The institutional mouthpiece of Kjel.org

Go Cougs!!

I thought about some Sunday golf on Saturday night when several fine folk associated with Kjel.org (and 30% of Beaverton) got some dinner out on the lawn at this place. Policing 9 kids in the woods behind the Raccoon (nobody got hit by a car or abducted. Victory!) when I should have been enjoying beers with friends made me think of outings that by law cannot involve anyone younger than 21. A round of golf at a certain course was sounding very appealing. However, by Sunday morning I had decided against it: the CEO has to at least occasionally make an effort to step it up as a husband and father, and I’d decided that Sunday would be one of those times and I was going to blow off golf. The Edumacator however had other ideas . . .

The Chief stepped up to the plate and hit an absolutely mammoth home run. I was at the grocery store Sunday morning with the AK when the call came in from the CFO. The Educator has a 12:15 tee-time for you guys at Edgefield. You better hurry. Don’t worry I don’t need you today. [The Chief Sniper’s lovely wife] is coming over with the boys, and we are going to play at the HQ. Go have fun. If the CFO ever wonders why I like and love her so much she ought to treat Sunday as Exhibit A. I owe you one, mama.

Me and the little dude tore ass around the store, got our provisions and then headed home, again at a high rate of speed. We perhaps even exceeded the posted speed limit a time or two during our journey. I will neither confirm nor deny if this is true.

Shortly after delivering the groceries to the HQ I picked up the Chief and we headed out to Edgefield. There we met the Man from the Dalles, and our day officially began. We signed on for the 20 hole course; no half-assing it for us. No sirree. As we were paying for our round in the clubhouse the Chief HVAC technician spoke thusly, setting the tone for the rest of the afternoon: “You know what? Lets get some gin before we order our beers for hole #1!” You sir are a genius! And so our 20 hole journey began, with an excellent first step.

It was an absolutely perfect day for Edgefield golf. The course was empty, with no one at any time in front of or behind us. While I suck at golf, the least weak (I hesitate to use the word ‘best’ about any aspect of my game) clubs I swing are the putter and the wedge. Guess which two clubs you need at the pub course? I only lost about 5 balls all day which for me means it was a quality outing. The double bonus? No asswipe threw any of our clubs into the woods after we’d laid them down for a second. I hear that happens there sometimes.

The back 20 has a beer girl now who just circles the west course asking golfers if they need anything. We ran into her just as the first beers were gone and restocked: ice cold 22’s of Ruby, which was just the perfect beer for the day. It is a good thing she only took cash; otherwise I would have started ordering shots for 2/3rds of our threesome — those were on the menu as well. As it was we scraped together enough money for beer, and it was the best beer I’ve had in a long, long time. Thank you, gentlemen.

Unfortunately it was so bright that the pictures didn’t turn out well, or come even close to conveying how glorious it was out there. Below is the Educator, attempting a long putt for birdie. We played every hole as a par three, even those that topped out at 42 yards. I came into the clubhouse at about 30 over — not a bad day for me.

The Educator wisely taking advice from the 1/3 of the group that actually knew how to golf:

The view was outstanding from the top of the course. My dorky cell phone did it justice to a rate of about 10%. It did manage however to do justice to the Educator’s belly to the tune of about 150%. For anyone who hasn’t seen him in a while, trust me, it is the camera — he didn’t just put on 50 lbs while you weren’t looking.

After our round we had Linner on the patio, and then retired to the Little Red Shed for some post Linner refreshment. We all agreed that it is probably for the better that the Edgefield golf course is way the hell out in Troutdale, because if it was located on, say, the property presently occupied by Wilson High School I would spend $1,000 a year playing there. My short game would be absolutely phenomenal by now, so there is that, but probably not worth the extra grand a year.

An awesome Sunday, and just what I needed. See you guys again on Saturday.

1. Kjel.org drove to Seattle Saturday morning. I don’t know what sort of weird aura I was spewing that day, but more than 2 dozen people either purposefully or by accident tried to use the Red Suby as their instrument of suicide. I thwarted their plans. I was a little tense by the time we dropped off the heir and the spare at the CFO’s parents house, and tried to relax while the CFO’s dad drove us to our hotel downtown. No dice. Three passengers in a car were rubbernecking at some police action under the Convention Center. I happened to look up and notice that I was the only one watching the road of the three of us, and traffic was at a dead stop 50 feet ahead. We were going freeway speeds. I hope the CFO’s father does not think less of me for screaming like Ned Flanders, but it alerted him in time to put on the breaks. Can’t argue with results and all that. Anyway, I avoided cars the rest of the day.

Me and the little lady walked from our hotel through Pike Place, along the waterfront, and then through Pioneer Square toward the stadium. We stopped at the Pioneer Square Saloon for refreshment, a place I spent many a summer night in the early and mid 90’s. As we were getting our pints at the bar a dude walking past slaps me on the back and says Jay! Man, how you doing!? “Pretty good dude, pretty good.” He keeps walking and I go back to ordering my pint. What the hell was that about?the CFO asked. I said nothing and simply turned around, allowing her to see the glorious word BUHNER on my back. Ah, crap, are we gonna have to deal with this sort of thing all night? “I hope so.” Sadly, that was the only piece of BUHNER love I received.

As we approached the stadium through Pioneer Square, a strange thing happened. All of a sudden everyone around us just seemed like a chump. Imagine the worst sort of person that might live in Enumclaw or Estacada maybe. Now imagine 10,000 of them, all moving toward the stadium. These do not look like baseball fans commented the CFO. As we made it Quest Field, the chumpery reached its apex, and now we knew why: Supercross! Quest Field was hosting a day of dirt bike racing, and there were hundreds and hundreds of fans outside the stadium tailgating. A lot black T-shirts with logos I’d never heard of; a lot of bad tattoos; a lot of Busch lite. As we got past Quest and moved toward Safeco the Supercross and baseball crowds started to mix. The CFO and I played a fun game called ‘Mariners or Supercross?’ while we walked over to Pyramid. It was not hard and I am almost certain we batted 1.000.

2. The boy is getting creative with his insults. On the drive back from Seattle I refused to play Stinkboy’s requests on the radio. He was displeased. Daddy you’re mean, I don’t like you! When we get home I am gonna steal all your money and put it in jail, and then put you in jail and lock it from the inside! Then I am gonna put all your money in a rocket ship and shoot it into space where it will never, ever, ever come back for a very long time! Then the rocket will crash and blow up and all your money will fall down to all the people in the real world* but you!” Jeez Stinkboy, relax, here, have some Van Halen already. It’s like he’s been reading my recent dream journals or something.

* the “real world” is anywhere not animated and/or inhabited by Imperial forces and Rebel scum.

3. The CEO had a physical today. The good doctor found no physical defects beyond the obvious. After he tested my reflexes and found them freakishly powerful, I insisted that he use the term catlike on my chart. I am not certain he did. I am still waiting for the results of the EKG and blood tests to come back, so I might not be fully out of the woods yet. At worst I’m hoping for some variant of this:

I’ve been there before.

