Grandpa's Pond

It's hard to believe that I am almost 30 years old. My life has hurtled through space and time with increasing velocity with each passing year, so much so that sometimes I have difficulty remembering who I am. It's difficult to imagine that the boy who not so long ago bounced on his grandfather's knee to the tune of 'ol Dan Tucker is now so old. Time, it would seem, is the great equalizer and it spares no one. Even my Grampa, who in my little world was the epitome of strength, has now been gone for over 13 years. My Grampa was a great influence in my life and was the man who taught me how to fish, which is quite possibly the best gift a young boy can receive. I try to keep the memories of me and my grandpa sitting side by side on the pond bank while watching a red & white bobber sway with the wind and play on the water surface close to my heart and fresh in my mind.

Redneck Banjo Montage

Click here for a good time via Google Video. While I do take exception to the concept that anyone who has ever posed with a dead animal is a redneck, I can not deny the hilarity of this clip.

March Sadness

For anyone who cares, my brackets are kaput. Unpredictability is what makes March Madness so much fun too watch though. Even the 16 seeds have looked tough in this year's tournament, which has given me even more confidence in my prediction that a #1 seed will indeed fall to a #16 within the next 5 years (it nearly happened to UCONN this weekend). As more exceptional high school players have prematurely darted off to the NBA, the parity of college basketball teams has narrowed greatly. There are a few perennial powerhouses that remain, but they vary in strength from year to year. The purists may not like the watering down of college basketball talent, but to me that's just part of the American dream and capitalism. Besides, the NCAA tournament games are more entertaining now than they were 20 years ago; just look at he records of the lower seeds in the tournament over the past 15 years. Plus, opportunities may be awarded to players/students at Universities that may not have been possible a few years ago, and that certainly isn't a bad thing for those individuals.

Back to the games.

March? Already?

I can't decide if March has quietly crept up on me, or if our mild winter has lulled my inner clock to sleep. Either way, I couldn't be more happy that March is here. It's a transitional month first and foremost as the seasons change from winter to spring, and while that phenomenon is noteworthy enough to cement March in the top 5 list of months, the varied traditions that take place during March give it an arguable chance at breaking through the top 3. Think about it...

Yes, March can be bitterly cold, there's no question. However, there are always enough gorgeous days thrown in to counterbalance winter's waning grip. The warm days, like today, beg to be enjoyed; even old men & women leave their winter retreats and come out squinting like moles before finding some mundane task to pass the time or merely sit for a spell while gliding rhythmically on a porch swing. Everybody finds a way to frolic on these warm days, whether it be a brisk jog or a quiet walk with a dog; and everybody has their windows down, both at home and on the road. I think we tire of breathing stale air during winter and leap at the chance to have circulating air coursing through our hair and filling our lungs (note: allergy sufferers won't appreciate that analogy, I'm sure).

At some point, large numbers of pale-yellow daffodils will spring up from the cold ground as if to brilliantly announce the official start of spring. Then, brown grass will begin to turn green; redbud trees will explode in a cacophony of magenta, followed by the fragrant blooms of serviceberry, gooseberry, and eventually dogwoods.
There is more to March than just natural occurrences and the blessing of another spring season. There's St. Patrick's Day, which doesn't hold any meaning for me personally other than a good excuse to drink some green beer and a couple pints of Guinness. Baseball also gets under way with spring training games at the first of March and the inaugural opening day of the season, usually on or near the 31st. I think opening day is the greatest any one day in all of sports. It doesn't get any better for me than to spend a warm, spring afternoon in the bosom of downtown St. Louis on the opening day of the Major League Baseball season. Finally, there is March Madness, which is hands-down the greatest sports postseason tournament. Regardless of what the weather is doing outside, I can always be found glued to the TV at a bar or at home hoping that every low seed wins. Oh, and if you have the means I highly recommend trying your luck out in Vegas during March Madness at least once- it is just too much fun. What about drinking for free and legally betting on March Madness at Ceaser's sports book in Las Vegas doesn't sound awesome?

