sectioned off from the front, there are no windows to speak of into the back anywhere. My mind processed this information almost immediately and dumped it into my conscious mind with two other tid bits that aloud me to form an immediate and I believe accurate picture. The of two was to swap the paint job for a flat white, and second was to consider what type of person would be drawn to this vehicle (children). Those ideas combined with my observations forced my understanding of this van to be little more than a wolf in shaggies clothing. So I emailed Chris Hanson.

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the ship,

Not a creature was stirring, no droid made a blip.

Han and Chewie buckled into their chairs,

Hoping to run spice through the Empire’s snares.

When from the rear hatch there arose an alarm,

Han turned on a view screen to inspect the harm.

The camera had been shot and Han’s eyebrows were set,

For surely this could only be Boba Fett.

Chewie tore from the cockpit, bow caster in hand,

To cut down the Mando where he did stand.

When what a shudder ran through the craft,

Boba had cut the hyper drive lines leading aft.

Chewie rounded a corner and saw his head,

Leveled his weapon and unloaded lead (actually lasers).

Boba proved to be quite leaved headed and sure,

Engaged the flame thrower on his wrist and singed Chewie's fur.

Han ordered Chewie into med bay,

And depressurized the ship to Fett’s dismay.

He flew into the blackness of space, and called Slave One,

And whispered, “I’ll have you back to Jaba before this is done.”

what a strange thing the pregnant mind is. Kaje often informs me how she constantly forgets to do things, about things, and general information. It is an unfortunate state of affairs for her. More often than not it is a source of amusement for me. This picture is an example of the sort of absent-mindedness that has resulted from her condition. We were checking out at Walmart and she was grabbing the bags from the carousel and loading them into the cart. and when I set the bag with the eggs next to the bag with the bread, she picked up the bread and slammed the eggs down underneath with such force that I could actually make out the distinct clanks of each egg impacting with its unborn brother. I asked her what in the world she was doing, she looked down, realized she just smashed the eggs into the cart, looked back up at me, and said "i thought they were the oranges." Then she checked the eggs and told me they were perfectly fine. I found this when I got home and immediately took a picture as proof, much to her dismay and exclamations of "you're just going to put it on your blogg to embarrass me." At least she still understands me.

ps, kaje would like it noted that she claims to have seen cheddar cheese in the same bag and assumed it was oranges not eggs. To which i say, why would you slam oranges forcefully down into a cart anymore than you would eggs. to which she looks at me angrily.

This bird did a terrible thing to me. Sure I should've known, but there are some bits of what would seem to be common knowledge that escape even myself. So when I consumed turkey from thanksgiving yesterday the only thing that I thought was, "this is some delicious turkey." It was only after it was too late that I learned what this would do to a person, and I learned it the hard way. I am still recovering from the turkey poison even now. I ate nothing throughout the day, and could only keep water down, and it felt like I'd run a marathon by body was in so much pain. To the best of my extensive knowledge what happens to old turkey is that the sleep juice that require millions of Americans to nap one Thursday a year, actually transforms into a very potent cousin of snake venom. Hence the tremors, elevated hard rate, cold sweats, and shaking I was suffering from. You can verify all this information on the recently edited wiki entry for turkey.

This is Oscar, he is a stupid cat. I can't say whether or not he was born dumb, or it something that has developed over time. What I can say confidently is that he is stupid. More often than not you can find his tongue sticking half out of his mouth, he seems incapable of jumping, and generally acts like a dog. For a cat this is not a good thing. However, even with all this working against him we still really like him. He comes when he's called (which is more than I can say for the dog), and is very loving. So imagine my surprise when Kaje and I are back at the old apartment this week finishing the cleaning process and I step outside only to see a slightly pudgy, striped, orange cat sauntering over. I imagine the confusion was evident on my face as I knelt down and called him over. You see I know for a fact he wasn't in the front of the car with us, but he was heading towards me when I called him, and he even let me pick him up and scratch his head. I brought him over to the light and he seemed to look and feel like Oscar. This was about the time he got fidgety and ran off. I went inside to convey the goings on of my evening to my loving wife, and she stepped outside and called out to him. Sure enough he came running over, and the same checks transpired, he again became agitated and ran off. He did not come back this time. It was hard to really believe it was him because it seemed impossible for him to have stowed away. Upon returning home we, of course, found him sleeping on the couch. I still believe he found a way over to old place and managed to get back before us. It's not everyday an identical orange cat comes when its called and lets you scratch behind its ears, but in this situation I'm not entirely sure which way Occam's Razor cuts.

