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Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Pottery class









I signed up for an eight week Pottery class through the Saint Paul Community Education Program. After eight weeks, I wound up with 16 Vessels. Pots. Bowls. I attempted many more, but destroyed clay in the process of completing just these simple pieces.

Two pots were either left behind or destroyed in the kiln.
14

Two pots were cracked.
12

Two pots had little feet from the glaze dripping below the finish.
10

Two pots had glaze on the base, making them uneven.
8

All said and done, after eight weeks, in my first pottery class since eighth grade with Mr. Erie, at Stillwater Junior High School, I completed eight pots. Bowls. Jars. Vessels. Plates. Ashtrays. Projectiles. Sentimental pieces of burnt dirt.

I tried taking photos, but somehow, one photo got lost in webspace.

And I can't explain why some of the photos are hi-res and some are not.

Enjoy.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Another place holder


Photo Courtesy of ASI Photography

Photo Courtesy of ASI Photography

Photo Courtesy of ASI Photography

Photo courtesy of ASI Photography

Photo Courtesy of Skinnyski.com

Photo Courtesy of Skinnyski.com

Photo Courtesy of Skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com

Photo courtesy of robbiehalvorson @ flickr

Photo courtesy of skinnyski.com


Photo courtesy of Skinnyski.com
2000
Summer TCUL League, Sport Grey

2001
Summer TCUL League, Brick red
American Birkebeiner 53 Kilometer Freestyle, 4:32:31

2002
Lumberjack days 5 K, 23:51
American Birkebeiner 53 Kilometer Freestyle, 4:01:04
TCUL Summer League, Maroon

2003

2004
American Birkebeiner 53 Kilometer Freestyle, 3:28:43
Summer TCUL League, Lime green

2005
American Birkebeiner 53 Kilometer Freestyle, 2:49:36
Summer TCUL League Apu
Northshore Inline Marathon, 1:33:57

2006
American Birkebeiner 53 Kilometer Freestyle, 3:01:13
Northshore Inline Marathon, 1:36:23

2007
Northshore Inline Marathon, 2:07:13
American Birkebeiner Open Field Participant
TCUL Men's League, Subject to Change
Lake Rebecca Cyclocross, 26th
Boom Island cyclocross, Cat. 4, 53rd
The Hub cyclocross, Cat. 4, 40th
LGR Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 44th
Rum River Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 22n

2008
City of Lakes Loppet, 1:34:1
American Birkebeiner 53 Kilometer Freestyle, 3:04:54
Climb for the Cure IDS Stair Climb, 9:35
City of Lakes Tri-Loppet, 2:09:40
City of Lakes Trail Loppet, 2:00:47
Big Woods Half Marathon, 1:50:51
In Yan Teopa 10 mile, 1:25:45
Hoigaards Challenge, 5:44:44
YMCA Cyclocross, 30t
Wirth Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 49th
The Bikery Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 23rd
The Red Barn Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 34th
MN State Championship Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 31st
NSC Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 25th
Green Acres Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 31st

2009
SJU Saints Invite 11 Kilometer Freestyle, 34:56
Marine O' Brien 12.5 Kilometer Classic, 42:30
City of Lakes Loppet 35 Kilometer Freestyle, 1:41:50
Climb for the Cure IDS Stair Climb, Unofficial, 8:46
Mora Vassaloppet 35 Kilometer Freestyle, 1:34:26
American Birkebeiner 54 Kilometer Classic, 3:34:35
Pole Pedal Pant Winter Triathalon, Unofficial, 1:43
City of Lakes Tri-Loppet, 1:48:33
Summer TCUL Leage, Jacob's Ladder and Warmouth
City of Lakes Trail Loppet, 2:03:37
Hoigaards Challenge, 5:34:01
Wirth Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 45th
Bikery Cyclocross, Cat. 3, 16th
Red Barn Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 24th
Behind Bars / Velodrome Cyclocross, Cat. 3, 42nd
Minnesota State Championships Cyclocross, Cat. 4, 23rd

