put 'em in coach

The combination of this less than ideal weather and the fact that the Isotopes are in the middle of a road trip makes me begin to think that just maybe spring hasn’t truly settled into the Albuquerque area yet. Then I begin to wonder if maybe I jumped the gun and planted my gourds and sweet corn too darned early. I think my grandfather used to consult both the Farmer’s Almanac and the other farmers at Riley’s Gas Station in the wee town of Chambersburg, Illinois before he put in his cash crops each year.

I have my fingers crossed that things will begin to heat up for good when the Isotopes return to the Duke City and kick off a 12-game homestand. First the New Orleans Zephyrs blow into the valley Friday night for two night and two day games. The Zephyrs are, of course, the Triple-A affiliate of the Washington Nationals (Major League Baseball’s “newest” ball club), so that should prove interesting enough.



Next, Robert Fick will lead the charge when the “nasty-boy” Portland Beavers (San Diego Padres) do their best to irritate both Isotopes players and fans alike. (If you don’t make it to any other ballgames this season, I highly recommend coming out to the park and catching at LEAST one of these games. And please, do not throw beer at Mr. Fick!)

The longest Isotopes homestand of the 2005 season wraps up the following weekend with four games with the Tacoma Rainiers. Many of the Rainiers players hope to be called up to play for the Seattle Mariners before the end of the year- or before they get traded to another team where they will have even less of an opportunity for promotion.

Hopefully the Isotopes will return to Albuquerque in a winning frame of mind. Outfielder Matt Padgett leads not only the team, but also the entire Pacific Coast League with his whopping Ted Williams-like .409 batting average. I’m predicting here and now that IF the bunny in right-centerfield is going to get bopped by a homerun this season, it will be during one of the next 12 home games… and probably by Matt (or perhaps big Mark Little).

Although the fans will be given freebies as they enter the park before most games, the only two promotions that really stand out include performances by Rockin’ Ray and the Amazing Skyy Dogs on Saturday, May 7th, and “Salute to Duck® Brand Duct Tape Night” on Thursday, May 12th.

The Isotopes just recently announced that they have been selected to host the 2007 Triple-A All-Star Game. Albuquerque is sure to shine in the spotlight as the 20th Triple-A All-Star Game is broadcast on ESPN2 on July 11th. The Triple-A All-Star Fiesta (sponsored by Sandia Casino) will feature the best minor league players from the Pacific Coast and International leagues as they face off in a home run derby, skills competitions, and the actual game itself. Players will also be available for autograph sessions and other activities that will be announced over the next 2 years, 2 months and 19 days (give or take a few hours).

who let the dawgs out?

Gee whiz, have I really not posted any blog entries since the last one about my visit to the racetrack? Would you believe that I got busy with baseball and gardening again? Well, those are my excuses. Unfortunately, I seem to have more excuses than I have ideas for interesting topics to blog about.

And to make sure that you don’t think that all I do now is spend my time betting on the ponies, here is a photo I snapped this Saturday at the Downs at Albuquerque. Although these little critters only raced some 50 to 60 feet, I was AMAZED at how quickly they covered that amount of ground after busting out of the gates like a pack of insane rats at a cheese convention.


(Don't forget to click on the images to see them full-sized.)

I also took this photograph of what I would describe as a “normal” horse between two of the horse races. My theory is that they keep “normal” horses around the track to help calm the high-spirited racehorses so they don’t jump the rails and trample the fans.



Certainly Albuquerque has been getting lots of national press this weekend with the arrival and quick departure of Atlanta native, Jennifer Wilbanks. It almost goes without saying (but I will anyway), that it is great news that she was found at the payphone in front of a local 7-11 store rather than stuffed in a dumpster behind the building. Too bad the television show “COPS” has been banned from filming any more episodes in our city, as that would have made for a fantastic episode. On a nearly related note, seeing her photos flashed all over the tube the past few days has reminded me that it is probably about time for my annual visit to the optometrist.

This blogger is left wondering whether Jennifer and her blushing fiancé will be returning to Albuquerque this fall for the balloon fiesta. If so, hopefully they’ll be able to stay longer.

horse cents

A friend recently asked, “Have you ever been to the racetrack at Expo New Mexico?” My answer was, “No.”

After giving the question some thought, I decided that spending part of an afternoon at the racetrack might at least provide some good blog material. Taking advantage of a sunny sky, mid-70 degree temperatures, and a gusty spring wind (plus the fact that the Isotopes won’t be back in town until Saturday night), Wednesday afternoon proved to be the ideal time to visit the Downs at Albuquerque. MAN, the tiny worlds and subcultures that exist throughout sprawling urban areas never cease to amaze me! And to think that I thought that Expo New Mexico was only worth going to during the state fair or the odd art show. (I must admit that I’ve never been to the flea market there either, but I suspect that will soon change.)

First, “people watching” at the track is second to none. You will see cowboys, ranchers, gamblers, owners, business peoples, students, families, and probably even movie stars just to name several. Conversations of a wide variety are available for eavesdropping. You can hear good (and BAD) advice for picking ponies, listen to discussions about which jockeys have the biggest eating disorder (although that seems odd, it may prove to be very important in your bet placing strategies), work on your Spanish, find out which Applebee’s has the best happy hour, and smile while old men ridicule each other for their picks… then explain why their own horses failed to win immediately after the race (if not during).

If you should ever get tired of watching the humans, the animals are quite possibly even more interesting. Race fans are able to get within several feet of the horses in the paddock before each race in order to judge which ones are most likely to perform well. Voices cheering on names and numbers of horses are drowned out by the sounds of hoof beats as the magnificent beasts thunder down the dirt track to the finish line just beyond the grandstand. As it turns out, horseracing has been a popular sport in New Mexico since even prior to the first state fair in 1938. It seems like I was the only person at the track who would have been surprised by that information.



Although I suspect that a person might make better informed wagers if they knew a little something about the horses, jockeys, trainers, etc… it is possible for complete a novice to win some ca$h at the racetrack simply by sizing up the horses before a race, or getting lucky by betting on favorite colors and/or numbers. Daily racing forms are available at the racetrack, or you can obtain them online in order to study up before you leave home. I think it would be very difficult to get rich at the racetrack, but that probably isn’t a very healthy goal for a single afternoon anyway.

I bet on six races, and managed to return to the window a winner on two occasions. I hit on the 2nd race with my $2 Quinella wager on “A First Down Runaway” and “You Get Credit.” I also managed to pick the first and second place horses in the 3rd race to collect even more winnings for my $2 Exacta wager on “The Big Rumble” and “Fantasy Gal.” Even though I failed to pick any winners during the other four races, I still managed to leave with more money in my pocket than when I arrived.

If you are intent on spending your money, the Downs offers several ways for you to do so. Besides betting on races there, you can place wagers on horses at various racetracks around the country, then sit back and watch the simulcasts on television screens scattered throughout while enjoying a frosty beverage. You can spend money even without wagering if you wish. The Downs offers a wide variety of food- hotdogs, burgers, pizza, steaks, corndogs, pretzels, popcorn, chips, candy, ice cream, and more. As far as beverages go, if you can name it, they can serve it. Tecate seemed to be the popular beer of choice while I was there. T-shirts, hats, and belt buckles are just a few of the souvenirs you can pick up for your friends and co-workers.

There are definitely more sights, sounds, smells, and tastes available at the Downs than a single person (or possibly even a small group) could realistically expect to take in and process in a single afternoon. I think it is relatively safe to say that dull moments must be few and very far between. Live racing at the Downs in Albuquerque ends in mid-June, then picks up again for 17 days straight during the state fair in September.

