Danielmedley.com

Friday, October 09, 2009

Krav Maga

A little over two years ago I discovered Krav Maga. I’ve since become a full blown addict. For those of you who don’t know what Krav Maga is, it is the official system of self defense employed by the Israeli Defense Forces, Israeli Anti-terrorist Units, and various branches of the Israeli Security Forces. I do my training at Paul Evans Martial Arts. Right now I’m a level 3 practitioner.

The reason I like it so much is that it’s so damn brutal. I know that sounds odd, but it is the only way I can describe it. After each class you really feel a sense of accomplishment. Imagine what it feels like after surviving a four and a half hour level 1 test. If you pass, you walk away feeling pretty damned good about yourself. The level 2 test was even more difficult and the sense of accomplishment was even greater.

Over the last couple of years I’ve had cracked/bruised ribs, numerous bloody noses, various injuries and what not, but I’ve also learned to take a beating and to dish out a pretty damned good beating as well. Plus I’m in better shape at 47 than I was at 30. My 30 year old self would have his ass completely handed to him by my 47 year old self.

A couple of months ago my wife started getting in to it too. It’s great. Last night she was throwing down with the best of them; 5’11” of Ukrainian fury.

If you’re in an area that has a martial arts studio that teaches Krav Maga, I definitely recommend giving it a try. I guarantee after the first half hour you will be asking yourself, “What in God’s name have I gotten myself in to?” But when it’s over you’ll be going, “Holy crap, this is fun.”

Another thing you can be sure of is that, the next day, you’ll be in pain. Don’t worry, it never really goes away, you just get used to it. 

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Under The Weather

Man, I’ve been under the weather something fierce. Last week I got some kind of weird intestinal thing; no fever, lots of body aches. After about three days of that I got better. Then Friday morning my son woke up with a fever and sore throat. We took him to the doc and after a quick glance down the kid’s gullet he proclaimed, “Yeah, strep throat”.

OK, got that taken care of. Saturday morning I came down with ANOTHER case of gamboo. I’ve been wallowing like a wimp for the last few days. Tonight I’m feeling better, though.

Will be back to work tomorrow come hell or high water.

Bitch session over.

Saturday, November 08, 2008

On To Level 2

This morning I, along with nine other sorry S.O.B.’s, went through the hell that is known as level testing in Krav Maga. This particular bout was for completing level 1 and moving on to level 2 training. It was nearly three hours of abject brutality. This was, without a doubt, the most physically exhausting experience of my life. But it’s all good because I passed. Hell, we all passed which which is cool because it’s not easy, and people do fail these tests. I did catch a knee to the mouth, causing a small split in both upper and lower lips. Had it not been for my mouthpiece, I would’ve lost some teeth and had some stitches instead of licking off the blood and carrying on.

Ah the things we do for fun.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Going Political

Like I’ve said before, I’m hesitant to get political on this blog because of experiences on another site I used to have. People have a tendency to get out of hand. But to hell with it, I’m going to go political. You are welcome to comment as long as it’s not stupidity. If you want to have an intellectually honest discussion, go for it in the comments. But if—when—the comments go stupid, I’ll simply not let them be posted.

I remember, growing up, the old adage of never discussing politics or religion. I’ll agree with the religion aspect because discussing something based solely on faith and belief is a losing proposition. However, as far as politics are concerned, there is no reason why they can’t be discussed. The only people who will get offended are those who refuse to participate in an intellectually honest discussion and those kinds of people usually have other motives in mind. In fact, I believe that politics should be openly discussed and during that discussion, the participants should be willing to change their minds in the face of facts and historical precedent. There have been many times that I’ve altered long held beliefs in the face of a well reasoned, intellectually honest discussion. Changing beliefs does not change the facts and in matters of politics and culture, “beliefs” should play a small role in lieu of empirical, historical facts. 

Sure, to cast aside any form of “gut feeling” or belief would be superhuman, but to let blind ideology stand in the way of reason does no good for anyone or any culture. I believe that any belief that we hold should be willingly held up to scrutiny and that willingness to let it go, no matter how dear we hold it—belief that is—is simply intellectual honesty.

To be sure, this blog is mostly centered on writing, but dammit, sometimes I just gotta vent!

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Two Hours?

Here’s a laugh for the day:

Today I went to the drugstore to get a prescription filled. The guy behind the counter informed me that it would take two hours.

Two hours???!!!

