The Election

Like most of the material on this blog, I got this idea while trying to determine What's a Delmer Look Like. Plus it has pictures. But no flirting, I'm married.

There is a polling location right a across the street from my house. It is the township hall for my unincorporated township. It's what passes for government when you live in the boondocks. I can walk there in 2 minutes but it's not where I vote because I am in a different precinct. The dividing line is the road between the Icy Estate and the Township Hall. I vote at a church that is 1.5 miles from my house and located in the same precinct. So the basic units of government go like this: Precinct -> Township -> Village or City (if applicable) -> County -> State -> USA. Any questions? Good, because that's not what I want to talk about.

The polling location (right across the street from my house) isn't really near any of the voters in the precinct so almost everyone must drive to get there. Usually, this isn't a problem because nobody goes to the township hall unless they need a permit to build a deck or they are retired and have nothing else to do but go to the monthly Township Trustees meeting. On voting day, however, the parking lot overflows into the grass, up the driveway and out onto the main road. It continues from 6 AM when the polls open until about 6:30 PM, about an hour before the polls close. This creates quite a traffic jam, but only every 4 years when we elect a President because otherwise all the voters fit in the parking lot quite nicely. The way the people act, you would think that every single one of them has a burning desire to vote that absolutely will not be denied. We always wonder where they all are when we're voting for the school levy in May.

But that's still not what I want to talk about. Four years ago, when we elected George W. to his second term, we had more excitement than usual. Being a township hall, located in the boonies, it doesn't have a brightly lit entrance with big imposing signs. It's right across the street, remember, I would have to mount a protest against light pollution. Here's a picture:



That's the entrance up on the left after the telephone pole. Not exactly well marked but there is a sign set back off the road with subtle lighting and the mailbox has reflective numbers on it. A half hour before the polls close, about 7PM, it is beginning to get dark since we have just set our clocks back one hour to save daylight. It was a nice day so Mrs. Icy and I were sitting on the front stoop and basking in our freedom to vote and then sit on a stoop. Gradually, in complete counterpoint to most of the traffic that day, a large sedan drove east, signalled a left turn and promptly turned left into the creekbed that you see on the left of the picture. The brake lights flared briefly and then the emergency flashers started. He must have called for help on a mobile phone because the ambulance beat us to the scene and the paramedics helped the guy out of his car. His family showed up a few minutes later and drove him home.

Unfortunately for him, by the time he regained his wits, the polls were closed and he could not cast his ballot. If he had, then Al Gore would have won Ohio and subsequently the Presidency. World history would have been completely different. Sorry, Delmer.

Just Plain Reason

God, this blog is awful. Can someone make him write some more entertaining stuff? Or can someone make him start writing something entertaining?

Your Careful Example

I was over at Non-Working Monkey's blog (see blogroll on right) reading the archives and was reminded of this story. I can only be non-working in a spiritual sense. But, oh, how I long to be literally non-working.

Years ago, at another company of course, I was being groomed to be a Manager. As such, I was requested (read required) to attend the annual strategic planning session for my company. A number of other up-and-coming types had also been summoned as we would also have training on how to go about strategic planning. One of the exercises was to put in chronological order a list of twenty project management steps. These were basic steps required to see any project to a successful completion. First, each person filled in the paper and turned it in for analysis. Next, teams were assembled and the paper filled out by teams. These papers were then turned in for analysis. In the analysis, we found that all of the teams (except one) out-performed the average of all the individuals by a wide margin. A number of people also learned the twenty basic steps for project management.

The moral of the story: When we work together as a team, we will usually do far better than working individually. I was one of three people in the company that completed the list perfectly and thus out-performed all of the teams. I think I learned a different lesson than what they were trying to teach.

There is no "I" in Team. But there is most certainly a "ME".

My Spare Time

Sorry for the hiatus (that's posh-speak for taking a vacation from your vacation). I had to return to work and that has taken up a significant amount of the time previously spent fucking off. I had the final visit with my primary physician on the 8th. The bloodwork (iron study) is back and my hemocrit levels are back in the normal range. My hemoglobin is still just below normal but is higher than the last reading. I haven't smoked since September 2nd. Combined with the increased iron levels I am finding that I can walk up 6 flights of stairs without getting winded. I worked 4 days last week and I'm back full time this week. I'm still on restrictions and I'm not supposed to engage in vigorous activities or lift more than a gallon of milk in each hand until my next visit to the surgeon at the end of December.

My oldest son, Hilltopper, acquired his driver's license on October 4th. He also acquired a cell phone on October 6th so his mother can keep track of him. I have lost a son but gained a gopher. He can go for milk. He can go for Chinese food. He can go for an oil change. We no longer have to drive him to church 2 times a week.

