Chasing Windmills (a.k.a. Bluebonnets)

I currently live in Houston. The Misses and I moved the family here in May of 2006. We like it here. But we’re not native Houstonians, for that matter we’re not native Texans. Close, but not quite; she’s from Oklahoma and I’m from Louisiana. Texas shares a regional culture with our home states, but if you remember the Texas tourism slogan, “Texas, it’s like a whole ‘nother country.” So The Misses and I are learning what it means to be “Texan”. Aside from the obvious things like chewing tobacco, wearing hats measured by liquid tonnage, and buying a six-shooter or two there are some subtle rites-of-passage that make you an official Texan. One of these rites is a pilgrimage to the Bluebonnets.

Since the first spring of our arrival in the Lone Star State we’ve heard about these bluebonnets. “It’s bluebonnet season,” “The ‘bonnets are in full bloom,” “Have you seen the bluebonnets?” and so on. There are news stories about the bluebonnets, there are websites devoted to the bluebonnets and whole regions of the state that devote their economy to catering to horticultural pilgrims. Texas takes this flower seriously. So seriously they made the bluebonnet the state flower. But that wasn’t enough, so they teach kids in school that it is illegal to pick bluebonnets in Texas. (It’s not illegal, but they propagate the myth via school taught urban legend in order to instill reverence for the bluebonnet at a young age, or maybe further the Cult of the Azul Head Covering or something nefarious like that)

This is the background for an adventure I launched the family on a few weeks ago. It was only a matter of time before I had to find out what the big deal was about. I mean it’s a flower. A wild flower. Growing on the side of the interstate. Sure that’s nice and everything, but really is that all there is to it? Can’t be. If I stop cutting my grass a few weeks I get some pretty pink flowers that pop up, but no one drives slowly past my yard with camera in hand. No, I get a nasty-gram from the HOA complaining about growing shrubbery without a permit or something. So one Saturday night after watching the 15^th report about pretty weeds in a field outside of Houston, I decide the time is right to see this for myself.

Sunday afternoon I load The Misses and three kidd-o’s into the car and sally forth to see Lupinus texensis. The Misses was not amused, because I didn’t have much of a plan. (The Misses NEEDS a plan, clearly written, all possibilities and solutions accounted for, an emergency contact number, a notarized signature, and an updated will) I didn’t have any of that. All I had was a full tank of gas, a digital camera, a sunny day, a carload of uncooperative family, and a compass point [West]. The latest news report made it sound like all of the land west of Houston was awash in what John Lennin would have described as Bluebonnet fields forever. So I told The Misses we would simply get on I-290 and head west toward Austin, we would find a massive patch of flowers on the side of the road, plop the kids in the middle, take a few shots and be home for dinner. Simple as pie.

Forty minutes later things we’re not coming up roses (or bluebonnets), and the natives were getting restless. We found nothing but brown grass and weeds. Here I was, driving 45mph on the highway staring at the side of the road. “Look there is that a flower? Nope that was a blue dixie cup.” “What about that? Nope that was an abandoned tarp with a human leg hanging out of the side.” I never paid that much attention to neutral ground in the absence of a Mardi Gras parade in my life. Eventually The Misses found something. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a whole field of blue off of the feeder road on the right. I cut three lanes of traffic, cause an 18-wheeler to jackknife, and tip over an old lady in a walker and exit the highway. It took about 15 minutes to backtrack to the spot. We pull over and survey the landscape of blue. Blue yes, but not exactly what we expected. Despite a month without any rain it was wetter than we expected. What The Misses saw out of the corner of her eye was actually a very large pond reflecting a pretty, cloudless, blue sky. We had found the Blue, but not the Bonnet part of the equation. Everyone, back in the car!

Twenty minutes later we had a success in patches of flowers on the side of the road. Not the fabled bluebonnets, but at this point we were going to take some pictures of something floral even if we had to find a florist shop to do it. We pressed on. Soon small patches became larger patches, and a few blue patches could be seen. Eventually these patches of flowers turned to patches of bluebonnets. Little groups here and there, pretty, but not enough to fill a picture. As the patches get bigger crowds start to gather. At each group of bluebonnets there are a half dozen cars pulled over on the shoulder of the highway. Adults kneeling around smartly dressed children angrily shouting, “Look happy, damn-it!” We must be here.

