thursday haiku

the sun shines again
drying the damp and lighting
the darkness within.

The shit you think about when your head hurts

I remember when I was little, like 5 or 6, watching the late August thunder heads roll along the Sprague River valley and think they must be a wonderful way to travel. They were so tall and white with thin white bases and up above everything. In my little brain I thought about jumping off the top of one and landing in the white froth. Of course there was danger of falling off the damn thing, but I was sure I wouldn't get too close to the edge. I'd be okay. Eventually the wind would pick up and my mom would call us inside and the late summer sun would turn the white puff into gold. And though it still looked colder than hell on top of the clouds, I still wanted to run and jump on them.

Today feels like one of those days. The early summer sunset with the breeze feels like those golden afternoons before I learned about science or let my imagination get caught up in the logic of how everything works and all the magical stuff doesn't. The clouds tonight are little gray skiffs, still wanting me to hop on them and go for an adventure. The breeze is waving me out to join them on their trip around the world. I know the nights would be cold, but I have a hooded sweatshirt.

Sometime I miss those days. They seemed so new and so wide open to opportunity- opportunities I didn't even know existed. I can still feel the coldness blowing my brother and my legs as we scan the sagebrush horizon for birds or whatever it was stirring up dirt on the gravel road. I can still see the way the sun turned the basalt plateau of Table Land rust red or the way the wind turned the wild rye into a flaxen sea. My heart still stirs a little when I think of the clouds and where we'd go.

Afternoons like these make me miss them all the more.

Another Rainy Sunday

Once upon a time, Sunday had something to do with sun I believe. You know, that yellowy thing in the sky that is partially responsible for creating life down here. Maybe we were supposed to worship it or something and so they gave the sun it's own special day, Sunday. So, if in theory we're supposed to worship it and junk, shouldn't it come out once in a while, well, at least on the occasional Sunday?

Saturday was nice and sunny. Worked my ass off and forgot about last week. But yesterday, clouds with evening showers. Not much of a fucking SUNday! Oh well. Like that one guy who OD'd on heroin or some other substance said, fuck it, fight it, it's all the same.

It's funny though, a Sunday without sun didn't bug until some asshole in the newspaper pointed it out. Thanks, fucker.

TGIFT

Thank god tomorrow is friday and I can put this shitty fucking week to rest. NOt a day too fucking soon.

Have a nice weekend!

thursday haiku

well I'm back again
tired, hurtin', drunk and pissed
hope you hate windows.

And I didn't catch the house on fire

You gotta' love when you have a project that would take a normal person (read someone who has taken shop or some other handy class in high school) maybe an hour takes you all fucking day. I had one of those Sundays.

Who in the hell puts a sink in the hallway? The people who owned the house before the people that we bought the house from did. So, we removed it. Now there's a big hole in the wall, a hole in the carpet where it was and all the shades of paint and styles of linoleum that existed before us. It was kinda' of cool to see the stylistic history of the house in small corner. Sad too. It just shows the only things permanent in life are ugly linoleum and bad paint choices (like Pepto pink).

Anways, get the water turned off, the pipes hacksawed in half and the torch ignited. Shit was going pretty good until I started catching a towel on fire. It started to spark and smoke a little. That's when "Maybe I should have hired a plumber" pops into mind. But, by the grace of someone who didn't want my house to catch on fire, perhaps the ghost of the man who put the sink in the hallway, it died out.

So, moral or point of the story? There isn't one. I just wanted to tell you all I soldered pipes without causing a major fire.

Goodbye California?

For whatever reason, the news has been all excited lately about all the earthquakes and junk we've been having. Maybe it's all left over worry about tsunami's and stuff from last December. Maybe it's just a slow news day. Or maybe some people's prayers are being answered and CALIFORNIA IS GETTING READY TO FALL INTO THE OCEAN.

What would it mean if California fell into the ocean? Well, ocean front property in Nevada for one. Maybe an end to crappy summer blockbusters, but for some reason I doubt that. Wouldn't have to worry about the California Raisins making a comeback. Technically, it would mean no more Californians, but they'd just migrate to other places and try change those places into their former homeland. Oh, never mind, that's already happening.

One good thing would happen, and this one thing makes total sense. No more California hockey teams. What the fuck is Southern California doing with a hockey team, let alone the whole state having two? How many hockey teams are left in Canada? Surely not as many as there are in California, Texas and Florida! Florida has two for crying out loud! When was the last time they had snow? The fucking stone age? Before Ancient Americans hunted the wooly mammoth and everything else into extinction? When? Dammmit tell me when?

At any rate, I doubt California is falling into the ocean. And if it were, it'd only mean instead of being concentrated in one geographic area, Californians would move all over the place and make the rest of us miserable. So those of you praying for the end of the Golden State, knock that shit off.

thursday haiku

running short on time
grains fall from top to bottom
skies of sand are near.

