Eventful Blue.

I hurt my hand.  I'm not sure if it's tendinitis, carpal tunnel, or masturbator's wrist.  It's painful to do simple shit like turn the keys in my ignition, unscrew a lid, type blogs, or tie a fly on the end of my line.  I'm not sure when or how I damaged it, but it's getting kind of bad.  I solely blame this condition for my poor oarsmanship today.

I, along with a couple of friends, float-fished the Blue River today.  It was fun.  It was eventful.  Not necessarily "bad" eventful (we didn't flip the raft), and not necessarily "good" eventful (we didn't catch a ton of fish.).  Just eventful.

The day starts off with the alarm going off at 3am.  Yeah, 3.  Meet at the fly shop by 4, make the haul up the mountain, shuttle the trucks, and we're in the water by 8.  That's a lot of prep.  The launch is sketchy.  We hafta lower the boat by rope down a 30ft cliff to get to water.  Boats are heavy.  And plus, my hand hurts... 

Temperatures dropping down to 43 degrees greeted us in Silverthorne and shot up to a balmy 45 degrees at launch.  Ben gave us a quick "What to do and what not to do in the boat" speech before we waded out into the frigid water (in flip-flops) and heaved off.  Ben was excellent at maneuvering through the rapids, sharp rocks and drop-offs.  Several fish were spotted, some were missed, and a couple were landed.

Although sharp pains shot through my phalanges like electrical shock, I continued pounding the banks with my double streamer rig thrown with an 11ft, 6 weight switch-handed rod.  It really hurt.  Really.  Ben switched spots with Graham, who is fairly new to fishing and rowing, and proceeded to get a little fishing in.  Graham is pretty dang good himself with the oars--especially for a novice.

I have been float-fishing before.  It's a blast.  The fishing part is, at least.  I've never had to row, but figured when my time eventually came that I would be good at it.  Either that, or I'd be terrible at it.  One of the two.  You see, I'm a more than capable canoeist, so I figure the transition would be a smooth one.  That, or an extremely rough one.  One of the two.

 After an hour or so, I got the call.  The guys went over some basics with me, I plopped down in the center seat, and off I went.  The boat starts spinning instantaneously.  I start pinballing off every boulder in site.  Backwards.  I'm struggling dearly.  Two minutes into this lesson, my forearm veins are seconds away from exploding, as are my forehead veins.  I continuously go the wrong way.  Immediately I start screaming and cursing about how horrible I am at this and how miserable this is making me feel.  Instead of letting the boat gently drift downstream while easily and accurately positioning it, I try---I don't know what I tried.  It didn't work.  It made me say "fuck" a lot.  My instincts were battling me--I am trying to paddle this 500lb boat through boulder fields and waterfalls like it's a fucking canoe.  I'm a very capable canoeist, by the way.  And my hand hurts...  After a solid 10 minutes of absolute mayhem--the boat going every place it shouldn't be going--falling sideways down waterfalls--running into very sharp, dead, dangerous trees--oar handles jabbing me in the kidneys--spinning the boat through very fishy water while slapping the oars violently on the water like I were having a strong seizure...Ben finally says sternly, "Holy fuck, Matt!  I've got to take over.  You're going to kill us."  Or something along those lines.  He was wise in his decision.

After the stress fades, and a capable oarsman is in charge, we start seeing enormous rainbow trout rising to feed.  It didn't take us long to realize that they were feeding on dog chow.  Yep, dog chow.  One of the local landowners and owner of this particular section of the river likes to feed his pets.  His pets are enormous rainbow trout.  Mixed feelings shower the boat.  All three of us appreciate a wild fishery, where streambred trout feast on insects and baitfish indigenous to that watershed.  We appreciate a natural stream, free of man-made processed crap that attracts fish like a Big Mac to a fat kid.  But...landing a 30" fish didn't sound too bad.  We quickly notice that there are literally bucket-loads of food pellets floating on the water.  We're bumping 25" trout on the head with the nose of the boat as they boil and frenzy.  Since we don't have a food pellet fly or some variation, we plug on.

Then Ben catches one.  It's big, maybe 23".

Then we see a moose.

Then Ben catches another one.  It's bigger, maybe 25".  Here's a movie of it.  You'll have to cock your head to watch it because I can't figure out how to rotate a movie.

Then my hand hurts even worse from netting that stupid fish.  It's a sore hand.