So now it’s my turn to ask you, “Have you ever been to the racetrack at the Expo New Mexico?” I’ll see ya there!

there's a new blog in town

In case you haven't heard, there's a new cityblog creating quite a buzz in cyberspace this morning. You'll want to be sure to check out Duke City Fix as soon as you are done here... especially if you simply can't get enough of my photos. I will be contributing original photos to that website on a regular basis (every Friday I believe is the plan) and other times when the mood is right.

open air gallery

I guess I should state right off the bat that I do not own a laptop computer or any sort of Blackberryish device. The whole of my easily portable electronic devices include a cell phone, digital camera, and a Garmin GPS unit. That said, I’m writing this blog entry using paper and pen while perched atop a large volcanic boulder near the western reaches of Rinconada Canyon on the west mesa overlooking the city of Albuquerque to the east. (I will type this stuff up later at home.)

I ventured out to Petroglyph National Monument this morning to snap a few photographs of rock art, and to see how “things” have changed in general since last fall. My favorite petroglyphs all appear to remain intact and basically unchanged by time or weather since my last visit. To be sure, there does seem to be some “fresh” graffiti scratched into the rock surfaces here and there, and what visit to a national monument would be complete if you didn’t have to watch the trail carefully to avoid stepping in dog crap? The answer to that rhetorical question is, of course, “None.”

The trail through the day use area is a 2.5-mile-long loop that winds around the basalt outcrops that serve as the canvas for prehistoric and historic (okay, AND modern) artwork, then cuts back to the east and returns to the parking lot. I don’t want to spoil your experience by describing everything you may see when you go, but keep your eyes peeled for geometric patterns, anthropomorphic figures, and decidedly abstract designs ranging from “simple” to “elaborate” that have been pecked into the desert varnished surfaces of the basalt boulders. The area is also teeming with wildlife and interesting vegetation, making it virtually impossible to take in everything there is to see in a single trip.



As I reached the approximate halfway point in the loop, I encountered an elderly Hispanic man sitting on a rock staring off toward the southern horizon. We spoke for a while about how nice the weather was and how many rabbits were hopping about in the sage. Then he pointed out a coyote making his way along the ridge that makes up the southern skyline from this vantage point. He informed me of a trail I haven’t explored that leads along the spine of one of the more prominent ridges. We both agreed that it was probably about the time of year when people should take care to avoid stepping on any rattlesnakes. We chatted for about 20 minutes, but interestingly, the subject of petroglyphs never came up. I learned that he makes the hike “every morning.” I don’t think he told me this information to be boasting, but just to let me know that he hadn’t wandered off from some nearby Senior Citizen Center.

Eventually he announced that it was time for him to continue with his hike. As he wandered off, I claimed his spot on the boulder- that I now share with two small lizards. One of the lizards is watching me as I write. Both are doing push-ups. The sunshine feels amazing on my skin as it warms my blood that is still chilled from that last bit of winter that passed through town on I-40.



Only the shape of the Sandia Mountains can be made out through the haze that has settled over the Rio Grande River valley down slope to the east. Although I can hear and feel the low rumble of life in Albuquerque and traffic along Unser Boulevard, the din is for the most part drowned out locally by the songs of various birds and the roar of jet engines that pass overhead every 15 to 20 minutes.

A goodly number of wildflowers are present, yet the display is less than spectacular. I remind myself that this isn’t the Sonoran Desert. I find the color palette soothing… black, brown, green, grey, blue, white, and just a teasing of yellow.

I do not hear the whispers of ancients as I sit on this rock. I wonder about the artists who passed through this area hundreds, even thousands of years before. I give no thought to those who will pass this way in the future (other than to mention them here). Eventually, the sound of more hikers making their way along the trail reminds me that it is time for me to pack up my notes and head back to civilization. After all, their legs may be weary by the time they reach this rock, and it truly is a fantastic place for one to kick up one’s heels and relax.

kid gloves

No, I haven't been sucked into the great black hole of cyberspace. I've been busy with the beginning of baseball season, and trying to get more seeds planted in the garden. Seriously, I don't understand how you readers find the time to even breeze by my blog to find out if I've posted anything new or not.

Last week I was fortunate enough to have been invited to participate in Media Day at Isotopes Park. Freelance photography does have some amazing perks as I was able to snap over 300 photos of the players and the stadium pretty much at will. In a perfect world, one of my photos would be selected for use in one of the Isotopes baseball cards this season. A few of my photos have been published in the spring souvenir program, so make sure you pick up a copy the next time you visit the ballpark and see if you can guess which ones are mine. Be sure to check out the ads throughout the program too, as they are the key for people winning some wonderful free things (including ca$h dollars) during the ballgames.

Working close to the players is VERY interesting. For the most part, these guys remind me of how spring made me and my buddies act when I was a kid. These dudes didn't want to have to have their photos taken. Instead, they would rather have been tossing baseballs across the infield, or taking some additional batting practice to get ready for Opening Night. It is refreshing to be around people who LOVE their job!

Don't worry... I won't be posting all 300+ of the abovementioned photos here in my blog. It will just SEEM like it!

the BUCK stops here

Your eyes are not deceiving you. Buck Showalter and the mighty Texas Rangers are currently in town to play two Spring Training games at Isotopes Park. The Rangers applied a big hurtin' to Byung-Hyun Kim and the Colorado Rockies earlier this evening.

Tomorrow the Rangers play host to the potentially formidable Arizona Diamondbacks. Although the DiamondBees are clearly a better team without Kim than the Rockies are with him... I still don't think they have the pitching required to silence the Rangers' bats.

you just never know...

whom or what you are going to run into at your favorite Albuquerque grocery store.

pregloating 101

Okay, so it only took three and one-fifth days after I declared spring a week ago until we got dumped on. Here's hoping that was the last of winter!

is this heaven?

Why yes it is!

Trust me... baseball and Krispy Kreme doughnuts are a fantastic combination.

when it rains, it snows

A view of the St George Greek Orthodox Church at 308 High Street SE (between Lead and Silver) during a lull in the snowstorm that buried Albuquerque on March 14, 2005.

Unfortunately, they weren't serving gyros at that time.

revenge of the adobe brick

I was sitting here in my office this past Thursday afternoon quietly editing some graphics and trying to think of a clever name for my fantasy baseball team. Without warning, I was subjected to a LOUD thud-like noise similar to what the munchkins must have heard when the fictional tornado dropped Dorothy Gale’s house on the Wicked Witch of the East some 66 years ago. (I don’t believe that a house dropped in the book version of the story would have made a sound.) I assumed that the sound I heard was the result of our government testing some new device to better guard the nation’s borders, and that it was none of my concern.

Just moments later however, the doorbell rang. Figuring my work could be put on hold long enough to chat with some Jehovah’s Witnesses, I pressed the save button on my computer and went to the door. Instead of having the latest edition of the Watchtower thrust in my face when I opened the door, I was greeted by our new next-door neighbor and his son. They recently purchased the run-down house immediately to the south as an investment and are in the process of remodeling in order to resell it on the HOT Huning Highlands housing market. Earlier that morning, I had observed them in the process of tearing down the dilapidated garage that abuts our property. They were pretty much all smiles and jokes. Now they didn’t seem to be having any fun.

As it turns out, they accidentally dropped the garage on the wooden fence that defines our property line. I do believe they were afraid that I was going to be pissed at them and threaten to sue and all that. I mean, isn’t that the American way? I was just glad that neither of them had been hurt, especially since the dad had been inside the garage when it began falling. As it turns out, the garage walls had been constructed of true adobe blocks, so it was quite substantial. I have no doubt that anyone caught inside when it collapsed would have been crushed to death. Certainly it was heavy enough to splinter a 30-foot segment of our fence and knock a 24-foot-tall pine tree akimbo.



