Gas Pains

The opening of Wisconsin's gun deer season is Saturday.  Imagine 600,000+ blaze orange-clad hunters heading into the woods in search of the elusive thirty point buck.

I'm already all tingly. Not just about the hunting prospects but also about the camaraderie and deer camp shenanigans that surround this event.  It's really quite social what with friends and family - the whole nine yards.

Here's the deal.  I'm already at our camp.  I snuck out of my day job this afternoon while nobody was looking.  The balance of the crew arrives tomorrow.  That includes Wench, Lawyer, Sid, Mennonite, Android and Braumeister - the usual suspects.

I'll be posting daily updates to this year's deer camp.  Pictures too.  Maybe some recipes of our starvation diet.

So check in from time-to-time and enjoy the fun and enjoy the hunt.  Vicariously as it were. 

By the way, since I started publishing these on-line hunting diaries I learned that our wives (and at least one girl friend) began checking this blog as a way of keeping tabs on their men-folk.  Ladies, you can count on me to make sure that only fair and balanced reporting of the facts ever finds its way on-line.  Nothing but the truth.  No outrageous tales like you might get from a fisherman.  You know me, I don't want any trouble.

On a serious note; for all of you hunters, good luck, shoot straight and be safe.

I'm going to put another log in the wood burner and return to my book.  More tomorrow.

Good night.

Tom

Oops.  Forgot to tell you that it is freak'n cold here.  20 degrees!  I went out earlier and turned the thermostat up on the hot tub.

Wisconsin's gun opener is this Saturday.  Here's some deer hunting humor to help you hunters get in the right frame of mind.

There’s really no justice
A deer hunter knows.
When you’re hunting for bucks
You only see DOES!
When you’re hunting for does
(and this really sucks)
Instead of seeing does
You only see BUCKs!

The morning was cool. Zone T, said the State.
Hunt only for does. A doe would be great.

So off to the woods, with hopes oh so high.
There are lots of does. Old Geezer would try…

You can read the rest over here at Tom Bridenhagen's blog....

Do you like Fish'n?

Smoked Coho Salmon-

Combine the following in a food-grade plastic bucket:

2 quarts water

1 cup Kosher salt

1/2 cup brown sugar

2t seasoned salt

2t shrimp spice

(double or triple the brine recipe depending on the amount of fish to be smoked)

Add fish fillets, top with a ceramic plate to fully submerge the fillets, snap the lid on the  bucket and store in the garage for a day and a half.

Remove fillets, rinse and pat dry. 

Smoke over soaked apple wood chips for a couple of hours - recharging the chips halfway through the process.

This will freeze nicely for the holidays if you vacuum seal it with a FoodSaver.

Awesome!

Dear readers...

Every group of friends usually has a collection of favorite stories they share amongst themselves.  I know my friends do.  The guys I have hunted and fished with over so many decades have a vast collection of tales that seem to grow taller with the passage of time.  I want to share with you a story just recently added to our oral tradition that I know will be retold many times in the years to come.  It's a good story and a true story.  I'm sure it will improve with age.

The Doland Poltergeist - As Told by Lawyer

As has been blogged, our gang of pheasant hunters spent Halloween weekend in Doland, South Dakota.   Nine guys shared a 1920’s farmhouse-style three story house with five dogs.  Since Tom, I and our good friend (known to some of you as “Sees-in-the-Dark”, hereafter “Sid”) arrived first, we had dibs on rooms.  Sid and I moved upstairs to single rooms, conveniently located next to one of only two bathrooms.   Sid and his Springer Spaniel, Farley, bunked right across the hall from me.

The rest of the gang finally showed up, got settled in, and later on, all went out for drinks and dinner at Doland’s only bar and grill.  After a good night’s sleep, we spent a tough day tromping through soggy sloughs and cornfields - the birds were hard to come by.  We returned home late in the day, threw steaks on the grill, drank beer and an assortment of whiskeys, played cards and talked smart until a little after midnight. 

The next day’s hunt was better, including a number of exhilarating “run and gun” Rat Patrol-style assaults on swampy pot holes surrounded by open fields.  None of us had done this before. 

A guide told us to position four trucks about 300 yards from the pot holes, each truck holding several hunters and one or two dogs.  The trucks were positioned so as to roll-in and surround the mini-swamp simultaneously.  When you get to the pot hole, you jump out of the truck, let loose the dogs and load your gun on the run.  By the time you hit the swamp, the birds are already flying.   Guns popping, dogs splashing, birds dropping and except for some occasional mopping-up everything is over within a minute or so.  All the guys got really jacked by this - way more exciting than the long treks though mile-long cornfields producing limited rooster flushes. 

