I Was Killed To Death By My Mailbox.

I mowed the yard last evening, but every time I mow past our mailbox I'm reminded of the time the mailbox killed me to death... from the seat of the lawnmower. It happened a few years ago when the current mower was brand spanky new and I wasn't used to it and it's new fangled transmission. It's a little long reading, but it's worth it.


Like I said, the mower was brand new, I'd hardly mowed with it at all, but that day I went to the shed, get on it and head down the driveway, engage the blades, mow about 30 feet up to the mailbox. Around the base of the mailbox are Iris's we've planted there and I thought "time to mow them off for the fall" so I start edging around the mailbox post, back and forth, getting as close as possible cause heaven forbid if I have to actually get the weed whacker out and trim it by hand. So I've worked my way around to the mailbox side of the post and trying to get every last Iris I ease under the mailbox, leaning waaaayyyy back on the seat of the tractor, stopping with the mailbox wedged against my belly.

Lets pause right here for a moment. Imagine me frozen in this position while I describe to you how the transmission on our John Deere mower works. Okay? Okay... first there is no hand operated gear shift, like my old mower had, and the transmission works by pressing down on a pedal with the toe of your right foot to go forward, and then behind that is another pedal that you press down on to go in reverse. It's a hydrostatic transmission, which means the farther down you press the pedal, the faster the mower travels, just like a sewing machine. Got that?

Okay, now lets take a look at my once again, frozen in time, wedged belly deep under our mail box situation. Extended in the position that I'm in I tap on the pedal with the tippy toe of my stretched out right foot on the pedal that my brain says "reverse". See, the thing is I've got these short stumpy legs, very deceptive and dishonest legs, because what I've got my toe on is the forward pedal.

Alright now, lets unfreeze that action shot as I poke my toe down on that forward pedal. Slooowwwwlllyyyy I start to wedge myself tighter and tighter against the mailbox while my brain is screaming "JACE YOU BOOB! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? YOU'RE GONNA KILL US ALL!!!!" another part of my brain makes my right foot which is now stretched and extended even further beyond it's good judgment, move to the back pedal to get me and my brain (and belly meat) out of this situation that it's in. But my foot, not having a brain of it's own, just randomly stabs at anything on the floorboard that is pedal-like, and of course just makes the mower go forward even faster. Imagine if you can a huge wringer washing machine made up of mailboxes and lawnmowers, and you've just stuck your necktie into it....

The next few moments are mostly a blur as a million thoughts are going thru my now almost non-functioning brain stem. I can see the mailbox approaching my head and I try to move my head to the side as the mailbox is putting a pleat in my brand new t-shirt and I'm thinking "oh no! My brand new t-shirt! But then in the next split second I'm thinking "Hello Grandpa, I thought you'd passed away" Somehow it misses my punkin, but not quite my left hand, and see... that's the funny thing 'cause I don't remember that part at all. I know it happened 'cause it was all sore and bloody and scuffed all over the back of it, I've just blocked out that part I think to keep my brain from having nightmares about this whole little episode.

When the horror finally stops, I'm sitting in the middle of the highway, totally extended over the back of the seat and fender of the mower, feeling like a big ol' piece of pizza dough after going thru that cool rolling machine at Pizza Hut. Only this wasn't that cool... or profitable. I'm trying to gather my wits and thinking "hmmm I've mowed about 30 feet now, that's enough for today" and I head to the house. You KNOW who is there at the door to meet me. Yes, it was Sally, God love the woman, right there to offer support, sympathy and not even a little bit stifled laughter. Then Jake comes walking in... This is when the hilarity of my pain really kicks in. THEN... THEN... our pastor drops by. She is, in no time at all, dabbing tears away from her eyes as I'm sure she must have been totally tore up at my pain and misfortune and is praising Jesus that she doesn't have to come up with a funeral sermon for me that day.

Sore, scabby, creased, and beaten... sounds like the chorus to a country song. Yeah I think about this every time I mow around my mailbox.







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I Cannot Believe They Screwed My Order Up Yet Again...

I specifically said "ANTI gravity"... What the hell am I gonna do with a whole gallon of this crap?














I can't even pick up the stupid can!










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Wanna See My Senior Yearbook?

Oh hell, I know you do. Bloggers and Blog readers are a nosey bunch of human beans. So sit back, relax, prepare yourselves for fashion faux pas galore and bad hair.

