A person can live a humorless, hysterical existence for only so long (especially a person who used to laugh at everything). So I made a decision to once again approach the world with my clown glasses on. The decision didn’t make me any more social or leave my cave more often … it just made my perpetual grimace more of a shady smile and I look up from the ground once in a while now.

Scene: Beautiful sunny day. Main camera is focused on a fairly busy intersection in a suburban neighborhood. Two cars are waiting at a red light. The camera is focused in the second car. I rocker looking dude in a sporty vehicle with the windows down is clearly enjoying the classic rock music he is playing. The radio is not blasting but loud enough to share with anyone in the vicinity. Suddenly Roy Orbison’s voice starts that that iconic song …

Pretty woman, walkin’ down the street
Pretty woman the kind I like to meet
Pretty woman I don’t believe you, you’re not the truth
No one could look as good as you, mercy …

Cue sidewalk camera: in slow motion, to the rhythm of the music, the camera is focused on a dog with a leash walking up from the direction behind the car. The focus expands back to the dog walker, smile on the face, hair blowing back in the breeze with a slight head shake, enjoying the day, the walk and the general ambiance. The music is the only sound.

Right out of an 80’s movie, right!

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech! < that is the needle being pushed back on the record (to blatantly mix metaphors and probably confuse anyone younger than 40). The image is spot on except the dog walker was … you probably guessed it … ME. Everything described happened, EXCEPT I don’t actually have any hair and it is quite evident that I am NOT a pretty woman. I am pretty sure I am not a woman at all.

The slow motion part may be accurate.

This amusing(?) anecdote brought to you by a recovering grumpaholic. Hopefully it will bring a smile to someone’s day!

The post Movie Moment first appeared on thrumyeyes.

My social life these days has been reduced to catering to my one and only companion, Brown Dog. Her blog has also been on the quieter side lately, as her adventures are sadly tied to MY adventures … or lack thereof. She has had to settle for the life of a house dog, complete with leash controlled walks, a regulated diet, and such routine and unwelcome concepts as regular visits to the vet. I don’t think she is any more into that life than I am. That said, her most recent visit to the vet generated the need for a … gasp …

… urine sample.

Between Murphy’s Law, lack of aim, performance anxiety, and volume control issues, I question my ability to get my OWN sample for the doc. So imagine the scenarios that popped into my head upon hearing I needed to procure one from my dog. They told us that we could pick up a “kit” to make things easier. I had a tough time imagining what this kit could entail. Was it some sort of clever diaper with a bottle? B. D. is amenable to clothing, but there may be limits. Maybe some crazy pump creation? Would I need training to complete my task? Mom got the kit, and it was simply a plastic tray and a bottle. Simple and basic concept, easy to do under ideal conditions.

It was obviously designed by someone who has never actually walked a dog.

Since my life these days basically revolves around walking B. D., I realized that I would have to plan my campaign carefully. I spent a few days studying my copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, and despite the wisdom learned there, there was not very much that seemed directly pertinent to obtaining urine samples from canines. So I basically realized that I would just have to wing it. It would take excellent timing, lightning reflexes, and a fair amount of luck. In short my chances of success were practically nil.

When walking, Brown Dog loves to randomly stop, if she is not randomly running ahead. In both cases, she generally does some body shifting on me worthy of a chiropractor. The random stops will mostly be for sniffing, but it might be for bladder release … whether for relief, marking ownership, or simply cuz she can is immaterial. It WILL be without warning. This is the doggy equivalent of social networking. Though she seldom gives warning of a pending pee, there are certain areas that have a higher likelihood of it happening (such as right in front of the Keep Dogs of the Grass sign on the property).However, Brown Dog, being actually a mischievous faerie being in disguise, decided it was time to shake up the “routine”, and started watering a whole new collection of dry spots … some without even a prior sniff. She also made sure to frequently pick terrain that was NOT conducive to sliding a plastic tray under her nether regions.

She IS a tricky one.