The top portion of the wall only missed hitting the side of our house by a few feet. The owners assured me that they will replace the fence and that they felt awful for the inconvenience. Instead of getting angry, I offered to help clean up the mess in exchange for them letting me have the adobe bricks that they were going to have to haul to the nearest landfill. You see, these bricks are the perfect solution for materials to construct raised garden beds in the back and side yards. Certainly they are better than using wood that would quickly rot, and in this case, the price can’t be beat. If I had purchased these blocks new from a local source, it would have cost several hundred dollars. That money can now be invested in a load of rich topsoil that our plants will absolutely love.



The moral of this entry then is this… you never know when disaster or fortune can strike. So when an opportunity arises for you to act neighborly, do it. Everyone benefits!

the Nicole DeHuff phenomenon

This post is about the oddity of web traffic stats and how they affect me personally. I would say that I'm a casual observer of stats when it comes to baseball and traffic that checks out any of my web sites.

Lately I've been noticing a marked increase of unique, first time visitors to my Thumbprint.org siteby people who are looking for photos and information about Nicole DeHuff. For about the past month, I would say that I've had about 50 to 75 people per day hitting my site for that reason. A portion of my site includes a small write-up about Suspect Zero with lots of photos from when Tom Cruise's production company rented our place in the Washington Apartments to film the sex scene (which was not included in the final cut) between Nicole and Aaron Eckhart.

At any rate, I got real curious yesterday when the number of unique visitors topped out at 811, and shattered my record for a single day of web traffic. Why are some many people suddenly interested in Nicole? Well, she's dead. Apparently she died of pneumonia on or about February 16th and was soon after cremated. That sucks. I suppose her claim to fame will be that she was the girl who got her nose busted playing volleyball in the swimming pool in the movie "Meet the Parents."

At any rate, already today, my website has logged 9,868 unique visitors... and it isn't even noon! Interestingly, I'm also noticing some spill over of people checking out my other web sites. I wonder if any of those people will navigate all the way over to my blog.

Well, I have things to do, so I should get doing them. I will update the stats later... perhaps as comments to this post. Plus, I also have an exciting story to tell. One that ended up being a good thing for several people while narrowly escaping being a tragedy for one or a few.

Spring is in the air!

I suspect that is the reason for the sneezin.'

Led Zeppelin paint disclosure

I admit that one of the main attractions of home ownership is being able to do ANYTHING to your residence without having to obtain prior written permission from your landlord. Of course, if the structure you own is located within a documented historic district such as Albuquerque's Huning Highland Historic District, you may still have to jump through one or more hoops before you make any modifications to the exterior of your home.

That typed, can you guess what I’ve been doing lately?

Part of my recent Valentine’s Day present to my wife was all the paint, materials, and (promise of) labor needed to repaint our bedroom. Less than a month later, the paint is dry and all but one piece of artwork has been hung. I’d say that’s pretty darned good for a well-known procrastinator.



It wasn’t so much that we disliked the previous look of the room, but we wanted to make the room feel warmer and more conducive for sleeping in till noon or beyond. As it was with the peach walls and white ceiling, the room was so bright that only the cats could sleep in past 11:00 AM on a regular basis.



Overall, the work was about as difficult as it was fun. Certainly it was harder than kicking back in the Laz-E-boy and watching a bunch of home improvement shows on tv, but possibly also less painful. Maybe it's just me, but it seems like loud rock and roll music and paint fumes make for a wonderful combination.

The cats and I agree that the “tool” that provides the most fun is a large roll of painter’s tape. To be sure, we all hate it when that rolls under the sofa. I also arrived at the conclusion that instead of “torturing” detainees at home and abroad, our government should make them paint 10-foot high ceilings until they are ready to talk. I don’t think it would take very long before they began offering useful information.

I only really freaked out after the first coat of paint failed to cover the primer like I had envisioned. I calmed down after subsequent coats dried and evened things out. In the end, I think the room looks much better than it did before. It definitely is darker and better for sleeping. Now if you’ll excuse me…

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz……

kitty rescue in bronze

If you haven't noticed, Albuquerque is home to some pretty amazing public art.

This attempted kitty "rescue" is the creation of Glenna Goodacre, and lives inside the Albuquerque Biological Park just outside the main entrance to the Rio Grande Botanical Garden.

If you look closely, you can make out the Clyde and Carrie Tingley statues (also bronze) in the distance directly beneath the kitten. Although less whimsical and "fun," the Tingley bronzes were well executed by Betty Sabo in 2000 and are worth stopping and gazing at for a bit.

beauty and the bottlebush

Bored and can't think of anything interesting to do?

I recommend a visit to your local botanical garden to check out the many interesting species of plants on display. I shot this photo of a bottlebush flower during a recent fieldtrip to the Rio Grande Botanic Garden. It was one of only a few photos I managed to take inside the greenhouse before my camera lens fogged over.



Flower lovers should make sure to click on the image to view a full size copy.

First Snow, now Milton's?

Following up on a tip from my wife who saw a film crew at nearby Milton's restaurant earlier this morning, I wrapped up in my winter coat and set out to see what was up. It was the cast and crew working on "First Snow."



From what I could gather from the limited amount of time I surveyed the scene, they were fixing to shoot a scene inside where it was warm. Obviously they weren't looking for any extra extras, so I soon turned back and headed back home to my painting project.

out of gas

Snapped these photos Saturday afternoon at Isotopes Park of Texas State Bobcats outfielder Elliot Babcock trying to stretch a two-run double into a triple against the UNM Lobos.

He was MEAT!

First Snow ... first day

I got a call late Saturday night from the casting director of “First Snow” asking me if I could work as an extra on Monday, the first day of filming. For one or more reasons, they had decided to either use me as a janitor cleaning the floors, or as a random shopper walking around inside Winrock Mall. Of course I was willing, otherwise I would never have gone to the audition. I also had no conflicts with my schedule. After all, where on earth could anyone possibly have to be at six in the morning?

So I arrived at the mall a little before six AM, and began the process of looking for someone who could either check me in, or direct me to the extras area. In this case, we were being held in an abandoned store inside the mall, just beyond Bed Bath & Beyond. For those of you not familiar with Albuquerque, Winrock Mall is one of several nails driven into the economic heart of the downtown when it was constructed conveniently close to I-40 back in the early 1960s. Forty some odd years later, the mall itself resembles some sort of futuristic ghost town more than anything else. I heard rumors that it is due to be renovated and possibly converted back into an outdoor mall. At any rate, a total of 10 people were brought in as extras. Half were ladies, the rest… dudes. Interestingly, 9 of the 10 people had been told during the extras audition that they would likely be used in the “pub scene.” Whatever.

Every group has one- the guy who will talk to anyone, and ends up talking to everyone if given the opportunity. No, I’m not that fella! In this case, ours was a Wal-mart employee who also claimed to have had a bit part in the HBO series “Band of Brothers.” I never saw an episode of that show, so I really have no idea if he was telling anything even close to the truth. However, I suppose anything is possible. The guy I’m talking about looked almost exactly like Greg Brady. I don’t mean the young Greg Brady from the Brady Bunch television series, but the middle-aged actor who played Greg Brady in the most recent Brady Bunch reunion show. I would say that the best thing about this type of person is standing back and watching the crowd part as he entered a room full of people.

As I typed previously, Monday was the first day of filming for the movie. If pressed for a description, I would have to call it as I saw it from my perspective, “organized chaos.” It seemed like most of the crew were frantic trying to learn how to communicate with each other, and as expected, there was a LOT of hurrying up and waiting to be done. The caterers were behind schedule. The lighting crew appeared frazzled. People with clipboards seemed both angry and tired.

The stand-in for Adam Scott (one of the principal actors) was late, so I was pulled out of the extras pool and asked to serve as stand-in for the stand-in. Basically, I spent the next 20 minutes shadowing Adam as he rehearsed a scene with Guy Pearce. In the scene, Guy and Adam were walking through the mall discussing personal current events. At one point, Guy squatted down and said something along the lines of “Looks like someone’s been pissing on your floors.” Adam responded by blaming it on the Garcia brothers. Pretty dramatic if you ask me!

