I procrastinate the heck out of everything.

Three things: One, I love camping. Two, I actually enjoy the chore of preparing for a camping trip. And three, I am a horrible procrastinator.

Lets break things down, one by one, shall we?

1. I love camping:

Ever since I was a little child, even as far back as I can remember, we have been a camping family. As a child I have fond memories of racing our bikes around the loop at Fallen Leaf Lake, or hiking to the crater at Mt. Lassen, driving for hours on end as we made our way into Canada in order to do genealogy projects, or just taking a road trip across the salt flats on the way to Utah to see relatives who live in Holiday.

Back then, we didn’t have DVD players in cars and we didn’t have iPods. We drove station wagons, and our entertainment came from each other, from the use of the CB Radio (which we always had when traveling in a family caravan). And if all else failed, we always had books (What? Reading? What is that?). So for hours on end (and if you have ever driven across Nevada on Interstate 80, you know there is almost nothing to see there; once you get to Utah and salt flats start, there is even less to see). But as a whole, I don’t remember complaining too much about being bored when traveling. Once we reached our destination, tents were made, fires were lit, bikes were ridden, and lakes and streams were swum in. And once things settled down, we sat around the campfire pit and roasted marshmallows and ate smores.

Now, a few years later in life, I still enjoy all of those things, except maybe the bike riding around the loop. But I love to swim, I love to sit around the campfire, and I love to be away from the hustle and bustle of life at home while I sit around the campfire with a warm cup of coffee.

In a few days, Iver and I are headed to Albion for five days of fun on the California coast. The worst part (or the best, depending on how we look at it) is our wives are not going. And without them there to keep us in check, there is a good chance the two of us will do something stupid.

So what’s not to love about that??

2. I enjoy the chore of preparing for a camping trip:

When I was young and just a lazy kid, I rarely had to go through the pain of actually making sure things were ready for a camping trip. So I can’t say much about that. That particular task probably fell to my father who never bothered to check in with me about what he was doing. But now, if I want to go camping, the task falls to me. And this is something I enjoy.

Sadly, the next two nights are going to be very busy for me. I have a union meeting tonight, I have to go to the gym, and I haven’t done a thing to actually prepare for this trip (which I will be covering in more specific detail in the next section). So tonight, after I run at the gym, I’ll be in the garage getting things together for my trip down to the coast. And I can’t wait. I enjoy going through my gear, finding the things I need, weeding out the things I don’t need. And for this particular trip, I’ll actually be packing pretty light. I don’t need a tent, or mattress. So I don’t need the tarp or some of the other accoutrements that goes along with that. I don’t need to pack a stove, nor any other cooking utensils.

I need my sleeping bag, a pillow, clothes and personal items, my dive gear, and some miscellaneous food items. And that’s it. Sounds easy right? So why on earth, after having three days off, did I not get this all done when I had plenty of time to do it?

For this answer, I come to the next section.

3. I am a horrible procrastinator:

This, in and of it self, should be pretty self-explanatory. What else is there to say, really? I had three days off. And I had very little that actually needed doing. And I got none of it done. So what can I really say about that? Procrastination has always been one of my weak points. In fact, as far as I can remember, it’s always been one of my weak points. So I’m simply planning on it always being a weak point that I need to over come.

So tonight, I will begin the process of getting packed. I have tonight and tomorrow night that I need to get this done. Saturday night, after work, I’ll be going to Iver’s to load up the truck with firewood. And Sunday morning we are planning on leaving.

So I need to get the packing complete so the stupidity can begin.

My chicken was curried.

When I was a wee lad I had to make my own lunches for school. At a quick glance, one might think my mother was either uninvolved or simply uncaring, but nothing could really be farther from the truth. In fact, my mother was quite involved and caring, and made my lunch for me every single day, up until the day when I complained so relentlessly over the contents of my lunch she told me something like this, “If you don’t like the lunch I make for you, you can make your own.” And so I did. And if I didn’t make a lunch, I simply went hungry at school, and I had no one to blame but myself. And thus I began to cook for myself.

Over the years I had spent more and more time in the kitchen, but my forays into the culinary world were somewhat brief and rather timid in their very nature. It all began with the egg sandwich. A devilish little bugger, the egg sandwich can be varied according to whatever whim strikes you at the moment. Want ham on that? You got it. Want a different kind of cheese? You got it. Want a biscuit instead of bread? You got it.

And thus I entered the realm of making food according to my own desires and whims. Granted, this wasn’t a very big step towards culinary greatness, but it was a step none the less.

Over time, my ambition into the realm of food has grown, and I have found myself taking bigger and bigger steps. This is not to say there hasn’t been some stumbling along the way. For example, I made some fried bananas not to long ago and was extremely disappointed with the results. Our friends, who were with us for dinner and attempting to eat this dessert, made a good showing of pretending to like it. Of course, there have been some great successes long the way as well. For example, I tried my hand at baking not to long ago, and made crepes for a desert. And wow, were they tasty. Tasty!!

