I’ve run out of hiding spots for the cat food. This is Marco the Brat….I’m considering applying a thin coating of oil to the range hood.
I was away for a couple of days with Chrysler, and because it’s easier to drive to Detroit than sit around airports waiting to make a one hour flight, I asked them for something fun. They gave me this:
It has something called a Shaker Scat Pack, which isn’t poop. But it is fast. Very fast. It was indeed fun.
I’m trying to do a Father’s Day thing. It would have been Dad’s 89th today. I can’t write it. I’ll just drop in a rerun….miss you, Pop.
I was working last night. This was my bed at midnight, five minutes after I got in.
But, you wonder, isn’t there one missing?
JoJo don’t play those reindeer games.
Our own jmd from here made me laugh so hard….she has the first comment on my McLaren piece.
This is Fisher Towers, just outside Moab, Utah. I just spent a few days there. It is even more amazing than it looks. This is what I was doing there (you can read the piece here):
There were other things at the place we stayed:
We camped out in the desert one night. There is dust here. Lots and lots of dust, just like all my favourite westerns keep telling me in the books I keep reading. We were two and a half hours from Monument Valley and I couldn’t get there (it’s where John Ford filmed many of his best movies; if you don’t know who that is, this sentence doesn’t matter anyway) but lot of things get filmed around here, too. Hellooooo, Thelma and Louise! Anyway, inside my tent that night:
You would think with a room like this (those are steer horns. STEER HORNS OVER THE BED) that I would never leave:
But you’d be wrong. The Colorado River was right outside my room, and I hauled a sleeping bag outside the last night and slept on my deck:
The Cherokee Trailhawk? Wow. Just, wow:
The restaurant knew I was coming:
My column this week is making the comments jump. Good thing I have a sense of humour.
Ronald McDonald house posted this pic yesterday…proof!
Police blotters. Love them. An article from Slate says this is the best blotter, ever. I might have to agree. Though I would also add that the local papers in every small community provides terrific insight into that place. I was in Steamboat Springs, Colorado a couple of years ago, and as I am wont to do, I picked up the local daily and immediately turned to the police blotter. I love when they have one. I go next to the classifieds and obits, but first, the blotter.
I tried to link it just now, but THEY BLOCK IT OUT ON THE INTERNETS. Whadda load of crap. They take away all my fun. In truth, nearly every entry was about someone being drunk and peeing against a wall. The obituaries were all 6 inches of print reciting good church deeds and that someone was famous for their pulled pork or Easter bonnets. See, in Toronto, if you want to run an obit that long, it’s gonna cost you over a grand. Which leads to a joke I’d forgotten until just now.
A Scottish woman has lost her husband. She heads to the local paper to place the obituary. “How much to post ‘Ed’s dead?’ she asks.” She is told the minimum ad cost is ten bucks, and it is for 6 words. “I have to use all 6 words?” she asks. “Might as well,” she’s told. The obit ran thus: Ed’s dead, car for sale.*
Edit: from the comments on Slate, another great blotter: http://flatheadbeacon.com/2015/05/24/suspicious-mailbox/
Make the fun stop. I have sooo much work to do….
*Edit: I can’t count. That’s five words, as pointed out below. There goes that honorary math degree…
I bought tomato plants today. I took Arlene, because she knows about these kinds of things. I turned my little garden over yesterday, and I used a real pitchfork. I only say it like that because last year, I sat on my arse and turned it with a little fork thing because it was a few weeks after my surgery. I left it too late and put in really lousy little tomato plants – the kind that nobody else bought, and for good reason. A year goes by fast. Sort of weird being out there yesterday, realizing I’m baaaaaaaaack, just like that Poltergeist movie which they’ve remade I read today. It looks terrible, by the way.
We went to Hutchinson’s, which has heirloom tomatoes. Those are the ugly ones that taste really good. Arlene was picking some out. “Here, these are green ones. They’re great,” she told me. I looked at the little picture. It had a green tomato. I passed on them. “What? Why not?” she asked. “We’ll never know when they’re ripe,” I explained. I need to keep things basic. I bought some other ones that I’m sure will be ugly and yummy, as well as a bunch of peppers and chives and things. On the way home, we found out we’re supposed to get frost tonight, so I stuffed everything in the garage. I hope I don’t forget about them.
It’s been chaos around here this week, with two dogs now. Ari and his buddy fenced in the part of the yard that wasn’t already fenced. They did a fine job, and now two puppies are tearing around happily, and I’m walking around, carefully.
I hope it warms up so I can get my ugly tomatoes started.