The life list

Today I had the pleasure of crossing an item off the list of things to do in my life. This item was not especially hard to accomplish, but nonetheless satisfying to achieve. Accomplishment only required a forty mile drive and and three dollars (two for a PBR and one for a tip). Drinking one PBR was not my goal, the location was. And that location was the Moonshine Gulch Saloon in Rochford, SD. The Moonshine Gulch is one of those rare places that is more a holdover from gold rush days than it is a member of the 21st century. It's really a miracle that the place is still in business given that the population of Rochford is about 20, with a peak population of one thousand in the early 1880s. The atmosphere and uniqueness of the Saloon didn't fail to deliver. I was the one and only customer, joined by the barmaid who had owned the place for 30 years, and her dog. The pictures tell the rest of the story (a couple here and a couple on flickr: check out he sweet collection of hats and decaying business cards plastered all over the ceiling).

Dodgeball update

Since I claimed in a past post that I would reclaim dodgeball glory I thought that an update was in order. My initial claim was to re-capture glory in the game immediately following my post. Well, that didn't happen. I was a bit off the mark and captured mediocrity instead. Try as I might I still couldn't catch that damn ball - for what it's worth neither could the rest of my team. We noticed that fat people could catch the ball a lot better than we could. To lift our spirits we agreed that as a team of slim people we simply didn't have the midriff cushion to absorb the impact of the ball. The ball just kept bouncing off our bodies before we could wrap our arms around it. Dubious theory I know, but at least it made us feel better.

My team won the first game of the season, before I was recruited to play. Since I had joined we were winless. The last night of the season was upon us. Things didn't look good because we only had four players which put us at a sever handicap versus the normal six player teams. Of course we lost the first game of the night even though we recruited a ringer. The second game was just four of us against a team that even had subs for its six starting players. I thought "subs, what the hell, this is f****** dodgeball." Naturally, being the last game of the season, not having won a game for weeks, and being significantly shorthanded...we won. We were catching fools and we really put the onion into our throws. At several points our prospects looked dim, but someone always came up with a crucial play (and yes I reclaimed glory by finishing off the remaining two players on the other team singlehandedly...twice)

The playoffs start this week. The way I figure it we're peaking just when we need to, haha.

The man isn't keeping me down

For the last month I've been battling the SD Department of Labor to obtain unemployment benefits. I figured that if I'm already swallowing most of my pride by living with the parents and volunteering I might as well swallow the rest and get "my money for nothin' and my checks for free." The D of L didn't think it was so cool that I was volunteering 40 hours a week while claiming that I was still able to search for and accept work if offered (I have to prove that I have applied for two jobs a week to qualify for benefits). So the D of L determined that I was ineligible for benefits. I appealed the determination. After all, I'm volunteering for one reason, and that is to increase my marketability and qualifications, which should be quite congruent with the goals of the D of L. Amazingly enough, my arguments convinced a judge to rule in my favor over the belly-aching of a peon of the D of L who was present to argue against me. The whole process was a bit weird, culminating with the "hearing" conducted via conference call. So to get to the whole point of this post...SUCK IT SD Department of Labor.

We're so cool

If hacking up flem is cool, then you can consider me and the rest of the fam Miles Davis. The Oh*** crew has come down with some sort of head/chest plague. Personally I think someone put a curse upon our heads Old Testament style. I've never seen my dad so sick. He laid around the house for several days making weird breathing-esque noises. I'm lobbying for burning the couch and the TV remotes to cleanse the house. I immediately started taking a whole regiment of vitamins, Zicam, and fruit juices. I seemed to ward off the worst of the symptoms but nonetheless succumbed to the flem. To bolster my "curse upon our heads" theory, my mom found out that she is allergic to everything from wheat to milk. And the consequence of eating these food is - you guessed it - flem. So, if anyone wants to make some quick money, buy all Kleenex stock you can afford.* On the upside though, my voice periodically falls an octave lower and obtains a gravelly tone that would make Johnny Cash jealous.

* Following the financial advice of the author should be done at your own considerable risk, considering his complete lack of knowledge of all things financial.

Thanksgiving food hangover

Probably the best holiday has come and gone. But it was a good one.