Christ. I asked the guy why the hell it takes two freakin’ hours to grab something off the shelf and stick it in a bag. His reply was some drivel about having a lot of scrips to fill. I told him that there were no circumstances under which it is acceptable to take two hours to fill a prescription. I told him I’d be back in an hour and if it wasn’t filled I’d take the prescription back and take it somewhere else.

When I returned it was filled.

Damn, people.

Monday, November 26, 2007

As If My Plate Is Not Full Enough

One of the side effects of my recent career change from fairly active to a desk job has been the fact that I’ve quickly started to get out of shape even more than I was before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not extremely over weight or a complete physical wreck. I’ve always been in decent shape, but over the past couple of months I’ve noticed the beginning of what could be a slippery slope.

So in response, I’ve taken up Krav Maga. Click on the link if you’ve never heard of it. Anyway, tonight was my first session and it literally kicked my ass. I swear, I was almost ready to step outside and hurl my guts out at one point. It was great. I couple nights each week of this and I should be in fine shape in a few months.

Oh yeah, I’ve dug out some of my writing related material and have started working on it again. It feels good to have life take on an even keel. Lets just hope it stays that way for a while.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Sweet Release

OK, so I’m sitting here at the kitchen table posting a blog entry for the first time since … August. Freakin’ August.

Man, what the hell have I been doing since August? Well, actually, a whole hell of a lot has happened. I hit a multi-million dollar lottery the last week of August and I’ve been chilling out ….

Nah, you idjit. I didn’t hit the lottery.

What I did was do a complete career change-over as a result of an unexpected opportunity from an old friend. Maybe someday I’ll go into it deeper, but I doubt it. Anyway, I quit my job that I’d been at for 18 years and started a new career in financial services. I won’t go into it too deeply other than to say that I’ll be helping people to avoid having to work as a WalMart greeter in their retirement years to make ends meet. In reality this isn’t something that’s completely out of the blue as I’ve been peripherally interested in this for some time.

So, I quit my old job which was beginning to suck in a big way (it’s amazing how new owners and new management can really screw things up). It was WAY past time for me to leave and aside from the usual anxiety that comes from jumping out of one’s comfort zone, it was a great feeling to walk out of the door. I was subjected to an hour and a half exit interview by HR in an attempt for them to find out just why they can’t seem to hire anyone or keep any of their key people. I laid it all out and told them exactly what the problems were. I doubt they’ll listen.

Anyway, new career, new challenges, new rewards. I did have to study for and take some exams put forth by such organizations as the NASD (now known as FINRA) and the Securities and Exchange Commission, and the state of Utah. By the way, who the hell comes up with the verbiage on a series 6 exam?

In between the changeover, the studying, the working and everything else—called life—I haven’t had any time to do anything extracurricular. Now, however; I’m thinking that I’ll actually be able to get back to some writing, and other things that I love to do but haven’t been able to devote any time to. I guess that’s called prioritization. Gotta put bread on the table as it were.

Well, I’ll start working on regaining my paltry readership. Hell, to tell you the truth, I don’t give a shit if you read or not. I do this for me.

Ah, sweet release.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Quickly Checking In

Deep in the throws of our vacation. This morning Anna, Alek, and I set out on the Little Salmon River for the purpose of catching some fish. As a result we just finished eating a late lunch of trout dredged in seasoned flour and fried in butter, along with a summer salad and a glass of Pinot Grigio. All was followed up with a not too small slice of cheesecake for Anna and me, and a moderate dole of ice cream for Alek. I must say that I’m deep in a culinary bliss.

Soon we are meeting up with some friends and going on a back-country excursion. Perhaps we’ll be back by dark.

Perhaps.

Quick note: On the way through Boise we stopped and met up with Casey for a quick visit. It’s always a pleasure to meet up with fellow bloggers and chew the fat. Both Casey and I are Idaho yokels from our inception which meant that in the few short minutes that we talked we quickly hit some common ground.

Remember that invite, Casey, if you and your family are ever through Salt Lake City.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

The Long Way Home

Because the Utah Department of Transportation decided to close every fucking on-ramp to I-15 South bound it took me an extra almost an hour to get home from work tonight. Keep in mind that it normally takes about a half hour. I couldn’t believe it. Of course, me being me, I had to go to their web site and let them know how I feel.