March is here and all that it brings with it. I just checked the weather and it is an unbelievable 81 degrees right now!!! Global warming rocks!

Throwing Good Money After Bad?

If a current $20 billion request is approved by congress, the running totals for hurricanes Katrina & Rita will be somewhere around $100 billion. I understand the federal government funding the rebuilding of infrastructure and debris cleanup in Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, Florida, & Alabama. While these costs should be offset with some state money as well, I have no problem earmarking money used for these applications. However, I hope the Bush administration & congress will think hard before throwing more money at a literal money pit. $4.2 billion of the current $20 billion that will be reviewed by Congress will be earmarked for compensation to residents whose homes were either damaged or destroyed. I wonder if we are not overcompensating here; and I wonder if some of this money is strictly a knee jerk reaction to racial guilt?

Are mid-western families federally compensated every time a F3, F4, or F5 tornado tears up dwellings by the hundreds? No. If the situation warrants it, money is spent on clean up & vital supplies that are initially needed, but there is no offering of money going towards property damage or long term financial burden. Isn’t that what insurance is for? Are the victims of an act of God in the gulf more deserving of compensation? Those who believe they are entitled to free money because they are American citizens are living in an alternate reality.

We also need to consider if it’s marketable to invest in the future of New Orleans. It had a good run, but I think that Katrina only hastened its slow and predictable demise. Countries & governments rise and fall, and so do cities. The novelty of New Orleans has been losing its charm for some time and must have certainly lost many tourists to more charming and intriguing locations both in the U.S. and abroad over the past 20 years. I visited New Orleans for the first time a few weeks after Mardi Gras in 2005. I was appalled by the condition and atmosphere of the much ballyhooed French Quarter section of town. While walking down Canal, Bourbon, Iberville and other recognizable thoroughfares, my senses were often overcome by the heavy stench of rotting garbage and urine. The palpable atmosphere of debauchery was more sleazy than charismatic. Hordes of emaciated panhandlers spinning intricate tales and unlikely stories through missing or rotting teeth left me feeling depressed and constantly securing my white-knuckled grip on my wallet like an OCD victim. After a quick tour of the tourist hot spots, I fled to the sanctuary of my hotel room and counted the hours left until daylight at which time I would gladly leave the "Big Easy" and hopefully never return.

I would only ask the powers that be to please reconsider before rebuilding New Orleans. When pride begins to cloud common sense, poor decisions are made. If we are to believe the ocean level forecasters and some climatologists, any sort of flood-plain land reclamation and protection in the gulf would be foolhardy as water levels are only expected to rise with the melting of arctic ice caps & glaciers. What happens when a category 4 or 5 runs aground then? Hell, what would be left if one goes through this summer or fall? Keep in mind that Katrina ended up losing a considerable amount of steam and was downgraded to a category 3 shortly before landfall.

For those who want to stay in New Orleans, I say go for it, it’s a free country but don’t cry when it gets completely wiped off the face off the map. Those who don’t realize that we live in an influx world do not grasp the concept of the nature of things and are unable to adapt. I appreciate any person’s heritage and way of life, but what good are submerged roots?

Whimsical Wednesday

Nothing inspiring to post about, and yet and I feel like writing all the same. How tedious have all media outlets become? The whole Cheney hunting accident was old approximately 15 minutes after I first heard about it. Sorry, the guy got shot, but hunting accidents happen all the time- let's move on. A buddy of mine who shall remain nameless (Jimmy Jones) once shot another buddy (Mark Dell) square in the eyelid with an errant 7-1/2 sized BB on the opening day of dove season in the bootheel about 5 or so years ago, and do you think that stopped us from having a good time or even stop hunting for a minute or two? Hell no! He went to urgent care and was good to go shortly afterward. I go upland bird hunting quite a bit and while I have never witnessed an accident or even had a close call, I can understand how accidents could happen. OK, I've already allowed too many words over this unnewsworthy subject. Post Script: Dems and anti-hunters must be having a ball.

