The Urgent Physics Problems of the Incas

Dream: I ran into an old girlfriend, Kathy, in the town where we used to live, at a particle accelerator where they were bombarding Christmas trees with neutrons. She has a midget on a leash. She tells me she has been married three times and her last name is now Schoecheekowskischke, which she made up. The midget, she explains, is an adopted child from the second marriage. I get into a blue SUV and start to leave, claiming that the church I am assigned to photograph will only be dry enough for another 15 minutes or so.

Moose Who Don't Like Toast?

Richard Powerwashes the Pig!

An ongoing project around our house is powerwashing the siding. It's slow, and I don't have as much spare time as all that. I am doing it, however, one section at a time. Tonight I looked over and noticed that our propane "pig" (tank) had the same greenish mildew as the house, so I decided to wash it. The goats looked on with great curiosity. When I was done, I ran into the house and announced to Abby and Mitchell, "I powerwashed the pig!" It was a work of art that, sadly, was somewhat under appreciated. I photographed it, and took the liberty of adding a nice gleam in Photoshop, which I felt I deserved.

Luke, It Is Your Destiny!

When soldiers come to take you and your family away for reprogramming to serve in their underground sugar caves, I will sneak into your house late at night and eat all of your chocolate chips. Oh, and I will take everything you have ever written to our secret press, Limp Member Publications, and print it for everyone to see under the title, "Barracuda Sneeze Agent."

Owning Your Own Shadow, Home, and Sports Team

Owning your own house makes it easier to isolate yourself, eat Twinkies and frozen pizza, watch bad late-night television, and cyber-sex with ugly, nerdish men pretending to be teen-aged girls.

Crime of the Ancient Mariner

• Circa 1999: I dream there are lobsters infesting my underwear drawer.
• Fact: If all the people in the world were laid end-to-end at the equator, most of them would drown.
• R's opinion of me: "Man, sometimes you just have too many f*cking opinions."
• Entry from a close friend's journal, circa 1985: "F*ck you, God!"
• Paradise Lost, then found again with a metal detector.
• This photo isn't of a cow.

Kris Kringle in Hell

Dear Santa,

Please bring me the power to manipulate sphincter muscles at ranges up to five kilometers.

Love, Shack

Brain and Brain! What Is Brain?!

True story about mentally ill neighbor, circa 1999:

She wears a fur coat regardless of the weather, and prowls the streets looking for rat trash, coming and going at ten minute intervals. She stares at the ground and won't look at me when I say hello. In the late afternoon, she carefully arranges the following items on my doorstep, all of which have obviously come from the street:

• 2 lipsticks
• McDonald's fries box
• Butterscotch hard candy
• Sheet of paper with the photocopied words, "Let's get drunk and screw."
  

Don't Make Me Come Down There!

Predictions from the Blakk Bük...

• It's easy enough to pat yourself on the back. The hard part is to keep society from kicking you in the nuts.
• When the year 2000 arrives, all farts will be bloody, all toilets will be plugged, all AM radios will play my propaganda, and all the women who slept with married men behind their boyfriend's backs instead of sleeping with me will have lightning bolts enter their eyes and exit their genitals. Oh, and when you flush, the water will rotate clockwise.
• She'd rather have a bottle in front of her than a frontal lobotimer.
• "I'd rather learn from one million ducks how to shut the f*ck up than teach one anus to fart." -Confused Milieu Man
• My ninth book: 996 Reasons Why I Should Never Be Given a Chipper-Shredder.

The Frozen Age

When I was seven, we lived in Omaha, Nebraska. There was a school behind our house bordered by three hills. We sledded down those hills when there was snow, but I was always afraid of the largest of those three hills. All that winter, our Rambler was stuck in the garage because of ice on the sloped driveway. In the attic, my cousin Lori and I thought there were bodies hidden inside the walls. I had a favorite red plaid shirt with pearl buttons and long sleeves. I wear it in a complex fantasy about leaping off the front porch and getting shot in the arm, but it's only a flesh wound.

I was seven then, and was certain I wanted to be seven forever.

