Friday, August 17, 2018

All Aboard to Oslo

Early on into this trip, Dad became obsessed with eating seafood. Perhaps it's due to his interpretations of the Baltic region that Dad wanted to refuse land meats and focus solely on consuming creatures that once roamed the mighty depths. He was appalled when there were no easily accessible seafood restaurants in a given town and would comment often about it while eating at a foreign steakhouse or burger joint. Eventually Mom said, "Shut up about the seafood." and it made all of us cackle.

Our last day in Copenhagen included a stressful mad-dash breakfast that involved tense battles of speed against other morning eaters. You had to fight for breakfast in this place and some Union's fared better than others. All a little grumpy from the Breakfast Match, we piled into a taxi and rode out to the port to climb onto the floating bowl of germs that would carry us from city to city for the next ten days. T'was a lovely boat, not decorated with garish colors and confusing artwork. Mom and I enjoyed the splashes of navy blue and celadon green in an otherwise sandy colored lounge. Dad and Ellen enjoyed the many applications on their stateroom tv's. Actually the day we boarded the ship was the World Cup Final so a gaggle of cruisers forwent the initial explorations of the first day aboard and instead we gathered in a theater that was showing the game on a large screen.

My notes tell me that Dad proudly took three naps on this day and that Ellen went to the gym within two hours of unpacking.

We woke up the next morning in Oslo, Norway. Our initial jaunt into to town was led by Mops who had already figured out where to hop onto a ferry that would take us over to the Viking Ship Museum. We rode in a little tender boat over to an island in the harbor where we looked at ancient viking boats but also mostly waited for Mom to look at the ancient Viking boats. They were very neat to see and also a little scary. Those Viking dudes just piled into what is effectively an enormous canoe and they hit the high seas. There was no worry of different levels, ballast stones, I'm not even sure some of them had sails. I left the Viking Ship Museum having decided that those ancient Nordic men relied entirely on bravery because there must not have been much complex thinking going on in their brains.

The chunk of Oslo that we wandered in was very New Endglandy with a smidge of Europe. Crisp and blue. Pretty trees. Things you'd expect from a Northern haven that takes their environment very seriously. Post Ship Museum, Ellen and Dad wandered back to the Ship for naps and snacks. Mops and I ventured into the city a bit and found government buildings and flower lined streets. The Norweigian people are very tall and light-haired and I imagined a nordic Brett leaning on a building smoking a cigarette. He'd have fit right in. I pointed this out so many times that I think I annoyed Mom. "That guy looks like Brett.", "Look at that Brett doppelgänger!", "That guy would look like Brett if he cut his hair and was a little taller and fixed this teeth!"
Blinded by what, you say?

On our way back to the boat, Mom and I stopped at a little seaside cafe called Pappabuene where we drank sodas and people watched. We studied locals and tourists alike and the most memorable three seconds of this lounge occurred when a little girl, suspended directly over Mom's head by her father, let out a larger than expected little girl poot and Mom's eyes bugged out with outrage. I had a hard time waiting for that family to leave before I laughed at the gall of that little girl and the horror on the face of my lady-like mother. 

My last note on Oslo is their fondness for trolls. Mom hated these trolls. They appeared in statues, gift shops, door stoops, and key chains and I reckon those Wegians are proud of their trolls on account of folktales and whatnot. Though I said it softly to Ellen, Dad heard me compare them to his possible future appearance and he didn't disagree.

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

Mom and The Big Red Bicycle

Weeks prior to leaving for our trip, Mom did abundant research to make sure our time would be spent the best it could be. A proud founding member of The Leisure Club, Mom did her homework, memorizing a map of town before even leaving her driveway. She’s been trained to flawlessly organize transportation from one distant land to another, to heave heavy luggage off of train tracks in the knick of time, and fearlessly navigate winding streets with guides written in exotic tongues. A veteran of all pastimes travel and leisure, I’d argue she’s more bold and courageous on foreign soil. Fearing no obstacles or running into someone she knows, Mom signed us up for a bicycle tour of Copenhagen. 

 We met our guide, Oliver, on a pretty backstreet just around the corner from our hotel. Patient and friendly, Oliver fitted us for a bicycle in relation to our height. The company prefers to put their guests on large, beach cruiser-eqse bicycles that have wide rubber wheels, useful for riding along the city’s many cobblestone streets. These big, red bicycles were notably heavy with loose steering but they functioned the way all bicycles do and the twelve of us on the tour that day all got the hang of our bikes relatively quickly. All of us but one.