To cut this overlong anecdote short (primarily because the denouement is actually NOT all that funny … sorry to disappoint), I managed to get the requisite sample thanks to B. D. being half asleep on her walk the other morning, thus not up to par in her mischievous ways. Not exactly a PMSL moment, but we take what we can get!

The post Urine the money first appeared on thrumyeyes.

As I may (or may not) have mentioned, my brief stroll has turned into more of a walk-about. For those who are wondering what THAT it, basically it is an aboriginal concept of wandering the world … on foot of course … hoping that we will actually figure OURSELVES out in the process. Being the bright soul that I am, I naturally shifted to this purpose as the weather headed into winter. My wisdom was unmatched when I decided to stay put for the winter months. Did I choose a nice, sunny, warm island climate? Absolutely … not. I instead found one of the most wintry states I could, and made sure that I lodged in the most inconvenient location I could find in the process.

I know that one of the most commonly DISLIKED chores of the human world is doing laundry. I have been known to buy new clothes rather than actually wash the old ones. However in my current state of non-income drain on my family, I have to save my very limited funds for more practical things … you know like hanging out at the bar and such. So augmenting my rather limited wardrobe is no longer a valid anti-laundry method.

Fortunately I have a better one … the simple fact that I have absolutely NO CASH. The nearest functional cash machine is a couple of mile trudge through snow at least 8 feet deep (up hill both ways of course). So I have been forced to wear the same clothes over and over for weeks. Thankfully the cold has kept them relatively unripe. I even look like I belong to this blog now!

It is the best of irony that I had less trouble doing laundry when I lived in the woods than now that I am plop in the middle of the civilized world.

The post The dangers of "civilization" first appeared on thrumyeyes.

So let’s talk about city planning.

Being a confirmed nomad means moving around a lot. Which means having an idea not only where you are, but where you might be going, can often be mighty useful. Sadly, this is generally NOT the state of affairs for me. I am generally making it up as I go along, usually relying on the kindness and LOGIC of strangers.

Silly me.

Time for another list folks. Here are a few things I have noted about civil engineering in my wanderings:

• The availability of street signs is determined by how useful they are to telling you where you actually are. The more potential of getting lost means the less likely there will be signs ANYWHERE.
• Sidewalks are only available in the middle of nowhere where people don’t walk.
• Directions are in the eye of the beholder. It is pretty much guaranteed that if it is called 83 south it is going anything BUT south.
• Landmarks are also in the eye of the beholder.
• Maps frequently lie.
• Asking directions only helps when other people have a clue too … which frequently they do not.

Basically, what I have learned is that the best way to ensure you have a clue where you are going is to hire yourself a street urchin.

The post Signs, signs everywhere signs (not) first appeared on thrumyeyes.

For those who have missed my constant and blatant attempts to parade myself before you, in a couple of weeks, I will be beginning my attempt to hike the Appalachian Trail. The WHOLE Appalachian Trail. That is roughly 2200 miles, 35450.6 km, 3,872,000 yards, 11,616,000 inches … if you are not quite getting my meaning it is slightly larger than a stroll around the block. Depending on my will power, companion support, the weather, and the frequency of pizza and Chinese takeout airdrops, this could take as much as six months to complete.

I intend to blog about the adventure, but because I can’t fit a 2200 mile extension cord in my pack (not to mention my computer), I will mostly be blogging on the hike blog (Tail of a Trail). Granted actually EXPLORING the world has a higher chance of humorous anecdotes then camping out in my cave, so I may occasionally still share here, but for the most part it will be on that blog. For those who occasionally get a chuckle from my tails (or better yet tales), or maybe just want the details of me tumbling down a hillside yet miraculously surviving, I am sharing the blog here. Or you can follow it directly. If not, I hope to entertain you again next fall (the season, not off a mountainside).

The post Going on a stroll … first appeared on thrumyeyes.

Fortunately my favorite watering hole, after doing me the discourtesy of burning itself down, reopened again, giving me some long overdue incentive to leave the cave. I spent the last week pretending I was a twenty something with money to spend and a body that does bounces, which was quite a pleasure until I remembered that I am a forty something, poor, and pretty breakable these days. At some point, when I was still slightly lucid, it dawned on me that maybe actually hanging out IN the world was not always ALL bad, and it might even provide inspiration for writing, and maybe even … CONTENT.

