WAG - The Duke vs. Stalin?

This is the freakiest story I've read in some time.

I took a break from compiling the long posts I promised and stumbled across this strange tale.

Check it out and learn another reason why America was destined to win the Cold War.

Note from 2005: The since deleted story referred to a Communist plan to kill John Wayne.

'no_contest'

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WAG - Coming Attractions

One more tonight.

With me returning to school soon, my bi-monthly email update is coming soon. I have several “summer summary” pieces I’ve been working on that I’m planning on posting soon.

That way visitors to the site, who finish the lengthy personal postings, have more to read than a series of “Boy am I tired” posts.

I plan to churn them out over the weekend. It will take some time to coax, cajole, and otherwise extract them from the notebooks and dark recesses of the mind where they are currently being stored (or incarcerated, whichever you prefer).

I fear I will not have much of a functional brain my last week in Sullivan, so I have to get on the ball while there is still time. Which translates to, “Before Monday.”

Please help me remember to finish such items. Pester me on the phone, post requests on the comment boards, or email me nasty things (your choice), until I get the job done.

Bribes would be welcome to, but just give me the extra push to ensure I publish “Rules of the Road,” “Postcards from the Real Ozarks,” and “Some Musical Notes.” Also, make sure I resuscitate the lost Richwood’s post – where my most embarrassing vehicular incident (since April Fools 2000, at least) is recounted.

The burden, is on you, the reader.

Which makes things a lot simpler for me; let me tell you.

Once you tell me, to tell you… Um… Yeah….

'May_the_Hounding_Begin'

Note from 2005: I wasn't hounded, I didn't finish. Place the blame where you will.

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WAG - Takings a Link Around

‘Ello.

As usual, there was no post on Tuesday due to the fact I went to the Muny with friends and family and didn’t have the opportunity to post.

I mentally composed a brief message (saying “There is no post today, except for this, but this doesn’t really count, etc). Unfortunately, the war with the laptop didn’t go my way (I have a feeling there’s going to be a nasty final showdown where one of us ends up on Highway 185 and repeatedly driven over, with any remaining pieces nuked in the microwave, but even if it isn’t me, the final laugh would be the machine’s since it is property of my mother’s school).

Later, in the short period between getting done with work and departing for Ted Drew’s Frozen Custard (after which comes the Muny), I had to choose between posting or stuffing my face full of pizza.

Hint: My standard lunch is four peanut butter sandwiches and several liters of water (and my Dad still wonders why I cook up an extra can of soup in the afternoon, regardless of what is planned for dinner).

I gorged rather than ranted.

I hope you forgive me.

Well I guess you’re still reading so I’m just going to move on.

Today was another long day. I’ve been finalizing routes for next week. I’m trying to memorize the track I plan to take and not have to rely on my original notes and descriptions.

My boss has talked about the “Trapper’s Memory” that recalls a spot as it gets closer to its destination without any other visual trigger. I frighten myself by being able to remember where I kept most of my traps from last year as well as what song was playing on the radio the last time I visited a place (Franklin Trap #278 – "Respect" by Aretha Franklin, Washington Trap #78 – "One Piece At a Time" by Johnny Cash).

The ironic thing is that I get home and my brain, which has been performing marvelously throughout the day, goes on autopilot for a while.

I’ve long dubbed this condition to be “Screen Saver mode,” where the conscious mind takes a brake while everything else runs on simple, pre-programmed routines.

The frequency that I enter this state of consciousness is further displayed by the fact I have Solitaire on my Quick-Tab buttons at the bottom of the screen.

This is the roundabout way of saying I zone out frequently.

However, I am happy to report I almost as frequently pull myself out of it (or “jiggle the mouse”) by reading email and blogs.

What do you know? Reading smart, crisp writing IS good for the brain.

Either that or the pretty little purple drugs coincidentally kick in at the same time.

Note to Potentially Concerned Family Members: I frequently joke about popping pills or “wish” I had “something strong to drink” (“and I’m not talking Professional Plumber Grade Drano here”). However, I would like to assure any frantic, or slightly panicked relative that I neither have the time, taste, or, most importantly, money to fund such a habit. Cocaine addict? I wish (financially speaking, of course)! I’m a dual-major college student. The only drug I could consistently afford is Elmer’s glue. And stemming from a nasty incident in Second Grade, the details which I will not get into, let’s just say I say “No!” to Elmer’s. You may breathe a little easier Grandma(s).

Anyway, I am consistently surprised and delighted by the musings, anecdotes, or weird quotes collected and posted by my friends.

More than once I find myself going, “Boy, I thought my day was rough. My life is like 'One Night in Bangkok' compared to __fill_in_blank’s__.”

Other times I find myself laughing and wishing I could paint a scene as hilarious as the one sketched out by a friend.

This is all to say I encourage you to checkout some or all of the blogs I have listed. I don’t post links simply for the heck of it. I only put up sites I consistently check; even with my slower internet connection.

You need not try them all, though you’d learn more from it, but I’d ask all readers to try one new link today (or at least one not clicked on for a long time).

It’ll clear your head if nothing else will.

Except maybe the Drano.

'Bottoms_up'

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WAG - “No, I’m not back. I’m just visiting”

This is the statement I should have recorded to replay to all the people who asked me the same question over and over.

Better yet, I should have trained a monkey to mime the statement. Granted, fewer people would have understood the message, but I wouldn’t mind it being repeated over and over again.

Yesterday, I traveled to Columbia, Missouri and played tourist for a day.

The opportunity to play “newbie” in a place you’re quite familiar with doesn’t come very often, but then I was dealing with a special situation.

I promised my girlfriend I’d find time to visit her. A promise, made in May, sat unfulfilled for a long time. We were both busy with family obligations, work, and the tiny little things that never end up on the calendar, but take up time, nonetheless.

Finally, I worked out a time where I had wheels and permission to go (I’d had both earlier, but never at the same time).

I set 3 alarm clocks for early Sunday morning and was cruising up the road before 7:00 a.m. Even though I was taking state routes, the roads were largely abandoned. I didn’t see any serious traffic until hitting Jefferson City.

My plan was to meet Jessie at Praise Assembly of God church for the morning service. I arrived in Columbia around 9:00 a.m. To kill some time I cruised around the MU campus. There was some sort of basketball tournament, for the state games I believe, being hosted at the campus fitness center, so activity was centered around there.

I got a kick out of seeing how far buildings had progressed since I was there last (Virginia Avenue Dorms are beginning to look good, though they won’t be done until next year. The fitness center is surrounded on three sides by construction equipment. Last, the new life sciences building didn’t have much external improvement, but most of the frame was finished before the end of the semester).

The campus looked good overall. Though the number of students taking classes plummets during the summer, special care is taken to keep the buildings and grounds looking nice for all the visiting families. The campus becomes a bit grungier as more students arrive (and become harder to clean up after) and fresh, brightly colored plants aren’t rotated as frequently.

I took note of the closed roads on campus (there had been an email about them months ago, but I promptly deleted it since I’ve never had a vehicle on campus before) before going to church.