The Misses and I spy a large vacant patch of bluebonnets, conveniently located in the grassy section of a highway cloverleaf. Perfect place for children to frolic, let’s go! We pull over and kick the children out of the car as trucks and cars wiz past like a blurry, metal version of a dark robed skeleton carrying a scythe. “Go play” we tell them. And out they ran, cooped up for an hour and a half in the car was motivation enough for them to have played in a broccoli (aka children kryptonite) factory. We managed a few pictures before reality set in. “Is that poison-ivy?”, “Are those bees gonna sting me”, “I itch”, “Wow, how many ant piles are out here?” With uncut grass up their waist, dangerous flora and fauna buzzing, crawling, and creeping all around, and the wind blown wake of high speed death tussling their hair, being cooped up in the car seemed like a good idea. “I wanna go home,” they cried. “No you’ll sit in the grass and enjoy yourself.” We took as many pictures as they would let us. I lasted a little more than 10 minutes then we retreated to the car.

We have seen the elephant, and it was a good day. But it was a late day, and dinner was nearing. We had an hour plus drive back to Houston, so The Misses and I decided to give the good people of Bluebonnet Mecca some of our hard earned cash. We would get something to eat in the town just up the road. So we journeyed father west into The Heart of Blueness. Soon we became aware of our rookie mistake – pre-mature bluebonnet elation. The world around us slowly faded into a deep blue hue. What we had previously believed to be a field of bluebonnets was a nothing more that a scattering of wild flowers compared to what we saw here. It was like mistaking a swollen drainage ditch for the Pacific Ocean. Here we found seas of blue fields that would have had made Captain Nemo homesick. It was truly amazing. Stones had been removed from my eyes and I now understood what the bluebonnets are all about. These fields make me want to threaten bluebonnet pickers under penalty of law, check the message boards for blooming reports, tune in to watch the umpteen news reports of wildflowers, heck, I might even put a tin pot on my head and jaunt around the land in bare feet, throwing bluebonnet seeds to the wind. I do like blue flowers and ham, I do like them, Sam-I-Am. These flowers were nothing short of amazing. It was as if the Hand of God ran out of yellow paint to mix with blue for a landscape, but He decided to finish the painting with what He and available. A truly moving sight.

After a few miles The Misses and I turned off of the main highway. We randomly picked a side road and went to see what we could see. Luck was with us and we happened upon a huge open field of flowers that we had all to ourselves. Unfortunately there was no way to convince Number One and Number Two Sons to get out of the car again. They had been tricked before and wouldn’t budge. But the Little Princess was too young to refuse. With daylight fleeting The Misses, the Little Princess, and I frolicked in our own personal Blue Heaven. It was a great day, and I look forward to going back next year.

Lent

Lent is here.  Lent is here and I’m a Catholic.  Lent is here, I’m a Catholic, and now I’m sort of required to give something up for 40 days.  You see we Catholics have a strange tradition in that the 40 days (not including Sundays – Don’t ask, it’s something to do with the early Church policy of burning anyone good in math, just ask Galileo) before Easter we give up something important to us in order to reflect on the sacrifice we believe Jesus made for all humanity a few days before Easter.  Don’t worry this isn’t a theology blog, you just might need some background.  Every year Catholics suffer with a mid-year New Year’s Resolution type crisis; what to give up.  You see we’re torn in two different directions; we want to give up something that we won’t miss so we can say we did it, but we also can’t get off too easy or our Catholic-guilt will get us for taking the easy way out.  Now I’m sure eternal salvation of the soul should be motivation enough, but man is it hard to pass up a free donut when you gave up sweets.  So every year the thought process goes something like this: 

Ugh, Lent is here already.  I need to give up something…hmmmm.  What did I give up last year…oh yeah, goat cheese.  Don’t think I can get away with that two years running…hmmm.  What about fennel?  Is fennel in a lot of stuff I like to eat?  No, won’t work, I’m not sure I know what fennel is?  Plant or seed or something?  What about cake?  No good, The Misses’ birthday is during Lent.  There’s got to be something…

Yeah I go through this every year.  And for the last few years it has been even harder.  You see the Misses has gotten involved, so now I have a Lenten Sacrifice Gatekeeper with veto power.  “You can’t give up talking on the phone to your Aunt Wendy, that doesn’t count.  She doesn’t like you anyway, pick something else.”