The rest of my spare time is being usurped by studying for a comprehensive exam in a Christian Growth and Christian Ministry class at my church. I went to a 3 hour class every week for the past year and I now have about 50 pages of material and over 80 bible verses that I need to know backwards and forwards. This is not leaving much room in my overtaxed brain for much of anything else!

My Convalescence

Had an appointment with the yes-answer-question-asking-surgeon yesterday. He is very happy with his work and released me to go back to work at my discretion. Booooo.

The Mystery

I got nothin'.
Lady Penelope keeps bugging me to post a picture. So, here's Icy Mountain. This picture was taken after the Indianapolis 500 (i.e. the Greatest Spectacle in Racing for the uninitiated).

If this guy looks like the cat that swallowed the canary, that is because it is so.

Your Ignorance of Your Responsibility

Having explained the early years of discipline yesterday, here is some insight into managing the teenage crowd until they reach the age of consent, majority or whatever you call it when they move the hell out of your house and make it on their own. The following is much easier to accomplish if you have not sheltered your children from the consequences of their own poor decisions. Then they have learned that their decision making abilities are not so keen and that they might need to spend some time thinking about pros and cons of a given choice and its consequences before acting. If you have kept an iron grip on you kids and made all their decisions for them and never allowed them to suffer from their mistakes, then this process will be a little more mistake laden but it is still workable.
















What we have above is the Age vs. Responsibility chart. Obviously, when a child is 5 years old, they have very little, if any responsibility for their own life. You, as the parent, make almost all of the decisions and have almost complete control over what happens to the child. As the child in question grows older you need to allow them to have more and more responsibility or they end up as a clueless adult and wrap their car around a tree or drink themselves to death on their 21st birthday.

For simplicity's sake, there are three lines on this chart: Liberal, conservative and strategic. The liberal (left) line could be the latch-key kid on their own from 2PM until 6PM when Mom and Dad get home from work. There is little if any oversight of activities once the kid leaves the house. You know them. They are their kids best friends and give them responsibility far beyond their years. The kids don't know how to handle it. Sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll and the tendency to be overly familiar with local law enforcement generally ensue. These kids do, however, tend to be very street smart and get along well assuming they make it to 21 without doing irreversible damage or weighing themselves down with too much baggage.

The conservative (right) line represents the over-protective parent. This kid gets almost no responsibility and is completely sheltered from both decisions and consequences. At some point during the teenage years there is a massive rebellion. The parents realize that their little baby is grown up and go on a crash course in trying to let go of the reins and cram the knowledge and experience into the pour soul. They generally end up on campus with very little adult decision making experience and go through the university of hard knocks. You can see a lot of them on YouTube doing really stupid things while under the influence of alcohol. Their friends, having been raised the same way, film them rather than reining them in and pouring a cup of hot coffee down their throat.

I should note at this point that my son is a walking Christian and that a large number of his friends are from his church group. The power of positive peer pressure cannot be underestimated. Neither neglect the power of a group of kids chanting "Do it. Do it! DO IT!" whilst your teenager stands ready to perform a stupid human trick.

The middle line represents the strategic approach. This is what I am striving to attain. Seek to strike a balance between handing them too much before they are ready and never giving them a chance to fail until they are completely on their own. You start handing over responsibility at an early age, while they are still in grade school. Not too much, mind you, but enough that they can learn what it is to be responsible for your own decisions and actions and to live with the consequences. By the time they learn to drive (16) you should have handed over a great deal of responsibility to the kid (80% by my chart). After all, you are going to turn them loose in a motor vehicle (=lethal weapon) and they will be able to do whatever the hell they want the minute they are out of your driveway. When they are 17 and 18 (last two years of high school) they should have 100% responsibility for their own decisions and actions. You should guide and assist, of course, but they need some practice falling down and picking themselves back up while they are still under your roof. This is very difficult as you will be required to watch your kid get themselves into jams that you could have very easily helped them avoid.

I never said parenting teens was easy. Going at it without a strategy is foolish.

The Rebellion

I thought the following story came from Sun Tzu but I couldn't find the original. This is a highly paraphrased version.
Do Now, Ask Later
The emperor sent his army west to put down a rebellion in one of the distant provinces. As the army began to march, the general stayed behind to finish consultations and intelligence gathering. The army made its first camp next to a river, giving them protection on one side. They pitched tents, dug trenches and threw up protective earthworks. When they had at last finished, in the middle of the night, they posted watch and the rest the army went to sleep. Shortly after this, the general arrived and told his lieutenants, "Wake the men and move this camp to a spot about one mile north of here. The scouts will show you the position I have chosen." The lieutenants clamored thus, "But the men are very tired. Sun Tzu says that an army must be well rested. The northern site, while on a hilltop, is not as defensible as this site. Can we not wait until morning to move and select a more suitable camp in daylight?" The general glowered at his lieutenants and ordered that they comply immediately.