Way Cool Blog Spam by Spammy Spammer Guy who likes to Spam A Lot

Once in a while you trip upon something so obvious, you shake your head and think, "This poor fool is some sort of dipshit."

Check out this bit of blog spam: spammy bullshit. It isn't even trying to hide what it's about, which in one way is honest, but in another, just shows what a lazy asshole this guy is. Seriously. It wouldn't take much to make it look bonafide. But for this jackass it's easier just to scrape some shit off of his shoe and call it a blog post. What a loser. And to think, he's just another fucker convincing Google to discount the power of links from blogs. Don't be surprised when your clients call you complaining about their loss of PR or even worse, rankings and business, dumbass.

The end is near.

And thank God it is. So, we have this kitten in our house that's a present for my mother in law. And as you're all aware, IMO kittens are the cutest of the baby animals. However cute this kitten is, I cannot wait to get in the car tonight, drive to Klamath and dump the little bastard. Hopefully she'll be surprised. But at this point I could care less if she is or not.

Why do I have such a negative attitude towards something as cute as a kitten? BECAUSE I AM FUCKING TIRED OF WASHING OUR BEDDING AND WASHING CAT SHIT OFF OF HIS ASS. I told myself not give him a name, but he got one anyways, Mr. Hanky. Is he deserving of the name? You bet your sweet ass he is. The second night I get home from a long day at work, this sweet, little, purr-ball greets me and then shows me how he can wipe poo marks all over the carpet. Every where he steps is another swipe of cat shit that's so reminiscent of South Park it's not even funny, unless of course you're watching it on TV and could really give a piss that poor fucker's carpets are getting nice little skid marks on them.

Mr. Hanky is also very good at pissing on the bed. I have never washed more laundry in one week as I did last week. And it's not like all my clothes are clean; I've been washing our sheets over and over and over again! Every fucking time we lay down clean bedding that little hairy mother fucker pisses on them. Everytime. He even does it when we're in the damn room! I know he's doing it to make it smell familiar to him. I know he's just a little baby kitten trying to make do without his mom and sisters. BUT I AM SO FUCKING TIRED OF WASHING OUR BEDDING!!! It's good damn thing he's so fucking cute.

So, without a heavy heart, we're done with the little cat tonight. Two week of this shit, at times quite literally, has been enough. And I hope my mother in law loves him bunches because he's going to probably do the same damn things to her.

Adios, Senor Hanky.

Thursday Haiku

the moon's gray ghost peeks
through silvery threads of clouds
at lonesome highways.


nose filled with snot and
my eyes stickily itchy.
Spring in grass seed hell.

Thursday Haiku

late night A.M. moans
"I'm so lonesome I could cry"
while gin drowns regrets.

On Cat Shows

So last weekend I go to go to a cat show. With all that pussy around, you'd think I'd of been happy! (buduchink!) Thank you and good night. You've been great. Don't forget to tip your waitress.

Seriously though, it wasn't that great. First of all, it cost $4 to get into the damn thing. Four fucking dollars! Holy shit that's a lot of money to go look at cats and anti-social people of all sorts! But we forked over our dollars. And the little old lady stamped our hand so if we left we could get back in. She was obviously more optimistic about this whole deal than we were.

Let me tell you that I like cats and think kittens are the cutest of all baby animals. Maybe baby ducks, but I still think kittens are cuter. Once inside there was table after table of decorated cages and carriers to make these poor animals look like they're livin' la vida rica. Not so much. So we started walking down the aisles, looking in cages and saying "Oh isn't that one cute!" or "My, that's a pretty kitty." My sister in law comes across this one that's not in a cage and it acts like it wants her to pet it. Being in 4H and just being a considerate person and knowing the owner might not want his animal being touched, she asks if it's alright to pet the cat (I bet you love that one, Matt!). The guy, without even looking up at us, gets an indignant tone in his voice and says, "Well, hmmm, well, I would rather you NOT. I don't know what other animals you have touched and you might give him (the cat) ringworm. NO, I'd rather you not." The fucker didn't even make eye contact. So we moved on. After a while, we noticed not a single person acknowledged our existence. No one would look or talk to us. It was as if they knew we weren't there with a cat of our own and were SHUNNING us. This from people whose homes probably smell like cat piss and dirty litter boxes.

Now, at a dog show, it can be interesting. When they show dogs, you get to see them run and do whatever they're supposed to do at dog shows. There's action, maybe not much, but the dogs are doing something. Not so much at cat shows. Apparently, to show a cat, you just throw it in a cage, the judge takes it out of the cage, drops it on a table, examines it and throws the critter back into a cage. It was one of the most un-interesting things I've ever seen. Needless to say, the little old lady wasted her stamp ink on us.

So, let this be a lesson. Learn from my mistake. Never, and I mean never, let someone drag you into a cat show. You'd have more fun letting them beat the hell out of you with a bat.