Jessie was waiting for me in the parking lot and we went inside. It’s a great feeling being welcomed by people who have missed you, even if they keep asking you the same question over and over again (“Are you back now?”).

Sunday school and morning services were good. I sat with Jessie’s family. Since her mother is a foster care worker, and currently houses 15 kids, they take up a number of pews.

Sometimes I felt like an animal surveyed behind glass at the zoo. “Species: New Boyfriend,” I’m sure my placard read. The little ones turned around to stare at me, before realizing they were noticed (which I often signaled by waving at them) and either waved back or quickly turned around before repeating the process.

The older ones, some of which were having fun at my expense before the end of the semester, asked me pointed questions and/or simply slammed me. This would set the tone for the rest of the day.

I later found out the mother had warned them all to “be good” and “don’t act up” which didn’t last more than five minutes, but was a nice thought anyway.

Fortunately, life in the Smith house has kept me in peak condition with the art of word play, so I was able to parry and thrust my way through with little effort. I would play along with the little kids, humor the older ones who were asking me legitimate questions, and act as screw as the ones who were trying to stir up mischief for their own entertainment. To each their own you might say.

After church, I ate barbeque at the Wyatt house (where previously mentioned behavior could continue without being slowed down by any singing or sermons). We watched Remember the Titans as the food was grilled.

Actually, Remember the Titans played at the food was being prepared. An equally entertaining show was also performed in the living room as various members of the house sought to have fun with the new guy. Toys were showed off, magic tricks displayed, questions were asked, comments were made, pillows were flung, threats were made, secrets were revealed, talents were boasted (my personal favorite was the kid who had memorized all Remember the Titans and recited along with the movie verbatim [both in words and tone]), and a puppy made a guest appearance and out staged everything else.

I guess the movie was good too when I got around to glancing at the TV in the moments between “acts.” The food was good, though the preparation went so late there wasn’t time to see a movie.

Instead, Jessie and I gave tours of our respective “worlds.” She directed me around Hallsville (about 10 miles north of Columbia) and I then took her around the MU campus.

The temperature and humidity were rough; thus far the hottest of the year I’d hear that evening. We’d drive for a spell before walking around. Then we’d return to the car and give thanks to the person who invented air conditioning.

On foot we surveyed Hatch Hall (old dorm), Cramer (new dorm), the Memorial Union, and Peace Park. We drove past most of the other landmarks.

“There’s Peace Park. I don’t recall how many wars have broken out since the park was dedicated, but at least it was a good idea.”

“That building with a lot of windows, and a lot of open bars, though you can’t see them, is the Alumni Center.”

“There’s the Missourian. Make a rude gesture at it for me. I need to keep both hands on the wheels.”

From Shakespeare’s Pizza to the new basketball arena to Tiger Plaza we scoped out everything but the Tiger Spot. I could see in the distance there were people gathered beneath the circus tent, but since Jessie had almost reached her walking intolerance level, I didn’t know if it was people working to restore the mosaic or locals returning hammers to finish the job of wrecking it (which is what the artist claims did the damage and not the harsh Missouri winters [Clue: Most outdoor mosaics are displayed in year-round warm weather climates like the Mediterranean; not Missouri.]).

We then headed back to church for the evening service, which was just as good as the morning’s one. A few new faces showed up to the evening service so I got to catch up with a few more friends (“Two more weeks, people. Please ask me another question.”).

All in all, I had a great day retracing steps around a familiar place with a beautiful person on my arm. Jessie couldn’t say the same thing, but hey, at least we both laughed, learned, and had fun.

And I couldn’t repeat that enough.

'repeatan_por_favor'

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WAG - Back at Home

This is only a brief update to let people know I survived my weekend.

Despite the best efforts of muliple suicidal deer, I managed to get to and fro Columbia with a zero body count (no animals were harmed in the production of this post, unless you count bugs... in which there was a lot, but if you count bugs as animals and get depressed about that, I bet you get stay sad a lot).

I had a good time, caught up with a lot of friends from church, and got to explain over and over I was only visiting but would be coming back again in a few weeks... (repeat 24 times).

The church services were good and Jessie and I got to roam around the Mizzou campus (on the hottest day in Missouri no less).

At least we had a car with air conditioning.

I hope everyone else out there were able to beat the heat.

If so, congratualtions and keep it up. If not, I hope you do better.

Personally, I'm going to sleep now, but that's just me.

'Deer_zero_Caleb_two'

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WAG - An Early Columbia Visitation
A.K.A. Last Minute Promise Fulfillment

Tomorrow, or today depending on how long it takes me to finish this post, I start my last week of my relaxed summer vacation.

I still will have one more week before I’m expected in Columbia, but that will be moth trap pickup week and I’ll be pulling multiple 10 or 11-hour days in a row. Throw in packing, last minute shopping, and the general tenseness that settles around the household when one or more members are preparing to move on, it’s going to be “interesting.”

But I still have a week before then. Sure I’ll have to work, but only 40 hours (I’m only allowed to do extra the following week because it’s pick-up day, and there really isn’t anyone else who can decipher my notes to track down the traps.

I have many mixed feelings about the whole thing; as would be expected. Pros and cons await me no matter what path I head down. Shoot, I’ll still have to deal with them even if I refuse to move.

In preparation for my upcoming change in locations (what a nice euphemism for moving) I spent the day cleaning up my room. Well, it was more like taking the piles that comprise the mess and depositing them into Tupperware containers. The mess still remains, but it’s so compartmentalized it’s been rendered “mostly harmless.”

I also spent a bit of quality time with the cat watching Sister Act. Patches seemed to like it better than The Lion King, which we watched last night (well, it’s one of the few movies I have on my computer so I watched what I believe to be the best 45 minutes). Of course the cat’s preference may be due to the fact I spent more time petting her during the second movie, but then again cats are hard to read; even if you can see their eyes in the dark.

The other thing I worked on was plans for Sunday. I’ve been promising to visit my girlfriend all summer, and the innuendo that I needed to follow through on that pledge was getting pretty thick.

Fortunately, a break occurred in my schedule (where I and a vehicle became available as well as a backup person at home who could follow me up in case I got into trouble [I’m not a bad driver, but I have had unfortunate luck {see last week} concerning automobiles]). It’s been a long time since all three lined up. Family vacations, camping trips, changes in my Dad and Sister’s work schedules (my Mom and I are the only ones who never have to worry about working weekends; though it is only once in a blue moon that my Dad does) all caused the timing to be off.

Yes, I realize it’s a bit ironic I’m visiting Jessie two weeks before I’ll be back in town. On the surface I know it would be simpler if I just waited the extra 14 days, but I know following through here will help me with the relationship.

Note: Trustworthiness is an important thing in relationships.

Granted most of you already knew that, and if you didn’t I pity you, but there’s a major difference between knowing something and following through.

Thus that’s why I’m getting up early in the morning to go to church in a town where I’ll be residing in another dozen or so days.