2010
City of Lakes Loppet 35 Kilometer Freestyle, 1:45:28
Marine O' Brien 25 Kilometer Freestyle, 1:17:18
Climb for the Cure IDS Stair Climb, N/A
American Birkebeiner 54 Kilometer classic, 3:04:58
Summer TCUL League, Akita and Jeweled Lacerta
Jon Francis Memorial Half-Marathon, 1:44:41
4th Annual Wooly Mtn. Bike Race, Recreational Category, 34:53
City of Lakes Tri-Loppet, 1:43:42
City of Lakes Trail Loppet, 1:53.04
Hoigaards Challenge, 5:22.15

2011
King Boreas 15 k freestyle, 42:05
Marine O'brien 25 k freestyle, 1:17:17
City of Lakes Loppet 33 k freestyle, 1:46:01
Mora Vassaloppet 58 k freestyle, 3:15:02
Pole Pedal Pant, 1:36:59
Get Lucky 7 k, 31:56
Surly Trail Loppet, 2:01.18

2012
Marine O'Brien 21 K Classic 1:09:56
Climb for the Cure IDS Stair Climb, N/A
City of Lakes Loppet 17 Kilometer Freestyle, 50:04
UCare Tri-Loppet 1:55:26
Minneapolis Duathalon 1:31:18
Nice Ride 145
Surly Trail Loppet 1:41:13
Hoigaard's Challenge 4:26:43
TCUL Fall League, Thundercats

2013
Twin Cities Ultimate League, Mens Hat Tournament, Team 3M
Marine O'Brien 25 K Freestyle, 1:20:52
City of Lakes Loppet Hoigaards 25 k Classic, 1:35:10
American Birkebeiner, 51 k Freestyle, 2:57:34
Saint John's University Red Ride Century participant
UCare Tri-Loppet, 1:55:58
Nice Ride 170
Surly Trail Loppet, 1:47:08
Hoigaards Challenge 5:32:58

2014
Twin Cities Ultimate League, MLK Jr. Day Hat Tournament.
Surly Trail Loppet, 2:04:57

2015
City of Lakes Loppet Age Gap Relay

2017
City of Lakes Age Gap Relay
TCUL, Masters League, Flintstones

Final re-post

Re-Posted from October 16th, 2010

The money rant

The long awaited, much debated, overly-emphasized, hair pulling, teeth gnashing, dinner plate throwing, toenail ripping, cuticle chewing, knuckle breaking, finger bleeding rant upon which my accountability is weighed against what I am already accountable for.

This morning started great. slept in. Read a couple chapters. got out of bed. Lazed around the apartment for half an hour. Decided it was time to start my day. First stop, bank. Not very different from a typical weekday, in fact, the only thing that really makes today any different from a Monday through Friday day is that the farmers market is open and I happen to have a small amount of money in my checking account; just enough to take about twenty dollars down to the farmers market and fill up my pantry with fresh vegetables and legumes and fruits and all sorts of goodness from the soil. I'm excited. I'm giddy. If I were a dog, my tail would have been wagging.
however, as any informed blog reader would do, you've already perused my profile and noticed I am unemployed. You would ask yourself, as an informed reader, "Where does this person get their money, if he or she is unemployed?", ergo, "Do tell, dear brother, from whence your farmers market bounty doth inspire?", therefore, "Yo, this cracker ain't got no bread, he's just a poor honkey in the ghetto spending some of grannies dough, ya'll", to which the banker replied, "It is not our problem that you do not have an income. you owe us money. Any time there is money in your account, they will take what money is owed to them. what would you have us do?"
So, dear improbable and imaginary reader, I implore you. How does a thirty-five year old, with no job, no friends of vastly significant wealth, (see professional sports figure salaries), come up with money? My parents. My own mother. not so demeaning as working for someone you disagree with, going home to your beautiful wife, loving children, warm house, working car, quiver of bicycles and warm slippers for your toes, I have the ignominy of begging, panhandling to may own parents, who worked all of their lives to raise responsible, loving, strong and capable children, being given enough to pay immediate necessities, waking up in the morning and finding the bank has taken all of it. For debt. This is about eighteen months ago. Since then, I've had one job, and was laid off about a year ago.
This trend, this description, this instance happened just this morning, but in truth, the most difficult part of being lied to is finding the one grain of truth in the lie that makes it believable. This is my grain of truth. the straw that breaks the camel's back. This has been my carcinogenic, malignant, metastatic, day to day repetitious agitation.