Then we see another moose.

After all the fish and moose hijinx, it's my turn again on the oars.  It went about the same as the first one.  Spin, spin, splash, splash, stuck on rocks, sideways down falls, in the trees, jabbing ribs, scaring fish.  I'm horrible.  Absolutely horrible.

After spotting two more moose (that's the same amount of moose spotted as fish boated, which is kind of cool if you're going to have a slow day...), a deer, about getting decapitated by diving bald eagle the size of a mule (that's no shit--swooped down right over my head.  My thinking is that he was offering magical, mystical healing to my extremely sore hand), we finally approached the take-out.  Assisting us in pulling our raft up the ridiculously steep embankment were several weed-smoking hippies.  I think they were just kayakers, but I'm sure "weed-smoking hippies" isn't too far off.

Eventful.

I plan on taking Ben's raft to the YMCA pool to practice up before attempting the Blue (or any other river with rocks, sharp trees, falls, and a current) again.

After my hand gets better.

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Phil.

My grandpa liked to sit outside and look at things.  He would sit on his front porch and watch the rain.  He'd sit outside during the worst storms.  Actually got a zap from a flash of lightning once.  Made his hand go numb for a little bit.  He never said much...he would just sit...and watch. 

He would sit under a tree in his yard, on a bench by the river, in a lawn chair overlooking his garden.  He loved sitting outside and looking.

When he would visit us at my mom & dad's, he would take his gun and walk back in the woods where there was a little bench nailed to a hickory tree.  He built it, if I'm not mistaken.  He would sit on his bench and watch the trees and the weather and the wildlife.  Sometimes he would shoot a rabbit or a squirrel, but more times than not he would just sit there and look.

He would ask me to come sit with him.  I had no idea what we were looking at or why we were sitting instead of watching TV or playing.  He tried, but the sitting never lasted too long--I was too young to appreciate the solitude and life happening all around me.  So I'd go watch Godzilla vs. Mothra on channel 11.

I used to think grandpa was just antisocial or trying to get away from my granny or all the grandkids--which may be partially true--but now I get it.  Sitting outside and looking at things is fantastic. 

The older I get, the more I appreciate witnessing the subtleties all around me.  Things that we take for granted, that we overlook or just don't care about.  I don't really feel like waxing poetic about the wind and rain and trees and animals....but it's what I like looking at.  It makes me appreciate, it makes me feel alive, it makes me calm, and it makes me happy.

It may sound stupid to you, but I really like sitting outside and looking at things. 

Must have gotten that from Phil.

80s Metal Friday.

If you've followed this blog at all for the past couple years, then you remember 80s Metal posts.  They are fantastic.

In the spirit of nostalgia and wickedness, here is one right here.  Please notice that most everything that an 80s Metal video should have, this one has...chicks, big hair, partying, kicks, jumps, and badassness.  I mean, hot chicks actually shot this video.  Also, you are going to laugh 27 seconds into the video, if not sooner. 

I can't stop watching it.

Enjoy.




Thanks for watching. Now we'll all be singing "Gimme Your Love" by...whoever the hell this is.

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Jed.

Been awhile.  Sorry, I've been cheating on this blog with another, much more cynical blog.  Wish I had a happier vibe to go along with my first post in months, but I really don't.

Lost a family member today.  A good guy who unfortunately lost his extremely quick battle with cancer.  Seems like that shit is everywhere lately. 

Jed is my dad's cousin's husband--or my second cousin's dad.  When companies list family members that you are allowed bereavement leave to attend the funeral of, this relationship generally isn't mentioned in the rundown of relatives.  That's kind of bullshit.  How do they know how close or not you were to that particular person?  While it sounds like Jed was a distant relative, he was much more than that.  He was a man of faith that took it upon himself to become a minister later in life--and with that title, he helped put to rest many of the "grand" generation of my family by conducting their funeral sermons (or whatever you call them).  Jed did so in an honest, from-the-heart, uplifting way that so often gets turned upside-down and exposed from people that just didn't know the deceased.  Jed knew them, and he knew what to say about them.  And everyone always left the sermon (or whatever it's called) feeling proud and thankful.

Jed's passing is a tough one.  He was diagnosed with lung cancer only five and a half weeks ago--a little over a month.  Not a smoker, so it was kind of out of left field.  Jed's kids are mine and my sister's age roughly, so that in itself kind of hits home.  I deeply feel for them and cannot imagine what they're going through.  Mandi, Emily, if this ramble ever makes it your way, I just want to say how sorry I am.