I would also like to take this opportunity to throw my thanks up to Jebus for the fact that a) The CEO is not yet 40, and, b) prostate cancer does not run in my family. The doctor seemed pleased by these facts too. That is all.

4. Today was Take the kids to work day. I wasn’t asked to participate this year, I wonder why. Was it the NOW GET OFF MY LAWN!! I yelled that made he little kids cry last year as they were leaving my office?? Could have been now that I think about it.

5. I wore business shorts to work for the first time in 2009 this last week. I can do that now. It’s good to be the King! Or at least have your liege keep his throne in another state. From my office on Monday:

6. Me and a couple of boys were rolling around on the floor playing rough the other night. I do not remember how it came about (perhaps the lack of memory is a defense mechanism against even more PTSD?) but somehow the Jr. VP was on his back and I was on my belly and he managed to raise his foot up high and bring it crashing down on my skull, right behind the ear. It felt like I’d been hit with a ball peen hammer; not sure why I didn’t lose consciousness. If I gave him an allowance it would certainly be docked this week.

7. At lunch today I saw the guy who should play Mr. Incredible’s boss if they ever make a live-action The Incredibles. The similarity was almost eerie. My urge to throw the dude through a couple of walls ala Mr Incredible was nearly unstoppable, but then I remembered that I am not a Super. Or more accurately my super power isn’t super strength, anyway.

7. The final domino falls: The middle sister, the Kjel.org rep for southern Cali, the one known as Annannannanana! to a generation of Kjel.org kids is finally engaged! Yay Annnanananana!!! Congrats to your lucky beau as well. I better start marinating another batch of “Engagement Jerky”. A secret special recipe where the jerky chef must walk a high-wire; if you succeed the meat is transcendental. I’ve screwed up a couple of batches over the last month or two but I’m getting closer. Sometimes you gotta swing not just for the fences, but for Edgar Martinez Drive.

Nick Adenhart, a 22 year old kid who caught on with the Angels this year got in a car wreck and died the other night — after pitching the best game of his career and cementing himself as an MLB starter. The more I think about this story the more pissed off I get at the universe. I probably ought to quit thinking about it.

Jeff at Lookout Landing (which for my money is the best Mariner website out there) has some worthwhile thoughts. I’m glad that he can see a possible silver lining, because I am having trouble locating one. You are a better man than me sir.

It’s always weird when a famous person dies. When I got into work and heard about the accident, my first reaction was one not of shock or grief, but of interest. I couldn’t believe it had happened, and all I wanted to do was find out more information. Where did it happen? How did it happen? Did it really happen? It was such an atypical and inconceivable bit of news that for a while it didn’t register that Nick Adenhart was dead, that he was no longer among the living. . .

But after a little while it did begin to sink in. Nick Adenhart had died. And though it’s easy for someone in my position to see baseball players as nothing but machines that generate clumps of data, today’s news issued a swift and forceful reminder that Adenhart was more than a left arm with three pitches and iffy control. Nick was a person as much as I am a person, as much as all of us are persons. Nick kept some of his favorite snacks in his kitchen. Nick had plans to hang out with friends when he got a little free time. Nick had guilty pleasures on TV. Nick had girls that he wanted to see naked. Nick had inside jokes. Nick had bills. Nick had messages he hadn’t returned. Nick had memories of family get-togethers over the holidays where he’d have to explain to his grandparents why he wasn’t in school. Nick had people he loved, and Nick had people who loved him. . .

And now, a week after he got to tell friends and family that he’d broken camp with the Angels, Nick is dead. And while I didn’t know him, and while I didn’t watch him as a fan, it still doesn’t feel like just some guy dying, because he’s not just some guy. Not for me. Baseball is my second life, and as such, the baseball community is like a giant circle of acquaintances that I got to know by watching them play. And just because I don’t interact with the players face-to-face doesn’t mean I don’t develop connections to them. I make time to see them, I tell them to do things, they usually don’t listen, sometimes I get annoyed. How different is that from any traditional relationship, really?

Nick Adenhart died hours after pitching the best game of his life. If there’s any silver lining here, it’s that his death was preceded by his achieving an incredible feat. May he take that memory with him wherever he goes. Nick Adenhart is dead. He was 22 years old. I wish all the best to his teammates, his friends, and his family.

Me too.

My weekend just got a bit worse:

LAS VEGAS — The Mariners won’t have Ichiro when they open the season Monday in Minneapolis against the Twins. Ichiro, diagnosed as having had a bleeding ulcer, was placed on the 15-day disabled list Friday, retroactive to March 31. It marks the first career DL appearance for Ichiro, who had played in 197 consecutive games, and 807 of the Mariners’ past 810 games over the past five seasons. The ulcer is no longer bleeding, but doctors have ordered restricted activity for Ichiro. He is eligible to come off the disabled list on April 15 — one day after the Mariners’ home opener against the Angels — and the club hopes he will be ready to play by then.

Ah, the sweet relief of baseball — might allow me to relax a little bit and forget everything else now going on in the world.

Griffey’s first game as a Mariner (2nd time around version) on TV tonight. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited. The Jr. VP is a lefty too, so I need him to watch the other Jr. a little bit and see if he can’t imitate that swing — he’ll be a lot better served by that instead of watching his old man take cuts with a bat. First pitch is at 6:05 on Fox Sports Net.

The Mariners signed Ken Griffey Jr. to a one year contract tonight. The CEO is very conflicted. The analytical side of me hates it and is afraid it means the M’s won’t play the people they should be playing in 2009 in order to give the team a better chance of contending in 2010.

The emotional, sports-fan side of me? I come a little bit close to tearing up every time I see Griffey’s smile at the end of Edgar’s famous double in game 5 of the 1995 wildcard. Plus, I was working in Washington state politics in 1996 and I know to an absolute certainty that the late Mariner run in 1995 led by Griffey guaranteed that Safeco Field would get built and that baseball in Seattle would be saved. Suffice to say I am not too objective on this one.

Sweet Jebus I cannot wait until the baseball season starts again. The first time Junior hits an HR this year I might go a little bit apey.

A guest post from the Chief Educator:

Wang and Yanks agree to $5 million, 1-year deal

NEW YORK — Pitcher Chien-Ming Wang and the New York Yankees avoided salary arbitration when they agreed Monday to a $5 million, one-year contract. The 28-year-old right-hander was 8-2 with a 4.07 ERA in 15 starts last season before injuring a foot while running the bases at Houston in mid-June. He did not return.

Well played sir

What really makes this story is the quote from the neighbor:

A husband who used his semi-naked wife for target practice with an air rifle has been jailed.
Vedran Ribaric, 26, forced wife Mirna to strip to her knickers and run round her garden while he took pot shots at the terrified woman. He even persuaded the frightened 23-year-old to pose provocatively while he took aim. Ribaric was jailed for three and a half years for torture at Zapresic in Croatia. A neighbour said: “Shooting at a beautiful woman like her is crazy. Couldn’t he have practised on a wild pig like everyone else?

