Thursday, June 2, 2011

We had a dilemma. Our ol' toilet in my bathroom hasn't been working too well. It became apparent yesterday that it must be replaced. We were sitting in the living room discussing the awfulness of the situation. Dilemma: do we pay $379.00 for a plumber or do we pay $144.00 and turn me loose on the project. I am not a plumber. For one thing, my pants don't go down nearly far enough to even begin to show a plumber's butt crack.

I decided that it was just too risky. Translated, that means that I'm just too dang lazy and fearful. Having never installed a toilet before, I decided, with finality, that it was too scarrrry. Suddenly, someone on the tv said "Eleanore Roosevelt once said, 'you should do something that scares you every day'". That's the truth. The timing was perfect. Perfectly horrid! I looked at Maudeen. She looked at me.

I KNOW there is a life after death, because I KNOW I will eventually find Eleanor Roosevelt and give her a piece of my mind.

The guy at Home Depot showed me all the fine points of my upcoming project. I was especially impressed with the notice that said "no tools needed". I asked about that. The guy said, "If you believe that, I have a bridge I can sell you. If your fingers are as strong as Arnold Schwartzneggar's, you will be fine. Otherwise you will need tools. Just be gentle." Oh, now I'm supposed to be a gentle plumber.

Several hours later, after dragging out a heavy "twalatte" and dragging in a heavy twalatte and dealing successfully with that demoralizing WAX RING I was done. as in d-o-n-e. I hadn't broken the porcelain. I hadn't stripped any threads. There were no leaks. I even put my tools away. Okay, I lie. The tools are not yet put away, but they are stacked neatly in the corner.

Deenie said: "I can't believe this. I just cannot believe this". She thought I would be on the phone shouting,"Kenneth, get over here".

So, if you need a plumber, feel free to call..... Buttcrack Plumbing. You can find them in the yellow pages.
We are the greatest grandparents in the WORLD! Not - in this case - great grandparents, merely grandparents, but great, you understand. We support Connor in every last thing he does. He can always count on us. We are just... outstanding, y'know?

This has been one of our best weeks. We waved a Pikachu flag at his graduation. His friends pounded on his back quite a bit, pointing at us. He tried to look nonchalant, mostly looking in the other direction. What a guy.

Then, the next evening, the graduating class of Jordan High held a celebration party. Not a single parent showed up. Not a single school administrator showed up. Not a single adult showed up. We were the only grandparents there. We were so proud. We danced the light fantastic. We seemed to be the center of attention. We loved it. However, Connor didn't seem to be feeling too well. He sat over in a corner with his hands over his eyes. We eventually went over to him and asked if he'd like for us to get him an aspirin. He was so sweet. He said, "no, you have done enough". His hands never left his eyes.

He is planning a trip to Ireland right away. He doesn't know it yet, but we have our reservations made and our bags packed. We don't know exactly where he will be, but we'll find him. We WILL find him.

Editor;s note: Yes, this a spoof. He hasn't graduated yet. Grandma Maudeen casually mentioned to me that Connor was planning a party the night after graduation. But, she knows that I am easily befuddled, so she quickly added, "but we won't be attending that". The incongruity of it all hit me pretty hard. I awoke in the night, thinking, wow, there hasta be a blob in here somewhere.

Saturday, May 28, 2011


I cannot bring myself to compose a complete personal history, so the next best thing might be to tell stories from my past. Some personal histories are so dry! I hope this will be a litt-a-bit easier to read.

During the late spring of 1959, I found myself running around at 6:30 or 7:00 a.m., getting ready for school in Monticello, Utah, 55 miles away. We were acting a bit crazy, as the school year was almost over. I can't for the life of me remember why I was tearing around with Frank Long at that outlandish hour when he was not in school.
Maybe he had just gotten off graveyard shift at one of the mines.I guess he was lonely. He had graduated a year earlier from some high school in central Utah. I didn't know him too well. He had stories to tell. He had tossed up an outlandish hook shot from midcourt at the buzzer to win a game for (Salina?)High.

Jay Lish, Jim McTaggart, Ralph Ramstetter,Jimmy Dennison and I were planning to run to school that day in Jay's old '48 Plymouth. (Later owned by Eddie Burton.) Frank said, "ride with me at least as far as La Sal Junction." I thought about it and said, "naw, if I did that I would (A) have to wait for them at the junction, or (B) not get a front seat." I really don't remember why I bailed out of Frank's car.

We headed out while the school bus was loading up with high schoolers. Jay was a speedy guy, but I don't remember us being in a hurry. Jay looked in his rear view mirror and shouted, "here comes Frank". That Plymouth was no slouch, but Frank was in a '51 Mercury. We stepped on it. We were soon doing 80 or 90 miles per hour, just short of the turnoff to the mining district where most of us lived. Frank must have been doing 110 or even 120 as he started around us. That Mercury was a piece of work. It was faasst.

