Blob Horizons

Hi, Chot.......Thanks for the birthday greeting. I have re-read it several times. Today is the day I learn to comment on everyone's blog. I can't wait to comment on Miss Cindy Loo Hoo's blog, because she has been kind enough to hit mine twice. Does Brian have a blog? Or does he just hide safely in the woods and comment on everyone else's blog? We'll get him going!

Somehow, I must differentiate my style from everyone else's blog. That's hard to do, considering all the incredible talent I see out there. So far, BLOBBIN' is my only significant distinguishing feature. Oh, well. It's all I got.

Here is a list of my favorite things.
Favorite movie: The Blob. Original version.
Favorite T.V. show: Welcome Back Kotter with Vinnie Blobberino.
Favorite game show host: Blob Blarker.
Fave cartoon: Spongeblob Squarepants.
Fave political tacticians: The blobbyists.
Favorite song, from the fabulous Al Jolson: When the Red Red Robin Comes Blob Blob Blobbin' Along.
Second fave song, in honor of Jot, Bri and Marcnie (how long are you?) Blobbin' Robin.
Third fave song, by the superbulous Kris Kristofferson: Me and Blobby McGee.
Fave food: Maine blobster.
Most feared surgery: The blobotomy.
Honorable mentions: Blobbing for apples, discomblobulation, Blobbies on blicycles, two by two.

The following newsflash is printed by permission: Yer ma just baked me a birthday cake and it didn't even go lopsided. I repeat, PRINTED BY PERMISSION. Yumski.

Newsflash: Munchie is in town. She is meeting Gus at Ikea (start the car). She will be along in due time, at some point, in due course, eventually, sometime or other, sooner or later, when all is said and done.

Everyone will be here this evening to celebrate my birthday. No kids. None. BORING! The entire world celebrates my birthday. Except for 1.3 billion Chinese. I'll get to them. They will celebrate also. Eventually. Sometime or other. Sooner or later. When all is said and done. I go now.

GonnaWin

Well, we only have a few days to:
A) Decide on our new year's rezz, or
B) Finish up on our last year's rezz.
C) Or both.

I have chosen to finish a serious resolution that I have been ignoring for eleven and 3/4 months. Gotta move fast. Today is the day to make serious strides. I am absotively posilutely going to put an end to all my obsessive behaviors. Yer Ma and I went to the Chuckarama. The place was jammed. We no sooner got into the front door than I spotted a big fat older guy with a fabulous pair of John Deere suspenders. I don't like suspenders. Don't trust 'em. One overstretch of the torso and where are the levis? On the floor. But these were JOHN DEERE suspenders. I asked yer Ma for a pair. She was laughing so hard that she didn't even answer. Who was she laughing at.? Me? Or the guy because the suspenders came straight over his shoulders, then took incredible detours around his enormous gut, straightening out again at the beltline where a belt darn well shoulda been.

She continued laughing as we filled our plates. Who in the h-e-double-toothpicks is she giggling about? She rounded a corner and there he was. Face to face. She almost dropped her plate. I told her that I bet any John Deere dealer would have them. Cheap, too. I found the biggest drumstick I had ever seen. Yum. String beans, cantalope, a ho-bunch of napkins and I was ready to dig in. I peeled some of the skin off the d'stick as I always do. The drumstick turned out to be greasy as they often do. I wrapped a napkin around it and wrenched the grease off as I often do. Disaster. The tissuie face of the napkin stuck to the drumstick. I thought it would peel right off. Oh, no. I picked and picked and picked. Yer Ma said that a small amount of napkin wouldn't hurt anything. Have you ever gotten napkin paper in your mouth? Gag! I picked and picked. She got up and refilled her plate.

She was certainly smiling when she returned. I assumed she was having an extended encounter with the 'spenders. I asked about it. She glanced at my d'stick and said no. She suggested that I merely set the drumstick aside. I said, no that would be wasteful and could even get us into trouble with the manager. ("You! Big Boy! You go now!") Well, large drumsticks are not all they are cracked up to be. I couldn't tell the meat from the gristle. I couldn't tell the bone from the fat. I couldn't tell the dark meat from the burned skin. I hate burned skin. It hadda come off. But how? It worked out well. As I got the last of the skin off, the last of the paper appeared to be gone.

I wondered aloud if the guy would be offended if I simply asked him where he got those marvelous green and yellow suspenders. Yer ma has a sort of a personality disorder. Her smiling holiday-season personna was momentarily gone. She said, "dont you go over there." STUPID DRUMSTICK! It was cold. It was hard. It had less meat than a normal small drumstick.