I want to move to Croatia. Or at least visit.

The long weekend:

Wednesday: Ow, my balls! Me, the CFO and the Jr VP went to the doctor that afternoon. Turns out that Stinkboy is gonna need a minor operation to repair an almost-hernia. On Wednesday when the good doctor was describing (and using visual aids) to impart exactly what he was going to do to Jr’s cojones, the CEO went pale, broke out in a cold sweat and almost passed out. I briefly thought the smelling salts were going to be required. I need to stop now — I can barely even think about it enough to write about it without bringing on a fainting episode.

Thursday: Oh. Hi. The CEO’s three sisters and assorted relations were in town for Turkey Day this year. Awesome. The house was full. Then the doorbell rings: “Surprise! My parents snuck into town after saying they would be staying in California. I’m not sure why any of the kids ever believed that they would stay down there; in retrospect there is no way that the CEO’s Mom would allow the kids to gather without being there herself. Turned out to be a lovely Thanksgiving, but one with almost no leftovers — the CEO’s Dad can EAT!

Friday: Meat. Beer. On Friday me and a few sisters and one of their dates went all the way out to Gartners Meat Market on the other side of town. They were impressed. I stocked up, to the extent that Gartners gave me a giant free summer sausage as a thank you gift. Good folk, the meat people. Then we ate lunch at Rogue and drove around town drinking beer at various establishments. At least we tried to: quite a few places were closed Friday afternoon. Weird. We still got our fill though.

Saturday: Damn it, Beavs. Our guests all left and I spent most of the day getting the house back to normal. I snuck over to Chief Educators late to watch a little bit of the football game, but had to get back to help the CFO. By Saturday night she was desperately in need of a spa day. All she got was me coming home early. Sorry CFO.

Sunday: Stimulating the economy We took what has become the usual Sunday trip to the grocery store to refill the pantry and bolster the staples (ie beer and Diet Coke). Once the groceries were home and the kids taking their naps, the CFO did the unthinkable: she went to Toys R Us to Christmas shop. I got a panicky call while she was in the store, ending with “I’ve got to get out of here — this is MAKING ME CRAZY!!”. She finished her toy shopping in the relative sanity of the Target.

So Thanksgiving 2008 has come and gone. I think I am still blacking out the fact that Christmas is right around the corner. The Holiday season doesn’t really start for me until I’ve attended the Holiday Ale Fest. That means my Holiday season will start Thursday at about 3:00, and be thoroughly reinforced Saturday at 11:00.

If you can’t guess the things that the CEO are most thankful for on this Thanksgiving then you just haven’t really been paying attention.

I can’t believe it is time for the Apple Cup already. Thank Jebus — the CEO needs a break. It feels like a long time since any team I liked has won anything, and I am afraid that this Saturday I am going to feel the same way. At least the Apple Cup this year is not just a game between two bad teams, but a battle to determine who really is the worst team in the Pac-10. The Crapple Cup, if you will. I envision a fair amount of drinking and swearing on Saturday morning, and then once the game starts perhaps even more.

I am afraid to watch the Beaver game afterwards becuase I want OSU to win.

Not too many pictures taken in The Quad actually survived The Quad so I feel fortunate to be able to bring you this rare specimen:

With an actual Budweiser, not a Blitz or whatever other crappy generic beer (Care for a Maxx, anyone?) we got at a dock sale the day before. Our man really is living the dream in this one.

The 2008 Seattle Mariners are not good and it is doubtful to me that they will make the playoffs:

Royals rout M’s 12-0, complete four-game sweep
KANSAS CITY, Mo. — Zack Greinke combined with two pitchers on a three-hitter, Mike Aviles hit a three-run homer and the Kansas City Royals routed Seattle 12-0 on Thursday to complete their first four-game sweep of the Mariners in 19 years.

The 2008 Cougs on the other hand . . . also suck.

The WSU-Baylor game has been moved to Friday evening. Something about an impending hurricane I hear. Anyway, if you are part of the Kjel.org gaming community please make sure you take this fact into account. Gracias.

The CFO worked all day Saturday. The boys had themselves a big day out:

1. Appliance shopping with a one and a three year old was surprisingly easy. One played with the other (sample dialogue: “Watch this Daddy! Baby in a dryer!“) while I employed Jedi mind trick price negotiation tactics on the very, very old salesman. The force was strong in that one, but even so the new dishwasher arrives Thursday.

2. Grocery store cart racing is always fun — until it isn’t. The Jr. VP is at a stage where something can be the most fun thing in the world before a switch is flipped and it becomes terrifying. We flipped that switch several times while tearing-ass around the Thriftway with the lad hanging on to the front of the cart for his dear life. He screamed bloody murder a few times but no one looked at us twice, let alone ask us to shut up and/or leave. I wonder what you have to do to get kicked out of that grocery store? I know for a fact that if you show up drunk, kick a few twelve packs down the aisle, all while screaming in Spanish, they still politely serve you. No really, I am certain of it.

3. We got lunch at The Cheeseburger Store. This is how the lad refers to any fast food place selling burgers.

4. We took our lunch to the “old park”, the one close to the old HQ. Kids ate and played; Daddies ate and watched. And played. And drank. I have discovered the perfect park beer: Caldera IPA.

Unless someone is close to enough to actually read the label, there could be anything in that yellow can.

5. Then it was home for naps and football. If this last weekend was any sort of a guide, the CEO is in for a long season this year. I’ve come to accept that basically, if I like a sports team that team will not win. You’d think I’d at least learn to use that knowledge to improve my gambling results, but no such luck yet.

Not that anyone asked me, but the solution to the Seahawks’ problem is right there, already on the team: Hasselbeck to Bumpus, early and often. Superbowl bacon surprise here I come.

The Fall Gambling Season is upon us yet again. Will those scholar-athletes of the gridiron make the CEO any money this year? Might they get him back to the break even point at least? The only way to know is to play. Email the CEO if you want in. It’ll be the easiest money you’ve ever made. Difficult to actually collect though . . .

Just because me and a guy at work were talking about it today. When that ball went in I fully expected to see multiple explosions and Bill Murray in a camouflage hat slinking away.

Tiger’s famous chip on the 16th at the 2005 Masters:

Yesterday, I went to the office and worked. What did the Chief Bride do yesterday?

Dammit.

For the record, the Seattle Seahawks are not soley responsible for their loss against Green Bay on Saturday. The Chief Educator shares part of the blame: he jinxed them early. At 14-0 for Seattle early, that dumbass started to celebrate. I believe it’s over! came out of his mouth. The Chief Sniper picked up on the jinx immediately; I thought he was going to punch the Educator. In retrospect he probably should have.

I made the comment wow, it’s really coming down now! several times during the game. Every time they cut to commercial and then came back I swear it was snowing harder than before. Finally I quit saying it: I didn’t want to be known decades hence as the man responsible for the worst blizzard in Wisconsin history.

A gambling note from this weekend: it is bullshit to lose a poker hand when you are holding five Kings. It was that sort of evening.

