BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

As promised, I am throwing together a few blogs about our adventures on vacation. Please make note that they won’t necessarily be in chronological order as far as the vacation itself went. They are actually in “transcribed jotted down note order,” which makes sense to me, but not really everyone else. At any rate, this is number one in the series…

Wednesday. Fourth day of vacation. Evil Kat has now tortured us all mercilessly with “pre-hikes” leading up to her plan for today – The Death March. Seriously. She actually had it on the itinerary. She didn’t call it a death march because she didn’t want us to know that’s what it was, but hey, we figured it out right quick…

After a quick breakfast at the restaurant for Colter Bay Village in the Grand Tetons, where we had been staying in a cabin, we were packed and ready to set off to West Yellowstone, Montana, which would become our base camp for the rest of the vacation. That way we would have a place to crash and be able to make excursions into Yellowstone National Park. Good plan, but as I mentioned, there was this death march with which we needed to contend.

Before heading north to West Yellowstone, E K wanted to hike the “Hidden Falls Trail” at Jenny Lake. Some of you may remember my status update:

At Jenny Lake. Forest is here too… JEH-NAYYY! 10:59 AM 6/15

On Death March at Jenny Lake. Help ME!

That was more or less my “Blair Witch Project” swan song. By that I mean, less than twenty minutes later, Her Supreme Redheaded Evilness had us on the trail. Thing about it is this – we were already at high altitude, so next thing you know we were going up the side of a mountain, then down the side of a mountain, then around a lake, back up, back down, along the lake, switched back, up, down, around, down, up, up, up, around, down, up, up, UP, and then we came to the washed out bridge. Yeah. So then we had to go up some more – through two feet of snow. Melting snow. The kind where you take a step and then one leg crashes through and you end up doing the splits and having deadly pine needle infused snow crystals all up in your BVD’s. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, I ended up with deadly pine needle infused snow crystals all up in my BVD’s. Well, actually it was my Fruit of the Looms, but you get the idea. (BTW – Make note of the “do rag” I’m wearing in the picture above… It comes into play later.)

Hidden Falls. Not so hidden once you get there...

Anywho, on with the story… After seeing The Hidden Falls, and playing photographer for other folks who wanted their family photo taken in front of it (I really should have set up a concession stand, I’m tellin’ ya’…) we hiked up, up, down, down, down, around, through, up, down, up, down, through, around, down, down, DOWN until we came to the dock. What dock? The dock on the other side of the lake where the boat met us and took us back to where we started. Then it was back into the rental vehicle and off to West Yellowstone.

Now… To get to West Yellowstone coming from where we were, one had to pass through Yellowstone proper. Well… not just one… all of us, actually. But that’s not my point. My point is that we had to go through Yellowstone, so why not take some time to stop, look at Old Somewhat Faithful, and walk at least a portion of the loop before heading on into Montana. I mean, after all, it’s not like we had done any walking yet for the day, right? <– [Gratuitous Sarcasm]

However… There had to be some shopping too. After all, when you have a tween o-spring, she will be all about the souvenir thing.

Something you might not know about me – unless E K and I are out doing the “Pretty Woman” thing, I don’t shop. I hate to shop. When I go to the store I know what I want, I get it, and then I get out. ‘Nuff said.

But on with the show… We arrived at the “Mercantile” or whatever they call it there in the Old Somewhat Faithful area of the upper geyser basin. They want to go shopping. I want to sit. Fortunately, someone at the “Mercantile” already knew I was coming, because there were 409,345 rocking chairs lined up along the boardwalk in front of the place. I found one and I sat in it.

Here’s where the importance of the “do rag” comes in…

The motor-sickles showed up. Apparently all these dudes and dudettes on said motor-sickles took my “do rag” to mean I might possibly be of the two-wheel ilk myself, so instead of sitting in any of the other rocking chairs, they joined me in my row. They introduced themselves. The chatted with me like I was a long lost pal. They showed me their tattoos. Of course, when they asked me what sort of bike I rode I couldn’t lie, so I told them, “Well, I used to have a Schwinn, but now I’ve just got a K-Mart Special 10-speed.”

I figured they’d probably decide I wasn’t all that cool at that point, but apparently they thought it was funny. Not sure how much comedy they get to see out on the open road, so I was glad to at least give them a laugh. At any rate, instead of running off, they hung around and we commiserated about the fact that I was stuck there waiting for my “old lady” while she shopped, and all that good stuff. I mean, we had ourselves a grand ol’ time there on the Group Motor-Sickle Boardwalk.

Schwinn, K-Mart Special, or not… And it was all good.

Fear This!

But that, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with “Yes, Dear…”

You see, that part finally happened after all of my newly found friends with the motor-sickles headed up and moved out, offering to take me with them since my “old lady” was still on a spending spree.

