Dad, Clint, Andy Hamilton and I were on the way home from…something. Seemed kinda like an overseas thing, except we were taking the train. I was leading the way and we were in a hurry. Next thing I know…I don’t see anyone behind me, so I slow the pace but keep going. When I get to the ticket counter Dad is already there…just ahead of me. I wait–but not long–then go ahead and buy 3 tickets thinking to save time for Clint and Andy.

After several minutes, still no sign of Clint and Andy. Dad and I start to worry a little because we’re running out of time. (Here’s an interesting part.) I start to take this elevator-type thing for the handicapped to get downstairs when I see a person in a wheelchair coming towards it. Being the gentleman that I am I go ahead and push the down button for them and step out. Problem: There’s no stopping the doors…I barely get out before the doors close. Another problem: I don’t have time for a good apology; so I yell sorry as I run off. :)

Now I have to take the stairs down. But I only make it a few steps before I run into Rob Lilge, an old friend from ITT (of whom I can’t seem to track down no matter how hard I try).

That’s about it.

Rob Lilge and Andy Hamilton? Where did that come from?

“What part of the cow does the ‘bison’ come from?”

$1.76 / gallon.  Beat that.  :P

I need a weird dream.  Besides being crazy busy taking care of the girls and my wife/child, I’ve not had anything interesting to blog about.

…I guess I could mention the fact that I’d never been to the YMCA until we had these girls.  I’ve been taking them swimming once a week or so.  Good times.  Teaching them to swim and jump and dive.  But with the wife sick at home 24/7 it’s kind of bittersweet.

That’s right, I dreamed about the old IYCM team last night…well, sorta.  The main doctor guy looked just like Jeff, and his assistant was a guy that looked just like Tyler.  Not sure how this works…but the girl, I’m pretty sure was a cross between Paige and Jena.  Weird, right?

Ok, so.  I show up for some kind of big oral surgury of some kind and I’m walked through this big, cool-looking building until I get to “Jeff”s office.  At which time a phone rings, and “Jeff” tells me to answer it.  It’s his assistant, asking me questions about getting my approval (this was supposed to be “Jeff”s hip, new way to get “signed” documents without all the paperwork).  As I’m answering the questions his assistant walks in the room (still on the phone)–I think I’m supposed to be amazed at this new idea of phone approval…and that the guy on the phone is actually in the same room with me now.

Then I woke up, relieved that I didn’t actually need any kind of surgury.

My car is trying it’s hand at comedy.  It’s begun mocking me.

Here’s the deal: I put my key in, turn…nothing.  Not-a-thang.  And I continue to get nothing until I pull up another car and get out the jumper cables, at which time my car will start (without ever actually using the jumper cables).

The first time my car wouldn’t start I just left it all day.  I got home later in the day, same problem.  I couldn’t get the jumper cables out of the trunk because it’s an electric switch…and I, apparently, have no power (and my key wouldn’t work).  After about a half hour of trying to get to my trunk through my back seats, I try the ignition again…it worked.  Started right up.

-.-

That’s right, homemade hot chocolate pudding (some call it chocolate gravy) and fried salmon patties.  The “Cloninger Breakfast of Champions” was cooked this morning for my entire office.  Not easy to make on one’s own.  But I pulled it off, if I do say so myself.

Only one person that tried it didn’t like it, in fact, hated it.  Most rather enjoyed it (no Cloningers aren’t surprised by this); some even want the recipe.  :)  All but one gave it a 3 or 4 out of 5 stars…only one person ate an entire salmon patty.

No wonder voter turnout is so low.  Have you seen the number of things you’re voting for?  It would take forever to gather all the information necessary to make an informed decision.

In our county (maybe in all counties, what do I know), we have the following…

• National
• • President (5 candidates)
  • US Rep. (4 candidates)
• State
• • Governor (4 candidates)
  • Lt Governor (4 candidates)
  • Secretary of State (4 candidates)
  • Treasurer (3 candidates)
  • Attorney General (2 candidates)
  • State Reps for 8 separate districts (13 candidates)
  • 5 State Ballot Measures (yay or nay)
  • 3 Judge Retention Decisions
• County
• • 2 Associate Commissioners (3 candidates)
  • Sheriff (2 candidates)
  • Assesor (2 candidates)
  • Treasurer (1 candidate)
  • Circuit Clerk (2 candidates)
  • Public Administrator (2 candidates)
  • 2 Circuit Judges (2 candidates)
  • 1 County Ballot Measure (yay or nay)

…are you kidding me?!

…that’s right.  Gas is now officially $1.99/gal on the corner.

Apparently, you can’t just put wood in there and put a match to it and, BINGO, 5 hours of fire.

In fact, you can’t even use twigs, then larger twigs, small sticks, big sticks and blocks of wood.  Or paper.  Or…NOTHING, ALRIGHT!  There is NO WAY to start a fire in my fireplace; if there was, I would have been able to start one in the 90 minutes I tried yesterday.  I tried everything except gasoline (which I’d be a lot more tempted to try if I could just get that image of Dad nearly blowing our barn up that one day–in his defense, we used gas all the time  :)  and this was the only time I remember an explosion).

Seriously, I tried everything.  Forever.  Nothing worked.  Nothing will ever work.  Period.  So stop telling me it’s because I’m not a real man.

Also, I’m now convinced that Boyscouts have some kind of training in the dark arts. 

…fires are stupid anyway.