The seasons revolve and the years change
With no assistance or supervision.
The moon, without taking thought,
Moves in its cycle, full, crescent, and full.
The white moon enters the heart of the river;
The air is drugged with azalea blossoms;
Deep in the night a pine cone falls;
Our campfire dies out in the empty mountains.
The sharp stars flicker in the tremulous branches;
The lake is black, bottomless in the crystalline night;
High in the sky the Northern Crown
Is cut in half by the dim summit of a snow peak.
O heart, heart, so singularly
Intransigent and corruptible,
Here we lie entranced by the starlit waters,
And moments that should each last forever
Slide unconsciously by us like water.
-- Kenneth Rexroth
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Bounty Hunters
Returning from the grocery store, three blocks from home, two cars pulled up and stopped quickly in front of an apartment building across from the Walker Methodist Nursing Home. Approximately eight men and women in blue t-shirts scrambled out.
The first guy out was was carrying a full sized automatic rifle. He was a young guy, looking looking like a fully armed Maynard G. Krebs. All the other blue t-shirts had shoulder or waist arms.
Their t-shirts said U.S. Recovery Team or Fugitive Recovery. I have seen SWAT teams in action but this was no SWAT team. SWAT teams have organization and a plan. These blue t-shirts were more like the Keystone Cops.
One guy was huge, way overweight. Another guy was skinny, had long stringy gray hair and thick white beard. I was wondering if this was a birthday joke about to go horribly wrong.
When I got home I did a Google search and came to the conclusion that the blue t-shirts were private bounty hunters/bail recovery agents.
Wikipedia says only two countries in the world allow commercial bounty hunting, the U.S. and Philippines. Whatda country!
I drove by again on the way to pick up the kids. The motley crew of bounty hunters was out in front of the apartment building, several were smoking cigarettes.
I picked up Jack and Lucy and described the bounty hunters. Jack was very excited. He insisted that the fat guy and the old bearded guy were in disguise. "That's how they do it Dad." Underneath the disguises dwelled really honed muscle guys.
I'd have to say, those were very clever disguises indeed.
The bounty hunters were still out when we drove by on our way home. A police car and a couple cops were now present making the scene seem a bit more legit.
I wish I could have taken a picture of those dingleberry bounty hunters, but I really didn't want to get shot a million times.
I also wish I had an ending to this story, but I have no idea what happened next.
All I can say for sure is that I now want to grow me a mullet and become a bounty hunter.
The first guy out was was carrying a full sized automatic rifle. He was a young guy, looking looking like a fully armed Maynard G. Krebs. All the other blue t-shirts had shoulder or waist arms.
Their t-shirts said U.S. Recovery Team or Fugitive Recovery. I have seen SWAT teams in action but this was no SWAT team. SWAT teams have organization and a plan. These blue t-shirts were more like the Keystone Cops.
One guy was huge, way overweight. Another guy was skinny, had long stringy gray hair and thick white beard. I was wondering if this was a birthday joke about to go horribly wrong.
When I got home I did a Google search and came to the conclusion that the blue t-shirts were private bounty hunters/bail recovery agents.
Wikipedia says only two countries in the world allow commercial bounty hunting, the U.S. and Philippines. Whatda country!
I drove by again on the way to pick up the kids. The motley crew of bounty hunters was out in front of the apartment building, several were smoking cigarettes.
I picked up Jack and Lucy and described the bounty hunters. Jack was very excited. He insisted that the fat guy and the old bearded guy were in disguise. "That's how they do it Dad." Underneath the disguises dwelled really honed muscle guys.
I'd have to say, those were very clever disguises indeed.
The bounty hunters were still out when we drove by on our way home. A police car and a couple cops were now present making the scene seem a bit more legit.
I wish I could have taken a picture of those dingleberry bounty hunters, but I really didn't want to get shot a million times.
I also wish I had an ending to this story, but I have no idea what happened next.
All I can say for sure is that I now want to grow me a mullet and become a bounty hunter.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Levi 501s
Is That a Banana in Your Pocket or Are You Just Happy To See Me?
They put me in a little room to remove anything that might contain metal from my body like my watch, keys, hearing aids, belt and glasses. I expected to be issued one of those backward facing blue hospital smocks but you are allowed to wear your street clothes in the MRI.