Most of y'all weren't born, thought of or for that matter... your parents hadn't even met when I strolled through high school with a permanent smile on my face and a cloud of smoke surrounding my head. 1976. Lynard Skynard, Gerald Ford, and safe sex was anything short of doing it in the middle of a busy interstate.

Selected scannings from my senior year yearbook.


Yes, I got a diploma. I really did. I bribed every single member of the school board with a dime bag. I wore plaid pants just because I felt lucky.







For some good reason they put me on the student council. I don't know why and to be honest I don't remember a damned thing that we did. Probably campaigned for smoking on campus or something equally as smart. I'm on the far right there. Yes that is a very gay shirt. It was cool then.







Here's me and 2 of my buddies doing something unspeakable to a kid named Tree Wobken. It was humorous at the time, now it just seems that we all missed being in Special Ed by the skin of our teeth. That's my uber cool 65 Chevy truck in the background. It was black with flames on the front end.

You have no idea what it took to be that skinny. Maybe you do. I'm in the shades.







The senior play. I was a redneck hillbilly so basically I just stayed in character for the next 33 years. I was really really good at it.

Really good.







I dunno what this is. We're all sitting there proper like. That's my best friend "Reef" there next to me. What's most important though is the fact that on picture day I chose to wear "that" shirt and so it looks like the only one I own. Rock on.







Surprisingly... I was voted class clown. I'm on top of locker getting ready to jump into something that Peggy is holding. Oh the hilarity. *repeat Special Ed comment again*







I'll pause for a moment while you all dry your eyes after that great moment in humor history.






Okay...



This is Jill. Jill was cool and I liked her a bunch, just friends, we never dated. Something really really funny is happening in this picture but I don't remember what. Just make something up and go to the next pic. *note the shirt* The ever present raggedy ass hat had a Panama Red patch on it. Just move along...








And finally, the coup de grace. My official senior picture. It hangs on the wall at my parents house in an ever present glow of warm yellow light, I'm sure. Those sideburns... freakin' awesome eh? I was good at growing hair. I think I started shaving when I was 7.







Good God I was skinny... but my necktie was fat! That blazer? Polyester for certain. Ah boy, good times.






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Janeane, You Ignorant Slut.

You know I've never flat out made a political stand on my blog, and maybe this isn't really political. Maybe it's personal and political. My blog friend Scope told me once when I was holding back on a post that wasn't humor... "It's your blog, it's about you and your thoughts. Write it." ... or something like that. That was the meaning anyhow.

So on the heels of my Earth Day post that was none too popular for some, here's this little prize that's been eating at me for a few days.

I'll be funny later.

Note: If you feel the need to see this performance, Google it. I'm sure it's all over the internets. I ain't posting it on MY blog.



I watched Janeane Garofalo on a MSNBC broadcast call ME a racist.

Me.

Racist.

How dare she. Over and over and over she called me a racist because (just in case you've missed this little treasure) I don't care for how President Obama is running the show up on Capitol Hill. I've got not a thing against Mr. Obama's color, race, choice of underpants or anything else. I just don't agree with his policies and how he's spent my country into a tailspin.

Racist?


Honestly I never much cared for Garafalo either. She's always angry. Always. Her acting and comedic talent is nil to nonexistent in my opinion but hey, she's got herself a little soapbox because she's an "entertainer" and she's got a thing or 2 to say to roughly half of America and that thing is "RACISTS!"

And while I'm on this rail, how come when you get to be a movie star or television star or a musician etc etc... you're suddenly a political analyst that knows what is best for this country? And people listen. My head swims.

And they're angry, just like Garafalo. I don't know why they all seem so angry, so full of hate and vile things. They are the political left, AND they have won. They have a politically left president and a Democrat controlled congress. It's all going their way and yet they're so very angry and want everyone to know it. Maybe that's the actor part of their personality. I don't know. Whatever causes it, it's unattractive and sorta makes me not wanna see 'em on or in any media that I might be perusing.


I'm a real even tempered man, I love my country with all my heart. I'm proud of my country. The number of people that I hold in disdain is so few I could probably count 'em on one hand. I cherish friendships, family and know no strangers. When some angry little twat comes out on television though, and calls me a racist just because I don't care for the President of my country... I don't like her much. I don't like her very much at all.

That was uncalled for, harsh, small minded and pure idiocy. I don't have to prove to anyone that I'm not a racist. Those that know me... know me.