Tell me, what over-paid, under-worked, pencil-pushing, government paid, blithering idiot thought it was a good idea to close EVERY FREAKING ONRAMP TO I-15 SOUTH BOUND from I-215 to 90th south tonight? I couldn’t get home because of this idiotic mess. The only reason something like this would be warranted would be if you’re BUILDING A NEW FREAKING FREEWAY FROM SCRATCH!!!

The lack of intelligence required to do such a stupid thing makes me wonder how whoever decided to do it can even perform basic motor functions like breathing, or scratching your ass.

This is precisely why the average taxpayer rolls their eyes at government functionaries like you.

Do EVERYONE a favor. DO NOT CLOSE access to the freeway. If you feel that you must, then your plan is not good. Put that expensive education to use and think of a better plan.

And I did leave my contact information. I dare these assholes to follow up.

Keep in mind that I know the roads here so I can work my way through it. But I pity the poor asshole who was just trying to pass through on I-215 trying to connect to I-15. They would’ve come up on an on ramp that was just simply closed. No detour signs, no warning, no FUCKING NOTHING.

OK, now I need a beer before I go to bed.

Rant out. 

Monday, June 18, 2007

Quest For Cake

Who would’ve thought that finding a cake would be so damn difficult?

Friday we’re leaving for Idaho to visit family. Our son’s fifth birthday is Sunday, and my stepbrother’s birthday is, I think, Monday, so my wife wanted to pick up a couple of cakes. Sounds simple enough, right?

You’d be wrong. See, my wife, being the Euro she is, doesn’t think highly of American style bakery cakes. You know; the kind you’d by in a grocery store? She calls them, “tasteless bread covered with sugary frosting.” Her line of thinking is that if you’re going to sin, you do it with a cake that tastes heavenly.

Here in Salt Lake we’ve picked up cakes at a nifty little French bakery that are pretty damn good. I mean these things are the real deal. But the prospect of them making an 8 hour trip is sketchy, so we’re thinking, Hey, we’ll stop by a bakery in Boise on the way through and pick one up. The two and half hour drive from there shouldn’t be a problem. I put out a feeler to a vague contact in Boise and they were kind enough to suggest a French bakery in the city. Now, how damn cool is that?

Well, a phone call to said French bakery in Boise revealed they don’t make cakes.

What???

They were kind enough to suggest a place that did make cakes and I called them up. Although they are a grocery store, they supposedly have a gourmet bakery that makes cheesecakes using locally grown fruits. It looks like this place could be the ticket.

One can only hope.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Some People’s Children

We own a townhome in a good area of the city. Unfortunately we have renters here as well. I know, I know, I’m offending a whole lot of renters out there, but too bad.

Anyway, over the last several months my wife and I have noticed that some people choose to set their garbage outside of the dumpster instead of putting it inside of the dumpster. Sorry, but if you too lazy and disgusting to put your damn garbage inside of the dumpster there isn’t much hope for you. Finally, fed up with this shit, I went through the garbage (you’d be surprised how many private investigators do this. I know, I used to be a private investigator) and found discarded mail of these bastards. There were culprits from three different addresses. I went home and contacted the HOA with the information and then typed up a message that said:

To those of you who live at ___, ___, and ___,

Please don’t be lazy and disgusting. Put your garbage INSIDE the dumpster.

I taped it on the side of the dumpster and predictably it was taken down after a couple of days. I put another one back up. A couple of days later it too was taken down and replaced by a lengthy note talking about ”this is a community, be nice, bla, bla, bla. There was also reference to my cowardice because I knew who the culprits were, but they didn’t know me. It was singed with a name AND address.

Well, me being me, I walked over to the address, knocked on the door, and introduced myself to the twenty-something woman that answered the door. “I’m the one who left the note on the dumpster,” I said.

Boy, this piece of trash got all defensive and tried to somehow defend her leaving her shit all over the place for her neighbors to deal with. “Five people live here and I don’t have anyplace to put the trash when the dumpster is full,” the piece of trash said.

When I informed her that normal people will hang on to their trash for a couple of days if the dumpster is full, or--God fucking forbid--they will actually walk or drive to one of the other dumpsters that are around she got really defensive. I pushed her near the edge when I added that the dumpster had been emptied a couple of days ago yet her shit still sat there. I then asked her if she rented or owned. “I rent,” she said.

“That’s what I thought,” I said and turned to walk away.

She stood there sputtering. After a few steps she managed to blurt out, “You better think before you break the law again!”

“Huh”? I asked.

