The hill

Ok, spring is slowing moving out. The windy cold days are giving way to windy warmer days and that means summer is not far away. Soon, it will he hotter than fist place at the CNN microphone after a congressional vote.

To me, this is the offical start of biking season. I have been out a couple of times already and have one big ride in. It was a 20 mile one a couple of weekends ago. The first 10 miles went fine and I was really happy with the shape I was in. Then, I turned around and realized I had been riding with the wind. That part made it clear I wasn't ready for ESPN's Race of the Goats. Old goats I mean.

Anyway, I am living in a nifty place right now. It's a week stay new hotel and anyone who knows me knows hotels are just fine with me. They don't have to be fancy, either. I am as happy in an old run down one next to a Denny's as the Las Vegas Hilton. There is just something about hotel living that agrees with me.

This one is built on a new street in a new neighborhood in a new part of Lincoln. It's so new that some of the sidewalks are not complete so some of them end and you have some dirt to navigate or as the case more recently, mud. At the bottom of the hill that leads to my little hotel is one of Lincoln's major streets. It's a four lane divided one that comes off of Interstate 80 and the speedlimit is medium zoom--not the best place for a biker. I mean mountain biker, pedal type.

If you look south from the intersection, you will see it. I think it could have been developed as a ski slope. If you don't raise your glance, your eyes will rest about half way up. In bike terms, this one is a challenge--somewhere down there in the 1:1, 1:2 gear range by the time you get to the top. Frankly, I run out of bike and juice before I get there so rather than get off my bike and walk it up the rest of the way in humiliation. I take another route. This one take you around the big hill and up a different, more gentle grade to nirvana--Wal-Mart and HyVee.

About 1/3 of that approach is around and through a new Lincoln high school complex. It's big. Bigger than all of my home town Hartington. I am sure it cost more to build than all of Hartington, too.

I decided to take the easy way because I stepped in a hole coming off the bus yesterday and apparently injured my goatusmus maximus. No, I didn't injure my butt or "glute." The goatamus is the muscle that runs along the bottom of your foot. It
doesn't have the best ability to stretch and take abuse like it did when I was a 55 year old kid. As a result, I am in some pain and convinced myself that what I needed could be found by biking to Wal-Mart.

It was a beautiful night and an easy ride so it was a good decision on my part. I bought some ibuprofen, one of those heating bags you can microwave, and some cool whip to go with my chocolate ice cream.

After all, just because I am injured doesn't mean I don't need to keep up my strength.

What killed our culture

I can still remember Bun, my dear departed Mom, giving me strict instructions on how to greet people as I walked down busy Main Street in Hartington, Nebraska.

"Now you look people right in the eye and say hello. If you know who they are, then you say Hello Mr. So and So or Hello Mrs. So and so. You never call an adult by their first name unless they give you permission to do so, understand?"

I was a little confused. There were Robinsons, and Stouts, and Haleys, and O'Mearas, and Shumways, but I never did meet the So and Sos. Go figure.

Anyway, that advice propelled me to great hights in Hartington. I became popular as a young man on his way to somewhere. Nobody has that figured out yet, but I was on the way.

I went on to college at Huskerville, in Lincoln, Nebraska. Every Nebraska kid wanted to go there and watch football. It took a few years to figure out why I was there and get technical with a major. Mom's advice served me well and I managed to get into a great Fraternity. Soon, I was the first college grad in the family and was on my way to Connecticut to go to work for the Good and or Glorious Remington Arms Company. "Hello Mr. Mitchell. Hello Mr. McAndrews. Hello Mr. Larson, OK, hello Einar."

Mom's rules helped me climb the corporate ladder. Well, make that a footstool because I only stayed at Remington for four years. I came back to Huskerville to open an advertising agency and watch more football.

Then it happened. Society stopped saying hello. Society stopped looking one another in the eye unless you had a tin cup and looked a little bummie. People's heads bounced up and down and some looked like they had the palsey as their bodies slinked along the sidewalks, oblivious to anyone and anything.

Everyone seemed to have a headband on and ear cups. The Sony Walkman had arrived and it was no longer important to meet and greet and be social. You could sing and walk and talk to yourself and not pay attention to anyone and anything.

My mom would not have liked this change unless she knew you could listen to Nebraska Football anywhere with one.

And the poor So and Sos would be lost in the I-Pod shuffle. Too bad. They were probably very nice people.

The Mexican Government Response

President Bush is going to make a speech tomorrow night. (I hope it doesn't bump 24!)
He is going to tell us how he plans to secure the border and improve his ratings. At least that's what they were saying on Sunday morning TV shows.

