WHY I HAVE A STRANGE TONGUE

Because I do?

Actually this is an act of multi-tasking: Cheese for the sandwich in the mouth while ziplocking the cheese package.

Pretty boring, huh? The wife thought this worth photographing.

I thought it worth looking more stupid that it really was by making Bug Eyes for the camera.

Grace thought this worth copying.

For an hour she ran around the house with something hanging out of her mouth.

Monkey see.

Monkey do.

AN EVENING AT THE SYMPHONY

Grace and I love to makes noises. She will be in one room. I'll be in another.

"Caw!"

"Caw! Caw!"

Making crow noises is a favorite.

During my college years working part-time was a must to supplement meager G.I. Bill income. Having grown up working in the grocery business, it was a natural to continue to work in a supermarket.

An older customer, on seeing me stocking shelves or even working at the cash register would crow, "Caw! Caw!".

Of course I'd crow back.

Caw! Caw! CAW!

This went on for years. It became hilarious. Why this became a ritual for well over four years I'll never know.

Saturday night at the symphony, Cow Town Music Hall AKA Cascade Theater:

Me: "Know what?"

She: "What?"

Me: "You're not going to believe this."

She: "What am I not going to believe this time?"

Me: "I feel like crowing."

What a perfect place to crow. Nothing like a theater for acoustics. How it would resonate. Better than crowing in the shower!

She: "Can it! Don't you dare start crowing here!!"

Me: "Just one crow?"

She: "No way. If you do you'll live to regret it."

Newspaper headlines:

CROWING MAN FORCEFULLY REMOVED FROM SYMPHONY HALL BY POLICE . . . PLACED ON PERCH IN LOCAL NUT HOUSE

PEOPLE ARE STRANGE

Yesterday it was 78 degrees on the back patio of the house.

It was short sleeves and shorts around our house. It could have been naked day at Bob's house but it would not have been right to shock the neighbors. Heck, walking around with no clothes would have been like the days of old at Hippie University.

Summertime, and the living is easy. That was the song for the day.

Spring has sprung in February at least in California. For those of you back East who are still shoveling snow, sorry about that.

If you don't think that it's spring in California, check out the tree in the backyard. Even the tree thinks that it's spring.

Today I'll work on a planting area that contains a fountain bought a few months ago. It's in the front of the house and looks terrible. It pales in comparison to the planting areas.

An organization we belong to pared a number of member couples together in groups of four. The idea is to bring each group of couples together February through May to share a meal and get to know one another.

Last night was the first meal with the other three couples. The host couple had a lovely home, well appointed, good middle class environment.

At the get go it was apparent the three other couples knew each other well. There was no interest in getting to know anything about the wife and I. That's life. I can live with that.

The three men talked a lot about fishing and fishing boats. The wives sat, listened and behaved themselves like good wives should (this comment will get me in trouble). Strike one.

By choice I have never fished. There's no appeal. I like sailboats.

During the evening there were racially more than a few racially prejudicial and anti-gay comments from two of the couples. Did they really think that we appreciated or subscribed to those comments?

What was interesting was that the racially oriented comments were made in the presence of one of the couples who happened to be Japanese American.

Dinner was pork loin roast, twice baked potatoes, salad, rolls, no vegetables. Any meal without vegetables is a good one.

Candace made a cheesecake for dessert. It was great.

One of the couples were full of themselves and cornered most of the evening's conversation. How very boring! The husband bragged that he was teaching at the local community college. Strike three.

Candace piped up and said, "What are you teaching, funny business?" I about blew all of the food out of my mouth when I heard that. That's my baby, I thought to myself. Good one!

That comment pissed the teacher off and put him in his place. He became most quiet and subdued for the remainder of the evening. Mark one up for the wife.

The conversation was dumbed down talk of the lowest common denominator. Stupid white people talk. We're not snobs and get along with most people but last night was over the top in terms of what's right.

Several times during dinner the wife and I looked at each other and rolled our eyeballs. Were we on Candid Camera? It felt like it.