For you readers who are already in the Columbia area, I wish there was time to coordinate extra visits, but with two church services, a family barbeque (hers), possibly a movie (depending on the time left between the previous two) and driving roughly 300 miles (which is what I’ve been averaging lately at work), there isn’t really any time left.

That’s why I didn’t post about the trip until the last minute, but I promise to make it up to all of you later.

And I do follow through on most of my promises.

It may be only a few short days before the deadline runs out, but I do my best.

And THAT you can take to the bank!

They won’t give you anything for it, but hey an worthless promise is better than no promise as all.

Okay I’m going to try to stop writing one-liners and end this post.

Just let me slowly wind down.

It’s easier that way.

Wish me luck.

Take care.

Adios.

'BYE'

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WaG - Me Bad: An apology

I labored hard yesterday composing a lengthy, well-rounded post about life, the universe, and everything.

I mapped out the answers to world peace, the elimination of poverty and hunger, and why hot dogs come in packages of eight and why buns come in packages of six.

Unfortunately, after I had finished my profound opus, I realized I had neglected to turn on the computer.

All that work wasted…

Heh! Not really.

I was lazy yesterday and contented myself with cruising the internet and downloading songs.

Maybe I’ll get to work on the opus tomorrow.

'stay_tuned'

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WAG - And then there were…

Today I finished my experiment to see if I could pick up 500 traps in 5 work days, interspaced with a 3-day weekend of course, because this is the pace I’ll have to match my last week of work before I return to Mizzou..

The trial was a success and I’d like to say everything is looking good and being wrapped up just as easily.

But I can’t…

Remember how I said I was reluctant to tell most stories before they were finished?

About the moths…

In combat, one of the greatest dangers is not the enemy itself, but the underestimation of the enemy.

When you let your guard down and start cruising on auto-pilot that is the time when you’re most vulnerable… and when you need to work the hardest to get back on track.

I have made the mistake of letting myself go from “attention” to “at ease,” but I also rose to the level of the onslaught that was provoked by my hindsight.

Yesterday I found 4 suspect moths in 3 traps.

For those of you playing the home game, if they’re confirmed, that could bring my total up to 7 moths trapped.

Three other moths have been trapped in the St. Louis area but they were all in a concentrated area.

I’m beginning to get a reputation for finding moths spread out throughout the state in random, disconnected places. So far, I’ve only had one set of suspect traps that bordered each other’s grid. The others are dozens of miles apart.

Numbers still aren’t very high overall, though they seem guaranteed to top next year. I’d be worried that I blindly overlooked any moths I may have had last year, but at the end someone goes through all the turned in traps to make sure that didn’t happen.

Returning to my standard “in-the-trenches” mentality, the war against the moths lumbers on. Despite unexpectedly high numbers, the troops are determined to triumph over their depraved, heartless buggers.

The number crunchers say the odds are against us. The front wave of gypsy moths has been gaining ground for several decades, and the recent surge at the frontline makes people think that it may reach Missouri by 2015 (which is the earliest estimate. Others say it may be as late as 2030).

Projections are meaningless, however, when you’re staring the enemy in their multi-faceted eyes. Those on the ground are pledged to do whatever they can to stave off the threat and highlight spot population flare-ups.

We expect no accolades.

We need no encouragement.

We are moth hunters!

And though the enemy outnumbers us thousands to one, we believe we can triumph and we’ll never stop crusading until we do!

Or until the summer internship runs out…

Whichever comes first.

'Either_way_the_moths_now_live_in_fear'

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WAG - Movies, Madness

Okay, this is another story told out of sequence and without all the loose ends tied up, but some tales demand to be recounted.

And this is a doozy.

My sister Hannah has already included her version of this tale (see the July 20th entry), but I’d like to add my 2 cents to the till. Come with me as we flash back to last Friday (Whoosh! “Boy, that was fast”).

I took last Friday off. I had several hours of overtime logged and it was one of the last times my sister and I would have a chance to hang out. She had the day off as well and we decided to do something big.

Well, not too big. Our parents were out of town so a road trip was axed and partying at the Smith house was largely frowned upon (though technically not explicitly outlawed).

Instead, we decided to go to the local cineplex (for those in the immediate area of Sullivan, we went to the Union Great Eight Cinema, since Sullivan’s old movie theater closed down last year and the new one won’t be finished until next year).

But first, we hit Wal-Mart to buy school supplies (with the help of Hannah’s Wal-Mart employee discount card). I picked up basic essentials (notebooks, Kleenex, etc) along with some extra items like a large camping chair (I buy and bust one every year), a 6-foot tall lamp, and Pez dispensers.

Cramming over $100 worth of supplies into a wobbly cart took quite a bit of time, so we were beginning to worry about the time when we exited the store.

The first complication hit when we neglected to bring the movie listing paper with us. We found we weren’t sure when the first movie was starting (though we knew it was 2:something). We decided to head straight to the movie theatre rather than returning home and placing our carefully crafted schedule in jeopardy.

The second complication came almost immediately when we found my sister didn’t have a key to the trunk. I don’t have any keys to any of the family vehicles (I turned them in when I went to college and I have never been issued any replacement keys) and my sister only had a key to the ignition.

We decided we would lock the bags in the car while we were in the theatre.

We booked it to Union (which is roughly 25 miles away) and found we had an extra 30 minutes (“Oh, you were right. It was 2:30”).

That gave us time to confirm our scheduling and purchase our tickets for 4 movies: Finding Nemo, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, and Johnny English.

With two matinees and two marquee showings, it only cost us $20 each, not counting the price we paid for the popcorn bucket of unlimited refills (which we took full advantage of [and as an extra bonus, it was a collectible Bad Boys II bucket]).

Anyway, we were finally able to begin our 9-hour movie marathon.

Finding Nemo lived up to the expectations connected to any Pixar film: beautifully rendered, funny for the kids and adults, and just plain fun. The beginning is one of the saddest Disney movie moments (trumping the Bambi’s quivering “Mother? Mother!” by about 400), but the movie gets past that, and several other serious moments, to a spectacular finish.

I missed a Randy Newman soundtrack and “Bloopers reel” at the end of the movie, but I later read in Entertainment Weekly Pixar purposely went in a different direction to make sure those traditions never had the chance to wear thin (I don’t see how that could happen, but it’s rare thing to have the self-control not to do too much of a good thing).

Anyway, the movie was just as quotable as any other Pixar movie (“INTERVENTION!” “Mine!” “Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles… My bubbles!”) and my sister and I will be fighting to see who can purchase the DVD first.

Next came the League of Extraordinary Gentleman (also represented by the substandard LXG [It’s like they’re trying to capture the Independence Day = ID4 magic, but not quite making it]). I am a bit familiar with the Alan Moore comic on which this movie was based.

Ever since I heard about the comic’s concept, literary characters from the turn of the century are all thrown together in the same mix, I liked the idea. The comic is very sharp and sprinkled with countless cross-references (from Alice and Wonderland to Robin Hood to Pollyanna) in a world where all these stories did happen.

