Although the time I blew up a grenade in my backyard with me standing about three feet away remains the single most amazing incident in my life in which I should have died instantly but emerged unscathed, there have been several other times I narrowly ducked the Reaper's blade. Getting hit by a train comes to mind, as does the time I climbed a water tower and almost fell to my death on the way back down. But. . .
There remains one time that sticks out in my mind as a defining moment when I came face to face with my own mortality. I think I was 16 at the time, and me and my friend, B.J., were out camping at one of our favorite sites. We called it Nort's Bridge, although the campsite itself was about half a mile away from the actual bridge. The site was basically at the head of a long stretch of tall bluffs extending for several miles, with the Upper Iowa River drifting lazily along nearby. At night, with a large fire built up, the shadows danced all the way up the side of the rocky bluff behind the campsite. It was the closest you could come to actually believing in spirits.
During that outing, B.J. and I decided to go for a hike along the top of the bluff. The thing about the bluffs in southeastern Minnesota is that they're pretty much composed entirely of limestone shale. That's just fine when the shale is compacted with tons of similar shale up above, but at some point there has to be a top to the bluff, and that's where things can get tricky. Trees and other plants growing on the top of the bluffs heave up the loosely compacted shale, so flat pieces of limestone litter almost every step you take. It's not an entirely stable situation for human feet.
As B.J. and I navigated our way along the top of the bluff, we zigged and zagged close to, and away from, the cliff edge, depending on how overgrown the vegetation was, picking the path of least resistence. Well, eventually, the path of least resistence brought us dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Just as I was surveying the beautiful scene of a river flowing about 100 feet below, the shale slab I was standing on gave way, sending me on a brief but alarming slide over the cliff's edge. The rock continued its descent to the rocky shore below while I, in a reflexive action, managed to catch a protruding root, thus saving myself from absolutely certain death. It was right out of a movie, except this time it was heart-poundingly real.
So, there I was, dangling 100 feet over rocks, clinging to a not-so-stable root, waiting for B.J. to pick a careful path down to me so he could lend a hand. I didn't like my odds. Despite the fact I didn't have much faith in the root to which I held on, I tempted fate by pulling myself up. Although the root creaked and bent heavily under my weight, I managed to crawl my way back up to the top of the cliff just as B.J. reached me and dragged me the rest of the way to safety.
We sat together, breathing hard, and eventually we both just started laughing uncontrollably. It really didn't dawn on either of us that I probably should have been dead. It's not in the nature of a 16 year old to acknowledge mortality. That feeling of invincibility doesn't start to really wear off until after 25. For me, it was a funny little thing that happened; a good story about almost falling off a cliff.
UPDATE: And don't forget your best laugh of the day. (You'll need RealPlayer)
Oh. Brother. This week, Stewartville's mouthpiece for the insane really goes off the wall, even for him. I mean, Clown of the Clone 5000? I don't know whether to laugh, or to hide under the bed knowing there are others like him roaming the world.
FOAMOSTYRE Macheye thermocore. Now as we look at 1961 the atom bomb over in Russia in October three sonic booms around the earth 36 hrs. apart & now for the bad news - 50 yrs. Blackout. The year will be October 2011 a 3 series blackout. So now you have the blackouts & for the rest of the master cell we can only say The Clown of the Clone 5000 mach that will be back in 2013. Hope you like this discovery. Now sit back, pull shields down & secure the hatch. (?) Ears, eyes, nose, mouth.
Gary XXXXXXXX
555-XXXX
P.S. Now give you something to talk about. The new $20 bill, the 2nd face could it be President Bush? The humpback spindle says yes. Now you got the rest of the story.
Well, if the humpback spindle says so, then who are we to argue? Just so long as the spindle isn't in cahoots with the Clone of the Clown 5000. I never did trust that guy. You may now begin your head scratching as you try to make sense of insanity. Have at it. I'm interested to hear your take on Gary's prognostications this week.
amazing. Some Iraq commentary that doesn't pander to the right OR the left. Right in the middle. My happy place. (Found via, or course, Instapundit.)