There are three more meals with the three other couples. I don't think that I could personally sit through another.

We'll not be present for anymore of their racially prejudiced or anti-gay conversations.

I hope they enjoy each others company.

TELEVISION: THE PLUG IN DRUG

What Candace was saying: "Now this is the way to zip up your coat. It's so very easy. Watch how I tread the zipper into the channel and then pull it up! You can do it!!"

What Grace was hearing:

Blah, blah, blah . . . Dragon Tales, Dragon Tales. Blah, blah. It’s almost time for Dragon Tales. Blah. Come along and take my hand, Blah, blah, blah, Let’s all go to Dragon Land.

Blah. Blah. Blah!

I've noticed that all eyes and attention go toward the TV when it's on, regardless of the content. Grace is hypnotized and in a trance. There's no bringing her back unless the TV is clicked off.

Because television has such a strong grip on our culture some recommend we kill our TV. How much intelligence is drained off of a four year old by watching television? I wonder. That considered, it's probably worthwhile to kill your television.

How do you kill a television? Axe? Shotgun? 357 it Dirty Harry style? Throw it over a cliff? Push it off of a high bridge? Sounds pretty easy to me. And it's legal! Except the part of littering the environment with a piece of electronics.

Grace spends 4-5 hours a day at our home. We limit television to PBS programs. Even then the TV is on for only a half an hour in the afternoon. Once in a while I fudge, turn off PBS and hit the Cartoon Network. Both Grace and I delight in watching Looney Tunes and Tom and Jerry.

Friends of ours raised their two children without nary a television in the house. They both have turned out to be bright, high achieving kids.

I was 11 when television found its way into our home.

Maybe that's why I turned out to be a blooming genius. Ha. That's a good one!

CALIFORNIA ORCHIDS IN FEBRUARY

A few of our orchids are beginning to bloom. Several trees are covered in blossoms.

Bees are gathering pollen.

One season yields to another.

BURMA SHAVE

VALENTINES DAY MOVIES

Okay, nice chicken dinner, outstanding white wine, ready for a good old sweetheart, love story on the television last night.

Spin the dial.

Cinemax: Brokeback Mountain.

Me: Geeze, Brokeback Mountain is playing on Cinemax for Valentine's Day. You'd think they'd play something hetero tonight.

She: What do you mean?

Me: I don't like the content. It's just not me. How about a girl meets boy, boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back film?

She: Brokeback Mountain is just not about what you think. It goes deeper than that.

Me: Deeper than that? That's what I'm afraid of.

Spin the dial again.

HBO was playing the Vagina Monologues.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" Is that how it goes with this film? I passed on watching the Vagina Monologues, too.

What would a film called the Penis Monologues be like? It would be about as stupid as talking to a vagina.

"Hello Dick? How are things?"

Click. Off went the television.

FEBRUARY 14 WOULD BE A BETTER DAY IF. . .

#1 Every child went to bed happy and fully nourished.

#2 Peace, love and happiness were prevalent in Iraq, Israel, Palestine, et al.

#3 Mother Earth was healthier.

#4 Countries settled their problems by not going to war but by their heads of state playing 7 games of chess: Best of 7 wins the war.

#5 That a nuclear threat only meant the construction of a reactor to generate electricity was being built in your neighborhood.

#6 That the USA would become less dependent on internal compustion engines. When others are starving in this world, why are we using food corn to generate fuel for automobiles when we could be feeding millions?

#7 Human rights violations ceased to exist. The biggest offender is China, yet the USA keeps smiling at our Asian neighbor and ignores the attrocities to man that are committed by this country every minute of a 24 hour day. Shut the door on trade with China (pick up 5 items in any store and all 5 are likely to be made in China) and open it only when these attrocities cease to exist.

#8 A cure for cancer was discovered this year.

Have I missed anything?

On a day in February dedicated to love, peace and happiness by Hallmark cards, is this too much to ask?

POOR ZOE!