Before noon the next day, the lieutenants gathered and proposed that they confront the general about his decision. They found him well rested and having breakfast. "General," they complained, "we have moved to a site that is less protected and the men are now exhausted. Should we be attacked, things will not go well. Why did you order the camp moved?" The general did not speak but allowed the lieutenants to stand silently and at attention while he finished his breakfast. When he was finished, he mounted his horse and bid the lieutenants to follow. He led them back to the previous campsite. They stared in surprise at the lake that had formed; the only indication of their camp being the very top of the earthworks just barely visible above the water. "Had you not ordered the camp moved, we would surely have been decimated by this flood. How did you know that this would happen? By what kind of sorcery?" the lieutenants asked.

The general stared at them all and answered angrily, "I am the general, I have information and intelligence that you do not possess. Because I am the general, not an army, I travel by different roads to arrive at the same place. It is not important how I came to possess the knowledge that this camp would be inundated by the river. What is important that when I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed. For mine is not to answer questions of ignorant lieutenants but to command an army. Tomorrow, in battle, do you wish to pause while I explain my tactics to your full understanding? Do you think our enemies will oblige? Or will you obey without question, living long enough to learn my reasoning, strategy and tactics by observation?"

Wisely, his lieutenants did not reply but rode back to the camp in silence.

My children have heard this story many times and from a very early age (4). The moral has been explained and they understand. Over time, explaining what is expected, then holding them to consequences when expectations are not met, teaches them that you are wise and they should be responsible for their own actions. When my kids are running directly toward eminent danger, all that is required to bring them to a skidding halt is for me to shout "Stop!" By long training and observation, they have learned the consequences of disregarding my sage advice. Sometimes I supply the consequences (i.e. low grades equals no time to spare for internet activities so Dadman takes away bandwidth). Sometimes the consequences supply themselves. Last weekend both boys went to an amusement park. I offered a strap for retaining spectacles to both. Water Dog put his on immediately. Hilltopper left his on the dining room table. It is not Icy that is paying for the lost gla$$es.

The Ulcer's Grip

I had a follow-up endoscopy today and all results are normal. No more ulcers. The GI doc did report noticeable inflammation and wants me to stop taking all the pain meds. Sure thing doc, in about a week, thank you. He asked how surgery went and wanted to know what stage they put the tumor in. I asked him to speak english. He said "What stage cancer?" Oh, no stage, doc, all benign, over and out, thanks for playing. C-YA. Sorry, short post today 'cause I'm still kinda loopy from being out cold.

Tommorrow, due to popular demand, how to have a party full of teenagers without trouble.

My Son's Tedium

Last night my oldest son had his first Big Party. He is a sophomore in high school. He has been planning this for two weeks and I must say he brought it off wonderfully. Mrs. Icy and I would have normally been big pests and done loads for him (that he didn't want done) but luck prevailed. Mrs. Icy had another gathering to attend and I am too floored up to render assistance. Hilltopper did all the setup from stacking the bonfire to setting up the PA system outside. Well done. As it was I sat in the game room and watched college football, occasionally surfacing to assure myself that everything remained under control.

There were about 50 kids at one time and probably 75 cycled through the place. A rather nice crowd and incredibly polite. We live off a main road so everyone had to park in the yard and nobody trashed it. The party was from 6 to 11 and they played kickball from 7 to 8:30 and then lit the bonfire. After hotdogs, s'mores, and glowstick jewelery they played Red Rover from 9 to 10:30. I couldn't believe it. But then again they all get to stand in a line and hold hands so maybe it's not so farfetched. I was pleasantly suprised that there didn't seem to be any drinking, smoking or drugs. I'm not totally naive but I am an old hand and I know what I'm looking for behaviour-wise. I did notice that there were 3 or 4 couples that seemed satisfied to cuddle up together on a lawn chair (I remember when we were that size) and gaze into the fire.

Mrs. Icy dropped by a couple of times and had to be removed for mingling too closely with the partygoers. Her comment was "They are a bunch of great kids. They just need a place to hang out." Yep. We've still got 3 years to go.

The Surface Tension of Snow

Back in the 80s, my college clique would go to the Rocky Mountains on Spring Break in order to ski and drink. We liked to stay in Summit County, Colorado, home of the highest freshwater lake in North America, Lake Dillon, and also the Dam Brewery. But this story is not about lakes and alcohol consumption but actually the puddles that result.