There have been many times throughout my years on this planet that I am reminded of morality in stunning, and often very public ways. The time I drove a fork lift off a dock, or when a errant firework nearly hit me in the face, or when I fell out of a tree and missed a steel property marker by literally inches. There are so many more, but I will save them for other blogs. This was a brush with death that may or may not have been close, the important thing is at the time I was convinced I was going to die. The incident in question took place shortly into my marriage with kaje. We were both violently ill with something that was a lot like the flue, but also came with richter worthy headaches and body pain. So bad in fact that I took medicine, this rarely happens willingly in my life. I took two, thinking they were more or less the same as ibuprofen, and for awhile felt better. A few hours passed and I the pain started again, so I took 2 more. This process repeated 2 more times until had taken 8 pills in about 6 hours. I would've taken more but I started to feel.... interesting. It seemed to me that the colors in the room were getting brighter and I was convinced the guys upstairs were playing techno because of the pounding in my ears. I shook Kaje awake so she could listen to the sound, and ask if she was having the same problems. Turns out she was quite startled by how wide my eyes and pupils were, the fact that I was by all accounts vibrating, and my mouth kept dropping open. What most of you already know is that the bottle says quite clearly not to excede 2, yes 2, pills in a twenty four hour period. I took 8 in 6.

There are certain images that are able to convey complex metaphors with little more than cursory examination and reflection. This is perhaps one of those images, though it may require some explanation to fully understand it. What may be hard to tell just by this image is the face that the pitch of the roof is so extreme that if there is nothing to wedge yourself against you will simply slide off. I know this because it happened. However, this did not occur to me until I had managed to get to the peak of the 3 story roof. I managed to gain that height by shimmying along a ridge. When I finally looked back I saw my mistake. I had not considered my return trip. Going down does not afford as many places to grip and i slid down most of the roof. I can say with authority that while it may look like a slide, shingles in no way feel like like one. Luckily I rebounded off that small ledge at the bottom of the slope, this slowed me enough that I was able to execute a controlled fall of the ledge and impact the ground with reduced speed. Sadly this all happened before I could finish my work and my tools along with the unfinished task lay at the top of the roof...

Please stick with me while I attempt to paint a picture of a muggy August afternoon. It had rained that morning and the resulting humidity gave the air a almost gelatin feel. It was through this quagmire that I waded on my way to what would be a day of American competition that I would never forget,indeed it would be one of those rare events from my youth that would be seared into my memory for the rest of my life. The sun, mercifully, was absent that day as 18 young men prepared to do battle on that most recognizable field of play. The stands filled with parents and siblings eager to imbibe the fair and cheer the young men on. It was shortly after the start when I noticed her. She had slipped in that graceful way only she could. Unassuming and captivating all at the same time. My grandmother had come to watch the game. This should have been a happy event, and for a time it was. The game progressed as games of that age group do. High scoring and sloppy play. Until the sixth man in rotation stepped up to the plate. The first pitch went wide right with his bat chasing fitfully after. The second screamed inside forcing him to jump back and drop the bat. The third pitch is where it all came apart. The pitcher ground is heal into the still wet sand, transferring weight and energy as his body coiled. The spring gave and the balled powered towards the plate low and outside, he swung. The swing was wild and and just barely connecting, the rebounded with the force of the impact, but without solid contact that bat imparted a upward trajectory to ball without stopping its forward momentum. It sailed over the back stop and upon reaching the height of its parabolic trajectory rocketed back towards earth and right into one Connie Holthouse....