Something is wrong with Zoe when she doesn't eat breakfast.

Normally both dogs are up at 6:00 a.m. (or earlier) and spinning in circles, bark, bark, barking until she's fed.

This morning Zoe sat upright in her bed with her nose down on the pillow. Her tummy really, really hurt.

Poor little 5 pound doggie!

One morning's stay at the veterinary hospital, a series of blood tests, a once over by her Dr. and $200 later Zoe is home.

Ten minutes after arriving home Zoe went outside and "did her duty". All of the morning trauma got things moving for this dog.

Since there was nothing conclusive from our vet in terms of what the matter was (you'd think $200 would yield some kind of diagnosis!), the wife picked up Zoe's "stool", bagged it, and sent it back to the vet with daughter Dawn. It was lucky for us but unlucky that Dawn had spent her lunch hour with us. She wasn't thrilled with the assignment of delivering a lunch bag of Zoe's poo-poo.

After dissecting the contents of the lunch bag (there goes another $200) the vet called to say the sample contained rocks and string. Hmmmmmm. Hardly qualifies as doggie haute cuisine.

This once again proves that dogs will be dogs and that dogs, even though they're well fed, will eat any piece of crap they find. The good news is that she passed whatever it was that she ate yesterday. What's unknown is if there's more of that kind of stuff to pass. What's not passed could kill little Zoe.

No food and only water until noon tomorrow for this girl. By order of her vet.

More information that you need? Yes.

But I just had to tell you about poor, poor Zoe!

HERE'S NUMBER TWO!

HERE'S ONE OF THE MISSING PHOTOS

WHAT'S UP, BLOGGER?!!

Twice posted yesterday and twice in the toilet, there were three pictures here posted here. I'm about ready to give up on you, Blogger and blog my life away somewhere else. YOU'RE AN EMBARRASSMENT!

the half life of birthdays

They come.

They go.

We look at them in the rearview mirror of our mind.

How many birthdays do you remember? Where were you? Who was with you?

Birthday after birthday, year after year, all blend with one another.

Candace had a great birthday. All but one of the four kids made a telephone call to wish her a happy birthday.

The family dinner was scrumptious: Game hens, wild rice, black bean salad, asparagus, green salad, gluten free cake baked by Dawn (outstanding) as Candace is gluten intolerant.

Me? I'm merely a gluten for punishment.

One more birthday down. I wonder how many more.

THIS IS A SIGN OF REAL DEAL BBQ

BARBEQUE WITH NO SOUL AIN'T BBQ

Yesterday's trip to the new Cow Town barbeque restaurant certainly did not yield a menu like this.

Now that's a menu! I'll take a very small order of Pin Bo. Hold the nuts, please.

In order to be good, in order to be the real deal, barbeque restaurants must have soul. Without soul, it is nothing.

When we lived in wine country there was a little tiny BBQ joint down the road called Pack Jacks. Cool place. Run down. When you walked in the smell of "Q" hit you smack dab in the face. Now that's a real sign the place had soul. If you don't smell the cookin', don't bother a lookin'.

Pack Jacks cook and owner knew barbeque inside and out. Sweet potato pie was on the menu. Tip for the day? Anytime SPP is on the menu you know you're in a real barbeque restaurant with soul.

The food was cooked by an African American man and his wife. They also owned the place. Being black is not a factor for putting soul in barbeque but it helps.

Pack Jacks burned to the ground a couple of years ago. Fire in the hole . . . the wood fired smoker became too hot and set the building on fire. Next time I'm in wine country I'll have to check and see if someone had the time, energy and money to rebuild.

Cow Town had pretty good barbeque when we landed here: Big Reds. Operated by father and his sons, for white guys they did a pretty good job of putting soul into their food. Killer tri-tip. And better yet, a double killer corn salad to die for.

Their restaurant was a dump, a prerequisite for good, down home, soul cooking, barbeque. It gave you the creeps to be there. But oh the food. We had Big Reds deliver to our home so as not to get the creeps before dinner.