I was skiing on Copper Mountain with the aforementioned Nutty. It was the first run of the morning and we were slowly making our way up the mountain via a series of lifts. We finally reached the top of the mountain. Nutty wanted to ski a rather flat trail that went across the side of the mountain so as to reach some "tree skiing". Tree skiing is where you go off the nice, wide groomed trails and ski through the woods where the snow is very deep and powdery and there are obstacles, like trees, that make things a little more exciting. It's not for the faint of heart but the snow is usually untouched and you can choose certain areas that make things a little less dangerous. For example, we were skiing on this rather flat cross trail. About a quarter mile below us was a medium difficulty groomed trail. Separating trail from trail was a rather sparse copse of Aspens and evergreens of some sort. We were about 10,000 feet above sea level and just slightly below the treeline.

We reached a good spot to make a sharp left and see if we could ski down to the lower trail without a)falling down or b)hitting an immovable object. Nutty jumped off first and I followed. Now, what makes tree skiing such fun is that you have two diametrically opposed goals that you try to balance. First, you need to keep up a good bit of speed so that you can actually ski in the deep snow which makes it much more difficult to achieve the second goal: don't run into a tree. So I was somewhat surprised to see Nutty pull up short next to a 6' pine tree and stop. I stopped, too, but on a bit steeper spot and just uphill from an aspen tree so that I had something to support me. I asked Nutty why in the hell he had stopped but he did not answer just started pulling off his gloves. When I asked in a little louder and more perturbed tone, he mumbled something about having to pee.

I heard the unmistakable click of ski bindings coming undone and just had time to scream "DON'T" when Nutty stepped off of his skis and disappeared. When you are standing on 5 feet of ski, it is easy to forget that the surface tension of snow is rather low and may not support you when you are standing on 12" of ski boot. Especially if you have been stepping off of your skis onto groomed and packed snow all week with no ill effects. Unfortunately, Nutty had just stepped off his skis into approximately 15 feet of powdery snowy goodness. And fallen straight down. I couldn't even see the top of his head. I began to chuckle as Nutty's notoriously shy bladder had now got him into a world of hurt on top of a mountain. I was also wondering, if he couldn't pee standing on his skis, how he was going to manage at the bottom of a snow hole. It was also going to be quite impossible for me to assist, since there was no chance in hell that I could make a turn in snow this deep and manage to come up next to this snow hole without falling in as well.

"It appears that the snow is deeper than it looks!" I yelled at Nutty. "No shit, Sherlock," came the reply, "Come down here and help me." "Not a chance," said I, "you dug yourself into that hole, now dig yourself out." After a couple more questions from me and some harsh language eminating from the snow hole, I also determined that Nutty no longer felt the urge to empty his bladder. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" Nutty wondered. I suggested that he use the not 6 foot but actually more like 20 foot pine tree and climb out of the hole. Which I suppose is quite easily said from your perch atop skis 20 feet uphill but more difficult in practice when one is at the bottom of a snow hole and wearing ski boots. Now that I mention it, I don't think I have ever climbed a tree in ski boots. It seems that would be almost impossible but after about 30 minutes Nutty managed to accomplish the task.

When Nutty had managed to climb to the top of the tree, I began to laugh uproariously as the tree began to bend over and look for all the world as if it would deposit Nutty right back into the snow hole. Fortunately, the surface tension of snow is great enough to support a Nutty if he has the spreading boughs of an evergreen under him. Also, he had managed to come to a stop within reaching distance of his skis and poles. After another 30 minutes of mucking about at the top of a pine tree in 20 foot snow, Nutty managed to reattach himself to his kit and off we went.

More valuable lessons learned from the Nutty clan: think before you step and as Mom always said, "Everybody pee before we go!"

P.S. Midnight to 8:3o AM sleepfest!!!

My Sleeplessness

I slept from 10:00 PM until 5:30 AM!!! This might not seem blogworthy but try getting 3 to 4 hours sleep per night for a few weeks running and you'll throw a party when you finally sleep again.

The Fun Barrier

For example, this is what I did with my youngest son, Water Dog, the weekend before I had surgery. We are the two up front, of course.

Your Daily Grind

I had a roommate (Nutty) in the dormitory my freshman year of college. We were both in Engineering School and his father already possessed an Engineering Degree. One day, Nutty received a correspondence from his father. It was addressed to both of us. It was a single sheet of paper with an obituary taped to it. The obituary was for Tank, one of Nutty's best friends in high school. Tank had gone into the military and had ended up in southern California. Whilst on leave in Tijuana, Tank partied up and at 3AM stepped in front of a bus and was killed instantly.

We sat in silence for some time which was rather unusual for Nutty and me. I think that we were both pondering the number of times in the previous months that we had been plastered enough to fail to see a bus. Finally, Nutty read the inscription that his father had added underneath the obituary.

"Boys,
Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Or it could be the last. Live accordingly.
Love,
Nutty's Dad"

I learned that lesson intellectually way back then and, for the most part, taken it to heart. In the past few months, this bit of knowledge has deepened into wisdom of the sort that can only be described as emotional or even spiritual. There's more on this, oh, so much more.