This is a perfect example of one of the many terrible things Florida has to offer. This is a banana spider, I don't remember exactly but I'm pretty sure its about the size of kaje's hand. This little monster can be found all over the state, what a treat. That's just one of many horrible little things that can be found all over the place. Today while walking up to a customers house I nearly stepped on what I appeared to be a large caterpillar with barbed protrusions and 6 legs. This beast tried to attack my shoe and was more that 3 colors but less than 7. I considered stepping on it, but from all appearances it would be filled with the same fluid as the aliens from Aliens and would corrode my soul and sear into the calloused skin of my foot.

This is plea, someone needs to lend me a Wii for a few (6 months)in order that I may utilize this tool of learning to educate myself on the proper care of my soon to be infant offspring. This is a modern age, and as such I require modern tools. No longer must we toil away learning as we go, but with this electronically gutted plush child substitute, I can learn to be a great father without ever touching a real child.

Life is filled with trials, events, tribulations, basically things that separate the wheat from the chaff. This are the sort of things that will allow us to become an eagle, or a turkey. Are you going to be a mindless clump of feathers doing little more than being bread for consumption by those who fancy themselves your betters. Or will you choose the path of the eagle? Soaring free where ever you choose, intelligent eyes piercing the darkness, becoming an icon for a nation to turn to. Soon you'll be kicked from the nest, it's up to you whether you soar through the heavens, or drop onto a thanksgiving table smothered in gravy.

I come to you today with my head down and my spirits lower. I come to you not to post, but to confess. I have committed a crime that is almost to awful to speak of, but my soul is burdened and I must confess all on the path to cleansing myself of this evil. When we arrived I had no intention of wreaking such devastation on the close knit community of furs. However, overcome with the holiday spirit, and perhaps a little peer pressure I slew one of the helpless trees. Cutting it down in its prime. What truly makes me a monster isn't even the horrifying act but pure exhilaration I felt after my saw bit deep. I raised the creatures lifeless husk high in triumph, and for that there can be no forgiveness, no penance to cleanse the stain on my soul, I will forever be a Monster.

A dream, a desire, a goal one can spend a life trying to achieve and at the end having not accomplished it still say, "this was a life well spent." Becoming Fett is, and should be, the goal of many a young man. To often a dream that is slowly eroded with the trials and tribulations of everyday life. The mundane slowly chipping away at ones resolve like the great rivers of this world slowly grinding away hardy banks. Not me. My resolve is granite. When life takes away from my journey to Boba, I bring sand bags to my river until flood that is my daily routine recedes. I am vigilant and the waters will never overtake me. If it takes to my last breath I will wear the Mandalorian Armor, I will take flight in the jet pack, I will fire the wrist rockets, I will go toe to toe with Solo, I will be the Fett.

It is well documented that as long as there has been man on this planet, man has looked beyond himself for some source of meaning, IE God. Countless examples of early man's deities and worship can be found from the jungles of South America to the ruins of ancient Greece. Textbooks would have you believe that this pigly monstrosity is one of those examples. In both an art class and an ancient history class this thing came up as one of the earliest examples of humanities idols. Known as a fertility goddess anthropologists would have us believe early man would worship this blob to ensure conception and healthy child birth. The kicker is that this thing has no evidence to support that other than its existence. I posit a different, and it my opinion, more logical and likely scenario. This was most likely some early shot at pornography. If there is one constant throughout the ages it is mans desire to see woman naked as often as possible. More than likely some teenager apprenticing under the local sculptor learned how to do some rudimentary clay work, a little sculpting and access to a furnace was all he needed to impress his pals. I guess their version is possible, but I think mine is far more likely. I mean when you look at something like this.

This is obviously created with reverence and attention to detail, not a combination of parts from the throw away bin.

This is a picture of hard work. I know it looks like a shoe, but the shoe is more of a metaphor nay an allegory (learned that from Arthur on PBS), for the modern working man. I bought this shoe around 5 months ago and whilst atop a roof in rural Florida I felt a tug on my heel, the tug gave way to a slipping, then my shoe separated from my soul, and before I could gasp I hit the roof. Luckily for my well being the angle of the roof was paltry at best so I stuck fast. I scrutinized my foot and noticed a portion of my big toe peeking back at me. I had attempted repairs on this footwear many times prior, but this would be the last hurrah for the soulless pair. They were not long for this world, and as with most things they were disposed of and replaced within minutes of their failing. As a wise man once said to me "Stick your hand into that bucket of water and pull it back out, and just see how fast you're replaced."