By the end of that long day, Tom, Sid and I were ready for a couple of beers.  We told the other guys to meet us at our hunting outfitter’s lodge - a rustic hang-out in a barn outside of Doland.  It’s comfortable nevertheless, with old, overstuffed chairs, a couple of fridges with beer, a good assortment of liquor and mixers and satellite TV.  We tossed back a couple of beers and waited for the other hunters. 

We waited and waited.  Sid and I had a couple more beers.   Sid later felt he needed to add some vegetables to his repertoire and mixed a couple of Bloody Marys, which I noticed were light on the bloody and heavy on the Mary.  

Randi the hunting outfitter and Billy a guide who we met in Doland last year came in.  We got to jaw jacking about politics for a couple of hours.  After solving the sub-prime mortgage crisis, the war on terrorism and other pressing world problems Randi and Billy bade us a good night. 

The other guys never showed up. 

Sid must have been dehydrated from hunting as he decided to have one more for the road.  We left after he finished his nightcap and headed back home, with Tom at the wheel.

Sid was in a jolly mood when we got back, but quickly faded.   I noticed a short time later he and Farley had vanished and apparently retired for the evening.   I hung out with the guys, watched some ESPN sports recaps and went to bed.

It was Halloween night.

When I got up the next morning I saw Sid standing outside of his room.  His face was a ghastly pallor. He was wide-eyed and stricken - as if he'd seen a ghost. 

Sid motioned me over.  

In a raspy croak, he said - This place is haunted.

I could tell he wasn’t kidding around. 

What are you talking about? I asked.

Sid claimed he had proof.  I followed him downstairs.  He pointed at a glass mug on a table.  The bottom third of the mug was filled with tacks, pins and an assortment of nails.  In a shaken voice he explained-

Before I went to bed last night, I got a mug from the cupboard, put some ice cubes in it, filled it with water and went upstairs.  I drank the water before going to bed and went to sleep.  I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, picked up the mug to fill it, and then saw it was filled with all that stuff!

With a trembling finger he pointed at the junk in the mug.

Sid went on to say that it was impossible for anyone to have gone in his room and messed with the mug.  Everyone else was asleep, Farley had not even moved and the mug was in the exact same spot as he had left it. 

Shaken by this eerie event he had been unable to get back to sleep.

I’ve known Sid for about 25 years and have never seen him looking this freaked out.  If he ever told me he had been abducted by aliens who performed rectal probe experiments upon him, I’d believe him.   Sid is not a nut or drama queen. 

This was weird and diabolical.  I felt very uneasy and wondered if a pheasant-loving Poltergeist was on the loose, intent upon harming bird hunters.  Come to think of it, his room did look a bit creepy.  

One of the other guys then yelled out from the kitchen - Hey.  Are you talking about that glass full of nails in the cupboard?   I saw it and moved it to a higher shelf so nobody would use it.

A short silence.  Someone snorted.  Someone giggled.  Everyone started laughing.  Sid got red in the face.  Our resident doctor asked him if it hurt when he urinated.  Someone else asked if he had been trying to add iron to his diet.  Another claimed Sid’s favorite drink is a Rusty Nail.  This went on for some time until everyone had to quit because of the side aches and tears.

Occam’s razor is a principle which, as a rule, is sometimes stated as:  The simplest explanation is usually the best.

So much for the Doland Poltergeist. 

...thank a veteran for their service.  It is Veterans Day after all.

And for those that gave all - the words of President Abraham Lincoln are timeless-

That from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Thanks.

Tom

As I write this post I am looking across the top of my desk at a box. 

The box is approximately the length of the desk but annoyingly taller than the desk's surface.  It is almost a foot and a half deep and even though it is jammed-up tight against the desk it crowds the doorway.

Comfortably ensconced in its factory packaging the occupant of the box is what I have christened - The Giant Conundrum.

Every time I sit at the desk I ponder the conundrum. 

You cannot help but ponder it as it is so obviously huge and in your face.

Periodically I curse the conundrum.  Like I said - it blocks the doorway and I can no longer pass freely with briefcase and gym bag in the morning.

Every so often my wife metaphysically wrestles with the conundrum as if manipulating a massive virtual Rubik's Cube.  With her tape measure in-hand she takes valuable time out of her day in a valiant attempt to cypher a home for it.  She finds no solution to the puzzle.  The conundrum remains in the box. 