Re-Posted, three days

Re-Posted blog entry, November 30th, 2010

long time gone.

I sold my car about fourteen months ago. I sold my 1998 Saturn station wagon, with tracking-control, with 270,000 miles, with a replaced rear fender, replaced driver's side quarter panel, replaced driver's side passenger door, replaced rear driver's side quarter panel, with original stereo and original seats, (though smelling somewhere between locker room and litter box) for $100.00. Fourteen months ago.
A deer took out the rear quarter panel. A tree took out the rear fender. I took out the front and mid quarter panels. I also did the work myself. Replaced a door, window and window motor, rotated the tires and sheared the nuts. among the finer points of the station wagon set, is the functionality. Fly rod? No problem. Kayak, canoe, camping gear, three dudes? No problem.
Five adults to Chicago and back? No problem.
Having sold the car, I jumped on my bicycle, raced to the bank, deposited the check and kept twenty dollars in cash. A half gallon of milk and something I've already forgotten later, my 1998 pimento olive with wheels was a memory. Cost of new bearings, tires, balancing and tire rotation six weeks prior to selling my metallic plum 1998 Saturn station wagon? Somewhere between 4 and 5 hundred dollars.
So, I sold my car about fourteen months ago, and I've been walking and biking since. Not exclusively. I've carpooled. I've bussed. But mostly, as I've lived fairly close to wherever it is I've been working or living, I've walked. These are the voyages of the starship biped, its ongoing mission to explore new and undiscovered footpaths, sidewalks, patches of rough cement, bike lanes, stairs and routes. To knowingly take the slowest possible route, one step at a time, and discover where the sidewalk ends.

Re-Posted blog entry, December 1st, 2010

Equanimity

Today's walk. Sunny, bright, brisk, cool, icy, refreshing, sanguine....wait. Sanguine, really? And so begins my irony laced tirade.
Well, not really. I can't for the life of me think of anything ironic about proprioception...or nepotism...or the lack of one and an abundance of the other. That being said, the walk itself was beautiful, (pulchritudinous) and glorious in its abundance, (tautology) of fresh air and sunlight. Unfortunately, occasional patches of ice caused nefarious, (malignant) loss of traction, (grip) and resulted in momentary, (ephemeral) loss of proprioception, (somaesthesia) and that inherent sense of falling, (hypnagogia) which is sometimes likened to the myoclonic twitch, (hypnic jerk). So, I'm sleep walking, (somnaubulism). Or doing a version of the electric boogaloo, (crumping).
Which is odd.
Because I've been awake for a little over four hours. Coffee, breakfast, getting chewed on by the maintenance guy, (Schneider) in my apartment building. Definitely NOT ASLEEP. And I am definitely a white guy with absolutely no rhythm.
So, I'm slipping, (degenerating).
All things considered, it was a pleasant walk and had a lot going for it, (potential), but for the solitary nature, (misanthropy) of avoiding the crowded, (congested) bus and saving some money, (duckets) the equanimity, (imperturbability) of the walk would have been ruined, (extirpated).


Re-Posted blog entry, December 2nd, 2010

December second

Amazing day outside today- sunny, clear, not too cold but cold enough to know it is winter. spent the morning waking up, getting motivated to walk to the library and do the same thing I've been doing for the past year and half or so...look for a listing, somewhere, on craigs list, or monster, or usa jobs, or avue digital services, or the minnesota department of employee relations, or the us fish and wildlife service, or minnesotaworks or any of a couple more pages that might have a listing that would lead to a job, being hired and having income again.
Oddly, what brings about the most action from the powers that be, has nothing to do with responding to these ads. It has a lot more to do with trying to make conversation with a group of people who all probably have been through the same event in their own lives.
While my ego slowly cringed away from the thought that any one of them would be responsible for or capable of or meritorious enough to actually have a direct hand in hiring, (because that would be like spitting into the wind), communicating at some point will be the only way I can move beyond this stagnant cess pool of malaise...and bear in mind; "it's not what you know, it's who you know"; it seems the worth of my existence is measured by the time I've devoted to searching for a job, gotten frustrated and instead turned to friends and family for advice. Jokes. Sarcasm. Cynicism. Anything but the hollow feeling of being implicitly told my worth as a person is to define impaired, addled, disabled.
What else is there to say?
My walk. Two miles, maybe more. Sunny. Nice day.



