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As if all of the great outdoors fun I've had this year wasn't enough, I'll be heading out here shortly for another weekend river trip. I was originally slated for another BYOB weekend on a sandbar in the Arkansas River. However, fate stepped in like it often does. I'll be en route to Noel, Missouri, to float the Elk River with a group of folks. It will apparently be a rather easy float. I called my brother last night who has floated it many times and he reported that the only time he has flipped on the Elk was after he and his partner had split 41 beers. I told you he was an offensive lineman in college, right? In any event, I'll be the advance team, as everyone else will be arriving later that night. Heh. I get to set up the camp to my own liking. That could be dangerous. We'll actually be camping on a 12-acre island on the river and that ought to be pretty cool. And besides my own stuff, I'm assigned to bring beer and a watermelon. You see most of those folks are coming from Oklahoma where the beer is legally restricted to 3 something percent, so, of course, they're all clamoring for "some of that good ole Arkansas beer." I told them I'd bring the 30-30 (Miller Light and Bud Light; we've got to do the taste test you know). Heh. So folks, I'll be off in a bit for another great adventure with a yellow dog. There'll be pics and debauchery to report I'm certain. In the meantime, keep (or start) making your plans for the Jawja Blogger Meet. (Incidentally, that will be along a river, too. I wonder if being born under the sign of Pisces might explain all these watery escapades.) One time in high school, my family made the trek to Altus, Oklahoma, to visit all the family from out there (Momma's an Okie). My cousin Randy and I decided to call up a bunch of his friends and play basketball. I suppose I was a senior or something because my sister had started growing into the beautiful young woman she is and one of the Randy's friends had met her earlier on the trip. This one particular friend was in some sort of phase where he was all g-hopped gangsta style muh nizzle. I enjoyed shutting the little "G" down on the basketball court. I mean, really, if you've ever visited Altus, Oklahoma, you know the place is not among the hot spots of Crips and Bloods activity. This was around the same time that HBO's Gang War: Bangin' In Little Rock documentary was being filmed in Little Rock. Just from being around those Little Rock bangers, I had more "G" in my cracker pinkie than all of Altus if I wanted to turn it on. Anyway, at some point during the game, little "G" boy remarked that my sister was "f---'in" hot. All I could think to say was, "Thanks...I think." One of the best things about Rob, aka Acidman, is you damn well know where you stand with him. So it was with great curiosity that I went over to his site after seeing I had been the lucky recipient of an Acidbath from my sitemeter. Just scroll down to the last paragraph to see what Rob had to say about your humble SSG. Thanks for the link Rob...I think. Just Damn! Your humble correspondent had an incredible weekend. As I reported earlier, I spent the weekend down at DeGray Lake to cheer my cousin on in the Iron Mountain Man triathlon. Now gentle readers, this wasn't a leisurely 5k or 10k. This was a half Iron Man competition. That translates into a 1.2-mile swim, followed by a 56-mile bike ride, and topped off with a 13.1 mile run. Just Damn! Luckily, it wasn't a typical August day and the temperatures were rather mild for such a test of endurance. I'd never watched a triathlon before and it was intriguing. The transition area was packed with bikes and gear the participants would switch between. This wasn't some sort of amateurish event. Though it's still not clear to me how it all works, but there were folks from all over the country and this was some sort of nationally rated event. We're talking there were folks from as far east as Dunwoody, GA, west to California, northeast to New Jersey, Northwest to Colorado, etc. At the event, my cousin and two of his club members from Oklahoma City competed among the over 500 contestants. I have to confess, I'm more than a little inspired to get into something like that. I'll probably start by getting back into running and some mountain hiking. Part of that reason has to come from this exchange with my sister who had also come down to cheer our cousin. Sis: You know there's a bunch of girls here that could really kick your @ss. SSG: I know! I was just thinking that. Sis: You better behave yourself. Heh. SSG: Well, I figure if any of them got after me, I could probably get a head start for a little sprint. Sis: Adam, these girls run 13 miles. SSG: Yeah, so I guess I'd climb one of these pine trees and throw pine cones at them. So, what do you expect your humble SSG to do with so many finely tuned triathlete women roaming around, their bodies glistening in the sultry Arkansas August afternoon? Well, for one thing it's important to remember that a female triathlete is not nearly as dangerous after completing a Half Ironman. You might be able to take 'em. Now imagine hopping into a comely triathlete's SUV to show the way for a beer run, and she pops in a Rodney Carrington: Greatest Hits CD. Now you tell me--what is a SSG supposed to do? At this point, there is no more decisions for the SSG to make. His subconscious just takes over. It is out of his control. Besides, can you think of a better way to honor the Summer Olympics? But, alas, the comely young triathlete had to go home to (Undisclosed location). Longtime readers are well aware that I tend to not kiss and tell except for only the most trusted of friends. And due to certain sensitivities, I'll not provide any details that would betray her identity. Heck, with a name and a google search anyone could be looking at pictures of her in