Bloggin with the Bing

"Bonsai to you Gaijin"

2010-02-13T16:16:00.000-08:00

It started out like a fun night. Dinner with friend at Benihana's. That is until moments after our chef's demonstration with his fork and spatula. After tapping out a pathetic drum solo on the edge of the cooking grill he spontaneously placed both of his tools into one hand and playfully offered them to "Chaos" in an attempt to engage the "Urban Terrorist" leader. Sensing pending doom, I ordered as many drinks as the waitress could carry. Unbeknownst to our hapless chef, Chaos exhibited the speed of a Samurai and grabbed the fork swinging his arm backwards playfully....loosing his grip and inadvertently sending the fork on a ballistic arc towards the table behind us. I closed my eyes as my ears flooded with the piercing scream of the chef aft of our table. Slowly, acting as if I did not the assailant next to me, I turned in time to see the poor man fall forward and sear the left side of face just inches from a diners Yakisobe vegetables. The waiters quickly pulled him from further danger and applied a slab of Tuna to the reddened cheek as they lay him across his server cart, wheeling him towards a back room. Now, in his element, Chaos began to elevate the terror threat level towards Crimson, a new color added by the CIA, FBI, TSA, NSA, MADD and local Hells Angels affiliates....all in response to his prior attacks. Our chef began to studiously cook the meals ordered from the assembled patrons. Now fearing the "creature" sitting across the grill from him he attempted to apply his trade while cautiously watching each and every move being made by the person to his right. Nervously, he started with fried rice, an appetizer that was a little less appetizing now that blood had been shed. He attempted to distract us with tricks by using eggs, but alas he failed.....his hands shaking so badly he inadvertently scrambled the eggs in their respective shells. He stirred and he fried and we each had our portion, although due to his apprehension there was fried rice everywhere. Seeing the fear in their chef, the manager brought over a large shot of Sake, and a small carafe to leave at the table for use as needed. He managed to get the orders right and on the correct plates and also worked his way through 4 more carafes of Sake, but was able to escape injury at the hands of Chaos. Finishing his meal, Chaos slipped the grip of his captors and began to cut a swath of terror through what was formerly known as "Benihana's of Burlingame." Much like a "Looney Tunes" cartoon, we could see where he was, but were not able to see him. People were falling and dishes were flying thru the air....occasionally somebody would spit out their drink much like Moe of the "Three Stooges." I have been at both ends of every cuss word known to man, but never in Japanese, apparently they have 3-4 times the number of profane words as the English language. We tried to pay for the meal and damages but were spurned by a little lady in a Kimono who continually slapped at me with a spatula while screaming "BONSAI."

2009-12-23T16:44:00.000-08:00

After being discharged from the ER, his most recent attack a mere memory, Chaos seemed to joy himself on the fact that Daddy had to go through a psychiatric evaluation and counseling since nobody believed that a three year old was capable of inflicting such carnage upon an adult. My head was still throbbing after being whacked by my own frying pan, wrapped up in layers of gauze I looked like a Jihadist buffoon. My aft-end, swollen and stitched up like one of Grandmas quilts, I looked as if I had been stabbed repeatedly by a group of knife wielding oompa loompa's. Reeking of Garlic infused EVOO and the discharges of his breast fed counterparts in parental terrorism, all I wanted was a hot shower and a nap. I was exhausted, beaten and drained. Unable to defend myself let alone mount a counter-offensive, the leader of the parental terrorism cell began plotting his next attack. The turd was sporting a set of horns in an attempt to project himself as a cheery reindeer. Knowing his propensity for violence, my attempts at remaining alert in a my sleep deprived state proved futile.

I was sitting on the couch recuperating from the carnage inflicted upon me by chaos I could not help look but look into his adoring blue eyes and remind myself how cute he truly is. Nothing can melt your heart like your child telling you that he loves you. My ass full of stitches and a bloodstream full of narcotic painkillers, my ego ruthlessly mangled was sitting at my feet. He was holding my fingers and standing between my knees, looking into my eyes, squeaking out repeated "lubby doo's". Staring into my soul he told he wanted to hug me and I readily agreed. Using the fingers he was holding as handrails, he vaulted himself towards my lap, both feet landing on my thighs. Then the feeling of vomiting began to overtake my consciousness as I felt his foot sliding inward. It was a sickening feeling knowing there was no way I would be able stop the 44 lb. pile driver from flattening my wedding tackle. His rate of descent was only slowed by the resistance of the couch cushion refusing to compress any further. I started to scream in pain when I came to the sick realization that both of my sphincter muscles were open and in complete defiance of both gravity and vacuum........nothing was leaving either orifice. Before gravity was able exercise its basic principles, Chaos jumped in jubilation, thus managing to hydraulically force one of the seed making orbs that brought his little ass into this world, out my rectal regions at warp speed, milliseconds prior to slamming shut. With one of my sphincters shut this allowed a sudden pressure build up forcing out a high pitched scream that shattered the television screen. Thinking Daddy was reacting in a positive way to his jumping the little fart turned into a human jack-hammer. My wife said she had never seen anyone pass out as fast as I did. Regaining my consciousness I realized I was lying on the floor in the fetal position, reminiscent of the days when I drank myself into this same position. Somehow I managed to traverse the expanse of the upstairs area and ended up in the dining room. Chaos, proudly telling Mommy that Daddy could fly. Calling me a wuss and not understanding how anything could hurt that bad, Melanie told me to get off the floor and act like a man. I attempted to speak, but was only capable of drooling, much a being stoned out of my skull and wanting a bag of Doritos and a chocolate shake. Quivering in pain my nemesis was sitting on me and telling how Mommy was letting him wear his "Thomas" underwear today. Until then I had not noticed he was sans diaper. It was also when I thought I heard him say "ooops."
I was slowly slipping into the much desired slumber I had been longing for. The images of a long hot shower filled my mind and slowly began to ease the tense muscles in my neck and upper back. Turning my to head to allow the shower to beat upon face suddenly the flow of water began to recede. Opening my eyes, there he he stood with his underwear down around his ankles proudly proclaiming he went potty without a diaper. Please help me......please.

Chaos strikes again!