This picture has a lot of significance for me. It seems like it was drawn in the very first incarnation of microsoft paint, by a hand that had never met a mouse before. Which if you use the lack of understanding as a point of comparison it was. It drew it on my brand new touch screen phone shortly after we got the positive tests. I have never used a touch screen prior to this, and my isn't all fancy like high end smart phones, it is still a tactile response screen rather than those heat sensitive screens, or the bio-conductive ones. So my control was less than perfect. Thus we get the image below. I like to think of it as the first picture of our child. It really has Kaje's eyes, but definitely my body.

I needed a washer and dryer. I needed to get it from point a to point b. I don't own a truck, and I dont like making trip"s". So this is what I did. You are indeed looking at a washer and dryer stuffed into the trunk of a 93 Town Car. That was then driven 11 miles straight through downtown orlando at 10pm. I was not stopped, they did not fall out, but there was incident. I don't know if it was when I stuffed them in or pulled them out, but the washer was completely dead by the time I hooked it up. I was disappointed. However, after about 3 hours of ripping it apart, a little reading, and rewiring as needed, it functions perfectly. Sure it wont stop if you open the lid (one of those things I had to bypass) but it cleans cloths. Or it did until all the outlets right there died. So now until I can fix that there is a extension cord running out of my kitchen window to the washer and I have clean uniforms.

Sorry for not posting anything new, I have had the flu, and with it a nightmarish headache, so thinking long enough to post a blog as not been possible. Soon ill be back

Now this is a tool for the end of times. They market this as a multi-function hammer for the all around handy man. I know better. This was clearly crafted for the impending plague of the walking dead. It is almost a perfect mid-weight weapon. Like the staple Mid-Weight weapon that zombie enthusiasts have loved for years, the crow bar, this little number combines shear killing prowess with functionality on a level the crow bar could only dream of. Weighted for balance this wreaking hammer is designed to make short work of concrete and drywall, not to mention the human cranium. Never worry that you have left yourself no way out, with this on your belt you will always be able to make a way out. Notice the sharped point at the base, perfect for driving down through the top of the skull to ensure our cannibal counterparts stay down. A little to nontraditional for you? Not to worry, Stanly (a leader in American Tools) has its own option.

As you can see you forgo the short stabbing blade as in the former for a traditional pry bar. I would recommended this for those of you who live in urban areas with heavier doors, as the added leverage will allow you to get into warehouses, schools, and if you're determined, your local arms dealer. Whichever you choose there is no going wrong with these modern alternatives.

Inspiring, that is what this is. These poster typically adorn the offices of mid level management throughout the heartlands, its the kind of framed motivation that tells upper management that you are "in it to win it." So what is it doing here?

The trend of interesting bathroom discoveries continues. I think it must have something to do with the culture down here, but I continually find oddities in the restrooms. Don't get me wrong, I know sometimes people need a little encouragement in the restroom, shy bladders and all, but I don't think teamwork is really the ideal to push in that situation. In fact I cant think of many situations where teamwork in a single stall bathroom will result in less than a fine or a felony.

Let me begin by apologizing for my neglect to post on a daily basis. Life has recently thrown me into throngs of chaos and it is not so much lack of time that keeps me from bringing you photos, but simply my mind is so full of other things that a few things seem to fall out daily. As for this picture, it was taken the weekend Kaje came to Chicago to visit me and I asked her to marry me. I would never have guessed that we would be where we are now if you'd given me a thousand tries. However, that is not what I intend to point out in this picture. This picture brings a difference in Kaje and myself into focus. Namely, my head. Which is clearly double the size of hers. I have made my piece with my abnormal head, and Kaje has excepted my freakish proportions and not shunned me for them, but with the recent developments I can only pray for mercy and that my unborn seed has my wife's head for her sake.