She crossed her arms and stuck out her chin like she really had me in a corner. “Defamation of character.”

I let out a laugh and pointed out that since she DID leave her garbage scattered all over the ground next to the dumpster, she was indeed LAZY and DISGUSTING. I laughed all the way to my truck.

Now, back to the renting thing. Sure, there are some renters who are not disgusting people, but for the most part they suck. This one, who’s address and phone number I will post (if it’s public information) if she continues to be LAZY and DISGUSTING, seems to be especially stupid.

OK, rant over.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Update And Snap Must Die

My posting frequency is a good indicator of how my writing is going. If I’m posting a lot it means that I’m not getting much writing done. If my posts are few and far between, you can rest assured that it’s because I can’t find the time because all of my free time is being spent writing. I haven’t been posting very much at all. That’s a good thing.

I’m actually forcing myself to take a bit of a break from the screenplay I’ve been working on. It’s been in my dreams, most of my waking moments: driving to work, most of the time when I’m supposed to be devoting attention to my wife, etc. Anyway, I’m almost finished with the first draft. I know exactly where and how it ends, the scenes leading up to it. I figure that I’ll be finished sometime next week. I already know the gist of some of the rewriting that needs to be done, but I’m trying to avoid that for now. What I’ve been doing is making notes when I come up with a solution for a particular problem or scene. It’s everything I can do to not get ahead of myself. So, now I’m finding it necessary to force myself to take a bit of a break from it, at least a few hours. That means I won’t be talking about it …

…

…

Hey, you know, the weather seems to be very typical here for the Intermountain West. Last week it was 88 degrees (31 C for the rest of the world) which required the use of the air conditioner. Right now as I write this it’s 41 (5 C), wind blowing, and snowing.

Ok, enough of the trivial, meaningless bullshit. I’ve tried, but it just rings hollow.

Let’s see, what else can I talk about that is not related to said script?

Ah, I got it. A bitch. When in doubt, bitch about something.

Snap is the most evil atrocity to happen since Al Gore invented the World Wide Web. Nothing is more fucking annoying to the reading experience than stupid windows popping up over every damn link. Snap is particularly insidious because it’s a bell and whistle that a lot of people seem to be installing on their web sites. Usually, when I come across a site that has implemented this disgusting trinket I’ll exit it immediately and never come back. The only exception is if the site’s content is particularly good. It has to kick ass. It has to rock beyond belief. A site with Snap has to be way, way, WAY, WAY good for me to not plunge an ice pick through my skull and run away screaming. Take this site for example. Even though it implements the evil Snap, I find myself crawling back to it like a junkie picking up cocaine crumb off the floor after a two day binge and the junk’s all gone.

The evilness of Snap is summed up quite nicely here.

Snap’s preview anywhere gizmo is ruining the reading experience for millions of people. Its intrusive, obstructive and unuseful in almost every respect and use case. The fact that so many big blogs are using it, big well respected blogs, does not mean that it’s useful, it just means that they, like most bloggers, have all the self restraint of a magpie in a sparkly things factory.

That’s not to say im any better, but it is true. As a group , most bloggers are only a small step away from the flashing, rotating logos of 1997 or the neon pink backgrounds and blaring teen pop auto play bollocks of your average 17yr old MySpace user—and I include myself, though i dont use SPA, im as guilty as the next blogger of “bling envy”.

SPA is not helpful, it’s not cool, and it’s not winning you readers—It’s bling, a silly little shiny thing designed specifically to increase awareness of Snap.com—not bad thing, and certainly a shining example of how to use widgets to gain links and attention, but, come on ladies and gentleman, show a little self restraint, show a little consideration for your users.

Let’s see, what else can I bitch about.

Snowing, did I mention it’s snowing outside?

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Come West!

Well, I suppose I should touch base here. After all, I do pay to host this site, right?

The visit with the stepbrother and his family was quite enjoyable. They are planning to move out West and we managed to do a passable job of pointing out the plus side of living in Salt Lake City. Yes, there are plus sides: largest city in the Intermountain West, lowest unemployment rate in the nation, booming economy, one of the healthiest cities in the nation, an education system that although ranks among the lowest in per pupal spending, regularly ranks among the top five in SAT-ACT scores, low crime rate, mountains, desert, and everything in between with the exception of the ocean, family near by--both blood and step--clean, and still reasonable home prices compared to other places they are considering. Hell, you can buy a house here in the Salt Lake valley for $250,000 that would easily put you back at least a cool million in Kalifornia California or the West Coastal region of Oregon. For us it would be a wonderful thing because it’s always pleasant to have people you like close by.