Another Re-Post

From December 7th, 2011

The list

So, I sent a text message the other day, sort of half in thought and half distracted, a meddling segue had just passed into my transience, as if having a thought had been replaced by a cognitive function dependent on not thinking at all. I passed along the text, closed my phone and resumed watching television. The after thought is this, how many ways could I attach meaning to, and how many different stories could I ascribe a certain genre to, the story of Christopher Mccandless? So, my quick text, in my mind, has started to gain a little attention.
Why else would I compare his story to the story of My side of the mountain, or Jack Kerouac's Desolation Angels, or the Dick Proeneke story Alone in the Wilderness, or Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire? I think each has merit to stand alone as interesting stories, but do each of them have and share some central theme of isolation, selfishness, ignorance and loss? Is there triumph in being able to claim self-sufficiency? Is there tragedy in losing one's life if that life has been spent pursuing something so honest and abidingly ephemeral as finding a sense of place? Is theirs an issue of empowerment or entitlement?
A lot of spiritual geographies have been written that address that topic, Kathleen Norris, Wallace Stegner, Michael Dorris, Seamus Heaney and many, many other writers could be said to deliberately pursue and achieve a sense of place as a central character or major component of their novels and prose. Moreso than the characters themselves.
What then, draws in an individual, past that fictional realm of the spiritual, and causes one to actively pursue something which does not exist?
so my text was this;
Alone in the Wilderness versus Into the Wild versus Desert Solitaire versus My Side of the Mountain versus Desolation Angels versus Walden Pond. Thoreau always changes the camber of this topic for me. That may be the thread that unravels this ball of twine.
Walked today, yesterday, the day before and the day before. I also skied today, which was fun and appreciated, like a piece of toffee.

Re-post

Another re-posted Blog entry, from December 26th, 2011

Holiday Tradition

Having had the opportunity to chew a few friends ears off on this issue, I thought I'd throw it against the blogger wall and see if it doesn't stick. I have this theory, about a few movies, and its not really a theory, as much as it is a thesis. It involves the idea of eternal return, divine intervention and painfully slow evolution. A could grab a few movies and their plots in order to increase the chance that one of them would allow for a more accurate point, like grabbing a handful of darts and throwing them all at once, hoping one would find the Bullseye, but I've gone over this thing in my head enough times now that it seems easy to choose one example and allow the verbal discourse to flow.
Take, for example, It's a Wonderful Life. My whole argument with the movie arises from George pausing momentarily on the railing of the bridge he decides to jump off of; in the movie, he actually jumps, lands in the water and must be saved by Clarence. The near death experience, and the appearance of his guardian angel create a fictional reality for George to view his life if he had not existed, and as the viewer, one could assume his life is safely secured in the hands of his guardian angel, so a state of eternal return is implied; if George were to be in an accident, or attempt to jump off of another bridge, it is assumed Clarence would be there to again protect and save him from hell, heaven or that place where Christians go to stand in line while Saint Peter decides if they've been good or bad...Limbo, Macarana, Salsa....Purgatory.
George's decision to jump and end his life, before meeting Clarence and before seeing his life as it would have been if he had never been born, is a desperate act and is one based on his life to that point. The role of Clarence is to show him the value he has as an individual to those around him and how his actions have constantly positively affected his acquaintances. Clarence, in reality, is nothing more than the good intentions we carry towards one another, the faith we have that tomorrow will be a better day than today, and is the will's conscious mind preventing the Christian from ascending the railing and flinging his or herself into the icy water.

What follows is a journal entry from four years ago. Enjoy.