My Insuluar World

Lady Penelope has tagged me and thus broken my insular world of blogging without frontiers. Here are the rules, shamelessly stolen from the DutchBitch:

The “I Love Your Blog Award” rules:

The winner can put the logo on his/her blog.

Link the person you received your award from.

Nominate at least seven other blogs

Put links of those blogs on yours.

Leave a message on the blogs that you’ve nominated.

Since I am obsessive about reading every single archived post, I read very few blogs. I do reach outside of these when the offenders put in links (that's how you got lucky, DutchB) but I usually only read the offending post and go straight back. So here they are and why I'm going to break (c'mon the damn blog is called What Did You Break?) rules number 3 & 5.

What's a Delmer Look Like? I've been reading Delmer since before there were blogs and it was just Delmer.com. Every blog I love I found from a link on Delmer's blog. We've got to get him to re-post the Jack and the Zipper story. Maybe I'll actually send this to Delmer because he'll know that I don't mean it like that.

It's me...Penelope The first blog that I read outside of Delmer's. She doesn't need this award back since she gave it to me in the first place and she already got one from The Dutch Bitch.

Non-working Monkey and Jonny B's Private Secret Diary. Both of them are hilariously full of British humour and well written. I have already sent NWM a Splendid Monkey and do not want her to think I'm stalking. Jonny B has mothballed his Diary whilst he is on a pants spreading holiday in Canadia. I will not bother them with such an artifice as a tag. Sorry, Lady P, that probably makes it sound like I am not honoured. But I am, oh yes.

That's it; I don't have seven.

The Probability of Genetic Mutation

Voice: Please hold for the questions-whose-answers-are-an-emphatic-yes-asking surgeon.
Icy Mt.: Oh. Kay.
Surgeon: Hi buddy. Do you want some good news?
Icy Mt.: Yes [emphatically].
Surgeon: All of your pathology is back and it is all negative.
Icy Mt.: [excitedly]So that means...
Surgeon: You do not have the slightest trace of cancer.
Icy Mt.: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! (ouch)
Surgeon: Are you OK?
Icy Mt.: YES. [more emphatically]
Surgeon: Alright. When is our next appointment?
Icy Mt.: You don't kn...of course...October 3rd.
Surgeon: Excellent. Heal up and I'll see you then. Goodbye.
Icy Mt.: [hangs up and runs for email]

I am cured. Unlike Delmer's Cure, I don't have to wonder about it at all. I received a phone call about 12 hours ago.

In other news, you can tell from the post times that I am getting a bit more sleep. That will also improve your worldview. I have also watched 57 movies in the last week in my quest to stay still and thus heal as fast as possible so as to enjoy as much of my recovery time in a pain free manner. Results: The Scorpion King 2: Rise of a Warrior sucks ass even in Blu-Ray. If you are doped to the gills on painkillers, Cloverfield is very scary and surprisingly good.

The Natural Order

My lovely wife and I met at a beautiful beachside campground in Michigan in 1987. My family had been going to this campground every year since 1971. I have camped there every August since. My boys have both been camping there a number of times equal to their age plus one. But all that is not important right now. Warren Dunes State Park contains quite a bit of nature and one night we had a Close Call.

Mrs. Icy and I were sleeping together in a tent on my parents' campsite. This was some time in the early '90s as we were both legally married and driving the Fabulous 1989 Ford Thunderbird (black). The tent in question was a cube about 10 feet on each side. It had come standard with a 1971 VW Campmobile that my parents purchased new. The front door of this tent was an inverted T with zipper closure. For some reason, I came awake in the middle of the night. As I lay there listening to nature sing, I heard another noise in jarring contrast. Plinksh. I listened some more. Plinksh. I had almost fallen back asleep when I heard the sound again and sat straight up on the air mattress. "My God," I thought, "that's my car keys being dropped!"

I know what you're thinking: "How does he know what his car keys sound like when they're dropped? Don't they all make the same jingling noise?" No. This key ring had a special commemorative fob made of the aluminum out of a first-off-the-line Honda and also contained a remote entry fob along with the usual set of metal keys. When it hit the ground, it made a special "plinksh" noise that was unmistakable. At this point, the special plinksh noise was coming from somewhere in the woods outside my tent and not from its more familiar position about 12 inches from my foot and halfway between me and the Fabulous 1989 Ford Thunderbird (black). "This just cannot be," I thought. "It is not part of the natural order."