I pointed out that my jeans had metal buttons but somehow the attendant seemed okay with that. Her smile seemed to say, "What have you got to lose old dude?"
The MRI looked like an early generation Omnidroid sans tentacles. I laid on the attached mechanical sliding bed. My right knee was clamped down. I was told to stay still and was provided insulated headphones with piped in music.
The lights dimmed and the mechanical bed moved me feet first into the Omnidroid. As soon as my hips entered, the powerful magnets caused the button fly of my 501 Levis to rise up to true north.
"Sweet Jesus!"
I hadn't had this look since I was 18.
I needed to lay still for the first 35 minute session. The headphones muted the sound of the MRI. There were whirs, hums, and hammering noises, but mainly I listened to Frank Sinatra.
Thirty-five minutes is a long time to be still. My fingers became stiff. I wondered if it would be okay to wiggle them.
Images of the movie Total Recall came into my head. This seemed like the machine that would take you to your dream vacation or nightmare.
After the first session I was given permission to wiggle my fingers which by then could barely move.
My mind was active. I could write a book on all the things I thought about during those two sessions.
During the second session I began to laugh when I started thinking of some of the antics of my children. I really had to can it to stop my body from shaking.
There was a countdown clock. I watched as the seconds slowly ticked away. When it was all over, it took a few minutes for my fingers to loosen up.
On my way home I stopped at the first burger place I saw for a double burger, fries and onions rings. Laying completely still for 70 minutes made me hungry.
Monday I will visit with my orthopedist for analysis of the pictures.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Team Building - The One Hitter Goes Bong
You may have read my earlier report on medical marijuana usage. (Ski Lift Operator With Chronic Pain http://bit.ly/cHawqU)
The One Hitter (OH) was invited to a safety training session for the 31 lift operators. The coordinator of this event rented a house and recommended everyone stay the night.
After the training, one of the lift operators began to openly self-administer his medical marijuana. Not to offend anyone a hand was taken. First it was asked "How many of you smoke?" Too many medical marijuana card holders to count. A second hand was taken, "How many of you don't?" This they were able to tally.
Five non-smokers of 31. A quorum.
OH told me that the biggest pot smoking party he ever saw in his life then ensued in which he experienced three new activities.
The Shotski. Six shot glasses are glued to a ski so six people can share a shot of whiskey together.
The Keg Stand. With hand on the barrel of a keg two guys grab your legs and lift you upside down. A girl sticks the beer hose into you mouth and releases the tap. Everyone counts 1! 2! 3! 4! while you drink. Whoever stays upside down for the longest count wins the first opportunity at the Blunt.
The Blunt. The hat goes around for medical marijuana. The tobacco is removed from a cigar and refilled. The One Hitter was not going to donate any of his medical marijuana at $400/ounce to this cause but was willing to participate.
The Blunt is lit in a car with windows closed and "the most insane music you ever heard" playing. "It was just a fog in there."
Conclusion and notes
Some injuries such as a cut nose were incurred during the keg stand activity when the leg holders became distracted and let go.
According to One Hitter's boss, the 31 lift operators scored better than ever in the state safety evaluation.
The One Hitter (OH) was invited to a safety training session for the 31 lift operators. The coordinator of this event rented a house and recommended everyone stay the night.
After the training, one of the lift operators began to openly self-administer his medical marijuana. Not to offend anyone a hand was taken. First it was asked "How many of you smoke?" Too many medical marijuana card holders to count. A second hand was taken, "How many of you don't?" This they were able to tally.
Five non-smokers of 31. A quorum.
OH told me that the biggest pot smoking party he ever saw in his life then ensued in which he experienced three new activities.
The Shotski. Six shot glasses are glued to a ski so six people can share a shot of whiskey together.
The Keg Stand. With hand on the barrel of a keg two guys grab your legs and lift you upside down. A girl sticks the beer hose into you mouth and releases the tap. Everyone counts 1! 2! 3! 4! while you drink. Whoever stays upside down for the longest count wins the first opportunity at the Blunt.
The Blunt. The hat goes around for medical marijuana. The tobacco is removed from a cigar and refilled. The One Hitter was not going to donate any of his medical marijuana at $400/ounce to this cause but was willing to participate.