Anyway, we’ll see what happens.

I can see that the one aspect that would take getting used to for someone who has spent most of their life in the North East--Boston--area would be the general culture difference of the Intermountain West. It’s difficult to describe, but there is a difference.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Beating The Snow Storm Out Of Boston

Tonight, my stepbrother and his Bulgarian babe wife will be coming in from Boston. He’s informed us that they are leaving Boston just before a snowstorm from hell is due to arrive. Although we are certainly having very April-like weather here in the City of Salt—varying from spring to winter in the span of just a few hours—I’m thinking we’ll get lucky with the weather. There is no snow in the immediate forecast.

My stepsister is due in tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll get in at least one evening of good food, drink, and conversation.

My son, the little bilingual bundle of joy, is particularly looking forward to this visit because he will finally be able to meet his cousin, Jean Michael, from Bulgaria. His not related in the blood sense, but I don’t know what else to call him. Step cousin? There is a couple of years difference in their ages, but I’m thinking it’ll still be a bunch of fun.

Anyway, we’ve pulled out the extra beds, blankets, pillows, food, drink, etc and I think we’re ready.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

I’m Trying

I waited at the bus stop in New Meadows for only about 20 minutes before Rob pulled up in his Camaro to pick me up. The sun was low and casting shadows across the mountains in a way that seems to be synonymous for late August in Central Idaho. I threw my duffle bag in the trunk and got in on the passenger side. Rob pointed to a cooler sitting in the back seat saying that he’d picked up a half-rack and some ice. After a twelve hour bus ride from Salt Lake I was more than ready for a cold beer.

The previous June Rob and I had become official graduates of Council High school. The afternoon that we attended our last day of school Rob, Dave, Dennis and I spent the afternoon at Dave’s house in his room listening to Pink Floyd’s The Wall, drinking beer, and contemplating just what the hell we were going to do for the rest of our lives. Regretfully for many young souls freshly out of high school in that part of the country the notion of continuing one’s education at the university level can be a remote concept at best. Rob had spent his life on the family ranch owned by one branch of a somewhat locally storied family and his future seemed to be pretty much mapped out. After having for all intents and purposes ran the ranch since he was big enough to climb onto a horse or tractor he was pretty much planning to stay put, and happily so. Oh, like the rest of us, he still had notions of sowing a few wild oats before he settled in for good, but other than that he had a fairly cogent idea of the direction he was headed.

Dave on the other hand was treading in somewhat more precarious waters. His father was a medical doctor who had, if memory serves me correctly, practiced in Council for some time. Being the goal driven man that he was he had decided to move to Boise for bigger and better things. Consequently he and his wife, David’s mother, divorced. David’s three older brothers were achievers much in the same vein as his father and as such in many ways followed their father’s foot steps into the professional life. David on the other hand had aspirations of making his own way on his own terms contrary to his family name or his father’s notions of what he ought to do. David was the self anointed black sheep of the family, a role that at this time in our lives he seemed to relish.
Dennis had excelled in many ways throughout high school; athletically and in academics, but this was the result of not so much any kind of driven ambition but rather the character he possessed. His father worked in the saw mill and life in Council was something, as far as I can tell, that Dennis had no intentions of ever changing. I don’t know if he ever even contemplated a life beyond that mountain town.

I on the other hand had absolutely no intentions of spending my life in Council. I’d spent the last couple of years of school thinking about the day I would leave. At first I considered pursuing a career in something like journalism, and I actually went through many of the motions to enroll in Boise State University. But I didn’t. Something that in many ways I do regret, but in other ways I realize that I was not nearly focused nor disciplined enough for such an endeavor. Also since the time of my earliest memories I had always loved music. I wanted to play in a band. I remember at the age of 10 or 11 while still living in Riggins starting a band with some other kids. None of us knew how to play any instrument except my fundamental skills at percussion. It didn’t matter. As I got older, after my parents divorced and I ended up back in Council, I put in a lot of effort in the school band program and did well. I loved playing drums and it was at about the age of 14 that I began to eat, sleep, drink and live the drums and playing in a band. A few years later I was invited to play in a local country sometimes country/rock band that taught me well in a lot of ways. It wasn’t too long until I decided I wanted to step away and out, and try to pursue that dream, but that’s a whole other story.

