Brand of Brothers

We'd been sitting around a campfire, talking about it for years.

"We should have a ceremony, where we brand each other!" someone once joked. Over time, the idea was expanded upon... including chants, mantras, and certain... uh... "revealings".

Alcohol has a way of making grown men do strange things. One is drinking Maker's Mark whiskey. Another is drinking Arrogant Bastard Ale. Some are drinking Keystone Light, while others are drinking Pepsi. But, on this particular night, the consumption of spirits was drowned out by an outpouring of loyalty and manliness.

I've been going on yearly camping trips with the same group of guys for around 5 years now. We go up the St. Joe, almost to the Montana border. It's strictly for men only. I guess that's how I know I'm with an older group; I'm still at the age where I'd love to bring a female companion. Apparently, after you reach the ripe age of 50+ something, you take every opportunity to get away from women. So you can do strange things and not get yelled at, I'm guessing.

It's called the "herd" trip. A herd of men, who have all worked together at one time, converge in the wild. And become wild.

During the last trip, while sitting around the fire, one particular member of the herd had a presentation to make. He actually made an honorary branding iron in the shape of elk hooves, complete with a wooden case and a bite stick.

Everyone laughed. "Haha, what a funny idea!" everyone thought.

"I'll do it," I quickly said.

People got a little nervous. I don't think anybody considered that somebody would actually do it. After a moment of silence, C.C. (unofficial dominant male of the herd) proudly proclaimed "Well, I'm going first!"

Amidst stares of disbelief, and with help from the burner of a camp stove, he did. And he said it wasn't that bad. D.W. was next. I was third, and also the last. Surprisingly, it really didn't hurt. It was worse for the brand administrator, who had to watch the receiver's skin crackle and smoke.

Nobody thought any less of those who opted out. I mean c'mon, we were intentionally burning each other. I think being part of the experience was enough for them.

So, now we're a Brand of Brothers. But, after a bit of campfire mischief, I think we realized that we already were. :)

Unfortunately, I flinched a bit when getting mine, so I think it might end up looking like a butt. Although, we were glad the brand's maker didn't put his initials on it: B.J. That wouldn't have been overly manly.

Sometimes...

You just have to do your best with the options you're given.


And some things aren't meant for the trash bin, no matter how hard you push.

Reminds me of a couch I once bought for my bedroom at my parents' house. We couldn't get it through the door, so I cut it in half with a chainsaw. Once we got it in, I nailed it back together with some scrap wood and sewed the fabric with fishing line. It was a very punk rock thing to do. Structurally; it never quite worked, there was always a sag right where your butt went. Funny thing is, when I had buddies stay the night... they swore it was incredibly comfortable - for that reason. :)

Just So You Know...

When I go camping, there's a few things that you will DEFINITELY not see happening with my kids:

1. They will not pee on the picnic table in your campsite.
2. They will not take a dump in front of your tent.
3. I won't stand on the perimeter, giggling at how cute it is that they're fighting in your campsite.
4. I won't chain them outside at 4 in the morning, and let them scream at the top of their lungs.
5. They won't come nose into your food while you're eating dinner.
6. They won't run rampant through your campsite.

Now, if you all could do the same thing with your DOGS, that would be swell. ;)

Bite Me, Oil Barons

Buying gas sucks.

Cars are expensive in the first place. When you really think about it, a new car is equivalent to most people's yearly income.

And then there's insurance. What's up with that? It's kinda like giving the neighbor kid money every month, just in case you need him to mow your lawn one day.

Then they breakdown. We won't even get into that.

On top of it all, you gotta keep the damn tank full to keep it going. It's no wonder people pay such close attention to gas prices. Sometimes TOO close attention, I think. It drives me nuts how my Mom will drive across town to save 10 cents a gallon. That's a total savings of about 1 dollar in her car. Yippee.

I've never really got that excited about paying for gas. You gotta do it, right? I don't think the powers-that-be have a bitch gauge out, measuring the complaints from people, and adjusting prices accordingly. Sorry, people.

Granted, I never had to really worry about buying gas. Even when I bought my full-size Chevy pickup, I only had about a mile to drive to work. I filled it up about once a month. I hafta admit, though, I did ride my bike to work occasionally - with kid trailer in tow. But it wasn't about saving gas, it was about exercise.

Times changed.

