This is what it looks like when bikers and flowers collide

image For three days each year, our little coastal town of 7,000 welcomes about 500 bikers and another 15,000 visitors to get crazy and celebrate… A flower.

A rhododendron, to be exact.

No one knows why.

But it’s been going on for 108 years and, for those three days, our town becomes an unlikely concotion of flower enthusiasts, Free Souls bikers and tourists all co-mingling over beers aand bacon-wrapped hot dogs. Think of it as “Sturgis meets Mardi Gras,” with a little Rose Festival thrown in. Personally, I think the bacon-wrapped hot dog is reason enough to celebrate, so I’m not going to suggest ending the festival anytime soon.

If you read Friday’s post, you know the festival kicks off with the arrival of the carnival — something that is always a bitter-sweet reminder of the loss of my best friend to cancer several years ago. As much as the festival reminds me of that loss, I also remember how much Jason loved this weekend each year, and some of the crazy things we did. Usually after a few beers.

Like when we dressed up as bikers and hung out with them at The Beachcomber. Continue reading This is what it looks like when bikers and flowers collide

If you want to golf with me, bring your hardhat

image Though I’ve only been golfing a few times in my life, it was clear that my reputation had preceded me at the course last weekend. I know this because golfers immediately traded ball caps for hardhats, then scurried down into the sand bunkers like allied forces preparing for heavy fire. As I took a practice swing, the surrounding trees emptied of all bird species — not in a smooth, organized pattern, but in a frenzied explosion of flapping and panicked birdsong that left three Canada geese lying unconscious in the rough.

Speaking of which, I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize once again for the tragic death of that swan near the putting green. Had I known the difference between a putter and a pitching wedge, things might’ve turned out differently for that majestic creature.

Because of my past experiences, I was determined to make things different this time.

How?

By becoming more comfortable with the game. I immediately went online for help and, thanks to the power of the Internet, found myself on a pornography website after typing in the first term on my list:

Mixed foursome.

For anyone else who might be looking to the Internet for golf-term clarifications, I’d also suggest avoiding Scotch foursome, shag bag, hooded club, loose impediments and (this really goes without saying) woodie. Continue reading If you want to golf with me, bring your hardhat

A wickedly wonderful friend this way came — and left much too soon

This view from our office's back door for five days each year is always bittersweet.
This view from our office’s back door for five days each year is always bittersweet.

As I walked to work this morning, the sun was still resting below distant Badger Mountain. The streets were quiet and the air was still as I made my way along the sidewalk, past the carnival that claims the visitors parking lot across from our home each year. Last night it was alive with the sounds of oiled metal grinding behind colorful facades — rocketships, dragons and race cars — as carnival-goers screamed and laughed in rhythmic cycles throughout the evening.

But this morning, the neon lights are out. The colorful merry-go-round is drapped in blue tarps. There are no screams or laughter. Only the occasional murmur of snoring from inside the narrow carnie sleeping quarters stacked side by side on tractor trailor beds. I cut through the carnival, stepping over a braid of thick electrical cables that eventually spread like veins through the park, bringing life to thrill rides, snack shacks and carnival barker microphones.

Each year, I make this walk to work through the Davis Carnival.

And each year, I think of my friend — and the memory of a warm, terrible spring evening that occured this same night more than a decade ago… Continue reading A wickedly wonderful friend this way came — and left much too soon

Vengeance will by mine, Mr. Hairy Spider…

image For the last two nights, my youngest daughter has come running down the stairs about 10 minutes after going to bed. The reason? A big, hairy black spider she said is roughly the size of a Chihuahua. Being a dutiful father, I immediately rushed upstairs the first night and, to my utter horror, walked in to discover…

Absolutely nothing.

“It was on the ceiling just looking at me,” swore my daughter.

The next night, she called from upstairs so she could keep an eye on it. As I came to the door, the spider apparently dropped down the wall and behind her dresser. With my daughter standing behind me, I yanked the dresser away from the wall and shrieked in terror when, AT LAST, I laid my eyes upon…

Absolutely nothing.

Again. Continue reading Vengeance will by mine, Mr. Hairy Spider…

The reason our newspaper won’t let me do its radio ads ever again

image It was a little before 8 a.m. when I got a text from my editor, telling me she forgot to let me know I was supposed to do a radio spot for the newspaper. Our annual Rhododendron Festival is coming up this weekend (Yes, you’re all invited!) and our newspaper is a premier sponsor of the festival.

Me: [What time?]
Editor: [Be at radio station in 15 minutes]

The last time the newspaper asked me to do a radio spot was about five years ago. That’s when I introduced the slogan:

Siuslaw News: Your Source for Local News. Twice Weekly. Unless We Lose Count…

They haven’t let me near a mic since then. Continue reading The reason our newspaper won’t let me do its radio ads ever again

Some people should have to earn the right to use fire

image (When you consider that we once carried embers around in hollowed out animal skulls for fear of losing the potential to make fire, it seems we’ve come a long way as a species. Then, again, I’ve seen chimps driving motorcycles — it doesn’t mean they’re in line at the DMV.

Case in point: Some of you know, in addition to being a columnist, I’m also a volunteer firefighter. I generally try to keep those parts of my life separate because, more often than not, the experiences in my firefighting life have no place on a humor blog.