2009-11-08T13:05:00.000-08:00

I lay in the ER, fraught with pain. Awaiting the next injection of morphine in hopes that it quells the indignity as much as the pain. The Doctor, trying to be as understanding as possible asked me again how the accident happened, this time I could sense it was more for his own twisted comedic sense than for official purposes.
The xrays did not look good. Trying not to smirk, the radiologist clearly stated in medical terms what the xrays had shown. In layman terms, I had broken my Ass. Topping off the indignity, I was lying facedown on a triangular shaped foam wedge, my ass sticking up in the air like Mt. Vesuvius as a surgeon was pulling HotWheels from my Gluteus Maximus (heavy on the maximus) muscles. Solace came to in small measures, such as when, with one foot on my right butt cheek and pulling with all his might on an embedded Lego brick, it suddenly broke free sending the surgeon across the room into the cabinet, nearly knocking him out. I had demanded that the Police be there as I wanted to press assault charges on the person who had inflicted this act of treachory upon my rectal region. The cop turned out to be as twisted as the doctor, asking me if assault started with ASS as he hid his giggling face behind his clipboard. The cop, again giggling, re-iterated what I had previously stated, 1) that the assailant (he continually pronounced it as ASS-ailent) had brown curly hair, 2) that the assailant was male, 3) the assailant had blue eyes, 4) and yes the assailant is three years old. I had to sheepishly explain that yes, this was not the first time the alleged assailant assaulted me and yes this was the second time the assault took place on or near the staircase in my house. Adding to their amusement, I explained the first attack in detail hoping that they would understand the scope of "Chaos'" deviant nature. The surgeon, sitting on the floor rubbing his head haltingly asked "Consorzio"? "Yes, Consorzio" to which the nurse, who had for the most part been silent until now asked "do you mean the extra virgin olive oil kind of Consorzio?" "Yes" I stated. Snorting and possibly losing some snot in doing so, the nurse broke out laughing and quickly left the room to regain her composure. Then I began the demoralizing venture of explaining the latest attack. I awoke early in the morning somewhat thirsty. I arose from bed and was quickly consumed with fear. I groped around on the floor next to the bed for a flashligh and furiously fumbled for the button to turn it on. I scanned the room and the path I wanted to take for potential boob-e-traps, recently renamed on behalf of "Chaos" for making adults look like "boobs." Approaching the stairwell, I studiously looked for trip wires and the "shit-bombs" that have assailed the senses prior. Seven steps to the landing, and a heightened sense of fear gripped me as I entered the area of my until then greatest defeat. My gray matter began flooding with the terror filled memories and "scents" of that fateful night. Covered in garlic infused olive oil and the discharges of diapers filled by breast fed babies, two words came to my immediate attention......Garlic Shit. I regained my composure and ascertained that, for the moment I was safe. Turning left and approaching the remaining seven steps I slowly began my ascent, my thirst increasing exponentially. Before stepping into the expanse of the upper floor, I studiouly studied the floor then slowly reached down and physically touched the floor looking for the Consozio. As Instinctivly as the "nasty girl digging in her butt" who was caught scratching her ass on a security video, I smelled my fingers......no garlic scent. Feeling safe and away the staircase I walked towards the kitchen to fetch me a glass of water. Entering the kitchen I remember the brief feeling of floating like an astronaut in space. Knowing I was not an astronaut and beginning to feel like an Ass-tronaut I began to suspect danger. That feeling was confirmed 3 milli-seconds later when I crashed to the floor onto what was later estimated to be 143 HotWheels, Thomas Trains and Lego bricks fatefully registering a 3.2 on the richter scale. Writhing in pain and moaning, I started to fade in and out consciousness when I remember seeing Chaos standing over me. "Daddy, can I have a cookie?" Unable to move, much less argue with the friggin turd I realized that in my incapacitated state I could still mount a counter offensive against this parental terrorist. "Sure, go ahead and have a cookie...grab two while you are at it." Knowing his propensity for violence against me, I seek revenge when and where possible. So am I evil for seeking vengenance against him by "allowing" to have a cookie after nearly killing me...NO, not when they are "chilli chocolate cookies from Peachey Perfections." Watching the drool spill from his mouth brought about a small measure of vigillant justice. Running down the stairs crying for his mommy, I lay there, alternately giggling and crying out in pain. The doctor then asked, "if you landed on your backside, how do you explain the injury to the front of your head?" Now thoroughly embarassed and with a cop, two doctors and a nurse laughing their collective asses off I came to the sad realization that Chaos had inflicted more than pain...he had inflicted "sheer humility." I tried to tell them that "you do not understand, you have no idea what this person is like" this is when I heard the doctor quietly tell the officer "it's the morphine." It was at this moment I realized that legal intervention was looking bad. I explained that he had a hired a security detail similar to the rogue orgainizations hired by our government in Iraq. This perked the police officers attention and he inquired the name of this orgainiztion. I told him it was his mother. I do not know how or why but the surgeon fell from the rolling stool he was sitting on. The rogue detail had taken my Stainless Steel Jamie Oliver frying pan and leveled one good whack to the forehead. "what the hell are you doing letting him have a cookie at three o'clock in the morning and WHY did you give him a chili chocolate cookie AND WHY are you lying on the kitchen floor. I will get you Chaos.......I will get you!

"Chaos and the Axis of Evil"

2009-10-23T01:35:00.000-07:00

"The Beast" has emerged from hiding and declared his new moniker to be "Chaos" and his two accomplices are now referred to as his "Axis of Parental Evil" or APE. Their latest ploy has been massive synchronized bowel movements that we parents have dubbed APE-shit. Knowing more about them has raised my fear level to new highs. Chaos' heir apparent was recruited from the Korea's "Special Parental International Terrorist" organization more commonly called SPIT. They seem to be well synchronized in their late night assaults on the hapless parental units that hopelessly try to parent them. These two have mastered the art of driving their older sisters nuts by manipulating their nerves until they run to the parents who just don't want to hear the whining. Their training bases have yet to be discovered. Though thought to be trained in a womb-like compound, the intelligence community has yet to develop any viable information on this. The third member of the tri-axial terrorist organization has been laying low on the Peninsula, the Parental Intelligence Gathering Service, known as PIGS, has concrete information that he is training a new sibling in the fine art of Parental Sleep Deprivation. Having learned my lesson after the last assault, I now lock up the Consorzio, Garlic infused Olive Oil...Extra Virgin of course. It is humiliating for all parents involved to be duped by these well trained warriors of the "Diaper Brigade". But we are "Allies Seeking Solace Soon" or ASS'S who only want the simple life of kids who are obedient and sleep through the damn night. Winning the Lottery
is looking easier every day. Studies being conducted by the "Volunteer Organization Monitoring Idgit Terrorists" have shown parental terrorism to be on the rise nationwide. VOMIT's studies have also shown that these ankle biting rugrats will stop at nothing to thoroughly disrupt parental activities. Whether it is sleep, using the restroom, cooking dinner or worse eating dinner in a public place, they will lay the embarrassment factor on like peanut butter on bread...Thick. Recently, Chaos stood up in his chair and proceeded to demonstrate his "Firengingins siren. I truly believe a real fire engine siren would have been quieter, and would not have lasted as long. VOMIT's studies have located a sleeper cell of Parental Terrorists calling themselves "Toddlers Using Reeking Diapers" who helped mastermind the last attack on me. The TURD cell is ruthless often collecting diapers from their breastfeeding compatriots whose used Huggies could drop a bull elk at 75 yards. You can only imagine how fast these weapons of parental destruction can knock a weary adult out cold instantly. Parents Out Of Patience or POOP is an organization that has banded together to fight the constant threat of being overrun by APEshit and SPIT, we admit to draggin ASS'S all over the place in an effort to utilize VOMIT in a conducive manner. PUKE, Parental Units Knowing Everything is an upstart unit that is attempting to outsmart the little boogers.....we have wished them the best of luck. These little FARTS (funny, angelic, resourceful, toddler shits) have been outwitting a host of talented, bright and educated parents for eons. Like the snake in the Harry Potter movie you never want to look one of them in the eyes...you will never be the same! This is the only known photo of "Chaos" just after he removed one of his sisters eyeballs.
Having witnessed the horror first hand the photographer is thought to have forever put down his camera and is now weaving baskets on an Indian reservation in Northern Canada. You can see the pure joy he takes in his work, just don't look at the picture too long.