I took a new job in Washington, with a commute of about 22 miles one way. I suddenly found myself spending 300-400 dollars a month on gas. Plus, I hated the fact that I was putting so many miles on my nice truck. I came very close to bitching about it. Instead, I did something about it.

Say hello to Otis G Mobile #2.

It's an '87 Toyota Tercel. I bought it from a grandma through a guy I know from work for $1,5oo. She only drove it to the doctor and to the store, so in over 20 years she only managed to put 60,000 miles on it. It's boxy. It's not exactly sporty. It doesn't even have a cassette player; AM/FM radio only (that occasionally works). Weirdest part? I love it. I guess that's a sign of getting old, when economy is more important than style.

So, I figure I'm saving at least $200 a month driving it. It'll pay for itself in a few months, but more importantly - I'm not putting miles on my precious truck. It's actually a bit of a treat when I drive my truck now, as it should be.

I wonder if some oil billionaire somewhere is wondering why he's getting $299,800 a month as opposed to $300,000. Probably not. But, at least I know where it is... okay, where the hell is it? Well, you know how that goes. :)

Scrabbled

It's interesting what you come across in the months after a divorce.


While getting my camp trailer ready for an upcoming trip, I found this travel Scrabble with an unfinished game. I don't remember who had which rack, but they both had pretty crappy letters left. Not much of a board to work with, either.

I do know that "pique" wasn't a word I laid down. I don't even know what that is; I must have taken her word for it.

I will point out, however, that I was in the lead - 222 to 163. I'll just tell myself that I would have won. :)

A Brand New Brodwater

7 pounds, 15 ounces. Is that big? I've never quite understood why people get so excited about the weight of a baby. Is it a contest? I guess if I was the one pushing it out I'd be more interested in how big it is.

I got to hold my brand new baby niece tonight. So precious, and so fragile. You can't help but be reminded of your own child's birth (especially when it's in the same hospital room). Such an incredible time, something you never forget.

Welcome to the world, Destiny. You're possibly the last newborn addition to my immediate family. Be a baby as long as you can. :)

Sugar WAS Poured On Me

So, I survived the Def Leppard concert. A few general observations:

There were HORDES of soccer moms, who apparently see something like this as “girls night out” (not a whole lotta husbands around). Great, good to see them having a good time. But, I gotta say, the outfits probably looked okay in 1987… not so much in 2008. I think many of them now have the cleavage they wish they had in the 80’s (and displayed them proudly), but they also had all the other body features that come with big cleavage (also displayed, but not so proudly).

There was a couple in front of me that brought their pre-teen son. During one of the Def Leppard songs, there was a scantily clad woman portrayed on the gigantic on-stage monitor. The mother, at first, promptly covered her son’s eyes. Eventually, she whisked him away to the concession area. C’mon, lady. We’re talkin’ “Cherry Pie” era here. What did you expect?

I saw many REO Speedwagon tour shirts from the 80’s, which were suspiciously crisp and new. Do these people keep them in a climate-controlled room, just in case a “reunion” tour comes up?

I failed to notice a single mullet. It was disappointing.

As far as the bands themselves…

REO Speedwagon

For whatever reason, I remember these guys as bein’ kinda hippies. Either I was confused, or they’ve decided to rock out. I didn’t think hippies wore leather pants.

Styx

I have always, and still do, think this is the dumbest band name ever. It just doesn’t feel right but admittedly; I’m from another era. The highlight? The keyboard was mounted on a makeshift merry-go-round thing, and the dude held on for dear life (and played) while spinning wildly. And, were silver ties ever in style? I missed that one. I was pretty bummed, though, that they didn’t play “Mr. Roboto”. I guess you don’t play the song that tanked the band.

Def Leppard

Their show started with a gigantic British flag on the gargantuan stage monitor. First thought? I guess I never realized they were British. Second thought? Oh yeah, there ARE other countries besides America!

They put on a good show, except that I could tell the lead singer was holding back a bit. I’ve seen better Def Leppard singing in a karaoke bar. Granted, their next tour stop was Las Vegas… better save the voice for the big one! And I think the guitar players work out as much as they play guitar. They were pretty ripped for older dudes.

Regretfully, I didn’t purchase one of their 2008 tour shirts. I guess I’ll be out of luck when the 2028 reunion tour comes around.