Frenzied Daddy

I had one of those conversations on Saturday; a conversation that sticks with you for days and depresses you.

I live in a fairly middle-class neighborhood. Maybe low-to-middle class. The house across from us is a rental, and it’s currently occupied by Paul, his sister, and two kids. One of the kids is a young lady new to high school (a freshman or sophomore) and a young lady in a wheelchair who is somewhat younger. Paul hunts, drives a pickup, has guns. Last year, Paul’s father died (cancer). I had the sense that Paul’s father was a primary force in the house, he did all the driving, he seemed to have his own job, et cetera. I don’t much like talking to Paul; we don’t have much in common, and he likes talking. However, I found out a few things that just bear on my mind.

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Oh, and by the way- a shout-out to Wil Wheaton for possibly the funniest joke I’ve heard in September.

Hey check out my new tool! I think it’s a 18 inch prybar. One end of the three-quarter inch diameter metal rod is sharpened to a lethal looking point. The other is welded to what looks like a claw from a claw hammer. On the side it’s labeled “napa pb 18″, which I presume means “18 inch prybar from napa” and on the other side … “always wear safety goggles.”

They really mean it too. I don’t know where you can find a prybar of your very own, but I found mine on Interstate Five, right near the exit for Interstate 84. You know how sometimes on the interstate, a car will kick up a rock and it’ll crack your windshield? Well this nifty thing was kicked up by the car in front of me. It was flung up into the air, end over end, and finally into the roof of my car, where it stuck, quivering like a javelin. Of course, right before the impact, I ducked and said a random assortment of expletives!

Three inches lower, and my bereaved widow would be trying to figure out how to tell my adoring public that I’d never be back. I’m not kidding about the lethality of this thing. It could easily have gone through the windshield and my eyesocket. Or maybe even my forehead. We’re very lucky that none of us was hurt. I am purposefully making light of it, however. It could have been a disaster.

Steve and Chad were discussing Chad’s recent canoing trip…

“So, how did it go?”

“Let’s put it this way… we are never taking the dog canoing again.”

To explain why I thought this was so funny; when I was a sophomore in East High School (School Within A School), my friend Cliff Schaffer and I participated in the last of the Campbell Creek Classics. To say that we were prepared would be a mistake. Here are some highlights:

• Tipping the canoe to find out that the Campbell Creek was so cold that my voice dropped three octaves. (Hey, that’s a good thing, right?)
• Having the canoe drift into a batch of willow trees, and being told by Cliff to “hold the boat steady while he stands up to get us out of the trees” (another tipping).
• Cowering while we’re pelted with water balloons (in ALASKA?)
• Banging my head on the inside of a culvert under a road.
• Getting yelled at for tipping the canoe, six times.
• Having Cliff acknowledge that he tipped the canoe once.

My aunt Susie (who is probably reading this) has recently “vanished.” It doesn’t bother me, tremendously; I remember stories of her mother (my grandmother) vanishing for weeks at a time. I do worry, and I’m hurt by her non-communication, but I have to trust her to make her own choices – she’s an adult.

My daughter, however, is a completely different story. Last night, she was inconsolable. Anguished sobbing in the shower, wailing that she misses Aunt Susie, wants her to come home, wants her to call, write, anything. It took about half an hour to get her calmed down and prepped for bed; one of the things that helped is that when her Mom or I yell at her, she runs off and hides under the covers or under a desk. Susie’s doing that, only bigger, because she’s an adult.

It’s hard when other adults make choices that break my daughter’s heart. I cope better when it’s my choice, I just feel bad. But when it’s someone else’s choice, I get angry.

Saw Bubba Hotep tonight. I wasn’t disappointed. I love B movies- and this one was definately in my genre. A geriatric Elvis Presley fighting off a soul-sucking bastard of a mummy; a low-class mummy, whose heiroglyphics spell out “Cleopatra does the nasty.” Interspersed with this was some depressing commentary on getting older and being in a “Convalescent Home,” and some thick philosophy that has me reconsidering parts of my life.

What thick philosophy? You have an elderly man (Elvis) ruminating over his life, wondering, if his daughter knew he was alive, if she would visit him in the home. And what he’s doing now. And, what happens when he’s gone.

I heartily recommend it unless you don’t like mummies

A couple of cute movies; both are Quicktime format, and each is about 550 KB long: sand drawing and another example of my inability to remember “landscape only” for the movies.

The kid and I had some great conversations while we were gone this weekend. And it was some seriously intensive daddy-daughter time. It really helps me look forward to our trip in November to go to Seattle. As well as our time next week while the Dear Wifey is off in las Vegas.

Speaking of gambling, we refinanced our second mortgage; we wound up dropping about several percentage points and rolling into it some bills, and winding up with a lower monthly payment for the second mortgage. Awesome, huh?

The child and I had a splendid weekend. It was the annual “yurt camping trip” where our friend Summer locates and reserves some yurts and a bunch of people go chill for the weekend. Alas, our good friends Summer, Julia, Audrey and Scott were unable to make it. Audrey and Scott, actually, are moving to the ends of the world (also known as Kansas.)

Our original plan was for the Dear Wifey to go scrapbooking on Saturday and then come out and meet us. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel well enough to go scrapbooking, or well enough to go camping. So the punkin and I went “out.” It was a great weekend; the weather, while cool, was dry and sunny.

We ate at Mo’s in Lincoln city, and slept in the yurts in Beverly Beach. It was a quiet weekend, so I don’t have a whole lot to share, but I will be posting some pictures and maybe even a movie

WOW

Bruce Campbell lives in Oregon somewhere, and has lived here for five years. He says that most of the property bordering his is government-owned, like a park or something. I wonder where his ranch is. Anyway, I just learned that he’s written an autobiography of some sort (If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B-Movie Actor), and since I love B-Movies (thank you Elvira), it’s a must-read for me.

Another must – read is Bubba Hotep, where Bruce plays a man in a rest home who believes he’s Elvis, and he must take out a mummy. R-Rated, so no kidlet, and directed by the guy who did Phantasm and Evil Dead. but the preview looks awesome. It’s playing in town at Cinema 21, just for a week- so I’m thinking a field trip this week is in the cards.