More strange thoughts on a Monday.
First, a song!
Jordyn is totally hooked on that show. The rest of us enjoy it as well, but not to the outward degree that she does. I might have to purchase the DVD at some point, but for now the downloaded shows will do.
On Sunday Heather and I drove up to Denver to watch the Broncos squeak out a victory over the San Diego Chargers. Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm failure to my gender, in that I'm not a huge fan of any organized sports. Of them all I probably enjoy watching hockey the most, followed by football, with soccer, basketball, tennis, golf and baseball tied for next to last place. Last place would go to any sports that I haven't mentioned. If I were flipping channels I would probably stop on hockey, might stop on football if there wasn't something else I wanted to watch and anything else would just flow on by. I don't know why this is unless it's because my dad held a very low opinion of sports when I was young. I will say this though, any time I've gone to a college level or above football game – Air Force Falcons twice, Broncos twice – I've really enjoyed it. Yesterday was no exception. I was a bit bummed at the half when the Broncos trailed 3-14. But the second half was awesome and stressful. Do I know enough about football to be able to discuss it intelligently with a true fan? Hell no! I still babble and mumble, but I did enjoy it.
Enough about that. On the way to the game we drove past a Christmas tree farm on Highway 83: this is where the "strange thoughts" come in. The farm was to our right and it had row upon row of little future Christmas trees lined up, waiting to grow tall enough to be chopped down and carted off to parking lots around the world. Or Colorado. I don't know the details of how these things work. There was a barbed wire fence around the farm and on the other side of the road groups of trees were gathered together. Those of you unfamiliar with raw Colorado countryside may have trouble picturing how this looks. Think of rolling fields of yellow wild grass with occasional patches of green trees. The general lack of features and color of the surrounding countryside gave the farm – in my mind – the look of an arbor concentration camp and the groups of trees gathered outside the farm seemed like mourning relatives.
I told Heather that it was a good thing trees aren't sentient or that farm would be totally barbaric. All those young trees being raised for the sole purpose of being chopped down and dragged off to have their corpses propped up in someone's living room, decorated with shiny stuff and left to rot for a few weeks in celebration of the birth of Santa Claus. Oh. Wait. Jesus Christ. It's hard to tell these days. Then, when the day of celebration has passed, usually around New Year's Day – although some aim for June – the ornaments are removed from the brittle husk of the tree child, with the exception of the tinsel that is permanently twined between the needles like glittery mummy wrappings, and the tree is dragged out to the curb where it will be picked up and carted off to a landfill to finish its trip into decay.
It's only mid-September and you can already tell that I've got the Christmas Spirit. I think I feel a carol coming on. Tooo-la-roooo-la-rooah! My mistake. It was a ditty.
If trees could think, they would be pissed. Heather agreed with me, said I was goofy and we drove on. Nearby we passed a house that was on land that mostly consisted of tall yellow grass except for a group of trees that was practically engulfing the house as though it intended on destroying it and I said something along the lines of, "Look at that! It's payback time! 'Were coming to get you, you murderous bastards! Just sit tight. We'll be right there. Any minute now...'" and there was much laughter.
Yes, I know, the things we do to chickens, pigs and cows are far worse, yet I'll still eat chicken fingers, sliced ham and hamburgers. Heck, at lunch on plan on eating "naked chicken fingers" from Popeye's. Talk about a revolting name, if you think about it. So I'm a hypocrite. Like I'm the first. But I will say this, at least we eat the animals. I've never seen anyone eat a Christmas tree when they were finished playing with it.
We also passed groupings of cows, llamas and horses. At one point, quite a ways off, I could swear I saw a two headed sheep bouncing around. It was black at both ends, white in the middle and I could barely make it out. I asked Heather, "Do you see that?" but we had gone down in a depression and the field was no longer in view. She said, "What?"
"It looked like a two-headed sheep." Right after saying that we rose from the depression and were finally at a good viewing angle on the "sheep". Then I said, "Or a pony." For that's what it turned out to be. Heather was laughing and laughing at me. In my defense I said, "He was standing in a gully. And see how his head and his tail are black? He must have been flicking his tail and raising and lowering his head at the same time and from a distance it looked like a two-headed sheep fighting with itself about which way to go. Stop laughing at me."
As my daughter would say, I am NOT goofy.
Have a good week everyone!
As Jack Handy said on Deep Thoughts: "If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason."
Making Fiends,
Making Fiends,
Vendetta's Always Making Fiends,
Making Fiends,
While Charlotte Makes Friends.