Be that as it may, as the four of us sat in David’s room listening to Pink Floyd and drinking beer I had a somewhat tepid approach to life. I was torn between what I felt I ought to do and what I really wanted to do, and as per one of my great character flaws at that time in my life, when torn between two decisions I opted to do basically nothing. Well, perhaps that’s not entirely accurate. I did opt to do something in that I took up an offer from my mother and step father living in Salt Lake City to come and stay with them over the summer to “see what I might want to do.” Not too long after the Pink Floyd incident I was on my way to Salt Lake City.

The bus bound for Salt Lake City stopped in Boise, and it was there that I met Darlene. Darlene was 32, blonde and pretty. Luck was with me in that it was the unoccupied half of my seat that she decided to sit in. She was on her way back to Phoenix after visiting relatives in Boise. By the time the bus got to Twin Falls I learned that she was from Oklahoma and after getting a degree at some university or another she had married. She and her husband had moved to Phoenix where they started a floral shop. She had, or rather her husband had, dreams of starting up a chain of floral shops that would span from one coast to another.

She was attentive to my side of the conversation and often referred to me as a “sweet boy.” It wasn’t too long before the dynamics began to change, to subtly cross over into some kind of foreign territory; foreign for me anyway. The more we talked the more she would occasionally reach over and touch my arm or put her hand on my leg. Every time she made contact I had a tickling somewhere between my sternum and my toes. By the time we arrived in Salt Lake City it was well past 11:00 pm and I told Darlene that I was supposed to give my mom a call when I got in, but she insisted that we get something to eat at a hotel across the street from the bus station. She had booked a room for a couple of days in which she planned to wander around the city before continuing to Phoenix. Fine I thought, and soon we were chewing on a couple of burgers.

I don’t know what it is with me, but in many ways I’ve always been exasperatingly naive in the ways of women. I’m not threatened or intimidated mind you, it’s just that often times I fail to notice signals, or perhaps more accurately I ignore them, sometimes at my own peril. Shortly after finishing the burgers Darlene asked if I wanted to come up to the room for a bit. She said it innocently enough, but it seemed to be a signal that even I could understand. The changing of dynamics was not so subtle anymore.

We picked up our bags and headed for the elevator. The whole time my head was swimming. Perhaps I’m overly analytical, but there were about a dozen things I kept weighing in my mind about this whole burgeoning situation. She’s beautiful, but she’s married and everything about this seems somehow disposable. When we got to her room everything remained conversational, and I was almost praying that somehow, someway this situation could turn in such a direction as to alleviate any hard decision making on my part. It’s not the difficult decisions that are the problem. It’s the lingering doubts that almost always follow.

After a few minutes I looked at my watch and noticed it was well after midnight and knew that my mom would most likely start worrying pretty soon. Darlene sat in a chair quietly looking at me for a moment. I walked over to the door and mumbled something about having to make a phone call, and Darlene plunged in with, “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?”

There it was, all laid out and in the open. It was time for a decision and I had already made it. I told her that I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. I know it sounds patently absurd in light of me being an 18 year old healthy male, but I did have reasons for my tepid response; a girlfriend back home, Darlene being married, etc. But the largest factor was that hooking up with some babe from nowhere for a spur of the moment tryst was so far from my mind at that point in my life that I was, frankly, unprepared for anything like it.

She looked rather pensive for a moment, and a wan smile touched her face. “You’re probably right,” she said. She lowered her face to her hand and I heard some quiet sniffles.

I felt pretty shitty and walked up to her. I stumbled for words telling her that I was sorry, but as soon as the words came out I immediately knew how offensively condescending I must have sounded. She asked me if it was because she was married. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”

She bailed me out by regaining her composure. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking, putting you in this position.” She stood up and gave me a tight hug with her lips pressed against my ear. I suddenly felt more sad than confused. We remained that way for a minute or two before she whispered, “You probably better leave.”

Back at the bus station I called up mom to let her know I’d arrived. She mentioned that it was pretty late and asked me how my trip was. I told her it was uneventful.