Oliver, a twenty-something Danish American fella, led us miles around town. He had a California sense of calm mixed with a Danish sense of politeness which resulted in him being quite laidback about road rules (and perhaps overly confident in the abilities of others to ride bicycles) as well as being too respectful to embarrass an individual who might be lagging behind, especially if said individual was an “elderly lady.”
This bike tour was fantastic. It was an exciting way to see lots of an unfamiliar city without being too concerned about where you were going and how you would get there. Sometimes we rode in the bike lane, sometimes we took up the whole street, and one time Oliver had us ride our bikes through some government building’s breezeways, flying around sharp corners and going down staircases.

To preface Mom’s trials and let the record show, it was more difficult than normal to maneuver the big bikes around corners. A light, skinny bike might whip right around but these big guys did require less speed for big turns because their weight was off and you could certainly fall down. Two bikes fell over on this day just from the strange weight balance. So I’ll give Mom some credit there. But, no one else struggled like Mom did that day. I was so wrapped up in the tour that I didn’t notice the frustration on Mom’s face until we were halfway through. She was scowling. Nancy Union does not scowl while touring a new city. 
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t handle this bike!” she sneered. Just then Oliver stopped talking and started pedaling. There was no time to chat. The kid could get away from you quickly.  We all filed in behind him, one by one lining up like a dozen red ducklings. Prior to the tour, Oliver asked for a volunteer to stay at the back of the line so that he could look for that one person and know that everyone else was somewhere between them. Dad foolishly volunteered for this job, unaware that he’d be babysitting the bike tour loser. 

Note Mom's exhausted posture.

Ellen and I were having a great time. We were racing, pointing out pretty things, and comfortably taking pictures in transit. Meanwhile Mom and Dad were a half-mile behind us, Mom riding like a newborn calf and Dad pushing her along by the seat. Mom was humiliated. Ellen was delighted. On the rare stretch of empty, straight road, Dad would leave his responsibilities behind and dart ahead, rip roaring down the street to create some excitement and competition. I imagine Dad spent the tour feeling like a bull in a pen, held back from his natural state of recklessness. Dad also did instinctive Dad Things like block a road with his bike anytime one of the three of us was crossing a street. He would also pedal ahead to check traffic before we went out into the road. I wondered if he knew was doing this and if he knew that I noticed. Sweet Dad Things.

Now back over to Lance Armstrong. At some point I noticed that Mom’s ankle was bleeding and she casually informed me that she got it stuck between her bicycle and a building. I’m not really even sure how that’s possible. She ran into curbs, historical statues, parking blocks, and medians and also managed to hook a looped metal post in the crook of her elbow, knocking her off the bike completely. 

By the end of the tour Mom had given up and simply chose to crash into things as a way of stopping her bicycle. Bystanders would watch with concern as she slowly but consistently maintained speed as she closed in on a curb. BAM! Mom would then plant her feet, brush the hair out her eyes, and calmly listen to Oliver’s spiel. We’d ride along again, come up on a landmark, “Oh no watch out for that...” BAM! Mom had made it to our next stop. 
I felt a pitied amusement. I knew Mom would be indignant about this and I felt preemptive frustration for how she would certainly not feel heard on this matter.
“I know how to ride a bike!” she said with a sting. We piled into a nearby cafĂ© after the tour was over and Mom was a dark cloud of undeserved shame. Dad didn’t help. He enjoys the failures of others and only egged her on by explaining the basics of bike riding.
"It was the bike!" she said. "Something's wrong with that bike!" and then she'd cross her arms and scowl. Then she'd laugh a little. "It's not funny!"

While Mom defended herself, Ellen scrolled through her photos of the day and lost her composure when she came across one of Mom. She shared it with Dad, me, and our waitress and we howled with laughter in a quiet, little cafe in Copenhagen.


Let’s begin our Scandanavian reports with notions of crisp blue skies and placid seas, chilly mornings that melt into balmy afternoons, and sunlit evenings that never quite go dark. You know, Nordic things.
I’m ready to move to Scandinavia. Doesn’t matter where; any place that will accept a swarthy troll of an American with few redeemable business skills. (I’m not kidding. I told Brett to tell his boss he’s available for international relocation. And those Swedes you know, they love engineering.)