Why didn't I get the memo!!

2009-10-20T02:30:00.000-07:00

Okay, why did nobody send me the memo that the "Summer of Love" never ended and that it just moved from San Francisco to Mendocino. Took the family on little camping trip up to Mendocino hoping to get away from the hustle and bustle of the Bay Area. We get to the campground late so the check-in window is closed, which is no big deal. These guys have a regular system where if you come late you just go over to the bulletin board and find your name, grab the key(KOA Kampin Kabin) and hit the rack in your cabin. No big deal really. The only difference is since the last time we were here they hired a "night crew" to assist with the complicated check-in process(see previous sentence). As I walk to the bulletin board I hear a voice then I smell the ever
pungent smell of Mendocino's Best Green Buds. This guy was fried. It was a complicated process
but he walked me through it, since there were 5 other names on the board and he was unable to locate "Bingham" amongst them...I pointed to my name to shorten the amount of time I had to witness his lack of literacy and took the liberty of pulling the push-pin out of the paperwork as I would have felt bad if this guy got hurt doing such a menial task. Now if you know me you that there if nothing better than messing with somebody who is really stoned. Had I not had the kids in the car and had it not been so late I would have made up a name and really screwed with this guy...like insisting my was (insert name here) for 4 or 5 minutes then insist on a different name, and then give him another one, changing it ever so slightly I am sure you can understand this, start with Jones, then Jonesman, then Johnson and on to Johnston and so on. When he could not find the first name, just change it a little...he's stoned and will never know. Yes, you are thinking what an asshole...and you are right. But hey, back in the day I burned......well I burned a lot. So I know from experience how fun it is to mess with and be messed with by those that are stoned, but alas the good side of me broke through and I let this guy off the hook. So we settle into our Kabin (KOA, Kampgrounds of America, like to use "K" in place of "C") off load the kids and gear and I head for the latrine when I realize the "night crew" is pulling a late nighter in one of the Kabins. Knowing the sound of those who are "tanked" I sit and watch this spectacle for a few minutes then go about my business. Around 2:22am (yes I looked to what time it was) Kai wakes me up to go outside for a little bladder relief and as I breach the door of the Kabin I am greeted with the crisp early morning air of the outdoors and I hear the night crew still going strong across the campground.

No biggy, for they are not disturbing my peace, only my dog is. Back to the rack and at 4:15 I get the warm snout treatment again so I find my shoes and the leash to take my weak bladdered mutt outside again and there is the night crew, campfire still blazing and still partying. So I sternly tell the dog to hurry up for I am tired, cold and getting a little cranky with her for not being able to hold it for more than 2 hours at a time. We head back to the warmth of the Kabin and I am out for an hour and half when my own bladder reaches capacity and I stumble out of bed as if my gray-matter has been pickled and head for the bathroom. It is dark and daybreak is just about half an hour distant and the night crew is still going. So I take a longer look at the assembled mass of people (about 8 or 9) and I start thinking these guys could possibly be chemically assisted. We are in Mendocino County and out in the sticks. This group is somewhere between redneck and hillbilly so I automatically assume there is not a complete set of teeth amongst then (yes, i'm an asshole for being judgementel...but prove me wrong!) then I remember seeing the flyer for the "First Annual Frisbee Golf Tournament at the Manchester Beach KOA." So then I wonder if they are "Frolfers" and come 8:00am I find that most of them were. Then the throngs of "Frolfers: began inundating the place for the tournament. Well Saturday night they must have been a little wiped out for they were down by 9:30pm. But their place was taken over by a group of families celebrating a birthday for a tweener. If ever I wanted to hand out Ritalin laced candy it was Saturday. Somewhere there was a group of villages deprived for the night of their collective idiots. Now as many know Shaymus is a handful and regularly kicks my ass. "IF" he ends up anything like these kids I may have to send him off to Military School. It was an interesting weekend in the campground, never before been amongst the groups I witnessed over these 2 days.

We pack up and check out, then migrate north 30 miles to the town of Mendocino. This is where the missing memo comes into play. Apparently The "Summer of Love" never ended it just moved North to Mendocino. I have not seen this many starry-eyed duds with dreads since.......well, since the last time I walked down Haight street in the city. I really do not understand the theory behind being hopelessly dis-sheveled, homeless and psychologically lost by choice. I must be gettin old. Oh well.

As I stated this was a family trip so the child I have now dubbed "Chaos" was with us. This was a tough trip for my little man and I felt bad for the little parental terrorist. Friday night, having never camped, slept in a bunk-bed nor slept in a sleeping bag, he crawled out of bed in tears calling for "Mama". What he said next was a line for the ages "Mama, I'm having problems". Now it is hard not to laugh at a line like this but he was really disturbed with his new surroundings and was having "a problem". All in all it was a fun trip that as always was too short, but we came home with some good memories and a few bottles of good wine from Navarro Vineyards, which we always stop at because they sell bottled grape juice that is the best and just happens to be on the way home.

Looking off a bridge into the Pacific, above that is a window above the front door of Navarro Winery and to the right looking into a row of grape vines in the Anderson Valley. Further up is an old barn on the side of the road heading towards Mendocino. Kai on the lookout for any fallen food and my two little hams on the porch swing of our Kabin.

