Q. Mark,
I see that you love Starburst from your older posts about them and I am wondering if you have tried them roasted over a campfire? ..... if not then you are in for a spectacular treat!!! You just put them on the roasting stick over the fire for a few seconds.. maybe 30... then pop that hot sticky burst of flavor into your mouth---enjoy!
A. Dear Person,
I have not ever enjoyed a campfire stick roasted Starburst.
I have not ever done my own taxes.
I have not ever seen a Big Foot.
If I were to ever see a Big Foot. Or The Big Foot. I hope the story would sound like this:
"I'll be damned if it weren't raining out. But we'd had chili for dinner. So I had to take the trash out. The mice are already well fed enough and all be damned if I want to invite some raccoons into the kitchen. My lady's a real good cook and her vittles attract all kind of critters. And like I said, it was raining. Real hard though. So I slid into my slosh boots and I was already carrying the trash bag in my left hand. Or maybe it was the right. But it was raining so I can't right say which. I just kept thinking I'm so happy God let me keep both hands. And I was so thankful they both worked. My aunt Tracy had a whole hand that did nothing but sit there and push buttons on a TV remote. I thought that was near just as bad as not having a hand at all is what I thought about when I saw it. So with one of my hands, the one with no trash bag, I opened the backdoor of the kitchen. Now I didn't know this before I opened the door but the back light on the back porch was all burned out. Not a beam of light radiated from it's bulb. Now I thought this was strange since that light always worked unless it was burned out and I forgot to replace it. So as I'm walking out the door with a trash bag full of chili scrap and paper plates. And it's still raining. Hard and wet. Well the rain is getting on my head and in my eyes so I sort of squint like you do when you are outside on a bright sunny day. But instead of sun, it's rain in my eyes. So like I said, I'm walking out the door into the wet dark stinking night. Stinking? Why does it stink so bad I wonder? Now I'll tell you, I didn't have much time to think about this because before I know It I have my face planted into what I can only describe as a wall of stinking soaking wet hair. Before I can step back I am knocked flat on my back by a powerful uppercut to my jaw. My pants, jacket and shirt tail got all wet and my trash bag was stolen. It was Big Foot. I pinched a never in the fall and haven't worked since. I help out where I can. If you need to move you can borrow my truck. Just return it with a full tank of gas.
My truck needs some gas. Are you moving?
It's raining like it means it today. When I stop typing I can hear it. It's a delight.
Stay warm, dry and safe,
Mark
And I'd like to give a shout out to my uncle Dave
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
How iParent
Q. "Can I have the iPad? I'm bored."
A. Sometimes the best cure for boredom is more boredom... "No. Your a creative kid. You'll figure something out. "
Hope that helps.
And by the sounds of animals talking about bed time, telling jokes and wrestling with a princess, I think it did.
Mark
A. Sometimes the best cure for boredom is more boredom... "No. Your a creative kid. You'll figure something out. "
Hope that helps.
And by the sounds of animals talking about bed time, telling jokes and wrestling with a princess, I think it did.
Mark
Saturday, February 25, 2012
A little bit about Cisco
Q. Can you tell me what it's like living in San Fran?
A. No, I can not. I've not yet lived in or been to San Fran. I thought it might be a small town somewhere out there in tire country. But when I Googled it, nothing came up. Nothing but a bunch of hits referring to San Francisco. And since I live in the San Francisco found in the great state of Californ, I can tell you a little about what that's like.
Living in San F ncisco is engaging, delightful, disgusting, frustrating, magical, romantic and a full time job. It's that job you had where you hated the work but loved the people. Or where you dreaded the people but liked the work. It's one of those two jobs every day.
Let me start out with the universal conversation starter, the weather. How's the weather here in San Frisco? Perfect I guess. It must be I hardly ever notice it. Each day is the perfect day to wear a short sleeve shirt and carry a light jacket for the ride or walk home. Or wear a long sleeve shirt and carry a light jacket. Or wear boots and fur lined pants with an arctic coat. Or just go out in some flip flops, short pants (above the knee please) and a tank top. It's all okay. It all works. And on any given day in the city I promise you will see all of it. The only time I notice the weather is when it's just a little more perfect. And sometimes when it's just a little less perfect.
The only thing I miss here is lightning. I've seen it twice in ten years.
As for the people here. The ones that call themselves San Sicans. The are the absolute **** people I have ever met. It is a true **** to be around them. They have **** my life in so many ways. Truly, I want to say **** you all.