I had an epiphany. The John Deere dealers would have everything on sale. I could buy twenty or thirty pairs of suspenders! For next to nothing! Greenie greenie greenie! But how could I keep the secret for 363 days? Mandy struggled for 17 days (plus 2 days because the toys were on the mountain.) This would test my compulsion to tell all! I always finish at Chuckarama with chocolate pudding. Wouldn't ya know it? The pudding was almost all gone. What do I do? People were pushing from all directions. How do I get anyone's attention? No employees anywhere! I ran to our booth. "Ma, what do I do? The pudding is gone. Do you think maybe that drumstick could have come from a small turkey?"

She said, "I cannot put up with all these people another second. I'm heading for the car." As she was going through the door, I swear I saw a boat of pudding arriving at the dessert bar. I realized that this was a wonderful opportunity to overcome a compulsion. No pudding. I am strong. I am El Tigre. I caught up with yer Ma as she reached the car. "Now, about those suspenders........." I go now.

The Abominable Blobman

Hi, Folks. I have decided to pay for every comment I get on my blob. I am discovering what the appeal is on writing blogs. It's the comments. They are more addicting and more compulsion-ating than... than........even nail biting. I am a driven man. So I'm beginning - starting today - to pay $1,000,000.00 for each comment. Jodi and Brian will be skeptical. I offered to pay them a million for every tough catch they made in back yard softball-tossin'. They caught manymanymany. The money is still pending. Be patient, ya little coots.

Anyhoo, the Abdominable blobman is so happy to find a venue to keep up better with everyone. Kookins, Twisty, the four siblin's and all others are registered participants. Ken might receive $2,000,000 for his first comment just to get him jump-started. I didn't even know of the comments for the first 3 or 4 weeks of my blob. Surprise!

Is it too late (Dec. 26) for a Christmas story? Don't get Gramps going. I'm compulsive about Christmas stories. A strong magnetic force is pulling, pulling me into the distant past. Help! I'm falling. Suddenly I am six years old. Grandma Burton came to see us for Christmas. She was so fun. A real character. But a bit outspoken. I was afrrrraid of her when she in one of her "snappy moods." She stayed in my bedroom. I awoke very early, probably at about 5:am. I was so silent as I crept to the bedroom door. But all was lost . "what are you doing," she demanded. "I just want to open some of my presents," I said in a strange, whining voice. "Get back in bed right now." "But, but ... I always get up this early..." My voice trailed off. "You get back in bed this instant," she commanded. "Today is Christmas Eve." She was right.

Speaking of falling, Yer ma (and grandma) fell this morning. Very soft landing. No breaks or bruises. Just some stiffness. I would offer to do her falling for her, but I'm afraid she would be about as convinced as you others are on my offer for cash prizes. We have had a fabulous Christmas. Remember Big Boy? "You! Big Boy! You go now." The Abdominable goes now.

Instructoblob

Our home teacher always says, "Merry merry, happy happy!" I concur.

This an instructional/tutorial/heads-up/blobbo.
A) Play with this outside 'til you get the hang of it.B) Don't let the smaller kids control it by themselves for awhile---- Maybe never.
C) Don't let anyone play with this toy if there is another greenie within about 50 or 100 feet. (They are on the same frequency.)

Blobbadociousness

Went to the dentist today. Didn't have a good experience. Told the dentist and his seven dwarfs about the greenies. Casually mentioned that I could safely divulge the nature of da greens. Said, however, that they'd have to kill me if I did. They weren't impressed. They were offended. And they tried to kill me. They tried laughing gas. They found that lol gas was not the same as truth serum. I told them nothing. I screamed with laughter, hahahahahaha, and then everything went black. When I awoke I knew that I was in deep trouble. The elves were attacking me with drills. They pretended to reassure me by saying "this is not a drill!" And it wasn't. It was fer real. Ironically, it was not a drill, but it WAS a drill. Go figure. Seven whirring, whining drills. They were trying to KILL me. I thought, "this whole greenie nonsense has gotten out of hand."

I quickly said, "This whole greenie nonsense has gotten out of hand." I tendered a recapitulation. "All right, all right, here is the straight story...." But all was lost. They had decided, (while I was asleep) that killing me would be more fun than learning the verdant truth. With jaded eyes they came after me. I thought quickly. What will stop the drill faster than anything else? Yeah! I've got it! Slobber. They always stop the drill and stick that vacuum wand into the mouth to capture slobber. Fortunately, I had popped a green tic tac into my mouth to keep from offending anyone. "Eeuuww", they shrieked. "Green slobber."

I raced for the door. But they cornered me. Those girls are so cute. I said, "if I bring green cookies, will you let me go?" So yer ma spent the day making green cookies and now I must deliver them. After all, I need to feel safe next time I go into that scary place. I go now.