Let’s continue our Scandinavian reports with notions of smoked fish atop freshly baked bread, hot cups of coffee and an unexpected fondness for waffles. Viking ships, mountain fjords, people that don’t necessarily smile at you when you walk by; these are the gems of the Baltic north. 
We had a great trip. I’d argue it’s in my all-time top three Family Adventures. This is for a few unforeseen reasons.
One – We got to experience a place that was newish to all of us. (Helps keep up morale.)  
Two – I’m older now. Which translated into;
            2.A: a sudden interest in regional history
            2.B: a preference for the clean, quiet surroundings
2.C: appreciation for sluggish mornings with family 
Three – Ellen had a good attitude and never really turned on us.

I know! Here’s how it all went down. Before the trip I pulled Ellen aside and we discussed a game plan for her in-flight meltdowns and mid-cruise detachment. I was not to become immediately discouraged if she needed a break and she was not to opt-out of activities on the grounds of disinterest, sleepiness, bloat, or any other universal feelings that can arise in the human race.  I explained to Ellen that it’s important to have her with us on day trips and at dinner tables and she explained to me that she doesn’t always feel in control of her attitude and we opted to work together. A few times when Ellen got testy, we sent her off to the pool or put her down for a nap and she always came back trying, if nothing else. Seeing her try was enough to keep all of us patient, which kept Ellen trying. A vicious cycle of gentleness. 

We start our adventure in Copenhagen. To my delight, Mom unknowingly booked our hotel in what used to be a Red Light District of sorts, so there were strip clubs on either side of our hotel. Typically this is not a hot region so most buildings do not have air-conditioning. As luck would have it, we arrived during a heat wave and had to leave our windows open in the hopes of catching a breeze. Leaving your windows open when located next-door to a gentlemen’s club sets you up for a wild night. Though leisurely shrieks did occasionally wake me up, I enjoyed listening to the rambunctious drunken laughter grow dim as it moved through the streets of Copenhagen. My family found the noise much less charming and complained about it each morning as if it was new to them. Ellen and Dad tended to wake up grumpy and sweaty – though they won’t admit it. I also enjoyed watching for Mom’s dismay any time we came or went from our hotel. Life-sized portraits of lingerie-clad bimbos lined our street, pasted over doors or pressed into windows. I know it’s childish, but it added an element of anticipation. I love watching Mom hate things. Most days she pretended not to see them. That strikes me as very funny.

We walked 6.2 miles the day we got there and Ellen and Dad were unimpressed with purposeless wandering. Copenhagen is a big small city and Mom led us around to hit main streets and city highlights that did not require us to hop on a bus. We found the very busy pedestrian shopping street and all were immediately put off by pushy crowds. I become a mean person that I don’t recognize when forced to exist in a crowd and I almost pulled an Ellen and bowed out of the day. We ambled and milled and lollygagged and that about sums up our activities for Copenhagen. All the while Ellen took flawless photos fit for dental advertisements.
I have happy good feelings towards this city. It’s got a young, spunky vibe while getting things done in an old, charming setting. It’s busy and colorful but also has lots of quiet streets and green spaces. What else could you need?

Friday, August 3, 2018

Friends They Are Jewels

As you might have inferred from the subtle clues left here by our ungrateful groundskeeper, EisenEars, we left the country for a Scandinavian cruise and Brett stayed home to take care of the houses and pets. During this two week time period Brett lived here, on Black Pig Farms (as Carolyn calls it) and he and Grace and Pippa and Buddy and Bobo had a special summer camp experience that they will never forget.

Here's a picture of how he walked all three pups.

In addition to the dogs and the vicious cat that he kept locked in the guest room, Brett was in charge of managing all shipments delivered to Chris Union's house. During this time of renovations, Brett had to keep an eye out for various packages of construction equipment and tools and one big box that contained a new tire for my car because he ran over a manhole cover and popped my wheel just before I left. He's always beating up my cars. I also strategically left out a list of jobs that need to get done here at BP Farms, things like painting a board on the roof, garage improvements, lawn care, and wishes for a porch swing. Oh and I left him with six large plants to care for and about 25 small ones to spritz on occasion.

I'm happy to report that I came home to four living pets and 31 happy, healthy plants. He painted that board (and the garage), mowed the lawn, and painted and hung a porch swing. He also sanded and painted my bathroom, installed some kitchen shelves, put on my new tire, stocked the fridge with my favorite breakfast supplies, and planted my "rescue agave" cactus in the backyard so it can grow even bigger and stronger.

Here's a picture I took from the comfort of the new porch swing.

