Saturday, May 14, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Music is magical.
Working on a song with the family - just a cover so far. Hopefully we'll get it done sometime soon and I'll post it. Only have drums, vocal, and electric rhythm guitar. Needs lead guitar, maybe an acoustic, bass, and some strings or pads or something.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Winter Olympics
The other day my family, some friends, and I went sledding. We happen to be blessed this year with more snow than average [insert requisite global warming joke here] and the kids got new sleds from their grandparents for Christmas. We put three and two together, plus one and one... and one more - three new sleds, two kids, one runner sled, an overweight dad, and one other sled that kinda sucks.
We decided to try a new hill that we had heard local college kids talk about being pretty fun. This hill was good sized and looked like the main runs ran out into a field like area. Safe and ok. Little did we know this hill had a danger cloaking device activated.
There were two main runs with jumps at the end that looked advanced. The other half of the hill looked safer - no apparent jumps. The first kid we saw run a few steps, jump on his sled with a "whoop!", and shoot down to the end. No big deal, but it looked a little quick. One of our kids went on their first try. Screaming all the way down. A couple minor bumps that knocked the wind out of them in such a way that they sounded like a vice was squeezing their torso "eeeeeee-EEEEE-eeeee-OOOOO-oooooo....".
Wow that looked dangerous. And fast.
I stood there next to my runner sled. Just watching. It was my Grandpa's sled from when he was a kid. This thing was built back when they used real materials. It weighs more than a Hyundai. The runners end like spikes. I can jam it into the snow upright and it will stand on its own. I stood there next to my sled watching kids scream all the way down the hill.
Apparently I had arrived about 45 minutes before my courage. I stood there almost an hour before I considered making my first run.
Now there were some bad spots to watch out for. First, the hill tilts slightly to the right. Staying in your run lane was a bit of a challenge for the other sleds. Mine had steerable rails. Advantage: me. There are a few jumps, a tree/bush with a 3 inch trunk that will probably kill you if you run into it, and a big stack of railroad ties that would definitely kill you if you ran into it. Again, I had steerable rails. Advantage: me. I also had experience in my side. I grew up in Alaska, after all. If sledding were an Olympic sport... well, I wouldn't have made the team, but I would have been qualified to try. Advantage: me.
Since my courage had shown up and my good sense wouldn't arrive for another hour, there was nothing holding me back.
Off I went.
I could now see through the danger cloaking device of the hill. The first part goes straight down - to build maximum killing speed, of course. Then there are the jumps to avoid. "First, go right," I thought, "to avoid the jumps," which I had already passed in stage one of my jump to light speed. I was now on track for the jump on the right! "Left, left, left, more left, whoop, leftleftleftleftleft!" I missed the jump on the right and was curving enough left to miss the tree, and the ditch just left of the tree (where did that come from?!?! I could have died in that thing!). Then, just like that, the danger was over.
Most of the tracks ended there. I was breaking new sledding ground! I aimed for the only place there wasn't a foot of fresh snow - the walking trail approaching the area from the East. I ran on that until all momentum left my sled and me. I had nearly added a third to what appeared to be the longest run by anyone to date. It felt like the whole ordeal took about 5 seconds. I must have hit 60 miles per hour. I was the conquering champion of the whole hill! Woooo-Hooo!!!
My wife managed to capture the whole thing on video. There must be a reality distortion field to accompany the danger cloaking device on the hill because it looked pretty tame from the sidelines.
I guess that's the way it usually goes with life. It never looks as difficult as it is - at least for me, anyway.
Maybe sometime I'll tell the story of how my daughter thought my runs looked easy and decided to try the runner sled herself. Her first run made me a little nervous, but she did quite well - even with a small jump or two she couldn't avoid. On her second run, she never quite got on the right path. Most of us adults thought she would be maimed beyond recognition by the tree. My wife was already planning the funeral service for our dear departed in her head.
She survived. Kids are more durable than adults.
Fun times.
We decided to try a new hill that we had heard local college kids talk about being pretty fun. This hill was good sized and looked like the main runs ran out into a field like area. Safe and ok. Little did we know this hill had a danger cloaking device activated.
There were two main runs with jumps at the end that looked advanced. The other half of the hill looked safer - no apparent jumps. The first kid we saw run a few steps, jump on his sled with a "whoop!", and shoot down to the end. No big deal, but it looked a little quick. One of our kids went on their first try. Screaming all the way down. A couple minor bumps that knocked the wind out of them in such a way that they sounded like a vice was squeezing their torso "eeeeeee-EEEEE-eeeee-OOOOO-oooooo....".