Kjel.org awoke Saturday to the promise of snow. Luckily, it was a secret promise: I neglected to tell the Jr VP about the possibility because I know that all the weathermen in this town live to crush the snowy dreams of little boys, so their bogus forecast caused no tears when the snow didn’t come as advertised.

I for one wasn’t too sad. I was going to get downtown for the Holiday Ale Fest even if I had to chain up all four wheels on the Suby. Thankfully, I did not have to chain up the Suby.

The Fest was crowded this year. Normally we show up at 11:00 and are some of the first people in. This year there was a 100 person line at 11:00; I need to stop talking it up during the rest of the year. The Edumacator and I were lucky to be inside the gates by 11:07. Once in the tent everything was awesome as usual. The first beer of the morning is always the toughest, but they get progressively smoother after that. All of us in fact proceeded to get pretty smooth.

The Chief Photographer making a rare appearance:

A few other distinguished gentlemen joined us in the wetting of our whistles:

Dam right we’re Beavers! And drunk!

We somehow then found ourselves at Rock Bottom in the bar upstairs. They let us in why?

Is there anything better than watching football after a long morning of drinking, while having appetizer sampler plates periodically sent to your table? Unlikely. Rock Bottom beer doesn’t do much for me but by God the lads down there know their way around a deep fryer. Bravo! Oh, and congrats to the Beavs too.

The HQ survived the weekend windstorm relatively unscathed and the roof seems to be holding. A certain gutter on our house is super clogged because the CFO is too lazy to clean it, so we now have what I like to think of as a “cascading water feature” onto the back deck but otherwise I think we’ll make it. I will anyway; the CFO is hurting due to the loss of her favorite never-visited tree:

Storm Snaps World’s Tallest Sitka Spruce
SEASIDE, Ore. — The world’s tallest Sitka spruce near Seaside survived 700 years of storms and a threat from chain saws, but snapped in half during Sunday’s powerful winds. The 204-foot tree was badly damaged in 2006 during a powerful storm and officials had considered cutting it down. “Its such a landmark. You drive by and you stop. You take a picture with your kids and you keep going. It’s a sad day. Kind of lost a piece of Oregon coast history,” said one local resident. Some visitors stopped by the tree on Sunday to take pieces of it as keepsakes.

One of the CFO’s favorite things to do was hassle me about stopping at the Sitka roadside attraction every time we drove to the coast, seeing how many different ways I could deny her the pleasure of looking at a big tree, always hoping against hope that this might be the time where I breakdown and Kjel.org actually stops. Sorry CFO. That big tree (and your attempts at dragging me to see it) will have to live on in your memory. And your dreams. Now I wonder if there is an Air Museum we could go to around here somewhere?

Kjel.org might be moving to Pullman soon; the CFO is thrilled. Thrilled, I tells ya. I’ve submitted my resume to Washington State University, and, if accepted, next season I will be the head coach of the WSU football team. I don’t really expect to be hired as head coach, and frankly, head coach is not the job I want. I’m doing it just to position myself for the true dream job should it also become available: WSU offensive coordinator. I like to imagine sitting up in the booth drawing up triple reverse quarterback-throwback type plays, most of them run out of either the wishbone or the shotgun. A lot of tackle-eligible stuff in the playbook too, plus a couple of double-secret trick plays that we’ll save just for the Apple Cup. I’ve got one in mind called Dogstomper option right that I am just itching to run some year. Also, we are not going to punt. Ever. The good Lord gave WSU four downs in which to move the football, and by God move it we will.

One more game for the Cougs this year. I hope they show up for this one; on Saturday against the Beavs they didn’t. If you can’t get excited about a chance to beat up on the Huskies, then you probably shouldn’t be playing on my* football team.

* Mine soon anyway. At the least the offense.

I’ve watched a lot of football in my day, but this is possibly the most insane play I have ever seen:

The Kaufmann’s elk hair caddis. The CEO’s weapon of choice yesterday.

The CEO made it home safe and sound from his journey to the wilds of the North Santiam. I made it out unscathed (save for a pretty wicked scratch on one of my knuckles — good thing there are no piranha in the Santiam) and caught more fish than I have in the last three years combined. Those trout will tell their grandkids about the day back in October of 2007 when they met the Beast.

“I saw the Beast himself! He stood on what looked like two pasty white marshmellowy stumps in the shallows over there. I was minding my own business, about to have a caddis flavored snack, when I hear a roar of Gotcha, fishie! come from the Beast. I was pulled inexorably toward it; there was nothing I could do. I could see that the Beast wore boots and ratty old tan shorts and even from underwater it smelled of beef jerky and malted barley. Then I was next to it, and it reached down and touched me! Honest to God, it touched me! The horror! Suddenly I found I could move again and I raced away for the deep. Many cutthroat and brookies knew what it was to be captured from the depths of the Santiam that day, I can tell you!”

The fishing was good, and the day was nice. Their was one moment of mild panic when I slipped off a rock and went in up to my armpits. I wasn’t afraid of getting wet or drowning or anything, but I had the keys to the Suby in an only semi-waterproof zipper pocket in my vest. If the electronic keys go underwater it’s pretty doubtful the CEO can unlock his car, and I would have then been near the headwaters of a different stream, one called Shit Creek. A smarter person would have his keys in a wholly-waterproof pocket, but then again I wasn’t planning on going in the river much past my knees. On my trip to the bottom of the river I was able to blow my ballast tank and readjust my dive planes just in time and thereby keep those keys dry, but I now I know: when fishing put my keys in a zip lock, just in case I go into the drink. No reason to get stuck out there past dark — that is when the CHUDS (aka Scio residents) come out to feed. I was safely in my car headed up I-5 before that particular risk ever had to be addressed.

Santiam trout, prepare to feel my wrath!! (Not really guys, sorry. It’s OK. I’ll unhook you and then throw ya back set you gently in the current so you can swim away under your own power happy and free . . .)

The CEO will be off the grid for the better part of Sunday. The October caddis hatch only comes around once a year (pretty much every October) and I plan to take full advantage. Stupid Fall trout are often the only trout that the CEO can catch.

If the CEO’s not back by 11:59 PM Sunday send the smell-hounds up the N. Santiam looking for me starting at about Mill City. If I’m not back by Tuesday please avenge my death per the standard instructions. Thanks.

The CFO left us boys alone at the HQ this afternoon. The Jr VP slept, sort of. I was in charge of watching the baby. I watched him.

1. I’ve been having a real hard time limiting the language that the Jr. VP is exposed to and subsequently repeats. Loudly. And repeatedly. Just when I think I’ve got my defenses firmly established something new comes in under my radar. I know “Rocking Ring of Fire” well enough to quickly mute it during certain parts of the song (and really who doesn’t want their two year old yelling “let it burn, motherfucker!“) but sometimes I forget about problems in other songs. The beginning of a particular Sublime song is the case in point. The song is entitled “Smoke Two Joints” so I really can’t say that the possibility of a problem just came at me out of the blue. Anyway, spoken at the beginning of the song, a snippet from some old-timey film about bad teens I’m guessing:

“She was living in a single room with three other individuals. One of them was a male and the other two, well, the other two were females. God only know what they were up to in there. And furthermore Susan, I wouldnt be the least bit surprised to learn that all four of them habitually smoke marijuana cigarettes… REEFERS!”