The first 30 minutes were mostly true to the comic (the paintings of previous Leagues in the headquarters were a treat), but things quickly became Hollywood.

It was a good movie, but it seemed just short of being an “extraordinary” movie. This may be my bias toward the original story, but still the movie had more imagination and class than most summer movies, and I give it much credit for that.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl was on my must-see list since I saw the expanded trailer back in April (The original teaser trailer seemed lame [An aerial view of a skull shaped island followed my a single bony footstep], but the clips included later one made it worth it).

It was a classic Jerry Bruckheimer produced film: explosions, comedy, explosions, extensive action sequences, explosions, attitude, and more explosions. Did I mention explosions? Despite the formulaic approach, and the laughable fact the movie is based on an amusement park ride, I loved it.

Johnny Depp’s swaggering portrayal of Jack Sparrow (“CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow!”) was hilarious. Orlando Bloom found another lovable character to add to the list of roles that make ladies swoon (even if I kept looking at his ears and going, "Something’s missing...”). It was nice to see a female lead who, after the mandatory screaming, wide-eyed shots, went on to dish out pain along with the boys.

The villains were great. There were so many great scenes (“Why is the rum on fire?” and though it was repeated thousands of times in the marketing, “You best start believin’ in ghost stories; you’re in one!”). It was perfect summer escapism.

Last was Johnny English staring Rowan Atkinson, also known as Mr. Bean. Though not the best movie of the night, it held its own considering what it was compared too. Rowan Atkinson displayed his matchless skill in physical comedy (Lip synching in the bathroom and dancing on coffins). He was backed up by a solid cast and helped saved England. What more could you ask for?

Oh yeah. The appearance of a preening, power-mad French villain shows how the country is mocked by more than just Amerians.

All movies were good in their own way. It helped they were all a little bit different: family comedy, action-adventure, adventure-comedy, and pure comedy.

As we exited the parking lot around 11:00 p.m., we agreed everything had done well.

The third complication came late, though with a vengeance, when we found my sister’s ignition key couldn’t unlock the door.

We were dealing with a 1983 Oldsmobile. The rear windows didn’t roll down, but had a small window that could pivot out to let air in. Those windows were closed, but we figured we could pry them open and unlock a door.

Contributing to this questionable logic is the fact it was a finicky window and had often popped open or even dropped out of the moving vehicle when we least wanted it too. I reasoned if it happened all the time when we didn’t want it to, it should happen once when we wanted it to for a change.

I was right.

And as the window shattered, the broken frame pivoted out just like I planned.

I cut my hand a tiny bit (though not any more than when I was working with thorn bushes during campsite maintenance). Glass flew everywhere, but no one else was in the parking lot so we didn’t attract any attention.

Giddy, I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening laughter filled the air as we unlocked the doors and headed back toward Sullivan.

God displayed his sense of humor through the radio selections. The Rolling Stones sang “I can’t get no satisfaction” and Uncle Kracker sang, “Something is wrong here. I don’t belong here.” (from "In a Little While" - Hannah to the rescue!)

A small thunderstorm was on the horizon, but we seemed to skim the edge because the car didn’t get much water in it at all. We affixed a plastic bag over the window (a telltale sign of being a Redneck as listed in a Jeff Foxworthy book I’d read that day).

The parents returned home yesterday and took the news in stride, considering. I bet my birthday money will be going toward a new Oldsmobile pivoting window.

After all that, let me end the post with these words:

Send all cash and or money orders to:
Caleb Smith
1270 Eagle Drive
Sullivan, Missouri 63080

No credit cards, please

'Thats_the_way_the_window_crumbles'

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WAG - Moth Madness

I’ve been sitting on this news for a while because every time I get close to finding a pausing point, I suddenly find myself in the middle of another chapter.

It’s like being a character in a James Joyce novel, staring up at the page wondering how you got to the point where you’re at (For those of you who haven’t been assigned any of his readings, or his Cliff Notes, he’s an author famous for not using much transitory punctuation scenes flow into one another, hours pass into years and the next thing you know you’re second guessing the timeframe of every single sentence).

Anyway, moving beyond the rant left over from my humanities class, I find myself in the regrettable position of choosing between telling a tale that has yet to come to a conclusion or watching another week or two go by without saying a word.

I think I’ve sat on this long enough.

You know how I’ve joked that gypsy moths are so rare in Missouri (seven caught two years ago and only four last year) and the odds of me finding them are extremely remote.

Does anyone remember me talking about how I caught more tree frogs (over half a dozen, since they like to hang out in the traps and they don’t stick to the glue) last year than moths (final count: zero).

Recall how I joke about being paid to listen to music and cruise back roads than protect Missouri from the vile scourge of the dreaded gypsy moth of death?

Well… Heh, heh… Three weeks ago I caught one. Three miles north of Sullivan. It was still alive too. I was sent in to the state entomologist (yes, Missouri has one. We have crappy roads, but by golly, we spend the necessary money to have a state bug guy) and confirmed two weeks ago.

I was gearing up to have a big post about my first success when the next day I caught another one. It was a perfect, textbook capture. We sent it in, but no one had any doubt that it was another gypsy moth.

The results were supposed to come in this week, but before they could I found another suspect moth today.

I’m seem to averaging a gypsy moth a week. My general reaction has followed the same pattern: “What?” “Cool!” and finally, “Crap!”

I first question that I finally caught one after two summers of searching (in an area where they haven’t been trapped in over a decade). I have a mounted set of gypsy moths that I can compare any trapped samples to and I usually quadruple check every time (including one last time in the Sullivan office parking lot before I turn the trap into my boss).

I then think it’s great that I actually found one (which justifies all the hours and miles I’ve logged). It’s human nature that security guards get more credit for stopping a crime than for all the time spent making sure nothing happened.

Finally, I feel bad because it means more work to catch the moths (especially since one was captured on state owned land) both this year and next. The problem was going to be there whether I noticed the moths or not, but now we’ve left our ignorance derived bliss and are facing a cold, hard, unwelcome reality.

Well, it’s not all bad. There’s humor involved. My boss is retiring this Fall and jokes how he won’t have to worry about it much longer. The other Department of Conservation trapper (who takes the neighboring counties) is joking that I’m planting these moths to look good. He is also the first one I know who ever catch a snake in a gypsy moth trap.

I feel like I’ve justified my summer vocation. In addition to the song lyrics I’ve picked up, and the singing practice I’ve had (my old choir teacher would be proud), I know have a photo of a gypsy moth number two, the picture perfect catch.

I plan to frame and keep as a reminder that gypsy moths, though a dangerous and formidable foe, are nothing compared to Caleb Michael Smith, Moth Hunter.

'Hey_moths_Bring_it_on'

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WAG - What I did for my Birthday

Birthdays have never been a big thing with me. Don’t get me wrong, the mid-year boost in presents is a thrill. Having a birthday in July means having your present quota even spaced throughout the year (those who have their birthdays early or late in the year have the threat of having to wait up ten months before the next round or presents, or in more serious cases, may only get one set of birthday/Christmas presents: a pitiful situation, to be certain).

