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I know he's cute and all, but you people are pretty impatient!



And now what you really came to see... Pictures from AZ.We hiked up this mountain on our afternoon off. We were going to just drive up to an observation point and look around. Instead we hiked a few miles. I came well equipped and wore dress shoes.

Gabe's Internal Thoughts Leak Out

More to follow.

Cheaper Than Last Year's Christmas Card

I was more feeling left out than wanting to play, but since Julie linked me, here we go.

Here are the rules of the game
1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog

1. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind I wanted to name my son Gabriel so when he is Secretary of State or President (whichever God has chosen for him) and is dealing with the Middle East they are more apt to listen to him. For those who never took comparative religion, Gabriel (Uriel) brought the Koran to Mohammad and will be the bringer of peace.

2. I have HOURS and HOURS of Christmas music on my laptop. 15 hours, 3 minutes and 29 seconds of Christmas music. I secretly start listening to it in June. Most of it is non traditional and my favorite right now is: That Was the Worst Christmas Ever! by Sufjan Stevens. Google it...seriously. He's from the Traverse City area and you can download it free and legal HERE.

3. I'm adopted. Not once, but twice. I was adopted at birth but back then you had to spend a few weeks in foster care. My name was Troy. When I went home with my mom I was Jeffrey David Eisenlord. After my mom married my dad I got to pick out a new middle name and was adopted by my dad. That's how I became, Jeffrey John.

4. When I tell people I have a sister in high school they always ask, "how did you get your job at such a young age?" Because you know, that's not rude. I often respond, "Because I'm so good looking". Hey, they started it. I then explain that my sister is 12 years younger than I am. Then they ask how many siblings I have and I say one. At this point they just stare blankly at me, mouth breathing. Peasants.

5. If I could make lots of money chasing storms I would pack the car up today. Tornadoes, flooding, ice storms, blizzards or just a really bad thunderstorm, I love to be out in them. I think they're gorgeous. While I'm driving around all different situations run through my head about what I would do if I came across someone in trouble in certain situations. Most involve dialing 911, but I guess wanting to be a weather man or search and rescue paramedic never really got out of my system.

6. I once lived with a guy in college who's first name was Manmeat. True story. He was from Malaysia and we found out he was an ecstasy dealer. When I worked in Congress I put him on a terrorist watch list just for fun.

7. Finally!! I can give you two thumbs up...with my toes. I can bend my toes while leaving the big toe straight. Not exactly sure how I came across this talent, but we all have to be good at something.

I will only link to Sarah, but if any of you want to do this I'll link to you if you let me know.

And if President doesn't work out for Gabe at least he's got a head start in robbing banks.
But who wouldn't vote for this face?

What Ryan is Really Thinking While Playing Guitar Hero

God Made Dirt, Dirt Don't Hurt

Building roads in the dirt, that don't go anywhere.

Godzilla!




Hedge apples are not a good choice for a daily fruit serving.

Pepe Le Pew

Here are the much anticipated pictures of the Gman for Halloween.
The whole crew.
The danger zone.
Enough of this, I'm ready for a book and bed.

Sugar Rush!!

Did someone say cake?
Not too shabby.I kinda like it.
Must stuff more in!!Mmmmph!
After the "Handsome Devil" shirt was surgically removed...Presents!!He says "book" now, so great grandma Lunger got him some books.Despite what the date on the picture says, this is the day KSU beat Texas...Love ya Gertz!

One Year Later and We Are Still Alive

Dear Baby Boy,

In a few short days you will have survived your first year as a Black. I say survived and not “will celebrate” because honestly, you have consistently been forced to adapt to my parental abilities, or lack there of.

I didn’t get to see you much for the first month of your life. It was really hard for me to come home to an empty house every night. I was trying my hardest to secure our future and I’m sorry that I failed you. It was a difficult lesson to learn, but God really does take care of us when we think we are at our lowest point.

On the bright side, for the next six months you and I got to know each other pretty well. At first you slept a lot and that was ok. I was pretty sleepy too since you really didn’t show any respect for your mother and I’s rest at say, 4am. Plus it gave me a chance to catch up with my stories.

Soon you wanted to be awake more and in all your infant wisdom knew daddy was a little too fragile to deal with a crying baby all day while mommy worked. So you didn’t cry. Not even with both ears infected. You completely limited your crying to: I’m hungry, I’m sleepy, and I’m dirty. That’s it.