I'm not an enormous fan of getting old.  Not because I'm going through some mid-life crisis or anything--I'm not talking about me.  I don't like getting old because it makes me worry about the next "grand" generation.  Several of my closest friends have lost their parents recently.  We lost Jed.  Got nervous when my uncle had heart surgery.  We're not getting any younger, and our parents certainly aren't either (no offense).  This 'parents getting old' thing is new to me and I don't necessarily care for it.  I want my dad and Uncle Bob to play football with me still (Uncle Bob still probably could, even after the aforementioned heart surgery).  I don't like having the constant worry sitting in the back of my head.  Lately it's moved to the front.

I understand though.  I'm not in denial or unsure how life works.  This is what happens.  People get older and eventually fall out of good health--sometimes sooner, sometimes later.  Then there's cancer. I wish cancer would get cancer.  But when you're talking about that it really doesn't matter if you're 40 or if you're 70.  That's an additional worry...can't control it though.  You just have to stay positive and live your life, my friend.

And then my brain goes another direction.  I could have cancer right now, who knows?  I then fall into the mindset of prioritizing.  IF that were to happen, especially sooner than later, what would I want to scratch off the bucket list?  How would I want to speed up the living...you know, just in case I didn't win?  Or for that matter, how would I want to spend it now, sans gloomy diagnosis, but in preparedness for a car wreck, an embolism, a blimp accident, a bullfighting mishap...  Well, there are a ton of things I'd like to do: travel, explore, experience, taste, see....  But I think it all comes secondary to spending as much time with your loved ones as possible.  All the other fun stuff is the icing.

That's what Jed did.  He spent time with his loved ones and still saved some room for icing.

It's not going to be the same without you, bud.  Thanks again for taking care of all of us when we lost the others--it really meant a lot to us.  Hopefully I can somehow return the favor.

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Dokken Freakin' Day 2012

If I were to describe Dokken Day 2012 in one word, what would it be? Epic? Remarkable? Badass? Drunken? Yes, yes, yes, and yes!

The metal, the beer, the fellowship--it was all 100% kick ass. Everybody came ready to rock, and that they did, as RattPoison graced the stage of Panama Rehersal Studio.

I wish I remembered more, but I don't. So I'll just let you look at these badass pictures. Enjoy.

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Quick Friday Night Thoughts.

It's just me and Cliff-dog on this Friday night--700 miles away from most friends, with a few choice tunes, a little leftover BBQ chicken, and a cool buzz. That's when the thoughts roll in. So instead of talking Cliff's ear off about everything that's on my mind, I figure I'll just type 'em out...give Cliffy a rest. If my conversations don't include the words "walk", "park", "play", or "toy", he really doesn't seem to care too much.

* Aerosmith used to be a good band. Right around when I was born, they were putting out some great tunes. "Last Child", "Toys in the Attic", "Let the Music Do the Talking", and "Mama Kin" were pretty top-notch rock and roll tunes. But even though I don't watch American Idol, I am fucking sick of Steve. I was sick of Steve during "Dude Looks Like a Lady", throughout "Wayne's World", into "Armageddon", and now ending with the Idol and Oprah. The band pretty much started sucking three and a half decades ago, actually.

Tonight I'm jamming a little Aerosmith--pre 1980, of course--and although I'm digging it, the sound of Steve's voice just reminds me of how goddamn annoying he is. It's just something you just gotta block out, I suppose. You gotta power through Annoying Steve to get to the roots of good Aerosmith--which isn't an easy task.

* Beer. I'm enjoying an Imperial Java Stout brewed by Santa Fe Brewing Company right now. It might sound snobby, and to some maybe it is. But trust me Bud Lighters, I've put away more Diet Budweisers than anyone you know--except for Vinnie...and maybe Kevin. But not Bryan.

Earlier this evening I downed a Tecate. A couple days ago I had a couple cans of Olympia at the Old Man. I like Budweiser, I like Coors, I like microbrews, I like ales, pales, pilsners, stouts. I think there's a certain time and place for every beer.

