Hmmm, just a little bit better.

I just figured out the gas mileage for Lil’ Blue on the trip out to the Salt Flats and back.  Compared to what I was driving before, I’ll be saving a smidge of money.

See what I mean.  Probably wasn’t worth the trouble.

Someone gets it.

Wouldn’t be so funny if it weren’t so true.

Glass in my ------- house.

As I’ve mentioned before, there is stuff all over my house.  Pictures, old cans, camera equipment, old electronics and glass.  Everything has a story to it.  Here are some of my glass stories.

Remember when milk was delivered to your door in glass bottles?  It’s been a long time, but here is one I found when I first moved into my house.

We sold this energy drink for a couple of years at the Chevron.  The other workers and I were amused by the name and the color of the bottle.  (If you have to ask, I’ll tell you.)

Dr. Pepper, used to be my favorite drink before my A1C skyrocketed.  This is an old bottle I picked up at a memorabilia store.  I don’t know if you can tell from the photo, but I knew it was an old one because that’s not a twits off top.

After 13 years of teaching at Junior High schools, I was hired on at Granite High.  My siblings and their families threw me a surprise graduation party for my promotion from Junior to Senior High.  They caught me completely by surprise because the graduation concept never even occurred to me.

My mom passed away from cancer in 1988, in 1974 she went through chemotherapy.  With a hint-hint, wink-wink her doctor simply informed her of the theoretical benefits of medicinal marijuana.  This is the medical equipment my mother used to take a medicine that helped her a lot with the symptoms of chemotherapy.  Remember, as ugly as it is in the year 2011, it was ten times worse for people in the 1970’s.

Ever flown from Salt Lake City to Disneyland with 75 fifteen year olds?  One other teacher and I did, with the help of a half dozen parents.  Keep in mind that parents are great with their own children and a handful of their friends.  But with large groups of other people’s children there’s a big difference between teachers and parents. (Not that their help was not highly appreciated)  All in all, it was a memorable and enjoyable experience, even though I got the group that broke a bed, knocked an EXIT sign off the wall and discovered that it takes 2 full rolls of toilet paper to clog a hotel toilet.

This is not something you see that often anymore.  No, I’m not talking about the glass telephone pole thingy.  I’m talking about the “MADE IN THE U.S.A.”  Even most of the cars made by that American Icon, Ford Motor Company, are mostly made on the other side of the border.  Yeah, they may be assembled in the U.S.A., but the last Ford Crown Victoria (grandson to my beloved Ford LTD) to roll off the assembly line had just over 50% of it’s parts produced here.  Whether good or bad, it just doesn’t mean the same thing as it used to.

I had an old shed in the back yard when I bought this house.  It must have been built in the 30’s or 40’s and even though it had a bad case of rot it almost pulled the bumper off my 1966 Jeep Wagoneer as I tried to pull it down.  Well, somebody back then didn’t know that somebody else in the family was heading out to the work shed for a little nip of whiskey once in a while, because I found  a couple of old bottles, still corked with some alcohol in the bottom, stashed in the wall.  For a third of a millisecond I was tempted to taste it, but decided against because I didn’t have any good mixers in the house.

For more good “glass” pictures, click on the banner below.

 

Perspective on the Land

Using topographical maps, Google Maps, Macromedia Fireworks and Google Earth, I came up with these “aerial” photos.  The border lines to the property should be pretty accurate and I really liked the perspective on them.

That 70’s Show

It was the spring of ‘76 and we were reading Edward Abbey’s “Desert Solitaire” in my Sophomore English class.  Somehow we convinced our teacher that the best place to read that book would be in Arches National Park, half a day’s drive from Salt Lake.  Even more miraculously, she convinced the school administration that it was a good idea too.  We got Thursday and Friday off school and spent a long weekend down there.  An unmarried teacher and her boyfriend and a dozen 16 year-olds of both genders.