Culling the Herd

Society has become so self-referential and redundant that I've rapidly concluded that it's all made up of seven essential elements:

1. Sex
2. Orange soda
3. Rainbow suspenders
4. Pornography
5. Irony
6. Getting smacked by rolled-up newspaper
7. Falling from a vast height onto a slurry of razor blades, broken glass and sulfuric acid.

I have a voodoo doll of my own genitals. When I've been bad, I put it in the microwave.

Death Boner 3000

From the Blakk Bük...

• Nothing arouses me or inspires me more than super-slow-motion footage of a laser-guided Maverick missile slamming into the side of a T-72 tank at four times the speed of sound.
• I like the way granola started out as health food and gradually degenerated into candy.
• Nothing is more beautiful than the desperate "face" of orgasm.
• Is there anything more believable than a talking dog on television?
• July 1999: I dreamed there was an accidental nuclear war somewhere else in the world. Radiation poisoned us all. Everywhere I went, vomit covered the ground.
• People retire to places like Lawton, Oklahoma, because they figure they're going to hell anyway, and might as well get a head start.
• There are too many cookies in my vengeance dome.

Brainiac + Mucous = Carne el Burro

Collateral Damage

by Rod Woody

I take my huge, giant, unwieldy, inefficient brain for a walk. It is moist with a soothing intergalactic laxative called "love gizz." As we walk, it devours my heart and mind (even though technically it is my mind), and I am left to walk in a state of perpetual metaphorical nakedness, with the Universe able to make out my weaknesses if they hold me up to the light.

Python Salad

Here are some more erudite ramblings from the 1990's Blakk Bük...

• Like Pavlov's dogs, I begin unceasingly salivating at the mere sight or mention of the word "waif."
• In the three months of 1983 when I was getting high, my friends and I called weed "Python Salad."
• If you bought radio and TV time that claimed that eating a vegan diet can slow or stop hair loss, you could have the whole country eating rice and cabbage in under a week.
• There is little difference between being powerless, and being powerful and not realizing it.
• I visited 20 or more chat rooms last night, and I didn't meet one person with a decent sense of humor. Most of the people in them wanted to blame the opposite gender for their own inadequacies.
• When I was ten, my best friend Johnny convinced me that to die "in cold blood" meant that you died with your eyes open.
• Occupation: Growing dissatisfaction in the garden of good and evil. Hobby: plotting the end of the world, and vice versa.
• As children, we pretended to be blind, often without closing our eyes. As adults, we pretend to be informed, often without opening our eyes.
• I can't believe I was stupid enough to let that one guy put a sign on my back that said, "I'm a fag." (Ironically, everyone thought he was gay.)
  
• The man is a pig, and vice versa

Severe Head Wound vs Fluffy Kittens

Entry from years ago in the Blakk Bük...

Lately I have been deeply troubled by imagining what it must feel like to get hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat. Once in a while I think I'd rather be wearing a helmet. But then I'm worried about my knees, my face, my groin. Soon I imagine wearing full body armor.

A week after I started thinking about this, it dawned on me that I should be wearing one of those giant foam suits they use for simulated dogs attacks, or in those classes where they teach women to kick attackers in the nuts.

They used pepper spray on unruly fans at a football game recently, so maybe my foam suit should have its own oxygen supply, like a high-impact space suit.

Maybe I should just go live in the mountains.

Dream a Little Dream

Last night I dreamed I was assigned to infiltrate a nuclear power plant. Our goal was to assassinate two people, both blond-haired women, and steal the weapons hidden inside. The weapons were phasers that had been deep-fried, only they looked a little like the nozzle on my garden hose (only deep fried.) We made our way through a labyrinth of metal stairs and railing to a series of doors. My partner (who I don't really remember seeing) went inside and terminated our targets using a really cool chrome .22 with a silencer. We were then seamlessly running from the Israeli Army, dodging their small arms fire. Once they had surrounded us, we threw the phasers into a burning vehicle to prevent them from being captured. Then seamlessly, we are at a black-tie dinner party. Harrison Ford offers me a government job, which I accept because it will pay pretty well.