When I visited Costa Rica I drank Imperial on the beach. After a long day of hoisting in enormous fish, I enjoy a beer on my tailgate. Sometimes it's an O'Dell 90 Shilling...sometimes it's a PBR. In the stadium parking lot, on a crisp morning, hung over from celebrating that we were tailgating the next day, I like to ease into the day by enjoying a red beer. That's 85% light beer, 15% tomato juice. If you use Bloody Mary mix, my wife will fight you.

* If I were to open a restaurant, I think that I would have tacos on the menu, regardless. "Earl's Sloppy Tacos". Not intended to sound dirty, but it certainly does. Easy and fun to make, you could have several different kinds, and I would think it would be a profitable menu item. I made some shredded chicken and green chili tacos last night and I thought they ruled. I would showcase those, plus pulled pork, badass beef, and spicy brisket. Mmmmm, it'd be like Chipotle, except good.

Then I'd have biscuits and gravy. That's about as far as I've gotten.

* I don't go to strip bars. Never been a big fan. I mean, I dig naked chicks, but I've never really gotten into the strip club scene. Not sure why--maybe it's morals. Maybe it's because I'm not a loser. Probably not.

But just now, while listening to the iPod, a tune came on that reminded me of a time back in the early 90s when my buddies and I hired a stripper to come to the house and dance naked for another friend of mine's birthday. She showed up with a duffle bag, a boombox, and a bodyguard. We provided the cassette, she used her boombox (this is not supposed to sound like a sexual innuendo). The song is entitled "Tattooed Dancer" by Ozzy Osbourne, and the reason we chose it (other than the obvious) was that it was a much longer song than your average four minute tune and we felt we were getting our money's worth.

Morals, you say?

Do strippers still do house calls?

* If you haven't listened to Van Halen's new album yet, do.

When Dave and Ed got back together in 2007 or whatever, I was the most sceptical one in the bunch. I didn't like Van Halen's music then, and Dave was embarrassing himself. It seemed like a big PR deal, which maybe it was to a point. And when they started touring, I laughed at the thought of going to see them. Washed up egomaniacs trying to make a buck. But due to some kick-ass free seats my wife scored through work, we went. And it fucking ruled.

To me, Van Halen represents fun. And that ended in 1985. So to hear these old bastards crank out epic tunes from 1978 was fucking amazing. It did NOT hurt that I had clubhouse access and free booze all night. That's how Dave would see me in concert.

Their new album, albeit very heavy, is a continuation of where they left off in 1984. Dave can't hit the screams anymore, and he's spandex-free and bald--but he's still Dave. Highly eccentric and kind of crazy, he's the one that brings the fun. Dave's lyrics and voice, along with Ed's guitar and Al's drums are the perfect combo platter.

Best VH album since I was in 4th grade. Ahhh, 4th grade...Van Halen's 1984, and my secret crush on Angie Cooper. Sorry Angie.

* Carlos Beltran needs to burn that giant goiter off the side of his face.

* I'm going to smoke a turkey this weekend. Brine, rub, smoke, eat. If you've never had smoked turkey--especially mine and April's smoked turkey--then you are missing out on one of the most important gifts in life (except for the one in Springfield--that one was an embarrassment). Hickory, oak, or cherry for six hours. April and I are just like the Neelys, only white. "Honey, stop fryin' that chicken and give me some sugar!!"

Know what goes good with smoked turkey? Scotch.

"

Me.

This post is all about me. Carelessly revealing. I figure it's my blog so why not?

I am horrible at being an adult. I am 100% worthless when it comes to the following adult characteristics, tasks, and general things that every adult should be good at. Working a real job, fixing things around the house, being responsible, doing taxes, paying bills, understanding insurance, working on a car, making important adult decisions, discussing politics, doing whatever with stocks & bonds, having a retirement plan, getting my teeth cleaned, changing my oil, not fighting at work, eating healthy, building a spreadsheet, doing a powerpoint presentation, basically anything involving a computer other than writing in my blog and surfing porn, watching my cholesterol, exercising more, 401K, how making money works.

I have the interests and mentality level of a 13 year old. I try to be adultish, but I just can't seem to focus. Whenever someone starts talking about the House Committee Budget, I look at them with an interested expression on my face, nodding my head and saying, "Oh, definitely." Then I start thinking about how they're ever going to make a good Superman movie. I mean, Christopher Reeve was okay (God rest his soul), but that was the 70s. We need an updated, non-bubble gummy, badass version of Superman. A little darker, like the Dark Knight series. How can you really make Superman dark--and believable? I don't know...I don't know...