Frankly, I am worried about this speech. Presidente Fox has already summoned the Chinese Ambassador to learn how the wall idea really worked. Insiders in Mexico say there is a new government department in the works if the wall idea goes through.

They may create a Departmente de Escaler.

Fox may hire the president of Pepsi to run his new Department of Ladders. Now granted, Pepsi has long been climbing the profit ranks right behind Fox's Coca-Cola, but that is just not the right guy for the job. (Note the American giving advice already before any speeches are made or departments formed. I sound like Senator Patrick Leahy I know.)

But I can't help it. If the Mexican's want their Department of Ladders to work on our wall, they need to hire someone with ladder experience. Perhaps the CEO of Mennards or Home Depot would be a good choice. (I would have tossed Wal-Mart in there but I am not sure their ladders are tall enough or stout enough for a Mexican attack like this.)

And if we deploy the National Guard, that's a whole different ball game. They will just install ladder hooks on the humvees and drag them all to a military surplus outlet.

Good Lord. God Lost!

Nebraska football rules Nebraska. Well, at least it use to. President Nixon came to Lincoln in 1971 to present the first national championship trophy to Coach Bob Devaney. The roar from the crowd led Nixon to say..."well you should run for office."

Devaney never did run for an office. The program was passed on to his fair-haired coach, Tom Osborne. Osborne had a bunch of chances to win the national championship but never got it done until the mid 1990's. After that, Nebraska was always in the hunt. So far, there are five national championship trophies in the Nebraska trophy room.

Tom Osborne, or as we call him TO, retired and went on to other things. He ran for Congress and won. TO started a mentoring program called Teammates which is spreading across the country. The university named the football field after him even though he didn't want that to happen. They named a new sports complex after TO and his wife Nancy. He wasn't big on that idea either.

TO is a soft-spoken man of faith. He has unquestioned moral character. He would be right up there with Boy's Town founder Father Flanigan, Johnny Carson, and Willa Cather for most admired Nebraskans. He had plans for one more big deal.

TO wanted to be Governor of Nebraska.

But there was already a Republican Governor named Dave Hinemann. Most Nebraskans were satisfied with the job Governor Dave was doing. After all, he went to Cuba and cut a nice deal to sell Nebraska grain and beans. He has cut taxes. Best of all, he is likeable and approachable. Governor Dave seems like, well Governor Dave. Nothing fancy. Nothing stuffy. Just Governor Dave.

I can only imagine the sinking feeling he had when he learned that TO was going to try to beat him in the primary. Some folks said it would be a landslide for TO.

But Governor Dave won. He beat a living legend.

There may be a lesson here that most folks might look past. Every politician running in Nebraska say they represent "Nebraska Values." On election day, Nebraska values voted. The message is loud and clear: If someone is doing a good job, there is no reason to fire him.

I am sorry that TO lost. But I would have been sadder if Governor Dave lost. He earned the right to stay Governor of Nebraska.

The Last Great American Boycott

There really is something good about being 60. You have lived in the best of times and the worst of times. Well, maybe the Greatest Generation has a better claim to that claim but they are almost gone.

My bunch was that "60's crowd." The Beatles. I was more of a Beach Boy fan. The marches on Selma and Birmingham. The sit-ins. Kent State. The Draft. The anti-war protest marches. Let's face it, our group was a very busy group.

And things changed.

Music changed to music that is still hard to top. Dirty lyrics? Well I listened to Louie-Louie slowed down with a bunch of fraternity brothers to really figure out what the lyrics were. Yes, they did say that.

The war ended. The Greatest Generation sent their sons off to a bad war and let them lose. It stained a generation. And I am not even trying to tie that observation to agent orange.

The protests that started in the deep South changed America. Universities opened up. Klans shut down. Racist goverment fell. Racial leaders rose. A failed president relalized he had failed and stepped away from power. Protests brought the Viet Nam war to an end and made "baby killers" a spitting image of America. How awful to have been a boy sent to war because he got drafted and come home to that.

Not much got by in the 60's without a fight of some sort. The Great Society came into being. Civil rights laws got passed. People got kicked out.

It's a good thing Exon-Mobile didn't have to face a boycott in the 1960's. They would have been in deep do-do. Signs. Honking horns. Riot cops and barricades. Fire hosesed crowds. (I got washed down by Engine 1 just because we were threatening a panty raid at a UNL female dorm.)