It's just too damn big.  

Sometimes I chuckle over my peculiar good fortune.  Of all the possible places it might have ended-up the conundrum has come to reside in our house.

You're thinking - What the heck is he talking about and why is it a conundrum?  

Well, by definition a conundrum is: A paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; in short - a dilemma.

And I have a dilemma on my hands.  A problem of sorts.

You see, inside the box is a 42 inch plasma television.  I won it in a raffle at a recent charity fundraiser.  My investment was $100 worth of raffle tickets.

You might say - That's a helluva conundrum, Tom.

Yeah, but consider this, I wouldn't go out of my way to purchase one of these suckers.

My wife and I might just be that last surviving souls in Wauwatosa to not be cable or satellite television subscribers.  Don't forget, I'm the only guy who hasn't a clue from one year to the next who the American Idol is.  I admit it.  I am a cultural lowbrow. 

We've downsized our living space.  Our modest Tosa bungalow doesn't have a wall sufficiently large enough to accommodate the conundrum. 

There might just be one particular location we could possibly install this monolith of Korean electronics and only partially block one window - but then we would be sitting so close to it I wonder if we might not blind ourselves or grow wrinkled and leathery while basking in the warm glow of its radiation. 

We thought about moving it to the house up north.  Nope, too many windows and too little unbroken wall space.  Imagine favoring sunlight over giant television space - what a glaring engineering faux pas.

Someone suggested expanding the unfinished bungalow attic into a master suite complete with a whirlpool bath or maybe finishing the basement of the up-north house with a vast man cave complete with bar and slate-topped pool table - either of which would accommodate a surround sound system easily adapted to the conundrum.  These are all terrific ideas but my all-knowing wife gives me the all-knowing look.

So, for the present, the conundrum will continue to remain under wraps (and our electric bill will remain affordable) while we consider its options for the future.

The conundrum really belongs in a home theater.  Or does it?

Maybe I could put it in the machine shed up north?

It's a cavernous space.  

Hundreds upon hundreds of square yards of unfinished walls.  Metal walls too - outstanding acoustics.  It's filled with all manner of guy junk - a bunch of tractors, fishing boat, a couple of bush hogs, disc/harrow, pick-up truck, scraper blade, compressor, beer fridge, radial arm saw, 3-D deer target, microwave, giant chemical mix tank, four wheeler, patio table (with Labatt Blue Beer umbrella), deer hoist, a well-ordered collection of tools, canoe, sprayers, lawn mowers, a flock of goose decoys, various hazardous chemicals, boom boxes, giant jugs of hydraulic fluid, gear and motor oil, loader with bucket, Jerry cans of diesel and gasoline, chain saws and dead spiders. 

What it doesn't have is a plasma television.

At least yet.

By the time this blog post is published I will be on the road and heading west for South Dakota.

Crammed into my GMC will be three middle-aged hunting and fishing buddies, two hunting dogs, six guns, enough ammo to overthrow a small banana republic, boots, blaze, dog chow, groceries, several cases of beer, a lap top, a couple of gallons of venison chili, some fine sipping whiskey, and my last two jars of garden salsa. 

The crated dogs will have more freedom of movement and traveling comforts than the hunters. Priorities you know.

We're part of a larger group totaling ten hunters and seven dogs.  Taking no chances - this year we have a lawyer AND a doctor in the group.

We all have South Dakota pheasants on our minds as we're making our annual pilgrimage to the Mecca of ringnecks - Doland, SD.

Where we're going the technology pick n's are rather slim.  If I can locate an internet connection I'll update this post with a field report or two.  Otherwise, a full report and some pictures will follow early next week.

Guns up!

Tom 

October 30 - Day One - A travel day.

654.4 miles one-way; and I am suffering from something awful.  I was up all night with chills, a splitting headache, aches and pains all-over and a horrific case of nausea.  My buddy drove most of the way today and I slept until we were just shy of LaCrosse.  Gas in Rochester, MN was $2.06 a gallon!  In sleepy little Doland we have an entire house to ourselves, finished basement, grill, kitchen and satellite television.  We even have wi-fi but I don't know if it's ours or the neighbors.  As I type this the guys are walking to town for dinner and I'm turning-in to see if I can shake whatever has afflicted me.  More tomorrow - presuming I can drag myself out of the sack and can catch this signal again.