Her Eye

My wife has a simply amazing eye. I love when we can shoot together, since she almost always shoots things differently than I do. And I think she looks really cool with a camera. :>)

Chip Oldblock and the Complimentary Fridge

Our son Mitchell plays the clarinet. Here is a photo of him playing in the fall concert last week. He plays with the high school group, and they sounded pretty good. He won't admit it, but he probably picked the clarinet because I played it in junior high.

Also, here is a photo of the door of our fridge, which Abby sees every morning. When she goes to work, I want her to know that no matter what happens at her office, I love her.

The Fox, the Hounds, and the Wad of Cash

We are home. While Utah is one of our favorite places to visit, it is more than a day's drive away, and trips to that area always seem too short. Abby and I both wish we could spend more time and hike more trails.

As you can see from the image in this entry, she is a fox, and nothing in the world can express how wonderful I feel when she looks at me with those eyes, and graces me with that smile.

Mitchell, the dogs and I had fun, too. We'd go out that way ten times a year if we could. It's a magic place, and it gets more interesting every time we go. In fact, I am planning another venture out there in a couple of weeks, to hike in Utah's San Rafael Swell.

As we prepared to leave our motel in Moab, Utah, yesterday, Mitchell and I were loading the car when I spotted a plastic bag on the ground in the parking lot. It contained a folded wad of bills, and the visible one was a $100 bill. Of course it was tempting to simply pocket the wad. There might have been $500 or $1000 there, but that was irrelevant. I called Mitchell over and told him, "This is one of those times when we need to do the right thing. Come on." We took the bills to the front desk of the motel and told them where we found it. I explained to Mitchell that the test for knowing what's right is to reverse the situation: what if we had lost our vacation money? Would we want whoever found it to return it?

Having someone watching your moral fiber for an example of right and wrong has a way of clarifying your actions. I hope I am giving this young man the tools for a happy life.

Pictured: the amazingly beautiful Abby at Fisher Towers.

Abby's Hero, and Mitchell's Best Friend

A word about our Chihuahuas: these two small dogs are full of love and energy, and are very easy traveling companions. In fact, before we left on this trip, a friend of mine asked me how we would manage with the dogs in my car, and I told her that no matter what car or truck we use, the dogs are always in the same place: someone's lap.

On the trail they are great fun. Since he is more athletic, Max tends to lead the way with Mitchell holding his leash. He seems to understand that he should scout ahead. Abby says that Sierra looks back at Abby, watching where Abby is stepping so she'll know where to go. Abby says that Sierra even tugs on her harness to help Abby up steeper steps and slopes.

At night, the dogs sleep the same way on the road as at home, Max with Mitchell, and Sierra with Abby and me. Sometimes Max sneaks out of Mitchell's bed and jumps in with us, and we have to put him back.

We are on our way home. It has been an exceptional third anniversary vacation.

A Beautiful Place, A Welcome Return

Since dogs aren't allowed in Arches National Park, Mitchell agreed to stay in the motel and keep them company while Abby and I hiked to Delicate Arch. Abby's knees are hurting her more than usual lately, so we took our time hiking up. It was a perfectly beautiful day, just like the day when we got married. There seemed to be more people there than three years ago, but not so many as to spoil our time. It was a wonderful experience to take Abby back to this place we both love and is so meaningful to us.

After lunch, Abby stayed in and Mitchell and I hiked Negro Bill Canyon to Morning Glory Bridge, which is the sixth longest natural span in the world. It was an excellent hike, and we timed it perfectly, such that we were back at the trailhead right before dark.

As always, galleries will follow on our web site.

Photo: Abby and me at Delicate Arch.