I try to be good. About a year ago, right before my Granny passed away, the last thing she said to me was, "Just be good." Three simple words put together to make such a bold statement. I think I've always tried to be good, to a point. I was pretty ornery growing up and have still had my fair share of questionable acts as an adult. But it wasn't until hearing my Granny tell me that, while she lay on her bed knowing that those were probably going to be her final words to me on this earth, that I've consciously used that as my life's guidance. It's so simple. So perfect.

I'm not necessarily going to start doing missionary work or house orphans in my living room. I just think it keeps you on the right track. It helps steer you in day-to-day life, making the right decisions and being a person of honesty and integrity. Although I slip from time to time, I still like to think that I'm "being good".

The things that I'm interested in won't make me any money. I'm interested in fishing. Sooo, let's see...I could work at a tackle/fly shop? I could fish tournaments? I could guide? And...that's...about...it. I've worked at shop--not getting rich there. Tournaments will probably cost you more to participate in than you could honestly win. And guiding? See tackle/fly shop response.

I like music. Okay, how about a band? I'm no longer 20 and was never that talented to begin with. You could work in a studio? Na, I can barely plug in a guitar. Radio DJ? Really?

I like kid stuff like super heroes, baseball, comic books, cartoons, toys, and movies with either Trans Ams or Wookies in them. Pass.

I like to drink. My love of drinking serves as therapy and medicine for working a real job. It'd be weird if the two collided.

I am a dreamer, not a doer. I have the best ideas you've ever heard of. They range from lucrative business ventures to forming a cult. My ideas are gold. If there was a job for coming up with great ideas and not following through with any of them, I'd be a godamn millionaire. This has been a slow and painful realization.

I have never felt content. Well, that's not totally true. I feel content with my wife. I'm content with my family, my dog, and my Scotch intake. But I'm always wondering what's around the next corner. The grass is always greener, they say, so let's go check it out. It's exhausting, always dreaming of where to go next, what to do next, what to experience next, that I lose sight of comfort and stability. Those things have been fairly nonexistent in my adult life, due to my hyperactive brain changing it's mind ever other day. I can see the light, though. I think my time is soon--my time to sit, relax, and appreciate what I have, what I've done, and what's to come. I'm looking forward to the challenge.

I'm unattracted by addiction. That's a really broad statement, one that might mislead. Although I am repulsed by crack whores and methies, that's not what I'm getting at. Maybe addiction isn't the right term, but when someone becomes so in to something that it's all they talk about, think about, and do, that's what I'm referring to as "addiction". I love to fish. I love to bass fish out of a fancy boat, I like to fly fish mountain streams for trout. And I'm not bad at either. But when I get around guys who are obsessed with it, it makes me not want to do it as much. Or at the very least, not do it their way. Same goes for just about anything of interest to me. I get around folks who are obsessed...addicted, then I get turned off. I prefer sticking to doing something my way. If I need help or have questions, I'll ask.

I've just been around too many people who are stuck on one thing--their thing. And it encompasses them entirely. It defines them. And I think that's sad.

I think people think I'm lazy. I can see that. When I'm doing something that I'm not enjoying I tend to drift off or shut down. I've been doing it since 4th grade. During math, I would start thinking about anything other than math. I couldn't focus on math, because I hated math. There's probably some sort of name for that--ADHD or someshit. I don't think it's lazy. I'm not consciously refusing to do math, I just can't seem to focus on it. Not a lot's changed.

Lately, I've felt kind of worthless. Approaching 40 and not knowing what you want to do with your life is pretty scary. The things that I'm good at, the things that I'm interested in, and my increasing age has me in a pretty low percentile of guys that are going to be monetarily successful. I suck at everything to do with money. So I've decided to downsize. I've spent a lot of money in my time on crap. Just useless crap. I'm going to stop with the stuff. There's just too much stuff. The way I see it, if you can't be that rich dentist driving the Range Rover, you might as well be happy living within your means. Of course, I've never been content so that might be a challenge.

I think happiness is underrated. I've made a vow to myself to not take happiness for granted anymore. I'm good at some things, I suck at others, but at the end of the day I need to sit back and appreciate what a cool life I've got. I know it sounds like hippie nonsense, but as long as you've got loved ones and mediocre health, you're not doing too bad. Think about it.
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