When I was in college I used to give up meat (all meat except fish) for the full 40 days.  That was tough, but I managed.  Growing up in South Louisiana there was always good seafood to be found, and in a pinch peanut butter and jelly ain’t that bad.  For the last few years I’ve gone in the totally opposite direction.  The added pounds of a slower metabolism led me to only eat meat for 40 days (strict Adkins introduction phase diet for all of Lent).  Truth-be-told meat only is harder than no meat at all.  But I drop some pounds and get a few day pass from Purgatory, win-win.  I planed to “meat-only” again this year.  Then I got the bad news.

Just before Lent I received results from some blood work I had done.  Elevated cholesterol and blood pressure.  Not enough to panic over, but something that bears watching.  The Misses read the results and decided to use her Lenten veto.  A 40 day exclusive diet of fatty meat and grease galore was not a good idea given the test results.  So back to the drawing board I go.

I needed to get creative, I needed to get serious, and I needed to hurry.  Lent was only days away and unless I thought of something quick The Misses would have to pick for me, and I didn’t want that.  Finally it hit me.  This year I will try and give up weight.  Yep, you heard right, gross tonnage (pun intended).  Admittedly it’s unorthodox, but it might be just crazy enough to work.

First I need a diet.  But it can’t be overly restrictive or I’ll never make it through.  So I’ll invent one on my own.  I’m a smart guy I’ve seen the food pyramid, I know the evils of chocolate cake, how tough can it be?  So this is what I’ll do, no fried stuff (good start).  I can have red meat or pork no more that twice a week.  Focus on grilled or baked chicken and fish.  More vegetables and fruits (that’s easy, every number is more than zero).  And for God’s sake (pun again) eat less, aka smaller portions.  Then all the obvious things, no candy, sweets, Cokes, all of that stuff.  Good.  Simple.  Done.

Now I need a workout routine.  Remember it’s got to be simple and easy enough that I will actually “do” it.  That eliminates just about all of the realistic and proven methodologies.  I don’t want to involve myself with anything that a professional trainer would approve of, that wouldn’t be in the proper spirit.  Luckily, I live in the internet age, where anyone with a crack-pot idea and a keyboard can post his crazy ideas to the world (i.e. this blog).  So it’s to these people I turned, and read, and searched for an interesting, low impact method of losing tons of weight.  I interviewed a number of plans, with a number of promises.  Finally I settled on a semi-reputable scheme with a stormy name, Turbulence Training.  Oooh, that sounds scary, the pounds with get thrashed right off of me.  I went with this one for a few reasons:  1) He has a book.  This will help sell it to The Misses.  2)  He only requires me to workout three times a week and for less than an hour.  That’s it, three times a week.  YES!  I think you can smoke while you work out, it’s just that simple.  3)  No diet.  Now you know he must be reputable.  But this way I won’t feel bad when I slip up and steal a cookie from my children, because technically I’m not breaking the “system”.

I know you are sitting at home/work/in traffic or wherever you read this blog thinking, “I want to know how this all works out.”  Well never fear.  I promise updates.  I’m even going to post some before and after pictures and occasional workout updates over the next few months.  By Easter Sunday I expect to be in fighting shape.  This is gonna rock!

On a completely unrelated note, does anyone remember the name of A-Rod’s personal trainer?  I might need a “B-12” injection or two.

25 (+5) Random Things About This Blogger

So there is this thing going around Facebook called 25 Random Things.  The jest of the thing is to post 25 random things about yourself.  This way you get to show everyone who you know how important you are.  Well I’m pretty important.  So important I have my own blog.  So I’m gonna spend this week’s blog posting my own 25 random things.  But to be different, and because I’m so important 25 just won’t do, I’m going to post 30 random things about me.  Although I frequently lie in this blog, I’m going to take a break from that habit this week only.  Everything listed here is actually true. Enjoy the read.

 1. When The Misses tells me to do something (like bloging) I usually do it. About 99% of the time I find I’m better off for it.

2. I can’t stand income taxes. I’m an avid supporter of a flat tax, fair tax, consumption tax, or anything that is not an income tax.

3. I have a job that very few people understand. Doesn’t everyone see the inherent value of a properly drawn box-and-arrow diagram? Because of the first sentence only a handful of people get the second sentence.

4. I have friends that go back to high school and even kindergarten. I’m not sure what this says about me. I must not be able to let go of the past or something. Maybe if I could just get a few of them to remove those restraining orders…

5. I was in the Army for four years. I joined to see the world and play outside. The Army caught wind of my desires and locked me in the basement of a building with no windows in Maryland. So much for my plans.