I began trying to sort the universe back into proper alignment. "My car keys are in the pocket of my jeans that are laying right in front of the tent door. I shall retrieve them." Of course, this is the proper place for jeans and keys; if a rapid exit of tent and/or campground is required in the middle of the night then you are properly prepared to do so in a) trousers and b) the aforementioned Fabulous 1989 Ford Thunderbird (black). I all things camping you must be prepared or things can go in the crapper with incredible speed and magnitude. My keys were not in the pocket of my jeans. "How can this be?" I thought. I grabbed my flashlight from its proper place right inside the tent door, donned my jeans and headed out to attempt the retrieval of the number one requirement for operating the F1989TB(b): keys.

Upon shining my flashlight in the general direction of the last special plinksh noise, I discovered the location of my keys. To my horror, the were located in small teeth set slightly below a couple of shiny eyes that were mostly hidden behind a tiny robber's mask. A raccoon was attempting to commit grand theft automobile upon the F1989TB(b). Apparently, this varmint had reached through the zipper gap on the tent, rooted through my jeans and stolen my key ring. This was unacceptable because a) raccoons generally are poor drivers and b) it would leave Mrs. Icy, I and all our gear stranded in a campground.

I am a cool camping customer and a long-term student of the ways of sneaky raccoons. I did not panic (well mostly not) and made my way slowly to the trunk of the F1989TB(b) to retrieve bread and marshmallows to trade with Mr. Raccoon for my keys. Damn. Mr. Raccoon has the keys, opposable thumbs and the upper hand in this bargaining session. I sidle slowly toward the GrandIcy's camper so that I might level the playing field. Plinksh. Damn. If I scare Mr. Raccoon and he either a)drops my keys in the woods or b)runs deeper into the woods with my keys, I will be what is known in the camping jargon as "in the shit campground without a recreational vehicle". I shine my flashlight on Mr. Raccoon as he retrieves my keys from the forest floor and calmly returns them to his nasty little jaws. His eyes never leave mine. He is determined.

I toss a breadball to the edge of the campsite. Mr. Raccoon's inquisitive nature and bottomless pit of a stomach get the better of him and he slinks over to investigate. He removes the keys from his mouth with his tiny little thief’s hands, picks the bread up with his other hand and eats it. Damn. At no time did my keys leave Mr. Raccoon's possession and he is still far too close to his forest home. I toss a marshmallow about halfway between Mr. Raccoon and me. He repeats the previous procedure only this time with a marshmallow. Damn, but also Hmmmmm. Much like every egotistical villain in every action movie, Mr. Raccoon has given me the time and insight to defeat his dastardly plan. I crouch into a position of spring-loaded, key-retrieving maximum potential energy and toss a marshmallow and a breadball into the middle of my strike zone. Mr. Raccoon, over-confident in his quick reflexes and built in 360 degree escape zone, slinks into my trap. He picks up the marshmallow in one paw, picks up the breadball in the other paw and attempts to take a bite. He is foiled by the keys stuck in his gob. He ponders the snack in hands vs. the potential joyride to Chicago. Plinksh. Yarrrrghhh!!!!!

I leap, scream and the throw the flashlight all in one orgasmic festival of unleashed Icy Mt. The nasty little varmint (downgrade from Mr. Raccoon occurring simultaneously with loss of key possession) leaps and squeals. My flight continues towards my keys whilst the nasty vermin's flight towards his woodland home begins with great haste. His thoughts of joyrides and sugary delights are forgotten in the face of my superior cleverness and primal scream. Sorted. Keys retrieved, I relieve myself in the general direction of his departure and return to the tent to answer Mrs. Icy's sleepy inquisition of "Wuhthfuh?" I finish off the night reclining in the plush bucket driver’s seat of the Fabulous 1989 Thunderbird (black). I am smoking a Marlboro ignited via the dashboard lighter, listening to the Allman Brother’s Midnight Rambler on the Premium Sound System, drinking an Icy cold beer and considering who had more fun and got the better story: Icy Mt. or Mr. Raccoon.

My Self-Esteem

When did I turn into the dad on According to Jim or The King of Queens? When did the entire world decide that dads are stupid and that is funny? Fuck you. Very Much. It is finished.

I am not an idiot. I have a college degree, a good job and co-own a house. I am not socially dysfunctional. I have two teenage boys who have never been in trouble, I've been married to one woman for 20+ years, and I put their needs in front of mine. I am not hilariously inept. I am reasonably well-spoken, my work reports are exemplary, I know how to use apostrophes correctly, and I read actual books. I am not uproariously clumsy. I have never been in a car collision, broken a bone, or, until recently, ever been hospitalized. I am not incompetent. My net worth is positive, I pay bills electronically, and I can fix 99% of what you break (and then beg me to fix, oh fickle ones). I am not helpless. I can change oil, video cards, tires, dishwashers, and clothes with equal dexterity. I am not clueless; simply put, I am the reason you have to thank for all this luxury.

