Life in the Country

I went to Baker City this weekend for a meeting. Since you all know where I work, you know this was not your average white collar convention at the Ramada.

We started off with a regular 'ol hodown at a family ranch.

The 10 year old kid was nice enough to show me around. I confided in him and told him my big secrect (I've never actually been on a ranch!) This was his 4-H cow. It was shy.


The next day I had to give a speech to this crowd:

I was really nervous. I'm supposed to be the expert and my first time on a ranch was the night before! I got some really good feedback, though, so I think I did okay!

I actually had a really good time and realized life on the ranch ain't so bad.

Intellect of a 5 year old, maturity about the same.

Ruby's favorite thing to do is let out fake juicy farts, followed by fits of hysterics. Tucker has always laughed when he hears laughter, so then he chimes in. Faz came over the other day to meet Ruby. The first thing he walked into was a slow, low juicy one followed by two parrots cackling. He rolled his eyes at us and smirking, shook his head pitying on our poor souls.

Ruby, agent "050", Possum

We have a new member to our "flock". We were not looking for a new bird, so I think it is fate that he/she (DNA results to come!) found us. We had contacted a lady before we got Tucker about her African Grey, Ruby. We talked for a while but never heard back from her, until last weekend. She was holding on to him as long as possible, but was frantic to find him a new home because she was going to boot camp the following week. At first, we told her we already had our hands full and didn't want another one. She pressed, and we ended up with a 2 year old baby for free.

African Greys are said by scientists to be as smart as a 3-5 human child. Remember Coco? The gorilla that used sign language in the 70's? Animal Scientists did a similar experiment with an African Grey named Alex. Alex was so intelligent, that he could add numbers and identify colors. Ruby is no exception, he learned the word "Tucker" in the first 24 hours. With in two days he was saying "Tucker, no. Quiet Tucker."

Tucker loves everything about him, and Ruby only wants to bite poor little Tuckie's toes off. Even though Tucker is Ruby's elder by 15 or more years, he is not nearly as smart. They remind me of toddler brothers, Tucker looking up to Ruby and wanting to do and say everything his brother does.

Ruby is not the name we would have picked, but as we learned with Tucker's unsuccessful name change to Taco, it just is what it is! We have, however, come up with some nicknames for him. Possum is fitting because he is grey and he sleeps at the top of his cage, completely upside down. We also call him 050, because he can recite the entire answering machience recording from his previous home, but for some reason gets stuck on "050" and repeats the number series several times in a row.

Ruby is a very sweet bird and we can't wait to find out the bird's gender. Either way, I am sure I will have more stories about the duo to come!

Peace on Earth

Today I saw a crow, a squirrel and a rat sharing bread crumbs peacefully. I thought to myself-"if only people could do that...."

Fleet Week

Brandon, our other friend Brandon and I went downtown last night to look at the navy ships, here for the Portland Rose Festival. We all three brought our G9's (or G10) and couldn't have been bigger dorks. After walking from the Morrison Bridge, to the Broadway Bridge, to the Burnside Bridge to get the best angle, I felt like my legs were going to walk off my body.

Attitude

I like this guy's style.

I just finished Kafka on the Shore, by my (current) favorite author, Haruki Murakami, translated from Japanese. His most famous book is the famous Wind up Bird Chronicles.
His writing style is like nothing I have ever read before. Central themes run through a series of mysterious circumstances and are then given meaning. His novels challenge the reader without becoming a chore. The story lines are completely unpredictable, yet still believable. When you finish one of Mr. Murakami's stories you are left feeling like you have had the "most bizarre, vivid dream".

This photo reminds me of Kafka on the Shore because one of the characters is a victim of a war experiment that leaves him mentally handicapped, but with a new ability to speak with cats. The character, living off of government assistance, spends his days as a cat private investigator, seeking for missing or kidnapped cats.

Whenever I see the neighborhood cat in the photo above, I half expect him to ask me what the hell I'm looking at before telling me to piss off!

We are the Riff-Raffs

When I was little, my Dad played on a soft-ball team, the Riff-Raffs. Thinking of those long games bring back memories of hot summers, boredom, blue candy and dirt covered kid faces, grown women in halter tops and beads in their hair chanting:

We are the Riff-Raffs
the mighty, mighty Riff-Raffs
Everywhere we gooooo...
People want to knoooow...
Who we are.....

So this year, when Dad asked me if I wanted to go to the Memorial Day game while I was in town, I knew I was in for the long haul, but I was compelled to go. The game was in Madrid, an old New Mexican ghost town on the way to Sante Fe. The baseball park has not changed since the 1920's, when it became the first park in America west of the Mississippi to have lights. The stands and roof are entirely made of wood and I remember feeling anxious as a little kid looking up at the decrepit wood ceiling.

The weather was perfect, so we took Dad's motorcycle there. Nothing is like riding a deserted desert highway on a motorcycle, especially when you are not driving. The word freedom doesn't even begin to describe it. It's more like a medatative, out-of-body state.

We were the first to arrive. Killing time, we walked around the (former) ghost town expressing disgust at the tourist take over and talking about how it used to be.

When we returned and started to mingle, it was neat for me to be surrounded with "the adults" I grew up with, their children I went to school with, and their children I had not yet met. As the game began and was interrupted with the sound of dozens of motorcycles, I instantly remembered the tradition of the local biker gang flooding the field with machines and making sure everyone stopped to look. It cracked me up to notice that they all had matching vests, with the exception of the women's version that had "Property of boyfriend's name" on the back.

As the game progressed, I noticed a familiar face, a man called Papa Smurf, that used to play on the original team with my Dad. He was a spectacular hitter, but I guess the extra pounds were too much to carry to the bases, because every time he sent one soaring, a young guy I went to school with, Lester Gonzolez Jr., would sub-run. I wasn't the only to notice, because after the Riff-Raffs came ahead 15 or so points the other team was furious about the duo. Before I knew it, a pushing a yelling match broke out on the field and could have easily escalated into a full blow riot if the ump. didn't break it up with a threat to forfeit.

The Riff-Raffs weren't through though. Immediately after the altercation, Lester Jr. hit one out of the park, took the time to rip off his shirt, loosen his belt and run all four bases, showing his bare backside to the opposing team and the entire audience. It was the funniest display I have ever been privileged to see at a sporting event.

After we won that day, the trophy plaque was brought into the afterparty at the local bar. The crowd of chanting players stopped right at me and Dad, and I realized that the hooks were above us. There was nothing left to do but stand on top of the bar with my Dad and put the plaque in it's home.....at least until next year when the Riff-Raffs will have to defend it!