So to borrow a line from Chevy Chase on the old SNL, Janeane... you ignorant slut. Shut up.


Oh and take a bath and wash that hair. It's just nasty. Prozac might be something you need to look into as well.




No apologies. I needed to say this and I'm all done.






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Well... Earth Day Came And Went

Firstly, if you've been reading me awhile surely you must know, my carbon footprint is massive, and I'm kinda proud of it. It's not that I don't give a right big doodie and all that stuff, but I'm just carrying on the way that I always have. Things look pretty good around here, the air is clean, plenty of water, a little too much trash in the grader ditches but other than that it ain't bad.

If I cut back on my 'lectricity usage it's 'cause I've got a brain and I understand economics and I'm gonna save myself a buck or 3 at the first of the month when we pay our electric bill.

"Paper or plastic?" Hell fire man, give me both! Double them suckers up 'cause I'm gonna throw 'em in this bad boy when I get home and heat my home and hot water with 'em.







Bask in the glow of the woodstove afterburner! Ahhhhh







I spray around the outside of our home for bugs with some insecticide that barely does the job just because you can't get DDT anymore. I want my bugs dead, not half crippled and sneaking up behind me with vengeance on their little bug minds.

I burn things. I don't know how this tradition got started, but the couch fires here at our household are legend.







I love it when my son does a nice smokey burnout just for me. It warms the cockles of my heart like it would any kids old man.







I wanna know what a dolphin tastes like. They look tasty, and while we're at it... all those WalMart sacks that everyone get's their panties all twisted up over? Weave 'em into big ol fish nets. Hell they'd last forever! If anyone actually does this and you catch a dolphin in the thing, send me a couple of Flipper steaks on dry ice.


Ah well...




I wonder how much power the servers at Blogger are draining unnecessarily offa the grid.

Oh Crocs... Oh Crocs

Burdened by feet heavy laden,
sore and aching, they be betraying.
Encumbered by years of self destruction,
at midlife they stutter and falter to function.

"friends" they tell me about a shoe,
a shoe that will make my feet anew.
A shoe that's ugly as a platypus ass,
but it's healthy and simple and all of that jazz.

A quest I took with my maiden fair,
to find these wonders... exempulaire.
I just made up that last word,
to take my mind off of these shoes of turd.

We drove to the city where these shoes are sold,
I strode into the store so masculine and bold.
I perused the rack where they were displayed...
My God they are ugly, I was a bit dismayed.

I tried a pair on right there in the store,
nervously looking 'round like I was buying porn.
We strode to the counter, my manhood still intact,
I paid for my purchase and quickly made tracks.

So here I sit my puter on my lap,
feeling a bit like a wussy old sap.
Shoes of rubber upon my square feet,
Humbled to hell, my masculinity beat.



It's all fun and games until you buy a pair of these and actually wear them. Might was well throw dirt on me now and get me used to the idea... velcro shoes are next and then death.








...yes my feet feel better today. Amazing.



*sigh*






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Untaxed Cigarettes

Friends, I have nearly hit a wall of bloglessness. The past couple of weeks seem to have been filled with all sorts of stuff and when I sit down at my puter in the evening... I'm stymied. Not to be derogatory to Stymie, the Little Rascal, 'cause he was 'bout my most favorite of the whole gang. But I'm either dog tired, brainlocked or severely constipated and any one of the 3 ruins my ability to spew forth happy witticisms and clever conjecture.

So tonite, a story from when I was about 12.

I grew up in a tiny little rural village, maybe a population of 15 or 20 at best, and a little one room country store, just like you'd see in the movies. The grandparents of my buddy Doug owned that little store and we had pretty much free rein around there. Summertime was rife with daily disaster and experimentation with explosives, bb guns, a belligerent pony, fire and anything with a motor on it.

Doug and I were avoiding boredom one day and we were digging around in an old storeroom that was separate from the store itself... when we struck gold. A cigarette rolling machine. A piece of orange colored tin machinery with a crank, a flat belt and a couple of rollers. We immediately went in the store and shoplifted a pack of rolling papers and a tin of Prince Albert tobacco. Matches weren't a problem, we were 12. We had plenty.

We hightailed to a shed behind my folk's house and proceeded to ruin a lot of rolling papers until we figured the thing out. Holy Moley! We were in the cigarette business!