You spent your waking hours watching PBS, Fox News, and Bugs Bunny all from the comfort of my lap. You would even let me read 2 pages of a book to you before trying to eat it. And your favorite thing to do was sit in your bumbo chair and “drive the boat” while daddy played his fishing video game. No really, you loved it. We laughed, no one cried, you fudged your undies. It was just one of the many adaptations you made for my benefit.

You have always amazed me at how analytical you are. You seem to take everything in as it happens and ponder how it is your mother and I have made it to the age we have. Rest assured my boy, it was skill, intellect, and a lot of blind dumb luck. Not you though, you have a plan. Dog in the way? Plow through her. Ottoman keeping you in the living room? Plow through it. Daddy’s leg not high enough for you to crawl under? Plow through it.

I was prepared for you to be artsy like your mother and not interested in sports. If you liked sports I wasn’t even going to push football. Now it appears football is just too sissy for you and I’ve been looking into Aussie rules football and rugby leagues to take out your “plow through it” aggression. Unfortunately there really isn’t a demand for such leagues in the 12 to 24 month old age bracket in Kansas and I fear your development in such sports will be stunted. We’ll be starting two a days in the backyard as soon as we move into our house.

Every morning you wake up between 5 and 6 am, just to check on us. After being reassured that we’re still residing in the same house, you fall back to sleep while mommy and I get ready for the day. Typically I have to wake you up to go to daycare but sometimes you wake up before we’re ready. So you adapt, and patiently hangout in your crib while I finish getting ready. You entertain yourself by talking to monkey, throwing your B out of the crib, knocking on the wall between your room and the bathroom, or turning your light on and off. When I do have to wake you up its all smiles. I turn on your light and you sit up and grin at me, rub the boogies out of your nose, and throw a few waves at the handsome little baby across the room (in the mirror). Then you jump up and turn the light off while I’m trying to find clothes for you to wear. This has forced mommy to layout your clothes in the living room every morning after a few “Did you dress him in the dark?” comments from your mother.

You like to push buttons and flip switches. Your bath time has been abbreviated lately because you continually push the lever that keeps the water in the tub. See a light switch? You have to flip it. You like to pull up in front of the tv a push all the buttons and when I yell at you, you turn and look at me with your best “surely you don’t expect someone this cute to actually listen to you” smile. Well, I’ve given that smile and it didn’t work with my parents either buddy. Which is why you don’t push the buttons on the tv anymore.

You understand language so much more than you can express. You actually will listen to me when I ask you to stop doing something. Sometimes it just takes a look and sometimes I have to get to TWO before you comply, but you understand more and more of what your mother and I are saying to you. You however have learned to say the word ball perfectly thus making everything, BALL! See that tree over there? BALL! See the car? BALL! Want a frontal lobotomy? BALL!

And then there is Pops. By far your favorite person. When he walks in the door you beeline it towards him and start chanting, BALL! BALL! BALL! and point at the pool table when he picks you up. You like to sit on the table and roll the balls, crawl to every pocket and take the balls out, and roll them into another pocket. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. And God forbid anyone, ANYONE, try to take you from Pops including your mother. You would rather have your face melt off than to be taken from the arms of Pops and wail as if you were set on fire when he puts you down. We find if we ignore you it lasts about 10 seconds. Of course I like to make fun of you, so it continues until you mother yells at me.

There will be many more opportunities for you to adapt to your father but to date I have a favorite. Every night I pick you up form daycare and drive home. On our trip the sun beats mercilessly upon you from the passenger side of the car. What do you do? Squint, give me a look and turn your head to look out the driver’s side windows. You don’t complain, you don’t cry, you don’t ask for one of those silly screen things that never stay up, you adapt. It’s that ability to adapt to any situation and make the best of it that will take you very, very far in life and I can’t wait to see where it takes you. I thought it was something you had to learn, but you were born with it ingrained within.

You’ve just started to walk and you stager around like any good Irishman. You walk across the room, sit down, and clap for yourself. Apparently you’ve come to understand that sitting down is what you’re supposed to do when you get to the other side of the room. The best I can figure you do this because we always clapped after you had taken a few steps and sat. Either way, you are so proud of yourself, and we are too buddy.

Love you,

Daddy

This is What I Deal With Daily

The following is an actual rejection letter from the United States Patent and Trademark Office. It was brought in to my office by a gentleman who was mad at the Chamber. Apparently his brother told him that, at our suggestion, he should file his patent first because it would be funny. While it in fact was funny, I was not employed here when said conversation took place...an answer he did not care for.