seconds. Maybe some of my more trusted pals at the Jawja Blogger meet-up will hear more of the details. We rounded the weekend out with an afternoon back at Lake DeGray swimming, playing stickball, telling lies, and sharing jokes with the cousin and his girlfriend, and my sis and brother-in-law. We left the lake and headed over to Hot Springs to share the wonder of the waters with our guests from out of state. We had a fine meal at The Faded Rose. The crawfish etoufee there is excellent and you should have seen the triathlete girl's steak. We finally made it back to Little Rock around 11 that evening, exhausted but happy. Oh, gentle readers, trouble is a brewing for a little hamlet called Helen, Georgia. You see the time has rolled around to lay out plans for the Jawja Blogger Meet Up. This time the inimitable Velociman is laying on the plans for us to rendezvous for the Helen Oktoberfest in the North Georgia Mountains. Oh the tales that will be told and the ones that will be created.... Unfamiliar with the Jawja Bloggers Meet-Up? In a nutshell, it started with Acidman two years ago. He had put out the word of where he was going to be and was surprised by my good blogbrutha Dax. Last year, the crowd multiplied exponentially and boy what kind of fun we had. And Acidman has put out the call. Now it looks to grow again and if you are anywhere near Helen, Georgia or are willing to make the trip out there, I must insist that you make all efforts to get there. It wil be well worth it. I can honestly say that friendships were made on that meet-up last year that have lasted. My blog sis- Kelley, Dax who carted me all over the North half of metro Atlanta looking for my clothes and keys. Eric, my Marine friend who has been my reliable guest poster, Key who has been my sounding board on a number of issues and vice versa, Kenny who I later met out drinking in Marietta, and, of course, Denny who helped Kelley and I circle the wagons at the Greater Atlanta Blogger Meet Up. There's many more and I apologize for not naming us all in this entry, but you can look back here for all the folks that were there last year. And this is overwhelmingly important to add--you don't have to blog or be a blogger to come. Readers and commenters are not only welcome but encouraged to attend. I won't promise you'll get a word in edgewise, but in all truthfulness we like to hear what you have to say often more than what we are spouting off about. So make your plans now: Helen, GA, October 15 and 16. (Now I have to go check airfares to Atlanta or somewhere halfway close. Who wants to pick me up at the airport?) Well, gentle readers, it is Friday and it is time for me to depart to beautiful DeGray Lake, Arkansas for fun and fellowship with family. My cousin Randy over the past year has gotten rather involved in triathalons and that sort of athletic pursuits. And, there is a rather large Half Ironman event there this weekend, so I'll be heading down to camp and cheer him on as he competes in my old lake stomping grounds. Unfortunately, someone has stolen my summer. Now, I don't mean that the end of summer is upon us. I mean it has been a rather cool summer. Last night, I eased down to the gas station and 'll be damned if the temperature reading from the Jeep didn't say it was 55 degrees. Now, many folks know I love the heat of summer. I like the 90-100 degrees watched with 90-100% humidity. Yet, this past week has been marked with highs in the low to mid 80s and lows in the downright chilly range. This does not please me. In fact it gives me displeasure. It's fall football weather in the middle of August and I'm starting to get confused. Global warming my foot. While we're on the topic of weather, how about that Hurricane Charley? Pretty stiff storm it looks like. From watching all the radar summaries, I find it fascinating how a hurricane continuosly throws thunderstorms ahead of itself to the north-northeast. It's almost like watching a boxer from above exclusively throwing roundhouses and jabs from his right. And I suppose those storms and the ever present possibility of tornadoes from the same is what would scare me more than the hurricane landfall. I remember when I was living in Atlanta back in 1998 when Hurricane Bonnie came in from the Gulf, eased over Atlanta as a tropical storm/depression, headed back to the Atlantic, reconstituted and slammed North Carolina and Virginia. I'll always remember the way those clouds looked. In any event, I'll head on down to the lake in these cool days of summer, pitch a tent, and enjoy the fresh air, even if it is relatively dry air. We may venture back up to Little Rock for a party tomorrow p.m., but that's up in the air. Until then, everyone have a safe and fun weekend, and you Floridians and Georgians in the path of Charley, keep your head down for a few more hours and be careful. UPDATE: You know everytime there's a large hurricane coming into land, the reporters head out to the probable landfall areas, wait for the wind and rain to get intense, shuffle out into the storm dragging some hapless cameraman with them, and proceed to file reports. Invariably, they say things like "as you can see the wind is pretty intense right here (no $hit?), it's raining pretty hard here (you don't friggin' say?), you can see the storm surge is breaking up this (rather, small poorly constructed) dock (yep I can sure see it Roscoe!)