Despite the perfect timing, it’s been a long time since I was counting down the days to the event.

Part of that is conditioning. Having a summer birthday meant I never got to bring cupcakes to homeroom or have a big after-school party. Kids who have a birthday in late May, June, July, or early August rarely get to hear the Happy Birthday song sung by their classmates or get to go to the front of the line to celebrate that day.

I can think of one or two times where they had a shared Summer Birthday celebration (where the half dozen or so kids finally got their due all at the same time).

A birthday in late July has rarely been good for organizing a good party. Many times, I’ve had the date hit while traveling (Thus, the infamous “Yellowstone National Park Birthday cake,” which was a Twinkie with a candle stuck in it, was born. Happy 16 Caleb! At least that made the day more memorable in an ironic sort of way).

The result is I have a low standard for birthdays and not much has to happen for me to be pleased.

This year was no exception. I got my first, and only present (thus far) shortly after midnight. My parents have been traveling all weekend and don’t get back until Monday so I promised to wait for their return before opening presents.

My sister forgot this agreement and brought a series of gifts bundled in blue Wal-Mart sacks (as was my directions. Like I said, I don’t ask for much). I reminded her of the promise, but gave in to her cajoling to open one gift.

I asked for “Lost in La Mancha,” a DVD I knew she’d bought for be, because she asked me if it would work as a present shortly before she purchased it. It’s a documentary about the “unmaking” of a movie about Don Quijote by Terry Gilliam (Monty Python alum, 12 Monkeys, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas). It was a disastrous shooting that was plagued by everything against locusts (which probably would have come next if the filming hadn’t been shut down following complications ranging from flooding, hail, injured actors, and flyovers by NATO planes.

It’s both hilarious and tragic to watch someone’s dream collapse in front of his or her eyes. This is the level “reality” TV shows should strive for.

I watched some of the special features before going to bed (and would later finish the film in the afternoon).

I followed the usual Sunday routine. I slept in until 8 a.m., went to church, and had a lazy afternoon. I watched Terry Gilliam movies (I followed La Mancha with Monty Python and the Holy Grail, though I fell asleep partway through the Tale of Sir Lancelot).

After slumming most of the weekend, I had to get to chores in the evening. I did laundry and worked on scrapping out grime between the bathroom tiles (as directed before my parents left).

I balanced out these grungy tasks by playing music (mostly Forbidden Broadway recordings. My sister has let me borrow her 4-cd set for over a year now, but I think she will be asking for them back so I’m getting the most out of them now).

After that, I crashed on the couch with the cat, watched some mindless TV, and worked on this post.

I got some late calls wishing me a happy birthday (even though it was nearly over) from friends and relatives. Otherwise, not much happened.

I couldn’t have asked for more.

'Happy_Birthday_to_me'

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WAG - Why I Sometimes Don't Miss People

I’ve often remarked to friends, especially those who work at Wal-Mart, my former place of employment, that one of the biggest perks in my job is that I rarely have to deal with people.

It’s not that I hate people, but the greater number of people you come into contact with, the greater number of idiots, freaks, and weirdos are encountered.

The number fluctuates, so I can’t give you a precise equation to help you calculate your exposure level, but it’s a given it rises exponentially when you’re surrounded by people.

When your truck is your office, inter-department politics isn’t really a factor. Picking which radio station to stick with is often the biggest debate I have with myself (promptly followed by “Should I really be going 70 MPH on this gravel road?” and “What are the odds the bank teller could identify my getaway vehicle?”).

I do run into people occasionally. Landowners are sometimes curious to know why a state truck is paused beside their fence line (though I’ve found some to lose all interest if I say I’m going to put a trap up on the opposite side of where their land lies). I’ve had local gossips stop me to tell me the character of the people whose land I’m driving past (and it’s a rare occurrence when people are bragging or recounting honorable things about their neighbors [“Oh, the Johnson’s? Fine people. Their girl is set to be top of her class. And the son, a prince. He’d never think of cheating on his girlfriend of the past four years.”]).

I’ve had people tell me a local pig farmer’s livestock was… um… you don’t need this mental image about what was floating in the river around your head so I’ll jump to the next paragraph before anything sticks like…

I don’t get to talk to many people, but the one thing about working for the Department of Conservation is that many people assume you’re an expert on all subjects of nature (or at least, the one they have questions about).

This afternoon, I was filling up the truck with gas before heading home, and I was greeted by a person who asked, “Catch any fish today?”

I turned around and politely informed the man I was in forestry, so I don’t get to do that very often (I did participate in a fishing day for a local summer school program last year, so I can’t say it has never happened, but I didn’t mention that because I didn’t want to complicate a simple matter).

He then went on to ask me a question about an old railroad line that once ran over state owned land, to which I replied I was only a summer intern and couldn’t answer his question.

This has become a common reply/cop-out for me when I wish to shut down a conversation I fear is going nowhere or that I deem shouldn’t be proceeding any further. It’s rarely as effective as I would hope, but I use it for lack of a better response.

After to his listened to my comments about temps not knowing much, he started telling me a story about lost bandit gold.

Missouri is to far inland to have stories about pirate gold (Blackbeard and his peers never took a cruise up the Mississippi). We’re also too far East for any gold deposits (we have lots of iron and ore, but who ever heard of following a treasure map where there were mounds and mounds of coal?). History wise, this local area was settled late, so there aren’t many tales of Wild West gunslingers being around (with the exception of Frank and Jesse James, but they were two-bit, lower marquee players who carved out a niche audience, but didn’t really gain national status).

What the area can boast about are Civil War bandits: the rebels who quarreled in a state that never supported either side 100 percent. Being a border state was hard enough without the state being morally conflicted (which would lead to a greater number of raids being started by neighbors rather than armies drafted of people from out of state). Even today, I am surprised by the number of confederate flags I’ve seen in people’s houses, or even flying on a pole in their yards (for some of these people, it’s not “The North won,” it’s just that “The South” has taken an extended time out and is merely biding its time).

Returning to the gas station, the man at the pump told me a tale of a shipment of gold stolen of a train during the Civil War. The name “Bloody” Bill Anderson will mean little to people who haven’t had Missouri history (and even then, it would only apply to people who stayed awake in class that day), but it means a lot in our area.

To some he was a cold-blooded marauder who killed innocents out of gratuitous pleasure. To some, a three-line, obscenity laced sentence wouldn’t totally cover the condemnation some think he deserved. I know some people who call him a great-great-repeat-a-couple-more-times-great grandfather.

Opinions aside, the man told me how he’d read that Bloody Bill and his men had held up a train and made off with a large shipment of gold coins and bars, but couldn’t transfer the whole cache at one time. Supposedly, they buried part of the load near the tracks, and made off with what they could on their weary, overloaded horses.

About that time, there was the “CHUT” sound of the pump turning itself off after filling most of the tank. I squeezed the pump one more time and let the man finish his tale.

He said no one had ever found the bars – they’d been stamped so they should have been able to be tracked down – and the gold was still out there somewhere according to a book written for gold coin collectors (he couldn’t recall the name).