October 31 - Day Two - First Day Hunting

Sorry about the delayed post.  Connectivity issues.

Tough hunting.  Hardly any of the corn is off of the fields.  It is wet.  No, it is soaked.  It would seem all of the birds are hanging-out in the corn and until it is picked they're happy to stay in the corn and not the natural cover and bottom lands.

In the AM Girlfriend and I were working a slough and I went into the water and got soaked.  In the PM two additional hunters got in too deep

We hunted until shooting time and got eleven birds for our efforts - no lack of effort on our part.

Finished the day with steaks on the grill and all of the fixings.

Trick or treat in Doland tonight.  We pooled every last bit of candy we had for the beggars and after it ran out switched to jerky.  No complaints.

I'm feeling better but was up last night with the sweats followed by chills, shakes and aching joints.  I talked to the doctor this morning over coffee and a cigarette (him not me) and he suggested that I get a Lyme disease screening as soon as I get home.  Motrin is my friend.

Here's a picture of Lawyer and Girlfriend

November 1, Day Three - Second Day of Hunting

One of the attractions of South Dakota pheasant hunting is that you cannot possibly start before 10 AM.  None of that nonsense of getting-up before daylight and crawling about in the dark to hunt at sun-up while freezing your tushie-off.  You get to sleep-in.  I slept good.

This was a rather disjointed day of hunting - something that has euphemistically been described as a cluster-free-for-all.  It began with Lawyer and I slogging through a mile-long slough with Girlfriend while all of our buddies occupied the dry and easily-traveled high ground.

This was followed by slogging through another mile of soggy corn after which we found-out that one of our buddies lost his truck keys.

I dislike being critical but don't you think that anyone who thinks to pack a back-up shot gun might ALSO think to pack a back-up pair of truck keys and place them in the secure possession of someone else?  Sheesh.  Hours lost.

From there we figured-out the Hot LZ version of pheasant hunting.  Run and gun. Boom boom.  Birds down.

Then a long slow slog through a freshly combined field of seeds.  That would be a mile square field of picked sunflowers.  Imagine a square mile of punji sticks and mud where man and dog run the constant risk of impaling themselves on a freshly-cut stalk - and you walked it in three sweeps.  Yikes.  We're all grateful that we have our own urologist in the group this year.  Did I tell you his name is Richard?  He goes by Dr. Dick.  Really.

Fifteen birds today - under the legal limit. But as the resident law enforcement officer in our group pointed out - It's hunting, not shooting.

My highlights of the day - Girlfriend reinforced her reputation as Mighty Dog.  She made some awesome flushes and even more awesome retrieves.  I dropped a couple of birds and I'm feeling terrific (physically-speaking).  The doctor now says maybe just a virus but to still get labbed-up for Lyme.  The guys have suggested if I need a lab test to just have a couple of the Labrador retrievers give me the once-over sniff test.  We'll see.

Good Night from Doland.

November 2, Day Three - Last day of hunting.

Everyone slept-in later today with the time change.  The doggies caught some extra sleep-eye which is good.

It was freak'n hot today.  Mid-seventies.  This is fall pheasant hunting?  It is looking like global warming has situated itself into the land of giant wind turbines.  These conditions are tough on us old guys and even tougher on the pups. 

You know what I've learned in the past 48 hours?  Whoever has the highest boots and most enthusiastic dog gets the crappy assignments. So I and a few of my compatriots walked miles of stinking, boot-sucking muck, along with tangles of reed canary grass driving the birds to the guys on the high ground where they were summarily killed.  Same for mile-long fields of corn.  Back and forth.  This sucks.  Sigh. 

Nonetheless, this was a good day - eighteen birds. 

Me and Girlfriend - inseparable.

My highlight of the day was the close encounter with a skunk while making our last drive for birds.  Girlfriend got within fifteen feet of a very surprised skunk and I was able to call her off before the varmint raised its tail and sprayed.  We both got a strong whiff of the musk but weren't hit. Score:  Tom - 1, Skunk - 0.  Guess who lived to tell the tale.  Girlfriend's highlight of the day was an early-morning roll in a very fresh cow pie.  So fresh it was still green.  My GMC now smells like stinky hunters, wet dogs and barn yard.  Blech.

Incidentally, late today the Acadia has manifested a loud shriek from the right front wheel.  Something has lodged itself in between the calipers of the brakes - a tiny stone from driving through all of these God-forsaken suck-holes of mud? It has lessened after driving backwards and hitting the brakes but hasn't gone away.

I'll let you know how I get home.