We sampled a few of 'em and decided that these were most probably the best cigarettes in the whole wide world... and we needed to share these with others that might be cigaretteless. For money. We rolled up all the papers and Prince Albert and put the cigarettes in a coffee can and went back to the store and told Doug's grandpa that we needed to set up a card table on the front porch of the store so we could start making our fortunes in the tobacco trade.

Doug's grandpa smoked Trues, a pretty cool cigarette as cigarettes go. They had a weird filter on 'em that was pretty nifty. Anyway, we gave him a couple of "our" cigarettes to sample and to buy him off and he gave us the go ahead to do whatever we wanted. (We got that reaction a lot. Most folks didn't like us hanging around with 'em much.)

Lemonade stands? Ha! We had a real live cigarette stand.

So we sat there. We sat there some more. The day went on and people came and went usually talking to us and smiling politely. We sold a few, not many. We took the appropriate amount of smoke breaks ourselves from our hectic and busy day of being front porch merchants. I honestly can't remember what we sold 'em for but I know at the end of the day we had almost a dollar to split between us and a whole lotta cigarettes left over to smoke up.

If a kid did this now the number of people being arrested would climb steadily, but if they did the best sign they could put up in front of their cigarette stand would be...

TAX FREE CIGARETTES!


Amazing eh?






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1240 Degrees Of Awesome

Solid potato salad with the Ross Sistas. This thing just kinda gets to steamrolling the farther along it gets to the end. I dunno what these gals were made of but flesh and bone don't do this stuff.

It'll leave you smilin'.








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It's All Cows

Well it's been interesting so far this calving season. We've won some and lost some, just kind of a weird "go 'round" this time. Anyhow, got some pics for you today.

To replace the babies that we've lost, we've bought some Holstein bull calves from a local dairy operation to put on the momma cows. An adoption process if that's how you wanna think about it. Anyway it keeps our cows somewhat productive for the rest of the year, and bull calves at a dairy are pretty much surplus.

Here ya go.

Click the pics to make 'em big.




"I just stepped in something ucky!"









"Mommmmm?"









Walk like an Egyptian...









"We smell corn. You're hiding it aren't you? Girls... get 'em."








Cow exhaust.









And finally, your "Awwwwwwww" moment of the day.











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Look Past The End Of Your Nose Today.

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The Trick Is To Be Smarter Than The Cow

Being smarter than the cow ain't always as easy as it seems. Somedays it's just luck that gets you by.

As you know our calving season has been a little rough and a tad unpleasant in a spot or 3. Yesterday morning had the potential for that to be emphasized but (hands on hips in superhero pose, gazing into the rising sun, cape flowing in the breeze) was thwarted by Robert and myself.

It was a cold sonofagun the night before last and I get "the call" yesterday morning.

Robert: We had a new calf last night.

Me: And?

Robert: It's not looking so hot and I can't get near it.

Me: Momma in kill the goofy farmer mode?

Robert: Yeah.

Me: I'll be up there in a few minutes.

So I put on my outdoor clothes and head up there to the farm, we get in the Mule and head over the hill to where I can see from a distance that momma cow has her head up high already (this is the "I kill you" pose) and is dancing around her new calf.

We get close, the calf hasn't really been cleaned up that well by her, is just a touch on the small side, and is waaaaay cold.

Plan devised.

I'm in the passenger seat of the mule and I tell Robert to fling it in there between her and the calf and I'll bail out, snag the calf, bail back in and he'll floor it before I'm mincemeat.

Plans usually suck.

He flings us between the 2 of 'em, the cow immediately is in a circle, comes around and starts rubbing me... pretty harshly... before I can even bail out. Robert sits there.

"Robert, go."

*sitting*

*cow slobbering and getting pretty well pissed, pawing dirt... the whole nine yards.*

"Robert, go. I'm not having fun."

Robert goes.

We circle around and I decide to do the old flying hurl, stumble, grab, run, crap my pants, jump and scream like a woman move.


I bail out, snag the baby calf, Robert stops the mule, cow is in pursuit of me as I circle around the mule trying to figure out how in the hell I'm gonna get back in the mule. I make two loops around the mule, get the baby in the back of the mule as I make one of my wild bazzoo's past it... and the cow stops at the back to sniff the baby now.

I'm standing in front of the mule. Robert is still in the drivers seat.

Me: Robert you need to pull forward so I can.... YIIIIII!!!!!