Of course the lad immediately starts yelling Reefers! Reefers! I was very glad that we were headed away from ’school’ instead of toward it; the ladies and other parents at his ’school’ look at me suspiciously enough as it is.

2. I took a phone survey the other week and at the end when they asked if they could me send a more comprehensive written version I said sure. I didn’t really plan to waste my time doing it but figured it might be interesting to look at it at least. The survey arrived Saturday. I opened it up and the first thing I saw was a crisp new $5 bill taped to the front of it. “Ah, trying to use generosity to guilt me into completing the thing, eh? Nice try, but no dice, suckers.” I bought a sandwich today with that $5 bill. It was tasty (the secret is extra mayo) and that survey is now at the bottom of a landfill somewhere.

3. Finally: the Intern is no longer just a hungry animated lump of poop production (that also occasionally barfs); he can now interact with the world around him. I guess we’ll keep him since he is getting to be much more fun now that he can do stuff, like move his head around to watch and even sometimes laugh at my assorted japes and capering. The Jr. VP tries to get him to laugh by laughing himself but Stinkboy’s fake-laugh is pretty bad. It sounds like he is doing an impression of Terminator-era Schwarzenegger when he fake-laughs. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! If he ever laughs like that and then says “I’ll be back” in that same voice I will need a surgeon due to the busted gut I’d incur. I hope that sort of thing can be fixed but if not it’d still probably be worth it.

4. Kjel.org recently got a giant exercise ball. Someone has a new “funnest game in the world“: step 1. Lay on top of said ball. Step 2. Ball rolls forward, boy goes with it. Step 3. Put face into ground. Step 4. Repeat. Too fun Daddy!!! Too fun!!! Whatever, he seems to like it, bloody noses notwithstanding.

5. I’d be remiss if I didn’t wish you a happy Columbus Day. It’s one of my favorite holidays: today I am going to kiss any random Spaniards I come across and slap around any indigenous people I happen to stumble upon. I’ll do it to, you know, celebrate. It’s the spirit of the season! Yay Columbus! Stupid holiday that doesn’t even get the CEO a day off — pretty much mailmen sorry, letter-carriers are the main beneficiary of Columbus Day. Look, Cristobal was not even the first European to set foot in North America, let alone the first person, so honoring him as some legendary explorer is lame. Also, there are reasonable Americans that are offended by the fact that the federal govt sets aside a day to honor Columbus. I don’t share their offense (my side — aka Western Civ — won after all) but I hate to unnecesarily give offense to good people. Columbus Day is stupid; I propose that we instead do this. All-Sports Day. Make it on a Friday in early October every year, and let MLB and college and pro football use the day to schedule games. I expect many other fringe sports would follow suit, and within a year or three the holiday will be accepted and have it’s own fun traditions and norms. It worked for Kwanzaa, so why not this? It’ll be like the Super Bowl, but better — you get the day off, and then a whole weekend to recover from your bacon hangover. In a lot of the country early October is still pretty nice weatherwise, so it could in some ways be like a late Labor Day, but instead honoring something useful. Columbus Day? Overrated. All Sports Day? An idea whose time has come.

6. This could easily happen at Kjel.org, but I have a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be Mom with the hardware were this to go down near the HQ:

Mom Allegedly Flashes Gun at Bus Stop
JACKSONVILLE, Fla. (AP) - Jacksonville authorities say a mother pulled out a gun at a school bus stop because her son was being bullied. The police report says 40- year-old Johnna Briggs pointed the gun at other students getting off the bus and said, “Does anyone have something to say?” Her son was being bullied on the school bus and authorities say she wanted to put an end to it. Briggs is charged with improper exhibition of a firearm, a misdemeanor.

If physical violence is ever threatened or visited upon one of the lads’ enemies it’s not going to require CSI Portland to figure out which one of their parents is the more likely suspect. Hmm, which parent has a documented history of threatening to, quote, “maul” anyone who might harm or otherwise inconvenience any member of the this weird Kjel.org cult thingy? CEO: Sorry officer. That smartass fourth grader had it coming.

7. If you are a member of a professional or collegiate sports team of any type you had better hope and pray that the CEO never roots for you to win. As this last weekend has proved, beyond any scintilla of a doubt, the CEO rooting for you guarantees* that you are going to lose. Sorry.

On that note: Go Huskies!!!

* Not an actual guarantee. Kjel.org user terms and conditions can be downloaded at kjel.org/cares

Kjel.org and crew is back from Seattle after helping the M’s put one more season in the books. We got to watch a satisfying game, with run-scoring, good Mariner pitching, and about the best seats we will ever have. Not bad at all.

Our afternoon started early at a little sports bar called the Admiral Pub. Not too early though; I was cheated out of an hour or two of Admiral time because of my own stupidity. Note to self: if I actually want the Chief Educator to arrive in Seattle at 2:00, I need to tell him that he should plan on getting there by 1:00. You’d think I’d know this by now. Anyway, once we got there it was all good. We had their always excellent combo of burgers and beer, and this time I actually paid my bartab and even left a tip. Don’t spend those two dollars all at once little sis! (A certain CEO’s sibling manages the place, and was our waitress. Now that’s service!)

Our seats were right behind the visitor (Rangers in this case) dugout. Right behind: when we (by “we” I mean me and the Educator; the ladies were having no part of this) seized an opportunity to inform Sammy Sosa that he sucked he turned around in the on-deck circle and pinned us with his cold dead eyes. “¿Hay un problema aquí?” He then took a few wicked practice cuts while looking at our skulls. Oops. That wasn’t us sir. Good luck sir. Go Dominican! “Usted dos pendejos tienen suerte.” Anyway, our seats were that good.

I’d forgotten about the contest that the Mariners run the 2nd to the last game of every season: if your seat number is called you get to play center field for an inning. The damndest thing: guess who’s number was called?

Ichiro likely would have made the same play, but would he have looked as good? Doubtful. Well maybe. He is a fine looking man.

The Chief Educator and the CEO have a standing bet on Safeco hydroplane races ($50) and I continued my grand tradition of gambling domination. Unless we are talking about football. Or cards. Or greyhounds. Or really any other wagering opportunity other than counting on the green hydro to come through for me again. You owe me $50 Chief. We can let that one ride if you want to.

During the 7th inning stretch there was dancing. The Jumbotron was showing pictures of various folk around the stadium jumping around spastically enough to get onto the big screen. I was looking back at the press booth trying to pick out Niehaus when several people near me began to scream. I spun around and saw the big screen. Holy shit those kids on the screen are seated right behind us! A bunch of middle school miscreants were getting all funky behind me and the big screen was showing it. Wait a minute, if those kids are being shown. . .uh oh. I spun another 90 degrees and saw the dude with the remote cam right next to us, pointing it in our general direction. The Chief Educator and I had that same thought simultaneously (ie: Aaaaaaaa!!) and tried to hide under our seats.