The Winter Games

Are you like me, do you love the Winter Olympics? I pay little to no attention to winter sports, other than maybe catching a few snippets of the Winter X Games, during the 4 year stretch between games; but whenever they are being played I am captivated both by the novelty of the events and the athletes who must have certainly spent the majority of their lives training for these contests. I would go so far as to say the Winter Olympics have become more entertaining than their summer counterpart, the events are simply more intriguing.

Both Olympic games, summer and winter, will always have their share of human interest stories filled with eleventy examples of courage, setbacks, defeats, and triumphs- which are an integral part of the games, and the reason why even your mom can name various Olympic athletes. However, it’s the Winter Olympics that showcase the small number of specialized athletes that often stare down severe injury or even death every time they compete. The intestinal fortitude exhibited by the downhill and freestyle skiers; snowboarders, ski jumpers; lugers and bobsledders is simply awe-inspiring. Name a summer Olympic sport where the athletes are competing at 80 miles per hour or performing 1260° rotations while hovering 30 feet over a nearly solid sheet of snow and ice. The Winter Olympics are purely more pleasing to the eye and unnerving. I find myself clenching my toes whenever a snowboarder reaches the top of a half-pipe and grimacing whenever a skier misjudges a turn or when a figure skater falls hard on the ice. Who among us would be willing to sit atop a nearly vertical 125-meter hill on skis designed for maximum velocity and catapult ourselves off of it? It’s insane.

I will admit that there are some events that aren’t quite as watchable, like curling and cross-country skiing, but even they hold a level of novelty and uniqueness that inspires one to watch if only every four years. Moreover, cross-country skiers are probably some of the most fit athletes on the face of the planet, especially when you consider the temperature at which their races are held (the biathlon cross-country skier must also shoot 4 targets accurately or face extra penalty laps!).

Over the next 2 weeks I am sure I will get my Winter Olympics fill and be ready for another 4 year hiatus, but for now I am enjoying the games and a break from stupid reality TV and sit-com reruns. Normally, February is a boring month with little to do, watch, or look forward too once the Super Bowl is over; what with all of the hunting seasons ended and too bitterly cold to go fishing. If nothing else, the Winter Olympics serve as a welcome respite from the tedium that is February every 4 years, plus there are some hot female athletes.

Valentine's, Shmalentine's

Ah yes, Saint Valentine’s Day is upon us. The origin of this holiday, which has become little more than a fiscal shot in the arm for those companies in the greeting card, candy, and flower business, are vague and convoluted at best. All I know is that it is a polarizing holiday and that it enables couples to spend excessive money on each other so that they may make up for their romantic shortcomings for the past year; a veritable relationship baptismal if you will. The male will spend $40 to $120 on flowers, another $50 on dinner and drinks, plus whatever sappy drivel he manages to concocts the day or night before. The female gushes with jubilant glee, she is both happy that she was given something and relieved that she is with somebody- anybody on this most trivial of holidays. She lords over the single women at her workplace, which nervously wait out each hour of the 14th of February in hopes that they too might receive flowers and candy.

Me, jaded, no not me. Heck, I’m glad I won’t have to spend any money on a woman this year. Yes, it will be a fairly standard V-day for yours truly; you know, a sleeve of Oreos, a bag of Rold Golds, and a nice cheap bourbon to wash it all down.

Internet Connectivity

Haven't posted too much lately, but it's because I was in the middle of writing two different posts when my puter had some glitch with its internet connection and I lost everything. So from now on, I'll be initially composing my drafts in Word and export them over to Blogger afterward. It wouldn't have been so bad, but they were quite large and nearly impossible to recreate. Writing for me occurs spontaneously; thoughts, phrases, and memories rush in and out of my subconscious so fast that I often have trouble keeping up. That's why half of what I write is pure jibberish. Even my research papers and essays in college were written this way, and yet I managed to graduate. Anywho, I really liked both posts; one was a philosophic dissertation on misanthropy, the other a description of a typical snow day when I was a kid- really good stuff. Don't know if I have enough energy to attempt a rewrite or not.

Technology sucks sometimes. I think I'll go home now and pop in this new workout video I just bought. Laters.