Blobberooski

At 5:18 this morning I got a comment from Twisty Widgits. Would someone please pull me down from cloud nine so I can continue with my day?

Anyhoo, You must all be told this: There WILL be an instructional blob on the morning of Dec. 25. For security reasons, nothing more can be added or explained at this time. Barb & Dean and Mandy & Mike made a huge portion of our whole Christmas yesterday. What a great season we are all having!

I've been having fun with "compulsive behaviors" on my blobs, but in reality, I do have 'em. I was recently reminded of one of my serious ones from out of the past by a nameless person who now suffers from this same disorder. (Well, this guy has a name, mind you, but...) This condition may not seem important to you, dear reader, but it is truly maddening, life-disrupting and even painful to the victim.

If you have no obsessions or compulsions, you may consider skipping the remainder of this exciting, fast moving blobbo. For you others, the subject for today is: nail biting! Yeah! Nail biting. Let's get to it!!!

I "Chewed" for thirty five years or more from my early teens to my late forties. My nails permanently receded a full quarter-inch over the decades because of being constantly bitten into the quick. (Bloody stumps! Pain!EEuuww) They are now unsightly because of their shortness, but they are perfectly sightly in their evenness. I tried many cures, but the one that flat-out worked for me is now unfolding for you. It's value will be all up to you, but please let me know if my plan is a boon or a bust.

I read an article by a woman (psychologist?) a couple of years back telling people how to stop biting. She said, "surround yourself with nail files. Have one on hand at all times!" Though her article contained other hints also, I was firmly convinced that she had never been a biter herself. She seemed to know nothing of the degree of a biter's impulsive, driven need to conquer demons; or of the nervous energy that a person puts into his habit. Her method was merely to substitute one conpulsion for another. A person in this situation would revert back to biting if A) a file were suddenly unavailable, or B) the nails got too long for the file to be effective. Plus he/she would be constantly filing, filing, filing.

Here 'tis. Get a good nail clipper and put it in your bathroom, along with an emery-board file. (No metal file.) These will be your primary tools and should do 100% of your manicuring. Get a clipper for "just in case" and keep it at work along with a file. If you travel, get one of each for your luggage. You might also keep a file in your car for extreme emergencies. NEVER use any of these except in case of a hangnail or unexpected rough edge that seems to bother you.

Remember, the reason most people bite, and I number myself in this group, is because of an endless quest for perfection. Any ragged edge is a cause for madness. I mean, Edgar Allen Poe MADNESS! Well, folks, biting cannot bring about this perfection. Human teeth cannot achieve the excellent edge of a stainless steel blade. A clipper, if you will.

Okay, back to the plan. Choose one hour of the week for manicuring. (I always chose Saturday mornings.) Clip the nails TO but not INTO the quick. Clip as deeply as you normally BITE. This is important . Give yourself nothing to bite! After you have clipped as deeply and cleanly as possible, take the file and file each nail To showtime-perfection. Smooth. Silky. Liveable. Never deviate more than one day from this timeframe. During the week, use your thumbs from time to time to feel all of your nails, and your index finger to feel your thumbs. Am I going too fast? If a problem appears correct it on the spot. Don't wait for a "convenient" time to clean it up or you will be tempted to gnaw at it.

I have been "free" of this compulsion for about twenty years, now. It feels good. Even now, I have a momentary crisis if I get a hangnail or a rough spot during a moment when help is not available. I do not call 911. I tough it out. I'm so manly.

Caution: The more progress you make in this area, the more danger you will face in falling for another compulsion. My current obsession seems to be in chasing all over Northern Utah looking for greenies. Some compulsions can be interrupted and even cured with the loud verbal command: "STOP IT." Please comment. I go now.
P.S. If you are constantly using your nails to "even-up" your cuticles, consider this normal. I go now.
hasEML = false;

Blobbity

Omigosh. Just when I thought my compulsive disorder was being fenced in the sky fell in. It imploded. Yer Ma had a nice gift purchased for Shelly, but she did the unthinkable. She said, "If Ben and Skyler get a greenie, then what would you think of Shelly getting one also, considering that she and Ben do everything together?" O-Mi-Gosh. My frenzied brain began counting numbers.

If Shelly gets one then Amanda gets one. (This lets you out as a confidant, Mandy.) (Thanks for the response to my blob.) If she gets one then L-loo and K-2 each get one. Lets's see, here. Would this leave Mommybarb the only one in the Hevelone clan without one? UNCONSCIONABLE! I mentioned to Babs earlier that I might tell her what these mysterious objects are, but then she would have to kill me..... Wait. I may not have that right.

