Crunchy Taco

He opened his present with the excitement of a five-year-old boy who forgot Christmas was that morning. The new keys gleamed in his hand, and the shiny truck chirped happily when he pressed the button. Shining Lunar Mist, eye-blinking chrome reflecting the sunlight, and hiking boots for tires were the order of the day, and his happiness at the long future they would have together was contagious. Never was a little boy, er... grown man... so glad to have a new truck. He left his new found joy in the hands of a capable brother when it came time to leave the city. He knew it would be there, waiting for him upon his return. But then... Mini Van was hungry, and couldn't be satisfied by anything, except, a little Taco. Out from the right and across two lanes she jumped, grabbing the little Taco by his boots and flipping him onto his head. His heart was still beating as he slowly, but certainly slowed, and then... No one could prepare him for the call. No one did, as a matter of fact. The only words of comfort was that it was quick. Quick and spectacular, with sparkling glass, breaking out of doors, and stories of survival that will live through the centuries. Well... perhaps just a few weeks. Either way, The little Taco has seen his last day.

Oh, just a final note: The brother is in excellent shape and was the voice of reason. He calmed the owner of that crazed hungry minivan right down.

Around the Bend

I've had a song by Marty Robbins stuck in my head...


Just married this morning, how happy they are.
Just Married written on the window of the car.
It broke my heart to see them drive away.
I lost the one I love today.

Dressed all in white satin, white lace in her hair.
She looked so lovely, it was more than I could bear.
Some people guessed the way I felt inside.
They saw the tears I could not hide.

I should have stayed at home, I knew what was in store.
But something made me come to see her just once more.

Just married this morning, how happy they are.
Just Married written on the window of the car.
It broke my heart to see them drive away.
I lost the one I love today.

Window to No Where

I had what we lovingly refer to as a Bryce moment. I suppose I should explain...

Dr. Bryce Rytting is a professor at the University where I studied. A musical genius to be sure, and loaded with the most endearing idiosyncrasies ever imbued into one person.

One day, while in the Men's Room doing... well, whatever it is men to in a men's room, I looked up to find Bryce walking into the WC with all the grace of Michael Richards in prominent character.

"Jarom?" Says he.

"Yes?"

"Has this bathroom always been here?"

"Well, Yes" Says I.

"Hmmm.." Says He; and continued. "Do you know when I discovered this room?"

"Just now?"

"Just now..."

And with Kramer-esque grace started for the door.

"Wait!" "I mean no disesteem, but how long have you been here?"

He turned to me. "Nine years..." And rushed out.



Now... I told you that story so I could tell you this one; the excitement level may not me as high, but it was reminiscent of that day.


I recently got into a house. It's red brick, two stories and a basement-all liveable. I live in the top apartment, and three friends rent the bottom. I've been keeping up on home improvement for the last few months; roof leaks, broken toilets, etc., have kept me busy when I'm home, but it's worth it.

I've walked around the home dozens of times since moving here--it's been a year--and never really noticed the window on the NW side of the home. I noticed it this time, noted it was frosted over and thought: "That's strange.."

It is strange. There isn't a window in the inside of the NW wall in the front room.

So, yep. End of story, and start of a confused homeowner...

Cloudy With a Chance of Gecko

Have you ever experienced the profound slowing of time following an unwise decision? It wasn't the view from the drive in, it was a flying reptilian.

Enter me: 6'3", 240 pounds, tough, sledgehammer wielding, all-around-good guy. Pan to the enemy. A six-foot platform made of galvanized steel with a wood deck. The deck is fastened to the steel by way of some weather-weakened screws. It's Guam and the decks are only a hundred yards or so from the beach. Salt water has had it's way with any exposed metal and has turned it into dust.

Well, It's going to take forever to try and remove screws says I; let us pry the boards up. Hmmm. That's going to take a while too... Ok, 15 pound sledgehammer time...

It was going so well; just a swing under the boards would sent them flying six feet into the air. That is until the hammer hit a 12-foot board half eaten by termites. Dozens of geckos and a few thousand small termites flying through the air in a graceful slow-motion toward my face, neck and exposed skin, and a strange wiggle-dance later. The score was local natives-1, tough guy-0.

Oh well, at least my 14-foot coconut-stick worked; soft coconut topped off with a full glass of chilled tangy-sweet coconut water... so good.






P.S. The photo at the top is the road out to the range-which is the large light-green cleared area.

and... for your viewing pleasure... I present the offending platform(s)

Mighty Change of Heart

Isn't it strange, that all of the sudden people everywhere are deciding to overthrow the oppressive dictators and show just how insane/crazy/silly/goofy these dictators can be?

I was thinking about a funny spin to put on this, but there isn't one that could be made in good taste.

People in liberated cities are smiling and hugging in the streets.

Maybe it's time to really make sure those lamps are full my friends...

Things happen fast.

Everything's Amazing and Nobody's Happy

I was driving through Wisconsin today-through an intense snowstorm-and I thought: "Wow, here I sit comfortable, warm, and driving a 4000+ pound piece of comfort and luxury through the sub-freezing hell of snow and ice... at 65 miles an hour."

Then just to be sure I was truly grateful, I slid the window down by pressing the button for a moment-letting off of it to make full-use of the auto-down feature. My hand found it's way outside and into the blast of freezing wind where it quickly became numb from the cold and ice...

What is it that causes some people to feel so gosh-darn entitled? I remember sitting on a flight next to an inebriated fellow who just couldn't seem to understand why I didn't understand just how much he hated 'this _____ flight.' I suppose alcohol can help a person forget how they just said the same thing five minutes ago, so I let it slide, but I could barely suppress a laugh at his freak-out stereotype. You know... the kind who panic in the crisis/disaster/plane crash movie and get people maimed before being sucked into a jet engine or eaten by a giant snake.

I wonder what Lewis CK would say to him:



...I pulled my hand back inside the Jeep Grand Cherokee, pulled up on the power-window-only for a second because that's all it takes before the auto-up feature takes over-and looked over at start button where there's usually a key-hole. (This particular jeep has no need for a key as it senses the key's proximity and automatically unlocks the doors and lets a person start the engine with the push of a button.)

I smiled to myself and laughed at a memory triggered by the blizzard going on all around me.

Dear steadfast devotees of the School of the Thankful,

Let us remember just how wonderful life is, and just how pleasant indoor water closets really are!

The Debatables

So, there I was, sitting on a flight from Salt Lake to Detroit. A gentleman next to me started a conversation about flights, family, and other things that eventually turned to the topic of religion. Turns out, the man was originally from Salt Lake; he was chock full of stories about his missionary parents, his family history, etc. but told me; as he took as sip from his gin & tonic, that he was a firm unbeliever in the church.

I'm not a hostile type of person, whether in discussion or good-old-fashioned arguments; a person can learn a lot more with understanding and a listening ear. So, despite my wickedly deep-seated and voluntarily-repressed competitive streak, I just listened and interjected only when the unspoken cues permitted.

It conversation went on for a few minutes, and his points were slowly and kindly whittled away by his own sense of reasoning until he started to realize what he was doing to himself. He was kind about it, but simply said "I'm done talking now."

I helped myself to the magazine he'd offered earlier, and thought about so many other conversations and opportunities I've had to talk about the same subject. I've often wondered what has come of some of the people I've spoken with.

...and I thought of this:



Just a related thought. Humans have bred dogs for thousands of years, and there's a fantastic variety in breeds, but in the end they are all the same species. They all share the same genes, and can all-size variables aside-interbreed with one another. What does it all mean!?