This is one of those rare pictures that isn't actually worth many words. Not because it merits no response, rather it speaks volumes alone. None the less I will speak the words redundantly. I took this picture in a bathroom designed for multiple people to use at once. 2 stalls, one urinal. The problem, clearly illustrated in the photo, is the placement of the aforementioned urinal. Not only is it at hand level, not only is it in splash distance of the sink, but there is no divider. Imagine you step out of the stall to wash your hands like a good American should, and you look down to suds up and the corner of your vision is filled with manhood. Through no fault of your own. Not only that mental molestation, but you realize that your hands have been getting hit with spray and you haven't yet turned the sink on. This is a failure on a level rarely seen, I am considering a class action suit for mental, emotional, and physical damages as a result of a complete lack of foresight.

There is something I learned about myself a long time ago. I exist in that strange margin of people that fall into that %1 that are left out of the figures on infomercials. Example. About 1 out of hundred video cards manufactured for computers are bad out of the box. I got 3 bad in a row. The odds of that are not good. There was a small error that can occur in camcorders roughly about 1 in thousand, it happened to mine twice. Every single car I have had has had the alternator go out, and in two of them it happened twice. These are three examples, but there are many more. The point is, I have learned to live in my narrow margins and to have fun with the fact that no matter what science and odds say will happen I will be the exception to prove the rule. So I rarely know what’s going to happen and have to roll with the punches, it keeps things exciting and I wouldn’t change a thing… Enough Said.

As some of you have gleaned from my wife's facebook posts, we have more or less moved into are new rental. It is finally a house, no more sharing walls, for a while at least. That however, is not the subject of this post. What is the subject is a picture of the Uhaul truck we rented. As you noticed lady liberty adorns the side of ten foot tin can. What struck me about her is she appears to be burning one down. That glazed look in her eyes and the obvious "cigarette" in her mouth paint quite the picture. If that had been painted on I would've laughed, but would not have posted it. What makes it so magnificent is that it appears a previous driver scraped against a tree pulling back the paint job just to the mouth. The rivet orange, the rest of the paint white, creating the slightly buzzed liberty statue we see before us now.

I like to call this photo "you get what you ask for." The title is apt because moments prior to the shutter spiraling in and capturing this instant of reflected light and immortalizing it in digital medium, I said "Hey make your best Hatchet Face." Wow. She actually captured the essence of the Cry Baby character who shares a name with my request. I mentioned this to her and I was stunned by her response. Come to find this woman had never seen the movie. Had no idea who Hatchet Face was, what she looked like, or in fact that a character by that name had appeared in media of any sort. I simply stared, surely she did not simply make that face on a whim, she must of course be messing with me. Alas, this was not the case she had no idea what the movie was. I think this definitiveness proves a theory that I put force years ago and was laughed out of every cinematic institution for backing. That is the Hatchet Face was named for the face and the face was not named after the Hatchet Face.

I did not take this picture. However, it suffices to set the stage for something I witnessed. It all started when I found myself at the back of a traffic jam in a part of town that almost never has them. As traffic inched forward I noticed a officer in the next lane trying to make his way to the stop light. I see cars weaving out of their lane and assume a typical rear ending. Alas nothing so understandable. When I finally made my way to the front of the line I see a woman that can only be described as blond holding a gallon gas can next to her hummer which is completely undamaged and stalled in the middle lane at a stoplight. I overhear her telling the officer "it's no big deal, dont worry about it."

"how long have you been hear ma;am?"

"About 20 minutes"

"Any reason you didn't push the car into the parking lot?"

"Just seemed like a big hassle when I just needed to walk up the road for gas"

The light turns green and I see the officer starring blanking at the woman, and the woman, clearing believing she could have taken no other action, stares back indignantly. There are very few things funnier than a hummer running out of gas, and a hummer running out of gas being driven by a petite blond who decides to create a 2 mile long back up by abandoning her vehicle to go pick up 2 gallons of gas is one of them.

When my wife chooses to leave me alone for any length of time things like this happen. I don't really know how or why I took it this far, but I was going to shave and thought it may be a good idea to just shave it all. I do not like having to comb my hair so shaving it off seemed like nothing but good. Then I figured I might as well take the eyebrows, and this is what happened. Luckily kaje talked to me after I got started but before I got to the hair or eye brows and suggested that perhaps people might not take me seriously if I was completely hairless. I relented, but still plan on shaving my head.