Last weekend, I stayed in the Twin Cities at Melissa's place. I like it there. I probably like it there better than I do my own little basement room here in Rochester. I think the only thing I don't like about her apartment is the perpetual drone of traffic outside. Her bedroom is positioned in such a way, and with enough of a window/privacy fence buffer that every car that goes by sounds like a muffled snow plow. It's very irritating, and the sound inevitably finds its way into my dreams.
Anyway, this weekend, Melissa really, really, really wanted to embark on the local Trail of Terror, a haunted house of sorts located on the same general grounds as the annual Renaissance Festival, and organized by the same group of people. It's basically a spook house, with the spookiest thing being the entrance fee of $15.95. Thankfully, I had a coupon for one free ticket, thus saving myself the true horror of shelling out over $30 to be annoyed by people dressed in crappy costumes.
But, before going to the Trail of Terror, we stopped to meet some friends of Melissa's who were going to join us for the "scary" event. One of the friends was Anthony (name changed), who is quite possibly even more gay than Jack's character on Wil and Grace. I've met Anthony before, and he's a nice, personable guy with a quick laugh, but the only way he could be more gay is if he had a twin. Even his face has a feminine quality, so it's no wonder that one of his favorite pastimes is to go out in drag. He's one of those gay guys you look at, and you can't help but envision him in the womb, and when the penis started forming, he started kicking and screaming "God damnit, NO! I don't want one! Make it go away!"
Stopping at Anthony's apartment, really, was the highlight of the evening, because this guy had the most elaborate and cool miniature Halloween village set up in his apartment. It was amazing, and it consisted of, at least, 17 small electronic Halloween-themed miniature devices. There was a miniature haunted house with flickering lights and a ghost twirling around the chimney, there was a miniature haunted fun house, there was a miniature haunted farm house. I really can't do justice to the whole set-up with mere written words. It was really just astounding, and it had to cost him a small fortune to purchase all the components. But, the "wow" factor alone almost made it all worthwhile.
The most amusing thing about Anthony's apartment, though, was his doll collection. He had a Barbie Doll/regular doll collection all encased in a glass-covered hutch. I stood there looking at the collection, and all I could think of was Waylon Smithers and his Malibu Stacy doll collection. Just a couple of glances around the apartment, and I was made painfully aware of just how out of touch I am with my feminine side. Me and my feminine side are on opposite ends of the globe compared to Anthony. He's not just in touch with his feminine side, he fondles it daily.
Anyway, once we finally arrived at the Trail of Terror, my lame sensors started going off immediately. Everything around me just screamed that I was going to leave with a "Sucker" label emblazoned on my forehead. And it all started with the hayride. Oh, wait, I mean the HAUNTED hayride, which basically consisted of a tractor, a rickety wagon, and a few haybales that were squashed to half their original size thanks to a multitude of asses plopped on them during the entire month of October.
Did I mention there was a 50 minute line waiting to embark on the hayride? There was a 50 minute line waiting to embark on the hayride. For 50 minutes, we stood in line during one of the chilliest evenings of autumn to that point. Shit, for awhile, it was SNOWING, for crying out loud. I wanted to be at a Thai restaurant, sipping a Taj Mahal beer and eating green curry. But, no, I was standing in line for a HAUNTED hayride in freezing temperatures.
The HAUNTED hayride was pretty much what I expected. As we sat there, inhaling the black smoke belched by the tractor, we jostled forth into the dark, occasionally accosted by folks in costume who genuinely seemed bored to be running from the dark to yell "AUUURGH!" for the 500th time that evening. I mean, it's like this: if I'm expecting people to jump out and try to scare me, I kind of build up a natural scare barrier. I'm EXPECTING people in bad costumes to jump out at me, so why the hell would I be scared when they do?
So, after a 50 minute wait in line, followed by a 10 minute HAUNTED hayride, we disembarked. I was not pleased.
But, we still had to do the Haunted House. I'm sorry we still had to do the Shock Assylum II! Of course, we had to wait in line for 20 minutes first, but that's beside the point. Boy, rereading this just now, I sure come across as a sour Sally but, you know, this only represents about 1/3 of the annoyed ire I felt at the time.