6. I don’t believe in ghosts.

7. When I was in college I drove my dream car, a Jeep Wrangler. When The Misses got pregnant with our first child I sold it. One day I will have another Jeep.

8. I’ve had a job continuously since I was 15 years old.

9. My eye color confuses people. My eyes are hazel, but that’s not a real eye color. My eyes are really brown or green depending on what I’m wearing and, strangely enough, the weather. Sunny days tend to make my eyes green and rainy days tend to make my eyes brown. I haven’t figured how clothing figures into the equation because I can only see my eyes in a mirror and the mirrors are mostly inside the house. That makes testing my eye color is tough to do outside without a partner. I wonder if I should file for a grant? The government seems to be giving away money willy-nilly these days.

10. When I went to LSU I lived in the apartments behind the Tiger Bar (Tiger Plaza). No, I mean the apartment DIRECTLY BEHIND THE TIGER BAR. When you stood in the parking lot of the Tiger Bar and looked at Tiger Plaza, you were looking at my apartment. You can imagine the implications of this location. We didn’t even bother to lock our door at night.

11. I’ve stood in six weddings and been the Best Man in four. People I know don’t seem to understand the meaning of the word “best” and confuse it with “you’ll do”.

12. I’ve never considered myself to be smart, but I know I’m good at Jeopardy.

13. I’m surprised how different it is to be the father of a daughter compared to being the father of a son (or sons [plural]). After having two boys I pretty much thought I had father-ing figured out. But then The Princess was born I realized she and I are playing a completely different game.

14. I’m streak lucky. I’ll go months where nothing ever goes wrong for me, and months where I can’t catch a break.

16. I think that people who type out 25 Random Things and reference one of their previous answers do not fully understand the concept of “random”.

17. In elementary school I used to pull my pants up to my bellybutton. I have no idea why I thought this was a good idea. Couple this with my braces and Alfred E. Newman classes and you can believe I was really popular with the ladies!

18. I hated living on the East Coast, and couldn’t wait to get back to the South in general, and Baton Rouge in specific. Now it doesn’t look like I’ll get to BR, but I really like living in Houston, so that’s OK.

19. My father is my hero, I try to be like him now that I am grown up.

20. I plotted and help execute the systematic destruction of at least two foreign countries.

21. I do believe in God, but I’m not sure it matters much by itself. It’s kind of like whether or not you believe in polar bears. I think it’s how you live your life that counts.

22. I have a goatee because it makes me look older. As a consultant clients expect a wise old sage to walk in the door. I don’t look like a wise old sage. For some odd reason the goatee makes me look older and provides me with more respect at work. Now if I can just find the facial hair combination that forces people to throw money at me. I guess you could say I’m a follicle alchemist. Does that make me a folliclemist? 

23. I’m a natural storyteller. I don’t let things like truth get in the way. If it helps make the story better I have no problem inventing details. This quality is wonderful at cocktail parties, but has its drawbacks at depositions.

24. When I see people with a flat tire on the side of the road I almost always stop and help them change the tire. I have changed about 50 tires. I do this with the hope that if The Misses ever needs help on the side of the road some nice, non-psycho person stops to help her.

25. When The Misses was pregnant with Number One Son we bought a glider. While shopping for the glider at the Babies-R-Us store we met an elderly lady that was also shopping for a glider. She needed it for her invalid husband who was given only a few weeks to live.  After making our selections we all went to the checkout counter together and the clerk said it would take no less than four weeks to deliver the elderly lady’s glider. No way could we let that happen, so The Misses and I loaded her glider into my car. We drove it to her house and set it up that day. We found out later the man got to use his glider but died two weeks later. I think this incident may have bought me a two week pass from purgatory.

26. I have punched and been punched in the face, and I’m not afraid to do either one of those things again; although I prefer the punching.

27. I’m lucky to have In-Laws that I get along with very well.  They are dear people whom I respect greatly. 

28. I’m surprisingly good at karaoke.

29. The Misses is an amazing person, and I’m lucky to be a part of her life.

30. I enjoy blogging and I’m amazed every time I hear that someone has read what I put up.  Thank you for taking the time to peruse my rants.  I’ll do my best to keep up my self-imposed at least once a week post.