Tractor Files 3:
This tractor doesn't have to many stories attached to it, but there is one thing that sticks out in my mind. This was the irrigation tractor while I was working and I remember one instance where I had to get two lines in separate fields moved simultaneousness with only 3 guys. It takes 3 to move a line, so I sent them with a different tractor to one field I and took this one and a empty wagon to the other. The reason this tractor was an irrigation tractor was because you could set the weals and as long as the row was straight it would stay on the right path. So I set the tractor in first gear and hopped off. I let the thing run down the field while I raced back and forth with 30 foot sections of pipe, tossed them on the trailer, and ran back for another. This story encompasses what it is like to have the last name Holthouse and work on a farm by the same name.

Blood sweat and tears went into the pumpkin. Minus the sweat and tears. Blood however, went in, not once, not twice, but 3 times. You see I wanted the light to come threw like you see above so a standard carving knife wasnt going to cut it... So I took a wood carving knife. Which is basically a ball point pin with a razor blade on the end. The first cut occurred when I reached to pick up my bottle of water and opened my thumb up. This produced the most blood and least pain. The second time I just dropped it and it pricked my leg, no big. The 3rd, hurt the most and was also the dumbest. I wanted to make sure a cut looked good so I leaned in close to examine when I felt a sharp pain in my chest, and by pain I mean razor blade. I would say it only made it about 1/8 of an inch in, but it hurt a lot. Was it worth it? I'll let my art speak to that question.

When I decided to give my dog a pillow to sleep on I never thought of the traumatic experiences it was going to dredge up, nor the ensuing flashbacks that would cause this eventual outcome. Batman apparently spent time fighting for his life in the trench warfare of Hoth. The pillow felt a bit to close to a Taun Taun and in a rage filled flashback he ripped it down the middle and climbed in, it smelled terrible but provided the warmth he was after. He had actually woken up quite a bit when I snapped this, when I went looking for him he was completely inside. I did nerd out a bit on this post, but I'm cool with me.

Tractor Files 2:
This tractor holds a particularly special place in my heart for a variety of reasons. The first of which being that is was the tractor they taught be to drive on. Or at least one of its kind was. Little did I know this, like the previous post, would lead to mind numbing hours of starring down into the dirt to make sure my tractor never strayed more than 6 inches at the blistering pace of 1 mile per hour. However, what really makes this tractor stand out in a special contrast in my memory is the time Uncle Stanton decided to hit the breaks in front of me while I was driving it. It is important to note that this particular model has a nearly universal break problem, being that after enough time the breaks simply stay depressed and grind away to nothing. That is why our mechanic saw fit to remove the breaks completely from this tractor, but did not see fit to tell anyone. This is why when Uncle Stanton stopped directly in front me, I ran directly into the back of his truck.

Tractor Files Part 1:
I met this little number on a steamy summer morning. The fog still lay thick over the dew slick grass. My uncle introduced us, her and I were to weed row after row, just the two of us, no one else around for hours. He dropped me off and as he drove away we got acquainted. She was no spring chicken and it took a few tries to get her going, but once she got started it was like we'd known each other for years. After about half we worked into a rhythm that could be described as "comfortable numb." The vibrations from row after row slowly lulling me into a drowsy state. She didn't take to much looking after so when I nodded off for a minute she just kept going, mind you not in the same direction I left her in. I tried to cover up the mistake by running back over the same row and smoothing out the damage, but alas, the evidence of my transgression was writ into the earth for all to see.

There are still things in this life that catch me off guard. This particular incident shouldn't have, I feel I have been alive long enough to make something like this less than surprising. None the less this instance fascinated me. I cracked the first egg, egg white and yolk check. Cracked the second, egg white and yolk, wait what? Two, now isn't that novel. I never thought chickens had twins. However, this seems like an excellent business venture. It may seem like mad science at first, breeding a race of chickens that only produce 2 plus embryos per egg, but it becomes far less strange when you consider what we are already eating. Given American's propensity for eating chicken breast, the chickens are pumped so full of steroid they can barely stand due to their enormous breasts. So why not take it a step further and put some fertility drugs into the roid cocktail, and we could have a master race of big breasted ultra-fertile chickens. No one really likes egg white anyway. Imagine cracking open a egg and happening upon an 8 yolker, what a scrambled egg that would make. Sunny side up? I think yes. A veggie omelet will finally have a chance to taste good. Sure we're playing god, but worse things have been done in the name of delicious.