8-8-06
Another early morning, I should start giving gold stars. I usually can’t get out of bed until at least ten o’ clock, so I’m happy to report I’m up and partially functional at six o’ clock. Paul would be proud...I got out fishing yesterday morning too, so this must be a trend. The Willow, true to form, didn’t have a lot of surface activity, sort of in direct opposition of the rush and the Kinnie, the Willow hardly ever seems to have fish rising...although I’ve not spent a lot of time on any of the three, (like, all day, camped out, shore lunch, guiding millionaire clients sort of time) to be certain that this is anything more than theory, it just seems to be a trend. The morning was amazing- three otters swam past me, I turned over some rocks and found dragonfly larva, stonefly larva, mayfly and of course caddis larva.
I fished a few runs and had taken apart my rod to start hiking back, but stopped at one last big pool before walking back to my car. The pool was probably a man made invention- A big structure for lurking browns and rainbows. The pool was created by a large tree, functioning as a dam; water spilled over the top and created a deep pool with oxygenated water flowing to the surface- another branch of the river joined the effluence of the pool about fifteen feet beyond it, at about the same area a gravel road, disrupted on each side of the river by, the river, went through the river and had raised the bottom enough to easily stand on and cast from without hardly getting my shins wet, (if I hadn’t had my waders on of course). I’m not sure how much gravel it would take every year to maintain that underwater dirt/gravel road, but it must take some maintenance. Anyway, I hooked two fifteen+ inch browns, big, plump hens that were probably holding eggs, (roe) and were hefty to the touch. The first was a snag hook, but the second was on the nose. I probably could have hooked into a couple more, seeing as to the pool was probably big enough to hold enough fish to supply the city of Hudson’s huck finn population with fresh trout for days, but I left shortly after hooking a smallmouth bass- too much diversity and craziness for me. The best part, the most unbelievable part of the morning, was the otter family. What I thought at first were beavers, or a solitary beaver, was a small group of otters, working their way downstream, tweeting at each other and sort of half swimming, half porpoising along- it’s the sort of thing I shouldn’t talk about out of fear of some crazy trapper folk going after them-
I knew there were/are big fish in the Willow river, I’ve just never hooked into them- I’m glad my presumptions and theories are sometimes correct. Hello.

Re-Post

The following is a re-posted blog post from January 17th, 2011

Around the World

I had some free time when I was a kid. I'd spend some of it skateboarding, until my skateboarder friends got cars and girlfriends and jobs to support their snowboarding habit. Then I tried rollerblading, but I wore the wheels down and decided rollerskis were closer to Nordic skiing than rollerblades. Then soccer, then running, then a mountain bike, then fly fishing, biking, skiing...there's more, of course. But listing isn't the point. At the far end of the spectrum, windsurfing.
Closer to reality, shooting hoops.
I learned how to play basketball by shooting buckets after school, marking eight points on an imaginary map, (my parent's driveway) and playing Around the World. If I made it around once, I had to make it back, allowing myself one free throw for every shot.
That's eight baskets from point A to point B; and eight baskets back to point A.
I also played Pig, Horse and Buffalo Horse, but never dared to play a game of intramural basketball, or for the love of God, to actually try out for a team. Terrifying, the thought of my private accomplishment to be pulled onto the lit floor of the gymnasium and torn asunder by the trained masses of Ballers.
After some time, my parent's saw the basketball hoop as the only way to get me out of the house, a tactic they wisely and tactfully employed by tearing down the hoop and offering the local basketball courts as refuge. I was a mere thirty years old. Awhile back, I had to make a change in my place of residence, moving from a place as trusted and reverential as that driveway to an unknown and well lit court. The first thing a random passerby took from the curb, among my belongings, was my basketball, worn smooth and soft to the touch.
Then they took my Philodendrons. And my spathiphyllum.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Bike Ride










Group ride and some extra miles after, A then and now photo as well.

Dead Souls and searching for a bargain.

Dead SoulsDead Souls by Nikolai Gogol

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


LENA
Yeah.

BARRY
So that pudding was bought, I
bought that pudding because of a
pretty interesting promotion that's
sponsored by Healthy Choice and
American Airlines. It's designed to
encourage airline travel and
obviously designed to encourage
buying Healthy Choice products.
They make frozen meals, deli meats,
pasta sauce, breads, soups and ice
creams, this sort of thing.....

LENA
Yeah?

BARRY
....I'm sorry....I lost my
thoughts, what I was saying....