So, if you are going to pull into an Exon-Mobile station and buy gas after May 1, turn your radio to some 50's music or some of that sameo 70's Bee Gee junk because you have no business listening to 60's music if you can't join a good boycott.

Just fill up your SUV, your half-gallon jug of watered down Diet Coke, and whimp out. We will never see 60's courage-to-change again.

So put your Blackberry down. Unhook your mouth from you cell phone. Pull your I-Pod ear buds out of your ears. Think about your country for a minute. Think about the people who are getting hurt. Then, think about Exon Mobile. Isn't that enough to buy your gas anywhere but there?

If not, then you know why we have...the leaders we have and the America we have.

The fine art of Pogo Pricing

Did you have a pogo stick when you were a kid? For those of you who don't know what a pogo stick is, think of a car clothes rod with a spring inside of the two tubes and a step welded about six inches from one end. Step onto the step and jump up into the air. When you come down, the spring collapses and springs you back into the air. Each time you bounce a step ahead until you run into something or someone. Your mom would worry that you are going to kill yourself on the damn thing unless she was Pete Rickets' mom, Marlene who would worry that Pete forgot his hat.

Apply the same concept to pricing--the pogo stick not Pete Rickets mom and the hat thing. More specifically, apply the pogo stick to oil company pricing. The price of oil goes up and gas prices bounce us into the air. You mom, or in this case everyone, gets worried about a crash but the price comes down some time after the vault.

The difference is oil companies have learned how to use the pogo stick on an inclined sidewalk. Each time they bounce prices into the stratosphere, they come down and move a little further up the walk. You, like your mom who worried about you, are just glad to see you come down safely and breathe a big sigh of relief.

$1.34 a gallon *pogo* $2.00 a gallon *back down* $1.45 a gallon (sigh of relief) *pogo* $2.54 a gallon *back down* $1.89 a gallon (sigh of relief). Get the idea? I know, Pete Rickets' mom is having a tough time putting the hat on pogoing Pete. None the less, we see a true Nebraska value going on here. Each time the Pogo price comes down, they have successfully set a new standard much higher than before and everyone who has bought gas at the top of the pogo hop is grateful. More money goes to their pockets and the $400 million retirement fund for the former chief pogoer. Opra is talking about something different now. I know, Pete Ricket's mom is still more concerned about the hat.

Pogo pricing is going to continue as long as there are stupes like us that put up with it. Demand aside, and the breeding habits of big goats in Alaska protected, the price will pogo it's way to $5 a gallon before we know it and by then, we will be grateful it is only $5.00 a gallon.

Trust me, Pogo Pricing is here to stay. Hopefully, Pete Rickets will remember to wear his hat and his mom can get something done in Washington if she, he, they get elected. Whatever.

A close call for the Senator

[immigration]


I was just about to enter the Wal-Mart store when I noticed two men in the parking lot. One was a television cameraman and they other man was a well dressed man in a suit. The man in the suit caught my attention because he didn’t look like he should be in a place like this.

Suddenly, the man in the suit collapsed. I dropped my bag full of Chinese made goods and ran over to the stricken man.

“What happened?” I asked the cameraman as I dropped to my knee and fumbled through my wallet for my Red Cross CPR card.

“I don’t know,” the cameraman said. “I was shooting some shots of the parking lot and this man ran up and swallowed my camera.”

Sure enough, the eye piece of the camera was sticking out of the man’s mouth. I looked at his terrified face. “Inside Politics” was showing in both of his dilated pupils. Then, I recognized who it was.

“My God, this is Senator Hagel,” I said as I carefully checked him for a pulse and if any air was getting through his airway past that camera. His Purple Heart seemed to be fine.

“You had better call 911,” I said as the cameraman pulled out his cell phone.

Hagel’s hand reached for my arm and he tried to move his head from left to right. I bent down to listen.

“Bla berr,” he said.

“Don’t worry about that now, Senator,” I told him as I patted his arm. “We don’t have black only cemeteries anymore and that’s more of a Senator Kennedy or former President Clinton gesture.”

“I think he means his Blackberry,” the cameraman suggested as he put his cell phone back in his pocket. Off in the distance, you could hear the wailing sounds of an approaching Lincoln Fire Department ambulance. A crowd started to gather.

I checked his suit jacket pocket and sure enough, there was his Blackberry. The Senator grabbed my arm again.

“Spee 1,” he whispered past the stuck camera.

“You have to pee?” I asked.

“No,” the cameraman said as he knelt down and took the Blackberry from my hand, “he wants you to speed dial number 1.”