Once I got home from our trip, Brett finally admitted to me that three dogs is one too many and that he had no free or alone time for two weeks. He had gone into my absence with excitement, finally able to read, have some Brett time, work on Brett projects. He said he got nothing done. I feel for the fella, but he sure got a lot done over at my house. 

Our flight got in late on Thursday night so we all went straight home to sleep and I told Mom I'd bring over her pets whenever. Buddy and Bobo were home by 8:30 the next morning because I couldn't stand it; the meowing and grunting and clickety-clacking of twelve paws circling my bed. I am now more convinced than ever that Brett Eisenhauer is part saint. 

A few more notes before I start my trip reporting. As soon as I got home I needed some Dock Time. It doesn't feel like Summer without Dock Time and though I did get a little bit with a few special friends on the Fourth of July....

...this summer has been mostly void of that salty paradise. Also, Pippa had never had a dock day. Sure we'd walked out there last winter and she even leapt into the pluff mud but she's never had the pleasure of donning a life-jacket and charging over the edge into our murky blue/brown water. 
Mom said that Buddy was a little despondent after he came home from two weeks at camp. My little heart broke for Buddy. No problem. We loaded up, fitted Pip for a floatation device, and opened the gate. 

Unsure at first, Pippa dutifully followed the crowd and did as Buddy and Grace did. She flattened out and tried to resist when I lowered her onto the floating dock but before she knew it she was bobbing and surfing like the rest of them. Then Brett jumped in. Buddy followed, Grace brought up the rear, and Pip watched from her floating perch. A true adventurer, Pip reared back, leapt up, pointed her toes, and dove into the water like a human, front paws first, submerging her head, then belly, and then her straightened back legs. It nearly killed us. It was so cute and funny. I'll try to get it on video soon. She dove like this, in and out in and out and finally did a normal dog jump when she thought she might land on Grace. Pippa loved Dock Time and swims so fast. I felt like a parent watching their child experience something new. 

One last thing. Brett picked us up from the airport on Thursday night. We were supposed to get in a little before 11:00 but our flight was delayed and we didn't make it until after midnight. We felt horrible about keeping Brett up so late. We told him to stay home and we'd just take a taxi. He insisted and just before we boarded our last flight he asked me if I had any markers in the house. I was too tired to read into this.

We arrived in Charleston, sleepy and confused, to find Brett, Erik and Chelsea in the lobby holding signs and grinning at us. Erik's poked fun and my old parents while Chelsea's nodded to Pippa's Russian heritage.

Brett's sign had bystanders feeling awkward. He held a balloon that said, "It's a boy!" and the following poster.

Women gave me dirty looks while menfolk giggled and looked at Brett like a fool. Brett (who feels no shame) loves to embarrass me and will happily go down with the ship for the sake of a laugh. 

Next to us was a foreign family of a dozen people wearing matching T-shirts of someone's face and they were having a tearful family reunion. It seemed to be the first time meeting of a long-lost grandfather or perhaps his long-awaited arrival in the United States. They were all crying and filming and hugging. Though it made my homecoming feel much more trashy, I was touched that my friends stayed up so late to greet us.
I felt like the luckiest pregnant cheater in Charleston. 

Tuesday, July 24, 2018


By Brett EisenEars
Guest Columnist

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. If you haven’t already done so, please stow your carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin. Please take your seat and fasten your seat belt. And also make sure your seat back and folding trays are in their full upright position..."

This won't be the usual ride. Laura Union is MIA, so to speak. But so far her plants have survived, which is what really matters, right?

Today you will be blessed by the insight of the first-time guest columnist (don't worry about my last name - it's not important). I am here to tell you the dark side of the Unions - the real side. I am the indentured servant to the Unions due to a series of unfortunate events involving the tailgate of Laura's 4Runner and a 21-foot "I-beam" - not to mention too many family dinners and a 95 lbs jerk named Buddy (As I type I am being harassed by the fetid creature). I have found myself stuck in indentured servitude for the foreseeable future. But so it goes...

"...If you are seated next to an emergency exit, please read carefully the special instructions card located by your seat. If you do not wish to perform the functions described in the event of an emergency, please ask a flight attendant to reseat you..."

My employers are out of town, basking in the indulgences of Mother Russia. It seems a good time to expose them for what they really are, slave drivers of the worst kind. This “All-American” family puts on a very convincing show with good conservative values, a strong work ethic, and a riotous and lawless dog. But there is a darker side, one that no one else gets to observe. I hope there is enough space between them and me to provide an adequate get-away before they can cancel their plans and show up on my doorstep. If you never hear from me again, heed my warning: Keep your distance!!!!