After almost three months in Salt Lake City I squandered any opportunity I may have had at seeing what I wanted to do. Instead, I let myself fall into a morass of self loathing and confusion tempered by a bit of homesickness and missing a way of life that I was utterly comfortable with. At that time for me life was a series of all or nothing situations. If I were to leave home to pursue any kind of dream or life, it meant that I was saying goodbye forever to any former life and cutting all ties. There was no notion of being able to visit, to keep in touch. To do so, in my warped way of thinking, would be approaching it half-assed. When I look back on it now I realize how horrendously flawed my thinking was. It’s life in do-or-die mode without hedging your emotional bets. Realizing that one can live a life, pursue a goal and still not abandon all that makes who we are was one of the single most important moments in my life. When it’s all or nothing, nothing can get pretty lonely.

On highway 95 between Tamarack and Council I drank a beer and looked out at the country side. The pines flew by, and I marveled at how I could be so fervently in love with these mountains and Central Idaho yet feel such a strong desire to leave. Rob filled me in on some of the details that I missed while away. He told me of an adventure that he and Dennis had in New Meadows when, in a bout of drunken idiocy, they managed to get into a street-brawl with three equally drunken idiots. Apparently the fight started at the doors of a bar and ended in an alley. He and Dennis had gotten the better of them, but it took Rob a couple of weeks to fully recover. That was one adventure that I was glad that I missed out on.

We got into Council just before sunset and we stopped by Dad’s to drop off my duffle bag. Neither Dad nor my step-mother was home, so I just left the bag on the couch, and Rob and I headed out on the town. We come across Dave driving his little blue Ford Courier pick-up truck and he suggested we combine our beer and “go tear it the fuck up.” Soon all three of us were packed in the Courier, swilling beer and headed North out 95 towards the Y.

We blew past the Y and drove on to Fruitvale where we turned around, made a “pit stop” (our lingo for taking a piss), grabbed another beer, and headed back to town. Somewhere by the Mill Creek Road turn-off Dave stunned us by announcing that he’d joined the Army and was due for entry in a couple of months. When Rob asked him why the hell he’d done that, Dave simply replied with, “Because I wanted to,” and that was that. Some ten years later while sitting on a beach in Hawaii watching the sun come up with a model from Mexico City named Norma, who was on her way to Japan after a photo-shoot, I pondered what made the two of us stay up all night talking about our separate lives in such detail. After all we had only met a few hours before. She said she couldn’t speak for me, but she did it because she wanted to. When she asked me why I was smiling I told her that I had just experienced a bit of déjà vu. And that was that.

Just before we drove into town Dave made an abrupt turn into the fair grounds compound and headed directly for the rodeo arena. As luck would have it the gate into the arena was open and with even more luck to the point of absurdity we noticed that someone had been practicing barrel-racing and consequently left the barrels in place. It wasn’t too much longer before we realized that you haven’t lived until you’ve barrel-raced in a Ford Courier.

By the time we finished running the barrels it was nearly dark, and we drove into town to see what was going on. We came across some people sitting in their cars in the parking lot of the Council Valley Market where we were informed of a keg out on Ridge Road. It seemed a bit early to do the keg thing, so we decided to take the scenic route via Pole Creek.

After a couple of hours and several pit stops later we were pulling off Hornet Creek Road and onto Ridge Road. I’m guessing it was sometime around 11:00 pm by now. While I had been in Salt Lake City Dave had spent a couple of hundred bucks on a spiffy new stereo for the Courier and most of the night thus far had been spent listening to Queen so loud that in order to talk we had to shout to the point that my voice was getting horse. We managed to hit a cattle guard on a side-ways slide and put the little Courier up on two wheels for a precarious moment before it slammed back down on all fours. Dave pulled over and we stumbled out laughing and falling into the gravel road. Dave had made the mistake of turning the Courier off. I say mistake because apparently it had a questionable fuel pump and sometimes it wouldn’t start back up unless Dave crawled under the tank and jiggled something around. Sometimes it would start right up, but other times he would have to resort to giving it a little kick. Sometimes, if the Courier didn’t start right back up Dave would get out and kick it some more. Right now it was being overly temperamental and Dave was kicking the shit out of the side of his truck spewing out obscenities that would have made Satan cove his ears. He gave it one last brutal kick with a perfectly timed, “Fuck!” and promptly fell on his ass. By now Rob and I were about to pass out from oxygen depravation due to our inability to stop laughing. Finally, thankfully, the Courier started up and we all climbed in with a fresh beer, and continued the journey to the keg.

By the time we arrived at the keg there were only two forlorn looking people sitting by the fire. We were somewhat stunned at this because normally you could expect twenty or thirty people. I asked where everyone was and was told that Butch G. had taken off in a drunken rage towards town headed the Fruitvale way and he had run off the road. Everyone had left the party to go check out the excitement of Butch G. and his car wreck. Rob asked how long ago it happened.

