He Who Flew, Crashed, and Flew Again

I wasn’t the only kid there — the stands were full of kids.  Kids and their dads.  And I was sitting there right next to mine, waiting impatiently.  We really didn’t care much about the race.  We didn’t care about the monster trucks.  We came for a motorcycle.

One motorcycle.  One rider. 

And I forget how many school buses.

Finally the time came.  The announcer spent five minutes building it up.  A dark haired rider in wild red-white-and-blue revved his motorcycle to an insane pitch, sent it flying across the grounds, hurtling up an impossibly high ramp…

…and flew…  …flew…  ……FLEW…….

…above the top of all those big yellow school buses!  He landed perfectly on the other side, choreographed with fireworks and the hysterical screams of adulation.  I remember we left right after that, my ears ringing and my throat sore.

Evil Knievel was one crazy rebel, and in so many ways, a very pure American.

Amazing he lasted to 69 years old, after all the abuse that body took.  Simply amazing. 

RIP Evil.  Jump those canyons on your winged mount on the Other Side.

Random Stuff from my Notebook

I found these on a page of my notebook…

Making it clean
Forcing the grime away
Clearing a path for the light rays

A somersault
Momentary freedom
Feet up head down wind in your hair
Belly flop

The two have nothing to do with each other.  I think I wrote them because the words “squeegee” and “somersault” are favorite words of some of my Xanga friends.

On that page there’s also this scribbled theory:

Evolution has caused our intelligence to filter out the spirit world — which explains why young children and animals see things we don’t.

I called in sick today, which sucks, because I really wanted to go today.  I had important stuff to do.  I’m so sick of being sick!  Gah!

Rock and Roll Sunday

You’re looking at a pink Fender Stratocaster.  My younger daughter who turns 15 today is getting this and a Peavey amp from yours truly, the cool dad, who will immediately start looking for a new apartment because there’s no doubt we’ll be evicted within a few weeks of her cranking this baby up.

I’m feeling much better, but still not what you’d call well.  Well enough, I hope, to pull off lunch.  My daughters and I have a birthday date at the sushi place across the street.

It’s supposed to snow here today.  I’ll believe that when I see it.

I’m in this weird mood right now, where I love everyone.  Maybe it’s the cold meds, but I feel so much love right now … I love my LadySavina, of course, and I love my kids, and I love my friends, and I love YOU too.  Yes, YOU.  You’re bothering to read this stuff. 

Thank you.  I love you.


I got the flu shot this year, so the flu can’t get me.  So what happens?  I get one of the most horrendous colds I’ve had in recent memory.

My immune system usually kicks a cold’s buttocks, but it’s the cold that’s doing the kicking this time.

I’m going to stumble my way around Xanga but I’m not sure if my comments will make much sense.  If they don’t, I hereby blame over-medication.

Maximum Jerk

In the middle of three daylong meetings to enforce worldwide writing standards in the corporation, today I found myself having to defend putting a period after Mr. and Mrs. (and, of course, Mz.) because as it turns out, they are not necessary.

I also ran into one of my favorite technical terms (seriously):  Maximum jerk.

Today brought a new one:  Lateral quakage.

Technical writing can be fun … if you allow it to be.

Our dodging of the phantom process server may have been a red herring.  It is beginning to look like the strange car in front of LadySavina’s farm was simply some random people dumping a kitten.  There have been no fireworks (or cannon shots) from the upcoming battle.  It’s like the eerie calm before the storm.

Speaking of storms… if the string of storms due to hit over the next few days live up to the media’s shameless fear-mongering, I may be trapped here an extra day. OH DARN.    I’m praying for a good ice storm to close down the local airport on Thanksgiving.

Being that I’m on a ssssllllooooowwww modem connection I can’t really go get my Xanga fix.  I’ll play catch up after I’m back in Texas.  You have not been forgotten!


The adventure started as my love and I were returning to her farm with some dinner.  There was an unfamiliar car sitting in front of her house with its lights on.  My love said, “Don’t stop.  Keep driving.”  So I kept going down the road, both of us trying to catch a better glimpse of who it might be.

Our relationship at this point is still rather secret, so as not to throw a monkey wrench into her divorce.  But that isn’t what made her nervous.  There’s a race, you see, to file the divorce before her future ex does, as he lives several states away.  If he files there, it will really mess things up for her.

So she immediately thought: process server.  She already has one out hunting for him.  Only natural to assume this was one hunting for her.

We drove a few miles, parked for a bit, then turned around and drove back.  Upon passing her house we saw the unfamiliar car still sitting there waiting.

We kept going.

We hid out at a McDonalds way out on the Interstate for a few hours, and then came up with a plan.  There was another hidden driveway on her farm, across the corn field, and so we drove into that and parked with the lights off.  Then, in the dead of night, I snuck across the field and up from behind the house to get a better look.

By now, however, the coast was clear.  Whoever it was, they’d given up.

So I went back to the car, and we zoomed up to the house, hid the car around the side, went in, and grabbed clothes, toiletries, etc., and … after making sure it was still safe … got back in the car and drove quickly away.

We fled.  Across a state line, even, to where I had a pretty much unused hotel room.  My love and I, and her baby, spent the night there.

To be continued…

Can men and women ever be completely equal? Should they?

Especially in this Information Age, where we are supposedly enlightened, men and women should finally be truly equal.

Should be.  Not that it really stands that way.  I am convinced it’s more so now than ever in recorded history.

I can tell you this for certain.  My LadySavina is my complete equal.  I publically vow here, now, and forever, that she is and always will be free to do as she wishes, that I will never try and control her, that I will never demand — but only ask.

In an age of enlightenment, equality starts at home and works outward.  Not the other way.

Can you tell I’m an optimist?

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