However, there are exceptions.

What follows is a re-enactment of sorts, pieced together from personal observations and details noted during an incident at a local campground this past Mother’s Day weekend…)

“You kids stay away from the grill! It’s gonna get very hot!” Mr. Kingsford said, ripping open a bag of briquettes labeled “easy starting.” Over his Bermuda shorts and a 49ers T-shirt, he wore a red and white striped apron with the words “It Ain’t Ready Yet” emblazoned on the front.

A prophecy, really.

After stacking the charcoal into a pyramid, he grabbed a quart of lighter fluid and proceeded to empty half of it over the briquettes, one hand patting his pockets. “I need matches!” he hollered, then pinched the cigarette from his lips. “No I don’t — never mind!” Continue reading Some people should have to earn the right to use fire

One of the most important skills for a writer? Survival skills

image Over the years, my wife has gotten used to my (admittedly bad) habit of leaning over and whispering “expendable character” whenever I see someone who I know is going to die. I should clarify I only make these predictions while watching movies, and not, as a general rule, at the grocery store, in hospital waiting rooms or at family reunions. That’s because in movies, these types of characters are easy to spot.

For example, the soldier who pulls out a photo of his “girl back home” while talking with his buddy on patrol — Spoiler Alert: He’s not making it through the next scene alive. And if he mentions he’s proposing to “his girl” after getting discharged tomorrow, chances are he won’t even finish his dinner rations before keeling over from sniper fire or eating expired creamed corn. The same goes for anyone who mentions having a “bad ticker” or who has a nagging cough; anyone who says they’ve stopped wearing a bullet-proof vest or life jacket because “you can’t cheat fate”; and definitely any character who keeps a mouse or baby bird in his shirt pocket. Continue reading One of the most important skills for a writer? Survival skills

Part 2: Interview with self-proclaimed best-selling author Ima Knowitall

With my advanced copy of "50 Shades of Time-Traveling Vampire Love"
With my advanced copy of “50 Shades of Time-Traveling Vampire Love”

As I mentioned in Part I of my Long Awkward Pause interview wth Ima Knowitall, she is the author of more than 40 online novels this past year, and was recently honored by the Society of Illiterate Columnists (SIC) for her contributions to “…the advancement of people who write without the shackles of proper grammar.” So landing an interview with an author of this caliber on the eve of her latest release was — as Ima described something she found in her taco — a total surprise.

For those of you who might’ve missed the first part of my interview with Ima because, for example, you just recently gave up life as a Quaker, I should explain that our breakfast interview had been interrupted by the untimely arrival of the health department while waiting for a taco omelette at Sam N’ Ella’s restaurant. Since there was no time to get anything to-go because Sam and Ella had already left through the back window, we had decided to take our interview somewhere else. (More at Long Awkward Pause…)

Today, I’m getting personal with The Sisterwives

image Many of you are probably familiar with the logo to my right.

Hold on — You’re right! It’s my left!

Uh… Right?

Anyway, in terms of being a beacon representing truth and justice, not to mention insightful writing and humor sharp enough to split an atom (I came close to splitting a Twinkie once, just saying), The Sisterwives logo is like the Bat Signal of the blog-o-sphere. Unlike Batman, however, The Sisterwives aren’t vigilantes. No. They team up and collaborate with others.

They’re also a lot more curvy than Batman. I’m also betting the nippled Batsuit has nothing on this group.

But I digress.

Today, I’m joining fellow male bloggers Art and Matticus as guests at The Sisterwives for this month’s edition of The Man(di) Cave (similar to the Bat Cave but with curtains and carpeting), when each of us answers three questions offering a male perspective on the female gender. Keep in mind that if the actual Bat Signal appears at any time, our answers were indeed incorrect.

So please join Matticus, Art and me at The Sisterwives HERE.

Because I don’t think even Batman would be willing to come save us…

My Long Awkward Pause interview with self-proclaimed best-selling author Ima Knowitall

image With the release of her highly anticipated online novel Time-Traveling Vampires of Love just a few days away, I held little hope of getting an interview with Ima Knowitall when I called her private number this morning on behalf of Long Awkward Pause. Knowitall is the author of more than 40 online novels this past year, and has received multiple awards, including the coveted Prolific Speller Award, the Hemmingway Award for “longest run-on sentence of 2012 and 2013” (same sentence) and, most recently, was honored by the Society of Illiterate Columnists (SIC) for her contributions to “…the advancement of people who write without the shackles of proper grammar.”

Despite knowing I had almost no chance of landing an interview with an author of Knowitall’s caliber on the eve of her latest release, the fact that I had acquired her private number meant I had to at least try. According to my source, Knowitall’s secret phone number is part of an elaborate system of security measures created to protect her from hoards of overzealous paparazzi and fans. Nervously, I called the number and was ready when a man who identified himself as “Shizzle” answered from what sounded like the inside of a phone booth.

“What’chu need?”

Carefully following the security code instructions I had been given, I replied, “Looking for Ima, B**ch!” then hung up and waited five minutes before calling again.

This time, Ima answered. “Who is this?”

“My name is Ned. I’m with Long Awkward Pause.”

“Do I owe you money?” (More at Long Awkward Pause…)