Big Reds closed suddenly one day. No one knows what happened. It's been turned into a juice bar. I'll have to check it out and see if I get the creeps when I walk in.

Yesterday's trip to the new Cow Town barbeque was interesting. New. Sterile. Elevator music. No atmosphere similar to what you'd find in a down home, real deal barbeque joint. No hint of any barbeque smell or smoke. White people working and acting like white people act and work. Food with little or no taste and certainly very little hint of the smoking process. Not a lot of meat in a pulled pork sandwich.

No soul. No sweet potato pie. . .

Both owners dominated one corner of the restaurant by taking a table and using it for "business" and for one owner to plunk away on a computer. An impromptu employee meeting/semi butt chewing with three of their staff was held within my earshot. Most unprofessional.

Neither of the owners bothered to ask us about our meal nor did they act friendly or appreciative of our patronage. We spent $30 bucks which should have been worth at least a smile from one of them.

All of that said, they did have a better than average barbeque sauce and killer red chili.

The food at the new Cow Town BBQ is good. Denny's serves good food, too.

I'd like to see the owners of the new BBQ restaurant be successful. It's apparent they've sunk their heart and money into it. It's most apparent that they're trying hard to make a go of barbeque cooking and easy to see that hard core experience in the restaurant business is lacking.

Should I make suggestions? I could help put soul into their business and into their food. Should I stick my neck out and talk to them? I've been asking myself that question for the last 24 hours.

Naw. Won't do that. Mostly likely they'd be defensive and anything suggested would fall on deaf ears.

More importantly, how can "soul" be taught in the barbeque business? You either have it, know it or you don't. Soul in the food business cannot be taught.

I wish them luck and a happy ending.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CANDACE!

Tomorrow is the wife's birthday. There will be a party complete with lots of food, birthday cake and of course, presents.

On Thursday Grace and I shopped for birthday gifts. That girl knows exactly what she wants. There was no swaying her from what she wanted to buy for Grammy.

I had the feeling that Grace really wanted the gift for herself.

It will be fun to see the look on the wife's face when she opens the gift Grace picked out. I'll photograph it and post it here in the next few days. You'll see what a four year old's taste in gifts is like.

The kids are taking us to a new barbeque restaurant for lunch today. How barbeque can Cow Town get? We'll find out.

Chuckie Cheese is located in the same strip mall as the barbeque restaurant. I figure that if the food doesn't cut it I can always duck out for Chuckie's and order a pizza. Always thinking.

It's raining today and perfect weather for something big, meaty and smoked. A little PBR to wash everything down with wouldn't hurt either.

I need to shower and get headed to the gym with the idea of shedding a few pounds before I inhale a bunch of smoked meat today.

As Martha Stewart says, "That's a good thing!"

FORTY-TWO CASES A WEEK

My dad used to say, "Beer is beer. I'll drink anything. It all tastes the same to me." And by golly, he lived by that.

On every visit old dad would have the cheapest, most vile tasting beer made iced down in the kitchen refrigerator. Maybe he bought the worst beer knowing that my brother and I wouldn't touch it.

Dad would buy beer on sale at the weirdest of places. He would visit a store called McFrugal's. If you wanted a beer that tasted like rot gut, McFrugal's was the place to find it.

Over the years I can look back on beers that were my favorite. They were certainly didn't fall into the same category as the beer dad bought but they also didn't fall into the category of upper end beer.

Pilsner type beers have always been a favorite. Beers that are heavy and stink I avoid.

When I visit I microbrewery my first words to the bartender are, "Give me something that tastes like a Budweiser." I get the dirty looks.

Bob's beers of choice starting at age 16:

Olympia

Coors

Old Milwaukee

Strohs

Mickeys

Blatz

Miller

Coors

Mickey's

New Castle Ale

Bud

Coors

Bud

Pabst Blue Ribbon

At the age of 16 I was given the keys to a large supermarket and called night manager. There was a crew of 3 or 4 people that this 16 year old kid supervised. Don't ask me why a 16 year old was entrusted with that kind of responsibility. I was good at what I did but how good can a 16 year old kid be anyway?