After referencing the book one last time, he then smiled and said, “But the whole things’s a myth,” before walking away to pay for his gas.

Several questions filled my head. One, could the tracks he be asking about truly be at the location of the heist? Two, couldn’t the robbers have returned later and melted down the gold – rendering it both harder to trace and easier to transport. And three, was the story a fake, or was he telling me it was made up merely to throw me off the trial?

The one thing I know is that I still keep running into people who are a bit loopy, but at least they give me a story worth recounting every now and again.

And that the South will rise again… when it feels like it… just not right now.

'thanks_for_the_reminder_mister'

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WAG - Special Travel Tip Section: The Ozarks on Zero Dollars a Day

Hello friends.

Are the summer time blues catching up to you (or have you simply been fighting the fever for some time)?

Could you use a break? Would it help to distance yourself from some of your troubles? Do the cops finally have enough information to finish filling out the warrant they’ve been threatening you with?

Well then come on down to Missouri!

Yes! You too can find seek solace in the land of streams and trees.

Here are some handy dandy guidelines for anyone who wishes to sample the lush platter that Missouri has to offer (and spend as little cash as possible).

Tip #1: It’s tempting to speed through some of the smaller podunk towns, betting that the one cop car the city owns is parked in front of a local diner, but since many town’s main source of financial income is traffic tickets, go the speed limit between city limit signs.

Tip #2: One shouldn’t set out to steal a wallet just to procure a credit card, but if you happen across one, it is alright to reward yourself for being honest and honorable before returning it to the owner. Be sure to have class though. If you buy yourself a fancy piece of jewelry, don’t wear it in front of the person when you’re returning their wallet!

Tip #3: Load up on all the freebie items restaurants provide. Items such as plastic silverware, napkins, straws, sauce packets, placemats, salt and pepper shakers, napkin holders, trays, ugly paintings, and most chairs that aren’t bolted down are complimentary and freely bestowed upon all visiting patrons whether they buy anything or not. If you are going to take a screwdriver with you to go after items that ARE bolted down, one must spend a minimum of $2.79 (including a 15% tip) before one is allowed to partake of the furniture.

Tip #4: Don’t harass the locals. They rarely have patience for outsiders, are probably armed, and know where to hide bodies where they won’t be found.

Tip #5: Public fountains are a good place to pickup loose change. As long as there is no sign stating that all proceed go to a good cause, one can think of the pool as a “couch” where one gets to keep whatever they get.

Tip #6: There is some truth to jokes about hill people marring cousins. We say it happens more often in Arkansas, not that those type of people are the kind to participate in scientific surveys to confirm this, but there are some creatively-shaped family trees planted out here. Keep that in mind, but don’t make any comments of that sort until you reach the comfort zone of your own abode. It may be true in some cases, but we don’t appreciate it being pointed out either.

Tip #7: If you read a sign that says IMPASSABLE DURING HIGH WATER and it is already partially submerged, you are screwed.

Tip #8: Always order water with your meals (that should be true whether or not you’re on vacation). It’s healthier for you and one finds tap water is as good of quality as bottled water (which seems to go up in price over 300 percent once it is poured into a plastic container).

Tip #9: If it’s tornado season and you hear a sound like a freight train, but you know you are no where near any tracks, you might want to think about phoning your lawyer to make sure your will is all lined up.

Tip #10: In theory, city parks are a tempting place to sleep, but they’re really quite dismal places because the public goes there.

Tip #11: Wear a life jacket if you go boating. They’re hot, often uncomfortable, and rarely match your clothes, but it beats ending up in the newspaper in a paragraph that starts, “In a tragic note…” Actually, that is a cliché you don’t want to be associated with either on land or water.

Tip #12: Cops are people too and enjoy a good laugh as much as anyone else, but if a cop stops you and asks “Do you know why I pulled you over?” don’t make references to the drugs you have in your trunk. Joy-buzzers are also a definite “no-no.”

Tip #13: Beef jerky and bubble gum are acceptable alternatives to quarters for most tollbooths. Be polite and ask the attendant which one they would prefer and if they have a favorite flavor.

Tip #14: You are not likely to encounter any wild bears in Missouri, but if you do, make sure somebody tapes the encounter so your widow can make money by selling the recording to Fox (When Nature Strikes Back XVIII! 9:00 / 8:00 Central Time after a very special family edition of COPS).

Tip #15: Be sure to take a towel with you. (For information on this, consult Douglas Adams’ travel series [The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy]. The initiated already know, but others wouldn’t be hurt by discovering the rationale behind this and other important questions concerning the meaning of life [42]).

Tip #16: Be sure to give friends at least 48 hours warning before you drop in on them. It’s tempting to want to surprise them, but it isn’t fun if you accidentally crash a family reunion or wedding (“Are you a Hawks or a Nelson?” “Actually I’m just an old college roommate of a Nelson who dropped by.” “Oh… That explains the blue jeans.” “Yeah… Hey, where’s the line to kiss the bride? She looks hot!”).

Tip #17: MOST IMPORTANTLY!!! WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LITTER AT CONSERVATION DEPARTMENT PUBLIC ACCESS SITES! If you drop your trash there, you take the serious risk that a disgruntled, fed-up conservation employee will track you down and murder you in your sleep you dirty filthy pigs!!! What you do at a Department of Natural Resources site, however, is your own business.

These tips should help you have an “interesting” vacation (especially if you end up spending part of your time in a jail cell).

You can learn a lot by reading this list. Especially Tip #18: Beware of bored writers who have nothing else to do but cook up freaky lists for their own personal amusement.

Not that you have anything to worry about from me…

I’m just warning you in general…

Yeah, yeah… I know what you’re thinking, but let me point out this: the final warning is more than what the Jayson Blair and the New York Times did.

Think about it.

End of lesson.

'Follow_at_your_own_risk_and_my_entertainment'

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WAG - Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

Sorry about no posting yesterday.

My personal attempts to reprogram my sleeping habits required me to go to bed before 10 p.m. and not get up for any reason.

Actually, this act was demanded by both my mother and my girlfriend and strongly suggested by other family members (with the lone exception of the cat, who encouraged me to spend more time petting her).

I'd fallen asleep earlier in the evening, and I had trouble falling asleep. Still, I did have several dreams (or my sleep deprived brain conjured surround-sound hallucinations).

I feel much better this morning (not that it would take much to top previous mornings).

I wouldn’t have taken such drastic steps (over 24 hours without email? Shudder!) if it weren’t for the fact I’m going camping this weekend.

It’s another church related campout. The weather should be nice and I’m looking forward to catching up with several friends.

The downside is that I won’t be able to update tonight (even though my brain would probably be with me for a change).

It figures. I finally pull myself together and I find myself without a soapbox to stand on; at least for a little while.


'who_am_I_to_disagree'

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WAG - Glarb, glarb.

Hookity bonk-bonk.

Scqua du!

I’m sorry. I wrote what I was actually thinking and didn’t take the time to translate for the audience.

