Monday, June 27, 2005
The hazards of moving
Last night the Treasure Valley welcomed Hilary Costa (h-bomb jr.) as she rolled in to Boise to start a life of domestic tranquility with JoeJa in what is widely acknowledged to be a good place to raise a family.
Being the stand-up guy that I am I came over and helped the two lovebirds unpack their U-Haul. Naturally, the unpacking involved several adult beverages and, after we emptied the truck, Joe and I went on an exploratory mission in his new neighborhood. We happened upon a cement canal that was probably five or six feet across and about six feet deep. Joe, of course, could virtually step across to the other side and encouraged me to jump it. At first, I showed remarkably good judgment and refused but my natural inclination toward bad ideas won out in the end and I made the leap.
Initially it went well. I cleared the canal by a good foot but I landed with my weight back, lost my balance and tumbled backwards, falling six feet down onto my back in about five inches of water. I actually fell out of my flip flops, which lay splayed on the far side of the canal exactly where I landed, a sad reminder of how close I had come to glory.
As you can imagine, cement is not the most forgiving surface and the canal was narrow enough that I scraped all the way down. After Joe helped me climb out I did inventory on my injuries and it looked like I had been attacked by a bear, which is exactly what I intend to tell people. Both ankles were bloody and scraped to shit, it looked like I had claw marks on my right arm, a snakebite on my left palm and I even had a mysterious lone scrape mark on my forehead about the size of a pea (I don't remember hitting my head).
The worst part, besides the burning pain, is that I'm going to have to explain what happened. So I'm taking story suggestions. Winner gets a cold Pabst.
Being the stand-up guy that I am I came over and helped the two lovebirds unpack their U-Haul. Naturally, the unpacking involved several adult beverages and, after we emptied the truck, Joe and I went on an exploratory mission in his new neighborhood. We happened upon a cement canal that was probably five or six feet across and about six feet deep. Joe, of course, could virtually step across to the other side and encouraged me to jump it. At first, I showed remarkably good judgment and refused but my natural inclination toward bad ideas won out in the end and I made the leap.
Initially it went well. I cleared the canal by a good foot but I landed with my weight back, lost my balance and tumbled backwards, falling six feet down onto my back in about five inches of water. I actually fell out of my flip flops, which lay splayed on the far side of the canal exactly where I landed, a sad reminder of how close I had come to glory.
As you can imagine, cement is not the most forgiving surface and the canal was narrow enough that I scraped all the way down. After Joe helped me climb out I did inventory on my injuries and it looked like I had been attacked by a bear, which is exactly what I intend to tell people. Both ankles were bloody and scraped to shit, it looked like I had claw marks on my right arm, a snakebite on my left palm and I even had a mysterious lone scrape mark on my forehead about the size of a pea (I don't remember hitting my head).
The worst part, besides the burning pain, is that I'm going to have to explain what happened. So I'm taking story suggestions. Winner gets a cold Pabst.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Fire it up
It would be much easier to list the similarities between Idaho and Louisiana than the differences (they both went to W and I can't think of many others).
Here I regularly hike in the mountains (the highest point in La. is Mt. Driskill at 535 feet), have forgotten what humidity is and have stayed a night in a yurt (a simple round wooden Mongolian mountain shelter).
We also have huge wildfires and Joe and I are part of the Statesman fire team, which almost makes up for the lack of violent crime in Boise. We're both much more amped than, say the citizens of Idaho, about wildfire season and I secretly pray daily for 100-degree temperatures and lightining.
Because of our wildfire responsibilities, Joe and I got to go through some rudimentary fire training the other day. To be a firefighter you have to pass a pack test by walking three miles with a 45-pound vest in 45 minutes. So Joe and I lined up with about 30 firefighters and hopefuls and put on the vests to get a taste of firefighter life.
Joe made the time with two minutes to spare, I did not. To my horror, my shins cramped about 5 minutes into the walk and, embarrassingly, I missed the time by two minutes (To add insult to injury, the firefighter spokeswoman could see I was in severe pain and asked me if I wanted to drop my pack and call it a day before I finished the three miles. Out of pride, I refused.)
Fortunately I have all of fire season to redeem myself and prove I'm worthy of donning the Nomex and boots.
Here I regularly hike in the mountains (the highest point in La. is Mt. Driskill at 535 feet), have forgotten what humidity is and have stayed a night in a yurt (a simple round wooden Mongolian mountain shelter).
We also have huge wildfires and Joe and I are part of the Statesman fire team, which almost makes up for the lack of violent crime in Boise. We're both much more amped than, say the citizens of Idaho, about wildfire season and I secretly pray daily for 100-degree temperatures and lightining.
Because of our wildfire responsibilities, Joe and I got to go through some rudimentary fire training the other day. To be a firefighter you have to pass a pack test by walking three miles with a 45-pound vest in 45 minutes. So Joe and I lined up with about 30 firefighters and hopefuls and put on the vests to get a taste of firefighter life.
Joe made the time with two minutes to spare, I did not. To my horror, my shins cramped about 5 minutes into the walk and, embarrassingly, I missed the time by two minutes (To add insult to injury, the firefighter spokeswoman could see I was in severe pain and asked me if I wanted to drop my pack and call it a day before I finished the three miles. Out of pride, I refused.)
Fortunately I have all of fire season to redeem myself and prove I'm worthy of donning the Nomex and boots.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Ben in China II
This news is about a month late but Bencito - back in Beijing to continue not sleeping with hookers - has finally found a blog host Communist-friendly enough to make it past the Great Fire Wall. Make fun of Ben's ineptness with women and small genitals at:
http://asiatrash.blog-city.com/ (or just hit the link)
http://asiatrash.blog-city.com/ (or just hit the link)
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Have a (gigantic hole in your) seat
Sometimes I purposely ask the stupid questions, the one everyone in the room is thinking but no one wants to ask. Other times it's just my knack for being a jackass. On Wednesday I was interviewing a soldier who survived an attack in Iraq where and insurgent shot him twice at point blank range with an AK-47.
I noticed he was standing as I was interviewing him so I asked this dude, who was using a cane because he had a baseball-size hole in his ass cheek from an AK round, "Uh, would you like to sit down?"
He was mercifully polite in declining.
I noticed he was standing as I was interviewing him so I asked this dude, who was using a cane because he had a baseball-size hole in his ass cheek from an AK round, "Uh, would you like to sit down?"
He was mercifully polite in declining.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Spandex
I've lived in the great state of Idaho for about a month now and have come to this conclusion: Boise is the spandex capital of the world. Bikers will say, "No, it's actually lycra" or some such excuse but whatever the material, it leaves very little to the imagination and some people should never be allowed to wear tight-fitting clothing.
It's also apparently acceptable for men to shave their legs because it makes for a less messy wound after the inevitable mountain biking spill (I plan to resist). The emphasis on the outdoors and health up here is as strong as the emphasis on boozing and smoking in south Louisiana and I'm working on finding a happy middle ground.
I can't imagine a place more different than Baton Rouge (Boise is 93 percent white for starters) but so far I'm enjoying it, even though I miss the Hell out of my Louisiana crew and crawfish. Mmmm, crawfish.
It's also apparently acceptable for men to shave their legs because it makes for a less messy wound after the inevitable mountain biking spill (I plan to resist). The emphasis on the outdoors and health up here is as strong as the emphasis on boozing and smoking in south Louisiana and I'm working on finding a happy middle ground.
I can't imagine a place more different than Baton Rouge (Boise is 93 percent white for starters) but so far I'm enjoying it, even though I miss the Hell out of my Louisiana crew and crawfish. Mmmm, crawfish.