“Go ahead,” I said as the cameraman took the device from my hand and dialed. The cameraman got a funny look on his face.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Voice mail for some guy named Stephanopoulos. It says he is out having a cokie or something and to leave a message.” The cameraman left a message that the Senator had collapsed and to call back as soon as possible and hung up.

“Did you tell that guy that the Senator was in Lincoln, Nebraska?” I asked.

“No, why?” the cameraman asked.

“Well they would never guess he was here and would probably send people to New Hampshire or some power bar in Washington or New York looking for him.

The ambulance came to a screeching halt in front of us. Soon, the paramedics took over the medical examination. Two buses full of Hagel staffers showed up as well. They watched and emailed each other from a safe distance.

“We need to put him on the gurney and take him to the hospital as soon as possible,” the paramedic told me as he stepped back. “We’re Americans so we aren’t doing any heavy lifting.”

I looked at the crowd. “Are there any illegal aliens who can do some of this heavy lifting for us? You don’t have to worry about immigration. This is Senator Hagel so he will make sure any immigration officer who bothers you will face retirement.”

Thirty small men came out from under the Wal-Mart carts. More came from the nearby trees by Home Depot. Eight of the strongest came up to help.

“Just put him on the gurney and put the gurney in the ambulance,” I told them. “We’ll pay you $2 an hour and forget the Social Security and withholding taxes.”

A Mexican man looked at the Senator. “Santo politico Hagel!” he gasped.

The Mexican women dropped to their knees and made the Sign of the Cross. A mariachi band came out of the trees and started to play.

“He needs to go,” the paramedic said.

“But how?” I asked as a CNN news truck pulled up.

“What do you mean?” the paramedic said. “We need to put him in the ambulance and take him to the hospital and get that camera out."

“Not necessarily,” I said. “We had better take a poll.” I looked at the crowd and the staffers. “OK,” I said, “all Republicans, or ones who play that role in Nebraska, who are not staffers over here on my far right. If you are a Democrat be patient, you will be allowed to offer amendments, but please stand quietly on my far left.”

“No they won’t!” a bothered staffer said as he held his Blackberry to his ear and typed on his PC with his elbow. “They don’t let us make amendments.”

“Oh, ok,” I said, “my bad. I am just a typical Nebraskan so I don’t understand all of that stuff.”

None the less, using that select group of typical voters, we fashioned a poll with three choices. The Senator could go by ambulance to the hospital accompanied by eight Mexicans to do the hard lifting. He could go with the CNN crew and they would retrieve the video tape and give it to Wolf Blitzer and share it with Stephanopoulos if he called back. Or, the Senator would go with the garbage truck and the mariachi band to the Nebraska political dump.

I didn’t participate in the poll but I must say, I did enjoy hearing the mariachi music coming from a specially designated holy place in the Lincoln landfill later that night.

60

Good grief how did that happen? I turned 60 today. The first thing I saw on the news this morning was a commercial for one of those battery powered wheel chairs. This is depressing.

My birthday used to be fun. When my dear Mom was alive, I always called her early in the morning on my birthday and said..."Remember that big pain you had x years ago? This is it!"

She loved it. I miss her dearly.

Yesterday, I rode my bike about 20 miles. I walked another 6. I was all over Lincoln and it was a nice day to do that. My "fitness" program is self inflicted as the old car finally gave out and the bus, the bike, and walking are my current options. According to the government statistics, I am 25 pounds over-weight so this isn't such a bad deal. Make that 20 pounds over-weight.

But 60 is gnawing mightly on my mind. I must have blown a quarter century in there somewhere and there is no help desk or refund department.

But, on we go being glad I got to live and delighted with who I am.

After all, how many guys get to join the circus five or six times during their life!

What ever happened to truthful claims?

I am a Cingular wireless customer.


That's a bad choice in Lincoln. The only five bars you will see here are lined up on O Street. At home, I get two max, even on a good day.

Yesterday, I lost a business call to Denver 5 times!

That's enough to make a rabbit chase a dog. And, it's not the first time this has happened. I went to the Cingular store to see what the problem was.

The reason I get lousy service, according to the Cingular folks, is because the Lincoln City Council likes Alltel better than Cingular and are making it difficult for Cingular to open in a cell tower in my area of town and deliver their alleged five bar service.

Best Buy, my old stomping gounds, confirmed the lack of tower problem. If they lack the tower, they lack the capability to deliver five bar service. That's a given.

Then why keep offering this "raising the bar" serivce if they can't raise a tower in the first place?

