S.A.D. is B.A.D.

I think I have S.A.D.

Granted, I'm not much of an outdoor person. Not that you could go outside and play when the wind chill will knock you unconscious. On the sunny, warm summer days when there's a light breeze and the scent of freshly-mowed lawn fills my nose, there's nothing finer than enjoying all that through the open window behind my computer monitor. I do, occasionally, venture out, but I find it difficult to do so when, shielding my sight with my hand as the tears squeeze out of the corners of my blinded eyes, Brother stops what he's doing outside and declares, "Wow, I didn't know skin could be that white." I hate the sun, or at least the being directly in it. My legs resemble the color of those cave-dwelling, blind salamanders; devoid of all pigment. Toothpaste has a healthier glow.

I've never really enjoyed anything athletic. Marching Band was my only extracurricular activity in high school. The most exercise you'd get is the 12 minute run-through at the end of rehearsal and the occasional run-the-perimeter of the football field for running your mouth constantly (not me...much). By joining band, I got to go places, learn a little discipline, develop some personal pride, be a part of something bigger than myself, and sure, get outside some. However, during the two weeks in August for Band Camp, it felt like I had been abandoned in the desert on some forced march. I tried gymnastics at a very young age. Too flip-floppy. Soccer later on...I swear to you, the rest of the girls were HUGE DUDES. I didn't really like either.

I always tell people I was built for comfort, not speed. I like yoga and pilates, but not weight lifting or cardio. In fact, if you mention the word "exercise" in front of me, I will likely stab you with a spoon. My idea of enjoying a summer day is stretched out in my hammock in our three-season porch, reading a book (or at least the first few pages) until I doze off.

My attitude about "outside" seems to have changed over the last summer. I think it started with the purchase of my motorcycle a couple of years ago, or maybe it was the yoga classes I signed up for a year ago, but I think it was the purchase late last summer of my sweet, sweet beach cruiser that may have turned the tide. The local supply of Ben & Jerry's and Dove ice cream is two or three blocks away at the gas station. Hey, if you bicycle to the place to buy the ice cream, it negates any and all calories and/or fat grams. So sayeth I. After buying the bicycle, I ended up riding around Eau Claire 30 miles one day with Mostly Naked. Offroad too. Then there's the semi-annual "tubing" that we do on the Chippewa River when my mom comes up to visit. I say "tubing" because it's really, "The river's so slow, we're actually moving upriver, and Kuj's attention span is only good for two hours, so she pulls the four laziest of family members downstream." I'm canoeing next time, you f**kers.

Getting back to the S.A.D., I try to sit in the sun in the big picture window when it's out, though these days the sun is purely decorative. I even resolved to steal my dad's snowshoes and go tramping around the Lowes Creek County Park where Brother and Mostly Naked like to hit trees with their bicycles in the summer. But this year, the weather has been so commonly below the normal range for this area, that I just really can't bring myself to want to go out except to the mailbox on the house right near the front door to get my Netflix.

But I can't wait to go off-road on my sweet, sweet beach cruiser with the boys. I'm going to buy one of those GPS trackers so they can come back hours later and try to find me. Maybe I should bring somebody with me to eat, in case I don't get rescued right away. Or has that become too trendy?

The Last Templar Is Throwing Himself On His Sword

I'm just sitting here watching the Golden Globe Awards...really, I'm blogging. I don't watch these lame-ass wastes of time ever unless I've got a really good reason; Robert Downey, Jr. is nominated for Tropic Thunder...he was HIGH-larious. Mostly Naked and I just spent last evening at Turd's house for a bonfire (9 degrees, baby!) and MN and I were flinging RDJr's quotes back and forth.

Anyway, while I'm slapping away at the keys on my laptop tonight, a commercial comes on for an upcoming NBC movie, "The Last Templar." I remember when I walked into our local Borders months ago that this particular book caught my eye and I proceeded to read it. And didn't like it.

I realize I'm not much of a fiction fan. It's very few authors of fiction that have interested me enough to hook me and reel me in. My mom raves about the Stephanie Plum stuff but I just couldn't get in to it. In fact, it seems the only subjects of fiction that ever entertain me are historical fiction, fantasy stories by specific authors and stories revolving around the story of King Arthur.

Because of that, my reading collection primarily consists of non-fiction. Most of that is about Freemasonry and the Knights Templar. My interest in Freemasonry started when I asked my mom long ago about a piece of jewelry she was in possession of. I think it was a ring that belonged to my grandfather and I never realized he was a mason. At that time I knew nothing about the fraternity, but it made me curious. So I read and read and read. At this point, because it's a "secret" fraternity, I still don't know much about the Freemasons beyond what's out there for reading, but the alleged history of the Freemasons has been interesting to read about. It seems from most of what I've read that the Knights Templar evolved into Freemasons.