And what better place then a bar for stories about life?

So I am trying my second day in my new "office". So far it seems to be working, since the only writing I have done recently has been here. But there are still a few difficulties to overcome:

• My computer seems to have gotten as unsocial as I have been, and is reacting very negatively to the change in location.
• I have to keep my naughty surfing to a minimum. Not that I ever actually do such a thing.
• The internet is even slower than my own. Good thing I have no hair left anyway.
• Restaurant food is not really good for my diet … or my wallet’s diet either.
• The only plug for my grumpy computer is off in a back corner, so I am not sure if this actually qualifies as BEING HERE.

I have high hopes though. No only have I written this somewhat lame but possibly informative post, I got a "sign" from the bar that makes me feel I made a good choice ( the bartender welcomes could just be and indication of fond tip memories after all):

The post New location (sort of) first appeared on thrumyeyes.

That said, something about the alleged sport seems to go in hand in hand with humorous anecdotes. Fortunately, this time it all happened to someone else, but thanks to Facebook, I have a true to life golfing tale in the words of the poor sod (← is that a good golfing pun?) who lived through it. I had me laughing, and I feel no shame whatsoever in sharing it with others. I will keep Tim’s name anonymous to protect the innocent. The following were his "anonymous" posts throughout the day:

• Sentimental moment:I’m going golfing for the first time ever. I’m using my dads clubs (he’s been gone almost 10 years). I’m nervous because I’ve never golfed anymore than hitting the balls at the driving range.I start looking through all the golf bag pockets and what do I find? Golf shoes, a golf glove, extra spikes, balls, tees, and basically the confidence that I will at least have the right attire and equipment.I think I’ll throw away the 10 year old water bottle though!Thanks dad for leaving me a good time today and some great memories…

  I miss you so much….

• At crosswinds in Plymouth…. This should be f**kin hilarious!
• I feel like the fat kid in gym class who gets picked last….I’m odd man out… In the cart alone…
• Just hit some practice shots….BAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHH!!!!
• Hole 1 – I lost three balls and could not finish the hole after 9 shots due to being too slow.Hole 2&3 – natural 9’sHole 4 (be ready to laugh uncontrollably) it’s hit as hell and I’m sweaty…. I tee off… The ball goes one way and the club flys another… Slipped right out of my hand…. Embarrassed I look for it through the thick brush only to find it up in a tree 15 feet up… I had to climb the tree to get it…. Came back to the tee to try again (1rt shot was lost) lost two more ale before saying screw it… In skipping this hole…FML
• Double bogie on 7 if you exclude a duff….
• Hey Tim… What’s your handicap???Golf!!!
• Crap… Sand….
• Yup… Couldn’t get out of the sand….9th hole done….I quit!!!
• Let them finish the back 9… I’m going swimming….

I have to admit I am rethinking my stance on golf after this. There must be SOME benefit in something that can cause that level of real life comedy!

By the way, now that I have your attention (if in fact I have ANYONE’s attention), it seems like a good chance to put a gratuitous plug in for my newest site that is aimed at stripping money from you … er … um … helping people get fit and MAYBE allowing me to earn a few buck. Please take pity on a guy and take a wander over there

The post The terrors of golf first appeared on thrumyeyes.

On my hike the other day, it was beautiful encountering smiling children as they ran circles around my huffing and puffing wreck of a self, then sprinting off to have their great grandparents also run past me to catch up with them. They all would smile and say hello. And even if the hello changed pitch from the doppler shift associated with the speed they passed me, it was still heartening. And on the way down, after my several displays of acrobatic finesse as I desperately tried not crushing the camera in my pack while I performed masterful face plants … everyone asked if I was OK before they broke into gales of laughter. One guy even offered to call 911! But I am not here to discuss my imitation of Grizzly Adams on a bad day. The most beautiful human interactions seem to come out of the oddest of sources … namely …

… a full bladder.