"...We remind you that this is a non-smoking flight. Smoking is prohibited on the entire aircraft, including the lavatories. Tampering with, disabling or destroying the lavatory smoke detectors is prohibited by law. If you have any questions about our flight today, please don’t hesitate to ask one of our flight attendants. Thank you...”
Nancy Union
This carefree spirit dances like theres no tomorrow - except only in the safety of a known audience and only for a minute at a time. She’s the primary source of the tasks I am asked to carry out. She favors the bullwhip and a chair when monitoring my progress on any of her arduous requests. “Brettie, can you pick this up for me?” Brettie, please take care of my Bobo.” “Brettie, can you please re-shingle the roof?” “Brettie, that's not good enough, redo it.”

Nancy knows both Shaolin and Tai Chi Quan Kung Fu, but neither cuisines. She's often seen yelling out of her window at kids or Ohioans. She was once asked to resign from the Ghost Tours for disorderly conduct.

She looks innocent. Don’t believe her lies.  

3 good qualities: Wonderful smile, Task oriented, Orange Chicken.
Weaknesses: No upper body strength. No lower body strength. Not particularly fast.

Chris Union

Mr. Chris. Where to start. He isn’t much of a worker; a real lazy freeloader, if you ask me. In fact, I haven’t seen him anywhere but on the couch. This doesn't mean he is asleep or indifferent to the world. You must watch out for him. He’s constantly thinking up ways to entrap me further into indentured servitude. He’s shifty. “Brett, why don’t you come over for dinner? We won’t ask you to do anything this time. I promise.” Yeah, right. I’ve fallen for that 14 times.  

3 good qualities: Once had a powerful mustache. Evil laugh. Negotiating skills - he’s the one that negotiated my servitude.
Weaknesses: Driver awareness, work ethic, lack of mustache.

"...Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please return your seats and keep your seat belts fastened. Thank you..."

Ellen Union

Ellen Union is the sweetest Union. She has always gone out of her way to make sure I feel welcome… while I am slaving away. Her presence is a De-light, though! She is my reprieve from the two parents, the only Union to really treat me with the dignity and respect deserved by any living creature. The last time I was allowed my usual timed 2-minute break from one of Nancy’s latest tasks - digging new footings for the house upgrade - Ellen snuck gatorade and crackers for sustenance to me when the task-master wasn’t looking. I am forever grateful to her.

3 good qualities: Kindness, sunny disposition. Carefree attitude.
Weaknesses: Is sometimes too kind. Doesn’t know when to be stern with someone.

Laura Union

Boy is she bossy - she combines the worst qualities of both parents into one. She constantly orders me around AND thinks up conniving new ways to entrap me further in this Union scheme. I must admit that her beauty is enchanting and I am powerless to stand up against her. Though her math doesn’t always add up - I know she’s the reason I’m trapped on a permanent basis. 

Then there are the times when she is simply neglecting me. I literally have to ask permission to be in her presence and only then I am allowed 20 minutes (5 of which I am allowed to talk). But its all worth it.   

3 good qualities: Only three?  
Weaknesses: Instructions, Word Puzzles, Scheduling appointments for the right day.

"...Ladies & Gentlemen, we're now approaching Charleston where the local time is 11:00pm. At this time please return to your seat with your seat belt firmly fastened. Personal television screens, footrests and seat tables must be stowed away and all hand luggage stored either in the overhead lockers or under the seat in front. Please ensure all electronic devices including laptop computers and computer games are turned off. And thank you for choosing Ignited Airways, if you think you hate us now, wait till you land!"

And if you don't think this lie is true, ask the blind man.. he saw it too.

Thursday, July 12, 2018

Back To The Lake

Just before July 4th, Hayden invited us back to the lake house in Virginia for a long weekend of grueling activities. This time I'd finally get to meet the last of the Sewell brothers and redeem myself from never jumping off the roof of the boat house. Also, Jenny came along too so I wasn't the only loitering girlfriend in the midst of the athletic competitions. The Lake House is a magical place with a HonBonesque aura and a sense of self-indulgence. If you're hungry, you can go make yourself a snack except that a snack could be anything from a a salad to a piece of cake because the Sewells keep a solid stash of cakes in their lake house.