There comes a point in everyone's life when they sit back and try to figure out how exactly they find themselves in the situation they're in. This was one of those watershed moments for me. Finding myself the transportation for three wee feline wayfarers. My position on cats has been well documented, and it is that, while puntable, cats lack the capacity to give/receive love in a high enough capacity to rank much higher than rodent in my eyes. A dangerous and heartless predator, cats seem to actually derive pleasure from sinking claws deep into furniture, carpet, and you. So in making a decision with no hesitation I simply fell forward and let gravity deal with the rest.

Life brings me joys in the smallest of ways from time to time. Today I was lucky enough to stumble on to one of those far to rare pleasures when I stopped behind this dodge in a florida coastal town. Now I am a confessed and proud nerd, and certain things can make the nerd come out of me in force. Transformers happens to be pretty high on that list so when I say this I flipped a bit. I, over the course of the day, have slowly but surely convinced myself that this was not just machine but it was more than met the eye. If fact I was basking in the exhaust of a extra-terrestrial mechanically conscience life form. The only drawback from the entire experience is that I have, as of now, not been able to find a similar ornament for a 93' Lincoln Town Car.

I could approach this from a variety of angles, there is really a lot working here. Kaje, upon viewing this picture, referred to it as the "we might be gay club." So I could come at it that way. We could delve into the reasons behind myself assuming the matriarchal position in the photo. Or even its potential merit as a photo on AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com. However, for me the real content lies in the little clump growing off the bottom of my face. It appears gelled and looks like it probably smells. Notice also the refusal of the hair to grow onto the front of my chin. You would think that baring me being able to understand how disgusting this look was when my facial hair resisted the fashion choice I would've backed down and shaved it. Alas I looked the fool for nearly a year before letting go. Immediately after everyone let me know just how stupid it looked... Besides the odd family member no one really made an effort to let me in on my own mistakes until I rectified them, then they let fly with a stockpile of cashed insults and sardonic remarks.

When I got home today I saw three tails sticking out from under the curtains covering our porch doors. They were all starring at something outside, tracking their heads left and right in unison. Sure enough when I went to check it out it was Yoshi. I honestly thought he would have moved on at this point but apparently in my wife's wide range of talents is the ability to be a squirrel whisperer. This little punk will eat right out of her hands, but will never let me close. Who knows how long he'll be around, but until decides he's had one to many peanuts I think he'll be living on our porch.

On my way home from work today my wife rang me up to ask for Banana Cream pudding. Apparently she tried to acquire some earlier but they only had one kind and it wasn't what she was after. I didn't say which because that is where the disconnect took place. What I heard was that she wanted sugar free, so I responded with "they didn't have sugar free?" She informed me know, so I asked again what kind, and I would swear she said sugar free. This was not the case. When I arrived with a brand new Halloween themed reusable publix bag filled with my dinner and her pudding she excitedly greeted me happy to learn of my pudding procurement. When she removed it from the bag I got a stony glare and a questioning brow. Apparently I had heard wrong, because she already had sugar free and all she had been craving was the the regular. Crap... As most who know me can attest I often hear what I want to so I can not fault her for this. Not wanting to venture out but still wanted to get her the proper custard confection. So I hopped on google and did a little research. We happen to have regular vanilla pudding, so I looked up how many grams of sugar were in the packet, then how many grams were in a teaspoon, and added the proper amounts. I am happy to report it was given the stamp of approval and the icy stare as since be retracted.