It's seems when people come for a visit they talk about all the crazies they see. Like we have more than our fair share. I don't think that's true. We just have a lot of people in a compact area. And most of them live in very tight quarters, so nearly every one gets outside for at lest a few hours a day. A lot of travel is by foot and bus. So people are out on display constantly. I'm pretty sure if you could see what your neighbors were doing in their garage or basement, you'd see some pretty weird stuff too.
Mostly the city is filled with people working hard to pay their rent, get some food and find a friend. At least that's the most common story I see. I sort of wish I saw a few more characters.
Just yesterday as I was walking home from work I saw a guy in black spandex athletic gear, that probably fit when he bought it back in 1997, walking toward me. The improperly fit attire on it's own would have caught my attention for sure- I've always liked to see how peoples bodies push out against their skin. I like to see where the bulges and the seams are. But he had his white cracked leather walking shoes on and a ski pole in each hand. And he was planting those poles hard into the ground with each step. Maybe, I thought... Maybe this guy has just cross country skied right out of Tahoe. Maybe he wore right through his skis as he propelled himself across the pavement. But, "Damn those skis! They were weak! Weaker than my will to ski right to the ocean." So he kept pushing. Kept planting those poles. Kept changing the duct tape where the rubber stopper used to be. Kept eating corn dogs and Zingers to stay fueled.
For a moment I think I admired him. I wondered what I would be doing at his age. He was at least four to five months older than I was and it showed. Would I be as dedicated? As driven? Was this perhaps my future self? Is that why he didn't make eye contact? And where did I get all of that long dark oily hair? Did I get the hair from the same person that got me the time machine? Or was he not me. But simply a man blissfully trapped in a dream, sleep skiing through one of the best days of his life?
And I realize I may never know the answer to any of those questions. But that's not the point. The point is, I noticed him. If this great and frustrating city of San F Co is full of crazies and weirdos this guy wouldn't have stood out. He would have had friends or at least some competition.
To that lone wolf I say keep on trekking. I hope you are happy when you reach your lowest low- Sea level.
And to you dear readers. I say so long for now. Stay true to your self. You know the sound of your own drum, now beat it!
Hope that helps,
Mark
A. No, I can not. I've not yet lived in or been to San Fran. I thought it might be a small town somewhere out there in tire country. But when I Googled it, nothing came up. Nothing but a bunch of hits referring to San Francisco. And since I live in the San Francisco found in the great state of Californ, I can tell you a little about what that's like.
Living in San F ncisco is engaging, delightful, disgusting, frustrating, magical, romantic and a full time job. It's that job you had where you hated the work but loved the people. Or where you dreaded the people but liked the work. It's one of those two jobs every day.
Let me start out with the universal conversation starter, the weather. How's the weather here in San Frisco? Perfect I guess. It must be I hardly ever notice it. Each day is the perfect day to wear a short sleeve shirt and carry a light jacket for the ride or walk home. Or wear a long sleeve shirt and carry a light jacket. Or wear boots and fur lined pants with an arctic coat. Or just go out in some flip flops, short pants (above the knee please) and a tank top. It's all okay. It all works. And on any given day in the city I promise you will see all of it. The only time I notice the weather is when it's just a little more perfect. And sometimes when it's just a little less perfect.
The only thing I miss here is lightning. I've seen it twice in ten years.
As for the people here. The ones that call themselves San Sicans. The are the absolute **** people I have ever met. It is a true **** to be around them. They have **** my life in so many ways. Truly, I want to say **** you all.
It's seems when people come for a visit they talk about all the crazies they see. Like we have more than our fair share. I don't think that's true. We just have a lot of people in a compact area. And most of them live in very tight quarters, so nearly every one gets outside for at lest a few hours a day. A lot of travel is by foot and bus. So people are out on display constantly. I'm pretty sure if you could see what your neighbors were doing in their garage or basement, you'd see some pretty weird stuff too.
Mostly the city is filled with people working hard to pay their rent, get some food and find a friend. At least that's the most common story I see. I sort of wish I saw a few more characters.