In defense of the Shock Assylum II, I must admit that it had potential. It was dark and disorienting and, dare I say it, somewhat fun once in awhile. But, again, there's something decidedly UNscary about people in costume emerging from the dark with plastic blades trying to scare me. Yes, yes, BOOOOOO and all that. Now, if you'll excuse me. . .
Maybe it's just me, but I think a spook house, particularly on the size scale of the Trail of Terror, could be a lot scarier without trying to sell the idea of a HAUNTED house. Rather than having a a maze that isn't a maze at all so much as a path that always leads out, I think a genuine dark maze that leads back onto itself and has trick doors and surprise slides and is dark, dark, DARK would be far more entertaining and scary. Sure, you could throw in the occasional costumed spooker, but they would also serve the eventual purpose of leading you in the right direction after you've become thoroughly confused and disoriented.
And, if you could afford it, you could have Michael Jackson hiding around a corner. That would be terrifying.
I would happily go through a house filled with the following hotties:
Namrata Singh Gujral. Cerina Vincent. Lauren Lee Smith. Tawny Cypress. Jayma Mays. Rose Byrne. Natalia Tena. Carice van Houten. Sonya Walger. Michelle Ryan. Alice Braga. Kristen Stewart. Katie Leung. Vera Jordanova. Mia Maestro. Ninel Conde.
This comment, posted on the blog Healing Iraq, just cracks me up.
This is obviously a US military psyop. People, don't be so stupid.
Bob (Dogpound) Smith
It just goes to show, if you REALLY want to see ghosts, you'll see them everywhere.
UPDATE: Well, THIS is different. Someone's fisking (i.e. analytically deconstructing) an Iraqi blog, in this case they're shredding the perpetual whiner, Riverbend. I'm not saying it's right or wrong. But, it is interesting.
Even though I know I'll probably take some heat for it, I must seize this opportunity to take a stance on gun control.
Let the record show that I firmly believe it is well past time to revisit the Second Amendment of the Constitution and reword it to reflect, in no uncertain terms, that dogs should not be allowed to carry guns.
Now, I realize that many gun enthusiasts out there will maintain that it is every dog's God-given right to carry whatever firearm it deems necessary to protect itself, but I am of the staunch opinion that dogs just can't be trusted to wield guns in a responsible manner, and their rights to keep and bear arms should be curtailed in light of this.
It may be rash of me to insist that every Schnauzer with a Mauser is irresponsible when it comes to firearms, but the news items I've seen over the past couple of weeks seem to indicate otherwise.
According to a news broadcast by Spokane, Wash.-based KXLY, North Idaho resident Cindy Whitaker was shot in the leg by her dog, Baby, in an incident she calls an accident but which this columnist believes was a cold and calculated act by a cold and calculating canine. But, you be the judge.
The incident was sparked when Whitaker, who is wheelchair-bound, heard a commotion in her backyard. She cautiously wheeled herself outside, armed with her trusty pistol. Upon opening the door, however, she was accosted by Baby, who knocked the gun from Whitaker's hand, stepped on the weapon, and seriously shot the owner in the leg.
As for baby, Cindy and her husband say they hold no ill will towards the animal who was just being a dog.
Just being a dog? Perhaps. But if "just being a dog" means that the dogs of the world won't be held accountable for their actions when it comes to guns, then they should not be allowed to operate the weapons. I say let's revamp the Second Amendment immediately. No guns for dogs!
I can hear all the nay-sayers out there right now, saying "nay." That's just an isolated incident, after all, you say. One bad dog shouldn't spoil it for the rest of them, you say. Ryan Rhodes is sure a smoking hot specimen of male hunkiness, you say.
Well, to you I say, "thanks," and also, according to a news report that ran in the Times of India, Juan Evangelista Poot, from Yucatan in Mexico, claims to have been shot in the back and neck by his pet dog.
Poot was outside his house when he was shot. He turned around and saw that the dog had picked up his gun and was holding it in its mouth.
Police officials refused to arrest the canine sharpshooter, which begs the question: why are dogs so frequently given such leniency in canine-related shootings? What makes them so special that they don't have to stand trial? If they're immune from the legal process that the rest of us are subject to, why then should they be allowed to bear arms?
I mean, I'm just saying.