Making Fiends,
Vendetta's Always Making Fiends,
Making Fiends,
While Charlotte Makes Friends.
Jordyn is totally hooked on that show. The rest of us enjoy it as well, but not to the outward degree that she does. I might have to purchase the DVD at some point, but for now the downloaded shows will do.
On Sunday Heather and I drove up to Denver to watch the Broncos squeak out a victory over the San Diego Chargers. Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm failure to my gender, in that I'm not a huge fan of any organized sports. Of them all I probably enjoy watching hockey the most, followed by football, with soccer, basketball, tennis, golf and baseball tied for next to last place. Last place would go to any sports that I haven't mentioned. If I were flipping channels I would probably stop on hockey, might stop on football if there wasn't something else I wanted to watch and anything else would just flow on by. I don't know why this is unless it's because my dad held a very low opinion of sports when I was young. I will say this though, any time I've gone to a college level or above football game – Air Force Falcons twice, Broncos twice – I've really enjoyed it. Yesterday was no exception. I was a bit bummed at the half when the Broncos trailed 3-14. But the second half was awesome and stressful. Do I know enough about football to be able to discuss it intelligently with a true fan? Hell no! I still babble and mumble, but I did enjoy it.
Enough about that. On the way to the game we drove past a Christmas tree farm on Highway 83: this is where the "strange thoughts" come in. The farm was to our right and it had row upon row of little future Christmas trees lined up, waiting to grow tall enough to be chopped down and carted off to parking lots around the world. Or Colorado. I don't know the details of how these things work. There was a barbed wire fence around the farm and on the other side of the road groups of trees were gathered together. Those of you unfamiliar with raw Colorado countryside may have trouble picturing how this looks. Think of rolling fields of yellow wild grass with occasional patches of green trees. The general lack of features and color of the surrounding countryside gave the farm – in my mind – the look of an arbor concentration camp and the groups of trees gathered outside the farm seemed like mourning relatives.
I told Heather that it was a good thing trees aren't sentient or that farm would be totally barbaric. All those young trees being raised for the sole purpose of being chopped down and dragged off to have their corpses propped up in someone's living room, decorated with shiny stuff and left to rot for a few weeks in celebration of the birth of Santa Claus. Oh. Wait. Jesus Christ. It's hard to tell these days. Then, when the day of celebration has passed, usually around New Year's Day – although some aim for June – the ornaments are removed from the brittle husk of the tree child, with the exception of the tinsel that is permanently twined between the needles like glittery mummy wrappings, and the tree is dragged out to the curb where it will be picked up and carted off to a landfill to finish its trip into decay.
It's only mid-September and you can already tell that I've got the Christmas Spirit. I think I feel a carol coming on. Tooo-la-roooo-la-rooah! My mistake. It was a ditty.
If trees could think, they would be pissed. Heather agreed with me, said I was goofy and we drove on. Nearby we passed a house that was on land that mostly consisted of tall yellow grass except for a group of trees that was practically engulfing the house as though it intended on destroying it and I said something along the lines of, "Look at that! It's payback time! 'Were coming to get you, you murderous bastards! Just sit tight. We'll be right there. Any minute now...'" and there was much laughter.
Yes, I know, the things we do to chickens, pigs and cows are far worse, yet I'll still eat chicken fingers, sliced ham and hamburgers. Heck, at lunch on plan on eating "naked chicken fingers" from Popeye's. Talk about a revolting name, if you think about it. So I'm a hypocrite. Like I'm the first. But I will say this, at least we eat the animals. I've never seen anyone eat a Christmas tree when they were finished playing with it.
We also passed groupings of cows, llamas and horses. At one point, quite a ways off, I could swear I saw a two headed sheep bouncing around. It was black at both ends, white in the middle and I could barely make it out. I asked Heather, "Do you see that?" but we had gone down in a depression and the field was no longer in view. She said, "What?"
"It looked like a two-headed sheep." Right after saying that we rose from the depression and were finally at a good viewing angle on the "sheep". Then I said, "Or a pony." For that's what it turned out to be. Heather was laughing and laughing at me. In my defense I said, "He was standing in a gully. And see how his head and his tail are black? He must have been flicking his tail and raising and lowering his head at the same time and from a distance it looked like a two-headed sheep fighting with itself about which way to go. Stop laughing at me."
As my daughter would say, I am NOT goofy.
Have a good week everyone!
As Jack Handy said on Deep Thoughts: "If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason."
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