Each time I think we might be in for a daylong stretch of near-sanity, life fires up the afterburners and heads for planet stupid.
As we gently land on the plains of the Front Range, our space cadet guide (who by the way graduated in the bottom eighth of his class of three) kindly points out the mushroom shaped shiny thing floating along wherever life's evil twin wants it to go.
My companions are gripped by fear and panic, I close my eyes, hoping it's a dream, grab the handle of my ejection seat and :
"Relax, folks," our cool as a Zucchini space guide says, "it's only a lost tree hugger trying to make extra money for bomb shelter improvements before the sun explodes."
Golly, and I was worried.
We all know how much better off 23 will be when the sun finally flips its own switch, and we move underground.
Perhaps when we're in the bomb shelters, we won't be able to receive those signals that the seventh-graders at TV central send out each day thinking we need to be informed of such dribble.
Though somehow, the shiny thing did remind me of building a box kite for my brother, Kris, (the toughest kid in all of Butler, Utah, history) it wasn't really for him; he was to be the pilot of our attempt at Wright brothers glory.
Somewhere in the catalogs of Glanville history there's a photo of Kris hanging upside down and backwards on the backstop behind Butler Elementary School. Our Uncle Doug took the picture just before he got Kris down, and beat the : out of me and Scott. Perhaps that's all the Fort Collins tree hugger needs.
It also brought back the birthday party where a well intended lady started to wash the dinner dishes in a punch bowl of Martini's that were so dry if you blew across the bowl a sand dune would form on the other side. That also was the night we had wheelchair races down the Breeze Street hill. But that's a story I need to check some city statutes on.
Now for something completely different :
Though fishing has slowed some there are still die hards (such as me) who still are beating the water with anticipation.
The pike in the ponds near Hayden are responding to a very slow top water retrieve.
Our stretch of the Yampa has been very slow for Trout, and an ugly black bead head thing works best for those fly-fishing. As for bait, I'm forbidden by "the law of the four weight rod" to comment.
Until next time :
Yup, there I was surrounded by surprise and then anguish when I realized, after speaking to Chief Walt Vanatta and reading the results of the 2005-06 Healthy Kids Colorado Survey, that the alcohol use by kids at Moffat County High School is beyond disbelief.
More than 25 percent of the kids surveyed are binge drinkers (five or more drinks in a row on one occasion) and more than 50 percent have had a drink in the last thirty days.
That's when I said to myself, "Self," I said cause that's what I call myself when I'm talking to myself. "Are we more worried about a handful of deer in city limits than the health and well being of our high school students?" Nay, couldn't be.
Hey, you be careful out there.