I was impressed by the fact that Guy Pearce’s character was supposed to be carrying a drink in his hand while he walked, and even though he didn’t have the required prop, he held his right hand as if he was actually carrying a Styrofoam cup. Now, THAT’S acting my friends. Guy’s stand-in and I watched carefully, and took notes about body movements and hand gestures the actors made. Our job would be to recreate the scene as closely as possible for the lighting and camera crews while Guy and Adam were off to wardrobe and make-up. It was pretty entertaining. I think I would definitely enjoy serving as Paul Reuben’s stand-in for the next Pee Wee Herman movie, especially if Tim Burton were directing it.

Nevertheless, eventually the original stand-in arrived, and I was directed back to the extras holding pen. Frankly, I can’t imagine arriving late for the first day of work for even a crappy job. But as one of the first waves of Generation Xers, what do I know about today’s kids? This slacker didn’t appear to be hung over, so I suppose he thought it was more pressing to stop at Einstein’s and grab a triple lima bean sprout latte with chive than it would be to make a good impression by arriving on time. The project assistant who had selected me from the extras pool indicated that they might send him home if he ever arrived, but this kid really did resemble Adam Scott- not just in height, but also had a similar body type and hair style. I would assume that these were the qualities the camera crew really needed more than punctuality. Besides, there was no way I could have committed to giving them 12-hour days for the next six weeks as I have to many things to do to get ready for the baseball season, and with my other graphics work.

Once back in the extras tank, I did my best to answer everyone’s questions about where I had been and what I had seen. Soon after my popularity wore off, it was time to fill out paperwork to ensure that everyone (including Uncle Sam) would get paid. Then I was sent to wardrobe. It was determined that I was too tall and/or skinny for the janitorial costume, and would be used as a random mall shopper. It was strange how the two extras dressed to portray janitors looked more like “real” janitors than did the people actually janitoring at the mall. The clothing technicians present decided they couldn’t do anything to make me look more like a random shopper than what I was wearing (unbuttoned dark green flannel over a brown sweatshirt, Levi’s, brown belt, and my work boots), so they sent me on to make-up. The cosmetologists remarked that I looked perfect as is, which made me suspect that they were working for tips.

Thus, it was back to the extras holding area for me, where I spent the next 45 minutes watching an old man and his wife attempt to finish filling out his W-4 and W-9 forms. I would venture a guess that this man had every single legal document that had crossed his sixty-some odd year path stuffed into his wallet EXCEPT for his Social Security card. Eventually, the movie people decided that he wasn’t going to be able to take direction well enough to serve as an extra, and was sent packing- reducing the pool to only nine people.

By now it had to be around 8:27 am, and the time for prolonged waiting had arrived. There are many ways to pass the time in situations like this, so feel free to print out my list and stick it in your billfold in case you ever need suggestions.

1. read magazines or books (personally, I find the atmosphere too distracting for reading, but then again, I am easily entertained)
2. eat/drink/smoke (besides being served a large breakfast and lunch, the catering wagon is always open for snacks)
3. watch the crew scurry about
4. take notes for your blog
5. rank the other extras based on who you feel is the greater BS artist
6. sleep (good luck on this one!)
7. try to look important (this game gets exponentially more difficult as the day progresses)
8. even further embellish your resume
9. compile a list of players for your pending fantasy baseball team

I think it is worth mentioning that the mall walkers were quite agitated by the film crew having moved into their turf. Although the entire production resulted in a substantial shock to their normal routine, I noted that it wasn’t enough to make even a single blue hair stray from the path worn into the carpeting. Certainly the event would have provided much in the way of conversation later that afternoon as the seniors gathered for dinner at Village Inn.

A thought crossed my mind as I watch these old-timers doing their best to prolong the inevitable. Why hasn’t anyone opened an oxygen kiosk in this mall, or in malls all across America? I would think that in addition to selling oxygen, you could do a pretty decent business if you stocked designer tanks, heart monitors and other related accessories.

Eventually, the production assistant in charge of keeping tabs on all the extras broke the news that the director had decided against using any of the mall shoppers, and we were sent home around two in the afternoon. As I drove home, I thought it would be awesome if someone would roll into downtown Albuquerque and cast a bunch of the homeless people as extras in a movie. After all, the homeless are well-suited for hanging around all day, and could benefit from a few square meals and some cash in their pockets.

So, you might be wondering if I would agree to work as an extra again in the future, or if it seems like too much hassle without a guaranteed return. I would say without question that I would, even if the movie seems like it will be tragically awful. It isn’t so much that I fancy myself being discovered and getting a chance to “act” professionally, but more along the lines of I wonder how I would look on the silver screen. Besides, if I ever make it into the final cut of a movie, it will make Christmas shopping for friends and relatives a snap for a change.

every picture tells a story donut?

A day in the life on the west mesa.

casting call of the wild

I read online Friday morning about a casting call for extras taking place not far from home for a movie with the working title of “First Snow.” Although the name itself made me shiver and almost crawl back under the warm blankets, I decided that it might be interesting enough to warrant checking out.

Before hopping into the shower, I quickly printed off a self-portrait headshot and attached it to a current copy of my resume. I dressed for the type of role that I would have liked to been cast if chosen: a two-tone green thermal underwear shirt beneath a heavy pine green flannel, blue jeans, and my Redwing hiking boots.



The casting was being conducted by the Phoenix Agency in the Talent Street offices at 8809 Washington Street NE. Their studio is located in a decidedly industrial section near the northern edge of the city. There are no windows to speak of in the offices, but if the employees step out into the west parking lot they can enjoy a commanding view of the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta Park and the Rio Grande River valley where Alameda is situated. Inactive volcanoes dot the west mesa and snow-capped Mount Taylor is clearly visible some 50 miles to the west.

I arrived at the studio right around 11:00 am, a good hour after they had opened for auditions. Overall, the process was relatively unorganized. They had plenty of waiting space available in the hallways outside the suite, but no one from the company present to direct new arrivals into the main office where you had to sign in and pick up a numbered blue card on which you record your vital information. I received card numbered 170. I would think that 170 people showing up in the first hour to apply to be an extra in a movie is a decent turn out.

Probably it goes without saying (but I will anyway) that people watching was second to none! I entertained myself by observing the reactions of people when they first arrived and attempted to make some sort of sense of the scene. I was greatly amused by the people who eventually offered instructions to the new folks on what they needed to do to begin the process. These folks are clearly nicer than me, and should receive some sort of civic award for their efforts.

By noon, the crowd of applicants had swelled to over 270 people. Old folks, middle-aged people and youngsters of all imaginable races, and a representative sampling of all three sexes were present. There seemed to be a comparatively large number of mothers with young children present- every one of which reminded me of that unfortunate Ramsey kid from Colorado. Possibly I would understand parents trying to get their kids a role in a movie along the lines of ‘Seabiscuit” or “The Goonies,” but “First Snow?” What on earth could be going through their minds? From the limited information I’ve found online, the plot for “First Snow” appears to be a man’s life going down the tubes after a psychic predicts that he is going to die. The role of the man is going to be performed by Guy Pearce. And that’s really all I know about the film.

Some people in the crowd passed the time by reading cheesy novels, while others took advantage of the down time to further embellish their resumes. The majority of the rest seemed quite content to spend the entire time stamping their feet and complaining about how long they were being made to suffer. I suppose the waiting process does seem overwhelming to lots of people, especially any first timers. However, having worked as a extra for Suspect Zero and 21 Grams, I realized that this exercise was nothing compared to the amount of standing I’d be doing if I got selected out of the herd.