Wow that looked dangerous. And fast.
I stood there next to my runner sled. Just watching. It was my Grandpa's sled from when he was a kid. This thing was built back when they used real materials. It weighs more than a Hyundai. The runners end like spikes. I can jam it into the snow upright and it will stand on its own. I stood there next to my sled watching kids scream all the way down the hill.
Apparently I had arrived about 45 minutes before my courage. I stood there almost an hour before I considered making my first run.
Now there were some bad spots to watch out for. First, the hill tilts slightly to the right. Staying in your run lane was a bit of a challenge for the other sleds. Mine had steerable rails. Advantage: me. There are a few jumps, a tree/bush with a 3 inch trunk that will probably kill you if you run into it, and a big stack of railroad ties that would definitely kill you if you ran into it. Again, I had steerable rails. Advantage: me. I also had experience in my side. I grew up in Alaska, after all. If sledding were an Olympic sport... well, I wouldn't have made the team, but I would have been qualified to try. Advantage: me.
Since my courage had shown up and my good sense wouldn't arrive for another hour, there was nothing holding me back.
Off I went.
I could now see through the danger cloaking device of the hill. The first part goes straight down - to build maximum killing speed, of course. Then there are the jumps to avoid. "First, go right," I thought, "to avoid the jumps," which I had already passed in stage one of my jump to light speed. I was now on track for the jump on the right! "Left, left, left, more left, whoop, leftleftleftleftleft!" I missed the jump on the right and was curving enough left to miss the tree, and the ditch just left of the tree (where did that come from?!?! I could have died in that thing!). Then, just like that, the danger was over.
Most of the tracks ended there. I was breaking new sledding ground! I aimed for the only place there wasn't a foot of fresh snow - the walking trail approaching the area from the East. I ran on that until all momentum left my sled and me. I had nearly added a third to what appeared to be the longest run by anyone to date. It felt like the whole ordeal took about 5 seconds. I must have hit 60 miles per hour. I was the conquering champion of the whole hill! Woooo-Hooo!!!
My wife managed to capture the whole thing on video. There must be a reality distortion field to accompany the danger cloaking device on the hill because it looked pretty tame from the sidelines.
I guess that's the way it usually goes with life. It never looks as difficult as it is - at least for me, anyway.
Maybe sometime I'll tell the story of how my daughter thought my runs looked easy and decided to try the runner sled herself. Her first run made me a little nervous, but she did quite well - even with a small jump or two she couldn't avoid. On her second run, she never quite got on the right path. Most of us adults thought she would be maimed beyond recognition by the tree. My wife was already planning the funeral service for our dear departed in her head.
She survived. Kids are more durable than adults.
Fun times.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Holiday food
When you read the title of this post, I'm sure you already know what I am talking about. It's what we all think about when we read or hear the words 'holiday food.' Of course I'm speaking of chocolate bunny rabbits.
I must confess that I look forward to no other holiday food item with as much anticipation as chocolate bunny rabbits. I do not pretend to understand this, and in fact it confuses me a little, since I know me so well. I like chocolate, but tend more towards the dark chocolate - about 60% cocao is perfect. I don't go for regular milk chocolate like a plain hersey bar much. Granted, I will not turn one down, but I don't recall the last time I purchased a good ol' American classic Hersey bar. So the fact that I like chocolate bunny rabbits - which is the plainest milk chocolate of all - so much is somewhat strange.
I also feel compelled to call them chocolate bunny rabbits. Bunny rabbits. Welcome to the department of redundancy department. This usually kills me. Like when someone talks about their computer NIC card (for non-nerds: NIC = network interface card). Or other similar examples of which there are too many to count and they all escape my memory right now. I guess I feel too manly to call them chocolate bunnies. But chocolate rabbit sounds a little too blunt. Or like someone has dipped a live animal in rich, creamy, molten chocolate. Chocolate bunny rabbit is where I've subconsciously landed. And I think I'm fine with that.