The attendance list is as follows:
Mama and Papa Sewell
Brothers 1 through 4
One brother's pregnant wife (that makes 1 and a half)
Erik, Jenny, Brett and Big Lu
Raffy - the dog

This venture to Bracey was quite similar to the last one. All the same games and activities were present except that since it's summer time, there was an increase in water sports. We also got up in the morning and watched World Cup games which is the one sporting event that I do enjoy keeping up with. Typically Brother #2 and his wife would prepare breakfast for us while we watched the games. Due to World Cup scheduling, we often didn't really start our day until 11:00. That's when we would partake in homemade biscuits or eggs and bacon or chocolate chip pancakes. After that we'd immediately go jump into the lake. The Sewells are a productive people, often waking up especially early to exercise or maintain the lawn. Brother #3 is training for a marathon, so he'd wake up and run nine miles, eat breakfast and then sleep until lunch. Papa Sewell never sits down (except to do a puzzle) and scampers from task to task, stopping occasionally to see what his sons are doing and then he laughs at them with gusto. I did catch him reading the newspaper, paddle boarding, and playing with Raffy so I can say for sure that Papa Sewell enjoys the lake house even under the role of groundskeeper. Mama Sewell delights me each time with her subtle musings and quiet joy about having a full house. A true veteran of raising four boys, she's not afraid to leave the group activities in favor of some quiet reading time. She'd come and go throughout the day but anytime you looked at her, she was taking in the scene with that special kind of Mama Love that you can feel just by looking at their faces. She's very thankful for her boys and has a way of thanking us for loving them too.

Enough of the squishy stuff. While Jenny and I floated around on Erik's pineapple intertube, the boys partook in wakebaording, gun-shooting, badminton, spike ball, frisbee, and a game where they throw balls at the other while they jump off the dock and they have to catch them before they hit the water. Competitive to his core, Hayden took each game and task with the seriousness of a government ordered mission and he's not above scolding you if your performance I not up to par. At some point he managed to bend and smash Jenny's finger so badly that it later doubled in size and turned blue. I'll add, for the record, that Hayden felt very badly about it. Brother #2 and wife made sure that we ate well over the weekend. They prepared lavish summer meals for supper that turned into creative, experimental lunches the next day. One night, the family surprised me with a birthday party. They wore party hats and blew into shimmery noise makers and then presented me with an additional cake.  Mama Sewell took lots of pictures and looked at me like I was one of her kids at their birthday party. Have I mentioned how lovely she is?

On our last full day, I woke up and sauntered out onto the porch and was informed that we were doing Family Olympics that day and I was on a team with three of the Sewell boys. Competitive Hayden let out a growl. "Oh no Lu! You're gonna drag us down! I'll try to be nice."
Jokes on you Hayden! My inner-athlete came out and I became one of the Sewell boys. At some point we all got distracted from Family Olympics but it was a tie where we left off. Family Olympics included diving competitions, catching competitions, a paddle-board race, corn-hole and badminton. Just before the task involving a gun, another World Cup game came on. Though on opposing teams, Jenny and I were relieved when the games were abandoned.

I did not want to leave the house that Monday morning. Brett had to get back to that pesky job of his and since it takes Hayden several days of acceptance to leave the Lake House, Erik rode back with us so that he could get some work done before the fourth as well. It was an uneventful ride back except that we stopped at a hole-in-the-wall burger place where Erik and Brett ordered enormous burgers and french fries and also had big, rich milkshakes. Brett became sleepy and made Erik drive. Erik was uncomfortably full and refused to consume anything else for the rest of the day.

These are the days we'll cherish. Gut-busters and all.

Monday, July 9, 2018

Two Little Day Makers

For a long time now, I've been a big fan of Youtube. Originally I used it to catch up on Craig Ferguson's latest antics and watch blooper reels from movies and news broadcastings. In college it became a place to find new tunes and undiscovered singing people that should have golden record deals by now. Post college, I enjoyed watching people interview other people and now, in my late twenties, I've reverted back to blooper reels. It just never gets old.

Last week, as I procrastinated, I came across two videos that I've watched multiples times since and I'd like to share them with you. They are very different and will perhaps only serve to display the drastic fluctuation (insanity) of my mental capacity in a ten minute time span.

The first delighted me for obvious reasons. These two guys, these little gifts to humankind, brought my work emails to life. I hate it so much that I love it.

This second one is by a "poet". I put that in quotes because it's not what you think of when someone says "poetry" but it's also too carefully planned to just be an eloquent speech. Rudy Francisco is a pretty neat guy. I'd urge you to listen to more of his word shows if I was hovering above your shoulder watching you watch this video.

I've never thought about the fact that I'm still alive. How cool is that?
That'll make sense in a minute.


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