My fevered brain teleported itself to the Watson residence. What if.....WHAT IF the 3 Watson girls awoke on Christmas day without a single greenie. Not one green gummy worm.....INDEFENSIBLE! Think about it. Sixteen gummy worms for the MANY and no gummy worms for the FEW! Aargh.

Well, it will all be over soon. But for now the FBI, the CIA, Muh and myself will stoically carry on in silence. Incidentally, I determined that I would travel all the way to Dagget County if necessary to find green ones. It wasn't that bad. I found all seven I needed in Rich County and in North Summit County. Whew! Glad that's over. Seven? Oh oh. I need eight. Frenzyfrenzyfrenzy. I go now. I think I can find one in Lawrence, Kansas. If I drive all night. I should be okay. I go now.

ElfyerselfYERSELF

Flagmeister sez.....It's time for my daily blob. Yeah, like I'll be doin' this every day. I had a chillin' thought. What if Darren could actually receive a TOY on his mission..... Yumpin' yiminy. I ran for the car. I drave. I ran into the unnamable (for security reasons) store. "Weren't you in here yesterday? And the day before," the guy asked. I knew he was out of the green ones, but I told him maybe I could make the blue one a "special one" for the unfortunate guy who randomly got it. He said he had two or three more -----------s on a different shelf. I ran. I sifted and sorted through all those many boxes. (Three.) Greenie greenie greenie! Yayeeayeeay. Yippy-i-o-ki-yay!

I have all but completely solved my problem of compulsive behaviors, but this would have tested me. I almost would have abandoned the project if I had been forced into one blue one. "Here, you can have yer 12 ----------s back."

I am still hopping that Darren can have his this year, but if he has to wait fourteen months, then..... TOUGH IT OUT, DARREN. My old fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Carter, always spelled hoping "hopping" on the blackboard. I reserve the right to say hopping because I LEARNED IT IN SCHOOL. Live with it.

Elfyerself was a great video. Ah lahked it. I hop Ken gets to see it. Barb says Ken was "cutest" or something like that. What??? All four of my kids are equally cute and cuter than anybody else's kids. Get it straight, world.

Wow. Blobbing seems to create an attitude. I hop you are all doing well..........Roger Flag-rabbit

Gingerbread & Obsessions

Hi, everybuddy! (Everybuddy sounds more fun than everybody.) We saw the gingerbread houses. this very minute I am off to the store to get peanut brittle. You should know that if I see something that good I'm gonna go screaming down the street to get some. There is nothing better than p'nut br'tle. And ya never think of it 'til ya see it lining the path to a g'bread house. Then, ya gotta have some. I go now. I'm neither impulsive nor compulsive and I can prove it. Read on.

Mandy's house is so cute with the Pepsi bottle wall-ornament. I hop we can see the house one of these days.

News flash!! Remember the rulers? And the brick wallpaper? You can finally forget these things because I have stumbled onto a new craze that will BURY those poorly-planned "bargains." We saw these really neat items in a certain store which will remain unnamed for 17 days for security reasons. I decided that the boys needed one each. We got them home. Then I got to thinking that MANY boys needed one of these, so I ran (as I am known for doing) to this mystery location and bought some more. I lugged them home. Then I decided that ALL the boys truly needed one of these objects. They had blue ones and green ones, and I raced maniacally to the unnamed location (for security reasons) hopping that the green ones were not sold out. Green is the superior color. I cannot say why for security reasons. You will know all things in seventeen days. Tough it out.

I secured one for all the MEN of the fandamily. We're so cool. I didn't get one for Qute Q because he is too little to understand. I became very restless. Q is getting so big so fast. He is so smart. Clear the streets, I'm off to the address known only to us. If there is no green one I will drive all over SL County or even to Utah county or even farther to find one. Oh Oh! Now you all have a clue. It is a chain store. (Yaay! I found the last greenie.) But which chain store? There are dozens. Hahahahahahaha!! TOUGH IT OUT! Hahahahaha!!! Love, d'Flagster.

As you can see, I am winning in my fight to cure myself of old compulsions. I'm so proud!

THIS IS AMERICA.....DON'T DRINK THE WATER!

By the way..... Why do we in the United States reserve the right for ourselves to call ourselves "Americans" when Canadians and Mexican Nationals are also Americans? This is a clumsy puzzle to try to solve. "They" call themselves Canadiens and Mexicans with fluidity and without conscious effort. But if we decided to be more precise than to use the catchall generic word "Americans", what would that specific word or phrase be? United Statesers? Yu-ess-ers? Oreo Fillings? (well, we are sandwiched between those other countries.) CLUMSY!

Oh, I may have it! I get it! We are the United States of AMERICA! Duh. Hey, Flagboy, follow this train of thought: America. American. Canada and Mexico don't include the continent in their name. We may have something here. Whew. That was easy. For a moment I was thinkin' that I may have to try to mount a campaign to get us called the Ves Puggis. Amerigo Ves Puggi? Get it? Ves Pucci? Look up the spelling for yourself. I'm tired.