The two dancing queens the Chief and I had with us felt differently about the matter. They of course immediately started to get down, and were so, um, expressive that remote-camera-man made it so that it was just the two of them up there shaking it on the Jumbotron. The Bride even attempted to sexually harass the Edumacator on camera but he was able to escape with his anonymity; since I wasn’t sitting by the CFO I was in no such danger. Finally it was over. I was literally rendered speechless. The CEO normally can produce a comment (not an appropriate or germane comment, but a comment nonetheless) for any and all situations. Not this time. The Chief’s response to seeing the ladies on the big screen mirrored mine pretty closely.

We allowed the CFO’s parents to serve us breakfast the following morning, then it was back to Portland. We dodged about a dozen accidents on I-5 during the monsoon but we were never in any danger. As far as the CFO is aware of. You know what’s funny? When you replace the wiper blade that goes in front of the driver with one brand new and functional, but leave the horrible old non-working one on the passenger side. Ignorance was the CFO’s bliss. . .

Kjel.org and the Chiefs Bride and Educator are going to Seattle tomorrow. We plan to watch a Mariners game and enjoy some fine dining:

Throw it in the fryer, I don’t care what it is!

Look for us if you are watching the game on TV. Our seats are very low on the third base side and I think that when TV does a closeup sideview of a right handed batter we are part the crowd you can see behind him. I’ll be the guy getting hustled out by security after throwing one too many ice cubes at Willie Bloomquist. I’ll try to make sure that I lose my shirt and/or pants in the process. Go M’s!

I am considering refinancing the Kjel.org HQ. Why now? Because I’ve finally found a financial services provider that I can trust. Whoooooooooo!

Kids are the best, Apu. You can teach them to hate the things you hate. And they practically raise themselves, what with the Internet and all.

The Jr. VP often will put on a shy act when we are out and about and a stranger asks him a question. Saturday when he and I were at the hardware store (where I bought the only almost lethal booby-trapped flashlight. Ha! You’ll have to try harder than that, Chinese assassins!) the clerk saw his Ichiro shirt and asked him if he liked the Mariners. No response. The clerk then asked who his favorite player was. Nothing from the boy. Finally the clerk just exclaimed “Go Mariners!” At this the Jr. VP smiled and yelled Boo Yankees! and then looked for high fives all around. The clerk and other people nearby were exceedingly impressed. “You’re raising that one up right.”

It’s a good thing he didn’t use the term “Skankees” like I’ve been trying to teach him; my heart might have actually exploded inside my chest instead of just swelling up with pride like it did. I’m equally glad that the phrase Fuck the Yankees! didn’t come out of his mouth.

1. Is summer over already? It’s feels like it was Memorial Day about two weeks ago. Where did the Kjel.org summer go? Oh yeah:

Life at the HQ is regaining some tiny bit of normalcy; it only took two months. I suppose we were (and will still be) slightly busy. The Intern requires more care than you might think as he can’t feed himself or even move around on his own. And as far as changing his own diaper? Forget about it.

2. The Chief Educator has been TV shopping lately; I’ve been reading about some of the options he is looking at for his newly remodeled family room. Wow. New TV’s are pretty damn awesome. As the Jr VP said the other night before bed, I love you TV. Kjel.org is probably not in the market for a new TV for at least a year or so, but watching the Chief shop for a new one is making me rethink my priorities. The CFO doesn’t really need a new car . . .

Here is the lad enjoying some football on Kjel.org’s old fashioned TV this last weekend. He’s cheering as WSU goes up 14-7 on Wisconsin. There wasn’t too much cheering after that.

3. Kjel.org took a nice trip to Banks Lake in north central Washington last week with the CEO’s whole family. The Intern has been taking notes from the Jr VP: he charmed the heck out of his Grandmama just like Stinkboy does on a regular basis. You’re learning from the best, Intern. Keep paying attention to how he operates and you’ll be fine. Here is a picture of the Jr VP and his cousin Chuckles at the beach house. One seems much more interested in snuggling than the other. Hmm. Remember Stinkboy, no means no!

4. The Jr. VP might be getting over his authoritarian tendencies. A little bit at least. His familiar commands (ie No Talking!) are now supplemented by comments giving people permission. My favorite from the other day: As we are getting into the car he says “You want to drive, Daddy?” Don’t mind if I do, Stinkboy.

5. My list of justifiable asses to kick just got one longer: welcome to the list, Jack. You are listed right under Muamar Quadafi. Let’s hope we never meet. Same goes for you too, Muamar.

6. If you are a Mariner fan tonight’s game against the Yankees (or the Skankees, as I’ve taught Jr to call them) pretty much a season decider. This one is important: win and the M’s are still legitimate wild-card contenders, lose and it relegates the M’s to need-a-miracle status. I’m not saying that Ichiro can’t pull a miracle or three out of his hat, I just don’t want him to be required to do it in order for the M’s to have a shot.

7. The CEO’s 2007 Gambletron College Football Derby is now fully operational. Email me if you want in. It’s quite a commitment so don’t undertake it lightly. And once you are in, you are in. Don’t make me send “Mr. Pink” from N. Portland (aka the Chief Gambletron Enforcer) around to your place.

8. Anyone need any firewood? We are having some trees around the HQ trimmed pretty soon and should have a decent stack of wood left over. First person to claim it gets it. Unless someone else who wants it beats that person to it — it’ll be stacked next to the HQ, come ‘n get it.

Ichiro commenting in the Seattle Times today about the team’s detour to Cleveland to make up a cancelled game:

The Mariners were clearly not thrilled with the detour before opening a three-game series against the Chicago Cubs on Tuesday. “To tell the truth, I’m not excited to go to Cleveland, but we have to,” Ichiro said through an interpreter. “If I ever saw myself saying I’m excited going to Cleveland, I’d punch myself in the face, because I’m lying.”

Several months back I thought Hmm, I think me and the little lady might like to take in an M’s game sometime in May. I looked at the schedule. Hey, decent seats are available for the game May 12th against the Yankees. It’s a 7:00 game on Saturday so that means we can leave Portland late Sat morning, drop off the boy in Bellevue with plenty of time to spare, and then arrive at the ballpark with no worries. It’ll be great. Awesome, even.

As I should have foreseen when I bought the tickets, the weekend as planned got away from me. I did not realize at the time that Sunday the 13th was Mothers Day. As the kids say, my bad. What was going to be a nice little trip up to Seattle to see a baseball game quickly ballooned into two separate Mothers Day brunches (Sat and Sun) and an afternoon of helping my parents get ready to move. Yay for carrying heavy things and going to the dump! I got to drive north out of Portland at rush hour on Friday instead of Saturday morning, so that was big plus too.