." Just once I'd like to see a reporter speaking from a secure storm shelter with a remote camera outside and say something along the lines, "You can see how intense the wind and rain is, I sure am happy to be in here dry and warm. Back to you Wolf." "Thanks John, and don't drink too much cocoa while you're in that bunker." So, you're in a marriage and our filing for divorce. But then you go back for bonus night(s) sex. Guess what? Unless you're in a state with a no-fault divorce law, you very well could be denied the divorce. Sage advice from my blogmutha. Go to Rita's, read the whole thing. Many of you have been there. You've gone to the lake or river and you're back there behind the boat skiing or riding a tube. At some point, somebody in the boat stands up, looks back at you, beckons you to wave and smile so they can take a picture with a camera that doesn't zoom. Invariably, the picture is developed and it is a fine example of someone barely recognizable at the end of a 50 foot rope frantically waving with one arm like Forrest Gump in the meek hope that it will look like their arm when the picture comes out. In the meantime, the skiier fails to notice the sneaky little wave from the wake of another boat and has now found themselves off balance. The wave catches the ski and someone else in the boat has a video camera where they are recodring the greatest water skiing wipeouts of all time. You make the hall of fame with the fourth best wipeout of all time. You want justice. It all started when I was a groomsman in my buddy EK's wedding last June. I had a couple of disposable cameras so we could capture all of the the behind the scenes action of the wedding. For some odd reason, I slipped one in my tuxedo when they called the boys out for pictures. We're all lined up smiling cheesily and making stupid jokes that seem rather funny at the time (ever thought about having a midget in your wedding?). And then it dawns on me--let's give this photographer a little taste of her own medicine. I slip the camera out of my pocket, charge up the flash, and before anyone can move or react, snap a picture of the wedding photographer. If you want to see a doe in the headlights look just give that trick a try. And after all, how many people capture the moment when you're all lining up for pics from the perspective of the photographed? I know one bridal party that does. But I digress. So the occasion was my brother and sister-in-law's from Sedona, AZ, visit to the dad side of the family. Dad lives on Lake Hamilton near Hot Springs, Arkansas. He bought this party barge (also known as a pontoon boat) and had never attempted to pull a skiier. My answer (as always) was, "I'm your huckleberry." Of course, I had a secret plan. I knew there'd be no problem with me getting up behind the pontoon--after you've skiied behind a johnboat on the Current River there's little doubt in your skull (or much else). My plan was to exact justice for every person ever compelled to wave for a camera on the boat for a picture that is not going to be very good and then wiped out. I was going to make someone on the boat wave like Forrest Gump. The evidence my gentle readers (clickable thumbnails as usual)~~ What's he got? I think it's a camera. Where did he get that at? I guess he found it while he was out there skiing and picked it up. No, No, No. I saw him put it in his bag this morning. Well, what's he doing with it out there? Taking pictures, dummy. Do you think it's waterproof? I decided I'd better move to the other side of the boat. No one having that conversation is going to wave like Forrest Gump (though they might have a long talk with him). I put my left foot down and leaned to the right. Of course, I quickly put the camera back in my pocket. I didn't want to wipeout and ruin everything. Some folks have been waiting forever for me to write about my recent trips to the Buffalo River. Well, I'm a little tired so I'm not promising any written words on the trip tonight, but I will share a few pics of Hemi in the canoe. He did exceedingly well for a dog instinctively drawn to being in the water rather than in a canoe on the water. He's my little man and with whom I am well pleased...most days anyhow. Really, who needs a partner to spot for you when you have a sharp eyed yellow dog to scout the river ahead? As promised, I am here to share with you a new concept in grilling out. Since no one guessed the actual configuration of a redneck microwave, no one won the prize. In any event, I promised to share photographic evidence with you and describe it for all of you gentle readers. It's really a rather simple process. First, light your charcoal in a smoker grill (though I'd imagine any sort of charcoal grill would work...). Then secure an air pump like the ones used to inflate an air mattress. Find a steel pipe that will fit snugly over the end of the air pump's hose. If it's a little loose, don't worry. You can secure it with some duct tape to the end of the air pump nozzle. Then open up the fire hatch where the charcoal is burning. Flip the switch of the air pump to "On," insert the metal pipe close to the charcoal and watch it fire up. Want to see it in action? Just scroll on down.... Yep, that's my brother-in-law.
August 19, 2004
Floating Away
Thanks...I think
August 18, 2004
Trying Triathletes
Jawja Bloggers Ride Again
August 13, 2004
Weather Wonders
August 12, 2004
Sage Lesson
Turning The (water) Tables
At first, I couldn't get a good angle and had a little trouble compelling them to wave like Forrest Gump. I think perhaps they were still a little confused about the notion that I was taking pictures from the end of rope while water skiing. I decided to ease out of the wake to the left and get an angle on the front of the boat. I put my right foot down and leaned left.
I'll be damned. Now they were just pointing at me. I imagine the conversation went something like this:
And, at last, my dear brother, the football coach and recent immigrant to Arizona from Arkansas never lets me down. That beige blob with the beige tentacle raised over its head in the right front of the boat is my brother giving me the ole Gump wave. Justice at last!
August 11, 2004
Hemi - Water Dog
Hemi sometimes likes to pretend he is George Washington crossing the Delaware. Kids and those active imaginations you know...Hi Dee!!
Howdy!
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