Interestingly, a good number of people present appeared to be represented by agents. I’m not sure what all you get with an agent other than an overpriced headshot, but it was obvious that some people had connections and were able to leap to the top of the waiting list immediately upon arrival. Possibly they had done work for this Phoenix Agency in the past or something. Certainly I noticed some familiar faces from the previous casting calls I had attended.

Without a doubt, the most interesting person there was a grouchy old cowboy (applicant no. 194) wearing a gold belt buckle the size of Laguna. At one point he lit up a Winston in the hallway, and then deflected the numerous scowls fired in his direction by muttering, “I don’t see any no smoking signs.” After adjusting his brown sweat-stained cowboy hat, the man resumed his previous activity of staring at high school girls.

My name was called around 1:00 pm, at which point I was led to a hallway inside the main office and instructed to sit in the last of some eight or nine office chairs. Ahhh…. finally some structure and order amidst all the chaos! One by one people at the far end of the line were called into an office, while the rest of us played musical chairs to the sound of silence. Everyone’s spirits in this hallway were definitely elevated as it became obvious that the wait was nearing an end.

Eventually I met with the casting agent. She was a very nice woman who showed no sign of stress even though she still had to interview hundreds of more people before she could stick a fork in the day. She indicated that she "liked my look," and was going to recommend using me in “the pub scene” (scheduled to be filmed February 22nd) pending approval by the director.

Be sure to tune in next week for further adventures in the New Mexican film industry.

Garcia's Cafe

Garcia's Cafe- 1736 Central Ave SW, Albuquerque, New Mexico

Timmy doesn't live here anymore

I snapped this photo earlier today while on walkabout in the areas surrounding downtown Albuquerque and the historic Huning Highland district. There is little doubt in my mind that this tree once served as the majestic living foundation of one of the finest tree houses ever constructed in the Rio Grande Valley. Today, this ladder into the sky stands as a silent reminder of lost childhood dreams and adventures.

As I slip into my mental time machine, the sun dissects the sky from the western horizon to the east approximately 11,473 times- at least as quick, if not more so, than a Nolan Ryan fastball. The effect is quite blinding so I shut my eyes. When I open them again they are stinging slightly with sweat, and my mouth tastes of dirt- Midwestern dirt.

I’m standing knee deep in a large hole that my older brother Kevin and I are digging next to the old shed in the backyard of my youth. It is a Saturday. It is summer. The fact that we had made so much progress by mid-morning must indicate that we had already seen that week’s episode of Land of the Lost.

I don’t remember “why” we had decided to dig a hole that day, but only the sense of urgency in that we both knew it would have to be completed before nightfall. We dug like madmen to be sure, pausing only briefly to investigate rusty horseshoes and other interesting objects as they were unearthed.

The hole measured perhaps 4 to 5 feet square, and perhaps as much as 4 feet deep by the time our neighbors Ron and Jack were allowed out of their house and came over to see what we were doing. Their younger brother Joel wasn’t able to come outside that day as he had been grounded- having been caught, I believe, wearing his father’s underwear. As quickly as they saw our project, Ron and Jack dashed home and soon returned with shovels of their own.

For some odd reason, four people digging with shovels tend to move more than twice the amount of soil as only two people digging with shovels. This is true! In fact, it has been my observation that possibly the only way one could sabotage that equation is to hand one of the four people a PhD. Well, be that as it may, on that particular day we expanded the area of our excavation by double in a flash and were soon down to a depth where even the bravest of earthworms feared to tread. I was convinced that we must have been nearing the center of the earth when I caught what I thought then was a good whiff of brimstone. (Now however, based on my better understanding of the makeup of our planet, confined spaces and people in general, I believe that what I probably had experienced was one of Jack’s farts.)

We decided that there was really no need for our hole to extend any deeper since none of us spoke Chinese nor liked Chinese food. Lunch had really never entered into our minds. Instead, our tiny brains were preoccupied with designing a wooden bridge over our pit, and constructing walls on the western side of the hole to fend off possible attacks from teenage hooligans who would ride dangerously near while navigating our town’s alleys on their bicycles so they could smoke cigarettes without being noticed by adults.

I swear, I have no idea where all the lumber came from that we used that afternoon. Some came from under the shed, and quite possibly the rest was removed from the shed itself. Nevertheless, it was all put to good use.

It must have been around 5:00 that evening when our dad ventured onto the back porch of our house, and eventually made his way back to our happy little construction camp. I doubt that any of us could have been prouder as he stood silently and surveyed the scene we had created with our own hands, sweat, and blood- and a good deal of his lumber. Obviously, he could tell that our substantial fortress would serve us well in any future dirt clod war that we found ourselves engaged in. We had plans for making the thing completely enclosed before the end of autumn, as our fort would prove essential to our desire to dominate the neighborhood snowball fights that coming winter. It would also be used as a swell place where we could sleep outside, and as a base camp for a wide variety of top-secret nocturnal reconnaissance missions. Of course it would also be used as a clubhouse where Ron and I would trade baseball cards.

My dad said nothing as he studied the earthen embankments surrounding our unfilled moat. We simply hadn’t had time to run the garden hose over to fill the darned thing- having wasted too much time discussing where we would purchase an alligator, and trying to guess how much one might cost.

Surely he could tell how much effort we had invested in our labors simply by the amount of dirt that covered our faces, hands, and clothing. It seemed like an eternity before we got a reaction from him, but given that he is a math teacher, he probably had to first calculate how many buckets full of sediment we had removed to create the hole. Most likely, he was also marveling at the fine bridge we had built and was dreaming of the day when we would all become engineers.

Finally the silence was broken. He said, “Nice hole. Now fill it in.” With that, he returned to the house and the relative sanity of an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel. I remember exchanging looks of disbelief with my brother and our friends- as if we were ballplayers and the weatherman had just forecast freezing rain on opening day. It was awful!

Interestingly, and I wonder if anyone is still reading this, it didn’t take nearly as long to fill in the hole as it did to create it. My brother gets most of the credit for having figured out that we could fill it in very quickly by tossing in all the lumber and other stuff first.

From time to time, I wonder about the people who live in that old house now. Do they ever look out the window and wonder about the origin of the large depression next to the old shed? Probably, the old shed and depression no longer exist, but in their place stands a “modern,” yet aging two-car garage.

wanna bet?

I am very excited about a gift that arrived unexpectedly in the mail yesterday! You see, when the in-laws were out for a visit to help ring in the New Year, it was determined that all I was lacking to make me truly happy was a plastic playing card caddy. I had been looking for one in all the obvious places… Toys R Us, Target, local pawn shops, etc., but no one seemed to have any in stock. Imagine if you can, my surprise when I opened the cardboard Miles Kimball box that the mailperson delivered and pulled out my very own SEE THRU cardholder. As if clear isn’t kool enough, this model also has a sort of lazy Susan base that allows it to rotate a full 360 degrees. Although I haven’t tested this yet, I have a theory that if you spin the caddy fast enough, you can completely eliminate the need for a dealer.

Given that I have spent a good deal of time over the past six months writing product descriptions for a web-based, southwestern building supply company, I couldn’t help surfing over to the Miles Kimball website to see for myself what they had to say about this amazing product. My favorite portion of the description reads, “Clear plastic holder keeps the deck and discard piles neatly separate, prevents confusion.” Yeah right… “prevents confusion”- if anything, it will only delay confusion. Nevertheless, if you play card games and don’t own a card caddy, I recommend that you buy one today. If not today, then do your best to pick one up no later than the end of the month. Keep in mind that February is one of the shortest months this year.

Sure, you might feel the urge to argue that playing cards won’t get my blogging done, but if you do, please email that complaint to me directly instead of adding it as a comment to my blog.