Guess who gets stuck paying good money for bad service?

Maybe it's time to hold their feet to the fire instead of my checkbook. Sounds like a good idea to me.

A Liittle Grin

OK, I can't help it. I know it is kind of nasty to be this way, but I can't help it. When you are a writer and you pour your heart into something and it doesn't find its way to some kind of critical fame, you die a little bit inside.

I like to write stuff that tugs at the ole heart. I like to write stuff that makes people smile and maybe snicker a little. (No, I am not recommending eating a candy bar when you read one of my books.)

So, when something comes along like this, well I just can help smiling a little and maybe even flipping the bird to the publishing world and her.

She is the guard to the door of who makes it big and who doesn't. She seems to be stuck on these great journeys of the down and out and how they came back from drugs and bad marriages and anything else about the frail human condition. She should go to an AA meeting and listen.

So Oprah, here's to you and the big lie you turned into a blockbuster best seller.

I can't help feeling nothing for you. After all, there are lots of good books out there that can make you laugh and cry and snicker and they are not written by lying gold diggers like the ones who sit on your couch so often. (Go ahead and eat one.)

Winter?

It was 58 degrees in Lincoln yesterday.

The sun was bright and shiney and the Mopac trail, my favorite bike trail, was as packed as I have ever seen it.

I wore short and walked a little. The key word is little because my knee is out and giving me lots of grief. But, you can't pass up a day like that. What a treat!

One of my resolutions was to get out more and I am keeping true to that one. It's easy when winter doesn't happen. January, which is usually pretty brutal in Nebraska has really been tame. So, keeping the outdoor resolution is really easy--no biking through the deep snow.

Even with the nice string of days, the common phrase is "we need the moisture." Yup, we do. It's plenty dry and fires could get going at anytime. You see the results of small ones along the Interstate where somebody has tossed out a lit cigarette.

Stupid.

Kind of like this blog entry today. But, I needed to tell about yestereday.

What a nice gift!

The Touble With Texas

Well, it's over. College football has a new champion and it is fianlly...Texas. When you consider a few things about Texas, they sure have taken their sweet time to get there.

First of all, Texas is sooooo damn big. Did you realize that a flight from Lincoln to Houston is over Texas for almost half of the time? Did you realize that a flight from Austin to LA is about the same? Texas is massive. It's the land pig of America covered in bait and BBQ sauce.

Sure, there are other great universities in Texas. Smarties go to Baylor. Preppies go to A&M. Also rans go to Tech. People who like Chinese food go the Rice I suppsoe. But, Texas is still the BIG deal! There are over 50,000 students at Texas. Oklahoma is barely 20,000 and I think Nebraska is 28,000.

And some would say that makes it a little unfair when it comes to football. Football is different in Texas. I know, I lived there. My golfing buddy was God...Darrell Royal.

A kid who can play football in Texas is going to do just fine in high school. Trust me. A really good football player kid is going to do fine at A&M. But, the great football player kid is going to go to Texas and become a "horn."

That just is. Plus, universities from all over the country cross Texas day and night to pick off some good to great players to get them to come to wherever. Even Oklahoma.

The Texas trophy room is full of great honors and Heismans but they are a little short on fine crystal. Darrell won a couple when he was the head man but there hasn't been any since. By comparison, Nebraska has 5. That will give a Texan with a mouth-full of BBQ a spit hemorrhage.

Finally they won the big one. It was close. It was brutal. Nobody in the press thought they would win except Terry Bowden who had it almost nailed to the exact points.

Vince Young was incredible. Hopefully he will turn pro in the next 15 days so the playing field in the rest of the Big 12 can be level again. (Nebraska has to play both USC and Texas next year.) But have no fear, Nebraska is on the way back.

None the less, Texas is just too damn big. It needs to be whacked up some. Let's pass a law and create North Texas, East New Mexico, Southern Panhandle Oklahoma, and maybe, New Bevo. (That would be the turf down by the Mexican border.) If we whacked up Texas, we wouldn't have to listen to the downside of last night's long over-due win.

That would be the whooping arrogant Texas fans. Not Mac Brown. He's a good man and deserves this win.

For a long time, I had a t-shirt design that said:

Never have so many...
Done so little...
With so much...
TEXAS FOOTBALL.

Last night they finally did. Congrats Texas. The fat lady with the paralyzed hand finally sang.

The New Year Wish

I wrote this and sent it out to my friends. Since you are my friends, too, here ya go!