Toddler Terrorists and Parental Terrorism

2009-10-12T03:10:00.000-07:00

It is always nice to talk to other parents who are being parentally abused by their toddlers. Shay, up and ready to party at 3am the other morning had apparently been telepathically communicating with at least two other fellow terrorists according to my sources. He, up at 3am, and his two cohorts in crime up at 4am. This coordinated attack was cunningly carried out against PTPP (parents too pooped to party) forces, troops whom were caught woefully unprepared. The assault, which was delayed until the PTPP troops had entered a deep slumber, was carried out with sniper like skills. Communications were severed, two toilets had been backed up with diapers and I was succumbed again by the old Olive Oil trick Shaymus applied upon me previously. This time he layered the "Consorzio Garlic Infused EVOO" across the top step of the stairs leading from the sleeping quarters. I was groggy, weary and looking for a missing 3 year-old I could hear upstairs. Knowing his propensity for terrorizing me I should have been forewarned but my parental instincts were telling me to search for my little twerp. I smelled it but was too groggy to subvert the trap. As I reached the top step, breaching the upstairs command center my foot slid rearward with such force I inadvertantly kicked myself in the ass and I slid, bounced and rolled down the stairs onto the landing. Indignified,
humiliated, and just plain pissed off, I could only picture myself as Joe Pesci in Home Alone. With that thought running rampant through my gray matter I began nervously looking for swinging cans of paint when the odiferous putrified aroma of a "Schitt Grenade" assaulted my senses. My little terrorist had layered diapers all over the landing I had just "splatted" onto. Drat! I hate being outwitted, especially by a 3 year-old. I cleaned up this little mess created by a person I now refer to as the "Shay-Beast," then stepped into the shower to "detox" my epidermis. Easing into a hot shower for a quick cleansing so as to continue my search the beast launched phase-two of the
assault when he managed to turn off the hot water supply.
Yelping like chihuahua that had been stepped on I fell through
the shower curtain onto the bathroom floor. Lying face down
in the bathroom twenty years after I quit drinking, once again
humiliated, I rolled onto my side to hear Shaymus say "lubby-doo daddy" and then, to add insult to injury Melanie asked "what the hell are doing on the bathroom flloor"....aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh

The un-common cold

2009-10-02T03:25:00.000-07:00

Well without fail I am sick. Shut-up to everybody who is thinking they already knew that. What I am getting at is I now have the cold Shaymus has. I knew it was coming, it was just a matter of time, what with him coughing and sneezing all over me not to mention wiping his runny nose on MY SHIRT. When he is sick he wants to be all over you which I guess most kids do, but this really sucks when you are immuno-suppressed. Since my transplant I dodge sick people like they have the plague. I have to since I no longer have a natural defense system. Shay has really been into being read to lately. Now that he is sick he really wants to just sit on my lap and have me read books to him while he coughs, sneezes, oozes and drips snot all over the place. If he were not my kid I would have chased him off with a bottle of spray bleach. But I cannot so, inevitably every time he gets sick, I get sick. So here I type with a sore throat and a stuffy, runny nose hoping this one passes quickly. What has been interesting since my transplant is that I no longer get the whopping colds that make you lay low for days on end making you think you are gonna die. I asked a fellow transplant about this and he said experienced the same "dilemma" if you will. He inquired with one of our Cardiologists at Stanford who had found that the immuno-suppressed body can develope a way of ignoring some viral threats that the body is exposed to. I have not gotten sick as often as I did prior to being transplanted nor as badly. But, I have developed a keen eye for the sick, kind of a self-defense mechanism for I know I am at a huge dis-advantage. After surgery you are "indoctrinated" on the "new do's and don'ts" of life. Your new best friend is a bottle of hand sanitizer. Public restrooms are.....well, I am sure you can figure that one on your own. I will not touch anything in a public restroom. Having a vertical advantage I will often grab the top of a door, where most cannot reach, or will often wait for someone else to open the door then use my foot to hold it open.
Immuno-suppression sucks, but it beats the alternative. I always tell people I am on the right side of the dirt and plan on keeping it that. I hated having to wear a mask when in the hospital. Since most hospitals are living, breathing germ factories they are also the worst place on the planet for a new transplant. When in the hospital I used to walk up the masked ones and ask what organ they got. Most would ask how I knew and I would point to yellow mask they were wearing then tell them I recieved a heart. With suppression if you spike a fever it means an instant trip to the ER. Fevers can be an early warning sign to rejection. Any sustained or spiked fever warrrants a call to the on-call heart failure cardiologist who will determine whether it's a run to the ER or crawling back into bed. Once, I spiked a fever and was sent packing down to Stanfords ER for what turned out to be "Hell-Night."
I get there and check in like everyone else, they just know I am coming after being notified by the cardilogist. As I sit there giving my information to the lady behind the counter she notifies a nurse that I have arrived and said nurse notifies her I had been there for over an hour. So I calmly turn to the nurse to notifiy her that I "just arrived" and had not teleported prior to my current arrival. Thus began 18hrs of sheer stupidity. It started off normally, blood draw and a chest x-ray then give an oral report of what is wrong or how I am feeling...yada, yada, yada. Being a transplant gets you a few perks in the ER, like a private room if available so as to keep the sick people away from you, but on this night once I got into my "suite" everyone seemed to have forgotten about me. I spoke with an ER doc around 4:00am. notified him that my fever had been gone for over 2 hrs. Regurgatated all the info from earlier to this doc then had one of the oddest conversations with a Stanford ER doctor...ever.
"So, you have had a tranplant?"
"yes"
"a heart transplant?"
"yes"
"and where did you have this transplant?"
"here"
"you had your transplant at Stanford" ( all I am thinking at this point is I got Dr. Phuckin Idiot )
"yes, one floor up and down the hall" (trying to supress the sarcasm)
"okay, do you have a cardiologist?" (duh)
"yes, Dr. Hunt"
"ummmmmm, this Dr. Hunter" (now Dr. Phuckin Idiot cannot hear)
"DR.HUNT, SHARON HUNT (i am now speaking slow for I think he rode a little bus to med school)
"yes, Dr. Hunt, is she a cardiologist?" (no, she is my fucking proctologist)
"yes"
"here at Stanford" (so now I am about to lose it for all that I can think is that she probably wrote some of the books Dr. Phuckin Idiot had to read to get thru med-school, that she is a world renowned cardiologist, from Stanford, and Dr. Phuckin Idiot does not know her. AND to top it all off I cannot take my eyes off of these stupid ass shoes this guy is wearing. they look like some kind of 70's era italian rejects that he picked up at a garage sale.)
DEEEEP BREATH
"Yes, Dr. Hunt is a cardiologist here at Stanford
"okay, uuuummm we are waiting for your labs to come back"
"they drew the labs 5hrs ago"
"oh, well we will look into where they are"
"I have to pee, really bad"
"so when did your fever start?
"yesterday, I have to pee really bad, can I use the restroom or do you want a urine sample"
"that's a good idea, we'll get you a urinal"
so 10 minutes later I get a urinal and fill it and start buzzing the nurse for another one. She arrives and tells me she left one next to the bed and I point to the one on the floor and tell her I need another one, which leaves her astonished that someone could fill a 1 liter urinal and still have to go.
They say Shit rolls down hill and it did on this night, then morning, then afternoon. I had not been seen for about 8hrs when I got up and walked outside to call Melanie to let her know I was leaving. On my way out the door I pass a cardiologist I know and we exchange pleasantries. Unbeknownst to me he was coming down to see where I was because they were waiting for me in the Cath-Lab upstairs for over four hours and were getting no answer from the ER. I eventually end up getting a routine biopsy in the Cath-Lab, which is a welcome sight since these people know me. I go to recovery and am waiting to be released when Mark, a nurse I have had in the past tells me the Doctor who took over my case now wants to "admit me" to "release me."(WTF?????) Had it not been for Mark I would have walked out the door. The one and only debacle I ever encountered at Stanford and it was one for the ages. I need some chicken soup, my throat hurts.