Good grief. I am using three paragraphs on one little BTW. But what about South America..... Aren't they Americans too? Shouldn't Their feelings be considered? Huh? Huh? Oh. Wait a minute. They don't include their continent either. I'm guessing here. Have you ever heard of the Bolivian States of America? Or the Argentine States of South America? I'd better be careful. I could start a controversy that would end in a revolution. Now, that's just plain profiling! I'm outa here.

Anyhoo, the reason for this blob is to tell ya about Eli's birthday party. When a kid gets to be four years old , he is the master of his big day. Eli understood everything. 2 and 3 year olds don't always understand everything. We brought him a kit to build a "Snoopy" gingerbread house. He wanted to go right to work on it, but his wise mom told him he would need to wait for a more advantageous day. Incidentally, that day came yesterday or today at the home of Linny-Loo, Kaydence-Too and Mister-Quoo. A BIIIGGGGG gingerbread project is underway. We're jealous.

Eli didn't throw a fit or even complain at all when he got put off a bit on his timeline. Now, that's maturity! Barb and her ma were sitting at the table talking about things in general when Barbara said, "Eli is being too quiet!" She ran, but she was too late. Eli was into the gumdrops for the gingerbread house! Now, that's smarts. That Eli. He has it all. Including timing. He knew when to make his move.

Our glorious magical moment on the mountain came and went too soon. Eli wanted to ride in the Cooper (rhymes with Trooper, hee hee) to the bottom of the hill. His mommy needed to fill some five gallon water jugs anyway, so it was a deal. He chattered all the way down. A real added bonus for Grams and Gramps. He rode with us all the way to the artesian well.

Ah, the artesian well. Artesian water is the nectar of the gods. Artesian wells are the lifeblood of the mountains. (I'm making this up.) But, still, I was excited for this artesian delight. I picked up the hose and went glub glub. Swig swig. Glug glug. Barbara shrieked, "Dad, nobody DRINKS that water." Oh, thanks. When we arrived home 2 hours later she was on the phone. "Are you sick yet?"

She has been concerned from that moment to this. I can safely say that my physical health is fine. Just fine. Question.....why isn't she all that concerned about my mental health where the real problems are? From Granny and Grumpy, love to all.....................Flagboy. Hmmmm..... maybe I will lobby for more respect......Love, Flagman

Mister ELI!

Hi, again. Hope this fits into blob format. We are off to see MISTER ELI! He is so dang fun. Word on the street has it that Mandy and the kids might be there but she tends a one year old and might not make it this time. It is Eli's fourth birthday. A real top-of -the-mountain birtrhday. But wouldn't it be something to see L, K, and Q!

G'munchka.... I am still trying to learn how to enter blob material and how to comment on people's blogs. I asked Jodi to show me how on Thanksgiving, but now the format has changed to her house and there may not be time to learn it. If I would just get off my keesteroonie I could probably learn it all by myself. I am especially stressed that I can't comment on Amanda,s blog.

We are excited out of our gourds to see all the improvements made to your house since we were there last. It just seems like yesterday or maybe earlier today that we were celebrating your fourth b-day on Pieper Blvd. Wish I remembered the e-zack details. Grandma was probably there. D'Kennet (almost three) would have been buggin' you and stealing your gifts. You were the most perfect little tiny girl on the planet, with your little spindly legs and your two front teeth missing (maybe the teeth stayed around to age five).

But, ya know what, you are still almost that tiny and still every bit that perfect. We have just begun to realize that you really do live a hundred miles away. Urk.

Oh! News flash. Yer Ma thinks she remembers yer 4th b'day. Your party included, among others, Kelly Blackburn, Beth Long, Wendy and Cindy Steele and a girl named Stephanie Something. Stephanie thought that since she had brought a gift that she got to take a gift home with her. Yer ma made sure that she got a nice party favor and an explanation that it doesn't work quite like that.

We are sooooo excited. See you tomorrow . Let me know if Dean needs help with anything......Love, d'Pa

FlagRANT

Flag-rant says.... HEY!!! I've just hit upon a fantabulous (thanks for the word, Mandy) new look at Flagboy. Flag-rant is kinda like Flagboy. Flagrant is an "over the top" foul. Yeah, I get it. FlagRANT is just that. More ranting. Flagged is to become tired. I'm sure you are all of that. But it sure is fun for me to talk about myself. What a great topic. I cannot see any of you right now through my monitor, but I can hear you running. Come back! I'm done.