Good night from Doland.

November 3, Day Four - Travel Day

This has been one of the toughest hunts I've had in quite awhile.  We had plenty of time last night and today during the ride home to talk about what worked, what didn't work, what we should have or could have done differently.  In the final analysis we all decided to do it again next year.  If hunting were easy everyone could do it.  Besides, friends and memories are priceless.

Here's the group (we ended-up one short)

About that horrific squealing that was coming from the right front wheel?  Here is the culprit-

A piece of South Dakota granite (slightly polished) that had lodged itself behind the brake calipers.  The nice guys at Schuchard's Westside GMC Truck in Watertown, SD pulled the wheel and rotor to dislodge it.  All at the horrific cost of $12.72.  Thanks OnStar for getting us all on a three-way call to drive-in to rectify the problem.

No decent road trip should be without the appropriate road food.  Agreed?  I know when I travel I always pack some munchies and drinks.  Knowing where I was planning to travel TosaGuy gave me a heads-up a couple of weeks ago about a place worthy of a stop.   He said - Tom, if you get anywhere close to Brookings, SD you need to go to Nick's.

Thanks TosaGuy.  Just so you know, Nick's is remodeling the shop so they had their trailer set-up just next door.

We sat outside on one of Nick's picnic tables and shared a couple of bags of sliders and Diet Cokes.  72 degrees and sunny.  Awesome.  We've decided to make it a regular stop. 

It is November and believe it or not one of the last crops harvested was a late season planting of radishes.

French breakfast radishes to be sure.

The notion of eating radishes for breakfast isn't necessarily appealing.  Truthfully it sounds risky.  Especially if you have a really important meeting with a client at 9 AM.  There again; I am not from France.

Nonetheless, these radishes are awesome. They are not at all harsh.  They are rather sweet.  My father is an aficionado of the radish sandwich.  He is a big beneficiary of this year's fall crop.

The balance of the garden is pretty much played-out.  Carrots, onions and parsnips remain in their beds and I'll dig them-up later after the ground has chilled some more.  Leaving root vegetables in the ground after it turns colder makes them sweeter.  It has something to do with the sugars translocating to the roots.

I canned every last tomato I could before the early frosts.  I'll start converting those fruits to more salsa and sauce before too long.

Good eats!

Tom

If you haven't already done so - be sure to vote tomorrow.

This arrived in the mailbag today.

Just trying to keep everyone's spirits-up.

Tom

Happy Monday.

Here's a three-part trivia question.

Colonel Hart's on State Street is a popular watering hole. The Colonel also serves terrific food.

What is the significance of the name to Wauwatosa?

What was the name of the establishment before it was Colonel Hart's?

What was the name of the establishment before that?

I'll publish any responses along with the correct answers in a  couple of days.

Tom

'Tis the season to be jolly, fa, la, la, la, la... 

What?  You ask.  Kris Kringle?  Already? 

Heck no.  The answer would be - Hunting Season.

The whole country is chugging Pepto-Bismol while suffering from a humongous national hangover following our orgy of lending.  The worried whispering at Starbucks includes a gnawing fear of depression-era breadlines.  Financial markets have plunged so low on Wall Street that the only thing that can leave a deposit on a shiny new BMW is a pigeon.  

I am beginning to think that I may just possibly be reduced to subsistence living.  So I'm going hunting.  (Note to self - expand the garden next year)

Don't laugh.  It might be a good time for some of you to brush-up on your hunter-gatherer shtick.  If things get any worse try buttering a slice of this and eating it.  Come to think of it, if you had enough of those signs you might be able to construct a pretty respectable Hooverville. 

Speaking of bread and circuses - isn't Sarah Palin fetching when she struts and rages about the elitist media?  I got to thinking - what if she carried a whip to complement those stiletto heels?  That would really get the crowds all sweaty and lathered-up.  Rallying the base as they say.  Alas, the McCain Campaign doesn't listen to me.  Another good idea down the drain.

Of which I am reminded that the media elite told me that popular Joe Plumber guy was well-off.  I am envious. 

Now, a plumber couldn't possibly be an elitist.  After all, they come home from work every day covered in, well, you know, the stuff that travels downhill through pipes.  I cringe whenever I get a bill from a plumber.   Therefore, a plumber could factually be well-off. 

Just watch - if Joe lands a lucrative contract to do plumbing supply endorsements for Home Depot he will become wealthier than the Kohlers and his taxes will grow to the sky.  That will teach him a lesson.  He won't be so quick to open his mouth next time.