Now on to the type. There are two main types of chocolate bunny rabbits. Hollow and solid. Hollow is absolutely required. Solid feels like you've gotten it too good. "Here's more chocolate than you've ever seen in one place. Like 6 or 10 hersey bars all melted together into the general form of a mostly two dimensional animal form. Try to work on taking a bite, but don't break your teeth." This is no good. Hollow is the only way to go. The hollow chocolate bunny rabbit feels balanced somehow. Not too dense, but enough heft to know you have something. Cartoonishly proportionate, but proportionate just the same. Some places it's just a little thin where it didn't stick to the mold as thickly as it should have. This is made up for on the places where it's a little thicker than standard. It helps make each one a little adventure - where will this bite break off? Will it be a small bite or a large piece that must be crammed in?
Size? No question - I will get the largest one they have. Within reason. I don't go for the life size freaks of marketing. For example, I am currently working on one titled "Grandbunny Heffelflopper." A wonderful 20 oz. specimen that is going on day 3 of my attack. A worthy opponent that looks like it will last only one more sitting. Anything with a title of "Grand-something" will usually do nicely.
Then there is the question of the extras. The eyes? Hard sugar candy buttons? I eat them. You can discard if you like and I think that's ok. I kinda like the crunchy texture, but they *must* be eaten with a bite of chocolate. Otherwise it's just a sweet piece of chalk.
Some have bow-ties or some other sort of ribbon adornment. This is a complete waste of time. Take my word for it, they are not edible. But they should be.
So there you have it. My take on the world's best holiday food: the chocolate bunny rabbit. They are in stores now - so hurry out and get yourself one. Maybe two, so you have a backup.
And to Mr. Grandbunny Heffelflopper: I salute you, worthy opponent. You fought the battle well even when you lost your ears. I already look forward to seeing you next year.
I must confess that I look forward to no other holiday food item with as much anticipation as chocolate bunny rabbits. I do not pretend to understand this, and in fact it confuses me a little, since I know me so well. I like chocolate, but tend more towards the dark chocolate - about 60% cocao is perfect. I don't go for regular milk chocolate like a plain hersey bar much. Granted, I will not turn one down, but I don't recall the last time I purchased a good ol' American classic Hersey bar. So the fact that I like chocolate bunny rabbits - which is the plainest milk chocolate of all - so much is somewhat strange.
I also feel compelled to call them chocolate bunny rabbits. Bunny rabbits. Welcome to the department of redundancy department. This usually kills me. Like when someone talks about their computer NIC card (for non-nerds: NIC = network interface card). Or other similar examples of which there are too many to count and they all escape my memory right now. I guess I feel too manly to call them chocolate bunnies. But chocolate rabbit sounds a little too blunt. Or like someone has dipped a live animal in rich, creamy, molten chocolate. Chocolate bunny rabbit is where I've subconsciously landed. And I think I'm fine with that.
Now on to the type. There are two main types of chocolate bunny rabbits. Hollow and solid. Hollow is absolutely required. Solid feels like you've gotten it too good. "Here's more chocolate than you've ever seen in one place. Like 6 or 10 hersey bars all melted together into the general form of a mostly two dimensional animal form. Try to work on taking a bite, but don't break your teeth." This is no good. Hollow is the only way to go. The hollow chocolate bunny rabbit feels balanced somehow. Not too dense, but enough heft to know you have something. Cartoonishly proportionate, but proportionate just the same. Some places it's just a little thin where it didn't stick to the mold as thickly as it should have. This is made up for on the places where it's a little thicker than standard. It helps make each one a little adventure - where will this bite break off? Will it be a small bite or a large piece that must be crammed in?
Size? No question - I will get the largest one they have. Within reason. I don't go for the life size freaks of marketing. For example, I am currently working on one titled "Grandbunny Heffelflopper." A wonderful 20 oz. specimen that is going on day 3 of my attack. A worthy opponent that looks like it will last only one more sitting. Anything with a title of "Grand-something" will usually do nicely.
Then there is the question of the extras. The eyes? Hard sugar candy buttons? I eat them. You can discard if you like and I think that's ok. I kinda like the crunchy texture, but they *must* be eaten with a bite of chocolate. Otherwise it's just a sweet piece of chalk.
Some have bow-ties or some other sort of ribbon adornment. This is a complete waste of time. Take my word for it, they are not edible. But they should be.
So there you have it. My take on the world's best holiday food: the chocolate bunny rabbit. They are in stores now - so hurry out and get yourself one. Maybe two, so you have a backup.
And to Mr. Grandbunny Heffelflopper: I salute you, worthy opponent. You fought the battle well even when you lost your ears. I already look forward to seeing you next year.
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