I wrote that today (“glarb, glarb”) had been a long day (“hookity”) at work (“bonk-bonk”).

I followed that that with, (“scqua du”) but you could probably already figure that out for yourself.

Note: For phonetic fans, the “q” in “Scqua du” is silent.

Since I started moth trapping duties, I’ve been averaging about 200 miles a day and checking about 10 traps an hour. I’m pushing hard now so that when I comes time to pick up the 500-odd traps in a 4 to 5 day time frame. This is due to the “interesting timing of when I’m allowed to start picking up the traps and when I’m expected back in Columbia for my other job. Technically, I should only get 4, but my boss hopes to get me an extra day.

This daily grind requires me to get up early (for me) and work through lunch. Well, I work with a sandwich in my hand and don’t stop to take an extra break because I figure I’m better off getting it all over with.

This has led to some sleeping troubles. I typically take a nap in the early evening (though not always on purpose), which means I have difficulty falling asleep later in the evening, which means I stay up waiting to fall asleep, which means I get less sleep, which makes me feel more tired throughout the day, which leads to a map to, I don’t need to keep going do I? Didn’t think so.

My biological clock is still set to dog early in the morning even though I can bear to sleep another hour or so. I’m also off from going to the Muny last night to watch the production of "Show Boat" (which is why there was no post yesterday).

Once again, I’m caught up in the pains involved with shifting routines. By the time I reset myself this time, I’ll go from checking to collecting which goes even faster (as long as I can keep the wheels of my truck on the road). Then I’ll go into student staff training, then band camp, then the first week of classes, then the second week when things really get tough as we start hitting the syllabus guidelines and whoa…

I just realized my sleeping habits are going to be in flux until…June 12, 2008 (and that’s the earliest estimate).

It all has made me a little fuzzy lately; and I’m not just talking about the quasi-beard I have due to me being lazy with shaving (and if I had a dollar for every time a relative or family friend made the comment I was growing my hair long when my dad [who had a beard for roughly a decade, and a mustache many years before that, and whose clean shaven look I only saw in faded family photos] had decided to do away with his beard, I’d could afford to fund a major pizza party - with clowns and an elephant).

Mentally, at the end of the day my brain is much more sporadic. I find myself composing not just non sequitor sentences (meaningless and/or random phrases), but entire paragraphs of nonsense.

Check out this clunker I wrote five minutes ago, but have still yet to discover a logical place to slip it into this narrative (other than to admit it doesn’t fit and hammer it anyway like a wayward puzzle piece):

The weather has been hot, and though I get lots of comments about lounging in my truck, I still have to deal with it. I do at least 50 33-meter sprints a day (both to save time, limit time spent in areas where I have no good place to park, and to keep me entertained). Even when I’m just walking, on average I get a reminder every 6 minutes of why air conditioning is the greatest machine ever invented ever (followed by computers, toast, and Game Boy Color [Source: Stephen Hawking {I may be lying, but I’m counting on the fact you probably won’t care to take the extra time to check out my facts. Hey, it worked for Jayson Blair and the New York Times. What do you want from me? What? You want me to get back to the original sentence. Wait a second while I dig up some brackets}]).

Wow. That’s pure flow-of-consciousness if I ever saw it; if you can call that being conscious.

Other than sleep being iffy, I’m having fun. I get to see caves, waterfalls, interesting architecture, rivers, streams, bluffs, valleys, and other picturesque views from my window. If I don’t like the current pictorial selection, I know it will change after another bend or two in the road. There are cons too: the humidity is a killer, litter is everywhere (even in the pretty places), and as their final act of pure evilness the Department of Motor Vehicles keeps licensing idiot drivers.

Still, the truck radio, air conditioning, and my mini-cooler (stocked with roughly two gallons of water – most of it consumed daily) make it a sweet gig.

At least, that’s what the remaining brain cells are telling me.

Since I don’t have anything else to work with, I think I’m going to trust them.

'whoogee_whoogee_or_bye_bye'

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WAG - It's Getting Hot Out Here

Today the St. Louis area, as well as several other areas in the country, had an "Extreme Heat Hazard" alert.

The heat index (combination of temperature and humidity to give a measurement of how hot this feels [not that I've ever seen a formula for this anywhere; it's just another area where we're suppossed to trust the weather people]) was tripple digits.

Guess who was happy about working out of his air conditioned truck, rather than having to clear timberlines all day?

It's good being a moth hunter.

'TGFAC_thank_goodness_for_airconditioning' - clunky, but accurate

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WAG - Ready the Fireworks

Whoa… As always, so much to write, so little time.

Traveling to Lee’s Summit (the Greater Kansas City Metropolitan area – Missouri Side), has kept me out of the loop this weekend.

It was fun. I didn’t get to write anything at all, but I did get to read a lot (I worked my way through three Harry Potter books today).

They’ll be more updates later covering fireworks (involving explosives and emotions: both potentially dangerous materials), family, and other items involved with vacations.

I also re-start the hunt for the dreaded gypsy moth tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll be plenty of material there. Additionally, more brain cells than usual should survive the day to be able to assist with the story telling. I know I’ve been “undermanned” lately.

Don’t wish me luck as much as wish me safe traveling (I don’t care if I catch any of the buggers, but I would like to go more than two weeks without having to radio the office mechanic [a record I have yet to achieve thus far in my Conservation Department career]).

I hope everyone’s return to the daily grind after celebrating our nation’s independence – among other things – is just as interesting.

'Im_going_to_Kansas_City'

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WAG - Lessons I Didn’t Learn Today

Today was my last day of doing campsite maintenance for the Department of Conservation this year (I hope). I will now be restored to my revered position of moth trapper (where I’ll go back to trying to save trees rather than chopping them down [which is good for the other trees in the area, but not necessarily the trees marked for, pardon me for using the euphemism: “above ground vegetation height reduction.”

To celebrate such an event, I’d like to expound on the wonders of nature and man’s important position in the balance of life.

Unfortunately my brain is tired. Despite an unscheduled early evening nap while reviewing audio recordings of the compiled works of a great philosopher (I fell asleep listening to George Carlin routines), I lack the mental facilities to compose anything profound of meaningful.

Though that is no different than usual, I still feel I should do something unique, so here I present a list of lessons I did not learn today.

[It was either that or attempting to compose a series of Japanese hikus, and I always get confused about how my syllables go on which line, causing my work to resemble bad folk songs; which lack the impact I’m looking for. Consider yourselves lucky]


Lessons Not Learned Today

Having a copy of the complete works of Shakespeare can make you appear erudite and sophisticated and can double as an emergency doorstop in a pinch.

If everyone in the world was entered in a combative knife fight tournament, where all other factors are equal, Angela Lansbury would be the biggest, baddest mother of them all.

“Spatula” is a fun word to say in any context.

The hands-on approach works best in all things except for confronting wild boars, bulls, and rose buses.

Though wondrously intoxicating, sniffing glue can kill brain cells, which lead to inadvertent repetition.