Since my 401(k) couldn't purchase a pipe wrench I wonder if I'm going to get a redistribution of his vast wealth? 

For this election I can only hope.

I digress.  Don't you just hate it when politics creeps into the discussion? 

Only thirteen more days folks.

Back to the topics at hand - hunting and the creepy apparition. 

I've been regularly relocating a trail camera to see what is out there.

I'm getting all kinds of pictures of deer.

It would seem the territory is crawling with deer.  

The recent appearance of different male deer is significant.

That would indicate they have begun to expand their home range.

They have romance on their mind.

That's a good sign.  

Very soon they're going to stop thinking so clearly - kind of like frat boys on the prowl - and they'll become more vulnerable to the stealthy bow hunter.  

The problem is that whenever I climb into a tree with my bow all I see are song birds.

Sigh.

Actually, that's not so bad.  If you can get a chickadee to alight on your shoulder that would be pretty cool. 

Seems like a long-winded path to get to what I captured, eh?

I fetched the memory chip from a game camera, replaced it with a clean one, went back to the house, and uploaded the pictures.  

Get a load of this-

I captured a picture of a what appears to be a shaggy or hairy creature.

Unlike the other creatures in the woods this one appears to be bipedal.

It also looks like it has a hunch back and shuffles along with a stoop.

It gives me the creeps.

How would you like to bump into this while walking in the woods after dark - alone?

Especially around Halloween?

Shriek!

What do you think it is?

Tom

Fall has arrived.

You're probably thinking - Doesn't this guy own a calendar to remind himself of when fall begins?

Let me explain.

It is more than just a date - it is a state of mind - a state of being. 

The colors in the tree canopy are spectacular - neon red for the maples, fluorescent yellow of the aspen, the brilliant gold of the tamaracks and deep maroon of the white oaks.

Skeins of migrating waterfowl have been filling the sky for weeks.

The cold evening heavens are alive with stars. 

You can see your breath when you go out at first light. 

Firewood has been stacked and the wood burner is getting daily use.

Today I had the game on the radio, a refreshing malt beverage on the work bench and I spent my Sunday afternoon in the machine shed cutting-up a deer.

In a man's world could it possibly get any better than that?

This weekend I learned that it can.

There is Man B Que.

Originating in Chicago - Man B Cue is a bar-b-cue for men only.  Rules are specific - meat eating and beer drinking are recommended.

For example there is Rule #6 - You must bring enough meat to share with MBQ attendees.  (Unless you killed it, then you can bring the one piece for yourself).

Don't take my word  for it - check it out.

Did you notice the Chicago MBQ Chapter's traveling trophy in the video clip?  Did you also notice that it doubles as a vessel for drinking shots?  Egad! 

Seems a member of our very own deer camp is now in possession of that sacred relic.

I am not making this up.

He's also our camp's youngest member and an accomplished marksman.

Seems he hosted a Chicago MBQ featuring grilled Wisconsin venison. 

I must admit that is quite a feather in his cap and a recognition deserving of mention - I would be talking about the trophy that you can apparently do shooters with - the marksmanship is a minimum requirement for deer camp admission.

Keep on grilling.

Tom

By the way - check out this pair of fellas that have been hanging around lately-

Yeah. I'll bet you're thinking someone swiped my Obama yard sign.  

Nope. 

Unrepentant capitalist - no Barack sign for me.

Okey-dokey. Maybe my McCain yard sign?

Nope. 

The choice of VP has left me exceedingly disappointed.  My friends, all of this recent lurching-about not only troubles me; it causes me to wonder who's in-charge anymore.

Alright - the Joeythelovesponge for Mayor sign?

I wouldn't dream of putting it out.  No way would I risk it getting appropriated by the Bidenites or the Palinistas.  It's already a pricey collectible - probably worth more on Ebay than my entire stock portfolio.

Call me hard to please but there will be no yard signs this election cycle.

I digress.

I want to tell you about a different sort of theft.

Something you won't read about in the weekly crime report. 

Prior to retiring on a recent Sunday evening I cleaned the cat box. 

I meticulously double-bagged the stuff and placed the collection of clumped litter and cat marbles on the front porch for deposit in the garbage on Monday morning.

At the crack of dawn on Monday I arose to fetch the newspapers from the porch. 

Looking about, something didn't appear quite right.   My bag of cat droppings was nowhere to be found. 

I look for the missing bag in the yard. 

Nothing.  