So how come nobody waits for me to finish a sentence. Why do I make things perfectly clear (take out the garbage) and then get sass back for pointing out the obvious (you didn't tell me when)? Why do I get cut off (I KNOW) only to have to explain again later (trash day is Friday) after you have broken it. This is not just my kids. My wife, coworkers, friends and relatives are all involved in this conspiracy. I have only this to say at this juncture. Shut up. Listen. Look out. I am only going to say this once. Pay attention or you won't like the results.

For everyone else: dads are not pathetically funny lovable idiots to be made fun of and patronized behind our back. We are the right honourable and just leaders of the family and we will be treated with deserved respect. The next time you are facing a loud, red-faced, finger-pointing, and -snapping dad all up in your grill: Icy warned you. Don't expect an apology because we already told you once; you just weren't listening.

Your Independence

The Smoking Monkey got me started on this one. Look folks, you don't need a psychiatrist or therapist or a bunch of pills. JUST STOP DOING STUFF THAT MAKES YOU MISERABLE!

I see a lot of miserable, unhappy people and they are everywhere. There is an advanced course on this but let me give you the basics. I know a gal that has a lot of problems because she drinks too much alcohol. If you try to tell her that she tells you that she is not giving up "the only thing in my life that gives me any joy". Oh, for God's sake. You drink to forget that you have fucked up your life because you drink too much, fall down, yell at your friends, get a DUI, etc. Duh!?

I know a couple that are always mean to each other. They are not happy together and they should be very happy; they're made for each other. He is unhappy because he never gets to do stuff that he likes. She is unhappy because he's mean whenever he is doing what she wants. This may be too hard for some people so I'll explain: He should go fishing or camping once a month even if everyone else whines. She should go do what she wants without needing him along for validation. No discussion about who is doing what is allowed unless both parties are interested. Full stop.

I know a guy that works almost all the time and whenever I see him he looks like a ghetto kid turned loose on the post-Halloween candy rack with $10. He'll ride up on his 57,000 dollar motorcycle, whip off his 257 dollar sunglasses, lose 157 dollars playing poker and complain that all he does is work. He never gets to have any fun. He works so much that he's only in his 457,000 dollar house about 3.57 hours/month when he is not asleep. I think you can predict my answer: work 57 hours/week less, take a 57,000/year pay cut and lay on a hammock.

I'm not a licensed therapist but I am a certified non-working monkey(trademark NWM). Your inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness is not a guarantee. You will have to smell something bad about once a day. Don't take out the garbage and you will end up buried in it. Look peeps, you have to do stuff you don't like. You do have choices about how much and what kind of stuff. You don't have to roll in it. Start thinking about this. OK. Advanced course. You do not have to pay the electric bill. If you do not pay the electric bill you will not have electricity. Therefore, you lose the things that run on electricity (the internets) but gain things that do not (silence). You are making a choice. Stop treating things that are choices as if they are requirements.

Go do what you want. Now. If I have to tell you that does not mean spending 5700 dollars on a vacation to Rome when you only have 57 dollars nor is it a license to poke someone who deserves it with a sharp stick, you are an idiot and beyond help. For the rest of you, go on now, move along, have fun.

Your Freedom

I call it the Lay-Z-Boy Doctrine: People who have a comfortable recliner and a cooler full of ice cold beer DO NOT blow shit up. Simple.

This has been proven in spades in Great Britain. I can't remember the last time I heard "Belfast Bombing" on the evening news. It should be used with reckless abandon world wide. Please allow me to explain. People who have a comfortable recliner and a cooler full of ice cold beer DO NOT blow shit up.

First, invade a country and immediately open a beer refinery. Immediately following this are millions of happy brewery employees, beer distributors, bartenders, waitresses, etc. Guess what? All those people are earning money. What will they spend it on? Beer. Try to to keep up. Comfortable chairs. Now we have recliner manufacturing employees, truck drivers, sales clerks, cashiers. My chair is getting wet. Of course silly, you need a house. Framers, roofers, siders, electricians, plumbers, and whatever you call that guy who makes the perfect seams around the tub with silicone. Now that I am dry I need a computer and a home theater. Electronics manufacturing employees, programmers, actors, and the Geek Squad. How will I ever get to work and Best Buy? United Auto Workers, the AIAG and that guy who leans on his shovel and watches the other 2 guys fill potholes.

Let's face it: not one single person with a 40 hour per week job, Honda Civic, 3 bed/2 bath house, refrigerator, and a cold beer sitting in front of this week's episode of Heroes in HD will ever be arsed to get up and answer the goddammed telephone, let alone plot the destruction of his Scientologist nieghbors via WMD. Fuck goat herding and exporting freedom. We need to export luxury!