WTF#2

2009-09-29T13:08:00.000-07:00

Soooo, Shaymus and I have a daddy/son at the San Francisco Zoo last Friday. Now many of you that know me are thinking "oh shit, he is trying to return Shay." Well, to say the thought never crossed my mind would be a lie but, I love the little booger toooo much.....no matter how many times he tries to kill me. We had a really fun day that started when we arrived at the monkey exhibit. This group of primates had been vocalizing like the primates they are, loud and continuos while swinging from rope to rope to branch and so on. Quite an impressive display that kept my little "audience riveted." After about 15-20 minutes of watching this Shay decided it was time to move on to the next wild display. "So what do you want to see next" I ask..."graffs", he shouts. "Do you mean Giraffes" I ask, "NO, GRAFFS" he sternly replies. SO we head for the "graffs." If you have ever been to the Zoo you know you can walk on the pathways that circumvent all of the displays in an expeditious manner when you follow the map. The "Shay-Way" is more like firing a rubber bullet into a steel room.....you don't know where it's going, you really cannot follow it, and you just kind of wait for it to lose some velocity so you can catch it! Eventually we end up at the steam train. Now Shaymus loves trains to no end, so after 4 rides and 8 laps it was at best a "fit" and at worst a train induced audible test for an un-natural disaster alarm when I tried to get him off the train. We managed to end this quite quickly and move on to the bear exhibit. Of course on Friday we were not exposed to a knucklehead trying to enter the Grizzly bear exhibit. Nor was the entire familial unit exposed to any other knucklehead on Sunday when we made a family trip to the Zoo. It was on Saturday that some Idiot decides to climb over the fences and squat for lunch with "ursus arctos horribilis." Now before you start screaming at me about picking on the "allegedly mentally ill" hear me out. This guy had a warrant out for his arrest from Union City for threatening family members with a knife dating back to 2006, assault on a police officer charges and a few other raps. So where does society draw the line with violent, allegedly, "mentally ill" people. Marvin Patrick Sullivan has been claiming mental illness for over eleven years now. This "allegedly mentally ill" subject executed a Police Officer after being pulled over by San Bruno Police for an expired registration. As officer Seann Graham approached, Sullivan got out his car and began firing with an AK47. After calling for backup and dodging murderous gunfire, Milbrae Police Officer David Chetcuti answered the call of an officer in need of help and was gunned down by Sullivan. While lying mortally wounded on the Milbrae Avenue offramp from highway 101, Sullivan proceeded to execute Chetcuti where he lye. Now personally nobody on this planet can convince me Sullivan is mentally ill. The mentally ill truly do not have the capacity to understand that the person he just shot, that is lying on the ground dying really needs to have more bullets fired into their head. The truly mentally ill do not understand that they now need to leave the scene of the crime because they do not possess the capacity to understand they have just committed a crime. Yet we continue to live in a society where the "allegedly" mentally ill continue to mingle amongst us, committing heinous crimes. I have begun to believe that most people take it for granted that the actions of a sociopath will never affect them. So now we how two incidents at the Zoo in 2 years, first the Dilly-dipshit brothers get their friend killed, and claim that they did no wrong, now this idiot Kenneth Herron climbs in to have lunch with the grizzlies. Too bad they were not hungry. So when and where do you draw the line with societies idiots. Their crimes are of no cost to them. We as tax payers cover that for them free of charge. Even worse, since this alleged crime took place in San Fran-shit-sco there are a litany of organizations too "protect" all parties, including the improperly incarcerated grizzlies! If not for Berkeley being across the bay, San Fran-shit-sco would have my vote for capitol of the state of DumbAss!
If I have offended you in any way please understand that I am now mentally ill and not responsible for the rants and raves published here, seriously what sane person would could come up with this kind of rhetoric. SO kiss my ass, and lock your doors for the boogy-man is coming and nobody will stop him until he gets you!

Gas Attack

2009-09-23T11:08:00.000-07:00

My arch nemesis has once again launched a full scale assault on all human senses. After nearly killing me in the music store he changed his tactics this morning. After eating his pancakes this morning he subdued my parental intuition by quietly playing with his set of Jenga blocks a Thomas the Tank Engine floor puzzle and 237 other lethal weapons. Mere mortals call these objects of parental destruction "toys" for some odd reason. In the hands of my son a Jenga block is like a wooden bullet. As innocuous as a floor puzzle may sound Shay turned that into a floor mounted, tailbone shattering tool of disaster by laying the puzzle over a film of olive oil he stole from the kitchen. After gliding nearly four feet across the living room floor I was no longer able to maintain my balance and slammed butt first onto the hardwood floor. To add insult to injury he stood over me smiling and repeating "lubby-doo daddy, lubby-doo." This is when, thinking that he was really sorry for his action, he came in for the kill. With my head on the ground he tried to sit on it and unleashed a noxious, aft mounted, diaper encased 13 ton "poop-splosion." The Germans used nerve gas attacks during WWI and I can now fully sympathize with the poor British soldiers who encountered this wretched device of human torture. I do not know how long I was unconcious for, or how I managed to keep from tossing my cookies, but as I slowly regained consiousness, once again there he stood looking down at the pathetic heap of a gas-attacked father lying on the floor. As the fog cleared from my cerebral mass and the internal picture taking mechanism began to regain focusing capabilities I heard the faint speakings of the dictator that applied such evil to the parental unit. "daddy, i got poopies"

I faintly recall thinking "No Schitt!?!?!?