Re: Patent Application for the Word "Flagelajadingdong-nog-syrupification"

Dear Mr. Mark Feezell:

Although the USPTO first rejected your request to patent this "hella funny-sounding word"—to use your exact expression—on the grounds that it was not only an inutile and abstract idea but, frankly, a wholly absurd one, we were subsequently forced to retract this rejection and issue a new one because "flagelajadingdong-nog-syrupification" has, in fact, already been patented (as a process) by one Mr. Daniel Feezell of El Dorado, Kansas. Mr. Daniel Feezell's patent defines the process as follows:

The act of patenting the word "flagelajadingdong-nog-syrupification" before one's younger brother does, thereby stymieing his lifelong dream of obtaining a patent.

Regrettably, we must honor those patents already in effect, however ridiculous in nature. Please consider this a final rejection notice and do not appeal our decision. Once again, we are sorry for the bad news, and that you were flagelajadingdong-nog-syrupificated by the other, apparently cleverer Mr. Feezell.

Yours,
United States Patent and Trademark Office

What I Thought My Work Week Would Look Like When I was 6

Monday

I overslept. No time for breakfast. I'll just grab a hot dog at the ballpark. Actually, I'll have a hot dog here, too. One hot dog here, one at the ballpark. I'm a superstar pitcher for the Detroit Tigers.

Driving my Volvo to the stadium is really fun and safe, and I'm really good at it. Oh, my best pitch? It's a curveball. I'm allowed to throw a curveball at this point in my life because I'm a man and my elbow is fully developed. I can throw as many curveballs as I want.

Actually, I have a few minutes to spare. I'm going to make a quick detour to my historian office, where I am a historian. There's an amphora fresh in from Greece. An amphora is a vase. It's sitting on my desk and I have to analyze it. Where did it come from? What is its story? This is the hardest part of my historian job. I ponder the problem for a little bit while playing Atari and it suddenly hits me: it's from a completely awesome shipwreck. Then it's time for the most fun part of the job, as a bunch of journalists come in to photograph me standing next to the amphora and holding the amphora over my head.

Then I speed to the stadium and one-hit the Blue Jays.

Tuesday

Tuesday. Hump day, and also the one day of my workweek when I really have to focus all of my energy on being the president of the United States of America. I start the day early with a quick visit to the Lincoln Memorial. Next, I'm off to hold an underprivileged student on my lap and read to his class from Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree, the greatest and saddest of books. By the time I finish, there isn't a dry eye in the room. The only exception is a journalist who is busy writing a positive editorial.

At 3 p.m. I make a brief relief appearance in a day game against the Seattle Mariners. I just pitched the day before and the coach says I don't have to play if I don't want to, but I want to. I strike out the side to secure the victory. There isn't a dry eye in the crowd. As I walk off the field, I slowly spin around, amazed: Are they all standing and clapping for me? It turns out they are.

Back in Washington, I pass some popular legislation making it illegal for rich people to kill poor people. (Why didn't you think of this, Founding Fathers?) Then, in a courageous political move, I decide to end poverty altogether. "This will be good for America," I announce in a televised address to the nation. "It's strange that this never occurred to Franklin Delano Roosevelt or John F. Kennedy. They were pretty great presidents, but keep in mind that this never occurred even to THEM."

Wednesday

I take Wednesdays off.

Thursday

First, I publish a scholarly article in Science magazine on the Greek amphora. My amphora and I make the cover. A filmmaker stops by the historian office. He wants me to speak on the subject of the Roman gladiators and also on the Black Death. I'm running a little late, but I still manage to make history come alive for a few minutes. As he's leaving, the filmmaker adds, "Congratulations on making the cover of Sports Illustrated, Mr. President." I shrug modestly: "It's not the first time."

Then I'm off. To where? Not to the stadium, nor to the White House, nor to a strange detour back to the historian office. No, I'm off to my son's elementary school, where I pick him up early. Mrs. Reynolds, who is still teaching first grade but has become even fatter and uglier, won't let him leave at first, but I send in my Secret Service guys and some of the Army. My son is overjoyed to see me. "Thanks for making me a top priority, even though I know you have a lot of important work," he says, maturely. "I know Grandpa never did that for you." I nod. "You're right, he didn't. He should have, but he didn't."

Then we go ride roller coasters at Cedar Point, and we never have to wait in any lines, because it's 2 p.m. on a Thursday, and also because I'm the president.

Friday

I also take Fridays off.