Continued traditions:
1. A fine three part liquid concoction of the Emerald Isle
2. All the usual good foods

New endeavors:
1. Four sweet potato pies (five pounds of sweet potatoes goes a long way)
2. Making thin bread (see pic)

Things missed:
1. Rekishi Ninja's green bean casserole (I only had it once, two years ago. It was that good)
2. A second orange-haired sibling

"Jump" doesn't start with "D"

An unexpected invitation arrived in my voicemail last week. A few fire crew buddies had started a dodgeball team in the local city recreational league. They needed an extra player. I was more than happy to oblige. You see, my last two dodgeball memories are dripping with glory. The scene: typical middle school gymnasium: lacquered plywood bleachers folded against the wall, basketball hoops, lots of white tile, eighth grade. It was the last day of school. The gym teacher let us play three team dodgeball. I was still a scrawny four-foot-something nerd. The bigger kids were putting some serious steam on that playground ball. I suddenly found myself holding that red rubber sphere of destiny in my hand with only a few minutes of class left. I had nothing too loose. I sighted across the gym from me a big, fat, jerk of a kid I had never liked throughout childhood (incidentally he just walked into the coffee shop I am at, I haven't seen him since high school). Some inner strength I didn't know I had welled up and I put every muscle in my body into throwing that ball. A red streak sped across the gym, nearly breaking the sound barrier. The missile beaned the jerk square in the face. My gut jumped with equal parts elation and fear. I had just smoked the biggest kid in the class. In a state of near shock at being hit with a ball moving at a speed only he thought he could produce, he asked "Who threw that?" I said, as nonchalantly as I could, "I did." The whole class looked at me with a newfound respect. Now that's the way to finish off eighth grade.

My second brush with dodgeball glory came as a senior in high school. I had to satisfy my PE requirements as a senior because I had been to busy the previous years with studly things like marching band. Again it was three team dodgeball. I was the last one standing on my team. I managed to avoid all the balls thrown at me until, once again, a big burly kid was the only other player left. At least by this time I had grown a couple feet, but I couldn't be described as anything but a beanpole in stature. The big kid ran straight at me and hurled the ball with all his might at very close proximity. Somehow I caught the ball and put him out. He yelled in astonishment and, being a bit more confident, I raised the ball toward the sky and paraded around the gym.

As you can see I must have some innate dodgeball talent. At least that's what I thought before the big game last Tuesday night. I sucked. I was out quicker than I thought possible. My problem? I was trying to jump over balls thrown at me. Now if you remember your "Five D's of dodgeball" from the movie Dodgeball, players should avoid being hit by employing the Five D's. The D's instruct you to dodge, dive, duck, dip, and dodge. Jump is not a part of the Five D's. Hence my poor performance. Next week I reclaim glory.

Battle of the Generations

Since the holidays are rolling around, conversation among the extended family has inevitably moved toward preparations for various celebrations. My dad and I joined my grandma for dinner on Friday night since my mom was away at a retreat. We talked about the same things we always talk about, and every good Midwestern family should talk about: food, work, and family. Aas it always does this time of year, the conversation turned to that traditional Scandinavian delicacy, lutefisk . Christmas Eve, the day we all had to prepare ourselves to reckon with the galatinous fishy blob, was only a month and a half away. We all knew that lutefisk is cod, or at least it used to be cod. My grandmother and I were sure that the cod was preserved with lye and then dried until it was stiff as a board. It would later be reconstituted with water to soften it and remove the lye, thus making it edible, if not tasty. My dad countered that lutefisk was dried and salted to preserve it, then later reconstituted with lye. The dispute was over the use of lye in the preservation/reconstitution process. We agreed to disagree (as a side note not particularly relevant to the debate, my dad insisted that dried cod, destined to become lutefisk, would be propped up on the sides of small country stores for dogs to pee on. I don't know what to attribute the recurrence of this claim to). As usual, my research confirmed that my dad was right. The lye is used to reconstitute the dried cod and remove the salt, making it edible and somewhat "fresh" looking. There is a whole separate debate on the repulsiveness vs. tastiness of lutefisk, but that will have to wait for another post. One can only handle so much fun in one day.

A lutefisk drying rack.