On top of it all the game sucked: the Mariners were out of it by about the 4th pitch, and it never felt like they were coming back. Plus I missed the only runs the Mariners scored because of the mental defectives operating the Papa Johns pizza concession at Safeco. A tip for the management: if your two primary products are pizza and beer, is it not likely that your patrons will often want one of each? You operate six cash registrars. Operating those registrars on Saturday night were five 16 year old girls, and one very old guy with a cane. The young ladies were prevented by law from selling beer to anyone. As such, the old guy pretty much was responsible for every transaction. The line moved slower even than you might think. Also, the first time I was in line it turned out that the credit card machines were not working. A sign or announcement to that effect before I pointlessly waited 15 minutes in line would have been much appreciated.

The best parts of the game were the beers before it with the Chiefs Educator and Bride who happened to be at same game, and the drinks with them afterwards in their hotel’s bar. And discussing with them the articles of clothing that are shared by the CEO and the CFO.

The drive back to Portland was uneventful, except for the hour long tantrum the boy decided to throw. He really, really, wanted to be at the HQ already. I had the Suby up to about 90 from Longview onward. The CEO’s mouth: I’ll have you home soon, Stinkboy! CEO’s brain: if I don’t kill the lot of us. We made it home safe and sound, and now get to face a new week. Or at least part of a week: we leave again for Seattle Thursday so that we can fly to L.A. Friday so that on Saturday we can attend the wedding of two people I don’t really know, then fly back to Seattle Sunday morning so I can drive to Portland Sunday afternoon. Fu. . . . n

Since the Mariners have played a total of three (three and half, maybe) times so far this season and haven’t actually completed a game since Wednesday of last week, the baseball monkey on the CEO’s back is in need of serious feeding. Luckily the internet is here. I regularly read a handful of the M’s websites; I’m always looking for more. The best new one by far is the blog of Geoff Baker, the Seattle Times reporter assigned to cover the team. His comments today looking ahead after all four scheduled games in Cleveland were called:

Just got back from Jacobs Field, which is still covered in a foot-and-a-half of snow on many parts of the field. There is, of course, a tarp covering the infield and they have removed snow from a portion of the outfield. Trouble is, it’s still snowing, the temperatures are getting a little warmer but hardly playable and…and…well, that’s it.

They’ve called off not only the games involving Seattle, but now, a three-game series with the Los Angeles Angels due to start tomorow [Tuesday] has been moved to a different city as well. The two options are Milwaukee or Houston. I’d take Houston, personally, but I’m sure it’ll go north just in time for a spring blizzard or something. The Indians leave here at 7 p.m., so they will obviously know by then. (Just found out at 11:33 a.m. PDT that it will be Milwaukee).

As for the Mariners, they are continuing to keep their rotation in order, meaning Jeff Weaver tomorrow in Boston and then Felix Hernandez on Wednesday against Red Sox ace Daisuke Matsuzaka in what is looking to be the pitching matchup of the year. Seriously, to get a duo like this squaring off at a setting like Fenway Park, with all the hype thrown in, is just too much to ask for this time of year. So, hats off to Cleveland for this one.

I am very much looking forward to Wednesday. Some additional awesomeness is that the game doesn’t start until 4:00 PM out here (the latest start you’ll see for an east coast game) so I’ll actually get to listen/watch some of it. Man I hope things are looking mighty hectic at the office at about 3:30 on Wednesday, because it’ll be very tempting for the CEO to up and skedaddle if they are not.

Unless the CEO has been completely misinformed about this whole genetics thing, the odds of the Jr. VP ever playing major league baseball are pretty damn slim. If he is ever going to get a shot in the MLB he needs a gimmick. I plan on teaching him a knuckle ball as soon as he’s old enough to throw, and hopefully turning the lad into the next Wakefield. Lately though I’ve happily noticed that the boy appears to be ambidextrous. Awesome — perhaps he can follow in this guy’s footsteps:

The pitch was nothing remarkable: Pat Venditte, Creighton University’s temporarily right-handed pitcher, threw a fastball past a Northern Iowa batter for a called strike three. It was his next windup that evinced this young pitcher’s uniqueness and, perhaps, professional future. As his teammates whipped the ball around the infield, Venditte smoothly, unthinkingly, removed his custom glove from his left hand and slipped it on his right. Moments later he leaned back, threw a strike left-handed to the next batter, and finished the side in order. Venditte is believed to be the only ambidextrous pitcher in NCAA Division I college baseball, the ultimate relief specialist. . .

“I don’t think twice about it,” said Venditte, whose father, Pat Sr., taught him to throw with both arms when he was 3. “You grew up with it, you love it, you want to keep playing as long as you can.” Venditte has improved so much in the past year that major league scouts are starting to consider him a possible late-round pick in this June’s amateur draft because of his versatility. “He could be an economical two-for-one,” Jerry Lafferty, a longtime scout for the Philadelphia Phillies, said last Friday while assessing the 21-year-old Venditte from behind the backstop.

This summer we’ll start working on throwing a whiffle ball. If an ambidextrous knuckleballer can’t find work in professional baseball then something in the world just isn’t right.

God how I miss Jay Buhner.

Picture from Lookout Landing.

The M’s are supposed to play the Indians in Cleveland in about two hours. Not sure the game is going to happen: weather.com says that it is currently 30 degrees and snowing heavily in Cleveland. Not exactly baseball weather. Maybe the game will be delayed until tonight when I can actually watch or listen to it? Maybe I get a doubleheader tomorrow? Either way, this shapes up nicely for the CEO.

Finally, the winter is over and 2007 can really begin: the M’s are on TV tonight. After yesterday afternoon’s victory the Mariners are tied for first place in the American League West, and ahead of the A’s, Red Sox, and Yankees. I’m going to enjoy it while I can.

Seattle Times:

UCLA downs WSU, 53-45, in Pac-10 showdown
PULLMAN — Arron Afflalo scored 14 points to help No. 2 UCLA beat No. 13 Washington State 53-45 on Thursday night to wrap up its second consecutive Pac-10 title.

Good thing that when God tells me directly to do something, as a matter of course I tend to do the opposite. $1200 on UCLA to cover. CFO, buy a new dress and find a sitter! I’m taking you out somewhere nice tomorrow night!

I think I had a religious experience this morning. Check out this picture:

This vehicle was in front of me today on I-5 during my entire commute. It’s hard to make out the plate (I was already moderately tailgaiting, driving one handed and staring at a camera phone, after all. I didn’t want to get any closer than that), but it says GO WSU. Squint a little, you can see it. I’m sorry the picture is not better; it truly was a beautiful license plate, almost beatific in it’s way.

I’ve never seen this car before, and Portland is just not that big of a town. I should have noticed that plate by now, and I damn sure would have remembered seeing it. Why was it revealed to me on today of all days? Has the CEO been given some sort of sign from above? Should I call my bookie and put a dime or two on the Cougars tonight against UCLA? I was thinking about doing that anyway, but now I might have to. I feel that by revealing this sign to me today the good Lord himself has commanded me to bet on the Cougs. Who am I to disobey? I’m still going to take the points though.