We drove down in a caravan of a half dozen cars, I borrowed my dad’s full-sized ‘74 Dodge Van packed with me, 6 of my closest friends and all our camping gear.  True to the show of the same name as my title, one of my passengers was a Foreign Exchange student (from Germany, not some unnamed third-world country) who was part of our group.

For the most part, we camped in my parent’s big 8 man Army looking tent.  One night we discovered a big, natural bowl cut into the rock and spent the night in there.  Now, this wasn’t too smart, because as it was we had a hard time climbing out of it the next morning, but if there had been a rain storm, famous for flash floods in the desert, the wet rock would have made it all but impossible to get out.

But we survived, as 90% of teenagers do.  Which, considering their stupidity, is an amazing statistic to me.

A couple days ago I found a box of old VCR tapes in the garage and in it was a tape I had transferred a bunch of old Super 8 movies onto.  This clip, from that trip, was among them.  You’ll have to forgive the quality, this was 35 years ago and has been transferred from Super 8 to VCR, to DVD and then uploaded to YouTube.

Did I mention that none of us even remembered to bring the book?

A million years ago.

I was in my mid 20’s, so it must have been the mid 80’s, when I had my first paint-ball experience.

Salt Lake City was still a small city then, most of the southern (especially the west) end of the valley was undeveloped, or at least sparsely.  I was working at Free Wheeler Pizza and a couple employees scheduled a paint-ball outing.  It was new to me, and sounded like it could be a lot of fun, so I decided to take them up on the invite.

Another employee and I went to the Army-Navy Surplus store to get equipped for the games.  Army-green paratrooper pants, the real ones, and a heavy green shirt.  Didn’t matter that it was going to be hot out there, those things sting when they hit so you want the protection.

We drove out to the very west side of the valley, about right in the middle by Butterfield Canyon, to some private property out there.  There was a small camp set up, with a very rustic pavilion and a couple picnic tables out by a fire pit.

There were probably 30 guys out there, all dressed in Army green or camouflage, carrying probably 30 different paintball guns resembling rifles with weird baubles sticking out the top.  Sitting and standing around the tables, waiting for the head guy to come out and tell us the rules of the game.  I already felt like I fell into a WWII movie, and when the commander showed up I’d swore I was having a flashback to a battle I’d never been in.

He was 6 foot, husky but not fat, dressed completely in camo, rifle slung over his shoulder.  He had a booming voice and a missing leg.

For 30 minutes we stood quietly listening to this huge presence, pacing back and forth on his peg-leg, telling what was and what wasn’t allowed.

We were split up into two groups, opposing teams, and sent off to play a game of “capture the flag” in a heavily wooded gully covering several acres.  Heavily wooded in Utah means a lot of short, dry, bushy evergreen trees that scratch the hell out of you as you try to get through them.  I don’t remember if my team won or not, I don’t remember how long I lasted, except that it wasn’t too long.  As a rookie, I was real good at getting in the way of someone else’s paintball.

I think we played a couple games there and then moved on to the “Urban” area.  This was a flat, field area with a half dozen makeshift structures placed around it and some old vehicles, trash bins and other large urban type things cluttering up the area.   I can’t even remember the goal of the game, but I do remember my friend and I holed up in one of those structures.

We were firing over the wall, out the door and around the side.  I remember paintballs whizzing past my ear as I took quick aim and shot of a couple rounds at the “enemy”.  We lasted longer than a lot of our team, but it ended up being our downfall.  We were cornered in the building and eventually got captured.

Even though I was raised by pacifists, never allowed to own even a toy gun (except water guns) as a child and personally despise war in general, it was an exhilarating experience.

A couple of years later I decided to get my own paintball equipment and found this store called “Peg-Leg Paintball”, owned and operated by none other than the commander from two years earlier.

The place closed down a few years ago, I found out when I went out there to get more paintballs for the rifle I still have.  I had no idea what happened, but was sad to see it go.

Well, I had no idea until a couple months ago when I stumbled across this blog:

I’m not going to elaborate on this other than to tell you that he sold the business so that he could become a stay-at-home dad.  It’s a pretty funny blog and you ought to check it out for yourself.