May the mountain lion you meet not have any good teeth.
May the rattler come along a minute after you have passed his bush.
May your pickup always start when a tornado is coming.
May Wal-Mart always accept your starter check.
May there always be one little busy ant in your tighty-whites to help show off your great smile.
May our lust for political power include a mandate for higher taxpayer mileage.
May you always find a peaceful place to share with your busy mind.

Happy 2006!

Kenny

Happy New Year!

Are you happy to see 2005 go?

If you watched the ABC evening news last night, you probably are. Over 2,000 talented young Americans are gone forever in Iraq and Afghanistan. A series of hurricanes dominated our TV's for months with suffering and blame for suffering. Great minds like the Pope, Johnny Carson, Richard Pryor, and Mrs. Robinson are now silent. What was her name anyway? Her husband was right about plastics, you know.

But maybe the biggest news is I am walking out of my 50's into... God, I can't even think it. My dear 'ole dad died at 62. Why is life in such a hurry anyway?

I could get pretty depressed over all of this but that would not be me. So, I decided to do something big about it. I bought a new cowboy hat. That's right, I am back to the cowboy thing and I must say I look pretty good in this one--kind of like a grumpy Ronald Reagan. Good Lord, he's dead, too.

Life is pretty good for me right now. I am living alone and am comfortable and plenty warm. My place is a little camper which I named the Palace. Yes, I am trailer trash but they pick it up every Tuesday and Friday so I can live with that.

The only problem I have is with a neighbor. He is kind of a a know-it-all who likes to rearrange my little yard with his old lawn furniture and put that tire stuff on my bike tires because they didn't look shiney enough. We had to have a little "visit" and now he's a little gun shy of coming near my place or me. (That's his truck to the right of the palace. It's a diesel and he likes to sleep all day and go to the gym about 3:00 am so when he starts that damn thing, it sounds like it is in the middle of my bed.)

Oh well, live and let live for a while.

If I could pull the Palace with my little storm chasing car, we would blow this popstand. (I hear they are paying a cool million for trailer trash lots in Florida!)

Maybe a truck is in order for the new year. I am a pickup guy anyway and for guys who wear cowboy hats and look like grumpy Ronald Reagan, a pickup is the only thing to have. Plus, you can toss the walker into the box.

60. Good Lord why is life going by so fast and I have so much still to do? My dear ole' dad died at 62.

So on to 2006. If the water gets too high, may God bring you a canoe with a paddle and instructions written by a trusty Indian on how to use it. If the wind takes you away, may God drop you into a nicer place. If a sour smile fills your face, may God put a very active small ant in the back of your tighty-whities.

Happy New Year. *Tips new hat*

Weather

It's foggy today. Not snowy. Not icey. It's foggy.

Yesterday, it was downright warm. Almost 60. I should buy some field outside of Lincoln and convert it to a beach.

Anyone who knows me knows I am a weather nut. If I could make a living chasing storms, I would do it in a hail drop. Some say it's a way to hold on to my flying years.

Maybe that's true. Maybe not. In the cockpit, watching weather wasn't near as much fun as chasing it on the ground. (Bumps in the sky are different than bumps on the ground.)

As a pilot, I had to learn alot about weather. As an "official" storm spotter, complete with photo ID, I found out how little I knew about weather.

There are weather nuts and there are turbo weather nuts.

The turbo ones hang out at a site called f5data.com. You have to pay for the service and if you are not a turbo weather nut, chances are you won't know what you are looking at or how to make any intrepertation.

I hang out at weatherunderground.com. I also gaze at the National Severe Storms Center page and the National Huricane Center page. Between the three, when weather is making news in this part of the country, I am making tracks.

Has weather gone goofy? Some say yes and some say no. There is plenty of data to support each position. I do think it is a little strange.

After all, when you think of winter in Nebraska, you probably don't think of fog and 58 degrees.

The high rocking horse

OK, I am going to get up on my high rocking horse.

The subject is adult toys. (No not that kind.)

These are the toys you may get for Christmas such asn an I-Pod or a Video I-Pod or something techie and toothie.

When I was a kid--granted that was a very long time ago--we didn't have those things to keep the mind occuplied while you "lived" life.

As a result, you had to look people in the eye when you met them on the street and if you of midwestern heritage, you probably said "Hi." You even said "Hi" to perfect strangers. Imagine that! And, when you said "Hi" you were not asking about their condition.

We have lost that art of looking someone in the eye and saying "Hi."

In fact, it has become such a terrifying experience, people are writing books about it. The Fine Art of Small Talk. Good grief.