Attack of the Minjas

A few nights ago the Misses and I were sitting around the house enjoying our children.  It was a nice evening.  All three kids were getting along and playing nice so we turned off the TV, unplugged the phone and played together in the living room.  Laughing and joking with each other eventually turned to dancing around and acting silly, as you would expect with six, four, and one year olds.

 

Then things got a little crazy.  Son Number Two had a flash of inspiration and ran to his bedroom.  He had been gone a while so the Misses sent me to check on him.  Not wanting to walk the 20 feet down the hall to look into the bedroom, I called down the hallway to see if Son Number Two was alright. 

“Yes,” he shouted back.  Now “yes” with a four year old can mean many things ranging from “yes” to “no” to “maybe”, but it can also include “I’m not really OK, but I messed things up so bad I don’t want you to come in here and see what I have done”. 

Armed with this knowledge I decided to ask a follow up question, “Do you need some help [with your clothes, with your toys, getting out from under the dresser, cleaning that up, getting that chalk out of you ear, ect…]?” 

Number Two Son then announced he was fine, he was just getting ready to be the “Awesomest Minja (not a type-o) in the World!”  I didn’t want to mess with that so I retuned to the fun of the living room.  A few minutes later he re-emerged from the bedroom and I just had to document it for posterity.  If there was any doubt about what the “Awesomest Minja in the World” looked like here you go.

I wasn’t long before Number One Son got into the act.

 

With two Awesome Minjas in one house it wouldn’t take long for a battle to ensue.

The Misses and I were lucky to grab the Little Princess and escape with our lives.  I did promise to show these pictures at their weddings.

Mancation

A few years ago a buddy of mine and I decided to start a new tradition.  He and I have been friends since kindergarten.  Our lives have taken us in separate directions and as a result we have settled down and started families in different parts of the country.  Nevertheless we remain close pals.  During a visit, and after a few beers, we established an annual “Mancation”.  This is very similar to a vacation, with just a few exceptions.  The biggest exception is we leave our families at home.  We try to center the trip on activities we normally wouldn’t force the wife and kidd-o’s to go through.  In theory we would do tough guy stuff like running with the bulls, scaling Everest or K-2, or competing in the National Hot Dog Eating Contest.  In practice this turns out to be some rough camping that we are only semi-prepared for, fishing, drinking, scratching ourselves, and generally acting like we’re back in high school.  Basically being guys without parental/husband responsibilities of looking out for anyone but you.  Did I mention the scratching?  There’s a lot of that.

This year’s trip was a great example of the importance of proper reconnaissance.  It was my year to host the Mancation, so I tried to pick something on Texas’ Gulf Coast.  It was the perfect idea.  This part of Texas has fantastic fishing and a number of camp grounds to pick from.  Asking around I was told Matagorda Bay (on the Texas Gulf Coast) would be perfect for what I wanted.  I found just the place.  Goose Island had camp grounds right on the beach, a pier to fish from, and some interesting sights to see.  I booked a camp site and felt pretty good about myself.  This was going to be great!

Trouble started on the drive down.  As it turns out the trip from Houston is anything but a straight shot.  We took a left here, a right there, another left (I think), and wound up in a city called Victoria.  Yahoo! directions failed me again.  Can someone explain to me what a “slight” left is supposed to be?  Maybe we were only “slightly” lost.  But all was not lost.  As we drove aimlessly through the town of Victoria, 2007 population 62,246, we found the single best store promotion we have ever seen.  I immediately pulled the car over and went in to do a little spur-of-the-moment shopping.  (The sign reads:  Shop NAKED And Save)  Interesting side note, off to the right of the store is a dance studio.  Unbeknownst to us as we paraded around and took pictures in various stages of undress a busload of adolescent ballerinas-in-training was sitting just to our right.  We noticed their shocked little faces too late.  We left the parking lot to the sounds of shocked children and distant sirens.

Eventually we made it to Goose Island, but our luck didn’t change.  As we pulled up to the camp site we were pretty happy.  Sure enough we were right on the beach.  We had a fantastic view of the Gulf and could fish until the wee hours from our own front porch.  But as we got out of the car things went terribly wrong.  The first problem was the smell.  Ouch.  Turns out we are going to spend the next three days in a place called “Stinky Beach”.  They didn’t mention that on the website.  It didn’t take us long to discover that the smell could be overcome with booze.  After drinking the hard stuff the senses were dulled enough to make the smell tolerable. 

