The Joy of having Two Dogs

Like a parent who can't stop talking about how awesome their kids are, I gotta share how great it is to have my second dog, Max, in the family.  He was a "gift of desperation" from my cousin and his family - as I was about to leave their house after spending a month with them late last year, my cousin's wife Wanda said to me "PLEASE take a dog" (she had a litter of 4 puppies and they were... active, to say the least).  So I got Max, a black standard poodle. 

In a rare effort towards brevity, I'll just say this:  you gotta see Homer (my 10 year old stray) and Max play together.  It brings the biggest smile to my face.  The young dog makes the old dog feel and look young.  The old dog shows patience and playfulness that I aspire to at his age.  Wanna see pictures of my babies?? 

Holy Shit!! Fire!!!

Okay, maybe not an actual fire but Marge was filled with smoke.  Electrical fire smoke.

Let's face it - finding smoke in your abode ain't fun.  Finding it in the home you've sunk 18+ months worth of work into makes it even suckier.  Finding electrical fire smoke in something that you wired yourself will make you wanna puke.  So there I was, scared to death that my home was in the process of going up in flames, just like those creepy cars I've seen burning on the side of the road.  From what I've seen of those car fires in the past, once the fire starts, the firemen present have to just watch it burn as there's little they can do about it.  Icky smells, burning metal "PING!!"ing and black, black smoke rising into the air.  This is all I could think about.

I've been in Nashville for the last couple of weeks doing some work on my rental house.  I've been up to my ass renovating the house's kitchen, rebuilding the staircase and generally fixing the wear and tear that 8+ years of renting does to a house.  I spend most of my days inside the house while Marge bakes in the Tennessee heat all day in the driveway.  About noon, I needed something from my toolbox inside Marge so I came out to get it, my mind focused on the tasks at hand inside the house.  When I saw the smoke I pretty much freaked.  Neither Homer nor Max were inside, thankfully.

I frantically ran around inside Marge, mentally reviewing all the electrical work I've done over the last many months - was it the inverter?  The air conditioner?  Some half-assed wiring job I did just to get the lights on one evening?  There was no telling...

Long story short, it was my refrigerator.  I installed it over a year ago and it's done yeoman's duty ever since, keeping my bachelor staples of beer, Dr. Pepper, pickle relish and chicken wings nice and chilly.  Apparently there was a defect in a component that caused a wire to melt its plastic home.  That HAS to be the cause - it couldn't be my shade-tree electrician skills :)   Here's the charred remains:

Sure doesn't look scary now, does it?  Regardless, my pickles, Dr. Pepper and chicken wings are now SOL as the-little-fridge-that-could-be-a-fire-hazard is now taking up residence OUTSIDE Marge.  And for those of you out there wondering, neither Homer nor Max, who were in the backyard about 10 feet away, reacted at all.  Worthless bastards.  Thus, I won't be renaming either one of them "Hero" but I'm considering "Shithead".  

BRAINS!!! MUST EAT BRAINS!!!

As long as I can remember, my mom would get all worked up whenever "brain sandwiches" came up.  I've always been disgusted with the idea.  All I could picture was a white gooey mess squishing out from between a hamburger bun as someone bit into one messy and nasty sandwich.  But to mom, this appeared to be the equivalent of caviar.  She grew up in Evansville, IN where, as I understand it, there are a lot of German folks.  Apparently Deutschlanders are crazy for the brain.

So with all this in mind, I set out for the Hilltop Inn in west Evansville to join my folks, my aunt Sharlot, uncle David and some distant Walton cousins I haven't seen in many years.  The goal - a meal of gray matter.

You know, I've noticed that people rarely tell you what sound a meat made before it was sliced up and put on your plate.  Did it moo?  Did it whinny?  Did it snort (I think that's what pigs do)?   No, they just say "have some ribs!" or even worse just "It's Bar-B-Que!!".  It makes me think of what Jack, John and I experienced way back in 1991 during our Europe adventure - at a street fair somewhere in Belgium, we saw some yummy meat cooking and, when we asked what it was, the nice lady said in her broken English "theees eeez flesh of a pig and theees eeeez flesh of a cow".  No such luck at the Hilltop Inn - the menu just said "Jumbo Brain Sandwich".  So I ordered one.

