Smooot Valley High brought the howse down last night. But their hot, clean-cut rock-n-roll (to melt a fuse), could not withstand the after-partying that the Dead Hensons can throw down. My good God, for Muppet loving people who can move you to tears with the wanting to live in the letter "I" song, which I did want to live in when I was growing up by the way, not to mention "I Dream of Genie's" purple, glass bottle (I still do want to live in that glass bottle, with the circular surround plush, purple couch -- who wouldn't!?), they can sure throw back the booze, drinking out of bottles wrapped in paper bags, and mingle in any crowd.

Any crowd included some random "dude's" pad and a small, loud, spunky girl who kept yelling about her roller derby glory. Yes it is true, her and another friendly, but quieter, girl are part of the roller derby league in Sacramento. They looked like some bad-ass jammers to me.

It all proved too much for me at that time of night, however, and after a terrific night of music and laughter, no back-street party on the chilly streets of Sacramento could hold my attention. Let's go I whined. But the Dead Hensons, they partied on. Smooot Valley High will have a lot to say to them when their hangovers clear the next day.

Unidentified flying Airplanes

My flight home Friday night was delayed first for an hour, then another half hour, and then another half. We passengers stood in line and at each announcement hoped to hear that we would be boarding soon. With not much else to do but wait, naturally conversations sprung up among total strangers.

I happen to be standing next to a late forties male, portly in stature and a young female in her early twenties. We struck up a conversation about various things: where we were heading, how it would've been quicker to drive, and how stressful flying can be. I admitted my fear of take-off and landings, and posed the question "how can this be safer than driving"?! We all nodded and agreed with a chuckle. Then the man, who was on his way to a karate tournament in Sacramento, said "and we have pretty primitive forms of flying. We only fly two-dimensionally, unlike aliens, when you think about their technology, they can fly 3D, even 4D". There was a pause, I politely stumbled an indiscernible answer, while the young woman abruptly pulled a book out of her bag, turned her back, and began reading.

There was a long moment of awkward silence, and then the man began to practice slow, subtle karate moves.

I was glad when the line began to move and we were finally able to board our two dimensional flying craft.

Nuclear Winter Wonderland?

Ahhhhh, I love this warm February weather that happens every year. It is always a surprise to find that one day, at least for a few weeks, instead of layering up against the winter chill, I can simply wear a sweatshirt and break free from the knit-tights underneath my jeans. Hoorah!! The best part of all is the gorgeous blossoms popping out everywhere, bedazzling the landscape -- and fragrant! There is a thick bed of white narcissus that bloom outside my front door every February that smells so delicious my teeth ache as though I've eaten too much candy. I want them to last forever.

And the hiking! Today I took my eldest son Brent and three of his friends, Jonny, Damon, and Ian on a rather challenging hike up the Robie Wendell training hill. As we were working our way up the mile-long steep hill, the sun made its presence known, albeit it was still only a 70 degree sun. Unhappy with what they called "heat," two of the boys, Ian and Damon, shouted to me in video-game-speak, "we are going to destroy you!" and jested shaking fists.

Ian went on further with his curses and said, "damn global warming! What we need is a nuclear winter." Nice, I said to him, is that your solution to global warming, a nuclear winter? You should run for President. He stated his satirical slogan, "fight terrorism and global warming at the same time -- nuclear war."

Bad-Ass Jammers et al

First of all, I feel I must preface why I found myself laying in a hotel bed alone flipping through T.V channels. Well, I couldn't get an internet connection at the hotel, so I could not work; I had brought two great books of short stories and the latest issue of "Medical Laboratory Observer" (because I am a geek like that), but I was too tired to read, and sadly, not in the mood. So, this is how I found myself lying in bed flipping through T.V. channels, and this is what I found: "Rollergirls" on A&E.

It was a heart-wrenching, documentary-style program about the women of roller derby. I tuned in as the team leader, a pretty, but tough looking, blond woman was earnestly encouraging the young, unsure rookie: "You are our bad-ass jammer, you are." She encouraged her soulfully as she gripped her arm, looking into her eyes until the rookie nodded back agreeing that she was indeed,a bad-ass jammer.

The rookie, Venis Envy (spelled Venis, not Venus), earned her team leader's confidence as her team "La Putas Del Fuego" battled and clobbered their rivals the "Hell Cats." The girls careened passed each other, but not without clawing, pushing, punching, and smashing each other along the way. It was nice to see Chola win the first round and her entire family -- mom, dad, young children, even her old, little, withered Asian grandpa -- jump up and down cheering for their roller derby queen. (Grandpa was even wearing a t-shirt with "Chola" in spray painted-style lettering on the front as he applauded). They embraced her success.

Cha-Cha and Veruca Assaulted performed equally as stunning as "La Putas Del Fuego" defeated the "Hell Cats." "Nice Jam!" the girls yelled to each other in congratulations, "Nice Jam!"

The very next station I switched to featured couples WWF wrestling, with the most ridiculous cartoonish-looking characters. This appeared to me like it was just a front for brisk, orgy action and I flipped to the next station, re-runs of Seinfeld, and soon fell asleep.

I am glad I did not dream that night of roller derby, or ridiculous couples staged wrestling -- but I think I did dream of George Costanza. I think I said to him, "you are a bad-ass jammer."

Switch, ooooh, la, la, la

Do you all remember when I suggested we quit our jobs and go in to producing switch grass and selling it as a form of alternative fuel sorce? Well, Jason Adair informed me that in the State-of-the-Union address, ol' W mentioned switch grass -- to what extent I do not know (I try not to listen to those boring things. I wait for the Daily Show summary).

So, are you in? It's the wave of the future -- let's ride.