The card game being played in the photo is Phase 10. For readers unfamiliar with the game, I would have to describe it as an addictive combination of Uno and Yahtzee- but without all the screaming. The game is actually pretty laid back, more like Canasta- except with more colorful cards. If you’ve never played Phase 10… DON’T! Instead, take up something less frustrating like juggling or jogging or both.

Thinking back to the abovementioned visit, I recalled an event that was so amazing my subconscious had pretty much blocked it out entirely. While we were enjoying dinner at the diner, Mark (my father-in-law) made liars out of Buddy Hackett, Tim Conway, and a host of other celebrity spokespeople by eating a single wavy Lay’s brand potato chip. That’s right… JUST one! It was one of those moments that define an entire meal. I have to admit that I was very impressed. I guess I bought into the whole marketing strategy of Lay's that eating a single chip was an unobtainable quest. After all, how can you argue with a slogan that has been around longer than yourself? I celebrated Mark’s magnificent achievement by adding a second handful of chips onto my plate.

Isaac the Butcher

Final resting place of Isaac the Butcher

BLOGery

Home of Glorieta Beer

blue over yellow

Plaza Escalante is located in downtown Albuquerque at 414.5 Central Avenue SE. These intriguing adobe shops were constructed in the early 1930s by W.E. Anderson. According to my sources, Anderson was a carpenter by trade and lived in the adjacent Neo-Classical Revival house at 412 Central Avenue SE that he built around 1907. You can buy cookies there today that are as pleasing to the tummy as they are to the eye.

Archaeology Recipes 101

Curiously, people expressing a newfound interest in the daily routine of archaeologists almost always get around to asking, “What do you eat?” I guess they think we all eat chilled monkey brains as depicted in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. In reality, archaeologists tend to consume normal food just like regular people. Possibly, archaeologists do drink more beer.

I’ve heard that cooking blogs are all the rage these days, so I thought I’d pitch in and include a few recipes of my own in an attempt to kill a few mockingbirds with a single stone tool. Of course I don’t intend to post them all at once, as I wish to make interested readers feel like they have reasons to return and check out future installments.

First up is the Excavation PB&J Sandwich. Personally, I find the name somewhat misleading, as this classic sandwich makes for ideal eats on practically any archaeological project- be it an excavation, survey, research, or even while hidden away from the rest of the world in the belly of an archaeological laboratory. (Incidentally, people who work in archaeology laboratories oftentimes refer to themselves as “lab rats.”)

Preparation time averages about 3 minutes, assuming of course that you concentrate on the sandwich and don’t get distracted, or drawn into a lengthy argument with your co-workers about which came first- the pot or the shard. The key to making the perfect Excavation PB&J Sandwich is being prepared and having the essential ingredients on hand. Minimally, this includes bread, peanut butter, jelly, and raisins.



Bread: Use two slices of practically any type of bread, except garlic. If you’ve blown your per diem at one of the local bars and find yourself short of cash near the end of a 10-day field session, it is perfectly acceptable to gather uneaten slices of toast from the continental breakfast bar from your hotel in the morning. If you are too shy to do so while the rest of the crew is present, wait till everyone is in the vehicle and tell your crew chief that you forgot your compass and run back inside. An added benefit of that maneuver is that the vehicle will be well on the way to having been warmed to a comfortable temperature by the time you return.

Peanut Butter: Use Skippy! Skippy’s 16-ounce plastic jars fit easily into even the most moderate-sized dig kit without overcrowding. Forget those other name brands, and whatever you do, avoid anything that claims to be 100% natural. You’ll spend more time trying to stir the oil back into their butter to make it halfway spreadable, and regardless of what you may have been told by those lunatics on NPR… it won’t taste nearly as good.

Jelly: I won’t even begin to recommend a flavor since there are so many. Yet, grape, blackberry, and mixed fruit come to mind. Experienced archaeologists realize that traveling with glass jars of jelly or jam is as hazardous as it is impractical. Thus, it is recommended that you grab a handful of those little plastic jelly packets whenever you see them on your table at a restaurant. Free jelly is one of the earliest indications that a society is evolving into a socialistic mode. I bet you didn’t know that!

Raisins: You’ll want a handful of these little buggers for sure since constructing an Excavation PB&J Sandwich without raisins is paramount to making a pitcher of Kool-aid without water. Sure, you CAN do it, but why on earth would you want to? Both Sun-maid and Dole offer raisins in convenient travel-sized boxes, but those are usually cost prohibitive. Your hard earned per diem would be much better spent buying raisins in the rectangular 8-ounce boxes. Again, if you find yourself low on funds, odds are very good that you will be able to sweet talk one of the members of your crew out of a few raisins from their Trader Joe’s Trail Mix. Don’t worry if they have chili flavored trail mix. You can still salvage the raisins by soaking them in Coke. Use the peanut butter jar lid for this purpose, but be sure to rinse it off before screwing it back onto the jar. Otherwise, you’ll soon have a dig kit filled with ants. Be sure to begin the soaking process as soon as possible as the longer they are allowed to marinate in the Coke, the tastier your sandwich will be when you eat it.

You should take care to not offend anyone who offers you more trail mix than you actually want. If they should press you after you say “No thanks,” I find that it is generally easier to accept the offer with gratitude. Later you can always discard the unwanted materials in your back dirt pile when no one is looking.

Okay, with all the necessary ingredients gathered together, you are ready to construct a delicious Excavation PB&J Sandwich!

First, you’ll need to position your two slices of bread on a relatively clean surface. I normally employ my field notes for this purpose, but you may substitute any USGS 7.5 minute topographic map.



(I also use my handy weatherproof clipboard as shelter during light rain showers to prevent my bread from becoming soggy.) Anal-retentive people tend to make sure the slices of bread are laid out to mirror each other. Although this doesn’t really affect the overall taste, it could be important if you are concerned with presentation.

Next, trowel a glob of peanut butter across the exposed surface of the slice of bread that is either furthest north or west (obviously depending on how you are situated at the time). You should apply the peanut butter liberally to a depth of not less than 3 millimeters, making sure you end up with a level surface, but not necessarily “smooth.” A good rule of thumb is to add an additional millimeter of peanut butter for each increment of 10 degrees as temperatures plummet below 70 degrees (Fahrenheit).



Then, open three jelly packets and dump the contents onto the surface of the other slice of bread. You may substitute only two packets of jelly if you wish, but four packets is really too many. You will want to spread the jelly around on the bread using your trowel as before. There is no need to clean off any remaining peanut butter before this step, but I should mention that you WILL want to make sure you clean the majority of attached sediment from your trowel BEFORE you begin the peanut butter phase. Don’t sweat it if you didn’t since a little (hanta virus-free) dirt isn’t likely to cause long-term health problems. Besides, is it really a SANDwich if it is completely grit free?



With the slices of bread covered with appropriate lenses of peanut butter and jelly, it is time to add the raisins. If you’ve got them soaking in Coke, this would be the time to remove them from that container. Make sure that you always add the raisins to the jelly side of the sandwich. Sprinkle a handful across the jellied surface evenly, or if time permits, create an interesting design or likeness of a particular artifact you wish to find once you get back to digging. For instance, I’ve been known to add my raisins in the shape of a Clovis projectile point.



The final step involves lifting and flipping the slice of peanut buttered bread and placing it (peanut butter side down) on top of the jellied slice. Although you are likely starving at this point, it is very important that you take your time and complete this phase with a steady hand. One slip and the whole thing can land face down in the dirt, and will be reduced to food for ground monkeys. Also, don’t let anyone kid you into trying to flip the jellied side onto the peanut butter half. Previous studies have proven that this methodology is both flawed (Smuckers 1987) and “highly inefficient” (Goober and Peas 1992).





Now you are ready to kick back and enjoy one of the tastiest lunches known to mankind. Wonderful complements to this sandwich include Poore Brothers potato chips, Little Debbie brand snack cakes, and strawberry Twizlers.