Pitchers and catchers reported for Spring training yesterday. It should really be a holiday of some sort.

A classic picture of Seattle Supersonic Xavier McDaniel accompanies a story about NBA enforcers in the Seattle Times today:

Sucked to get on Xavier’s bad side.

I can’t remember a sweeter headline.

The last few days have been busy. Where to even start? Perhaps a notes format:

1. The CEO likes the cold and a bit of snow, but crikey: it’s pretty damn chilly outside. The snow shown above fell like a week ago, and it’s still around. Not normal. Also, the CEO likes to turn the heat off at the HQ at night. I did it the other night and when we woke up the next morning, it was 51 degrees in our house. The CFO was this close (imagine me doing that thing where I hold my thumb and forefinger a one eighth of a millimeter apart) to filing for divorce that morning. Or stabbing me to death. Or both.

2. The Jr. VP mentioned that one day he wanted to become a superhero, so I’ve let him get an early start on the costume thing. At least that what I tell the CFO. Really I just like to dress him funny (A onesie over his sweats? Hi-larious!) for my own amusement. Of course it irritates the CFO. No divorce on this one though, and only light stabbing, if any.

The almost snow day didn’t help the CEO much, as the Suby got me to work no problem. Just to make the drive in more interesting I didn’t even bother to scrape the windshield first. It worked.

3. The CFO went to the doctor this week with some weird throat problem. The doctor was pretty worthless: Yeah, there’s something there, no I don’t know what it is. He could at least confirm that it wasn’t thrush, which the CFO had convinced herself she had. The doctor prescribed something called “Magic Mouthwash” that the CFO was supposed to gargle with. It sounded to me like maybe the doctor had prescribed a placebo, but whatever: after a day or two of the Magic Mouthwash, the CFO felt better. I later looked it up and it turned out to be a real medication after all. It sounds like there are a few different blends of Magic Mouthwash out there; I might create and start marketing the CEO’s Special Reserve Blend of Magic Mouthwash. The CEO’s version does include a slightly lower dosage of tetracycline, but has a significantly higher content of both gin and peyote.

4. As is our custom most Fridays, the CFO and I ordered dinner from Delivered Dish. The delivery man eventually arrives at our door and Jr. goes running to greet him. (Jr was expecting the Pizza Guy. The Pizza Guy is a god in Jr’s universe, sort of like Gozer in mine. The Chinese food guy still got props from the boy though.) “Hi!” “Hi!” “Hi!”. The Guy gives us our dinner and collects his money. As he is leaving, Jr. yells “Adios! Adios!” and waves. The Guy happened to be Mexican. “Your kid speaks Spanish?” “Uhh, a little” was the best I could do. “Smart kid,” he says while walking away. I hope the guy wasn’t offended by the “adios!” somehow; the CEO is not known for his nuanced understanding of situations like that. Oh well. But the General Tsao’s chicken? Delectable, even if the General himself was a bloodthirsty tyrant.

Saturday afternoon the three of us went to the grocery store. The CFO doesn’t realize that when the boys are at the store, shopping is only a tertiary goal: the primary directive is fun. We mostly have fun by playing with the grocery cart. So many cart games: the slalom, speed trials, fancy freestyle tricks likes popping wheelies and backwards driving, and one favorite that can only be done (done safely, anyway) when the store is relatively empty: the Ghostrider. We had a good time; mommy got her stuff. Everyone was happy. Saturday at the store was a win-win-win for everyone, aside from the elderly woman who inadvertently met the Ghostrider on aisle four. Lucky for her that the local firehouse shops at the same place we do; I’m not sure I could have figured out on my own how those defibrillator paddles worked.

Saturday night the CFO’s brother and date came over and we had tasty Hawaiian food. Again from Delivered Dish. Different delivery guy though, and for that I was thankful. Side note: While pizza is still the king for Stinkboy, Aunty’s Shoyu Chicken is likely the queen.

5. Later Saturday night, I excused myself from the Hawaiian feast and traveled over to the Chief Educator’s pad. [The lady of the house]* very wisely vacated the premises for the evening: the boys were doing some gambling. It was far and away the best gaming we’ve had in a long time, even though I and most of the rest of us got our asses handed to us by one lucky Chief Motherfucker (formerly the Chief Photographer). He had cards (and stories) that night that you wouldn’t believe. I only made it until midnight and then went home to my loving and faithful wife.

6. Sunday morning was spent again at the Chief Educator’s pad, watching the Seahawks lose to the stupid Chicago Bears. Stupid Rex Grossman. He’s going on my list I think. At least I got to have Lit’l Smokies for breakfast. That’s something that doesn’t happen often enough.

7. The CEO has decided that the new addition to Kjel.org will have the first name of “Tank”. Doesn’t matter if it is a boy or a girl, it works either way.

8. Sunday night Kjel.org took dinner over to the Lake Oswegans with the new baby boy. We stayed and dined and watched all the kids play; it was lovely as usual. During the course of dinner the CFO had commented about how they were happy that Jack Bauer was finally on again tonight. A little later an irritating commercial for American Idol came on. The CFO: “I can’t believe people still watch that show. Every season is exactly the same.” “Not at all like 24“, commented the new Daddy. Touche. [editors note: turns out that the CEO incorrectly remembered where he was when he heard that comment; the exchange actually occured at the Chief Educator’s lair earlier that day. It’s like I’d been drinking or something that night. More than usual, I mean.]

9. I have a dream, that one day my yard will be stick-free and my garage uncluttered. Today, in honor of the late Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, I am going to try to make that dream into reality. And then afterwards maybe drink some beer (or Magic Mouthwash?) and play video games. It’s the what the Dr. would have wanted I think.

* Title redacted upon instructions from CTU.

One of the presents that a lad received the other weekend in Bellevue:

Jr. sinks them from downtown with startling regularity. This makes no sense whatsoever, considering his daddy’s mad skillz at the game. Maybe he is secretly adopted?

Kjel.org will be in Bellevue this weekend for Jr’s birthday party. That evening, the Seattle Seahawks happen to be playing in town; it just so happens that they are in the playoffs this year. And it also just so happens that one of my favorite sisters now operates a sports bar in town. Hmmm, I wonder where I should go to watch the game?

Actually, I’m a little nervous. Several times when watching a sporting event with this sister, things have gotten a little bit out of hand. Perhaps prior to the game we should wet our whistles? she might have said. A capital idea, young lady; bravo! I would have responded. She and I then proceed to tuck into a cocktail or two. Or three. Or six . . .

36 hours later one of us wakes up in a ditch just outside of Longview; the other is trying to call the U.S. consulate from a jail cell in Vancouver B.C. (aka “the Good Vancouver”). Damn those Mounties.

The award our man is holding up? It only just recognizes the little fact that he is the #1 ticket sales guy in the whole of the WNBA. The lady on the left is his boss I think, but the CEO doesn’t really know who she is. The lady on the right? She sounds nice. And is a little bit more famous than the other one, if you follow this sort of thing. . .