Several evenings a week my friend, the box boy and I tossed a couple of six paks of Olympia out the back door with the garbage. Not to be labeled as thieves, we enough money in the cash register to cover what we had thrown out the back door.

Once the store was locked, the other employees safely on their way home, the trash was rumaged and the two of us were on our merry way. We'd "tool" Fourth Street, drink beer and in general have a great time.

Today, I can't look at a can of Olympia. It tastes horrible.

When I was 17 I dated the daughter of a brewery baron. True story. Beer up the waazoo was stored on the back porch of their home. Driving her mother's Thunderbird went with the territory. Talk about the life. That was the life.

So much for today's history lesson.

Now I might have a beer or two every day. My beer consumption has definitely declined.

It was with amusement that I read that a night club in Sacramento . .. the Press Club, had revived 80's music on the weekends. Apparently the Press Club is packed with dancers loving the music of the 80's. When you think about it, the 80's presented some damn good music to dance to.

Was there. Danced to that. Could do it again.

What was also interesting in reading the article was that the Press Club goes through 42 cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon (PBR) every week at 3 bucks a pop.

42 cases! That's 1,008 cans of PBR bringing in $3,024 a week or $12,096 a month. This would be every business man's dream. PBR alone has to be floating the rent for the Press Club.

Since PBR was so popular in Sacramento, I gave it a try this week. It's very inexpensive - like 4.50 a 12 pack. Because it was inexpensive I expected a McFrugal tasting beer that could have been found in dad's refrigerator.

What a surprise. Not bad, not bad, not bad. It was easy to see why PBR has gained popularity, at least at the Press Club.

I wonder how many beers I've consumed in this life?

Maybe should have my liver checked.

MARRIED CONVERSATIONS

She: You're putting hairs in my bathroom sink. I hate your hairs in my sink. Why are you doing that?

He: I'm not putting hairs in your sink.

She: Yes you are! You're doing that just to irritate me. I know you.

He: Why would I do that? I have my own sink to put my hairs in.

She: I just know you're putting your hairs in my sink and I want you to stop it.

Next Day:

He: Please shave the hairs on the back of my neck. They're getting long.

She: Oh, they're not too bad, just a few wispy hairs. Someone giving you a hicky would be the only one to see these little neck hairs.

He: Hicky? Who'd give me a hicky? I don't ever remember getting a hicky from you or anyone else?

She: I don't remember getting one, either.

He: What are hicky's supposed to do? Someone biting my neck never did anything for me.

She: Oh really?

This is what married people talk about.

CHIP AND DALE

Like the cartoon characters Chip and Dale, Oregon ground squirrels or "go-downers" as they are nicknamed, are a kick to watch.

The go-downers race here, up this tree, down the other tree and scamper all around the campground.

It seems that they'll eat anything you set out for them. When winter sets in their store of food probably includes less than savory tasting items if the going gets tough saving the worse for the last of winter.

Go downers do get into things so when camping it's a good idea to watch your stuff. Nothing is sacred.

The family pictured here had setup home in a little burrow just outside the door of our trailer. You can see one of her little ones munching off of whatever it is mom has in her mouth.

On this 6th day of February I know there's a lot of snow in this campground. It's a small wonder how little creatures survive a long, cold winter that buries their home with several feet of snow.

Speaking of survival, Mr. Gopher Man displayed his trophy of the day for us this afternoon: One long and fat critter who had fallen prey to a pincher trap.

I'll sleep well tonight knowing that my precious lawn is no longer being ravaged by Mr. Gopher.

RIP, Mr. Gopher.

GRACE'S BAD HAIR DAY

This is a much younger Grace having one of those bad hair days. The men in our family always say, "Better a bad hair day with lots of hair than a bad hair day with no hair."

What to write today is the question. It's Monday in a time in my life when Mondays have become meaningless. Monday is garbage pickup day. That's something to look forward to.