Snow?

It's a bad cell phone picture, but what is this strange white stuff falling outside of my office?

For Laughs

If you have not discovered the comedic genius of Dane Cook yet, what the hell is wrong with you? The guy is simply hysterical. For a good time just go to his website and click on any of the videos or tracks off of his Retaliation CD.

When you're done with that check out one of the last appearances Mitch Hedberg made before his untimely death. He was one of the most original comics ever. And Remember, if you think your life sucks, "dogs are forever in the push-up position."

Mmmm

Yellow-fin tuna steak grilled medium-rare and lightly sauteed asparagus... that's how I roll.

The Day is Mine, Trebek!

Eureka! I had a wonderful surprise today at lunch. After a much unnecessary absence the chili-cheese burrito, formerly known as a chilito, is back at Taco Bell! The queer thing was that you could still find certain Taco Bells that carried them, but they were too few and far between. In high school, back when they were still called chilitos, I would be starving after football practice so I would head over to Taco Hell and grab some $1.00 chili-cheese burritos. The damn of it was that I'd eat two at a time and get them lodged in this region here (do Tommy Boy quotes ever get old? Methinks not).

Anywho, it's about time the stuffed-shirts at Taco Bell corporate finally decided to get off their fandangos and bring back those breathtaking burritos and all of their chili-cheesy goodness.

Under the Sea

I can remember the instant I became enthralled by the ocean. As an inquisitive child, I rarely missed a nature television show that aired on any one of the 4 channels that sometimes came in on our TV. Programs like Nature, Nova, and National Geographic held my adolescent attention like nothing else, transfixing my senses and quieting my mouth for a solid hour, which if you asked my Mom, was nothing short of a miracle. Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, hosted by Marlin Perkins (a fellow Missourian), was probably my favorite among the nature show genre, though it was assuredly the cheesiest. Marlin would normally step out of harm’s way while biologist, Jim Fowler, and a team of locals would attempt to corral and catch some snarling beast, all in the name of "furthering research," while an over-produced but snazzy bass line pulsed, adding to the already palpable drama. They were always relocating ostriches, reestablishing a new herd of wildebeests, or trailering some damn animal that you would never dream could actually be caught. Marlin and Jim were the "Crocodile Hunters" of their time. They seemed to spend most of their time filming & grappling animals on the African savanna, but every now and then Marlin and Co. would embark on an ocean adventure.

While Jim was busy wrestling Bengal tigers, Mr. Marbles and I set up camp.

One such episode in particular stuck with me and forever instilled in me the desire to learn everything I could about the ocean. Once I saw the "Wild Kingdom" crew don chain mail suits and hand feed highly aggressive blue sharks I was hooked; the deep blue which surrounded them was simultaneously inviting and foreboding. From that point on when other kids were elbow-deep in Judy Blume and Dr. Suess books, I could be found searching Time Life or National Geographic reference books for my latest fix of oceanic knowledge. Strange how my fixation with all things aquatic never translated into a desire to become a marine biologist, oceanographer, or even a commercial fisherman; but with my sense of fascination also grew a fear of all that the ocean’s surface veiled. For a Missouri farm boy the endless ocean was as alien and distant as outer space.