Eye catching. That is what I thought when I pulled into a Walmart parking lot on Florida's space coast and saw this gem. The second thought I had was "classy." While this is ridiculous I have to respect someone who is willing to embrace their station in life. Sure it's not something you hope you kid is going to grow up to be but you were pretty insistent on that rule of "if you're going to do something give it %110," so whose really to blame? There is a part of the car missing from this picture that makes me think this showing of literary acumen may have in fact been a creative customer complaint, because the side of car had a pair of magnets. They were those extra large ones you see people who use their personal vehicle for company business slap on for some free advertising. I didn't get a picture because I didn't notice till I was on my way back to my truck and the car was pulling out. The sign reads "THE ELEGANT GENTLEMEN: PARTY AND ESCORT SERVICE."

If you asked me a year ago if I thought you could ever hope to get business for a company that does paternity testing via a billboard I would've told you that you were an idiot. If fact knee jerk reaction to this sign was that whoever paid for it was an idiot, and then I started thinking. I wont lie, I would like to stick with that statement, not budge a bit, but when you take into account their target market, if you could figure out a place that is chalked full of the demo you are trying to reach, and perhaps you put one up across from a bus stop in that part of town. Well then this starts to seem like a very intelligent and pointed marketing technique. I have seen this billboard in two locations, one is in my neighborhood (the ghetto) and the second was on the road outside of Florida's largest trailer park (I know this because it said so I the sign to the park). I am not going to make observations or sweeping statements because if this, but you have already thought them.

This photo is lifted from a file on my computer titled "Stupid ideas I followed through on." As shown in earlier blogs I have a propensity for standing at the very edge of sheer cliff faces. This was another such cliff. Not quite as long of a drop as the Grand Canyon but still plenty to kill you. The reason? It seemed like a good idea at the time, if fact it still seems like a pretty fun time. The more doltish chose of that particular afternoon was to climb a mountain in Colorado alone with headphones on. If you are a frequent hiker you are away of the myriad dangers presented to anyone simply out in the woods. Those can double and triple on a mountain, this is why most urge to hike with a buddy. This seemed annoying so I went alone. To compound the risk of this half baked idea, I have a condition that causes me to pass out when certain amounts of stress to my body is applied. Heat, strain, lack of air, you know all things that manifest when climbing 1500 feet up a mountain. Without the danger what would be the fun? Needless to say I survived the ordeal, got some good video and pictures, and honestly would probably do it again. Those who don't learn from mistakes are doomed to repeat them loses all weight if you thoroughly enjoyed the mistake.

It's been a long time since she's graced the stage with soulful rhythm and penetrating words, but I think it will be a far longer time before anyone forgets Liz: A Blues Legend. There was something in her simple yet powerful observations of the world that let the layman gain insight into the mind of a lyrical genius. It transcended genre and generation The liz collaborating with everyone from Snoop to Elton. All who worked with her coming away powerfully changed. Her style spawned a fashion revolution among tweens, whose after effects we are still seeing in Star Bucks Cafe's and Book Store Coffee shops across the nation. The rumors about binge drinking, drug abuse, and diva like behavior can be put down to little more than the jealous squabbling of her contemporaries. Whether you were her biggest fan, or worst enemy, you can help but respect her. As a popular president may have once said "Regardless of race, political leaning, or financial standing there is one thing everyone in this country can get behind, and that's the Liz."

This is a photo of my niece recently taken by my sister. She posted it to Facebook with the caption "Road Rage." This caption is close to hitting the mark, but I believe further observations can be taken from this captured instant. The first thing that jumps out at me is the business casual pony tail. It's the kind of look that says I'm approachable but here to work. Venturing down we notice the set of mouth and brow a sort of fevered intensity that in combination with her eyes starring intently into the rear view and her right hand positioned to pull hard right, lets us know that there is no way that kid on the big wheel is getting into this lane. However, these are not what truly concerns me. The cell phone on her left is a sign of things to come, studies have shown that when talking on the phone you operate just above the level of drunk, and if we are being honest she will be texting which has proven to actually be worse than being drunk. I see no sign of a safety restraining device or any attempt on her part to wear it, and the wheels appear to be worn smooth. This is obviously not a car fit to be driven, and she needs to learn a bit more respect for the road. However, this is all easily overlooked by most officers given the level of adorable.