I blame bad apples. My dad always said bad apples spoiled the whole bunch and that's exactly what has happed. It started with bad Walkmans but we have moved on. Now you can plug in, push on, and tune out.

Once in a while you will see society revert back to the old days. The transit strike is a good example. When was the last time you saw hundreds of New Yorkers hollering out? Granted, they are all trying to catch the attention of the same cab but it's a start.

We sould have I-Pod, Walkman, and cellphone free zones. If we did, maybe we would get back to looking people in the eye and saying "Hi" again. Both exchanges would make this country and better county. After all, how can you tell a man's character if you can't look him in the eye? Do you ask to see his I-Pod playlist or something?

Be warned, if you got one of those Bluetooth things you plan to plug into your ear and wear like a proud robot, don't come near me. I don't want to talk to anyone who is focused on what may come rather than what is. That's as close as it gets to the old expression..."he has rocks in his head."

And if you are walking around a restaurant talking to that thing, be careful. I just may slide a chair out in front of you to trip over.

Or sick my high rocking horse on you!

It's Over!

Christmas is over! Yeah! I know it is a little early for most folks but my family Christmas is over.

Now mind you, I don't start shopping until noon on December 24. That is all of the "season" I allow. We used to have a great store in Lincoln that was perfect for a guy like me. The store was Miller & Paine and it was a traditional department store in the heart of downtown. I would go in there about noon on the 24th, buy what I needed to buy, and take everything downstairs to gift wrapping. In two hours or so, I was out the door with cool wrapped packages and on my way.

Miller & Paine, including their famous cinnamon rolls and macaroni and cheese, is gone. The building is still there, but the store is gone. That means I have to wrap stuff and the "look" of my presents has gone downhill over the years. After M&P closed, I had to move my shopping up to 10:00 am. What a waste of a day.

Luke, my youngest nephew, graduated from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln this past Saturday. In a passing conversation, my brother, the family host of Christmas this year, mentioned they were having same on Sunday.

Sunday? You mean Christmas Sunday instead of Christmas Eve? (We have always been Eve people.) No, he clarified, Sunday. As in about 28 hours after my jaw dropped.

So, I was off to Target and Wal-Mart for shopping. Got that done in two hours. Wrapping took another two hours. Done.

The car ran like crap all the way up to Omaha and I thought it might not make it there. I was also worried about hitting a Jewish moutain lion. They don't celebrate Christmas and might be waiting in the ditch for a clunky car to come along and stall.

The little red car made it. The dinner was wonderful. The great nephews and nieces liked the stuff and I was home by 11.

Now I can kick back next Sunday and watch war movies.

Merry Chistmas to you still shopping fools!

Here kitty kitty...

It's been quite a while since they roamed Nebraska, but the sightings are happening almost daily. One was hit and killed by a car up by Omaha--almost 150 pounds and six foot long. That's pretty mighty. In fact, there have been several sightings on the west edge of Omaha and in the Gretna area. That's not surprising because the Mighty Platte, The Mighty Missouri, and the somewhat Mighty Elkhorn rivers all come together in this part of Nebraska.

There are tons of deer and the wild turkey population has exploded. There is a little flock of turkeys roaming my brother John's neighborhood and have even been so bold as to come up and look through the windows while we were having Thanksgiving dinner. Can you imagine?

Up until now, most of the really wild, wildlife has been up around Omaha. Or sure, there was that moose who wandered clear across Nebraska one year. Lots of farmers got their 15 minutes of fame as the wandering moose stopped to graze and have a little chat with the cows. Some farmers claimed to have chatted with the moose but they were written off as part of the crowd that sampled the ethanol too much. The moose, stout of heart, and determined to star in "Mr. Moose Goes to Washington" swam, swum(?) err moose-paddled his way across the Missouri only to be shot by a gun toting Iowa bonehead with a big number 3 painted on his pickup.

There have been other events--an elk here and there and the tansplanting of some mountain goats in the Scottsbluff area--but this is different. These guys are killers.

Some rumors have been spreading that Nebraska Game and Parks introduced them to kill off some of the big deer herd but that can't be right. There are plenty of guys willing to shoot them and pay to do so. But, here they are, or so people say they are.

Now I must admit, I was into Santa once upon a time. But over the years, I have become much harder to convince. I have a touch of Missouri "show me" in me these days.

They can move like shadows through the dense brush like I run along. It's just like the picture and at any minute, from almost any direction, they can come at you and leap at you like a big Linebacker. (Osborn era one.)