A word on substitutions… I’d say that once you are comfortable with the process, go for it! As expressed previously, you really shouldn’t mess with the peanut butter. Bread is also an essential ingredient, but if you are REALLY in a fix, you may substitute plain strawberry Pop-tarts for the bread (and reduce the jelly to say a single packet). Also, you might enjoy substituting either candy corn or chocolate chips for the raisins, or honey for the jelly.



Dig in, and enjoy!

Is it April YET?

Hope you had a relaxing weekend

electronic bumper stickers

People are funny. Unfortunately, not in the Steve Martin style of funny, but more in an Andy Rooney sort of way. About as funny as driving down a road dotted with speed bumps after you’ve eaten too much spicy food at a Mexican restaurant.

What prompted this outburst is an email I recently received from some random person who had happened across Blog Kabin Fever. To make this entry longer than necessary, I’ll be referring to this mysterious person as “Mouth Breather.” I guess Mouth Breather assumed (incorrectly I should preface) that because I live in New Mexico and maintain my own blog, that not only would I agree with their political views and agendas, but that I would also be quite happy include a hyperlink in my cyberspace that would direct my own misguided readers to their blog where YOU would be completely assaulted with bizarre suburban myths and conspiracy theories so grand that nothing comparing to them has been heard (or in this case, read) since the latter days of the 2004 presidential race.

I think what bugs me most about this particular email, is wondering whether Mouth Breather even bothered to read my entries before cutting and pasting the insanity into an email and sending it my direction. I’m beginning to think that unwanted emails are the 21st century’s reincarnation of the phrase “AVON calling.”

Seriously… I can’t figure out this whole blogging trend. I do realize that I’m part of the problem rather than a solution. Friends and family are constantly sending me links to other blogs they find interesting. To be honest, I don’t read other blogs. Heck, I barely have time to write this one, let alone wade through the hundreds of thousands of other electronic journals floating around in the etherworld just waiting to suck.

Wasn’t it Benjamin Franklin who coined the phrase, “Read much, but not too many blogs?”

the boy who cried BLOG!

For those of you scoring at home or the office, I finally have some news regarding what some circles describe as my “abdominal concern.” Given that this topic has pretty much preoccupied my mind for a period not less than a number of weeks, I figure I should jump right into it and forget about trying to think of something interesting to write about.

The results of the previously discussed CT scan failed to indicate anything that could be causing pain or discomfort. With that in mind, my doctor referred me to a general surgeon to discuss options. I met with him this week, and after reading my chart and a general laying on of the hands, he announced that he didn’t detect anything in my gut that he could “fix” by cutting me open. Although I was in no position to argue with the man who said EXACTLY the words I wanted to hear, my brain couldn’t help comparing his examination with my newest trick of determining whether or not our mailbox contains mail simply by listening to the echo produced when I slide the key into the lock assembly.

We decided to just give it more time and see if the condition changes one way or the other. He did indicate that he could always stick a scope into my belly and see what he can see, but nobody really thinks that is warranted.

A couple of weird moments worth typing about played out in the office before I met with the surgeon. First, after the nurse weighed me in, she mentioned in passing that she probably should have asked me to remove my boots. I thought how strange that statement was to hear in this crazE, mixed up post-nine-one-one universe- as if I was thinking about using my boots to blow up their scale or something.

While taking my blood pressure, the same nurse asked, “So, have you ever had heart trouble?” Almost before I could begin thinking the worst, I replied “No.” Then she said that my pulse was barely 60, and suggested that that was outstanding for a person of my age. I laughed when she asked if I exercised often, as my normal daily routine is from bed to shower to truck, from truck to desk, back and forth between my desk and a Coke machine twice a day, then back to my truck, and finally… from my truck to the living room couch. What a workout! To think that it was nothing for me to survey at least 10 miles of highway a day for a decade and a fifth before becoming so sedentary.

Curious about the heart rate, I later looked online and learned that the average pulse for a relaxed adult is 72 beats per minute. So, unless my math is wrong, that means my heart has beat approximately 1,261,440,000 times in my lifetime- or 252,288,000 less than the average joker born under the same moon. Given that people always appear dumfounded when they discover how old I am, it makes me wonder if one of the tricks of looking younger than you are is related to having a slow heart rate and poor circulation. Undoubtedly, one of the best ways to look and feel older is to worry about things that you have absolutely no control over.

That said, you can stop wondering about my health, as I will have by the time I post this entry. Obviously with just over 79 days left until the beginning of baseball season, it is time to begin thinking about more pressing issues including whether or not the Albuquerque Isotopes will field a decent pitching staff.

My first archaeological dig

Okay, not really. These photos taken in Toulon, Illinois during my formative years (ca. 1967) actually depict me playing in (or near) the sandbox that I shared with my older brother and sister, stray cats, and numerous squirrels.

Early discoveries included mostly short-haired Barbie doll heads, fragments of Tonka trucks, acorns, and kitty scat. Although my documentation efforts were significantly hampered by my inability to read or write, it is obvious that even at a very young age, I had a great desire to dig.

Many years would pass before I would fill my first 5 gallon bucket with sediment to be screened for cultural artifacts.

blog and run

Okay, so I’m listening to Liz Phair as I compose this entry. Sue me if you don’t like it.

I fired up the new camera after work this evening and began the process of learning how everything works. Included in this entry are a couple of the first photos I took with my shiny new Nikon D70. I believe they mark the beginning of a very promising working relationship.



This first image is a shot of a reproduction of a Margaret Keane painting from 1961. My wife likes this style of art, whereas I tend to gravitate more towards the drawings of Gary Larson and Berkeley Breathed for inspiration. If asked to name my favorite living painter, I would respond by asking if you are familiar with the works of Bev Doolittle.

This other image is of a draft horse figurine that I recently obtained from my grandmother. My grandfather collected these things for many years before he passed away, and I always thought they were the koolest! I’m very pleased to have one of my own now.



I’m not a big horse person, so I may have a few holes in my history facts. I understand that draft horses peaked as the dominating source of industrial power across the United States around 1920. It makes sense then, that my grandfather would have fond memories of draft horses as he would have been familiar seeing them working on the farm and helping build roads and used in other construction projects when he was a kid. No doubt he would have noticed their rapid decline in popularity as they began being replaced by the automobile when he was about 8 years old.

I’m taking tomorrow off work so I can get a haircut and take care of any last minute Santa-related preparations that need tending to. The pending haircut reminds me of my favorite barber joke…

Q: “What’s the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut?”

A: “About two or three days.”

Before you post a comment explaining how lame you think that joke is, please keep in mind that I never typed that it was funny. I tend to laugh at lots of things that aren’t that funny.

yule blog

I made a quick stop at the grocery store on my way home this evening after a LONG day at the office. I picked up a few essentials and made a beeline for the express lane. Although I was under the 15-item limit, my purchases were large and heavy enough to require me to utilize a shopping cart.

I pushed the buggy (I call shopping carts “buggies”) across the frozen parking lot and unloaded my items into my truck. I was going to abandon the cart where it was parked… not so much because I’m lazy, mind you, but because it was freezing outside. Besides, I already know what I’m getting for Krismas. I figure, how good do I have to be at this point?

At any rate, I quickly scanned the parking lot to see who (if anyone) was watching me. I’d hate to leave a cart in the middle of a parking lot, only to see myself on the evening news portrayed as “part of the problem.”

I noted that the Salvation Army bell ringer wasn’t concerned with my buggy etiquette, then observed a man sitting behind the steering wheel in an old white pickup truck. This dude looked exactly like the robot gunslinger from the movie Westworld, and he was looking right at me. His icy stare seemed to slice right through the winter wind, my coat and flannel shirt, and right through my Generation X veins. I decided I didn’t want to take any chances with this fellow, so I pushed the buggy an extra 35 feet over to the aluminum corral where I left it all by it’s lonesome.