Failure. That's on my mind this morning. I can't even kill a stupid gopher with my arsenal of weapons. It continues to dig up the back yard. This gopher has got to be named Mr. Illusive.

Gopher control was called yesterday. Mr. Gopher Man dug up a lot of the lawn, put what he called "pincher" traps in each tunnel he found and covered them back up.

Pincher trap is a politically correct term. Snap their little head off traps would be more accurate. Or how about "Heads Will Roll" gopher traps?

There are eight little flags sticking up around the lawn. Each flag means there's a pincher trap underneath it. Mr. Gopher Man is coming back this afternoon to count bodies. His clients are charged for every body the pincher trap traps.

I predict only one little menace to my lawn will be found. If history repeats itself, as they say it often does, Mr. Illusive will have outfoxed Mr. Gopher Man. Most likely Mr. Gopher is sitting in his Lazy Boy chair somewhere in our neighbors yard taking great delight in what Mr. Gopher Man is doing to all of his tunnel work.

This afternoon Grace will want to know what Mr. Gopher Man is doing in our yard. She's not ready for the story about death, dying and what happens to gophers when they irritate her papa. We'll keep Grace inside and just tell her that Mr. Gopher Man is fixing the lawn and let it go at that.

At four years of age, why ruin a rosy outlook on life?

SUPER BOWL ON THE ROAD

The bowl game will have to be taken off of Sirius radio today. We're getting ready to leave for a 161 mile drive to see one of the kids, have an early dinner and drive another 161 miles back to Cow Town.

Three hours up.

Three hours back.

Geck!

No watching TV for Old Bob today.

Without going into details, the trip is necessary. Had it not been necessary Old Bob would have been perfectly content to kick out the Lazy Boy, pull the tops off of a couple of Buds, and ingest a plate of chicken wings.

I'd love to be in Brookings and camped on the beach. The picture was taken in November during our last visit to Brookings. What a place to watch the Super Bowl. Wish I was there.

Having Sirius satellite radio in the truck has been wonderful. There's always something to listen to. Top of my favorites list is Sirius' blues channel. Nothing like it.

So today when I checked the Sirius website to see if they were broadcasting the Super Bowl, I was elated to find that they were.

The wife will listen to books on tape. The truck radio will be tuned to Sirius' broadcast of today's championship football game. I'll gasp, groan, hoot and holler over the Super Bowl.

There will be no Bud on the road. No chicken wings coming or going. And no Lazy Boy to kick my feet up on. Just ma, pa and the two dogs.

Should be a Super Bowl to remember.

SUPER BOWL: THAT IS WHAT'S FOR DINNER

Where were you when the first Super Bowl was played in 1967?

Were you just a twinkle in your mother's eye? Or were you a snotty nosed kid in grade school?

When Super Bowl I was being played, I was working with my brother in our dad's supermarket. It was Sunday. The kids always had to work while mom and dad enjoyed a day off.

Back then, no one thought the Super Bowl would last more than a year or two. True story. Little did we know.

On the day of the first Super Bowl little brother had a roaring cold. In an effort to feel better, he spent most of the day sucking on one or more bottles of Nyquil. Come the end of the fourth quarter of Super Bowl little brother was completely ripped on the cold medication. 20% alcohol? He couldn't feel a thing and could have cared less about his chest cold.

Better than Nyquil for killing a cold would have been Bob's Chili . . . my very own. But in 1967 it hadn't been invented yet.

Everyone has a favorite recipe for chili. I'd like to think this is one of the better ones.

If I ever open up Bob's Chili Bowl and Hooter Dancing Saloon, my chili would be first on the menu.

Try it out and serve it during tomorrow's Super Bowl. Serve Bob's Chili as described here or over mashed potatoes or rice. Bob's Chili is also good when used as a sauce for spaghetti. Or smear it all over a hand towel and put it on your chest before you go to bed. I am not sure what that will accomplish but it should be good for something. Let me know if you give it a try.