The verdict - hell, anything fried doesn't suck too much.  But I gotta be honest, that will probably be my last brain sandwich.  I could feel my gag reflex kicking in while I was swilling that grey matter around in my mouth.  Everyone else around me was oohing and ahhing about the fine vittles so I did my best to keep it together and focus my grubbing efforts on my side items.

By the way, it turns out the brain I ate came from a pig.  It, no doubt, compelled it to eat and root in shit.  And I bet he wasn't very charming, definitely not as charming as that Arnold on "Green Acres".  Whodathunked filthy animals had such big brains!

#1 #1

Dateline: New Orleans, LA
Well, it's official.  I've finally peed in Marge.  And not just on the floor like I always do.  I actually peed into the toilet I installed in her.  That's right, friends and neighbors, she's now officially "self-contained", to use the parlance of us camper-type-folks.  I don't really have a way to get the pee out of the pee-holding-tank but that was kinda the point - an exercise in "necessity is the mother of invention".  Put some pee in a tank and you'll DEFINITELY find a way to get it out.

I must admit it was kinda spontaneous though.  A long time ago, my friend Farrel Weil (my host while in NOLA this trip) told me:  "you can do anything you want in New Orleans - just don't mouth off to cops and don't pee in public".  So there I was, after a successful Fat Tuesday mission of catching parade loot and dealing with all the bare breasts, in my trailer, full of yummy street vendor food, needing to pee somewhat urgently.  I was parked across the street from Farrel's place in the Lower Garden District and it was broad daylight.  There was no way I could pull off peeing outside without getting noticed.   So I decided to anoint my fancy-pants terlet with my urine.  And that's the story of my first #1 inside Marge.  Now I just gotta figure out how to get that stuff out of the pee tank :)

7 weeks, 17 states, not to mention Burning Man 2009

Holy moley - I've been driving my ass off. I've hit 17 states in the last 7 weeks or so. But don't get me wrong - it's been amazing!!

I reconnected with some old friends, had some amazing times and, of course, experienced Burning Man 2009. I'm still digesting the whole Burning Man experience. Suffice it to say I plan on attending every year in the future as long as I'm above ground.

I've finally got my travels setup on Google Maps - if'n you're so inclined, you can see where I've been so far - http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?hl=en&gl=us&ie=UTF8&oe=UTF8&msa=0&msid=103527771783674415659.00047407aada12eaf0556&z=4

I have a problem and I'm big enough to admit it

Okay, listen: I have a problem with gasoline and vehicles. I can't seem to keep enough of the former in the latter. Yes, friends and neighbors, Chris ran out of gas again, stranding myself, Mick, Homer and Marge in the middle of the Utah desert. Mick and I actually had a lot of fun with it before my truck actually wheezed to a halt. We'd get the truck up to 40 MPH, turn off the engine and then coast as far as we could. We did this for over 10 miles until all vapors were gone.

I stuck out my thumb and a nice couple from New Mexico picked me up and took me to a gas station. Mick and Homer stood guard over Marge. Once at the station, I picked up a gas can, filled it up and then stuck out my thumb. The FIRST guy who drove by was nice enough to pick me up and return me to Mick, Homer and Marge. Total time - less than 30 minutes.

Thanks to Jason and Bonnie from Albequerque and Jerry from East Carbon, UT!!

No doubt - I have a problem with running out of gas. But problems or not, this story proves I've been doing some clean livin' :)

Fruita??? Seriously???

What a stupid name for a cool little Colorado town. I find myself walking around the ever-so-hip downtown trying to think of a pun using the town's silly name. No dice yet...

The trip to Burning Man is going well. We made it across the Rockies yesterday. The Expy pulled Marge admirably although I had it pretty much floored by the time we reached the Eisenhauer (sp?) tunnel.

I was doing my usual renovation work on Marge this morning at the campground and the host-lady came by and said "what's going on here?". It's pretty common for people to stop by and see what I'm doing but I could tell she had more on her mind than vintage Airstream talk. She said "you can't do repair work here. The owners would have a stroke if they saw this". Wow - those owners must have a lot of loose plague running through their arteries. The whole thing kinda chapped my ass so I packed up and headed to a coffee shop where Mick was feverishly working on his Mac.

We're about to head west, to where I'm not sure. More to come this evening...