Sun, Sky and Slickrock

We got up in Farmington, NM, to a beautiful sun in a bright blue sky. We had a big breakfast, then headed north through the Four Corners region to a regular stop for us, Blanding, UT, for our bags of fun free stuff from their welcome center. We drove up US191 through Monticello, where we stayed twice last year. It's a lovely small town, and we might have stayed with them again this time, but hunters occupy the Abajo Mountains hunting deer this time of year, and there was no room in the inn. We got to Moab by midday, got a bite of lunch, then drove up the Castle Valley highway to Fisher Towers, which our Uutah.com friends recommended as dog friendly and worth seeing. The trail and scenery were nothing short of spectacular, and I promise glowing galleries on my web site in a few weeks. My wife Abby and her Chihuahua Sierra weren't up for hiking as far as our son Mitchell, his Chihuahua Max and I were, so the ladies found a nice spot to rest and enjoy the sunshine, and Mitch and I took Max on down the trail another mile or so. After returning to the car and driving a couple of miles, we stopped to photograph an excellent golden hour scene of the La Sal Mountains viewed through a canyon with slickrock formations in the foreground. It was an excellent adventure.

Pictured: Abby, Sierra, Mitchell and Max on the Fisher Towers trail.

The Wild Road Ahead

Tonight we are on the road. We loaded the car with me, Abby, Mitchell, the Chihuahuas Max and Sierra, and all our stuff, and headed west. It was a fairly routine drive, with a couple of thunderstorms on our route, and a wildly windy eastern New Mexico. We are retracing the wedding trip of three years ago. About to sleep. The road awaits.

Ultra Lap(top) Dog

Sierra the Chihuahua is curious about everything, and has to be the center of attention. Here she is explaining the intricacies of iTunes to Abby.

Picked Fruit is for Chumps!

Our son Mitchell and I have decided that "picked" fruit just isn't fresh enough, and toward that end, have taken to eating pears straight from the tree.

Obviously, when winter comes, we'll have to think of something else.

Wallowing in Our Own Fait Accompli

Today was beautiful. Blue sky, breeze, cool then warm. I felt friendly and happy to be working outdoors. At the same time, though, I became really discouraged by a couple of things...

• People who can't be themselves in photos. When I point my camera in their direction, they lock up like deer in the headlights. Sometimes other people, often their parents, will tell them, "Turn and look at the camera," or just, "Smile!" They don't understand, nor will they ever, the value of genuinely candid photojournalism. I humor them by squeezing off a frame, thanking them, then deleting it from the card. These are the same people who will tell you that they aren't very good photographers.
• Chili Cookoff. It could be fun and exciting, but quite frankly, the chili is a tin plate filled with ground beef and doused with "chili powder." Chilis aren't powders, people. They are the fruit of a nightshade, and can be delicious when fresh or even frozen. Or when the "chili" isn't a pile of ground beef.
• Funnel Cake. Enough said.
  

On the other hand, I saw lots of people I know and like, and they were all happy to see me.

THREE!

Today is our third anniversary of being married. Three years. It seems like yesterday when our small wedding party hiked that trail on that pearl-blue cool morning. Marriage is everything I wanted it to be. We are happy.

The "Come Here, You Have to See This" Frog

Tonight while I was power washing the front of the house, I saw this little guy poking his head out of a small hole in the siding. I think the hole was from one time when I was trimming the photinia and almost fell off my ladder into the bush. Anyway, I called my family out to witness this miracle of froggery, and our son even brought my camera. So here is a picture of the funniest amphibian I saw all day.

Are You Fatting Kidding Me?

My wife drove through KFC the other day on her way home from work. She just wanted a piece of chicken, a little bowl of mashed potatoes, and a small drink, which she ordered. When she got to the window, the clerk handed her a bucket of chicken, a tub of mashed potatoes, and a jug, literally a jug, of Pepsi. It was some kind of "mega meal deal" like those so popular with restaurants now. The Pepsi, stamped with the moniker "Mega Jug," was a half gallon of soda. A half gallon. Do the math: according to Pepsi's web site, their regular soda contains 100 calories per 8-ounce serving, so Abby's drink was an 800-calorie serving. Are you kidding me? According to WebMD, that's half of her daily calorie requirements. There's no way she could drink all of that. When she got home, she shared it with our son and me, and we still couldn't drink it all.

The moral of my story: don't be surprised every time you look around and more than half the people you see are obese. This isn't good for us as individuals, and it isn't good for us as a society or a nation.