I am somewhat sad to admit, though, I am a timid chef. For one, I am completely lost and confused when it comes to the subject of spices and herbs. Any baboon probably knows salt, pepper and garlic are one of the sweetest combinations on earth. So what about parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme? According to Simon and Garfunkel they go well together; but even if they do, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue what type of food to prepare with such a concoction.

And so it is with me. I do love food. And there is so much of it out there, and so many ways to prepare it, and I am too lazy to look for them.

Pathetic, I know. But now I am working to overcome this deficiency. This weekend, I am going to prepare one of my favorite dishes: Yellow Curry Chicken over Rice. There are lots of types of curry in the world; this particular version originates in South East Asia.

I have spent my entire weekend here at work obsessing over this venture. I have scoured the internet looking for curry recipes. I have read eleventy-billion comments people have written on the different recipes. What I really want to do is basically recreate a recipe from a little diner in Arcata, called Japhy's.

Japhy's, located in hippie heaven, is really quite an amazing little restaurant. Soups made to order and the curry of the day.

And the curry, wow. So good. Thus far, I think my favorite is the yellow curry. And it is worth the drive to Arcata just to try. I highly recommend you do so.

So with some determination, and a little bit luck, I set out to recreate this recipe. I had an idea of how I wanted to do it. So first I went to the Asian market. Ten bucks later, I was on my way home with some curry paste and coconut milk. I did a little chopping of vegetables, and a smashing of garlic, and everything went into the slow cooker. I threw the chicken into the cooker as well, thinking to let it just sit in the combination of broth and milk and spices for about four hours before I return to it.

About 4 hours later I returned and removed the chicken and shredded it. Then, stirred it back in, added in some cilantro, and let it sit for about another two hours. And walla!!

So good, so juicy, so tender, and poured over rice, so comforting in the belly.

What?? I strayed from the easy and predictable formula and found myself doing something new and fun and wham-o! Dinner was a complete success.

So what does this tell me? I need to stray from the formula a little more often.

Money Matters

Lets face facts here, I am not a financially responsible person.  In fact, I am diametrically opposed to such a title.  If there were a title for a guy like me, it would be really long and take up too much space, include a few swear words, and in general could be summed up with something simple like this: I am completely incompetent when it comes to matters of money. 

D, on the flip side, is ridiculously meticulous with the ledger books.  I'm not sure how she got this way, really.  From the horror stories of her past financial dealings, I don't know that she was really much better than me.  But some how, some way, she grew up in this area. And now, at any given time, she can track our finances to the penny.  And she does it all with a pencil and paper. 

So, given these two examples, of financial greatness and fiscal incompetency, its really a wonder to me that she ever trusts me with anything financial.

(Que the dream sequence chimes as we fade to the scenario of a few days ago....)

There I was, getting ready to run a few errands with Ben and D asked me to stop by the bank and, (a) deposit a check, and (b) withdraw twenty dollars.  Seemed simple enough at the time.  And like most people on earth, we have more than one account.  So she specified which account she wanted it in and which account she wanted the twenty to come out of (which was the same account; again, simple enough). 

So I put on the charm, flashed my winning smile, and reassured her that her worries were for naught, and I would make sure and put everything where it was supposed to go.   The boy and I then left, check in hand, and went to the bank.  I pulled up, went to the ATM, inserted my card and found myself taking a pop quiz.

"In to which account would like to deposit this check?"

Since when did going to the ATM involve multiple choice questions?  And of course, the accounts are labels by nothing but numbers.  It might have well asked, "What is the square root of 432,444,541,937?"

So I panicked.  And I made my choice.  I thought, for the moment, I made the right choice.  I so overwhelmed by the task at hand, and then so relieved I had made the "right" choice I completely forgot to get the twenty out.  So I had to re-insert my card and start a new ATM transaction. 

"From which account would you like to withdraw twenty dollars?"

Another multiple choice question. This time, though, for some reason that is unknown to the universe at hand, I didn't even balk at the question and simply made a choice (which, in hind sight, was the wrong one).  And I moved on to take Ben to a promised dinner of just he and Dad.

It was about five  minutes later when there was a thunderstorm of activity in my brain that said, "Hey stupid, you are really stupid!!"  I then found myself looking at the receipts from the two transactions and realized none of the numbers matched the consectutive transactions like they should have. 

Uh-oh.

Now, in theory, this really should be a simple thing to fix.  Hop on the internet, log on to said bank web site, and make a few balance transfers.  Boom!  Done!  No hastle!  Right??

WRONG!!!!!

Remember, that was nothing more than a theory; and as we all know, theories are often proved to be wrong.  Like mine just above.  For the one who does everything twice its a lot more complicated than that, and the tone in her voice as I described what happened told me all I needed to know.

Funny how these things work really.  In a rather abrupt and somewhat unfinished feeling closing to this post, I'll end by saying this:  D is quite the accountant.  And I owe my generally good financial situation to her and her alone.