While driving home, I wondered what I would do if I wake up tomorrow only to discover that I’m just a character in a new Michael Crichton novel. If that should be the case, I’m going to definitely quit my job and sleep in.

ticket to BLOG

I heard this week that Paul McCartney is scheduled to perform during this season’s Super Bowl halftime show. I guess if anything positive resulted from last year’s fiasco, it is that the people in charge were forced to bite the bullet and hire a professional entertainer. Still, it leaves me wondering… whatever happened to Wings?

I was thinking about John Lennon earlier this afternoon. I think it had something to do with having watched a special about the Madrid train bombings this past March on the tellE the previous evening. I wondered what message John (okay, and Yoko) might have had for the terrorists if he were still alive today. After considerable pondering, I decided that although I couldn’t predict with any degree of accuracy what he might have said (after all, I’m no John Lennon), I felt comfortable with my assessment that he would have delivered his message in a funny accent, and it would have almost certainly rhymed. Would his statements or reclusive love-ins serve to stop acts of terrorism? Highly unlikely, but his entertaining hijinx would have been a welcome distraction nonetheless.

In keeping with the Beatles “theme,” I should mention that I am excitedly anticipating the arrival of a DVD from Netflix in the mail entitled “Concert for George.” This movie is a live recording of a concert held at Royal Albert Hall in London in 2002- marking the one-year anniversary of the death of George Harrison. I’m led to believe that this film contains some outstanding performances by musicians including Eric Clapton, Tom Petty, Ravi Shankar, and Jeff Lynne (to name a few). Supposedly, they will be performing the songs of George Harrison- perhaps the most talented of the Fab Four. If you catch yourself smirking or scratching your head while reading that last statement, let me remind you that it was George who gave us Time Bandits.

And what blog entry discussing the Beatles would be complete without a statement about Ringo Starr?

This one!

roadside distractions

Shadows of the Mother Road

Sorry, really no time to think of much of interest to write once again as I've been spending my free time researching what camera I want to buy. (Settled on the Nikon D70) I will be posting photos taken with the new camera before the new year strikes.

I also have been working through a few serious issues with my commercial website, but that all seems to be under control now.

medical update: News from the radiologist and doctor indicates that my abdominal pain is "real," although it has yet to be determined what sort of treatment will be required beyond drinking beer and trying not to think about it.

Caution Horses 101

Caution: Horse in mirror may be closer than it appears

KAT scan fever

Well, I guess we’re either all friends here, or strangers, so this topic should be appropriate for this forum. After dealing with an intermittent “pain” in my right abdomen for the past several, well, let’s call them “months,” my doctor has tentatively diagnosed my condition as having an “incisional hernia.” The best way I can describe the sensation is having a pulled muscle that seems to get better, only to begin throbbing again. Basically, the belief is that the area surrounding the location where I had abdominal surgery as a toddler has become weak, and I may be in danger of literally spilling my guts to the world. Okay, perhaps not quite literally, but when it comes to doctors and medical procedures, I tend to paint pictures with my most dramatic brush.

With that in mind, today I went in for a CAT scan (or CT scan for medical purists). I should add that I had talked to enough people who had had one (or more) before hand to really make me uncomfortable with the waiting process. The waiting was undoubtedly the worst part as it allowed the crock pot of my overactive imagination to nearly boil over, spilling uncertainty and doubt all over the countertop.

No wait, the WORST part of the whole deal was having to drink this milky krap called “Ready-CAT” (or something along that line). The liquid is a contrast material that I suppose coats your innards in order to allow for the clearest and most accurate images. I was told to drink almost a full liter of this white fluid in two sittings about an hour before my scheduled appointment. As it turned out, my valve and gag reflex conspired to make it take me a full three hours to get about 98 percent of the stuff down my gullet. Luckily I had plenty of time to get it down though since things don’t always go as planned.

I would imagine that any of you who have already experienced a CT scan would just as soon enjoy your web surfing time by looking at photos of my outrageous kitties than continue with this particular ranting. But for the rest of you…

A CT (computed tomography) scan, uses special x-ray equipment to obtain image data from different angles around the body. Then computers take those data and process them in order to depict cross-sections of body tissues and organs. When it comes to studying the abdominal region of the human body, I’m told that this is the next best tool besides a very sharp knife. CT scanning is also apparently very good to help diagnose problems inside the chest, identifying cancers, aiding in the treatment of spinal problems and injuries to the skeletal structure.

Although many hospitals have dedicated CT scanners in their emergency room to help quickly identify internal injuries for trauma cases, I learned the hard way today that that isn’t always the situation, and oftentimes, hospitals only have one CT scanner. If you MUST go, I think my best advise is to tell you to be prepared for a wait. If waiting isn’t possible, I suppose you might consider crashing your car into a light pole in the parking lot near the emergency room door as that would almost certainly grab someone’s attention.

The hospital I went to is in the middle of a large reconstruction project, which lent areas of the place a surreal, almost wartime quality. I believe that was the most interesting observation I had inside the hospital. Nevertheless, I was taken to a mobile CT scanning unit in the parking lot behind the hospital. It reminded me of the semi-truck used to haul Evel Knievel's bikes around the country in search of the next great jump location. “Fine,” I thought, “I’ll do the CT scan here, but if it is determined that I need surgery, I’ll shop around as I’m not overly keen on the idea of being opened up in a parking lot with the sign from a Burlington Coat Factory in clear view."

As instructed, I wore comfortable, loose-fitting (yet moderately stylish) clothing for my CT scan. I wasn’t issued a gown, and since they were only interested in my stomach, I was even allowed to leave on my eyeglasses and ring. I suspect I could have left on a gold chain had I been wearing one at the time.

The CT scanner is a large, square machine with a hole in the center, something like a doughnut. I was made to lie still on a table that moves up and down, and also slides into and out of the center of the hole. Covered with a sheet with my jeans pulled down to my ankles, my feet were propped up on a heavy pillow. I was so comfortable at that point, I do believe I could have dozed off if not for the fact that I was waiting to have an iv jabbed into my arm. I was told that the iv is used to administer iodine into my bloodstream that would enhance visibility. The technician also told me that I would experience a few moments of heat spreading throughout my body and a metallic taste in my mouth. Possibly, she added, I would experience itching, hives (those are always fun), shortness of breath, or swelling in my throat.

As the table began moving and inserting me into the doughnut feet first, I took one last “good” swallow and did my best to relax. I opened my eyes and found myself staring directly into the General Electric logo on the front of the scanner. Trying to further relax my body, my brain offered in its Robert Heinlein robot voice “This brief taste of your own mortality is brought to you by GE.” I didn’t laugh, but somehow it did manage to make me feel more at ease.

The next few minutes went quickly. I was moved in and out of the doughnut on the magic table as the x-ray clicked and whirred all around. First it was above me, then below, then to my left, then to my right, and then again to my left but slightly behind… Whew, I soon gave up trying to keep track of what it was doing, and concentrated on my new game of pretending that I was levitating and making myself move back and forth by sheer will alone.

I was still quite cold, and hadn’t tasted any metal when the technician reappeared from wherever it is technicians disappear to, and began apologizing for having stuck me in the arm when I didn’t actually require the iodine injection. I forgave her immediately when I realized that she was informing me that I was done and could go home. Funny, I suspect I would have argued with a mechanic if I went to pick up my truck and he told me they had accidentally rotated the tires when all I wanted was an oil change.

Now I’m back to the old waiting game- to see how the radiologist and my doctor interpret the results, and to find out whether my stomachache is actually located in my head.

In the meanwhile, I do believe that today’s dose of radiation already has me feeling better.