BOB’S CHILI
(Since 1985)


1 pound lean ground beef

½ pound ground chorizo sausage or link chorizo sausage with casings removed

1 pound lean bone pork shoulder or butt cut into ½ inch cubes or smaller (or any other cut that is lean)

2 medium size firm ripe tomatoes (1 15 oz can) cored and coarsely chopped

1 can (15 oz) tomato sauce

1 can (16 oz) kidney beans

1 can (7 oz) diced green chilies

2 medium sized onions – white or yellow – chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced or pressed

½ cup dry white wine

2 beef bouillon cubes

1 tablespoon chili powder

1 teaspoon cumin seed

Salt and pepper to taste

1 medium sized red onion – chopped

2 cups shredded cheddar cheese

In a 5 to 6 quart pan over medium heat crumble ground beef and chorizo with a spoon. Stir often until meats are well browned.

With a slotted spoon lift out meats (or strain the meat through a very fine strainer) and set aside. Discard all but 1 tablespoon of the drippings then add pork to pan and cook until browned on all sides.

Return beef and chorizo mixture to pan then stir in onions, garlic, tomatoes, tomato sauce, kidney beans and their liquid, chilies, bouillon cubes, white wine, chili powder and cumin.

Bring to a boil over medium high heat, cover and simmer until pork is very tender when pierced or about 1 ½ to 2 hours.

Stir when needed to prevent scorching. Skim and discard fat. Season to taste with salt and pepper, then ladle into bowls.

If desired, add red onion and cheese to individual portions. Makes about 6 to 8 servings.

Freezes well for up to 3 months.

CRABBING TONIGHT

There's a crab feed in Cow Town tonight. A big one. 1,200 hungry for crab, I'm a gonna eat my fill people are going to be there.

Crab is good but I don't like to work for it. It takes a lot of time to nit pick through a crab to extract a small portion of meat. There has to be a better way.

I was thinking firecrackers. A couple of well placed firecrackers in a crab should do the job of getting to the meat in a hurry.

Bang! Instant crab meat ready to eat.

There's two large firecrackers - very large, in the drawer left from who knows when. We're talking three inches long. Think I should bring them to tonight's crab feed and try them out?

I'd go out with a bang . . .literally out the door as escorted by two men or women in blue.

"But officer, boys are going to be boys . . . "

There will be pictures tomorrow.

MELON GROWING AGRICULTURE 101

If melons get a lot of sunlight, they will grow to a larger size, won't they?

Grow babies, grow!

I've been blogging since August. By February I thought I'd be a famous blogger.

Jay Leno would have already interviewed me on the Tonight show.

My picture would have been on the cover of Popular Blogger.

My blog would have well over 1,000 visitors each day.

And everyone would just love what old Bob had to write and that they would dote on his every word.

Well, this blog sucks. It's getting 3-5 hits a day which is a huge indication that this blog really does suck.

And to those faithful What About Bob? fans who take time to visit this place every day, thank you very much. And please tell a friend to patronize What About Bob?

I thought I'd post a picture of a nekked melon girl to see how many hits What About Bob? would get today. Maybe with a nekked picture the blog would be less suckable.

Actually, this picture is not far off reality for Old Bob. In fact, it's much like my college days at Hippie U. Nekked dancing at Hippie U was what the school did best.

At Hippie U it was not uncommon for students to dance about. Those were the days when people did things like that . . . dancing about and being nekked was no big thing.

There was this guy at Hippie U - Vito I think his name was. He was a weird dude who'd made faces while he'd dance on the lawn at Hippie U. He had a couple of kids with one lady. The boy was named Freakus and the girl Groovy Nipples. Truth. These names were on their birth certificates which I do know for a fact as Groovy was enrolled for a short period of time in one of my schools.

We called her Groovy for short.

How would you like to have a name like Groovy Nipples?

Names like that were typical for the 70's. One family I knew named one of their girls Saffron Blue and the other California. Nice little girls. The names seem to fit.