This information made "The Last Templar" a fairly crappy read for me. It didn't seem like the book was written in any interest of Templar history. More of a storyline for the sake of a sappy romance novel that smacked of "The Da Vinci Code." Just me saving you from a "Indiana Jones, Lifetime style" movie, if that's what you're trying to avoid.

Crap. Heath Ledger was in the same category as Downey. Guess who won. And I just had to suffer through Winslet's crying jag. Is it Spring yet?

Start stocking up on cat food

I won't say who I voted for in this past election. Let's just say that, since Wednesday morning's results, I've been looking for ways to survive the all-but-certain implosion of my IRA, the probable increase in my property taxes, and the likely pounding my small business employer is going to take, all in the name of helping those who are too lazy to help themselves.

How to Make Alcohol from Common Table Sugar

I wonder if I can toast the generic version of Cocoa Krispies on a hot plate for flavor...maybe get something close to the taste of Beamish.

Also? Google reveals a number of Ramen cookbooks. Grilled. Seriously.

Miss Crankypants

I went with Fahjah for the monthly Sam's Club run to pick up paper towels and poo tickets in bulk the other day. I also purchased chocolate in bulk, and while eating my weight in flavored chocolates typically will soothe my winter ravaged soul, this time it's not working...the cold weather is settling in...my S.A.D. is kicking into high gear, and I've started stocking the fridge with Beamish and the bathroom with Nyquil.

No more Stretchy Pants Sunday (strutting our stuff from garage to front door clad in black, snug Underarmor). No more watching MN mow our lawn...MN. No more using cars as moving pylons. No more sweet, sweet beach cruiser. No more hammock in the three-season porch.

Only things we'll have for the next half a year (whimper)? Beer, bonfires, fluffy white snow, chili (with beans, of course...ammo) and flannel sheets. And the crankiest of residents at La Casa de Gasa. I'm escaping for a week in Tampa as soon as the New Year hits. Once I let her know, I'm sure my mom will be excitedly planning to do all my favorite things as soon as I get off the plane...Go to a Florida Wal-Mart, grocery shopping, bicycle 50 miles on the bike trail, check the mailbox for snakes, etc. I'm hoping if I show up at her house with a case of her favorite Leinie's (and bulk chocolate (Dove, Momma)), I might get off easy.

After my first hardcore season of motorcycling, I'm looking forward to winter this year with all the joy and silliness of a Silkwood shower.

...But I'd STILL rather live here than in Florida. We Cheeseheads may be a more weather-worn, hardy people, but at least we're laid back and delightfully redneck. Worst thing that happens here is somebody lights his friend's balls on fire.

Suck it, Thoreau!

I've been hard pressed to come up with a viable post this past week or so...I have new purchases to share and still need to blog about the big club party, but I can't sit down and type much more than this at the moment.

Mainly because I am struggling to read every last word of Walden. I am fighting tooth and nail against using the book during the early morning hours on weekends for target practice on those GOD-BLESSED NOISY ASS CROWS. Because Walden? Totally sucks. Please, SOMEBODY tell me why this is a classic? Is there a deeper meaning in the discussion of growing beans? Should I do complex math in order to see the "Aha" moment in the ridiculous lists of expenditures and profits? I can't even find a meaningful line to add as my signature in the sportbike club forum so I look all pretentious and smarty. BTW, the current signature is one of my own quoting, "In the end, there can be only one. Two usually requires some stretching."

I'm becoming more and more worried that my comprehension is shot, because I thought a "classic" book was loosely defined as a beloved story passed down from generation to generation. What's with this book? Is it me? Is there some adult version of a reading comp test? Fahrenheit 451? That was a great book. I deem it a classic.

Walden has been in the "library" next to the "throne" for the past week, and when I realized we were down to our last roll of poo tickets, I glanced in the direction of the book and yes, just briefly...

"Will it hurt less if I wad it or fold it?"

Weeeee!

First, this post is mostly for my Momma. All is well! Tackle these tough grass stains, Shout!

Second, WARNING! Gratuitous butt shot.

Short story...Club Ride, left turn, much gravel, target fixation. Hello ditch! I held on longer than I thought I would. No boo-boos, just an achy hip, a bent mirror clip and a completely FILTHY tiki.

Mother Nature Evidently Tripped....

...On acid and decided to skip summer.


Instructions for viewing this photo:

1. Stare at photo.
2. Realize that photo was taken on APRIL FREAKING 28TH, 2008.
3. Bang head on keyboard.
4. Repeat as often as necessary to pass the time.

Caution - Tangent Ahead.

Would eating cookie dough from a plastic tube that reads, quite prominently, "COOKIE DOUGH CONTAINS RAW INGREDIENTS. BAKE BEFORE CONSUMING," be considered a sort of Russian Roulette?

Gah

36. Oh, this can't end well. It's certainly not starting that way.