Though wondrously intoxicating, sniffing glue can kill brain cells, which lead to inadvertent repetition.

Movie trailers touting the best scenes of the movie, where people are running in slow motion, often play with classical music in the background despite the fact such sophisticated orchestrations are unlikely to appear in the release where more emphasis is placed on booming explosions than Bach.

Jell-o should NEVER be crunchy.

Regardless of all appearances, Pig Latin has nothing to do with pigs or Latin.

Despite their harmless appearance, improperly microwaved burritos can be a formidable foe when cornered (in your digestive system).

“Elvis” spelled backwards is “Sivle.”

Armadillos are people too.

People who pronounce “pharmacy” with a hard C-sound are not to be trusted.

Strangers offering candy never seem to be around when you have a sugar craving to be filled.

It may be noble to print labels on medicine warning people not to mix them with alcohol, but that ignores the fact that those who are likely to engage in such behavior aren’t likely to be double-checking the warnings on their pills.

One-on-one baseball games last a long time.

Sometimes a little nonsense can be more entertaining than a greater truth, but that still doesn’t excuse Fox Television’s continued dedication to atrocious “reality-based” programming.

* * *

Well, that’s it for now. I hope you learned something from this list today…even if I didn’t.

<'class_over_you_may_return_to_your_respective_homes'

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WAG - A Note on Small Town Newspapers

I've aften mentioned how I live in a small town and one reason why I sought employment at the Department of Conservation was that I'd get paid more and have more to do than seeking a job at the local weekly paper.

This week's front page both proves my logic and further proves that stereotypes (even the annoying ones) often continue due to the fact there is a grain of truth in some of them.

The headline was "Memamac Community Fair Appears To Have Been Successful" (this long, gangly, three-line title was stretched to fit a hole created by the layout [which resembled a patchwork quilt more than usual).

The top photo was of the Fair Queen and her court.

There was an article about improving the highway (and references to accidents).

There was an article on another meth lab being busted (Missouri passed California in national statistics ranking states with the most meth labs and Franklin County has the highest number of busts in the state. At least we're "Number One in the Nation" in something).

And yes, as a crowning touch, there was a prominent picuture of a blue ribbon winning cow.

To think, some people thought I was joking when I talked of cow tipping, hood riding, and other county fun that comes from being a one-horse town.

Though if the full truth is to be told, we should be thankful we have a space for a post to tie the pony too. There are some spots around here that don't even have that.

If you will excuse me, I'm going to look at the picture of the cow and laugh about Sullivan for a little while.

Hee hee hee. This place couldn't be more countrified if it tried.

<'Can_I_get_a_GEE_HAW_from_the_crowd'

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WAG - The Time is Close at Hand

You know the Forth of July is coming up soon when one falls asleep to the sound of neighborhood kids setting off firecrackers inside city limits.

Ahh...

It's a case of nostaliga versus annoyance. Fortunately, insomnia wins and no one is hurt.

Except for maybe one of those kids - but once they find the missing apendage and call the ambulance it should quiet down.

<'SNAP_CRACKLE_ZZZZ'

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WAG - Status Report

“Two more days,” the tired mass of protoplasm gurgled.

“Just two more days…” he muttered.

After his rasping ellipsis echoed and died away, his tired mind tried to review the events of the day. His synapses, frequently taxed and easily overloaded, blew a fuse and went into default mode.

After playing soft music (and several dozen games of solitaire) on the computer, I lost the “third-person self-referencing motif” and scraped together enough brain cells to put together a post (or at least the mangled set of letters that hopefully form words and, Lord willing, semi-coherent sentences. They look good to me, but then my tired mind could probably find significance in the patterns carved in my mashed potatoes by my fork).

But before that, I think I smell microwaved popcorn wafting through the house. Forgive me. I MUST investigate.

Here’s another ellipsis to denote the passage of time: …

I’m back. My sister had a slightly burnt bag of butter popcorn as a companion to viewing of The Breakfast Club. Not wanting to leave her in such company (the bag of popcorn, not my sister), I kept her company until she was empty and Bender had racked up eight weeks of detention.

Note: Every time I watch "The Breakfast Club," I can’t help but admire Judd Nelson’s character but at the same time lament the fact he seems to have misplaced his acting ability somewhere between there and "Suddenly Susan."

Anyway, my mind is beginning to function after another day in my last week as grunt for the Conservation Department.

Well, my conscious mind (or at least the programmed facsimile that I’ve been using for the last couple of years. It seems to work). When chopping branches 7 out of your 8 hours of your work day, the mind seems to take leave after a while (and not seem to find itself back until sometime after I’ve been home a while).

I am getting to work outside as well as a good exercise, but I’m looking forward to returning to my moth trapping duties. I like the outdoors, but some days (when the weather is blistering or biting) I prefer to have only 30-second doses of it at locations spaced out across multiple miles and I’m only separated from the air conditioning and radio for a few seconds. Depending on the song and the neighborhood, the gap may be nonexistent if conditions are right for cranking the song.

Part of me feels like I’m complaining about stupid things; and that’s because I am. My job, even with its current decent into menial labor IS pretty good. It pays well, I get to see some wonderful sights, and I’m less likely to die of overexposure to fluorescent lights (though the numbers are hideously unreported, I’m sure they take out more than a fair share of lives each year).

Of course, it seems everyone complains about their jobs. People make take it too different degrees (which is why you have some people taking those stress-buster bags filled with sand to work and why others bring shotguns), but it is a fundamental part of being employed.

You always want things a little better; a bit more perfect. A tad more of this… A smidgen of that… And one you fire that dirty old what’s her face, this place may not be bad at all…

People seem to take the best attributes from all the jobs they’ve held (or sometimes the positions they wished they held) and use that idealized conglomeration as the benchmark against which the job is judged.

When you compare dream world against reality, I won’t say one side always wins, but I won’t lie to you and say one side doesn’t have a natural advantage (depending on the imagination of the person involved of course. Some people don’t dream big out of conditioning but just because they don’t think that broadly [which is why those people are to be both pitied and envied]).

At most, I should only have two more days of barging through thorn bushes, scraping through poison ivy and brushing sawdust out of my hair.

No, that isn’t true at all. My job description requires that I still come into contact with all three; it’ll just be to a lesser extent. I’ll go from contact 98% of the time to 78%, which really isn’t much of a reduction, but it’s a difference I’m looking forward to.

Actually what I’ll be loosing is chances to chop trees so that they land in rivers, go off-trail to the entryway of a cave with the stated intent to “pick up any trash” when the real intent is to lounge in the cavern-cooled air, and take a break on a conservation bench and stare up through the breaks in the pine to watch hawks soar through the sky.

Well, it was probably a turkey buzzard, but I was on break and if I want to fantasize, I have the right to say it was a hawk (I’m not saying it was an eagle; that’d be greedy).

Different jobs have different perks (and you’ll never be able to hold on to all of them).

So, for now, I’m making the most that I can out of my final days wielding a pair of clippers and pole saw.

After all, I can only complain about it for just a little bit longer.

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