Seriously, I have been happy to receive your comments. I won't be commenting on your blobs (blogs) until I learn how. I can't even post my own blobs. My blobs will continue being posted as long as Jodi has the patience to magically transform my e-mails to bobbles or bungles or whatever you call them. Oh, yeah, blobs.

Hi, Cindy! Anyhoo, B-dawg's comment on his visit to the Great Salt Lake brought back a great memory. We all went there as a cub scout excursion. The wind was blowing at about 15 or 20 knots, allowing the sea gulls to fly into the wind at 15 or 20 knots, about 10 feet off the ground, remaining "stationary" while we tossed popcorn into the air for them. Lamont Hansen was the Cubmaster. A national award-winning Cubmaster, I might add. Guess who was the first to receive a huge smelly white blob on his shirt. Ohhh Yeaaah. Cubmaster Hansen. Pandemonium.

Give a Cub scout something funny and he will not give it a rest for decades. I wonder if B-dawggie still remembers that.

Thanks, again Jot..................d'Pa

Why we hate us

I have been suffering from a growing problem these past few months. It has not gotten out of hand yet and I hope it doesn't. I was surprised to see Doug Robinson nail the problem on the head in his Tuesday, Nov. 18, 2008 column. (Deseret News, pg B1). You might find this article here: drob@desnews.com. For lack of time and space, I won't quote much of it.

He speaks of a new book by Dick Meyer titled "Why we hate us." Some reasons for our rage are: (A) because our population has doubled from 150 million to over 300 million in 50 short years, (B) because we are saddled with "time saving" devices that take up an enormous amount of time and (C) because of exponential growth of personal agendas and "selfism" we have become disoriented, anchorless and defensive. I quote all of this rather loosely. Obviously, our response to these new pressures is to dislike each other. Wow.

Tonight I stopped at Wendy's to pick up two quarter pounders with cheese. The lady took my money at the second window. She was very nice. A few moments later a fellow appeared at the window with my bag of treasure. He handed me the bag, turned and walked away. He might as well have thrown it at me. My newly acquired preset attitude took over. I was helpless to stop it. "Thank you" I yelled in indignation. He kept walking. The poor lady rushed to say "thank you", hoping to avert confrontation. At the top of my voice I screamed "thank you." The poor guy turned and mumbled some sort of "Uh, yeah, thanks" as I gave him a dirty look and drove away.

Part of my intention was pure. In that split second, I hoped to teach him that people need the smallest courtesies. But I knew that Mr. Hyde was trying to take me over. I find more and more that forebearance is a virtue that I have been walking away from as social mores decline. I used to laugh about "ornery old goats" and now I are one. Maudeen says she is suffering from the same growing illness. Make no mistake, as we search for external answers we are probably burying the internal answers. In effect; since you surely aren't going to change, at least not now, today, then it must be me that changes.

Let's just take bad drivers "fer instance." I am seriously trying a new technique. No, a whole new attitude. Whenever another driver offends me, I will look at him/her as my best friend who is teasing me. "Oh, look, there's my best friend Ralphie cutting me off. We'll laugh at that later today. ." Or, "there's my best friend Minnie honking at me for no discernable reason. I'll e-mail her and we'll LOL all over the place. And "golly, there's my best friend Billy tailgating me at 85 mph. He's such a stud." I think I am onto something here!

How about this: "There's my best friend Luigi. He's waving at me with only part of his hand. Awesome!" Or, maybe, " There's my best friend Arnie running a red light and almost taking my front bumper off. He's so silly. Maybe I'll slash one of his tires when I get him stopped. He'll love it." Or "There goes my buddy Vince. He sped up when I sped up, then he slowed down when I slowed down, and now I have missed my exit. I'll push him completely off the shoulder. If he rolls his car we'll have that to laugh about for weeks to come." Or, "there is my best friend Moosie. Haven't seen him since high school. He has gained weight! He took my parking spot. I love that guy. I'm gonna hide here at the edge of the parking lot and pretend to crash into him, swerving at only the last possible second. Hope his wife and three children have the same sense of humor I have. Hope Moosie does."

Last year some guy verbally abused me in a crowded intersection. Luckily I followed him and now I know where he lives. I'm going right now to his house. My newfound excitement for generosity during stressful times allows me to do what needs to be done. This is brilliant. I have 18 cans of spray paint. When he comes out to confront me I'll have a giggle fit and inform him that I have absolutely no animosity toward him. Life is good.

The Flaggist Sez

The Flaggist Sez.....Many many years ago in a large large city many many miles away a little girl dreamed of someday seeing a magnificent lake. She had learned of this lake in school. .she had read books about it. She sometimes heard stories from people who had actually seen the lake and she promised herself, "I will see that lake."