Dog in mourning

2009-09-21T08:58:00.000-07:00

It never occurred to me that a pet could grieve. Kai has been a really sad dog since Kona passed away. A normally vivacious and aggressively outgoing dog who would force you to pet her, she spent a lot of time, well moping around the garage. Eerily, she would lay on the spot where Kona had passed and would not get up from there and looked towards you as if saying "leave me alone please, my friend died here." Obviously we have been spending a lot more time with her and Melanie has been giving more treats. The dog loves apples and nibbles away like a human. If you hold the apple and rotate it as she eats, she will politley and with much mannerism eat an apple. Now this may not sound like much to many people but Kai was always the dog, whom when you gave her a treat, would come at you like a ravaged bear with her huge Rotweiller mouth open and then excitedly clamp down on the treat somewhere just short of your wrist. While you are trying to retrieve your hand from the depths of her gaping mandible she would begin to realize that maybe I shouldn't have done that then slowly releases your now slobber covered hand, add a few nicks and small punctures. So when Melanie told me this I was not entirely convinced about Kai's newfound table manners. Ironically, Melanie was feeding her an apple and had gotten to the core, then while turning to allow Kai to get one last nibble she caught Mel's finger and broke the skin. I have to admit it was really cute seeing this dog, who has since we got her when she was 4 weeks old, eat like it was her last or even her first meal in weeks, just plain gobbles without remorse. We have been saddened with the loss of Kona and now are healing with the help of our grieving dog who reminds us all we need to slow down and sniff a few butts for old times sake!

Back pain and vulnerability

2009-09-16T13:52:00.000-07:00

Being taken advantage of by a three year-old really sucks. I still think I can take him, don't get me wrong but the little turd acts like an assasin sometimes. Cold, but loving and warm, calculating but klutzy, sweet yet evil. I did a good job with my back this week. Constant pain, stabbing when I move in the wrong direction, unable to sit or bend over. I would like to say I did this lifting an engine off the ground to put it on an engine stand. Unfortunately I was leaning over the sink and doing dishes, with nothing in my hands but some water. Pathetic. Now back to my little parental terrorist. We are in a store yesterday renting a flute for my daughter and as I am filling out paperwork he is running rampant thru the store with Alyssa flying chase but a step or two behind. Kind of like an old Tom & Jerry cartoon where Jerry is tipping over everything and as Tom chases he is standing everything back up and just cannot quite catch Jerry. So I step away from the counter to get his attention and tell him quite sternly to "COME HERE" to which he replied "NO" then ran. SO I reach into my pocket to pull out my dart gun with the tranquilizer darts and much to my chagrin it is not there. "I will get you, you eveil little monster" I yell. Then came the ultimate insult "Catch me Fatso." I grabbed a guitar and started firing violin bows through the store like a mad Indian. I took off my shirt and dipped in a cleaning solution, wrapped it around an oversized Bass bow, lit it on fire and shot it at him as he wassticking out his tongue defiantly, ducked and ran. Needless to say the Woodwind section of the store was engulfed in flames. Customers were running out screaming about an father gone insane when I caught my next glimpse of the now hunted terrorist. I had grabbed a handful of drumsticks that I had sharpened points on with their electric pencil sharpener and started a rapid fire assault. My hand made arrows-of-mass-destruction were flying like bats leaving a cave at dusk when the casualties really started to mount. The first visions of carnage to come into view were a family of Ukelele's, mercilessly their lives were cut short...collateral damage in my quest to capture Americas.......well MY most wanted terrorist. Then came the first of what would be many wounds inflicted by the little twerp. A low sweeping blow to my shin with an Alto-Sax. I dropped to my knee and fired off three more drum sticks hitting an unsuspecting store clerk in the ass with one of them. I could her my prey laughing at me as he ran aisle filled with sheet music from 1980's romantic comedies. As the clerk lie in front of me screaming in pain I took my second injury, to left side of my ribcage. Feeling as if I had been hit by a rocket propelled grenade I looked to floor on my left side and there lie the remnants of a once beautiful Bassoon. It was personal now. I always liked the Bassoon. I crawled behind the counter and reached up to grab a handful of guitar strings when in rapid succession three Trumpets stitched the wall where my head had just been. Relying on years of watching MacGyver reruns I quickly started making snare traps out of the guitar strings when the explosions started, the little shit had cornered himself with a set bass drums and was beating them mercilessly. As i ventured out from behind the counter I made my way past a row of Fender Stratocasters when I caught a glimpse of him jumping off a stack of amplifiers with a Tuba and stiking me in the side of the head.....the last thing I remember was him standing over my nearly lifeless body and and saying..lubby-dooo daddy

then it all went black.

Sunsets from the deck.

2009-09-10T02:03:00.000-07:00

I, or I should say "we" (Melanie, Alyssa and I) love the view from our deck. Especially the sunsets. We often look out the sliding glass door (the pics are from my deck) and see some beautiful sunsets. Throw in some cool cloud formations and you have really gorgeous pictures. Melanie
took this shot of stand of trees down in the Santa Cruz mountains. It really makes you feel insignificant looking straight up a tree when you cannot see the top.

I have loved photography ever since I was in the 6th grade when a friend of mine got me into taking pictures. My first job as a weekend janitor allowed me the monetary means to purchase my first camera, a Canon AE1 Program. I took a lot of really good pictures with that camera and I still have it to this day, some 33 years later. I used to take my camera everywhere I went. My senior year of High School I was the School Photographer. Loved that job. Have been trying ever since to figure out how to get companies like Canon or Nikon send me their stuff to try and then.......well, keep.
Don't get me wrong I would love to pay for the cameras I want, it is just this the whole fixed income thing, it sucks! I routinely search websites looking at the latest cameras and associated gadgets and picture myself winning some worldwide photo award. I would have to sell the world on photos of my family which is why I probably won't be winning many awards or monetary prizes, or free cameras. But, there is always that one in a million shot that gets things started so I keep on shooting. My latest desire is Canon's new EOS7D. Next week it be something else, whoever comes out with the latest "super-whizbang-doublethrowdown-gizmachi
will catch my wanton desires. Over the last few years Melanie and I have taken to shooting pictures of the nature we see on the road. The solitary, somewhat dead looking pine tree was on the side of........a mountain 13,ooo feet up in Sierra Neva...okay, it was on the side of Highway 80 just outside of Truckee, California. But it was taken as we sat in traffic thru the window of the truck. I have taken to occasionally switching to black and white mode, thanks to Mary, and shot some timeless photos like the one of Alyssa fishing in Donner Lake. What made it eerie was

there were forest fires burning up north about 250 miles away but the smoke was drifting south and east and filled the Tahoe basin every afternoon. The following day in Truckee it was snowing....ash. So Canon if you read this please send me a better camera, please.