My Pain Management Protocol

If you are paying attention then you know that I am on holiday in order to recover from having some guts removed. Before this procedure, the nice man inserted a thoracic epidural and administered anesthesia. God bless anesthesiologists and pass the fentanyl. So I really didn't have any pain before, during or after surgery. Unfortunately, they generally require that you have your epidural drip removed before discharge from the hospital.

Since the aftermath of this procedure generally involves a considerable amount of pain, I have a prescription for a high powered painkiller called Lortab. This nifty little drug cocktail has been extremely effective at killing pain to such a degree that I am actually human. Unfortunately, this is not without its drawbacks. Like the uniform sleeping position monitoring police showing up in your bedroom. Or waking up in extreme fear that you will be permanently banned from society for failure to conform to a certain body shape (e.g. triangular).

The first night in hospital sans epidural and on opiates resulted in not much pain but not much sleep either. I wrote this off as excitement over pending liberation combined with being awakened every two hours for vital signs recording or medication delivery. However, on my first night home I didn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a stretch. Excitement aside, the hallucinations were overwhelming. I recall at one point wondering when "they" would come and get the dog since she was most definitely not sleeping in a position that could be called a triangle by even the most liberal geometrist.

Seeing or hearing things that are not there;
confusion, fear, unusual thoughts or behavior;
feeling unusually anxious, excited, fearful, or tired.
Yeah, I guess that about sums it up. Ouch. Or Who Needs Sleep?

My Ascending Colon

I wasn't going to write this but some of my friends found a slightly altered version of this to be amusing.

I AM FINE!!! I managed to get discharged from Surgery Ward at 8:20AM (yes, AM) today. All of the biopsies so far are benign. Anything negative at this point would be due to very advanced genetic tumor testing.

Surgery was originally scheduled for 2PM on the 11th but was pushed back to 3PM as of the 10th only to be returned to 2PM at about 9AM on the 11th. I did not care as I had been starving for 2 days. Surgery went well and there were no complications. Mrs. Icy was with me until late on the 11th. On Friday the 12th, I ate a clear liquid breakfast, lunch and dinner. On Saturday, I wanted to die. Things were not processing through and after THREE attempts, the staff managed to run an NG tube up my nose and down my throat to my stomach. And here you thought that USC kicking the crap out of State was the worst thing that could happen on Saturday Night.

We spent two days, Saturday and Sunday, waiting for all of the stomach contacts to either get suctioned out or start processing the other way (and not eating ANYTHING). Mrs. Icy spent Saturday night with me as I had two roommates arrive at about midnight (a guy AND his girlfriend). Mrs. Icy stayed Sunday night as well because the hospital had pity on me and left me alone on Sunday Night.

My surgeon has a gift for asking questions whose answers are both quick and positive. For example, on Monday morning at 6:30 AM while I am trying to wash oily tape strands off of my nose:
Q: Are you hungry?
A: Yes.
Q: Would you like to eat today?
A: YES.
Q: Would you like that tube out of your nose?
A: YES!
Q: Quickly?
A: YES!!! QUICK!!!
Q: Can you hold these paper towels?
A: ARRGGRRGLLLLGRRRLLLGRLLLUFT!

After that, I had 3 meals of clear liquids, expelled everything necessary and by the appropriate routes and managed to keep my temperature below 99.6 for vital signs readings at 10PM, 2AM and 6 AM Monday night and Tuesday Morning.

And at 6:00AM this morning, whilst I am washing off the duck butter via sponge bath:
Q: Do you want to go home this morning?
A: YES!!!!
Q: Are you going to quit screwing around in there and come out and talk to me?
A: Yes. Just let me put my socks on, the floors in this hospital have stuff on them.

Plain Cheerios and milk for breakfast have never tasted so good.

Anyway, I am on the road to recovery. I am good to be off at work until October 23. I have finished up the Christian Ministry Classes and am going to start studying once I come down off the pain meds enough to stop seeing double. Stop by and visit if you want but please don't feel put off if I wander off mid-sentence. I am experiencing a certain lack of focus on anything that doesn't emit bowel sounds.

Thanks again,
Icy

Freak Wently Assed Kestions

How can you have a FWAK section when nobody asked you any questions?
Shut up. It's my blog. Go break something somewhere else.

Why did you even start this blog?
Lady Penelope made me do it.

What's up with the name?
For quite some time most of the people in my life (i.e. spouse, kids, co-workers) would only speak to me if they needed something. So my first question...
Also, all the post titles are answers to this question.

No. I meant the other one.
It's a play on words. I am not actually a frozen geological feature.

Can anyone stand you?
I have known Mrs. Icy for 21 years and been married to her for 19 of them (as of 2008). I have two sons, Hilltopper and Water Dog. They all have to love me. I'm not sure about anyone else.