Pictured: the Mega Jug being inspected by Sierra the Chihuahua.

Sidebar: "Mega" literally means "million", not large or superior.

A Vegan in the Wood Pile

Some of you who know me well know I have been a vegetarian since 1989, and a dietary vegan since 1994. Over the years, the choice to devote my energies to these pursuits has been one of the best I have ever made. Why? All the right reasons...

1. It's physically good for me in every way, and has no down side for my health whatsoever. Simply put, I feel great.
2. It lends itself to the slogan, "Eat to live, don't live to eat."
3. It contributes more to conserve our fragile planet than many more popular efforts, when you consider the vast resources devoted to production of meat, dairy and eggs.
4. It respects the lives of animals. I believe that we have as much right to exist as any other creature on the planet, and that we have as much right to its resources. I do not believe it is our right to squander the world around us to feed our decadent luxury, which in the process makes us fat and weak.
5. I take immense pride and joy in the foods I grow and eat on our happy little patch of land.

Now that you have read this, go have a peach!

Behold the Eyes, Windows of the ... What?

Sometimes I worry when I'm in public that everyone will know where I am looking, and conclude that I'm some kind of pervert. But lately it's been dawning on me: I don't watch where other people look, so why would they be watching where I look?

Besides, they're my eyes, and I can point them anywhere I want. (Those close to me probably already know where I am looking.)

My Love Life vs Love of My Life

A few weeks ago I told a friend, "I had no idea being married would be this good." And I was not lying. My wife, Abby, has taken me from a miserably lonely hack, to a bumbling but good-natured bucket of sunshine. She is genuinely wonderful.

My love life before Abby can be summed up as follows:

I am faced with a choice as I stand on the edge of a cliff. I can play it safe and back away, or I can leap, in hopes of flying high, or the possibility of a spectacular death. After a pause, I leap. I start to fall, but about 15-feet down there's a branch sticking out of the cliff, and I land on it with my crotch.

Peel the Onion!

Last night I dreamed I was preparing to shampoo my goats.

I really do own two pet goats, so it wasn't as weird as all that. If you own goats, though, you know that you don't really ever need to shampoo them.

Tennis Elbow Anyone?

I have been cooking up a case of medial epicondylitis the last six weeks. It's more of a nuisance than anything else. I have to wear that stupid brace on my elbow, and people keep asking me if I just gave blood. I did, however, discover that if I turn the hidden settings on my photo scanner to "X-Ray" I can make really fun images of my arm, like this one!

Terror in the Woods

My wife, son and I just returned from my wife's annual family reunion in the woods outside of Duncan, Oklahoma. It's always a great event, and one of the best features is the Saturday night "Spook Walk," which is essentially an 80-acre haunted house. Every year the hosts try to scare even harder than in the past. This year there was everything from dead bodies hanging in trees that screamed to chainsaw-wielding lunatics.

This image was made just after our son emerged from the woods, and we have yet to explain the terrified look on his face or the glow around his body.

The 16-hour Work Week

Today I worked 16 hours. I handled it pretty well, all things considered. My greatest achievement was not complaining about it.

• Also today: Birthday of an ex-girlfriend who is now my friend
• Also also today: Discovered that a long-time friend who divorced last year recently un-divorced.
• Additionally: Good friend far away was having a very bad day
• Also also additionally: Muh!
  

Why Savior?

Why do humans seem to need a savior? Is it an attempt to explain the nature of the Universe, conjured by human minds with little useful information and even less brain power? A way of structuring society so it doesn't blow itself to tiny pieces (most of the time.) Or is it something far simpler, darker, and more animalistic? Is it a bargain with our wishes? The price of sentience? It could be argued that willful belief in fundamentally unsound mythology is an abdication of sentience.

Dog Biting Flies

As I write this there is a long-coat Chihuahua, Sierra, sitting in my lap, furiously biting at a fly that buzzes around us. She attacks it with urgency, yet to my knowledge has never once caught a fly.

On at least two occasions, she and her brother Max have brought me the heads of gophers they hunted in the front yard. It was a very proud moment for all of us.