As I matured I never lost my curiosity for the open ocean, The Old Man and the Sea was my favorite book and reading stories about nautical disasters became a macabre hobby for me. As mentioned in a previous post, I have been fortunate enough to go out to sea a couple of times now which has only left me wanting to do and see more. I do plan on getting SCUBA certified so I can ultimately dive at the second largest coral reef in the world off the East coast of Belize, but what I want to do more than anything is SHARK DIVE! For a nominal fee, there are charters that will stick you in a cage in the protected white shark waters of California and South Africa. Perching precariously over the dark abyss in a spindly-barred cage while 18-foot great whites emerge and disappear from cloudy blue-green water would be starring down one of my biggest fears in the face. To be honest, I don’t know if my heart would be strong enough to endure the prolonged adrenaline rush that I would surely experience. Then, to open the door for a moment and to quickly enjoy an unobstructed view of a white shark, a creature feared by all, would be the ultimate climax to my life. I would also like to boat out to the Farallon Islands, an archipelago 30 miles west of San Francisco. This area, also known as the "red triangle," is a breeding ground for elephant seals and other pinipeds, all of which white sharks love to munch on. It is in these rarified waters where white sharks can be seen in good numbers during the fall while feasting on the abundant seals and leaping haphazardly from the water’s surface. The successful sharks dive below the seals and remain unseen until at some point, known only to the sharks, they rush upwards with great speed and attempt to hit the seal head on. With a direct hit, the impact alone is usually enough to dispatch the seals, though miraculously they sometimes escape relatively unscathed with only a few bloody gashes to serve as souvenirs, or rather, battle scars. The real show is what occurs after the shark makes its initial run at the seal and the forward momentum sends the shark (some of them 20’+) airborne, usually completely out of the water! The awkward aerobatics of the white shark is quite possibly the most unique and awesome displays in all of nature.

The reason why so many people, like myself, are drawn to the mysteries and creatures of the ocean is that we are humbled by the sheer volume of it, both its physical mass and all that remains undiscovered.

765LB Mako!

This picture was taken last week in the Gulf around the famed Midnight lump, a submerged offshore mountain off the Southeastern coast of Louisiana . This new Louisiana State record hit the scales at 765 pounds and 11 feet long! Makos do indeed get bigger but few fisherman have boated such monsters; I believe the all-time world record is somewhere around 1200 pounds. The reason I am posting this, other than my fascination with just about anything that has to do with or comes out of the ocean, is that the Captain on this particular charter was Capt. Kevin Beech who charted my first tuna fishing experience almost a year ago down in the Gulf. He's a hell of a guy and a hell of a fisherman as you might have guessed. Here's a guy (second from the left) who was nearly done with an engineering degree, but abandoned that undertaking to pursue a life on the water and I really can't say as I blame him. This picture doesn't really do the 11' fish justice, but hopefully they will add some dock pictures soon which I will add to this post of course. The story behind any great fish is usually just as extraordinary as the trophy itself, and this catch was no exception (scroll down for sharkbait's 1/12/06 entry). Congratulations to Captain Kevin and the crew of "The Salty Duck" that day on their awesome catch!

A blurry, underwater picture on the shark's second pass

January starts the BIG yellow fin tuna season in the gulf which runs through March. It is possible to catch big YFs in the gulf year round, but late winter is the best bet. I am disappointed that I am not going this year, but that's life. If you have never gone fishing offshore I highly suggest you do so before it's all said and done. And I'm talking off-shore, not the half-day cattle cruises where you stand shoulder to shoulder with 20 strangers and vertical fish for snapper and grouper for a few hours. No, that is for tourists and old men. I'm talking about an excursion out far beyond the sight of land or the muddy haze and smoke stacks that hover over it. Even past the many shallow-water oil platforms and buoys, out where the water is cobalt blue and menacingly remote. Do not get me wrong, a few oil rigs can be found out in the 5000'-7000' water mark, but they are few and far between. A resolute calm comes over the newly initiated when fishing in mile deep water along with the sublime realization that you are at the mercy of the ocean and the integrity of your equipment. There is little time for worry however what with so much to see and do. If the sea might seem like some endless wasteland of water to you then I highly encourage you to actually experience it and then reconsider. The ocean is quite alive, with things just waiting to be discovered. There is the very small like the flying fish that dart along the side of a speeding boat only to break the surface of the water and spread their winglike fins and fly a hundred yards in front of the bow; and then there are the leviathins like the Mako above or the iridescent Blue marlin I saw feasting on barracuda last year just below our boat. I have seen endless schools of snapper and barracuda and meandering thatches of sargasso grass and jellyfish collected by unseen upwelling ocean currents. I have seen tuna leap out of the water after baitfish and Black-tip sharks cunningly strip hooks of their bait. I could go on forever on all the different creatures I have seen out on the ocean and I have only been twice; I can't imagine the stories a salty dog like Capt. Kevin must have.