Just yesterday as I was walking home from work I saw a guy in black spandex athletic gear, that probably fit when he bought it back in 1997, walking toward me. The improperly fit attire on it's own would have caught my attention for sure- I've always liked to see how peoples bodies push out against their skin. I like to see where the bulges and the seams are. But he had his white cracked leather walking shoes on and a ski pole in each hand. And he was planting those poles hard into the ground with each step. Maybe, I thought... Maybe this guy has just cross country skied right out of Tahoe. Maybe he wore right through his skis as he propelled himself across the pavement. But, "Damn those skis! They were weak! Weaker than my will to ski right to the ocean." So he kept pushing. Kept planting those poles. Kept changing the duct tape where the rubber stopper used to be. Kept eating corn dogs and Zingers to stay fueled.
For a moment I think I admired him. I wondered what I would be doing at his age. He was at least four to five months older than I was and it showed. Would I be as dedicated? As driven? Was this perhaps my future self? Is that why he didn't make eye contact? And where did I get all of that long dark oily hair? Did I get the hair from the same person that got me the time machine? Or was he not me. But simply a man blissfully trapped in a dream, sleep skiing through one of the best days of his life?
And I realize I may never know the answer to any of those questions. But that's not the point. The point is, I noticed him. If this great and frustrating city of San F Co is full of crazies and weirdos this guy wouldn't have stood out. He would have had friends or at least some competition.
To that lone wolf I say keep on trekking. I hope you are happy when you reach your lowest low- Sea level.
And to you dear readers. I say so long for now. Stay true to your self. You know the sound of your own drum, now beat it!
Hope that helps,
Mark
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Super Bowl Sunday Again? So Soon?
Q. What are you doing for Super Bowl Sunday? Who do you hope wins?
A. I'll answer your last question first. I hope nature wins. I hope the pigs choose today to take their revenge. Though that's unlikely since modern footballs are mostly made of plastic and rubber. Plus, pigs aren't really that organized. Or maybe a freak lightning storm that fries the stadium electrical source. Even the backup generators. Or, and this would be the most unsafe (perhaps even deadly), which I don't wish for, at the same time it would also be the most ironic- A four hour long hail storm with hail stones the size of, you guessed it... Soccer balls.
At this point you may be asking, why the animosity toward the Super Bowl?
1. I have always disliked televised sports. A highlight reel now and a again is interesting. But an entire game... Plus pre and post game shows. It's all way too much for something that matters so little. Truly, every game, of anything, ever matters so little. And there is so much emotion and energy and money spent on them. Games are games. They are a pastime.
2. I find the spectacle of it all a little embarrassing. It's just too much for so little.
3. The Black Eyed Peas weren't invited back.
4. When I was a child, no one ever asked me to play football with them. I always sat alone and hopeful on the sidelines. I wasn't even picked last. I just wasn't picked. Completely overlooked, shunned even. Simply because until I was 18 years old I literally had a thin cube of butter where each finger should have been. (It's amazing what modern science can fix. Thank you Dr. Grant. You truly Grant-ed my fondest wish.)
5. It's our neighbors. Four dudes that graduated collage but can't leave Frat life behind. They spent the day yesterday getting ready for their Super Bowl party. It was kind of funny to watch. They really are helpless when it come to cleaning and party preparation. As long as they have a couple kegs and some red plastic cups the party is set. All they need to do the get it started is push play on the stereo and crank up the base. That's how these guys do it. And they do it ALL day. And as they get drunker, they get louder, they even seem to multiply, spilling out onto the sidewalk and filling their backyard. Each drunken event ends with a dance party late into the evening. If we are home there is no escaping their bombardment of sound.
As for me and my house, on this holiest celebration of the American way, we will have a picnic in the park, take a long drive and spend some time in nature with friends. After all, isn't football everywhere?
I certainly hope not.
Happy Super Bowl Sunday everyone! I hope we all get what we asked John Madden for.
Mark
PS: To clarify #4. I did get chosen to play football as a kid. And I liked the activity of it. I think I would have even made a pretty good, um, guy who run with the ball toward the goal.
A. I'll answer your last question first. I hope nature wins. I hope the pigs choose today to take their revenge. Though that's unlikely since modern footballs are mostly made of plastic and rubber. Plus, pigs aren't really that organized. Or maybe a freak lightning storm that fries the stadium electrical source. Even the backup generators. Or, and this would be the most unsafe (perhaps even deadly), which I don't wish for, at the same time it would also be the most ironic- A four hour long hail storm with hail stones the size of, you guessed it... Soccer balls.
At this point you may be asking, why the animosity toward the Super Bowl?
1. I have always disliked televised sports. A highlight reel now and a again is interesting. But an entire game... Plus pre and post game shows. It's all way too much for something that matters so little. Truly, every game, of anything, ever matters so little. And there is so much emotion and energy and money spent on them. Games are games. They are a pastime.