As she grew older the mental vision of the lake became a bit obscured, but only because of the busy busy business of life. She eventually married and started a family. This family became very very large as many many children were born into it. Numerous numerous decades slipped by.

Her husband. who had always been well employed, suddenly lost his job. After many many months of searching, no desirable employment presented itself. They agreed that they would do much much better to move to a more productive environment. They moved many many miles to a far far city.

After one or two years in this exciting new land, she stumbled onto a shocking fact. She now lived only a few miles from the fabulous lake of of her distant distant memories. "Now I will see that lake!"

Early early one Saturday morning she, her husband and some of their younger children who were now big big teenagers piled into their van and drove north. They arrived at the glorious glorious banks of the magical magical lake. She stood next to the water as it rippled and rippled near her feet. She said, "This is....... it???"

She was gazing across the barren barren reaches of the Great Salt Lake.

This is a true story. Though the Great Salt Lake can be a bit shocking to people with high expectations it really is a beautiful body of water. Artists and photographers must be patient in searching out the colors and textures of this seemingly unchanging land/seascape. This "unchanging" bayou rises and falls like a gigantic backyard inflated plastic pool. A pool with Grandpa jumping in and out. Yeah, Flagboy. In the 1980s the lake swelled up so high that people began to fear for the safety of the airport. They built a humongous pump. They pumped so much water onto the salt flats that a new lake was formed that could be seen from space.

Now, twenty five years later, people can walk to Antelope Island on dry ground that was lake just 3 or 4 years ago.

Many many years ago two girls took a swim in the G S Lake. There are no tides in this pond which lies "motionless" in the bottom of the Great Basin. These two girls, however, were unaware of the power of wind. When they became tired of swimming in the water that is "impossible to sink" in, they tried heading for shore (somewhere near the old Saltair Resort). They became exhausted and found themselves bobbing helplessly for many many (oh, no, not many many again) hours.

The woman who told me this story - in about 1959 - didn't bother to say when it happened. But it hadda been in the late 1930s. If only she had known, she could have walked it instead of swimmin' it merely by waiting 70 years. (I wonder if she's still alive.... prob'ly not) Have I forgotten anything? Oh, yeah. They're still trapped in the lake. They were almost to the Bountiful side by the time they were rescued at dusk. The redhead was hospitalized for severe sunburn, but the brunette (who told me this) said she had the deepest and best tan for the whole summer.

Why am I doing this lengthy treatise on the Great Salt Lake? I dunno.

Flagfella sez

I had a very scrumptious breakfast this morning. I'm turning into a pretty darn good cook. I can open a package of instant oatmeal as quickly and imaginatively as anyone. Question: what's the difference between swill, gruel and oatmeal? Answer: the oatmeal seems a bit bland.

Well, da season is quickly drawing upon us. Many folks are saying that this year less is more. "Landfill" gets a big circle with a line through it. I concur. In fact, I concur with gusto. I want the economy to flourish, but I prefer to see it flourish off of someone else's steroid injections than mine.

Here are a couple of thoughts from the past.....(A) from the 1970's.....from Weatherman Welti.....a Russian fellow named Rudolph and his wife Wilhelmina were disscussing the weather. Wilhelmina said "it is beginnink to snow." Rudy said "no, it is beginningk to rain." "No, snow." "No, rain." "Snow!" "Rain!" Rudolph, in exasperation, poked his chest out and said, "Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear."

(B) And, from 1984, this one from........ME!, What do you get when you cross Santa's favorite helper with america's favorite gymnast? (Remember, this is 1984) Mary Lou Rhetton Nosed Raindeer.

I conceived that little cartoon one evening at a time when I probably should have have been doing more important things. Anyway, after torturing the family with it, I determined that everyone at work would want to hear it. The first guy I saw the next morning heard my excited rendering. He chuckled and said, "oh, yeah, I saw that on Carson last night." I was a bit taken aback. Was he somehow recognizing that this was my own concoction and jealously refusing to acknowledge the greatness of it? Was he merely assuming that this joke was most assuredly worthy of Johnny Carson and assuming that I had probably seen it on T.V.? Or could it, by some traaaagic twist of fate, have actually BEEN on Carson? I suspected that I would not get a straight answer from him, so I dropped it. But, for these past 24 years, I have been wondering.....

Well, maybe Mary Lou is still America's fave. She was soooo famous back then. I can still remember a Wheaties box with her dazzling smile on the face of it. She even had a drop of milk on her lip. Cute. I don't care if she was a big slobbermouth, I like her jus' fine.

On a more sinister note, after TWENTY FOUR YEARS of thinkin' about it, this creepy thought creeps into my creeped-out consciousness: Could I have seen it on Carson, shoved it into my subconscious mind and later revived it as my own? COULD I HAVE DONE THIS?....... Nnnnno. Creepers jeepers, no. But in all fairness, I hadda say it. Flagboy goes now.