LENA
You were talking about the
promotion --

BARRY
-- the promotion says: buy any 10
Healthy Choice products and get 500
miles of airline travel or 1,000
for purchases made with a special
coupon. So in the supermarket, you
notice their products, first you
notice they have a Teriyaki Chicken
Dinner at $1.79 - that's a pretty
good deal....but then I noticed
they had soup at 89 cents a
can.....and you start to do the
math and you start to notice that
it's a really amazing deal because
I stumbled across the pudding at 25
cents a cup. Now the crucial thing
is the bar codes on the label.
That's those little bar codes, you
know? The universal product codes?

LENA
Yeah.

BARRY
That's what's used to redeem the
mileage, so in noticing the
pudding, each cup had an individual
bar code -- in other words: Two
dollars and fifty cents for ten
cups of pudding is 500 miles. Add
in the coupon: it's one thousand.
You see?

LENA
Yeah.

BARRY
You see?

LENA
Yeah, no, I see --

BARRY
You see if you spent $3,000 dollars
on pudding you could earn over one
million frequent flyer miles.

LENA
That's insane. That is really,
really crazy. That's just crazy if
you spend three thousand dollars on
pudding.

BARRY
....yeah....

LENA
So that was your pudding?

BARRY
....No....

LENA
I'm sorry. I thought you said --

BARRY
No I didn't say that.

LENA
I thought you said you bought all
that pudding --

BARRY
My friend Carlos is doing it who
works with me. It's his. It's his
pudding, he's doing it. It's not
mine. He's crazy. I told him not to
do it. He's the one who's insane.
He only spent about one hundred
dollars so far though --

LENA
Your sister was telling me a pretty
funny story about you, when you
guys were kids and you were
building a ramp for your dog and
you threw a hammer through a window?
Is that right? You threw a hammer
through a sliding glass door?

Barry starts to WELL WITH TEARS, which he hides very
quickly, holds a hand up to his face as if he's touching his
nose, and then he smiles;

BARRY
I don't remember that, she might be
lying. I have to go the bathroom.

- Punch Drunk Love.



View all my reviews

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Final Writing Challenge, Ergo, What's the point?

The story takes place ten years into the future.

You won't remember reading this.

6-2-11

The story ends on a lake. The story takes place a thousand years into the future. During the story, a well-established leader steps down. The story must involve a bowl in it. A character gets a new hairstyle, but it is done for different reasons than people would expect.


Diligently placing each piece of hair into the bowl, Hank continued to explain the concept of time travel, "...and hair club for men eventually became so powerful, and accumulated so many clients, that it began to think for itself. As world banks crumbled, a new economy based on hair emerged. People began to pay for things with the weight of their hair. As technologies advanced and people became more desperate for hair, scientists discovered the only way to get hair back was to go back in time and transplant what hair you had. Thus, time travel. But, as Hair Club for Men became more powerful, it began sending stylists back in time to steal people's hair and make wigs for their highest paying clients, The Glam Rockers."

"So you made this lake to make it safe for people to time travel into the future and donate their hair to the resistance?"

"Yup."

6-1-11

The story takes place ten years in the past. During the story, there is a visit by an unexpected visitor. A character writes a book, but the action goes terribly wrong. A character is pessimistic throughout most of the story. During the story, a character moves to a different dwelling.

Geez, am I glad to see you. I've been working on writing this book, and all I can come up with is that Bruce Springsteen line about, "...lying in bed with the sheets soaking wet with a freight train running through the middle of my head..." and the other one about "...sitting around here trying to write this book..."
I'd tell you to stop trying, but if you like Bruce Springsteen, maybe you should just buy a set of headphones and sell the typewriter...there's a growing consensus of people who spend time worrying and praying for you. Between them and what you just told me, maybe a new place to live would encourage your writing skills.

5-31-11

The story must have a possum in it. The story must involve a medallion in it. A character becomes generous during the story.

We were all eating pork medallions on the porch, and then this little possum just scurried past, and after having three or four beers, I felt so generous I thought I'd give the little fella a bite to eat.
He was waddling a long really slow like, so I squatted down in front of him and shoved some pork medallions in his face. I had no idea possums had teeth. Turns out, that old saying, "Playing Possum" means something is dangerous, but hasn't started showing its true nature.
I always though it had something to do with using a possum as a football. Like a redneck thing or something.

5-30-11

During the story, an organization begins recruiting.

The World Health Organization just called. They want their fresh air back.

5-28-11