His left wheels just barely got off the pavement. At a lower speed this would have been no problem. But he couldn't correct. He went into the barrow pit (who coined that silly phrase, "barrow pit" anyway?) He slammed into the berm (another silly word) containing the turnoff.He went airborne for a bit, then landed on the highway not more than 15 feet in front of us. But he was sideways to us. I saw - for an instant - the panic on his face. Then, he was gone in a cloud of dust.

It took 200, maybe 300 feet to stop. We went running. It must have been a windless day, because we ran into the cloud of dust, unable to see anything. We found the demolished Merc. No one knows how many times it rolled, but it ended up on its wheels. We couldn't find Frank. I was afraid he might be under the car. We could never have rolled that big monster over onto its side. We went running around, screaming, "Frank". Someone said "he's over here". He had been crushed by the car.

He was breathing, but he had an ominous pink fluid on his lips. (Sorry for being a bit graphic, but you knew this was coming.) He soon stopped breathing. The school bus came by. The driver jumped out to see if he could help. He jumped back into the bus to get the kids away from that gruesome sight.

Carloads of miners came by, heading for work, all of them jumping out to try to help, then sadly moving on. We stood there in silence. I couldn't help noticing the perfect clear blue sky. Frank's brother and grandmother soon arrived from the trailer court where they all lived. Seeing Grandma's face was a terrible moment.

After surveying the scene, the brother, (Jack?) (My memory fails) went over and sat on the running board of his old pickup truck. After a while he had some words for us. But not many. He clenched his fist and said "if I ever catch any of you speeding, I'm gonna....".

It took two hours for a Highway Patrolman to arrive. I knew the local fuzz, but I cannot remember whether it was Claude Lacy Or another guy. Ahh, my wonderful memory. I'm glad I am getting this all down. My friends would now all say, "no, it happened this way, or this way" but I haven't seen any of them in fifty years. The Patrolman sent us on our way. We wanted to stay and help get Frank into an ambulance or hearse, but we followed instructions.

As we walked into the high school at about noon, we told the principal that we had to go to the Highway Patrol office to file reports. Principal Burr told us to report and then take the rest of the day off. All the way down to the office, we worked frantically to make sure our stories jibed, I.E.,"Oh no, we weren't speeding. Oh, no, Frank wasn't speeding". We were interviewed separately. None of us were sentenced to 20 years for lying. The cops weren't dumb. They were just not interested in prying the truth out of us. Or maybe someone TOLD the truth, satisfying the interrogator.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Greetinks and salutations to all who view this blob. All two of you. Baadd news from the television world. I saw a stupidly stupid ad featuring a BLOB! He was a little square cube-like character, resembling qbert, advertising something or something. I, the original Blob, (almost original) have been replaced. I shall eventually fight to the finish, but for now......... it's ok.

It has to be ok. What's beyond angered? Beyond astounded? b'yond infuriated?? The only word I can conjure up is.....mumblized. I am disheartened and mumblized at this outrage. But it's ok. For NOW. I mumble a lot anyway, but mumblization is debilitating, so I shall take the high road, the higher road and - well you get it. But be aware, Mister Elephant never forgets.... I am done talking about THAT blob.

I won't even capitalize his name. His logo is moronic. his message is unrememberable. His colors are red and white. Need I say more? I think not. Far below mud and muck you will find slime. This guy is slime. Nothin' more to say.

On a happier note, I can report that this little freak was the product of advertising genii who probably never got past seventh grade. What is lower than moron? Lower than idiot? I got it. Imbecile. These Imbeciles, who cannot dress themselves, Have put manymanymany hours of hard work, laboring over chocolate donuts, and come up with a cube. With rounded corners. Genius!!! blob flies around like a demented bumblebeee, advertising whatever. I am proud to hold myself above the level of combatant in this issue. I have IMPORTANT themes to pursue.

The communication world is quickly becoming overrun with the mundane. MUNDANE? This quack is mundanious to a fault. That's right, a FAULT. I go now.

I shall be known as BLOBFISH! Blobfish the Indestructable. I have been refusing for some time now to look in any mirror that shows anything below the neck. Not that the image above the neck is any grand prize. BLOBFISH. Blobfish works well. Really well. B'fish will one day rule the television world. I will rule every channel, even those stupid cable channels. (Thank you, Ken, for bringing Enhanced Stupid to the family. NO! You are not stupid, enhanced! You merely put more and better emphasis on "stupid" than we have ever before witnessed.

Do you remember Seinfeld, the show about nothing? Well, this is Blobfish , the blob about nothing. I had a theme in mind. (I really did.) But I became incensed with the unfairness of it all that I just had to make one short little comment about "blob, - the Interloper". See, I didn't "cap" his name. Good for me. I go now. We'll see what the little creep thinks of that. I'm through talking about him. Or her. Or it. That's it! It'an it! I am gone now.