Our first order of business was to pitch the tent.  Now my buddy and I are not novice tent pitchers (hee, hee, I said “tent pitcher”).  We were both in the Boy Scouts and we both served in the Army.  We know how to play outdoors and enjoy it.  But today’s tent pitching held a few challenges.  First the tent was brand new.  And it’s big, way too big for two people.  Bass Pro had a sale and I bought it with the intention of using it with the kids in the future.  Neither of these would really be a problem if we hadn’t been working in tropical storm like conditions.  Seems one of the drawbacks to camping on the shore is the complete lack of protection from the wind.  And our luck had the wind blowing straight out to sea.  More than twice we had to perform heroic, cinematic, slow motion dives to rescue important tent pieces from Neptune’s clutches.  Just over an hour later we declared victory.  We proudly drank a beer and watched as our poorly constructed tent flapped, floundered, and clinged to its precarious perch on the beach.  We have about a 50/50 chance of finding this tent on its way to Cuba.  

Some of you may have noticed in the picture another big problem a little homework would have helped.  You see our “beach” was made of crushed oyster shells.  That’s right, it was basically rocks.  We were camping on rocks.  Fun.  These little critters only appear smooth and weather worn to the naked eye.  A close inspection, with say your back as you try to sleep, reveals them to be razor sharp instruments of relentless torture.  The marbled terrain poised a number of problems for us.  The most obvious was sleep.  Don’t get me wrong we used our self-medication methods to help with the problem, but it only dulled the pain.  There was not a soft spot anywhere in the 16-man tent; I spent every night searching for one.  But there were unforeseen problems with the mollusk shells.  They caught the bottom of the tent.  We ran a real risk of punching a hole in the bottom of the tent on its maiden voyage.  Luckily we had a tarp and it saved the tent floor.  Our second problem had no simple solution.  The tent came with plastic stakes.  Plastic.  Stakes.  Try anchoring a tent to the rocky ground with a piece of plastic.  It doesn’t work.  We broke all but one steak.  Our tent’s only anchorage depended on a handful of misshapen pieces of plastic.  (Now that I think about it, I’m surprised how often men trust our immediate and long-term future to flimsily pieces of plastic)  The chances of finding the tent in the ocean just jumped to 70/30. 

Now that we have the business portion of camping complete it's time to have some fun.  We went fishing; if there are fish out there two Cajun boys born and raised in Southern Louisiana can catch them.  All we really need is a sitck, some string, a few beers, and something fish beliebe is edible and we will have our limit in no time flat.  Give us real poles, a good line, a LOT of beer, and good bait and it hardly seems fair for our aquatic friends.  We reeled in some whopper!  I fought one of these bad boys for almost an hour, and my buddy pulled a muscle bringing one home. 

Goose Island wasn’t all nautical fun.  It seems it has another attraction that brings people from far and wide.  Goose Island is home to the “Big Tree”.  Yep, that’s what they call it.  I thought I thought trees had cool names like Evangeline in Louisiana, or Treaty Oak in Austin, or even LSU campus’ Pee-Tree.  But here it’s just Big Tree, good job, very creative.  But when you see it in person it sure is big.  We took a trip to the Big Tree.  We looked at the Big Tree.  We took some pictures of the Big Tree.  We read the plaque describing the Big Tree.  I had an epiphany there.  Things like the Big Tree take about five minutes to enjoy.  Don’t get me wrong I liked it, and I think I would have missed out if we were that close and didn’t get a chance to see it.  But once you’re there you see the tree, you say, “Yep, that sure is a big tree”, and that’s that.

Three days of fishing, camping, drinking, and lying to each other pretty much recharged the batteries.  It’s an astonishing thing to realize how little we need to refresh ourselves.  A moment without work, parental, or spousal duty is good to have every now and again.  It helps you appreciate what you come back to.

Pictures?

I’ve gotten some e-mails telling me that a good blog needs some pictures.  I’m told that plain text just doesn’t cut the mustard these days.  They say that today’s blog reader needs interesting visual references if they are going to stay interested.  This puts me in a tough spot.  Because not only do I need to write interesting prose I need to come up with some good pictures too.  That’s going to be difficult since I make most of this stuff up.  Maybe I can stage a few pictures and write around the narrative they create.  Or just copy some pictures from other blogs and pretend they are all about my crazy antics.  So don’t scoff if I look like a black fella with an afro in one post and a Swede in the next.  It’s just because I’m trying to keep up with the times.