It was tempting. I mean, touring Yellowstone on a Motor-Sickle and all… But since they were my new friends I didn’t want them to get hurt. So, I explained to them that they really had no idea what they would be getting into if I came along, then mentioned the name “Evil Kat.” They all suddenly became very nervous, and then said that, as much as they liked me, I was on my own. Seems they were familiar with The Supreme Evil Redhead’s reputation.

But back to the “Yes, Dear…”

A nice young couple came out of the ice cream shop and settled themselves into chairs next to me. As friendly tourists will do, we struck up a conversation, talking about the scenery, geo-thermal events, and ice cream. Eventually, when things reached a lull I simply stared off into space, or parking lot, or whatever. Suddenly I heard a sharp, “MURV!”

When my name is said in such a way by Her Supreme Evilness that generally means she has now had to repeat herself.

I instantly responded, without even looking in her direction, “YES, DEAR!”

The couple next to me chuckled.

“We’re ready to go,” E K barked.

“I’m glad somebody is…” I mumbled.

The couple next to me chuckled again.

I pushed myself up out of the chair, and with all of the camera equipment, water bottles, and other necessary hiking about items for three people strapped to my person, began to trudge away, following the one of red hair.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the couple and said, “Y’all enjoy those chairs for me, okay?”

This, of course, elicited yet another chuckle from the pair.

But, let’s face it… I mean, it’s not like THEY were going to save me. The bikers had hauled a$$ out of there at the mere mention of “The E K,” so an ice cream eating couple from some small town in east wherever definitely wasn’t about to mount a rescue op.

Oh well, judging from their chuckles at least I entertained them for a few seconds… I wonder if they blog…

More to come…

Murv

As kids – and even as adults – we develop fascinations with things. Among the romanticized things for which folks develop an attachment – Pirates.

I mean, look at the facts. We could go back to all of the old Errol Flynn movies… Skip forward to the movie Yellow Beard… Skip into the here and now with the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise… And I’m not even going to mention the romance novels involving one-eyed, cutlass waving, buff scalawags. Why? Because I haven’t read any of them – the cover art was more than enough to scare me away.

However, in this day and age, even with the PotC franchise and the like, there are a different breed of pirates out there, and I’m not talking about the Somalis. I’m talking about the chuckleheads who steal from others and then profit from it. This is a big thing with music, movies, and even books. Take, for instance, a recent facebook status update from my wife, The Evil Redhead herself:

But you know what? As angry as that makes me, there are other pirates out there. The kind that steal from folks who have websites. I’m not talking necessarily about the folks who borrow a picture or two. I think we’ve all done that, and I am the first to admit that I might have a generic photo embedded in my blog to which I don’t own the rights because I found it somewhere and couldn’t figure out to whom said rights actually belonged. That’s why I have a disclaimer saying that if you see a pic on my site that belongs to you and you don’t want me using it, just say the word. I’ll make it go away. Or give you credit and a link if that’s what you prefer.

However, that’s not the Internet thievery I mean. I’m talking about when someone HOTLINKS to an image on your site to embed it in their blog, or website. Basically, they are just too damned lazy to download it themselves, or they don’t want to waste their own bandwidth. Nope… They’d rather link off to your site and run your meter, because that way it comes out of YOUR pocket, not theirs.

And after all, the Internet isn’t just “public domain” it’s out and out free, right? Yeah… I think we all saw how well that worked for Little Miss “Honestly Monica” now didn’t we?

So, whenever I fall victim to this bandwidth theft, and I find out, I do something about it. Now, mind you, I COULD do something incredibly crass and obnoxious, like bitch at the person in their comments section, or replace the hotlinked item with some really wicked, bad, nasty porn, but that’s just not my style. I’d rather replace the item with something that will make the offender think – hopefully. It doesn’t always work, but hey, why not pose an ethical question so that a lesson can be learned… (Can you spot the picture I swapped out on my server? Bet you can…)

Click Photo To Enlarge

Note – I went ahead and blurred out the name, content, and picture of the offender, primarily because after about 6 hours someone finally pointed out to him that he’d been caught and he removed the hotlink. However, please don’t get the impression that I think he is now a fine, upstanding Internet citizen – There was no apology forthcoming, either on his blog, or even in a private email.

Of course, having studied a boatload of different religions, and knowing his from the bio on his blog, as I understand it I’m not the one due the apology. God is.

Hopefully he will address this at his next confession. I’d sure hate for him to end up in Hell all because he kyped bandwidth to display a picture of a coffee cup…

However, just in case God is reading my blog – I mean even the Supreme Being needs a chuckle every now and then, doesn’t she? –  Anywho, if God is reading, maybe she could go ahead and put a bug in the Priest’s ear – since it was a coffee cup picture and all, don’t be too hard on the guy. I’m thinking two Hail Caffeineas and an Our Peaberry oughta cover it…

More to come…

Murv