2. I find the spectacle of it all a little embarrassing. It's just too much for so little.
3. The Black Eyed Peas weren't invited back.
4. When I was a child, no one ever asked me to play football with them. I always sat alone and hopeful on the sidelines. I wasn't even picked last. I just wasn't picked. Completely overlooked, shunned even. Simply because until I was 18 years old I literally had a thin cube of butter where each finger should have been. (It's amazing what modern science can fix. Thank you Dr. Grant. You truly Grant-ed my fondest wish.)
5. It's our neighbors. Four dudes that graduated collage but can't leave Frat life behind. They spent the day yesterday getting ready for their Super Bowl party. It was kind of funny to watch. They really are helpless when it come to cleaning and party preparation. As long as they have a couple kegs and some red plastic cups the party is set. All they need to do the get it started is push play on the stereo and crank up the base. That's how these guys do it. And they do it ALL day. And as they get drunker, they get louder, they even seem to multiply, spilling out onto the sidewalk and filling their backyard. Each drunken event ends with a dance party late into the evening. If we are home there is no escaping their bombardment of sound.
As for me and my house, on this holiest celebration of the American way, we will have a picnic in the park, take a long drive and spend some time in nature with friends. After all, isn't football everywhere?
I certainly hope not.
Happy Super Bowl Sunday everyone! I hope we all get what we asked John Madden for.
Mark
PS: To clarify #4. I did get chosen to play football as a kid. And I liked the activity of it. I think I would have even made a pretty good, um, guy who run with the ball toward the goal.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
What's your address and a warning
!!! WARNING !!! WARNING !!! WARNING !!! WARNING !!! This post contains amateur poetry. If you don't like poetry or amateurs- AND especially amateur poetry about friends, like the kind you might find engraved into a picture frame- you may want to stop reading and wait a couple more months or weeks for my next post.
Q. Mark, What's your address? Please leave it here at this link. I can't tell you why or it wouldn't be fun. Would you like to leave a comment in the space provided?
A friend far away
A. Dear friend far away, Here is the comment I left in the provided space.
It can happen in a moment
A warmth a softness a binding thread visible in the peripheral
It can last
Time adds to the thread as is stretches
Pulled against mountains
Soaked in oceans
Stroked by an equator
Blizzards do nothing to freeze it
Enduring weaving filaments
From here
To there
Others stumble trip and fall into our lives
We feel tugs
We feel snags
On street lamps and rose bushes
In the corner of our eye we see a ray of sun catching the golden thread
And it winks
Hope that helps,
Mark
Q. Mark, What's your address? Please leave it here at this link. I can't tell you why or it wouldn't be fun. Would you like to leave a comment in the space provided?
A friend far away
A. Dear friend far away, Here is the comment I left in the provided space.
It can happen in a moment
A warmth a softness a binding thread visible in the peripheral
It can last
Time adds to the thread as is stretches
Pulled against mountains
Soaked in oceans
Stroked by an equator
Blizzards do nothing to freeze it
Enduring weaving filaments
From here
To there
Others stumble trip and fall into our lives
We feel tugs
We feel snags
On street lamps and rose bushes
In the corner of our eye we see a ray of sun catching the golden thread
And it winks
Hope that helps,
Mark
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Christmast the Time Machine
It's Christmas morning and all is calm and right in our little place on earth. The kids are playing with the "Santa" gifts. Pepper is back in bed, one of my gifts to her. And the television is all ablaze with the roaring fire bonus feature on the Colbert Christmas Special. That feature alone makes it worth picking up the DVD.
And I'm blogging.
I don't know of anything else that hurtles me back through time like a Christmas morning. Photographs can't even compare. I can feel the temperature of the living room and the cool draft that floated through the sliding glass doors of the house on Meadow Lane. The smell of the golden yellow carpet in front of my grandparents fire place, the spot I slept so many times as a child on Christmas Eve. I can feel the blue gray corduroy upholstery on our twin easy chairs under my finger tips. I'm right back in my six year old body, awake early, before any one else, laying on my side, looking at our new and first microwave. Even now I can feel and hear the pop of the microwave door. I pushed that "Open" button repeatedly until my mom finally got out of bed. The guilt and excitement still sneaks in as I watch myself snatch one gift and steal away downstairs, where I opened a present from my sister, a few days early. It was a watch, maybe E.T. and I was unable to wrap it up well enough to conceal my inability to wait.