“Hell, at least an hour ago.”

Since the excitement was apparently back in town, we took a pit stop, grabbed a fresh beer, and continued on down the road following the path that everyone else did.

Dave was driving, Rob sat in the middle and I sat on the passenger side. Throughout the night we had been throwing our empty beer bottles in the back of the Courier. I had just opened another beer, and rolled down the window and had my arm hanging out. August in that part of the country can get pretty chilly at night. Combine that with the fact that Dave was driving fifty plus miles per hour down the gravel road it got cold enough for me to pull my arm back in and roll the window up. Queen’s Another One Bites The Dust was blasting out of Dave’s new stereo. I took a drink of my fresh beer then took another. We rounded a corner with the Courier doing a little bit of a side ways slide and then . . .

Holy shit and everything turned to slow motion.

On the other side of the corner were perhaps 15 people standing in the road. Ruben’s wrecker was parked sideways just beyond the crowd, and beyond the wrecker was a police car. Dave had three choices; take the Courier down off the steep bank to the right, plow through the people, or take it to the left and up the cut-bank and hope for the best. He opted for the cut-bank on the left.

We hit the bank hard and the Courier instantly flipped end ways. At the apex of its upward trajectory it began to roll sideways perpendicular to the road below. Finally after clearing the people and Ruben’s wrecker, we tumbled back down to the road and stopped rolling when the Courier landed on the passenger side and continued sliding down the road. The passenger door window blasted out into my face, and Dave and Rob’s weight were on me. I was watching the gravel road sliding by my face just inches away. I sure as hell didn’t want to get my face, arm, or anything else in a position to get sucked out and mangled between the truck and the road. After an eternity we came to a stop no more than five feet from the front of the police car. I suddenly felt claustrophobic with Dave and Rob lying on me. I instantly formed an absurd visual straight out of a cheesy prime-time detective show where the car bursts into flame.

Get me . . . the fuck . . . out of here.

Luckily the front windshield had blown out offering us a quick exit. Dave was first and Rob was next. He used the side of my face for leverage to lift him self through the window, and then reached in and pulled me out. I stood in amazement noticing that I was still holding on to my beer. Just before the corner I took two drinks from it, and now I noticed that I hadn’t spilled one drop. Not one drop.
I stood looking at the bottle in a hazy stupor until it was suddenly ripped from my hand and tossed over the bank into the darkness. The beer bottles that had accumulated in the back of the Courier had scattered all over the road. Several of the people that were standing there quickly gathered them up and tossed them over the bank. Soon we were surrounded by people who could hardly believe what they had just witnessed. “Jesus Christ!” someone said. “That’s the best show I’ve seen in my life!”

I felt some pain in my ribs and a little blood trickled down the side of my head from the glass. Dave was muttering something about what a complete fucking dumb-ass he was. Rob was asking if anyone had a beer. Dick M. come running up, “Dude! Did you hear that Butch crashed his truck?”

I looked at Dick with mock amazement, “No shit?”

Johnny F., the deputy who belonged to the car whose headlights illuminated the totaled Courier which lay in a crumpled heap came running up. “Jesus!” he said. “You damned kids have a keg, and you think it gives you the right to Goddamn kill yourselves!”

After Ruben pulled Butch’s truck up the bank and onto the road he up-righted the now dead Courier. It was a safe bet to assume that the night was pretty much over. I’m not sure how Rob and Dave got home. I got a ride from Ruben’s daughter who was helping him collect money by accumulating the crashed cars of drunken idiots out driving. She drove me to her house and ministered a little first aid on my head and fed me a cup of coffee. She made the observation that I and my friends were some of the craziest knuckleheads she was likely to ever meet. I couldn’t very well argue with that, so I took a drink of the coffee instead.

When the coffee was finished she drove me to my Dad’s house and I quietly went to bed. The next morning when I woke up, Dad and my stepmother were sitting at the table eating breakfast. Dad said he figured I was home since he noticed my duffle bag sitting on the couch. He then noted that I looked like I had been shit on, rode hard and put away wet.

“We got a little carried away and had a little accident,” I said.

“I know that,” Dad said, “but are you okay?” Word gets around fast in a small town.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Dad slid a plate of eggs and bacon to me. “Are you ever going to stop being stupid?”

“I’m trying,” I said.