If you would ever have the hankering to fish offshore Louisiana I would have to recommend the guys at Reel Peace Charters, and ask to go with Captain Beech. Oh, and if you want to get on his good side, bring along some CDs to listen on his boat because he gets tired of listening to his. Merle, GNR, Pearl Jam, Johnny, Hank Jr., Buffett... you know, anything good.

Friday Night

Monopoly on a friday night, im so cool. We got the Monopoly board out after a less than fulfilling round of the game of global domination, or Risk, for all of you that have never been indoctrinated in this classic game of warfare- with dice and little plastic armies. Spook's gray army took root in Australia and the Philippines, thanks to an ill-advised maneuver by a novice, and quickly spread westward like some skin-rotting communicable disease.

Addition: For the record, my buddy Spook and I had to call the monopoly game a draw at about 1:30 in the morning. We weren't tired of playing, but we were quite whiskey drunk and the ping-pong table was calling our names. Speaking of whiskey, if you have the means, I highly recommend picking up a bottle of Russel Reserve, a 10 year old bourbon brought to you by the fine folks at Wild Turkey. It's smoother than just about any bourbon I've ever had. It begs to be poured over ice and sipped all by itself. Dangerous.

Yes, I Love Technology, but...

If you hadn’t taken the time to notice, we are now living in the "technological age." I don’t now if that term has officially been adopted or penned by the hidden machine that labels the epochs & timelines for humankind, but I don’t think I am taking too large of an editorial leap here. Before I begin ripping on our techno-dependencies like some modern day Thoreau, I hereby acknowledge my blatant hypocrisy in doing so. I am as ate up with cell phones, HD TVs, high-speed connections, GPS units, and instant information as the next guy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bitch about technology or wax philosophic about its importance.

I believe the impetus of technological innovations is to enrich our lives by making them easier, safer, and healthier. Who would argue that 2-ply toilet paper isn’t a wonderful achievement over industrial grade 1-ply or the Sears catalogs and corncobs that our forefathers endured? Yes, there would be some Eco-fundamentalists, who behind close doors squeeze the Charmin like the rest of us, that might preach that 2-ply is a waste of resources, but that’s another topic entirely. It would be an exercise in futility to debate the social and economic importance of essential modern conveniences like electricity, indoor plumbing, automobiles, or even TP. However, some hi-tech inventions are counterintuitive, making a once simple task more complicated than it needs to be, while others are dependent on a power source that isn’t always accessible. An old fashioned magnetic compass will get you out of the woods faster than a GPS once its battery goes dead.

We are constantly learning and re-learning new ways of performing old tricks or adapting to the latest and greatest way of doing business. There is little choice when it comes to technology; you learn it and move on or get left behind. In this regard technology is a polarizing monolith, driving deep barriers between generations and classes. Let’s go back to our friend Mr. 2-ply toilet paper; how much of the world’s total population in the year 2006 get to enjoy this "luxury" item? My guess would be less than 60%; and that’s just TP, I wonder how more important things like education and technical knowledge compare? A part of me realizes that it’s just part of life, that is, the reality of the haves and have-nots. Then there is the side of me that wonders if such expansive technological and educational voids between the classes and cultures of this world will not breed more discontent than is already well entrenched. Perhaps we’ll all catch up one day, but there seems to be no end to the process of improving and changing and computerizing. If you think that humanity is on the verge of achieving some sort of technical nirvana than you are as shortsighted as Mr. Charles Duell, a commissioner of the United States Patent Office, who in 1899 once said, "Everything that can be invented has already been invented." Each generation vainly believes that they have seen, done, and therefore know it all. I paraphrase Thomas Edison, who wrote, "We don’t know one millionth of one percent about anything." The wise would be wary of assuming this equation is in need of updating.

I can’t be convinced that more technology is the pathway to the easy life. I can honestly say my life is much more complicated now than it was just 10 years ago. As each innovation is introduced unto the world a bill in the mail seems to quickly follow. There is no appeasing America’s appetite for gadgets or consequently, credit. We are a nation of indebted tekkies. Meanwhile, a quiet dragon in the East is filling its belly by means of our own gluttony for techno-crap. We can only hope that the beast is content with its profits alone, but that is another topic for another day.