Each Christmas day these memories, and others like them, fall through me with such speed and force they slice open holes in time that I can't help but fall through. I spend the day experiencing and reliving Christmas in multiple dimensions, simultaneously. It's wonderful.
This year Oslo received a 120 pack of Crayola Crayons. The smell of the wax and cardboard, the feel of the smooth yellow and green box, dropped me right back into my child self. The one that lived on Orchard ave. in Ogden, Utah and attended Marlon Hills Elementary school. And just as I was then, today I was filled with the desire to arrange all those colors into some kind of sensible order. I think, this morning, I found a suitable solution by grouping all the warm colors in the front, the cool colors in the middle, and the neutrals in the back. This little task was quite satisfying but made me late for breakfast.
I spent a few moments looking at the newly organized pack, enjoying for that moment, knowing Oslo would not be interested in maintaining my system.
And now I get to help Luca get geared up to try roller skating. It's back to the present, fully focused and fully aware I could be reliving Christmas day 1987 at any moment.
All the best to all of you and Merry Christmas.
And I'm blogging.
I don't know of anything else that hurtles me back through time like a Christmas morning. Photographs can't even compare. I can feel the temperature of the living room and the cool draft that floated through the sliding glass doors of the house on Meadow Lane. The smell of the golden yellow carpet in front of my grandparents fire place, the spot I slept so many times as a child on Christmas Eve. I can feel the blue gray corduroy upholstery on our twin easy chairs under my finger tips. I'm right back in my six year old body, awake early, before any one else, laying on my side, looking at our new and first microwave. Even now I can feel and hear the pop of the microwave door. I pushed that "Open" button repeatedly until my mom finally got out of bed. The guilt and excitement still sneaks in as I watch myself snatch one gift and steal away downstairs, where I opened a present from my sister, a few days early. It was a watch, maybe E.T. and I was unable to wrap it up well enough to conceal my inability to wait.
Each Christmas day these memories, and others like them, fall through me with such speed and force they slice open holes in time that I can't help but fall through. I spend the day experiencing and reliving Christmas in multiple dimensions, simultaneously. It's wonderful.
This year Oslo received a 120 pack of Crayola Crayons. The smell of the wax and cardboard, the feel of the smooth yellow and green box, dropped me right back into my child self. The one that lived on Orchard ave. in Ogden, Utah and attended Marlon Hills Elementary school. And just as I was then, today I was filled with the desire to arrange all those colors into some kind of sensible order. I think, this morning, I found a suitable solution by grouping all the warm colors in the front, the cool colors in the middle, and the neutrals in the back. This little task was quite satisfying but made me late for breakfast.
I spent a few moments looking at the newly organized pack, enjoying for that moment, knowing Oslo would not be interested in maintaining my system.
And now I get to help Luca get geared up to try roller skating. It's back to the present, fully focused and fully aware I could be reliving Christmas day 1987 at any moment.
All the best to all of you and Merry Christmas.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Is it possible we share too much this time of year?
A. Granted, usually people are contagious even before they start to show signs of illness. And Christmas comes around but once a year. I don't think it's a good idea to visit with loved ones. No one wants a runny nose and hacking cough around. And kids are expert at spreading sickness. You know, with all the hand to nose to mouth to every surface insight. It's just too careless and uncontainable.
Even though some festivities may be missed, this may be your chance to avoid the drive and the drama (if there is any) and have a nice quiet Christmas celebration at home... How quaint, don't you think?
In our family we do one of two things. We stay put in San Francisco and keep it small and quiet. Or we pack it all up and drive home to Utah's Wasatch front. But we never forget to spend the holiday without some kind of illness.
Last year it was the Flu. It wiped us all out for 10 days. And took both Pepper and I a full month to recover. This year, I've been a little late receiving my bacterial or viral package (but I'm sure it's on it's way), we are experiencing light flu symptoms and both kids have pinkeye. So we stocked up on chalky white festive drinkable antibiotics for Oslo and angel tear eye-drops for Luca.
So to all our friends and loved ones who we planned to see over the next couple of days, we hope you will understand why we are staying away and know that we love and miss you. And conjunctivitis misses you- We hope.
Above, I have attached a Free Christmas card digital download for anyone who needs to let others know that their kids are sick and won't be joining them this holiday season. Just click and drag the image onto your desktop.
Hope that helps and Happy Holidays,
Mark
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