Grateful for Abe and Gel and other stuff

Here are some of the smaller things I am thankful for as we head into the season.

1) Styling gel. I hate styling gel, but I despise windjammer-hair. I consider gel to be the equivalent of swamp slime. Rancid mayonnaise. Guacamole. But, where would we be without it? I would cheerfully shave my head the way Unca George does, but... I'm a pinhead. George has a nice round soccer ball cranium. I have a ridge atop my skull. I'm surprised that it doesn't go all the way down my back like Godzilla. (Another thing to be thankful for.)I have a dickens of a time finding gel with a holding power of "10" for less than $2. But it can be done. Walmart. Lowest shelf. Hidden waaaay behind the kangaroo. Labella's. Soon to be obsolete, I'm afraid. Anything with a holding power of ''9" or lower isn't really gel. More like jel-ly. Strawberry preserves. Karo syrup.You may also want to avoid the really hard stuff. (No, we're not drinkin' it.) My hairdresser/commontator, Shala, uses some concrete/mortar mix. She cuts it, "warshes" it and spikes the bejeebers out of it. If I forget later in the day and touch it I get several bloody puncture wounds.

Some folks lie in their teeth by saying "I love your spikes. Why don't you keep it that way?" I reply, "Uh, my hair grows really fast and after 4 or 5 days I would start looking like Don king." While that is true, my real reason for not spiking is the probable cost of the cool stuff. I don't even ask Shala such dumb questions as "how much?"

2) Abe Lincoln. I'm a "Big Abe" fan. I am so happy that he gave the world the Constipation Emancipation Proclamation. I wonder what "slightly aging" folks did before he came along. For me, about every six weeks or so, he saves me, along with an assist from the "Fleet" company. Enough on that already.

3) I am grateful for everyone in my world who provides me with blogs, facebooks, pictures, e-mails and other e-stuff. I laugh when Grammy, also known as Deenie or Maudeen, calls Facebook "Faceplate". I'm sure she'll get past it.........d'Pa

Flagboy sez...

I can't believe I have my own blog. Someday I will learn how to do stuff on it. Meanwhile I will rely on my ghost-blogger (Stitch) to come up with sizzling humor and worthwhile commentary while crediting it all to me. Little known fact:(factoid?) b-dawg also goes by the name Emo. He does.

Hello, world! Today is the first day of my blog. Thanx to Jodi for setting it up for me! How did we get the name "Flagboy 1941"? Well, my b'day is 12/31/41.

One day about 10 years ago (no, this is not "Large Marge" from Peewee's Big Adventure) but just as scary. We were all at Deer Creek Reservoir near Heber City, Utah, water skiing. Because I was getting a bit older and slower I was assigned the task of raising the flag every time one of our skiers went down. This is done so some other boater doesn't come along, not noticing a head bobbing in the water, and remove a portion of that person's face. Well, I kept forgetting to raise the flag. Oh, did I get screamed at. By many. Often. In exasperation, my wife, Deenie, my sons Ken and Brian, my daughter Jodi and her hubby, Todd Began to call me "Flagboy". And not in kindly words. "Hey, Flagboy! Wake Up!" NOW you can visualize Large Marge's creepy face. That's how they all looked as they viciously reminded me of my duties. I will always be Flagboy and they will always be in relentless pursuit of me.

My other daughter, Barbara, has - with her Hubby, Dean and their three-year-old Eli - become true modern day pioneers, moving to a remote mountain-top between Strawberry Reservoir and Duchesne, Utah. They have scratched out a terrific homestead in the forest. They have a view of the Uintah Mountains. It has been easy for them. They haven't had to work more than 17 or 18 hours per day for these many, many months. We are so proud of them.

The grandkids are Amanda, (Mike) and their children, Lynzi, Kaydence and Quintin; Cody, our California Connection, (we miss him a lot); Ben, (Shelly) and Skyler; Alicia, (Mike) and Shalyn, and the twins, ------- and -------. Also, Darren, an LDS missionary in Samara, Russia, Elora, Connor and Larissa.

Deenie, also known by her actual name, Maudeen, and I are retired and living in Holladay, Utah.

I grew up in the crown of the Rocky mountains, in Alma, CO, near Leadville and Breckenridge. Alma, at 10,500 feet, is the highest incorporated town in the U. S. or Canada. I always joke that the air is so thin and oxygen depleted up there that this is why my brain never developed. No one ever seems to laugh at this joke, merely staring at me in profound pity. I don't get it.

Maudeen grew up in Price, Utah, and still has friends and family in Price.