Cow comes around the side of the mule with a machine gun a hand grenade and 3 sharp knives, head down, fire flaming from her nostrils, smoke coming off her hooves. Death is at my door and he's wearing leather today.

Robert starts gassing the mule, I grab the side of the roll cage and jump in, nearly knocking Robert out the other side... and we head to the barn. Momma is following closely, slobbering, bellowing, cussing the whole way up there.

We get the calf outta the mule, a couple more gate climbing episodes to escape certain death and we're outta there. Mixed up some "calf juice" went back to the barn, separated the 2 of 'em. The calf sucked down the stuff out of a bottle, I slid him in the pen with it's mom... and he went to town sucking.

Awesome!


Once in awhile it works out. No death to anyone or anything.

BONUS!





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What I Saw In My Fridge.

When I first saw Rachael on my TV set, I thought "cuuuute", plus kinda had that Suzanne Pleshette tone in her voice... ahhh. And then the next day I saw her on TV again and again and again and then in every catalog on earth and plastered on every webpage in existence and I heard her on the radio and all over the front of every magazine at the checkout counter and pretty soon... I'd had enough of Rachael.

And then I opened my fridge the other day, and I saw this. Rachael Ray with a descriptive line "stock in a box".









All I've gotta say is "Moo baby, moo."




Is Julia Child REALLY dead?






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To Not Ask Why.

I could explain this post to y'all... but I ain't gonna. So just look at the pretty pictures, smile pleasantly, watch the funny video, and follow your dreams little one, follow your dreams.

*enter guitar and wah pedal*

















And finally...






Brownchickenbrowncow brownchickenbrowncow.





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On Topic For A Day

Okay so I thought it'd be best to actually throw something in 'bout "sawdust" and "cowpies" or my thematic calamity is gonna be lost. So here's the stuff.

We're knee deep in new calves and despite the mostly beautiful weather for calving... it's been kind of a deal. I got yet another phone call about 7:45 yesterday morning about another dead calf. It's starting to affect me. The expense of loosing yet another calf and starting my day off with it kinda sent me into a spin. Actually a pretty good one.

In trying to figure out just what the Hell is going on, a call was made to the Vet real quick and I had to be at his office before 9 to catch him there. I tossed the dead calf in the truck and burned it to the clinic. My vet posted (autopsied)the calf. First thing to see was it's lungs never inflated from birth, second... a ginormous hole between the chambers of it's heart. So, this one was just "one of those things". A genetic abnormality that couldn't be helped.

All together, we've lost 5 calves so far this season and we've got a lot to go yet. That mortality number is NOT normal for us. For the unwashed that means about a $3000 loss at sale time this fall. Yes... I'm dwelling on it.



So after all of that doom and gloom here's some happy pics of some of our new calves.




"Come a little closer and I'll dole out an ass kicking Mr. Cowguy"








Brand spanky new, about 1 hour old. Momma's having a tasty meal of placenta. YUM!







A mime is born.








The iron curtain.








And to prove I'm not a total jackass I finished up Sally's Christmas present (for 2008);-) and got it put in our home. A ginormous entertainment/media center. Stands about 7 foot tall, all quarter sawn white oak. Has a brand new little hot rod of an Acer PC running Windows Vista Media Center down in the bottom running the whole show. It's hardwired into our wireless router here on our home network so it can access any of our MP3's or movies or transfer any data from one machine to another with ease. The flat screen tv pivots and pulls out on a base that I designed and the hidden keyboard pullout was my design as well. Hell the whole thing was. All of the shelves in the bottom are on full extension 100 pound slides too.

You boys from TWW have already seen it so just smile and wave.











That's bout that.





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Back When Health Dept's Gave Good Solid Advice

Yes indeed. A real topic starter with your better half over morning coffee...




Busy week (again). Trying to get SOME work done on a desk and cabinet suite, sorted calves monday, sold calves yesterday, cleaned the shop in a mad fury last night, CVTV cameraman shows up today to shoot 2 more episodes... and then I dunno what. Ask me tomorrow.


Once again, for those that have asked, the TV shows "North Missouri Woodworking with Jace Weber" are available by calling Chariton Valley Communications 660.395.9600 . There's 4 shows available right now with more coming throughout the year. DVD's are on the cheap and nope, I don't get a dime of it. So send me a dime while you're at it.





Kanazalini!



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