Once before, I mentioned being saved by a divine porta-potty when I had such a painful moment, but apparently porta-potty miracles are reserved for highway driving. This particular incident happened to one of my female hiking partners. Now, as anyone who has stood between a partying woman and a bathroom will fearfully relate, this is not only very uncomfortable for said female, but VERY dangerous to anyone in her direct path. Our heroine, apparently forgetting that she was not a camel, or maybe believing our tales of a 5 star restaurant at the summit, stretched her bladder well beyond its design specs. She decided that it was time, despite a distinct lack of cover, and a LARGE studio audience. I caught a glimpse of her intense need when she flipped me over her shoulder because I was in her way, despite the fact that I weigh three times as much as her and have a few inches on her.

And then the glorious example of humanity happened. She found a nice dip in a rock that looked like it needed a good puddle, and had something resembling a wall on one side. My three other hiking companions, ignoring my carcass bleeding there on the trail (as they should have under the circumstances), valiantly created a wall of human flesh around the other sides of her, to protect her sweet innocent self from public disgrace. Of course this being a mountain and all it didn’t do much for those in the nosebleed seats, but it is the thought that counts. They didn’t even really complain at the resulting explosion which nearly washed them off the mountainside and cleaned their shoes a bit. It has been suggested that our heroine apply for a job as understudy for Old Faithful.

But I have to admit, once the stars cleared from my dizzy skull, I saw the glow of angelic deeds surrounding those noble companions! Truly humanity at its ultimate best!

The post Geyser dreams first appeared on thrumyeyes.

First I had a proper breakfast. Then I got my camera ready, and dressed (all by myself mind you) in appropriate cross seasonal dress. You know, clothes that will keep off a chill if needed but can be easily packed away if it actually gets warm. I then headed out the door, with a spring in my step (pun intended), and got myself off at a good pace. I decided since that I would head in a direction I never really explored before, and see if maybe I will get some fresh views. After all walking in circles can tend to get a little stale.

The air smelled fresh and springy, and the birds were hollering away. It seemed a perfect day to recite my dad’s favorite welcome to spring:

Spring has sprung, the grass has riz,
I wonder where the boidies is?

The boids is on the wing!
No silly, the wings is on the boids!

This little passage has always heralded the true coming of spring in my family, and brings back fond memories of dad, so I say it loudly and proudly. Fortunately (?) nobody was around to be disturbed by a silly man shouting doggerel. I walked my walk, feeling buoyant as a got that first real taste of wander lust that spring always brings. I walked for a couple of hours, and think I must have gotten a good five or six miles in, and a bunch of good pictures to share. Better yet, I found a winning scratch ticket on the road! And now it is only lunch time, and I am full of energy for new adventures today.

And then I woke up, with two questions. Does exercise in dreams count? And does a dream fall under the category of April Fool’s Day joke on one self?

Did I get ya? Did I? Did I?

The post A good day! first appeared on thrumyeyes.

My preferred type of games are RPG’s. For the non-initiate, that is Role Playing Games. Not what some consider Role Playing Games (like the Sims type games) but the kind that involves adventure, an actual story line, and general good versus evil juiciness. Nothing like a good bit o’ saving (or destroying) the world to improve ones spirits. The sad thing is these virtual lives are so much more interesting than my own, I end up being the classical example of computer nerd. Come to think of it I fit the model exactly. Forty something, living in my mom’s attic, no job, generally unkempt, and fairly technically adept.

Hmmmm, that DOES explain a lot.

It HAS to be funny watching me play some of these games though. It is bad enough arguing with a computer when it gets feisty as I do minor things like work on my book. My computer and I are often not on speaking terms. If one then adds the devious imps that possess a computer when one installs any RPG game worth playing and the computers become downright evil. I swear I hear a mechanical bit o’ evil laughter every time the Big Bad suddenly turns the tables on me (the hero) and crushes me with a single blow even though I was kicking his electronic butt. I get so annoyed at these games sometimes I need to put myself in a time out.

I am not quite sure where I was actually going with this post. But I have been away from my game for long enough. Catch you all again in a few weeks!

The post My Adventurous Life first appeared on thrumyeyes.