My logical wife said - Look beneath the porch, Tom. 

Nope.  Not there either. 

It had vanished. 

Some of you have probably hauled an old cracked porcelain commode, a busted storm door or ratty piece of furniture out to the curb only to have it miraculously vanish by morning.  This happens to me all the time.  I never have to haul my junk to the city dump.

But used cat litter? 

Right off the porch?  

That is bold.

I have two theories. 

The first is a varmint like a raccoon dragged it away.  Better yet - someone's Labrador retriever was the culprit. 

My second guess is that someone saw the carefully knotted plastic grocery bag sitting outside the door and thought there was something valuable inside it. 

Maybe they thought - Hey, someone baked some yummy scones for the nice people that live here and left them outside their door as a house-warming gift. 

With his stomach growling the hooligan tip-toes up on the porch, filches the bag and slips stealthily into the night. 

Drooling, he anticipates his illicit midnight snack. 

He thinks - Hey, these are heavier than scones.  These must be bran muffins.  Big ones, too.

Critter or person - I hope they enjoyed it.

Blech.

Tom

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Post Script -

It has occurred to me that you have not met the cat.  

She recently celebrated her twentieth birthday. 

I am informed that this is the equivalent of 96 human years.

She is the household's grand dame.

...pull down your pants and slide on the ice.

With all due respect to the sage advice of Dr. Sidney Freedman from the television series M*A*S*H* - please keep your pants on.

You might want to check out the ice at the Muellner Building located at Tosa's Hart Park.

Tosa curling is just around the corner.

The Wauwatosa Curling Club (WCC) has been a fixture in Wauwatosa since 1921.

I believe that would qualify the club as a significant part of Tosa's historical, cultural and social fabric.

Curling has been a part of Hart Park's Muellner Building since the early 1940s when the structure was built - specifically as a curling venue.  Tosa curlers contributed to the cost of construction.

Nowadays the building is enjoyed by multiple users yet the WCC remains the city's longest-term tenant as occupant of the basement - and during the winter months - the large hall.

There are a couple of open houses scheduled for this month.

Check-out the sport that's sweeping the nation.

Questions?  Call 414.453.CURL 

Email info@wauwatosacurlingclub.com

Good curling!

Tom

By the way - who can tell me how the Muellner Building got its name? 

I'll post any responses in a couple of days.

My wife spied this adorable little fella on the garden hose.

I spied this eating machine on the machine shed.

Both are fun to have around.

Who are they?

I'll publish your submissions in a couple of days.

Tom

The Tosa East Red Raiders hosted Brookfield East at Hart Park last Saturday - defeating the Spartans (37-35) in the Raider's homecoming with a fourth quarter rally.

The class of 1968 was there to cheer them on.

Not my class but my lovely wife's.  They were celebrating their 40th class reunion.  Yikes!  

How many of you remember what your were up to in 1968? 

How about the war in Vietnam?  

There was the battle of Khe Sanh, massacre at My Lai and Tet Offensive.

Future Senator and Presidential Candidate John McCain was a guest at the Hanoi Hilton.

US ground forces reached their peak at about 550,000. 

By year-end total US deaths surpassed the 30,000 mark.

As ugly as that was it gets worse.

The Soviet Union invaded Czechoslovakia.

Dr. King and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated.

North Korea seized the USS Pueblo and imprisoned its crew.

Saddam Hussein became Vice Chairman of the Revolutionary Council in Iraq after a coup d’état.

The Democratic National Convention in Chicago hosted a full-scale riot - replete with the Illinois National Guard in a staring role.

Sounds to me like a helluva year, eh? 

And you figured the little events of this year were exciting.

On a brighter note - 

Green Bay defeated Oakland in Super Bowl II.

Stanley Kubrick's - 2001: A Space Odyssey premiered.

The price of a gallon of gasoline was around 27 to 34 cents and you could go to a movie for $1.50.

The Standard & Poor's 500 index closed above 100 for the first time and oil was discovered in Alaska.

Apollo 8 orbited the moon and after an investment of $5 million (1960s dollars) the first ATM made its debut.

Music of that year was generally awesome.  

Raquel Welch (and my future wife) were hot.

So last weekend I got to hang-out with a bunch of people I didn't know really very well - initially anyway.  After a couple of days of visiting  - my conclusion?

I was impressed.

Impressed at how many Raider alumni attended.

Impressed at how many make Tosa their home.

The notion I got to move here almost two and a half decades-ago has been reinforced.  