So you can imagine what I thought as I jogged along on my favorite trail, at the usual old goat speed, in the dusk of the day, alone, and there he was. For a second, I froze. But then my inner cowboy voice hollored out..."NO NO keep amovin er ur a gonner. Scare 'em sum."

This was a much bigger deal than mutated bunnies. This one had teeth and claws and was powerful and as much, and more, part of the West than I ever was. You need to rely on training here. And that's why I am glad I go for movies like Jeremiah Johnson instead of A Big Fat Greek Wedding. I needed to puff up like that old mountian man coot, Johnson's crazy friend. He was dressed in buffalo robes and a coonskin cap. I was close in my black Adidas running stuff. I started to prance and hollor like a crazy white man in Injun country. Hell, there wasn't an Indian within five casinos of me right now.

He still just stared. Wherever I went. He just stared. Expressionless. He didn't look like he was licking his chops.

I jumped and puffed up like one of the TV Survivor babes trying to get away with telling the truth.

No effect. Not a sound. He just stared.

I could feel the heat of his stare. My heart was already pounding from the jog so that wasn't an issue.

What was he thinking? Had he battled with man before? Had he eaten old goat before?

I knew this wasn't going to end the way I wanted it to end. I needed more information and a better look at him and I was in my running gear. I didn't have the two quarters to put into that newspaper dispenser and get that paper with his picture and story on the front page..

For now, all I could do is look at the picture through the glass.

"Mountain Lions in Lincoln?" Sounded like a good story to me.

"C'mon bunnies, let's roll.

A happy mom

Somewhere in Lincoln, or close by, there has to be one very happy mom.

Someone special is home for Christmas. I met him in the local Target store. No, he wasn't Santa.

He was 20 something, about 6'2" I would guess. He had a perfect smile, was well built,and had great posture. But, the givaway was the haircut. It was butch short on the sides and just a little longer on the top--kind of like a little rug.

"Are you a soldier?" I asked.

"Marine, sir." he said.

There is something about a kid with that kind of conviction that is different from other kids you would meet on the street. The truth is, most kids that age would give an older guy a funny look and probably just push by.

"Well, we're proud of you," I said. "Stay safe."

He smiled, stuck out his hand and shook mine. "Thank you sir," he said. "I will."

Can you imagine how proud his mom is? Can you imagine with all of what's going on today, what goes through her mind when he comes down for breakfast and gets ready to go do something ordinary, like Christmas shop?

I watched him leave the store and blend into the shoppers, the sound of the Salvation Army bells, and the bustle of a Lincoln morning.

Welcome home young Marine. You are one of our very best. Go home to some of your mom's home cooking and have a wonderful Christmas. Most of all, go with God.

And don't believe for one second that more people that you think are praying for you.

The mountainless Vail

Lincoln looks like a mountainless Vail lately. We are getting snow about every night and people are walking around in their cool stuff--the kind of stuff you buy when you go to Vail but can't afford to go after you bought the stuff. You can tell the true Vailees. They have chunks of lift tickets hanging from their jacket zippers and they try to walk without limping.

Lincoln is alot like Vail. Of course, Vail doesn't have a college football team and the Sunken Gardens would be out of the question with the amount of snow they get. But we do have bunches of dumb drivers when it comes to driving on the snow. They forget to use the turn hand on the steering wheel while they are gesturing to the other hand that is holding the cell phone close to the ear. Crash. It would be fun to have a radio show with America's Funniest Cellphone Crash Conversation.

The snow removal has, well not been the best. The City and for that matter, the State both seem to be a little sluggish when it comes to moving the deeper white stuff from the street to the walk you have just shoveled. And drivers just don't seem to get the hang of new traffic flow. We have some of those circle roundout type of intersections where traffic is suppose to blend in and blend out and move along faster that stop-n-go. That is a very trendy idea in Beaver Creek, just a few hudred dollars down the roal from Vail. But in Lincoln, it's been more of a bend than a trend.

And let's not forget, Lincoln has tons more blue-hairs than Vail. After all, Vail is no place for grannies who don't like the cold andthe concept of throwing oneself off of frozen mountains on a couple of skinny boards or one fat board. Since these blue haired babes have more bunions than younger folks, it clearly would be....the agony of da feet.

So what do you do when you life in a place without mountains and with snow? You shop. You go to movies. You eat pizza. And, if you are very talented, you write a cute blog. :o)

Too many damn fools who live here do something really bad. As soon as the snow stops, they put on their cool ski clothes and try to drive a a car with a cell phone.