Losing your Dog

2009-09-08T05:38:00.000-07:00

Losing a long time pet really sucks. Melanie found our dog Kona dead in our garage just after midnight tonight. We knew it was coming, he had been really slowing down as of late. He had a slow, gradual aging over the last couple of years though. While his body did not move like it used to you could still see in his eyes that he still had the chase in him.
We are not sure how old was, since he was a rescue and they had little or no information on him. But he was a kind old dog that liked everybody. Scratch his ear and you had a friend for life. Climb through my window in the middle of the night and he would bark as he wagged his tail and rubbed against you. It is never easy to lose a pet, it is worse when you have a child whom has known him all of her life. Alyssa is devastated. My daughter loves Kona like no other. I believe that deep down they must be soul mates. She loves Kai, don't get me wrong, but Kona was special to her and always will be. Kai is a big lumbering klutz of a dog with kids and Alysaa seemed to get hurt around Kai.....but Kona was a genlte soul who never hurt her. When she was 2 1/2 years old I working in the garage and I heard her say "Kona, drink" not putting much thought to it until about the fourth time she said it and sounded pretty serious about him having a drink. So I stuck my head out the door to see what the problem was and there was Alyssa with Kona trying to push his head down to have a drink that he really did not want. Never got mad at her, he just politely resisted her offer. Shaymus even gravitated towards him more than Kai. I think kids are instinctivley good judges of character and know and understand unconditional love better than most adults. Kona, I am really gonna miss you. I still love telling the story about you in Yosemite, acting as if you had a bear in your sights and could not be consoled until I let you off the leash and you ran at a full gallop to the bank of the Merced River and jumped in to go for a swim, that's all. Just a dog in the water, going for a swim. We are all going to miss you buddy.

Speech development and singing in the tub

2009-09-07T05:27:00.000-07:00

The last few months have been quite fun from the standpoint of speech development. Shay's vocabulary has been steadily growing as he becomes increasingly verbal. It was quite a relief to venture beyond the age appropriate "NO" response to everything. Even the proverbial "No" was typical of Shay as he would invariably tell you "I can't not want to" whenever he decided he disliked the current state of affairs. Last week my "daddy day care" speech therapy class' came into question when Melanie was putting him to bed and he began whispering "shit" and "damn" into mommies ear. I tried my best to deflect these accusations onto others but to no avail. While he has always loved being read to the last few weeks have been....well interesting to say the least. In the past he would grab a book and your finger then pull you to a clear spot on the floor to read the book he chose. Now he will grab as many books as possible, have you carry them, then grab another armful before heading off to his pre-determined reading spot. It is quite fun and has been a wonderful experience as both my kids have always loved being read to. Alyssa now devours books and is hard to stop for any reason. Quite often she will get into a book and forget to eat. Shay has even started to memorize more and more songs that sung to him. Last night after dinner he was in his carseat singing "twinkle, twinkle little star, I know where you are." When left to his own devices he sings quite often. Which is nice, since I believe that when he is singing he really cannot be plotting my demise!

What The Fuck!

2009-09-02T22:26:00.000-07:00

When is our pacifistic society going to realize you cannot ever trust a sociopathic sexual sadist? When will all these assholes who "think" that a sociopath like Garrido can ever be cured of being a perverted child molestor and take responsibility for their "opinions?" When will the fucking parole board and judges have to pay for their derelict irresponsible decisions by allowing predators back into society where they prove over and over they will never change. When, as a society, do we hold the prison psychiatrists responsible for "deciding" that a sexual predator is "cured and no longer a threat to society?" Where do we start? The judge, the parole board, the prison psych., the defense attorney who claims his client did nothing wrong. If it is their daughter or son who gets kidnapped, raped and murdered do you think it may change their opinion. Maybe is these people were forced to read "The Mind Hunter" by John Douglas they would see things in a different light. I have forever seared in my mind the images of Mark Klaas' face after his daughter Polly had been found raped and murdered. I closed my eyes and tried to picture how I would react. When my daughter was in kindergarten I was talking with a friend of mine who had two older daughters about knowing where sexual predators were located and how close they were to our homes. To my astonishment she replied she did not have time to worry about things like that. To say it forever changed my opinion of her goes without saying. You can only imagine how I felt when I found out the new renter next door had his face on the "Megan's Law" website. He was a real winner, molested a family member. Now here comes the part that should really yank your chain, the statute for which he was convicted covered children under 13 years of age....from newborn to 13 years old. What is even worse is that this piece of shit, as with many others are allowed to plea bargain for lesser sentences, usually from felony to misdemeanor. I don't fret about what the worlds sociopaths may inflict upon my family yet I am on constant alert to any threat. I once told a friend that "I don't worry about what someone may do to my family, but I worry about what I will do to the person that does bring harm to them." We need to wake up as a society and realize that somehow we need to start making certain people accountable when their decisions ultimately have profoundly negative impacts on the populace and forever destroy the dynamics of a family.

Busy, spirited, or just out to kill me

2009-09-01T09:12:00.000-07:00

Since he was able to crawl Shaymus has been what everyone called "Busy." He was and is into everything. To say he is an independent little cuss goes without saying. He has a very deep concentration level when it he is on task, which is pretty much all the time. BUT, I swear this kid is out to kill me sometimes. Not maliciously, almost on an accidental level. I clean the living room floor twice a day of all his toys which mainly consist of "Thomas The Tank Engine" trains, legos, hotwheels, books and later in the afternoon any and all clothes he "was" wearing that particular day. The attempted "parenticide" as I now call it comes when I need to navigate my way thru his play area. Just picture Joe Pesci in Home Alone. Getting your ass kicked by a 3 year-old is not something most people willingly admit to. "no officer I have not been in neither a fist fiight or a plane crash.....if I told you what I have been thru you would not believe me." He is very cute and sweet, just ask Bern, she will tell you. I am in the unfortunate position of yelling "look, a UFO in the shape of "...........yet when peolple turn their heads the UFO has hit the "hyperspace" button and disappeared. An old friend of mine recently ended a letter with "I hear your son is just like you".......
That bastard wait till I see him again!