This alleged age of reason often leaves me empty, leaning heavily on an unwanted crutch. They say the world has gotten smaller and that information is only a click away, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still feel isolated and alone. Reliance on technology doesn’t make your existence easier; it just changes your perception of what is important. Looking back at my youth on the family farm, I realize how in tune I was with nature and how keen my senses were. I was able to involuntarily perceive a number of subtle ecological changes that precede a shift in the seasons. I could lose myself in the reflection of the forest canopy as it swayed with the rhythm of the creek that murmured over smooth limestone slabs just behind the farmhouse. Those simple days are what I miss, when all the entertainment I needed was out the front door.

I wish things were easier. I wish I had the wherewithal of Henry David Thoreau and give up my worldly possessions and build a log cabin on the banks of my own Walden Pond. Hasn't the futile process of paying bills, eking out a middle-class existence in front of an omnipresent illuminated screen, and hurtling anonymously through this world ever wakened the desire to regress back into a hunter/gatherer in you? Well, I think about it all the time, and not because I am contemplating a complete unplugging from the modern world, but only to take a break from it all for a spell.

Wedding Videos

If and when my day at the altar ever comes my fate will undoubtedly be similar to these poor schleps. I don't know much, but I know watching people faint is hilarious.

Not Enough Vacation Days Blues

With the New Year has come the resetting of my accrued vacation time for calendar year 2006. I have in my possession a total of 12 days or 98 hours of vacation time in addition to 11 paid holidays. To answer your question, no, I do not work at a bank but rather a publicly owned utility. 12 days may sound like a lot when combined with the holidays and the fact that I work a 4 day-10 hour workweek with Fridays off, but I still have to be careful not to frivolously burn precious vacation days. I have a history of cutting myself short, leaving only a day or two for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

This year I have one major trip planned, a weeklong waterfowl/pheasant excursion on the plains and potholes of South Dakota, which will eat up 40 of my 98 vacation hours. That will only leave me with 58 hours for the remainder of the year, which really isn’t enough. You see I don’t look at a calendar and see months and days like most people. My perception of time is marked by predictable natural events that occur throughout the year. The majority of these events are both wonderful and problematic at the same time, as they are a joy to partake in but frustratingly fleeting in nature. Such ephemeral phenomena lures perpetual daydreamers and the easily swayed, i.e. me, to hastily leave work in order to pursue any number of these pastimes and therefore eat up vacation days like a Missouri democrat at a buffet.

Springtime is the most challenging period to preserve vacation days. Not only is the weather beautiful, but the Earth and all her creatures begin to stir after a winter of lethargy. Shoots of iridescent, emerald green grass emerge in pastures and tiny leaves erupt from empty limbs, invigorating restless eyes that have grown tired of the drab landscape of winter. I’ll be able to pull through the remainder of January and the worthless month that is February easily enough, but by mid-March my primal brain will be sending subversive but convincing thoughts in an attempt to set my well-anchored intentions adrift. By then the walleye will be running up the rivers and spawning; followed shortly by the seasonal rite of passage known throughout the Midwest and South as "The Crappie Spawn." Of course spawning crappie also means that turkey season is at hand which in turn elicits thoughts of delectable and elusive Morel mushrooms that can be found in secret caches along the forest floor by the trained eye during this time as well.

Wait. Why in the hell would I want to save vacation during the spring anyway? Turkey hunting and crappie fishing shouldn’t be abstained from but enjoyed as much as humanly possible. Screw trying to squirrel away vacation for the holidays! Besides, that’s why God made sick days right?

WWJWD?

Lemme get this straight (no pun intended), Brokeback Mountain is a film about two gay cowboys. (Sigh). What's next? Rooster Cockburne? True Spit? Young Guns 3? The Duke must be rolling in his grave. Remember the good 'ol days when homosexuality was shameful and never discussed? I miss those days.