At Hippie U we'd dance on the lawn every Friday to live music. When we started to sweat, everyone stripped off their clothes and jumped into the large duckpond in the back of the campus. This was fun. This was cool. This felt dangerous. And the scenery wasn't too bad, either. Except for those chicks who never shaved under their arms or legs. Yuck-oh. Back then, it was the hippie thing to go natural.

Today, the cool thing, from what I've been told, is to shave every single little hair off your body. If you're single, I think that's what you have to do to be marketable in the year 2007.

Nekked swimming lasted about 10 minutes because that's about the amount of time it took campus police to get the message there was messing around in the duckpond, get in their squad car and drive over to the pond. Busting nekked people would make any cops day.

When the campus police were spotted hitting 70 mph down the duckpond road, everyone scurried to get their clothes on and then act like nothing was happening. No one ever got busted.

During my time at Hippie U I got into film making. One of the films I made was on how to build a geodesic dome Buckminister Fuller style. The dome was built on the Hippie campus in a single day. Start to finish I filmed how it was done.

I remember asking the student in charge of making the dome (it was part of a class project) how it was possible to build a dome in just one day. His response?

"It takes a lot of narcotics and wine." And that became the name of my film.

Just like every other outdoor activity at Hippie U, once the dome was finished, everyone let out a whoop, took off their clothes and jumped into the duckpond.

I got that on film, too. The campus police driving lickity split down the duckpond road also made into my film.

Parents in Cow Town love to send their kids to Hippie U. It's not the same college that it was in the 70's. Apparently Hippie U is well respected and actually teaches something.

I asked these parents about nekked dancing at the duckpond. They looked dumbfounded. Guess that tradition has long since been lost.

I can't help but laugh when moms and dads rave about Hippie U - that it's the best, that Hippie U is really preparing their kids for the future and that the classes at the college are really tough.

I also got an education at Hippie U but what I learned is another story for yet another blog.

Sounds like straight people have taken over my college.

JILLI'S 8!

Here's Jilli's 8th birthday party. There was cake for the people and kibble for the dogs.

I met a friend for lunch yesterday. On the way home I picked up a cake from the local supermarket.

Grace arranged the candles on the cake. We sang Happy Birthday to Jilli who could have cared less: She was still wet (as you can see) from having a bath. Jilli was only interested in keeping warm.

Grace blew the candles out. We kind of thought that Jilli made a wish.

Grace loved the cake. It was right up her alley: Chocolate center, chocolate frosting with candy sprinkles on the side.

The next birthday in the family belongs to Candace. There's a family dinner planned.

Candace is off to Sacramento this morning for an appointment. The duty of picking Grace up from preschool goes to me. Grace loves riding in the truck. It has a DVD player in the backseat. As far as Grace is concerned, a DVD player in any vehicle is completely over the top.

Grace is looking forward to this afternoons pickup. I think we'll stop on the way home and get a milkshake. That will top off her day and mine. There's nothing like a cold milkshake on a cold February day.

Apparently a lot of parents play movies for their kids on their in car DVD players. If their kids are like Grace, they have to turn into total zombies once the movies begin. There's no getting through to our girl once she's focused on what's playing. We can do without the movies.

Wasn't the essence of traveling any distance in the family car the conversations we had, the games we played and the fun of checking out the points of interest?

Now all kids will remember (if they're lucky) from start to finish on any trip is what they watched on the DVD player.

The player in the truck also has plug-ins for a video game console. Holy cow! There's a whole other ball of wax.

No doubt, the face of the American family is changing. What yesterday's family held as values is no comparison to what the values of today's family are. I don't think that this is a good thing. Evolution in this example has not improved the culture but has worked against it.

With a few exceptions, the family of today is raising a bunch of brats who exhibit poor manners and behavior, who openly defy authority and who feel "entitled" to get what they get without raising a finger to work for it.

We're doing our best to see that Grace is not one of those kids.

I often feel that the American culture is going to hell in a hand basket. Maybe we are.