Medical conditions

2009-08-27T11:32:00.000-07:00

My friend Leah (www.califmom.com) has been blogging about her husband's cancer and chemo treatments. To say I can relate is an understatement. You "never know what you had until you have lost it" is an old phrase that rings so true when it comes to your health. After dealing with heart disease for 20 years I have only memories of what it was like just to get out of bed and feel normal. The "N" word for me has been elusive. It has become a word of dynamic proportions since "normal" for me is a constantly evolving situation. The worst part of being a "sicko" or a person with a "Medical Condition" for those lacking sacarsm is the "Stigma" that becomes forever attached to you. I only recently spoke of this with another transplant patient (GO ANNA) who recently recieved another transplant (kidney) about being stigmatized by even your peers. You really are never again looked at as "whole"(?) you are forever somewhat deficient. After my transplant people would always ask Melanie, "should he be doing that?" "is he allowed to do this?" I wanted to get on a box and start secreaming that "YES, I can fucking do it. Get educated and realize I am a person who just wants to be normal (there's that "N" word again) and not coddled or set in the corner while well meaning peole do whatever for me. But my rational wife told me to keep my mouth shut and just accept their gracious gifts of help. It was hardest since I have never relied on anyone to help me with any physical activity....EVER.
I have been very fortunate have been sent to Stanford University 20 years ago and introdueced to some amazing, talented and dedicated doctors who truly believe in trying to save lives. Namely my friend Dr. Michael Fowler whom many of patients dubbed the "salt Nazi" for his attempts to reduce patients sodium intake. I call him the best "Patient Advocate" ever!! If you need it, he will find a way for it to happen.There are many other doctors and nurses whom are just as dedicated that wholly go unrecognized, except by those of us who were on the recieving end of their excellent care. So to all of my fellow "sickos" out there join me in telling those who no longer believe we are "normal" by telling them to
"KISS OUR COLLECTIVE ASSES" sssssmmmmmooooooccchhhhhhhhh

2009-08-24T21:15:00.000-07:00

This is the job I need. Raft Director on the Truckee River. Nice office. Summer Hours. You get to go home if inclimate weather arises. As you may see, Alyssa and I were quite relaxed here. Must have been after one of those 5 Margarita lunches. Last week I made a new set of cubbies for Mel's classroom. Should have had them finished on Friday when I started........BUT, I had help. Shaymus, my apprentice, made sure it was a 3 day job. I am not sure which would be more helpful, tie up the dogs and let Shay go free, or to just bite the bullet and let the dogs go free while Shaymus is tied up. Granted he insisted on "walking" the dogs while I was working. Poor old Kona, he is at the point where he needs a nap after he goes pee, yet Shay kept dragging that poor old dog up and down the driveway. If Kona could speak I could only imagine him saying "THANKS ASSHOLE" to me. He only gets up if he really has too. I think if the house caught fire he would wait for the cavalry to show up to save his tired old ass. Of course you need to feed your dogs and give them water so you can only imagine what a 3 year-old would naturally do. With both food bowls and their water bowl outside where they are tied up, he proceeded to bring out approximately 19 lbs of dog food, scoop by scoop by scoop by scoop. The thought had entered my head to call it the "ALPO TRAIL", wasn't really sure what to call the "river" that was flowing through the garage. I know he means well. And yes I truly believe that he really is not out to kill me but........I can only picture my dear departed Dad laughing his ass of, just like my Mother does everytime he raises my blood pressure to critical mass numbers. I still cannot get my Mom singing "woohoo, its payback time" out of my head. I calmy tell her to remember that we get to pick the home she goes into......put still she laughs and giggles and snickers and smiles.

2009-08-24T08:58:00.000-07:00

AAAAHHHHHH, Monday morning. Melanie and I enjoyed a fun breakfast on Saturday morning. It was fun because of what happened between our kids. Shay got a chocolate chip pancake. He loves pancakes. Lys ordered a belgian waffle. So what is so funny about all this, well Shay decided he now liked belgian waffles and proceeded to eat his sisters waffle much to her dismay. To say she was pissed is an understatement. I guess we did not help the situation by laughing at the unfolding events but it was hilarious. Lys sitting there enjoying her waffle and Shay watching her gaze out the windows as the world passed by, just enjoying breakfast. Then, while she was thoroughly lost in thought, he would grab a section of waffle and start eating it without her knowing.......at least not until she looked down to grab another piece and realized she had been scammed by a 3 year-old. And it got funnier each time it happened. She finally started to see the humor and cracked a smile when asked if she wanted to sit next to her brother next time we went out, as she insisted on doing on Saturday. Nothing beats a good old family breakfast.

2009-08-23T16:49:00.000-07:00

I am getting really irked with the entire California legislature. If you do not read Tom Steinstra's articles in the sports section of the San Francisco Chronicle you should. He is not only an award winning journalist but also a damn good voice for what is happening in the outdoors. He is also very good a publicizing all the cuts that Gov. Meisterburger Burgermeister has planned for the State Park system. I guess when you have "cubic dollars" as opposed to the simple two dimensional greenbacks most of us have you really don't care what happens to a place such as Big Basin Redwoods State Park down in the Santa Cruz mountains as outlined in Tom's column today. When you are on their level (the famous and rich) you just call your publicist to get you in, even if it is closed. I have to admit Tom, I too will be sneaking in and enjoying the beauty of the outdoors......even if it is illegal. SO off I go to REI to fill the gaps in my outdoor supplies so I can become a "Vigilante Camper" thanks to AAAAAhhhhnOOOLD.

2009-08-23T02:35:00.000-07:00

Tahoe
I love the Sierras.
Mountains, trees, lakes and cool water streams. I love the smell of the fresh mountain air. It is cathartic in a way I sometimes find hard to explain. Just being "up" in the mountains lowers my blood pressure. Less people, fewer idiots by far and a breed of people who really care about the area they live in. "Keep Tahoe Blue" the stickers say, and yes i have one on my vehicle. I think I am going to make one that says "Keep The Sierras Green." Plant a tree and help save this natural beauty. I loved the Sierras as a kid, as an adult and now as a parent. My family has come to thoroughly enjoy hiking and fishing. My 2 year-old happily reeled in his hook over and over to show me the worm he caught. The pure unbridled joy of your first catch. When my 10 year-old daughter caught her first fish 4 years ago she kept saying she had something on the line and I just kept sating "Okay honey, keep reeling" and to my surprise when she only had about 20 feet of line out there was a nice 13 in. rainbow trout. I could not have been happier.