So for that, I'll take the grumpiness when I manage to send things a fowl in the banking department. 

The Great Two Wheeled Dilema

I have been wrestling with this post for a few days, and in the interim, I simply posted some fluff regarding stupid commercials. Now, however, its time to actually say my peace about a particular subject.

About, oh, 12 years ago I purchased a motorcycle, a 1994 Honda Shadow VT600CD. A simple and fairly entry level bike with an engine size of 583 cubic centimeters. In the world of motorcycles this is considered a small bike. And really it is. With just me on it, it’s a nice ride. With a passenger, though, it really begins to lag. But I am generally the only rider, and I am really quite content with it for now.

For a bike that is 16 years old it’s in great shape, and quite honestly, a lot of fun. So for the next few years I rode the heck out of that thing. I commuted to work, I went on Saturday rides, and I was all over the place.

Then I moved to Humboldt County. I had no one to ride with and slowly I rode less and less. And eventually, the cost of a little maintenance got in my way and I garaged the thing.

Fast forward six years to the present. My good friend Dean, after making some life changing decisions, decided he wanted to get a motorcycle. His wife was supportive and soon the purchase was made. I know what some people may be thinking, something like, “Oh my! Those things are dangerous! He’ll kill himself!!”

To these nay-sayers, I say, “*%#* off.” In actuality, there is just as much chance as any accident happening to me or anyone else, as soon as I wake up in the morning. Are there some inherent dangers to riding a motorcycle? Well of course. But as long as one is responsible, and takes the proper safety precautions, it can be an extremely enjoyable thing to do.

And so I began the quest to get my bike in running condition. It’s been a rather lengthy process, but overall, hasn’t been too bad. In the meantime, Dean had to opportunity to ride north into Washington with a friend, and he took it.

The other day, I got a phone call at home from Iver. It started like this, “First off, I want to assure you that Dean is OK.” This, for everyone’s reference, is not the way you want any conversation to start. Long story short, he had a pretty good wreck while in the area of Longview, WA. He has been in the hospital with a little bit of internal bleeding because of a lacerated spleen. He has been recovering, and is scheduled to come home today, and spend some time recovering.

Now comes the question I have: Will he ride again? There are going to be a slew of people who are going to be stopping by to see how he is doing, and then will turn around and tell his wife and say, “I just knew he shouldn’t buy a bike. You’re not going to let him ride anymore are you?” And to those types of people, with that particular attitude, again I say, “%#*& off!”

There are a dozen things we do every day that could kill us. And lets face the honest truth, at any given time, under any given circumstances, getting into a vehicle accident is a simply a possibility. But if it’s something a person enjoys, then let the person alone to his own devices.

I have had to sit on the sidelines, watching with great envy as my friend spent his weekends riding around the north coast. My bike is coming home from the shop, hopefully today, and will be in perfect running order. And I have to admit, I hope this doesn’t sour my friend on motorcycle riding.

I know it won’t be my decision, I know I don’t want to be some sort of influence that is contrary to what ever he and his family may decide.

But I can still hope, can’t I?

The network is pandering crap to my kid.

Anyone with a child will know exactly what I am about to complain about.

I'm talking about all these stupid products sold on television stations like Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network.  For example, I just watched a commercial for what is called a Fushigi Gravity Ball.  This is used for the "sport" of contact juggling.  What, pray tell, is contact juggling?  Well, lets refer to you tube.



The first time I saw something like this was watching the Jim Henson movie Labyrinth (which, by the way, is a great movie and I recommend it to anyone who is a fan of Jim Henson's work).  I myself have attempted this little feat, to no avail.  Either its really hard to do, or I just suck (I would tend to lean toward the latter on this one).

But these blasted commercials make these things look like its a perfectly natural and easy process to make this sphere appear to defy gravity.  And of course, it can all be yours for the most affordable price of 19.99, plus shipping and handling. Do I really expect the boy to be able to acquire one of these crazy items and actually pick it up and simply start wowing the crowds?

What about Floam?  Anyone familiar with Floam?



Looks pretty neat, huh? Its all good in commercial format. But lets look at the reality of the crap the are pandering to little kids across the world:



I'm pretty  sure if my kid opened that sticky, slimy mess on Christmas morning, after paying anywhere from 10 to 30 bucks (plus shipping and handling of course) I would be pretty pissed off.

I don't exactly remember these types of commercials being played when I was a kid (although I'm sure they were there).  But what bothers me is watching the glitter in the boy's eyes as he sees something incredibly cool on one of these commercials and I have to be the one to tell him whatever the wondrous product is, its crap.  Lucky me. 

Now, on a further note, I watched a commercial last night for these little pasty things to attach to your boobs to giver yourself an instant lift.  And of course, they are only ten bucks, plus shipping and handling.  But wait!!  Act now and they will double the order!  That's 20 pasties for the price of ten!  I too could have a more supportive look and a little cleavage. 

Lucky me.  Perhaps its time I started reading more often.