Tosa is a great place to grow-up, come of age, raise a family and indulge your grandchildren. 

Our Wauwatosa, to thee we sing,

Thy glorious victories, ever will bring

Pride to our beating hearts, loyal and free,

Our Alma Mater, praise to thee!

U! Rah! Rah! Wau-wa-tosa!

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Update

For any of you who have been following the comments made to this post by Tosa's Ray Py - here are pictures of the East High School tower:

This is the picture I was looking for.  It was taken by a photog who followed a fire truck to this scene where there was a small welding fire in some debris.  He shot the tower being taken down on a June afternoon in 1974.  Actually most people in the city were unaware that the tower was to be demolished until this picture appeared.  I have never been able to find the single person in authority who approved the work.  It was estimated at the time that it would have cost $25,000 to maintain the tower. Estimates today of its replacement are in the millions.

I learned something new this week when a colleague introduced me to the term word salad.

If you go to the all-knowing internet you will learn that this is defined as a string of words that vaguely resembles language, and may or may not be grammatically correct, but is utterly meaningless. 

The friend suggested the following as an example-

Couric:  What other Supreme Court decisions do you disagree with?

Palin:  Well, let's see.  There's, of course in the great history of America there have been rulings, that's never going to be absolute consensus by every American.  And there are those issues, again, like Roe v. Wade, where I believe are best held on a state level and addressed there.  So you know, going through the history of America, there would be others but...

Couric:  Can you think of any?

Palin:  Well, I could think of...any again, that could be best dealt with on a more local level.  Maybe I would take issue with.  But, you know, as mayor, and then as governor and even as a vice president, if I'm so privileged to serve, wouldn't be in a position of changing those things but in supporting the law of the land as it reads today.

One word - vacuous.

Maybe I'm just a long-suffering McCain fan that had high expectations and got smacked between the eyes with a running mate this is - well - disappointing.

How about Exxon v. Baker?  It happened under your watch as governor.  Remember?  It cost your fellow Alaskans a big chunk of change. 

Am I the only one that cringes in pain every time this candidate opens her mouth? 

Sheesh. 

For the sake of John McCain she better hit one out of the park tonight. 

Stay tuned.

Tom

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

10/02/08  9:55 PM - Some post debate observations:

Good Job!.  Not an out of the park slam - but several good base-hits.

Style points for being folksy.  Hey - Joe Six Pack - you're darn right you betcha - we wantcha to support those soccer moms, eh.  I love it!

Ample use of Reaganisms - There you go again - doggone it.  Beacon of hope.  You get the drift.

Hey Sarah - some unsolicited advice from someone who was on a high school debate squad. 

Rule #1 - Never let the moderator redirect you back to the original question when you fail to answer it the first time.

Rule #2 - Give-up the freaking sound bites.

Rule #3 - Stop looking at your notes and STOP using the word also.  You are making me nuts.

Rule #4 - Being perky is no substitute for command of the language and facts.  You need to practice more.  Oh, wait, there aren't any more debates.  I guess you're off the hook.

Thanks for alleviating 4 weeks of growing doubts.

Bottom line -

Lost no votes, gained some, appeared confident.

Stay tuned.

Tom

Here are the key match-ups in this year's great economic tournament.

The weak (and the unlucky) are already beginning to be weeded-out.

Strap-on your seatbelts and enjoy the ride.

Tom

Today is the one-year anniversary of this blogging experiment.

Can you imagine having gas pains for an entire year? 

Blech.

A total of 110 posts, 402 comments and more than 400,000 page views. One post alone has exceeded 24,000 views. 

Not that it means much but at least someone's checking-out this nonsense, eh?

Popular favorites are almost anything that has to do with Hunting/Outdoors, Tosa Trivia or the Mayor.  

I am awe-struck that such a singularly eclectic sampling of subject matter could be so popular.

Tosans must have a taste for the blood sports, the arcane and the random mayor in a black pantsuit.  Go figure.   

If I decide to continue this blog I think I shall endeavor to incorporate all three of these elements into one blog posting. 

Maybe something along these lines:  Which elected Tosa official knows how to field dress a moose?

If the official answers: Yah sure you betcha, I can do that with my eyes closed; then this person can aspire to be one heartbeat away from being leader of the free world.  

If the answer is: Ewww. Gross. That's yucky. Shriek! My nails!  Well, their political career would be done.  Finis.

You'll have to wait to see if I actually do that and what the correct answer is. 

Incidentally, when that ot