The Blunt is lit in a car with windows closed and "the most insane music you ever heard" playing. "It was just a fog in there."
Conclusion and notes
Some injuries such as a cut nose were incurred during the keg stand activity when the leg holders became distracted and let go.
According to One Hitter's boss, the 31 lift operators scored better than ever in the state safety evaluation.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Moby Dick - Paragraph One - Herman Melville
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Climbing an Arch
In southern Utah some years back my good friend OH started climbing a huge, beautiful sandstone arch much like this one. He was climbing steps, now weather worn and smooth, carved in ancient times by the long missing Anasazi.
OH climbed up several feet before realizing his exposure. If he fell one way, he would fall 75 feet. If he fell another way, he would fall 2,000. He may have made it to the top of the arch but the steps were fading and the climbing more difficult. If he made it to the top, what would he do then?
Downclimbing rock is much more difficult than climbing up. It is an art known or studied by few. Climbing up is so much easier and fun.
When we who were watching realized the dangerous predicament OH was in our hearts stopped.
We watched or averted our eyes as OH slowly crept backward trying to find footholds.
OH finally was able to scramble to us. What a relief.
The feeling remains.
The story makes for a great analogy. A dangerous predicament of one's own making but with few options.
You've climbed up high not fully realizing the danger you were in. You may continue. You may make it to the top but you may never get down. You could turn back now, but will you make it down?
Friday, February 12, 2010
Ski Lift Attendant With Chronic Pain
Pot is not for me, but I have a good friend whose nickname is the "One Hitter".
The One Hitter's lapses in judgment are legendary, but I won't get into those now.
He called me from Colorado to tell me that he's gone legal.
"Say what?"
"I got my medical marijuana card!"
“For what!”
"Chronic pain."
I asked, how do you find a doctor to give such a prescription, and what's in it for the doctor?
It's easy he said. You wait in line. It takes about five minutes and $175.00. You leave with a big grin on your face and offer suggestions to those waiting in line, like “chronic pain.”
I asked, "I suppose you're paying for this with health insurance?"
He said he looked into that and also into using a flexible spending account but decided against it because it's still illegal at the federal level and he doesn't want to raise any flags.
He lives in a moderately sized town. There are at least 20 medical marijuana dispensaries there. He said they are like head shops of old but with jars of various types of marijuana, hash, medical marijuana brownies, marijuana oils and marijuana creams.
His dispensary is run by a guy he described as “a 23 year old stoner snowboarder dude”.
There are a lot of out of work drug sniffing dogs in Colorado now. The One Hitter said he even saw a cop sitting on a porch, rolling up a big one.
He told me that well over half of his co-workers also suffer pain. You can get a prescription for any complaint.
My friend is an out of work banker. He tells me that he is enjoying the best job and life he has ever had. He is ski-lift attendant with chronic pain.
The One Hitter's lapses in judgment are legendary, but I won't get into those now.
He called me from Colorado to tell me that he's gone legal.
"Say what?"
"I got my medical marijuana card!"
“For what!”
"Chronic pain."
I asked, how do you find a doctor to give such a prescription, and what's in it for the doctor?
It's easy he said. You wait in line. It takes about five minutes and $175.00. You leave with a big grin on your face and offer suggestions to those waiting in line, like “chronic pain.”
I asked, "I suppose you're paying for this with health insurance?"
He said he looked into that and also into using a flexible spending account but decided against it because it's still illegal at the federal level and he doesn't want to raise any flags.
He lives in a moderately sized town. There are at least 20 medical marijuana dispensaries there. He said they are like head shops of old but with jars of various types of marijuana, hash, medical marijuana brownies, marijuana oils and marijuana creams.
His dispensary is run by a guy he described as “a 23 year old stoner snowboarder dude”.
There are a lot of out of work drug sniffing dogs in Colorado now. The One Hitter said he even saw a cop sitting on a porch, rolling up a big one.
He told me that well over half of his co-workers also suffer pain. You can get a prescription for any complaint.
My friend is an out of work banker. He tells me that he is enjoying the best job and life he has ever had. He is ski-lift attendant with chronic pain.
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